OhGodOfWriting
Writing Addict
[**I am still looking for a partner or two for this. Check out my searching thread, here, to apply for this RP**
This is set in the not-so-distant future in an austere, gray city of high rises. My character, a rebel cell leader, has been captured, and is awaiting interrogation and execution by the conformist majority.
AND/OR this could be based in a cyberpunk world of simulation fighters of whom Aris is merely one, and she has been caught for cheating.
We can brainstorm what happens next, be it rescue by another rebel or non-rebel, escaping on her own and meeting up with your main character, etc.
Rated M for some language.]
Selene “Aris”, Rebel cell leader
Despite all their best efforts to be as drab and uninteresting as possible, interrogation room B had a splash of garish color in it. The slick white walls were unmarred save for the large observation window. The prisoner was dressed in the papery grey jumpsuit the color of depression and penitence. She was chained, hand and foot, to the table bolted in the center of the floor.
Yet somehow, her very existence was a violation of order and decency.
It might have had something to do with the fuschia-pink hair pouring over her chest, falling nearly to her belly button with her head bent forward as it was. She was little, dainty: short and pale-skinned. The smear of unholy color made her look more like a merely petulant child than she already would have looked without it. They had wanted to shave off the offensive locks, but it was deemed better that she retain them, so as to be more recognizable for the execution. The piercing nestled beneath the fullest part of her lower lip caught the light dimly beneath the fuschia hair that shrouded her face, with fluffy bangs cut low over her eyes, partially hiding her eyebrows, tinted raspberry to match.
Her hair was not the only unwelcome hue she injected into the room.
Color bled through the back of her thin jumpsuit, as if her pores seeped paint. Bright red, blacks, and greens. The grey overlay muted them somewhat, distorting what they were. Had she been beaten already? Perhaps the inmates had been just as disgusted by her presence.
There was something almost pitiful about her, as though she were nothing more than a teenaged punk caught spray painting the side of a building. Which was a serious offence, but when faced with the law, the youngsters folded, crying and blubbering for their mothers, thinking that the word “sorry” would make it all right. Was the leader of this small rebel cell really such a straw man? Interrogation would be a breeze.
Then she looked up.
There could not have been a more apt description for the girl sitting before them than a pissed-off jungle cat. Her teeth were gritted over the piercing in her lower lip. Her dull gray-blue eyes were staring at the one-way glass, as if she could see those on the other side of it. She wasn’t glaring, she was staring, like someone so thirsty for blood that they had gone insane. She leaned forward, straining against the bonds on her ankles and wrists.
Maybe the interrogation wouldn’t go so well, after all.
The girl known as Aris seemed to grow bored of giving her own reflection the death-stare, because she straightened up and looked instead at her hands. This brought a smirk to her face. Despite the scouring she had received, they had left her nailpolish on. It was horribly chipped, every nail a different color. They had also cut and filed her nails, far neater than she usually bothered to keep them. The bits of color on her fingertips and, hidden, within her shoes on her toenails, gave her a sense of satisfaction.
Every time she had marked her body in some way, it felt as if she were thumbing her nose at the corrupt government. There was no real reason for that, beyond the reason that anything becomes perceived as rebellious. Reasons be damned, she had done it as much as possible. Her ears were pierced so much, it looked as if shrapnel had exploded near them. Then there was the nose ring, the labret stud, the hair color, and of course, the tattoo.
Maybe it was foolish for her and some of the other rebels to announce themselves to society this way. Something had certainly gone wrong in their planning, since their leader was here now. Unless she wanted to get caught; but that was unlikely, seeing as she was to be executed.
No matter what, she didn’t appear overly worried.
Selene had long since learned to be choosy about which emotions to show, and which not to. She had never been a complete stoic, but this was something she had been prepared for. Rebel leaders always came to the same end. Then again, death would feel far less distant right before it came. She needed all the time to prepare that she could get. She wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing her crack. She would channel her emotions in other ways.
She tilted her chin up, letting her face catch more light in the already dazzlingly lit room. This exposed the tattoo of an artistic bird wrapping around the side of her neck. Its wing traveled up the side of her jaw, dousing her ear blood-red underneath the glittering metallic piercings. The tattoo faded out, like a brush-stroke running out of paint, at her temple. It was a truer red than her hair, but like her hair, it was a painfully vivid color. Even the blues, greens, and yellows that marbled the bird’s silhouette like flames, were untainted shades. Its beak pointed fiercely at the underside of her throat.
It looked poised to tear out her vocal chords; or else use them to sing.
Aris was fully prepared to loathe whoever walked through that door, and give them hell before she went to hers.
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