Spilt Whiskey - fic
Apr. 23rd, 2010 10:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deird1This was written for the “bunny” prompt at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
joss_las. It’s a Dollhouse fic.
Title: Spilt Whiskey
Rating: PG
Word Count: 345
Summary: Claire thinks about who she really is.
Spilt Whiskey
“Think of them as your pets,” they said.
Claire sits in front of the mirror, and looks at her scars as if she’s never seen them before.
Pets.
Is that what she is to them? Just the pet rabbit, who accidentally got within reach of the dog?
Something to be taken to the vet, and patted, and nursed back to health…
…and put back in the rabbit cage.
She has one scar – right across her lip – that’s slightly more to the right than she usually pictures it. Claire touches it tentatively, feeling the point where it splits her lip in two.
Poor little bunny, not pretty any more.
They must have been so disappointed that their pedigree animal was spoiled – that she looked like a mangy stray.
They must have been horrified.
And upset.
And then they’d sigh and move on, because that’s what you do with pets.
And yes, she’s upset, and traumatised, and curled in the back of her hiding place licking her wounds, but that’s okay. Because she doesn’t really exist anyway.
She doesn’t even really remember how she got these scars. (Not up with Topher restraining a patient, that’s for sure.)
Claire traces a finger along the gash on her forehead, remembering the blade slicing through.
Funny how a fake memory can feel so much like the real thing.
If it really does. Maybe she only accepted these memories as real because she doesn’t know what real ones are supposed to feel like.
Cute little pet, thinks it can talk.
She’s always treated the Actives as if they’re children – too young to know better, too innocent to understand.
Is that how everyone thinks of her?
Be nice to Doctor Saunders, she’s trying her best.
And they all pat the bunny absentmindedly, and go back to the conversation.
All the medicine, the books, the stethoscope, the labcoat, the folders filled with records…
Nice toys to keep her happy in her rabbit hutch.
It’s all so ridiculous.
Claire shuts her eyes, and tries to remember what she looked like without scars.
joss_las. It’s a Dollhouse fic.Title: Spilt Whiskey
Rating: PG
Word Count: 345
Summary: Claire thinks about who she really is.
Spilt Whiskey
“Think of them as your pets,” they said.
Claire sits in front of the mirror, and looks at her scars as if she’s never seen them before.
Pets.
Is that what she is to them? Just the pet rabbit, who accidentally got within reach of the dog?
Something to be taken to the vet, and patted, and nursed back to health…
…and put back in the rabbit cage.
She has one scar – right across her lip – that’s slightly more to the right than she usually pictures it. Claire touches it tentatively, feeling the point where it splits her lip in two.
Poor little bunny, not pretty any more.
They must have been so disappointed that their pedigree animal was spoiled – that she looked like a mangy stray.
They must have been horrified.
And upset.
And then they’d sigh and move on, because that’s what you do with pets.
And yes, she’s upset, and traumatised, and curled in the back of her hiding place licking her wounds, but that’s okay. Because she doesn’t really exist anyway.
She doesn’t even really remember how she got these scars. (Not up with Topher restraining a patient, that’s for sure.)
Claire traces a finger along the gash on her forehead, remembering the blade slicing through.
Funny how a fake memory can feel so much like the real thing.
If it really does. Maybe she only accepted these memories as real because she doesn’t know what real ones are supposed to feel like.
Cute little pet, thinks it can talk.
She’s always treated the Actives as if they’re children – too young to know better, too innocent to understand.
Is that how everyone thinks of her?
Be nice to Doctor Saunders, she’s trying her best.
And they all pat the bunny absentmindedly, and go back to the conversation.
All the medicine, the books, the stethoscope, the labcoat, the folders filled with records…
Nice toys to keep her happy in her rabbit hutch.
It’s all so ridiculous.
Claire shuts her eyes, and tries to remember what she looked like without scars.