• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here

WolfStar12

Self-Loathing Werewolf
It was 7 AM on a crisp, chill morning, about 50 minutes into their daily checkup, but Dr. Moore was still dead tired, the aftertaste of bitter coffee still loomed in her mouth. She walked throughout the facility either furiously scribbling observations on her clipboard or surveilling the rows of containment cells on each side of her. Octavia was a tall and skinny woman with long, straight, red hair, rounded glasses that always slid off her nose, a stern no-nonsense face created by stress, and she always had at least one glove on. To her Higher Ups, she was the perfect example of a doctor. Still even the perfect doctor could get tired.
It certainly wasn't the task, god no. To the majority of the populace, the practices in GreenGlen seemed like something out of a nightmare. Performing complex surgeries in long hours was one thing, but spending the day surrounded by all manner of creatures Mother Nature wouldn't dare lay her eye on? You'd be better off catching the virus. No, it was the monotony of it all. Dr. Octavia had been working with the company almost during its inception, arriving at every single work day since her hiring, desensitized to everything she had seen around her, but somehow the buzzing of the fluorescent lights got more to her than the agonized screeching. She straightened herself, stifling a yawn. No matter if she was tired, even if a small part of her, a very small part mind you, wanted to go back to sleep, she still thought it best to set a good example to the other staff members. After all, we couldn't have the other doctors believing they could lounge around on the job, making up for lost sleeping time, now could we?
Octavia stopped and looked at her and ticking watch on her ungloved hand and squinted, before scanning the rest of the room. Her eyes carefully wandered the glass cells, observing all that was inside it. A large reptilian patient, a Type A, scratched at the glass, yelling obscenities at her. One simply wept, a small thundercloud formed over her head as she whimpered something about her kids, while another sat motionless on their sleeping cot, staring at the wall to their left. Sector F has already been interviewed. Octavia noted, turning back to her clipboard. She tucked her pencil under the clip, and continued walking.
 
a prisoner of section E, Marianne was currently pacing, muttering to themself, a half-mad look in their eyes. today was another one of those... "checkups". the two words escaped Mari, dripping with loathing. checkups? Hah! more like torture sessions. but, again, Mari had a plan. if they could just... take out one of the hazmats... of course, they'd tried many many times... and the longer they were here, their already-weak upper-body strength would continue to deteriorate.

they shifted slightly, scratching at their neck, only to twice in pain, one of the growths apparently having increased in size since last night (was it night? Mari didn't get to see the sun, and they had their clock taken away.) Mari cured. after all, now the doctors would have even more reason to poke and prod at the two lumps that were growing out from the small of their back (its wings, but Mari's new here).

the sound of footsteps approaching only caused Mari to flinch. they were so far away. noises were louder, but it wasn't the soft vibrations that sparked the fear, rather the knowledge that another one of their tormentors would be there. adopting a steely glare, attempting to fix their hair, pulling it out of their face, Marianne turned to face the glass. any moment now... any moment now...



(((pEPA yOu hAvE a cLOuD))
 
Last edited:
Odette was not immune to the grogginess that plagued the staff and patients every morning, although in her case she had only herself to blame- or more so her disease. Apparently octopuses didn't have a normal sleep schedule, and it was waging a hellish war with her human side. Despite her drooping eyelids, patient #311, the name given to her by the doctors and one she had grown uncomfortably accustomed to, was determined to finish the rubik's cube that she kept sitting on the little desk in her cell. Of course, her inability to see posed an inconvenience, but Odette had spent night and day with another patient carving symbols into the toy corresponding to each color. It had taken a considerable amount of time, especially since each color was repeated 16 times on each side, but nevertheless her and the other patient had worked and worked until their own little puzzle was complete.

She had already finished one side when she heard Dr. Moore's footsteps traveling slowly down the hallway. Odette had memorized almost every doctor's footsteps since being contained. It had seemed important and even somewhat unavoidable to do so, but at least she could be prepared on what kind of treatments would be waiting for her minutes before they happened. Dr. Moore's footsteps in particular shot a shiver down her spine. She was not fond of the woman to say the least. Not fond of any of them, but the redhead took the cake. She was calloused and not much fun to play with. Dedicated to herself and her own work, much to the patient's- and oftentimes even the other doctor's- chagrin. However, Odette did not hold the same respect for her as her peers did. The two had talked on multiple occasions, each session ending with a cool silence between them. They both thought themselves superior, and the other did not agree. That was all well and fine though, as Odette was determined to keep quiet. Acknowledgment to the staff was like a sign of weakness. Unless they were in your cell or spoke to you first, there was no reason to engage with them.

So as the doctor traveled closer, she sat up straighter.

'Do not turn your head. Focus on the puzzle. A line here, two dots there. Do not speak unless spoken to.' The little mantra ran through her head as her body stiffened. It was okay. Daily rounds were the norm in the morning. It was okay.

She was okay... for now.
 
Dr. Irene Dreadnought

As she traversed Sector E, she logged her observations of the patients, from #09987 snarling and staring as usual, to #59858 laying against the glass and snoring. Each so far were duly noted, and none yet were worthy of further action at the moment, though she watched each one keenly.

Soon, she came upon #06632, Marianne, and paused by the glass that separated doctor from patient, ready to observe.




Calvin Sweet #77824

After returning to his cell from showering, he was hard at work on an embroidery piece as he sat facing the glass barrier. As he filled in the image of a gnarled tree, he occasionally looked up to see if any of the doctors or hazmats were approaching. He liked to be vigilant, even though he didn't dare resist just yet. So far, nobody was there, and so all that he did for now was stitch at the cloth in front of him.


Onyx Wojcik #77848

They wished they could stretch their cramping wings out all the way, but even standing against the furthest wall, Onyx could only almost expand one wing to its full length. Too sore to move to the other side of the cell, they remained on the soft pile of straw that was piled up against one of the walls, their free wing outstretched horizontally and and their other wing vertically against the wall as they preened themself between their free wing and the back of their neck.
They thought the pain was probably at least somewhat managed with whatever it was that they had been injected with so many times, but the itching was unbearable. There was no more observable change to their physique; That had stopped days ago, but the itching remained, as well as the soreness and exhaustion.
 
Marianne stared back, a look of loathing etched across their face, staying just out of arms reach of the glass. Dreadnought was this doctors name, they thought, they had heard it get muttered. made sense, fitting for such a torturer to have a cruel sounding name. (and, funily enough, at their highschool dnd campaign, the Lawful Evil fighter managed to get his hands on a cursed sword named that. forking murderhobos.) But Mari wasn't afraid. that was a lie. they could feel their heart quicken slightly, though they kept their face angry, a rush of adrenilin coursing through their veins.

"How do you intend to violate me today?" the comment escaped mari, voice full of venom. would it be electricity? fire? surgery? it was always more pain... though what truly hurt was being stripped of their humanity. being experemented on. used to satisfy the sadistic urges of the scientists, none of whom had ever even read the hypocratic oath.
 
Eyes still heavy with sleep, Jesse (otherwise known as #890) sat up in his sleeping cot slowly. Waking up was always the worst part of the day, because if he was awake that meant he could feel everything.

After a moment of blankly staring off into space, Jesse started his daily routine, standing from his bed and walking into the bathroom to brush his hair. After a pitiful few strokes with the brush he decided it was good enough, and silently made his way over to the softly glowing lamps perched on shelves scattered about the room. Most of his lamps consisted of a small tower with carved out shapes in them to let the light through, his favorite being carved into a tree. He slowly turned each lamp off, and noted which ones had dead bulbs.

Jesse dropped into the seat provided near his small brown and carved up desk, then yanked his sleeves up his arms until he could see the end of the black glass that encased them. Like usual the black glass was past his elbows already, glowing softly in the light as his lamps reflected off of it. He would have to ask a staff member to remove the glass until it was below his elbows again... Unless...

Jesse looked at his hands, and with a loud crack a set of sharp claws retracted out of the tips of his fingers. He quickly took hold of the edge of the glass on his arms, pulling it up slightly, then stopping as he felt the pain of it ripping at his skin. He stared at the spot, contemplating whether or not he should rip it off. Its not like the scientists make it any less painful. In fact, at some points its more painful when they do it. So, why not?

With a deep breath and tightly shut eyes, he pulled upward, a flash of pain causing his body to tense up. A loud cracking sound told him that the glass was off, and he opened his eyes to a bloody mess. It isn't that bad. It's fine. It'll stop bleeding soon. He thought to himself, though he couldn't help but have a little anxiety over the sight. It looked like he went outside and agresivly started rubbing his arm on the road.

He moved to the next arm and did the same with a small yelp of pain. After he was finished he dropped the pieces of glass to the ground and quickly went into the bathroom to wash the wounds off. He turned on the water and stuck his arm underneath, the raw skin stinging like bees. After a moment he turned the water off and patted himself dry before wrapping his arms in paper towels. He hoped they would stop bleeding soon.

Jesse returned to his bed with a sigh, the sound of people- most likely scientists- walking outside echoing through his room. I wonder what they are going to do today.... Hopefully nothing terrible. He snorted at the thought. There was nothing they could do that wasn't terrible, there was no use getting his hopes up.
 
Octavia began to make her way to Sector E, happening upon another doctor, Dr. Irene Dreadnought, who stood before Patient #06632's cell. Octavia had to admit, she was glad Irene seemed to be dealing with Marianne. The patient was always ranting about the facility's treatments, not much different from any other patient, but it was dreadfully hard to get anything done with them, particularly check ups. You could almost never get any information out of them, and how silly it was of them to ramble on about their rights. After all, everyone knew you had to be human to have rights.
Octavia's eyes continued to roam throughout the hallway before finally stopping in front of a certain Patient #00311. She stood still for a minute, etching down something only she could see on her clipboard before making her way to the glass. She tugged on her glove, shifting her clipboard to one hand, and with the other inserted a code into the keypad on the side of the cell wall. With a soft click, the glass door opened up, and Octavia made her way inside, making sure to keep haste as to not let anyone out. She always hated shuffling in, seeing how ridiculous it made her look. Whenever she had to rush into a room, she felt as though she had to sacrifice her professionalism a bit, in order to prevent further outbreak. She grumbled, it was her damn anxiety talking again. No matter.
As the door shut, there was a quietness for a moment, as Octavia observed Odette fidgeting with the rubik's cube. For a moment, there was some sort of silence between them. Octavia quietly grabbed one of the cell's chairs, (all patients were given two chairs in their cells for their doctors, after all, it wasn't like they could have any company over), and moved it to the back of the room, to make way for any tentacles. Of course, Odette only had tentacles in the water, Octavia knew that more than anyone, but given how her patient's symptoms were still being discovered and studied, it was good just in case. She sat down, flipping through her notes to the traditional 6:10 AM questionnaire. She moved the page to the side and began to search for her patient's files. As studious as Octavia was, even she couldn't memorize every patient's file. "#00311, I am here to ask you a couple of questions. May we begin by reciting your full name and number please?" Dr. Moore asked, keeping her eyes firmly on her clipboard, a cold and slightly bored expression spread across her face.
 
Last edited:
Dr. Irene Dreadnought

"Oh please," scoffed the doctor, having heard Mari's question through the glass. She forced a smile, much like in her days at St. Anthony's ICU- Particularly when a patient was disoriented and resistant. She figured she dealt with these kinds of patients fairly well despite the tedium. "I'm only going to talk to you right now. The easier it is for me, the easier it is for you."
Without so much as waiting for her patient to step back, she shifted her clipboard to beneath her left arm and entered the code to open the glass door. As the lock released, her free hand caught the door before it slid too far down its track, something she was well practiced in by now. She quickly but cautiously entered the cell, sliding the door back into its locked position (Or at least trying to. I'm not about to foil Mari's plan by narrative alone.)
 
It was only when the doctor's footsteps stopped that Odette's heart dropped. She squeezed a sticky hand tight until her purple skin had turned nearly pink. Of course Dr Moore would be hers today. Hers. She suppressed a giggle as the door to the cell slid open. It was funny how the perspective on these things changed. Odette viewed the doctor's checkups simply as assigned roles. Assigned beings. Dr. Moore was her assigned human, and she was the redhead's assigned monster. If the big picture were looked at close enough, they were all just actors who were given roles by different individuals. Not that it mattered.

Odette didn't turn as the empty chair scraped against the floor. Still didn't turn as the silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity. But, when the woman's monotone voice split the emptiness, Odette finally gave her the satisfaction of acknowledgment. She cocked her head to the side, heart still going a mile a second, and forced a smiled.

"Odette Arya Barlowe, #00311. How are you today doctor?" The question came automatically. It was something she asked each of the staff every day. A little test of her own so to speak. The outcome of the experiment was fairly predictable, but still it was worth trying out. Would being polite- being more "human", give them more of a conscience? She doubted it, especially when it came to Dr. Moore. Although she would never admit it, Odette's confidence was shaken every time the two talked. While it withered, so did the feeling of curiosity with her "research". You needed confidence to get results, and Dr. Moore stood in the way of that.

Heaving a sigh, Odette let her hands fall to her sides as she turned in her chair towards the woman's voice.

"Your tests for my echolocation are going well. I thought you'd be pleased to know. I can walk to the bathroom as easy as swimming in the tank now." Odette knew she didn't care, but conversation was needed. Otherwise it'd be pretty one sided between them, and that seemed boring.
 
Blearily rubbing at his eyes, Luka -also known as #3246 by the doctors- pushed off one of his blankets and slowly sat up, ears drooping from how tired he still felt. He was not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination and 6am was too damn early to wake up in his opinion, but the repercussions for trying to sleep in were not worth the extra hour of sleep he may get. So, grumbling under his breath, he wiggled his way free from his nest and climbed to his feet. He hardly ever used the issued cot anymore, preferring to sleep in his pile of soft blankets and pillows he had arranged in the corner of his room. There was something comforting about being able to bury himself underneath something until the only thing that remained visible were his fluffy ears.

Once on his feet Luka padded his way to the back of his small cell, stepping into the small closet they called their bathrooms. He splashed some water on his face in the hope that it would help wake him up and then turned to the task of brushing out his ridiculously long hair. Once it was all brushed out he set about braiding it to keep it out of his way, thankful for all those years his cousin made him braid her hair for her. He pushed away the small pang in chest he always felt when thinking about his family and instead shut the door behind him.

His ears twitched as the sounds from outside filtered in, patients waking up and the doctors beginning to do their routine check-ups on all of the patients. Grabbing a book off of his small desk, he plopped down onto one of the chairs in the room, knowing that a doctor would be along shortly to begin his check-up. Flipping the book open, he settled into his chair to wait patiently.
 

Patient #182 (Aka Harley)


Bright eyes stared at hands, clink clink clink clink, the two toys made a sharp noise as she hit them together, that wasn't the only noise in the room, Harley— er, #182 was singing, and surprisingly well usually it was horrible, very very bad, "H-a-r-l-e-y, I'm Harley! H-a-r-l-e-y, that's me! Life can be like a dream if you let me be your queeeeen! You know where to find me, in section E! Harley! That's me!" Most of her random singing was like this, likely a parody of something she heard before the infection, if you asked her now she would say she didn't know, because she didn't, she doesn't remember. Her hands were covered in what looked like finger paints but it was really just her changing her skin color, blues and reds and an ugly shade of yellow across her nose, she did also have finger paints, which was a bad idea considering 'Can I have a sandwich?' and other such nonsense was written on her walls.

She had been up since very early morning, before they were supposed to be up, being loud and annoying. Her room wasn't totally messy, there was a pristine spot right where the door opened and where the doctor would be, save for some crayons and some yarn laying on the floor it was clean in that one square, the rest was messy, wrappers, toys, puzzles, scrap papers, it was like a little kids room that was never told to clean up. She threw the toys into bed, as she started her next song— not at the start.

Waiting for a doctor. Boring, waiting, boring. Don't wanna do that! She stopped her singing. Throwing herself onto her bed, she let out an anguished squeaking noise and rolled right back off the bed, crashing into pieces of trash, popping up she walked to the clean square and sat down in front of the door, a pout on her lips, her hair was long today, twin braids, bright cyan, eyes green-blue. Wide-eyed stare was blank at the space behind the glass wall, her braids wrapped around her arms, and her arms wrapped around her legs, her bare feet tapping on the floor, rocking back and forth. She doesn't like waiting!


Dr. Eleanor Hearth


She tugged on the tight collar of her shirt, check-ups, she hated this. Today was patient #3246, one of the more pleasant patients to her or at least she had heard. Her footsteps were sure, she made effort to seem confident here, and so she would seem so.

She quickly slipped into the room, smiling at her patient, "Hello #3246, I am Docter Hearth and I will be the one checking you out today." Her sleeves felt too tight, ugh, she had stayed up too late last night, spending too much time at the bottom of a bottle of vodka. Her head pounded, but she had never let that get in the way of her work, or her family.

God, she would rather be in bed or plain just taking care of her kids. She didn't get to see her kids in the morning, so her after-work schedule was almost always full, and on the weeks she didn't have them at all? Well, those were spent almost entirely at GreenGlen facilities.

SavannahSmiles SavannahSmiles
 
Last edited:
StrixDesmodus StrixDesmodus what plan? mari has no plan. only brute force. and chaos.))

Marianne took a singular step back, staying just out of reach. the doctors had realized how they would bolt if the door wasn't shut, but mari would be taken out of their cell soon enough. all that was there was in the room was a cot anyway, the desk removed for bad behavior, same with the closet and the books, the clock removed because mari had broken it, attempting to use the plastic shards aginst the guards, and themself, evidenced by the thin scar across their neck. damn doctors wouldn't let them leave in any way. they had a change of clothes laying on the floor in the corner too, folded neatly by whoever did the cleaning.

"Well, you know i wont answer anything, so you may as well save yourself the time. i am not like the brainwashed prisoners, and you know i'd much rather kill myself than do as you say." Marianne replied almost haughtily, defiance lighting their world-wearied eyes. Marianne was not afraid to die. The scary thing was not to live. but mari knew they'd already left just a bit of an impact. and it was because of that that they had wound up in this cell.
 
Dr. Irene Dreadnought

Dr. Dreadnought was determined to appear unflapped by Mari's bitterness, though internally she was annoyed. As highly as she thought of her own skills in bedside manner, she did not consider those skills to be equivalent to ease. Skills seldom were, though perhaps her sense of her own skills were more elevated than they ought to be.
Lifting up her clipboard and holding it stiffly, she documented what she heard and her interpretation, almost unintelligibly muttering the words as she wrote, though it might be heard by Marianne's sharpened hearing

Persistent suicidal ideation, narcissistic tendencies: Refers to other patients as brainwashed
"Now, can you at least tell me your full name and patient number?"
 
Marianne did indeed hear, though the scratching of the pencil caused them to flinch. even before, they couldn't take a math test because those things were so damn loud. and whatever the hell the people at this prison had done to them had only made things worse. retreating just a bit more, then moving to the side, Marianne leaned slightly against the wall, only the side of her head and shoulder though, the growths prevented anything else. " you do know that those two somewhat negate themselves? narcissists love themselves, are self obsessed. suicidal ideation is the opposite, loathing oneself so much that one would rather die than continue to exist. so, do i hate myself or love myself?" they muttered, half to themself, half to the doctor.
 
To Dr. Octavia, Odette was nothing more than another patient. Each day at GreenGlen she would simply visit whichever patient was available and uninterviewed. Despite this, she was more appreciative towards Odette due to her subordination towards typical procedures. It was quite easy for a set amount of patients to be unruly and thus hard to manage. Spitting, yelling, silence, punching, kicking, screaming, was a common thing. Far too common in Octavia's opinion, so it was a nice change of pace when you could interview someone who could actually follow directions. Still, in due time, the others will learn to follow suit.
The doctor proceeded to scribble her patient's answers in her notes. The first couple of interview questions were easy ones, confirming the patient's identity. Only rarely would one be able to fail it on accident. Still, it was important to make sure all your notes were in order, and if that meant asking the patient their name and number, among other things, everyday, then so be it. She stopped writing, just for a moment, when Odette decided to ask a question of her own. A simple "how are you". Octavia looked up from her notes, not even bothering to pay that statement any attention. She just simply stared coldly for a moment before continuing to her notes. However, it was the second statement that was more interesting. The patient seemed to have been improving in her echolocation, even on land. Octavia reminded herself to make a note of that.
"That's good. It appears your symptoms are becoming easier to manage. This should prove useful during your test later today," she responded. "Please state your age, gender, height, and weight." Since Odette had seemed eager to note her current status, Octavia decided to speed up the beginning half the interview process. Checkups normally had two parts to them, first being the aforementioned "easy questions", those revolving around the patient's name, number, age, gender, height, and weight. Afterwards were the more extensive ones, regarding the patient's current status. How they were feeling that day, if their symptoms had progressed, how they are handling their new abilities. After waiting for Odette's response, she wrote the corresponding answers, before looking up from her clipboard.
"How are you?"
 
Dr. Irene Dreadnought

She raised an eyebrow at their statement, her smile fading. It took her a second to realize that she could build on this to get information out of Marianne. Keeping a straight face, she pressed on.
"I'm sorry. Perhaps you can better explain how you're feeling than I can?"


Calvin Sweet #77824

Calvin, growing tired of waiting for breakfast, tucked the needle he was working with under a line of stitches, dropped his embroidery hoop in his lap, and wheeled over to the desk, where he deposited what he was working on onto a pile of other embroidered works in progress. Holding his hand in front of himself with a flat palm, he manifested a peeled tangerine in it and got to separating the segments, popping one after the other into his mouth and devouring them. He didn't want to spoil his breakfast too much, but he also hated to be hungry.
Once done eating, he checked on his plants, finding that the English Ivy needed watering. Emptying the cup of water that sat on one of the shelves near his desk into the ivy's pot, he kept it in hand as he made his way to the sink to refill it.
 
Marianne simply scoffed. "my desire to end my life has no real effect on you. you don't care about any of us. we're like animals, worse than animals, even. according to New Mexico law (this is in New Mexico and I'm not losing my mind right?), animal cruelty is "when a person mistreats, injures, kills without lawful justification or torments an animal or abandons or fails to provide necessary sustenance to an animal under that person's custody or control. Extreme cruelty to animals, a fourth-degree felony, consists of a person intentionally or maliciously torturing, mutilating, injuring or poisoning an animal or maliciously killing an animal." you clearly do not see us even as animals, so why do any of our feelings matter! to you, we may as well not have them!" their voice grew in anger with the last two phrases. of course, they knew their laws. they had to do class protection on animal cruelty laws in America in like seventh grade. and had most of the statutes memorized.

"so... am i an animal? a person? a narcissist? a suicidal person? a criminal? a whistleblower?" their voice suddenly dropped to a soft whisper, a sharp contrast from the near-screaming. "am I a monster?" Marianne's eyes locked with the doctor's, a slight glimmer of desperation evident for only a moment. "you've done this to me... are you one too?"


((mm channeling my inner fifteen-year-old-who-read-Frankenstein because the Creature was the best charictar and i want to give Mari those vibes)
 
Sat facing the corner inside his cell, occasional panicked mutterings could be heard coming from a demonic-looking boy. For Rowen, there was much that he despised and feared when it came to this place. But it was always the mornings that felt worse. Perhaps it was the build up, the anticipation. The knowledge that there wasn't much he could do other than wait for the all too familiar sound of footsteps coming down the hall, connected to someone who only intended to do awful, terrible acts. It was a never-ending cycle, one that Rowen didn't want to be a part of anymore.

"Don't come..don't come.." He pleaded in a whisper, his hands gripping his blue hair. He didn't want to be under the gaze of yet another doctor. Rowen couldn't take another one of them. His body shook as his claws dug into his head, his grip tightening. "Don't come.."

But no, no, no, he can't be like this. Rowen's heart felt like it would leap out of his chest as his hands quickly left his head, instead choosing to fly to his eyes. He had to calm down quickly, or else..

"Please don't be glowing.." He didn't want his eyes to begin glowing this early in the morning. Or at all. It was the start to something horrible, not just because of the damage it could do, but it was yet another thing those terrifying doctors wished to study, to play with. Rowen would rather pretend it didn't exist. His eyes were one of the traits that truly marked him as a monster, as something non-human. His appearance was now inescapable, it was something that couldn't be hidden away. He stood out. Huddling further into the corner, Rowen wiped at the tears that began to form amongst the pool of black that were his eyes.

Sniffling a little, Rowen snuck a small peek at what laid outside his cell. No doctor yet..that was good. He returned his gaze back to the corner, stretching his wings a little as he buried his face into his knees. More than anything, Rowen just wanted for this all to be a horrible nightmare. Yet, with each day that passed, the grim situation he was trapped in kept hitting him continuously. This was reality, and there wasn't any other choice but to wait for when the end arrived.
 
"Mmm."

Odette hummed dismissively at Dr. Moore's talk of the tests that were to be done later, resting her head in her hand as the woman's voice droned on.

"18 years old, female, five foot, and 118 pounds since the last time you checked. Has work been going well? Still trying to prove your worth to your coworkers?" Okay. So her chill wasn't as controlled as she would have others believe. Odette let a smile draw on her face, her sharpened teeth exposed in what others had previously described as "an ugly attempt at happiness". She was not ignorant to how the doctor spoke to the other staff. It was much the same as how she posed her checkup questions- monotone and with an air of faux superiority. #311 heard a lot of things that went on around the facility, whether she wanted to or not. She wasn't sure why the doctors cared so much about their secrecy to the patients. What were they going to do? Fight them? Odette had been in many fights with the staff, all ending in varying degrees of terrible punishments. It took months for her to realize that this wasn't a fight of strength. This was a fight of will power, and of smarts.

Odette was sure she had them beat in that department.

"Well... anyways, I am doing well, really. I've almost got the second side of my rubik's cube done." She extended a hand out to her desk, felt around for the toy, and presented her progress to Dr. Moore.

"I'll admit, not as challenging as I'd hoped. That's alright though. I couldn't put all that trouble on you guys to find me a suitable puzzle. That'd be such a waste of time for you, i'd feel terrible." She shrugged nonchalantly, placing it back in its spot.

"I wouldn't suppose I could ask what the tests might be today?" The question felt vile in her mouth, as if it really showed her weakness and fear. Truthfully, it did come from a place of anxiety- She'd only know the possible extent of the tests minutes before they happened, but the hours before were tense. Sitting here was excruciating. But the question had to be asked, or she felt like she would explode.

'Calm down Odette, you idiot. I'll be okay. I'll be okay. I have to be okay.'
 
Dr. Harper Ellen Fenten
As Dr. Harper Fenten walked into work on a crisp and sunny morning, she grabbed her lab coat from her office before heading down to the floor to see what kind of day it was going to be. Usually she could get a good feel for how the day was going to go based on how everyone’s mood seemed to be in the mornings. Of course, she always got a sense that anxiety flooded many of the patients, but that was most of the reason why she was on staff in the first place; patients were more likely to respond appropriately to various tests if the anxiety was minimized, after all.

Unlike some of the other female staff members, Harper’s feet didn’t click against the ground as she walked. She despised wearing heels, after all, and flats didn’t tend to produce those annoying noises.

Seeing that some of the doctors had already started their check-ins, Harper quickly walked past them because she would see those patients later on. There was one particular cell that she also walked straight past without a second glance so as not to draw attention to the young patient inside. Her footsteps carried her quickly down the rows until she stopped by a cell where a singular demonic appearing patient was curled up in a corner. She pulled out a pocket sized notebook from her lab coat along with a pen before approaching and writing down the cell number.

Patient #00976

“Good morning,” she greeted in a rather pleasant tone. “I’m Dr. Harper Fenten, and I’m the psychiatrist on staff here. Can you tell me your name?” While Harper could get names out of the various records kept within the facility, she preferred getting them from the patients. Names were important for Harper because people were less nervous during conversations when their actual names were used. “I’m curious as to how you have been sleeping lately compared to how you slept prior to your infection. Can you tell me about it?” Her inquiry was fairly open ended to start with.

withinasapphire withinasapphire


Emmitt Graicer
Although he was awake, the blonde preteen did everything he possibly could to make it appear as though he wasn’t as the morning started to bring movement into Greenglen Facility. If he was sleeping, there was a small chance that no one would bother him for a little while. Sure, it didn’t always work, but Emmitt was willing to try it. He was curled up on his cot facing away from the entrance to his cell so that no one would see that his eyes were open. Despite his best attempts, he could hear the whisperings of thoughts from the cells next to his own and from the doctors walking by; if he didn’t focus on them, they remained indistinguishable whispers, though.

Suddenly a single word pierced his head. “QUIET!”

Though it wasn’t a word, it was a thought loud enough to make Emmitt’s ears hurt and he jolted upright before glancing to figure out where the hell it had come from. Promptly, he realized it was the weird psych lady. She never seemed to want to talk to him, and Emmitt wasn’t sure why. Her thoughts were always really loud, though. Perhaps it was intentional. After all, Emmitt imagined that all the doctors knew what he could do.

Nonetheless, he was angry towards the woman because she’d interrupted his plan to sleep through check-ins. Everyone could see that he was awake now, after all.
 
As Octavia continued to fill in the papers, her ungloved hand brushed across its gloved counterpart. Even among the more cooperative patients, there was still an air of an entitled snark to them. The doctor had learned to tune these sentiments out among other things. It was unprofessional to react to such words from a study subject. “Questions such as those will get you no where in this facility,” the slight venom in her voice died down a bit before she continued to move on, replying to Odette’s inquiry about her daily tests. “As for your schedule, you will be meeting with Dr. Bell at 10:00 for some navigational echolocation based exercises, and with Dr. Dreadnought at around 3:20 in The Labs. There you will be tested on how your underwater form responds to high amounts of voltages.” She then shifted back to the initial interview.
“Now in regards to the aforementioned improvement in your echolocation abilities, how have you been managing your symptoms as of late? Have you noticed any changes between now and yesterday?”


Pipsqueak Pipsqueak
 
Last edited:
At the sound of a voice, Rowen jumped and snapped his head up. Eyes widening, he pressed himself up against the wall as he raised his claws. "Stay away..!" He said loudly, voice filled with absolute fear.

But wait, psychiatrist? The woman's words began to really sink in, and after a moment, Rowen slowly lowered his claws with much hesitation. He didn't believe this psychiatrist would be any different from the other doctors, but even so..the words sounded different. It felt like a change from how the doctors spoke, kind of. Especially with asking for his name.

"Um..009--" Rowen paused, more accustomed to listing his number. "..R..Rowen. It's..Rowen." He spoke his name like an infant learning a new word. Saying it outloud felt odd. Hearing his actual name was even odd in itself. Purposefully not looking the psychiatrist in the eye, Rowen kept his head down as he wrapped his arms around himself.

Listening to her ask her next question, Rowen had to try and hold back oncoming tears at the thought of it. He didn't realize before that his old bed could be such a precious thing, that it could be something he'd miss so much. It was impossible to sleep in this place. His mind was stocked full of worries and fears, knowing with certainty that tomorrow would be worse than today. Thinking of all that on repeat throughout the night, well, it made sleep an impossible task.

He shook his head. "I-I don't know..uh, bad, I guess..? I..I can't..sleep much." His eyes shot around his cell in a quick motion, before falling on her for a split second, blue irises set on her lab coat. His breathing quickened. "What are you..going to do to me..?" He asked, alarm spreading throughout his body. Rowen felt the tears returning as he covered his eyes with his hands. "Don't..come near me..!"

LavenderRain LavenderRain
 
Luka Hawthorne | Patient #003246
Fuzzy ears twitched as he picked up footsteps coming towards him from down the hall. Lifting his head up, he watched as a doctor he hadn't seen before opened the door to his cell and stepped inside. Setting his book into his lap, he smiled at the woman politely, though it didn't reach his eyes; he made sure he kept his lips pressed together when he smiled, the doctors didn't like it when it looked like he was baring his fangs at them. Despite how much he hated all the things the doctors did to him and the other patients, as of right now, he was essentially trapped and resisting would only make things worse in the end, so why bother putting up a fight.

"Hello Dr. Hearth, I hope you are doing well this morning." Luka replied as he straightened up in his chair, hands folded neatly on top of his book.

Feral Feral


Autumn Maddox | Patient #004150
Soft beeping filled the space of Autumn's cell at 6am on the dot. Since her blindfold was fitted tightly to her face, it didn't allow any light to seep through, the child once again trapped in the black void she had lived with her whole life. She didn't necessarily mind the perpetual darkness, but it made her sad that the only time she ever got to see anything was when the doctors were making her hurt animals and plants with her 'mutation', as they called it. She didn't like those tests, didn't like seeing innocent bunnies and rats turned to stone by something she couldn't control. But she had to do it, had to follow orders or the doctors would get mad and she didn't like it when they were mad at her.

As the incessant beeping continued to fill the air, one small hand wormed its way free from the pile of fuzzy blankets and stuffed animals scattered on the bed. Small fingers fumbled along the nightstand, tracing their way up the side of the alarm clock to hit the button to silence it. Though sleep tried to drag her back into unconsciousness, Autumn knew she needed to get up or the doctors would be grumpy that she messed up the schedule.

Pushing the blankets off of her tiny body, Autumn sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed, her chestnut hair falling around her in a tangled mess. She shivered as her sock covered feet touched the cold tile floor, the child counting the steps it took to get to the bathroom, hand extended to keep her from running into the door. She had all the steps memorized for her small cell and she was able to move around without much trouble so long as the doctors didn't move any of her furniture.

Once in the small bathroom, she did her business and then set about brushing her long hair, leaving it to fall in loose curls to her waist. Now with nothing to do but wait until a doctor came along to perform her check-up, Autumn returned to her bed and grabbed a book she had been reading from the nightstand. She flipped open to her bookmarked page and began tracing her fingers over the Braille-lined page, head tilted slightly as she picked up from where she had left off in the story.
 
Dr. Irene Dreadnought

She frowned, her eyelids tensing, and she wrote another note on her clipboard, this time trying not to mumble anything as she did so. She wished there was something she could do to get this patient to understand. Of course, Irene herself could have her medical certifications 'till the cows come home, but they had little to do with being able to recognize that Marianne probably understood something that the doctor did not.

"A monster? I don't think you're a monster. Do you feel like a monster?" Her words were even, slow, and calculated in a way that would make it difficult for Marianne to interrupt. "Well, I suppose it is plain that you're upset. You know, I know it's not likely to keep you from growing feathers, but I could give you something that just might make you feel better. Would you like that?" She kept her voice gentle, even if she did not have Mari's best interest at heart.


Onyx Wojcik


They shifted position once more, for a lengthy amount of time looking for a better position to assume. They could not find one, and so approached the glass of their cell, peering out.
 

Dr. Eleanor Hearth


She gave the patient a soft look, scribbling notes down as he talked, such as 'measured, no serious emotions present at first contact.' and 'Polite, seems to take up morning readings.' Simple but told the higher-ups what they needed to know. Well, she assumed so, considering that it was they that told her what to do. She hated this job but, well, it paid well. That was all that mattered. She could survive this, boring, in-and-out job if it got her what she needed, and it did. So, she was stuck here, and would do her job damn well. But the monotony might kill her, she hoped it did, death would be less boring. The dangerous patients were more fun. When you're watching them at least. The danger wasn't fun. Most of the time anyways. The experiments were better entertainment as well but she could deal with boring just fine.

"I am doing well, thank you." She looked him over, "How are you doing physically? Any pains or general changes you've noticed? I'll do a physical in a moment." She grinned, "How about mentally, how are you feeling about GreenGlen? Any new stressors, or new emotions from the virus you've noticed? General emotional state since infection? Before and after GreenGlen please." She twirled her pen absentmindedly, "Dont stress out about talking about it. If you're depressed you'll get medication for it. I can also probably get you a little more enrichment as well. We don't know if you don't ask." She said it like she had a thousand times, she, in fact, had done so but she always kept her word. It always made her patients easier to deal with.

SavannahSmiles SavannahSmiles


Patient #182 (Aka Harley)


Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. She had been alone all morning! She hated this! She wanted to die, violently. URGHSJKSHDDKLF. <- That's how she was feeling. So she stuck herself to the glass, longways over the door. They had sealed the entrance extra after the first night she was here they found her sleeping in the hallway instead of her cell, she'd like to call herself their security inspector, she had yet to escape but she sure had found flaws, it was pretty hard to transfer her, but she never got very far. Anyway! Stuck to the glass, some of her black 'insides' were visible and very shiny, she could've just made them the same color as her skin and still stuck to the glass but she liked to pretend she couldn't like it was her superpower or something and she wasn't just a living slimeball.

Slime dripped down her cheek out of her lips as she pressed her mouth to the glass, the more she looked at it the more it was more purple then black, huh, very dark, but still reflected purple. Her center or the literal hole in her chest was the most reverted part of her body, she was practically a human cut in half by slime, the ball of slime that was her literal life was stuck to the glass as well. Looking as if someone threw a ball of play-doh so hard it stuck to the wall. The consistency of that thing was... weird. sometimes it was sticky, sometimes it was hard like a glass ball, sometimes it was bouncy, sometimes, like right now it kept its shape if she molded it. Harley wondered if the doctors knew why that was yet. Then again, they were trying to figure out how she still had a conscious when in slime form, considering she didn't have a brain then. How did she remember things in her slime form? Huh. Weird.

This was too much for her little brain to think about, she dribbled some more slime onto the glass impatiently as she pouted. When would the doctor get here? She was bored.
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top