(Redux) [Vignette] Solitary Confinement

(This is a scrapped OP from Thread 10.)

-

 You are Charlotte Fawkins, noted heiress, heroine, adventuress, and detective, cruelly trapped underwater (in the sticks!) after the completion of your quest to find your long-lost family heirloom. Tragically, nobody here l?i?k?e?s? ?y?o?u appreciates your talents, even Richard- the snake who lives in your head. Right now, you are unconscious.

It would be nice to be poetic about it. To say that you're floating in space, or drifting in raven tides, or hanging in the nothing between worlds. It's not like that, though: it's like you've been drugged, slugged, and tossed on a moving cart. You have a dim awareness of flickering chiaroscuro, and an [blue]i[/blue]mperceptible one of… being a pool of water. (You are out of your [i]gourd[/i] on neurotoxin.) But no, really: you are a pool of water, and sometimes your surface is skimmed, and sometimes you are drunk deep, or lept through with abandon. It can't be helped. You are a wellspring, you are the Fountain of Life, you run clear and cold and raw and real and [i]real,[/i] and to partake of that, to [i]b[/i]-

These are your not your thoughts. They are nobody's waking thoughts, but they're explicitly  not yours: you do not think, much less construct metaphors. You have no mind. You are knocked out and trussed up on the back of a cart. You are an unwitting captive in your own body.

Sometimes your captor comes to visit.

---

"Charlie!" (It's your voice.) "Lovely. Nonreality is treating you well?"

(You can't seem to cohere a response.) (You also don't seem to have a mouth.)

"Of course it is, because you're not diluted into uselessness, but let's see… you're not far off. Unfortunate. Lean in?"

(You don't seem to have a body.)

"Figuratively, Charlie. Just try it- for my sake? Three, two—"

…

It's a bit like flying a kite. You (figuratively) lean in, and all of a sudden you're (figuratively) [i]airborne,[/i] catapulted right back into… sapience? Is that the word for what you lacked? You existed, to be sure, and perceived, and arguably understood, but it- you didn't- you didn't think. Seconds ago, you were effectively a high-functioning houseplant. God! God! That's-

"Ah, there we go, panic. Can feel it in my teeth." Richard picks at his gums. Richard, [i]in your body,[/i] picks at his gums. "If it's any consolation, you couldn't help it. You need a mind to reason- and yours was occupied. Still is, to be fair, but I'm lending. One-way connection."

You attempt to say something like 'you insufferable bastard, get out of my body,' but continue to lack a mouth.

"Yes. You're a bit incorporeal, which, well, join the club. You'll have to project, which… just push your concept of speaking outside yourself. Yes? Not difficult."

Not difficult? But then you try it, and…

[Hello?]
[Oh. Oh, that's… weird.]
[…]
[Um, please get out of my body.]

"What, that's it? 'Please'? That's just sad." Richard shakes his (your) head. "Disappointing. Anyway, do you mean here? Or in general."

[Both?]
[Could you look like anything else? This is- I don't want to see myself.]

"Spending your one question on this? Interesting choice. Let's see, no, I can't look like anything else, and I won't leave your body. I'm busy. Everything clear?"

[No? What about one question?]

"I really shouldn't answer this, but yes. We're keeping this efficient, Charlie. You get the booster shot so you don't dissolve, you get one question, you go straight back to sleep. Repeat. You got the shot, you got your question, so this is—"

[What the hell are you talking about?]
[Booster shot?]

"Er, you know, of sapience. Personhood. Your concept-of-self is fragile, without— ah, you've got me answering another question. Good night, Charlie."

[What? No.]
[No, you can't send me back there.]
[You can't do it.]
[It was horrible.]
[Richard!]
[It was horrible! I can't be that again! Don't make me-]

"It's only horrible in retrospect, Charlie, it feels like nothing in the moment. I'll see you tomorrow."

The life dribbles out before you can retort. You hang there, awake but not aware, until unconsciousness swamps you.

---

"Charlie! Look alive!"

You sputter fitfully into existence. [I'm- I'm— weren't you just here?]

"17 hours ago? Yes. I appreciate you making this quick."

[What?]

"Used your question."

---

"Charlie! What do you think?"

Richard is before you, in a dress. Okay, okay, it's your body— and you, admittedly, look good in dresses— but it's your body with brass eyes and a cockeyed smile and it just gets [i]strange[/i] if you think about it for half a second.

 Also, you don't like the dress.

[It's… dated.]

"Is it? I wouldn't know."

[Extremely. And I don't know what's with the sleeves… or the corset. Or the color. Red washes me out.]

"Does it? I'll fix that."

[What? No. Just don't… I look best in neutrals. Or pink.]
[Throw this out and start over.]

Richard waves off your concern. "It'll be dealt with."

[Will it?]
[Hey, you know, if you let me have my body back, I'd be able to—]

"You know, I'm starting to believe you don't deserve this body, Charlie. I mean, think about it. All you do with it is waste time, get stabbed… I'm the best thing that's ever happened to it, you know that?"

[But it… belongs…]
[Okay, whatever. Whatever. Forget that.]
[Is this not [i]weird?[/i]]
[To you, I mean?]
[Given our…]
[Our, um…]
[…relationship…?]

"Is it weird to possess my, ah, former daughter?"

[…Yes.]

"No. I'm well past that kind of emotional squabble. Anything else?"

You have no idea what the hell you expected.

"Tomorrow, then."

---

The dress has improved, though it's still red. Whatever. You have bigger fights to pick.

[What are you doing with me? Outside?]
[Come on. If I'm just going to be here forever, it won't hurt to tell me what—]

"You're not going to be here forever, Charlotte— and would you stop saying that?" Richard scrapes at his (your) nails. "It's irritating."

[This is literally the first time--]
[It's [i]irritating?[/i] I don't have a body, Richard, I think that's a [i]little[/i] more—]

"Oh, calm down. It's not so bad."

[[i]I don't have a—[/i]]

"You've done this before, you'll do it again, and you won't remember a lick of it. So why complain?"

[Because I'm—]
[You're dodging the question. What are you doing with me?]

"Oh, that." Richard smirks. "If I wanted you to know, you wouldn't be here."

[No. No. You have to answer the—]

"Well, let's see... your heart's all fixed. Congratulations!"

[That doesn't—]

---

When, for the fifth time, you're dragged sopping from the abyss, you decide that Richard is not to be trusted. You know it when you see him, all sleek and comfortable in your skin: he will not let you go. You [i]will[/i] be here forever.

"You're being irrational, Charlie." It's your voice, like a slap in the face. "It's nice to be so productive, certainly, but I could hardly sustain-"

He's lying. You are alone in the blackness and he's lying. How will you get out? You need your body. A body. You'll be able to concentrate if—

"Wouldn't do that if I were you." Richard rests a chin on one hand. "And I am."

You take this as motivation.

It is slow, strange, painful work, but not difficult, not when you puzzle out a method. [blue]I[/blue]f speaking is thinking outside yourself, you figure, being must be… the same, only moreso. That's the theory, anyways, as you dribble molten… molten…

It's possible there's some truth to Richard's grousing about how a body holds you down. The more solid you feel, the less airy ideas are able to take purchase. Even if the process is rapidly growing inexplicable, you find comfort in how good it feels to exist. To have [i]location[/i] and [i]shape,[/i] even if said shape is…

"Got the number of limbs right," Richard says. "So I suppose I must commend you for that. Too many flowers, though."

…More abstract than you were intending, maybe. You take a step forward, stumble, and teeter: you are heavier than you were expecting, less flexible. You crash, face-first, at Richard's feet, and cough a pathetic rose petal.

He helps you up. "Yes. Well, wasn't this a fun way to spend two hours."

"You didn't have to watch," you mutter distractedly. You are trying to figure out if you have a tongue.

"Well, I couldn't leave without interrupting, and I couldn't interrupt without fracturing important bits. Now that you're all here… well, I'll get back to negotiations. And, ah, I'd consider apologizing, but I did warn you."

"Wh-"

You shatter, all at once, like a flowerpot off a twelve-story balcony.

"More difficult to put you under when you have moving parts, Charlie. And everything gets [i]complicated.[/i] Let me know if the pain lingers, mmkay?"

---

"Charlie."

It's not pain, exactly, it's a wrenching loss, but it sure as hell lingers. You emerge seething and inarticulate.

"Charlie, I came to inform you that you're being highly distracting—"

[!!!!!]

"—[i]highly[/i] distracting, during a sensitive operation, and—"

[!!!!!!!!!]

"—case in point. If you'd like to—"

The words come. [!GIVE MY BODY BACK!]

"—It's not a good…" Richard pinches the bridge of his (YOUR) nose. "Charlie, I'm in the middle of something."

[!IT'S NOT YOURS!]

"May as well be." But he hesitates.

He is getting tired, you think, obliquely. He is slipping more often, on accident- of course on accident. Of course. For microsleeps, it's just you, or whatever's left. He'll let go soon. When he gets back, when it's all safe and resolved. Hello, Charlie. You figured it out? Only took you six days. There's no such thing as a one-way connection. Or lending. It's your mind, too, at the moment.

You can leverage this.

There's the ghost of a smile on your (Richard's) face. You usually do leverage this, when you stumble upon it, the last two dozen times. But there's little point. He'll bow out. Less mess.

Just stay calm, will you?

-----

You blink. You feel weird. Kind of fuzzy. Weren't you stabbed? Did you die? You didn't die, apparently, but you [i]are[/i] in a dress. And you're…

>[1] Cracking a heavy-duty safe. (You don't know how to crack safes, and there's footsteps behind you.)
>[2] Sprinting headlong down a hallway. (You are in heels, and a javelin hurtles past your ear.)
>[3] Losing an argument with a man you don't recognize. (He's a foot and a half taller than you, and twice as broad.)