Post by Cassie on Jun 19, 2009 14:00:22 GMT -5
The sarcasm is standard, but you detect the wariness below and decide now is the time to plunge in.
My Parents call me… My parents? [her eyes narrow ever so slightly] I thought we’d agreed that we didn’t discuss them. After all the notes you’d taken I thought you’d know that. [she rolls her eyes] Next.
[you glance down at the file, and flick through some papers. She may be unwilling to talk, but the documents are not. You trace your finger down the page, pausing as the name jumps out at you. Isabelle Fray. No middle name; or at least not one that you can find. You look up at her, but she is once more studying her fingernails. You move on.]
My Friends call me.. [she sighs a little, a soft bored sound.] You are not my friend, nor will you ever be my friend so I hardly see how this concerns you. [her tones is flat, and fairly devoid of emotion yet carries an unmistakable cadence of dismissal. She will not discuss the issue. However, you are aware of the fact she is addressed by the name Shelly, which is not her birth name, nor can you find any connection to it. However it is the title she has chosen and you do not challenge it.]
I'm not an it! I'm a.. [she pauses in her study of her perfect manicure to look at you. You hold her stare for as long as you can, forcing your eyes to stay on hers. You can guess what she’s going to do, and try to steel yourself against the obvious. A slight shift, the smallest of movements. One hand casually moves to her collarbone. You try to ignore it, but something catches the light and also catches your attention. As you glance at the glinting object, -a silver ring on her finger- you also get an eyeful of her cleavage. Just as she intended. You glance up quickly, but it is too late.] I think you’ll agree with me when I say female? [she knew you would look, she expected it and in someway both of you knew. Yet her tone still carries the tiniest lilt of triumph, while you are feeling that you somehow lost. Such is the manner of her games. You move on.]
I am a... [you know exactly what she is, and what rank she carries but you ask the question anyway, deciding it will be a chance to judge and evaluate exactly how she considers herself. She rolls her eyes at the question] I’m a girl scout. I’m just wearing the uniform for kicks. [the words are heavy with sarcasm, and you note that she isn’t flaunting her rank or status. Normally, she threatens with the fact she is of higher rank and therefore much more powerful. Not today. You wonder if this is a sign that she is lowering her defences, or if it is just another mind game that the red-head is staying. However, the questions does remind you that despite the fact you were told to analyze her, it is only in these select sessions that you have any sense of control. At all other times, she is an Admin and it is her orders that must be obeyed.]
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm.. [she seems to find some source of amusement in the question, her lips quirk up at the corner] I dare you to ask Archie that. [you shudder inwardly at the thought, the man could crush you with one hand. She smirks slightly, obviously noting your discomfort. Then her eyes move and you realise she has no intention of answering your question, so you resort to once more flicking through the sheets in your hand. She is only twenty-three. You blink a little in surprise and look up at her. She does look youthful, but her eyes and her cynical attitude made you think of somebody… Older. She seems to young to be in such a business. You kept these observations to yourself and move on. ]
Do you think I need a diet? [she pauses, staring at you for a while as she absorbs the impact of your question. It is a very touchy subject for most, and you wonder how she will react.] You’re right. [she says softly, and you blink in surprise. That wasn’t what you were expecting. However, you force yourself to stay silent and let her speak, let her finally share. Her words are quiet, hesitant and you sense the emotions she is suppressing] I am fat. I mean, I keep trying to loose the weight but it’s always there. I look in the mirror and all I think is fat. It’s why I don’t eat us much as I used to… [she trails off, chewing gently on her lip. Her arms are wrapped tightly around a slim waist, as if she is trying to hide it. You look at her with some concern; you would never have guessed something like this.] I think…. I think it’s because mummy didn’t love me enough. [You sigh and she smirks. She lured you into the illusion that you were getting through to her, and you fell for it hook, line and sinker. She throws the cliché at you like a slap and the face, and the sting is similar. You should have known, but then you must admit to yourself she was convincing. She always has been a good actress. The moment is gone, and now the woman is looking at you coolly, amusement dancing in her red eyes. You observe that many people suffer from eating disorders and it is cruel to mock. She shrugs slender shoulders.] So? [her words are careless and nonchalant, and once more she turns her attention back to her nails, even though you both know the manicure is flawless. Her fingers are long and slim; the fingers of a pianist. Her skin is pale and creamy, and despite the years you’ve known her, you’ve never seen her tan. Her skin is always like soft ivory, contrasting beautifully with the vivid hue of her eyes and the pink-red curls that tumble loosely around her shoulders towards her waist. You glance up and notice that she isn’t wearing her bandanna for the session, letting the curls fall where they will. The effect softens her features, and makes her seem more youthful, more innocent. She glances up as she senses your gaze and arches a single eyebrow questioningly. You voice your comment about the bandanna and she shrugs.] I didn’t feel like wearing it. I use it to keep my hair out my face when I working, that’s all. It’s not a fashion statement, or my usual style. [she is telling the truth. You have seen her out of uniform, and there is never a bandanna. Aside from the bandana, you realise the cut of the uniform is similar to her usual style. Tight jeans and a cropped top; both of which cling to her curves and show off her form without hindering her movements to any great extent.] Besides, it makes me look like a pirate. [she rolls her eyes and gives a soft laugh, and then her eyes flick towards the window and her attention is no longer yours. You study her in a few moments you have to do so, and draw the obvious conclusion. She is very beautiful. Sometimes her beauty is ignored, the attention taken by her sharp words and the obvious aura of authority and control she exudes but once it has been noticed there is no denying it. Her contrasting colourings, the long limbs and smooth skin are all factors. She is tall and slender enough to be a model, but you know that she would be irked to hear such a suggestion. You keep your thoughts silent, and when she finally turns back to catch you staring you cough slightly and move on to the next question.]
My emotional disposition?
You do enjoy using big words, don’t you? Compensating for something? [she laughs without real humour and you ignore her baiting, focusing on her attitude. You know she will not tell you much, and you will have to rely on your own observations and the information you have gained from others for this section. However, you are interested to see how she will evaluate herself, so you repeat the question. She eyes you for a moment and then answers.] I’m a cold-hearted, ruthless bitch. [she shrugs] Ask anybody. [You have asked, and indeed many have them have told you the same thing. The woman sat before you has been known to inspire fear in many of the team members, and very few would dare to cross her. She doesn’t explode with temper; she is not volatile in that manner. But she is ruthless. She doesn’t hesitate to cause pain if she feels it is necessary means to achieve her ends. Her team follows her without question, obedient to the letter but that is out of respect more than compassion. She makes it clear that she doesn’t have the time for their problems, that her door is never open. She is icy towards them, as well she claimed. But that doesn’t mean she is cold-blooded towards them. You have seen her mission reports, and you are aware that if she feels the risk is too great, she will call a retreat. She is ruthless, but she doesn’t make human sacrifices herself. No compassion is given towards her teams, but she is aware of their mortality and does her best to keep them alive. It gives the impression that she does care, but you know if you asked her she would deny it. If anybody asks, she will claim that they are ‘disposable’ but after studying her for so long, you have your doubts. She cares to some extent. She is watching you, and suddenly she smirks.] Hah. They told you, right? I thought as much. [she seems almost pleased that the general assumption is she is an Ice Queen, and you have to wonder if this is an image she is simply trying to keep up. No, you have been out on the field with her. You’ve seen the smooth expression and the steely glint in her eyes, impassive towards the writhing and screaming. Her coldness is not a charade.] They’d be too scared to say it if I was there. [she muses quietly to herself, and once more she is right. She still seems pleased and very self assured. You have rarely seen her looking flustered, the woman is very good at keeping her cool. And if she’s backed into a corner, more often than not she’ll keep a cool head and get herself out again. Normally harming whoever had forced her into such a corner in the process. You have seen her in action, and have to concede that she is very good at what she does. She rises to any physical and mental challenge, and hacking is definitely seen to be one of her skills. Rumour has it she once hacked into a certain high ranking Magma’s personal laptop and left him a virus which contaminated his files and filled his screen with dancing Lotad. Of course, it is only a rumour. When asked about it she simply smirks. She seems almost too assured of her own abilities, and you wonder if her own arrogance will be her downfall. But she will take orders, and it appears that she does know her own faults and flaws. She just won’t allow anybody else to speak of them. Of course it is extremely hard to judge the woman’s emotional disposition, she keeps herself to herself. She doesn’t divulge her secrets or fears easily; she hides them beneath a cold exterior and remains a mystery. But it is the mystery that intrigues you as it intrigues others, imploring them to try and get beneath the pale skin. Of course, nobody has succeeded. Or if they have, they haven’t lived to tell the tale.]
Things that are Groovy: [she rolls her eyes at the word but doesn’t give a sarcastic comment. Perhaps she feels it is too easy to mock]. Things that are groovy. [she places extra emphasis on the last word, with a slight twitch of her lips.] Me. [you were expecting that and you have the feeling she knew that. She pauses, waiting for you to move onto the next question but you wait, and eventually she sighs with the slightest hint of irritation.] Fine. I like swimming, computers, fast cars, battling, and hurting people who piss me off. [you are aware that she is quite good at the latter, and take the cue to move on.]
Things that aren't so Groovy:
[she laughs quietly and then looks pointedly around the room and then at you.] Take a wild guess. [you know she dislikes the sessions she has been made to attend, but decide to wait to see if she will divulge more. She senses the pause and answers quicker this time, obviously eager to finish the session.] Team Magma, [an obvious choice] old people, mess, whiny people and people who keep asking stupid questions [she looks at you pointedly and you move on. However you do notice she focuses her dislikes around others, suggesting towards her anti-social attiude]
But… I'm afraid! Nothing. [you had expected this answer, and she delivers it clear and crisp] I’m not afraid of anything. [you pause and study her. She seems perfectly at ease, and not one flicker of emotion betrays her unreadable expression. You run through your memories, trying to find a moment when she was scared. You’ve seen her in bug filled forests, in dark underground caves, on the highest ledges. You’ve seen her at all extremes, and you’ve never seen fear flicker across her face. You have to wonder if she really is fearless, or if she is much better at disguising her fears. Then you realise you have only considered things and places, and wonder if it runs deeper than that. Is her coldness and reluctance to trust a sign of fear? Is she afraid of people, or letting people know her? You purse your lips and study her, trying to gain some sort of clue that would allude to the mystery but it is fruitless so you let the matter lie]
I like to... I’d like to get out of here. [she states, and you smile but shake your head slightly. The session is not done yet. She sighs a little and drums her fingers gently on the table.] I like to sit in the corner and cry myself to sleep because I’m fat and mommy doesn’t love me and life is pointless. [the sarcasm snaps at you, and her impatience is showing. You resort to your data, checking the schedules and various other facts. You deduce that she spends a lot of time in the gym, mostly on the treadmills, or training her Pokemon. She doesn’t interact with the grunts too much, but will occasionally be found with her fellow Commander or Archie. You are aware of the fact she keeps to herself, and often retreats to her own suite at the end of a mission. When she leaves the base… You cannot even guess where she might go, nor would you be brave enough to pry and find out.]
My reason? [she blinks at you, and you notice she is a little startled by the question] To save the world. [it sounds slightly over-dramatic, but the words seem sincere enough. You cannot decide if she’s playing games, so decide to take it at face value.] Oh, and the money I guess… [you nod, it is a common reason. Then she speaks again, a casual after thought.] And of the course the totally great sex. [now it’s your turn to be surprised, and you glance up to catch the wink she throws at you. You pause for a moment, and then shake your head slightly. It’s not a road you’re going to follow today. If any day. She smirks.]
Mandatory Angst: [her eyes narrow sharply]
Closed subject.
[she says, her voice like ice. You hesitate, wondering if it’s worth it to continue. But after the months of work, you can’t let it slip away. Carefully you open your file, aware of the crimson glare following your movements. A deep breath, and then you slide a photo across the table. It is simply of a house, a fairly standard building with nothing out of the ordinary. Her gaze flicks down and there’s a sharp intake of breath.] You’ve been spying on me? [you flinch at the accusation, even though it’s the truth. The house in the image is the home she grew up in; you’ve seen it with your own eyes. On Mossdeep Island, with roses growing in the back garden and two bedrooms that are kept like shrines. She slides the picture away and turns her glare out of the window, obviously not willing to put her fury into words. You think over the facts you know, the life you know she had.
Born to Madeline and Simon Fray, she was the oldest of two. She had a younger sister, but that’s an issue you will raise later. She seems to have been a happy child, and checking her school records revealed she was also and intelligent one. She had won awards, a lot of them for music. It seems she had quite a talent for singing, yet despite the trophies she has never once mentioned it. Not even in her interests, never has she voiced any sort of interest. You cannot even recall hearing her sing, which you find a little strange. It appears the world she grew up in was a happy and safe once, she was sheltered and protected and loved. You’ve seen photo’s of her, wild curls and a grin. When have you ever seen her grin?
You saw a drawing on the fridge of the house; a crude crayon drawing of a house, surrounded by stick people. It was badly drawn, but bright and a scrawl in the corner declares it to be drawn by IZZY AGE 7. You glance up, trying to connect the carefree image to the woman before you but cannot find the resemblance. She is still staring out the window, and you realise it is her intention to ignore you for the rest of the session. You hesitate for a moment, and then take a deep breath before gently placing another image on the tabletop.
She ignores it for a few heartbeats, and then gives into temptation and glances towards the glossy image. The moment her gaze lands on the image, she freezes. You watch the pain flash across her face, and wonder exactly how much damage you’re doing to her. Her hand reaches out, and you notice it is shaking ever so slightly as she gently traces a fingertip across the girl’s cheek. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, and you watch he emotions dance in her eyes with some concern. You’ve never seen her like this, she seems somehow lost. IN that moment, you catch a glimpse of her in her early years. A little girl standing alone on a beach. Almost as if she hears your thoughts, she speaks.] I lost her. [you wince inwardly at the pain in her quiet tones, as she lifts the photo and stares at it. The little girl in the image grins back, her hair messy and a melting ice cream in her hand. The image of five year old bliss.] I only turned away for a minute. Only a minute. I… [she bites her lip again, and shakes her head slightly. You can see the pain and anguish in her expression. You remind yourself this is what you wanted; you wanted to see the emotion. Despite it, you’d give anything to turn back the clock. It was better to have no response than to provoke this one. Surprisingly, she continues to talk softly, her eyes never leaving the photo.] We were at the beach. We were just beachcombing, looking for shells mostly. She wasn’t allowed to go to Shoal Cave, she was too little. It wasn’t safe. So we stayed close to the island. She kept finding things, shards of pottery and pretty stones. She’d run up to me and pour them into my hands, talking about treasure. She was so excited. But… It started getting late and it was getting cold. She was getting cold. I gave her my hoodie, and it was so big on her but she looked warm so I ignored the cold. It was going to have been the perfect day. But then,, her hat blew off. [you nod along with her words, not daring to interrupt. Her eyes seem slightly misty, as she relives the memory. A memory you don’t doubt she’d been trying to hide from] The wind caught it and threw it out to see. She was so upset, she loved that hat. She tried to wade out and get it, but I wouldn’t let her. I told her I’d get her another one, but she wanted that one. So… So, I went to get it. I told her though; I said “You stay there. Right there!” .I made her promise, and she did, with her eyes all big and solemn. So I waded into the waves and chased the hat. I glanced back and she was stood there, swamped in my jumper, but exactly where I’d told her to stay. There was nobody else in sight. I waded out a few steps further, and I caught the hat. I held it up for her to see and then turned around- [you take a deep breath, you know how this story goes] –and she was gone. She had vanished, not a sign. At first I didn’t believe it, it was impossible. I waded back to the shore, still refusing to accept it. But she wasn’t there. I’d… Lost her. [she lapses into silence again, still holding the picture. Anguish is in her eyes and you know she is still on the beach. You don’t need her to tell you what happened. She’d run out of the waves, shouting for her sister, shouting for anybody. People had come running to the beach, and she had screamed at them. Screamed for her sister. Her parents turned up, and her screams turned to sobs. Search parties were organised, and everyone sought the child. She wasn’t found. She was never found. The lost daughter, the angel that had been snatched away one windy evening on the beach.] My parents blamed me. [you are startled by her words, surprised she is still talking.] I know they did, I could see it in their eyes. It made sense; I was the one who’d left her alone when they said to keep any eye on her. I’d lost their baby. So I lost their love too. I could see it, they way they looked at me as if I was an intruder in the house. I bet they wished it was me who’d been lost; they’d swap me for their angel. [she pauses] I’d swap me. [the words are murmured so softly you almost didn’t catch them. ] My parents stopped living after the memorial. They gave up hope. They only existed, running like robots. Nothing seemed to matter, not even me. I was still the unwelcome ghost, a constant reminder of that awful day. I stopped spending so much time in the house, but I don’t think they noticed. I could come and go as I pleased. I didn’t matter to them anymore. I got a job at the space centre, working with the computers and spent my time there. Then, eventually I decided enough was enough. I packed my bags and left. I don’t think my parents noticed. I don’t know if they even care. [you part your lips and then close them again. You know from meeting them that her parents that they care. There are two sets of MISSING posters in their window, one of a seven year old and one of a sixteen year old. You remember the hope in their eyes when you mentioned her name, daring to believe you’d found her. Daring to believe you’d brought her home. You longed to say she was safe and happy, but you couldn’t. That wasn’t your place. The same way you can’t say anything now.] I travelled for a bit. Then I met Sebastian. He was everything I needed, and for a while it was perfect… [she trails off with a frown, glancing away at the thought of the memories. You know about Sebastian, and the way he got his point across. You glance down, and note the way she is rubbing her left thumb slowly across the palm of her right hand. Across the scar he gave her when she tried to defend herself. She was younger then, and broken. You wonder if he’d dare to try that with her now, now that she stands tall and proud and tramples her high heeled boots over anybody who gets in her way. It doesn’t matter, he met his fate, it was violent and gruesome and the killer was never found. Silently you have to wonder if it was Shelly finally taking her revenge. You hope so.] I was feeling pretty low after good old Sebastian. I was sat on a beach, just staring out at the sea for a few hours. I would have stayed there, but a shadow fell across me. It was a man; tall and well built and he towered over me like some sort of avenging angel. I remember thinking that I should be scared, but I couldn’t care enough to be scared. I didn’t have to be though. He just sat down and we talked. [she shrugs her shoulders lightly, a half smile on her lips] I told him everything, and he listened. Then he was all “The worlds a bad place.” And I couldn’t help but agree. Then he was talking again, talking about saving it and I just listened. I let him weave this image, image of water and I…. I wanted to be part of it. I told him this and he laughed and then we were silent again. We sat in silence for hours and then he got up and started walking away. I was disappointed, but he looked back and asked if I was coming with him. I didn’t think twice. He told me his name, and asked me who I was. The questioned seemed significant somehow. Not ‘What’s your name’, but ‘Who are you?”. I thought about it and decided I didn’t want to be Isabelle anymore. I wanted to be somebody else. So Isabelle was left there, standing on the beach while I walked away. I just walked away from it all… [she sighs, and brushes a curl back from her face. You notice the softness of her expression, the emotion in her eyes and catch a rare glimpse on vulnerability. You realise this must be the same Shelly that Archie saw that day on the beach. You reflect on how much has changed with the woman and wonder if it’s a good thing. Of course it’s good that she’s strong now, ands he can stand up through her pain and fears but then you realise the price she paid for that was her ability to feel. Or rather, her desire to feel. She cast away her emotions, her weaknesses, and she left them alone; standing a beach with Isabelle.]
Oh and by the way... [she starts at the sound of your voice as you gently try to guide her away from the past. She blinks and her gaze flicks from you to the image in her hand and her eyes lose the raw emotion and become closed off once more, narrowing slightly. You shift slightly in your seat.] This is the end. We never talk about my past again. [She rises from her seat in one fluid motion, glaring down at you.] You don’t say a word to anybody, and if you ever go near my family again, I will rip your throat out. Understand? [her words are cold, and sharp and you nod silently to show you’ve understood, not daring to speak quite yet. Her rage is contained, but you can still sense it. That was not a threat, it was a promise. She glares at you for a moment longer, and then sweeps out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. You breathe a sigh of relief, amazed that you survived. However, you decide to tell Archie that Shelly is done with the therapy sessions; her limits have been tested. If they are pushed anymore, either she will break or she will break somebody’s neck. Neither is an attractive option. You gather your documents together and pause as you notice one thing is missing. Shelly took her sisters photo with her].
I'm just a proxy for.. The Cassie Strikes Back! <3
Here's some of their writing;;
It would be better if there was a thunderstorm.
The skies were bright and blue the sun disturbingly golden and a small army of fluffy white clouds strolled across the blue. It looked like it belonged on the advert for organic cereal or something equally as ridiculous. It would be much better if there was a thunderstorm. Thunderstorms were dark, dramatic and dangerous. Invasions that took place during thunderstorms made a better story. Besides, she could make a dramatic entrance; banging open the office doors with thunder rolling and lightening flashing. It would be an excellent entrance. Of course, she couldn’t just sit there and wait for a thunderstorm to roll around, so blue skies would have to suffice.
She ignored the pleading of the man at her feet, and instead studied her fingernails, waiting for somebody to deal with the man. It didn’t take long. Within moments he’d been dragged away by a grunt, and tossed into the corner like a limp sack of potatoes. She didn’t show any sign of approval, instead she just looked pointedly towards the double doors before her. They were made of polished wood, and looked very grand and very expensive. In fact, she quite liked them. Such a pity she was going to have them smashed open. Right on cue, there was the sound of splintering wood and the magnificent doors were thrown open by two of her grunts.
That was her cue.
Shelly stalked into the office, taking her time. She was in no hurry after all. She admired the Persian rugs and the large oil paintings with some interest, before letting her eyes travel to the man sat behind the desk. He paled slightly, and gripped the edges of the huge desk. He was a coward, hiding here behind the double doors while his employee’s threw themselves forward to try and protect him. Shelly tilted her head, and smiled at him; a slow sinister smile.
“Your building has been taken over.”
She said silkily. His eyes narrowed slightly.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
The sarcasm dripped from his words, and Shelly was impressed to see he had the balls to be sarcastic with her. She schooled her expression into one of concern, and placed a hand on her chest.
“Really? Oh that’s terrible. Somebody really should have told you.”
The concern in her voice was almost genuine. She glanced towards one of the grunts fanned out around her like a mafia entourage.
“Tell him his buildings been taken over.”
The grunt didn’t hesitate.
“Your building’s been taken over.”
He said in gravely tones, and the man eyes narrowed slightly. Shelly got the impression he didn’t like being played with. Well, tough. He was the Rattata and she was the Persian in this scenario. She sauntered forward across the expanse of the room, still at a leisurely pace. Her heels echoed faintly off the polished floorboards as she circled the desk.
“What do you want?”
The man demanded, and Shelly laughed softly. She stopped behind his chair, her hands sliding from the top of the seat to the man’s shoulders. She gripped them tightly, and felt the man wince as her sharp nails cut into the skin. She leant forward, so her lips were by his ear, her curls falling forward and brushing lightly against the side of his face.
“Oh, you know what we want.”
She whispered, and he flinched while she smirked. Then she straightened up, her gaze imperious as she surveyed her team. They all stood still, awaiting orders.
“Find it!”
She barked the command, and they flew into action, ransacking the office. The man made an attempt to move, but the redhead forced him back down into the seat. He gave a slight whimper as he watched the ornaments being smashed, and oil paintings savaged. Shelly’s face was impassive as she watched the destruction. Her team did destruction so well, really they did. It didn’t take long for somebody to get a result. A statue was tossed aside to reveal a small safe, and that was soon cracked open. The good were sifted through, and then there was a cry of triumph as the disk was held up. Shelly smirked.
“Excellent.”
She released the man and stalked towards the grunt. Her place was soon taken by the burly grunt who’d spoken earlier, and strong hands held the man down; keeping him from fleeing or calling for help. Shelly plucked the disk from the grunts grip, a gleam of satisfaction in her crimson eyes. With the needed disk in her possession she turned back to the man, a smile on her lips.
“Thank you very much for your generous contribution towards Team Aqua’s work.”
She said with a smirk still on her lips, laughter dancing in her eyes. Her team exchanged a grin. Shelly inclined her head before spinning on her heel and walking from the room.
“Take care of the witnesses.”
Were her final words before she left with her trophy, the sounds of screaming ringing out into the air. It had been an excellent mission… Still, it would have been better with a thunderstorm.[/ul]
