Plotlogs
Neon Hellscape The Devils Broadcast Sr Novel 250213
In the peculiar confines of a sparsely furnished hospital room, a confrontation unfolds between two defiant women, Juliet and Siofra, and the ghostly apparition of Dr. Voss, a surgeon obsessed with perfection. As dusk envelopes the world outside, the sterile room becomes a battleground for ideologies and self-worth.
Juliet, quick to defend her companion Siofra against the surgeon's contemptuous remarks, embodies courage in the face of fear and ridicule. Her stance is unwavering, standing up against Dr. Voss's archaic notions of beauty and perfection. Siofra, for her part, wields a taser with the ease of a seasoned warrior, her threats laced with a mix of humor and serious intent, challenging Dr. Voss's authority and expertise on aesthetics. Together, they confront the surgeon's grotesque ambitions to reshape the human form according to his twisted vision.
As the altercation intensifies, Dr. Voss reveals his disdain for what he perceives as Siofra's "formlessness" and "disaster of a body," critiquing her very existence as an affront to his life's work. However, Juliet turns the tables on him, her words a sharp dagger to his ego. She mocks his appearance and questions the value of his life’s work, highlighting the futility and vanity of his pursuits.
Siofra, undeterred by Dr. Voss's physical and verbal attacks, counters with a defiance of her own, challenging his narrow understanding of art and beauty. She asserts the value of being human over any contrived notions of perfection that Dr. Voss espouses. Her resilience and refusal to be diminished by him underscore a powerful message of self-acceptance and the subjective nature of beauty.
The tide turns as Juliet's relentless insults force Dr. Voss to confront the monstrousness of his actions and appearance. His defenses crumble, revealing the hollowness of his convictions and the horror of his self-made form. In the face of their courage and unity, Dr. Voss's power wanes, his form disintegrating until nothing but the sterile reality of the hospital room remains.
Juliet and Siofra's victory is a testament to their strength and the futility of Dr. Voss's ideals. As they recover from their ordeal, they share a moment that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit and the power of friendship to overcome darkness. Their experience echoes a broader commentary on the dangers of unchecked vanity and the subjective nature of beauty, leaving a lasting impression of defiance and liberation in the face of societal pressures to conform.
(Neon Hellscape The Devil's Broadcast(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Wed Feb 12 2025]
In hospital room 2
This room is sparsely furnished, the sanitary white walls a perfect match
to the linoleum floor and the thin hospital sheets on the gurney that serves
as a bed. A small television mounted in the upper corner of the room is set
at a low volume, and a thin curtain bisects the room in an effort to afford
privacy to the occupant on the other side.
It is dusk, about 18F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
"Clothes, right!" Juliet agrees with a laugh to Siofra. "Weird ones that LA people wear that don't fly in New England." She waves a hand in the air, as if trying paint a picture, saying "Imagine, feather boas on every--" But there's a pause in her words as she looks to the good doctor, eyes widening. There's fear in her expression, but also, contempt and anger at his words, and she huffs up her chest in a moment of boldness, pointing back over her shoulder to Siofra, eyes fiery as she goes to bat for her friend, voice agitated. "You leave her alone, she's fine just as she is until she says she wants to change it!"
"Siofra or Domino." Siofra quirks calmly as she reaches into her cardigan.
Siofra's hand lands on a little metal device that she pulls up- clicking the safety.
See, a 'taser' is the kind word to describe the piece of god-humbling 250,000 volt stun cannon that takes a college degree of training in order to effectively operate. She draws it, strikes the trigger with her index finger which clacks with violent and intent and then raises eht, "ALRIGHT FECKER YE' STEP BACK WITH THE SHARP-IE THERE OR I'LL MAKE LIKE A WELDER AND FRY YER BALLS TOGETHER!"
Do welders 'fry' things? Siofra doesn't seem to care.
Stumbling back to a more defensive stance once she notices Siofra draw her taser, Juliet gets out of the way of the arcs, scrambling to crouch behind a chair and then grab at something within the confines of her droopy basset hound handbag, keeping her hand inside of it and clutching on for dear life.
Dr. Voss stares down upon the weapon, a snarl crossing his features and a momentary pause as he flicks his glass-eyeball'd gaze between Siofra and Juliet. He takes in a deep breath, straightening up his shoulders. Squaring. It's not just a physical thing, the ghostly being looming taller as the shine of bright surfaces goes from white to bright to glassy, turning the reflection of Siofra into a multi-layered refraction that fills every surface of the room with her current appearance, emphasis on the eyes and the other grotesque, inhuman features, bloated and stretched to a microscopic degree that would even make normal humanity look atrocious. Here it's utterly disgusting.
The surgeon takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his ghostly form a bright light that makes the mirrors shine. "I spent decades - decades! Perfecting the art of human reconstruction. I took the misshapen, the unfortunate, the hopeless - and I made them beautiful. And then you arrive, walking into my domain with your - your formlessness, your disaster of a body, and expect - what? That I should tolerate such a mockery?" He sneers at Juliet.
"The time she changes it should be -now-. I have seen bad face-lifts. I have seen botched rhinoplasties, uneven liposuction, cheek implants that might as well have been done by a blind chimpanzee, but you - " His hand, perfect. Seamless. A rubber glove, carved into the too-smooth design of a human hand as steady in death as it had been in life, gestured up and down at Siofra, his intent gaze on Juliet. Lecturing.
"-She is not simply bad work. She is no work. A waste of flesh, an affront to the very concept of aesthetics. Chaos incarnate, a tumor given sentience. I do not know what mad Fae carved her into this shape, but if they were my student, I would have taken their hands."
"YOU. LACK. CLASS!" Siofra snaps, literally, clacking her teeth- though the sound joins the *TIC* of occasional shocks of energy as her finger jitters on the trigger.
"Ye' cannot know art because yer culture is built on the dull facsimile of creation. WAKE UP, DOSSERS! YER TWO THOUSAND YEARS BEHIND EVEN THE EARLY WORKS OF FLESHFORMING!"
"Yer kind have not seen a twitch of quality petal-work. OH- sooo original to look at a lake and want to see the reflection of the sky! D'ya convey the same tired themes to all yer projects?"
Siofra says "You're a feckin' caaaave paintin- I'm post Renaissance."
Clearly, Juliet should be horrified, but the insults thrown at Siofra, numerous as can be, cause her anger to boil over. Unable to tolerate Dr. Voss' insults any longer, the girl pushes her glasses up by the center and scowls at the ghostly figure, voice raising to a shrill, agitated squeak. "And who the FUCK do you think you are, coming and judging her looks? You looked in a mirror lately, Doc? You look like a wild mongrel fucked a Real Doll made of rotting pork that had been left in the sun for two weeks? Maybe you should FIX YOUR OWN SHIT before you talk about anyone else."
Juliet still, of course, does this cowering from behind the relative safety of a chair.
"Form follows function," SRNovel hisses in relentless anger at Siofra, suddenly turning away from Juliet, that hand not-a-hand glove gripping suddenly around a scalpel that wasn't there to begin with. "Your creators are pathetic. If they were trying to make something aesthetic, they should have gone with beauty. If they were trying to make artistry, they should have gone with -insects-. You - YOU are a failure on all fronts. Too useless to be functional, too counterproductive to be beautiful, and the slapshod design of someone rummaging through the spare parts in their jars and drawers and cramming them into your pathetic meat tube of a body." The knife flicks up. It slashes - a red, oozing line, cutting across Siofra's cheek. "RANDOMNESS does not make ART, and THIS is a failure." And then Juliet catches his attention, the shrill, the pause. Glaring, opening his mouth to say some other contemporary, aristocratic arrogance - and then suddenly the mirror's reflection all turn inwards to him. Shining his current, ghostly appearance. His expression, aghast, raising his hands to cover his face. "No! I - I've spent all my life on this!" He says, almost pleading, as Juliet finds the chink and the hole that Siofra failed to find.
(whoop, repost) "Form follows function," Dr. Voss hisses in relentless anger at Siofra, suddenly turning away from Juliet, that hand not-a-hand glove gripping suddenly around a scalpel that wasn't there to begin with. "Your creators are pathetic. If they were trying to make something aesthetic, they should have gone with beauty. If they were trying to make artistry, they should have gone with -insects-. You - YOU are a failure on all fronts. Too useless to be functional, too counterproductive to be beautiful, and the slapshod design of someone rummaging through the spare parts in their jars and drawers and cramming them into your pathetic meat tube of a body." The knife flicks up. It slashes - a red, oozing line, cutting across Siofra's cheek. "RANDOMNESS does not make ART, and THIS is a failure." And then Juliet catches his attention, the shrill, the pause. Glaring, opening his mouth to say some other contemporary, aristocratic arrogance - and then suddenly the mirror's reflection all turn inwards to him. Shining his current, ghostly appearance. His expression, aghast, raising his hands to cover his face. "No! I - I've spent all my life on this!" He says, almost pleading, as Juliet finds the chink and the hole that Siofra failed to find.
Something flat coils long Siofra 's clavicle and up her throat. A dull red glow inching towards her jaw. "I could make that look in fifteen minutes. "Ohhh, sure- sit there in yer celestial baroque- yer seraphic gauche. GET WITH THE TIMES! I'm human ye' wee fuck- WHY would they portray me with chitinous opulence? I'm not Fae!""
Something flat coils long Siofra 's clavicle and up her throat. A dull red glow inching towards her jaw. "I could make that look in fifteen minutes. -Ohhh, sure- sit there in yer celestial baroque- yer seraphic gauche. GET WITH THE TIMES! I'm human ye' wee fuck- WHY would they portray me with chitinous opulence? I'm not Fae!"
Siofra says "Ye' judge so quick ye' not even TRY to find the art! How can ye' call yerself an artist if ye' judge work across genre?"
There's a pause, a momentary look of shock as Juliet realizes what her words have done, and then her expression cracks into a grin, and she grins over to Siofra before grinding her attention back towards the doctor. "Really, fuckface?" Juliet continues now, trying to press her advantage, coming to stand and crossing her arms, adopting a cocky stance with her hip jutted out. "That's pretty pathetic, what a way to waste your life. Honestly? You should probably take that scalpel and just start from scratch. Cut it all off. What kind of bone structure are you working with anyways? Was probably pretty pathetic if you needed all of that surgery. Gah, all those flabby sacks of silicon sloughing off your body, and you think she's the one who needs a nip and tuck? Why don't you nip and go fuck yourself buddy, right back on to your own plastic surgeon's office!" She glances over to the glow up Siofra's neck a bit sidelong, but keeps focused on insulting the doctor, hoping her tirade is doing... some sort of damage to the specter.
An attempt by Siofra only seems to rile him, his eyes - now the mirrors show some sort of melting blending between the ghost and of Siofra, peeking through the humanity - another, carving line around the nose, around the eyes. The voice hisses out, "You are a failure. A mistake. Something thrown together and then discarded. Neither beauty nor art. There is no message to you other then you are disgusting, and pathetic, neither emphasizing or flattering. The only parts of you that are worth keeping are -original-," Comes the sneer, emphasizing that last word as if it is the deepest insult of all.
And then, the doctor shrinks back from Juliet. The looming, inhumanly large form that was scraping the ceiling, gradually retreating from Juliet. His hands dropping to face himself. As if in response to Juliet, her words, what she's saying, the skin and flesh starting to peel away, revealing layers of rubber and plastic and crawling worms who were coming through the dirt that chewed their way through the artificially of the form to get at the real, rotting insides beneath.
"No..." He protests, weakly. "My work..." The walls gradually returning to normal. Reality reasserting itself, with only the shiny surfaces of Siofra's weapon and the mirrored glow of steel surfaces - but all of them, now, returning the ghost's own appearance, dwindling and dwindling.
"discarded." Siofra repeats in a higher pitch, eyelids straining to hold their space- connected to the second skin above.
"God, how are you even uglier when you're leaving?" Juliet comments and steps closer, more boldly to the fading form of Dr. Voss, glancing over to Siofra with some concern, but not relenting with her slew of insults until every last trace of the ghost is gone from the room. "Go on, get out of here. You can try another facelift, but honestly to get your trainwreck of a face fixed, you're gonna need so many lifts that your eyes will end up up on the sides of your heads and you're gonna have monocular vision like a fucking herbivore." She huffs, looking riled up, focused on the fading image of Dr. Voss with the steely intent to scare him off with mean girl energy.
Siofra recovers from a long day at work, the nine to five showcase of self to a medieval equivalent crowd. The vine curling about her jaw retreats with a pluck, taking a wince from her face with it as it returns to however it stows itself along her back. "Maybe in a few hundred years, he'd have understood."
Gnashing of plastic, rubberized teeth, that go squeak. "Garbage. Garbage is what it is," The mewling creature snaps, shrunked and gnarled into a deflating thing by Juliet, still protesting Siofra's words. "You know you're just... traassssh..." How much of that is directed at Siofra, and how much is projection as it molders and peels and collapses inwards, the limits of human surgery and science spelled out by Juliet's words. The transformation and crumbling further and further before, suddenly - it's gone. Leaving Juliet and Siofra back in the very normal hospital room, with sleeping forms as the hum of the lights and electronics and machinery returns to the realm.
Stillness.
Safe, sane, stillness. But for how long?
Siofra takes out a complimentary rubber glove, folds the electro-thing, compresses it, spins it, and then turns three notches with a whining pitch that ends still before returning it back to its holster. "If I cry it's a lie." She mumbles abruptly.
Siofra says "Deamhans only cry for sympathy so they can make others hurt more."
Juliet pauses for a beat with her fists clenched and her teeth gnashing as she looms over the disapparating pile of surgical detritus, and when she's sure it's gone she rushes over to Siofra's side, bundling her up in a squishy hug. "Fuck 'em. You're alright," she affirms.
Juliet, quick to defend her companion Siofra against the surgeon's contemptuous remarks, embodies courage in the face of fear and ridicule. Her stance is unwavering, standing up against Dr. Voss's archaic notions of beauty and perfection. Siofra, for her part, wields a taser with the ease of a seasoned warrior, her threats laced with a mix of humor and serious intent, challenging Dr. Voss's authority and expertise on aesthetics. Together, they confront the surgeon's grotesque ambitions to reshape the human form according to his twisted vision.
As the altercation intensifies, Dr. Voss reveals his disdain for what he perceives as Siofra's "formlessness" and "disaster of a body," critiquing her very existence as an affront to his life's work. However, Juliet turns the tables on him, her words a sharp dagger to his ego. She mocks his appearance and questions the value of his life’s work, highlighting the futility and vanity of his pursuits.
Siofra, undeterred by Dr. Voss's physical and verbal attacks, counters with a defiance of her own, challenging his narrow understanding of art and beauty. She asserts the value of being human over any contrived notions of perfection that Dr. Voss espouses. Her resilience and refusal to be diminished by him underscore a powerful message of self-acceptance and the subjective nature of beauty.
The tide turns as Juliet's relentless insults force Dr. Voss to confront the monstrousness of his actions and appearance. His defenses crumble, revealing the hollowness of his convictions and the horror of his self-made form. In the face of their courage and unity, Dr. Voss's power wanes, his form disintegrating until nothing but the sterile reality of the hospital room remains.
Juliet and Siofra's victory is a testament to their strength and the futility of Dr. Voss's ideals. As they recover from their ordeal, they share a moment that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit and the power of friendship to overcome darkness. Their experience echoes a broader commentary on the dangers of unchecked vanity and the subjective nature of beauty, leaving a lasting impression of defiance and liberation in the face of societal pressures to conform.
(Neon Hellscape The Devil's Broadcast(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Wed Feb 12 2025]
In hospital room 2
This room is sparsely furnished, the sanitary white walls a perfect match
to the linoleum floor and the thin hospital sheets on the gurney that serves
as a bed. A small television mounted in the upper corner of the room is set
at a low volume, and a thin curtain bisects the room in an effort to afford
privacy to the occupant on the other side.
It is dusk, about 18F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
"Clothes, right!" Juliet agrees with a laugh to Siofra. "Weird ones that LA people wear that don't fly in New England." She waves a hand in the air, as if trying paint a picture, saying "Imagine, feather boas on every--" But there's a pause in her words as she looks to the good doctor, eyes widening. There's fear in her expression, but also, contempt and anger at his words, and she huffs up her chest in a moment of boldness, pointing back over her shoulder to Siofra, eyes fiery as she goes to bat for her friend, voice agitated. "You leave her alone, she's fine just as she is until she says she wants to change it!"
"Siofra or Domino." Siofra quirks calmly as she reaches into her cardigan.
Siofra's hand lands on a little metal device that she pulls up- clicking the safety.
See, a 'taser' is the kind word to describe the piece of god-humbling 250,000 volt stun cannon that takes a college degree of training in order to effectively operate. She draws it, strikes the trigger with her index finger which clacks with violent and intent and then raises eht, "ALRIGHT FECKER YE' STEP BACK WITH THE SHARP-IE THERE OR I'LL MAKE LIKE A WELDER AND FRY YER BALLS TOGETHER!"
Do welders 'fry' things? Siofra doesn't seem to care.
Stumbling back to a more defensive stance once she notices Siofra draw her taser, Juliet gets out of the way of the arcs, scrambling to crouch behind a chair and then grab at something within the confines of her droopy basset hound handbag, keeping her hand inside of it and clutching on for dear life.
Dr. Voss stares down upon the weapon, a snarl crossing his features and a momentary pause as he flicks his glass-eyeball'd gaze between Siofra and Juliet. He takes in a deep breath, straightening up his shoulders. Squaring. It's not just a physical thing, the ghostly being looming taller as the shine of bright surfaces goes from white to bright to glassy, turning the reflection of Siofra into a multi-layered refraction that fills every surface of the room with her current appearance, emphasis on the eyes and the other grotesque, inhuman features, bloated and stretched to a microscopic degree that would even make normal humanity look atrocious. Here it's utterly disgusting.
The surgeon takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his ghostly form a bright light that makes the mirrors shine. "I spent decades - decades! Perfecting the art of human reconstruction. I took the misshapen, the unfortunate, the hopeless - and I made them beautiful. And then you arrive, walking into my domain with your - your formlessness, your disaster of a body, and expect - what? That I should tolerate such a mockery?" He sneers at Juliet.
"The time she changes it should be -now-. I have seen bad face-lifts. I have seen botched rhinoplasties, uneven liposuction, cheek implants that might as well have been done by a blind chimpanzee, but you - " His hand, perfect. Seamless. A rubber glove, carved into the too-smooth design of a human hand as steady in death as it had been in life, gestured up and down at Siofra, his intent gaze on Juliet. Lecturing.
"-She is not simply bad work. She is no work. A waste of flesh, an affront to the very concept of aesthetics. Chaos incarnate, a tumor given sentience. I do not know what mad Fae carved her into this shape, but if they were my student, I would have taken their hands."
"YOU. LACK. CLASS!" Siofra snaps, literally, clacking her teeth- though the sound joins the *TIC* of occasional shocks of energy as her finger jitters on the trigger.
"Ye' cannot know art because yer culture is built on the dull facsimile of creation. WAKE UP, DOSSERS! YER TWO THOUSAND YEARS BEHIND EVEN THE EARLY WORKS OF FLESHFORMING!"
"Yer kind have not seen a twitch of quality petal-work. OH- sooo original to look at a lake and want to see the reflection of the sky! D'ya convey the same tired themes to all yer projects?"
Siofra says "You're a feckin' caaaave paintin- I'm post Renaissance."
Clearly, Juliet should be horrified, but the insults thrown at Siofra, numerous as can be, cause her anger to boil over. Unable to tolerate Dr. Voss' insults any longer, the girl pushes her glasses up by the center and scowls at the ghostly figure, voice raising to a shrill, agitated squeak. "And who the FUCK do you think you are, coming and judging her looks? You looked in a mirror lately, Doc? You look like a wild mongrel fucked a Real Doll made of rotting pork that had been left in the sun for two weeks? Maybe you should FIX YOUR OWN SHIT before you talk about anyone else."
Juliet still, of course, does this cowering from behind the relative safety of a chair.
"Form follows function," SRNovel hisses in relentless anger at Siofra, suddenly turning away from Juliet, that hand not-a-hand glove gripping suddenly around a scalpel that wasn't there to begin with. "Your creators are pathetic. If they were trying to make something aesthetic, they should have gone with beauty. If they were trying to make artistry, they should have gone with -insects-. You - YOU are a failure on all fronts. Too useless to be functional, too counterproductive to be beautiful, and the slapshod design of someone rummaging through the spare parts in their jars and drawers and cramming them into your pathetic meat tube of a body." The knife flicks up. It slashes - a red, oozing line, cutting across Siofra's cheek. "RANDOMNESS does not make ART, and THIS is a failure." And then Juliet catches his attention, the shrill, the pause. Glaring, opening his mouth to say some other contemporary, aristocratic arrogance - and then suddenly the mirror's reflection all turn inwards to him. Shining his current, ghostly appearance. His expression, aghast, raising his hands to cover his face. "No! I - I've spent all my life on this!" He says, almost pleading, as Juliet finds the chink and the hole that Siofra failed to find.
(whoop, repost) "Form follows function," Dr. Voss hisses in relentless anger at Siofra, suddenly turning away from Juliet, that hand not-a-hand glove gripping suddenly around a scalpel that wasn't there to begin with. "Your creators are pathetic. If they were trying to make something aesthetic, they should have gone with beauty. If they were trying to make artistry, they should have gone with -insects-. You - YOU are a failure on all fronts. Too useless to be functional, too counterproductive to be beautiful, and the slapshod design of someone rummaging through the spare parts in their jars and drawers and cramming them into your pathetic meat tube of a body." The knife flicks up. It slashes - a red, oozing line, cutting across Siofra's cheek. "RANDOMNESS does not make ART, and THIS is a failure." And then Juliet catches his attention, the shrill, the pause. Glaring, opening his mouth to say some other contemporary, aristocratic arrogance - and then suddenly the mirror's reflection all turn inwards to him. Shining his current, ghostly appearance. His expression, aghast, raising his hands to cover his face. "No! I - I've spent all my life on this!" He says, almost pleading, as Juliet finds the chink and the hole that Siofra failed to find.
Something flat coils long Siofra 's clavicle and up her throat. A dull red glow inching towards her jaw. "I could make that look in fifteen minutes. "Ohhh, sure- sit there in yer celestial baroque- yer seraphic gauche. GET WITH THE TIMES! I'm human ye' wee fuck- WHY would they portray me with chitinous opulence? I'm not Fae!""
Something flat coils long Siofra 's clavicle and up her throat. A dull red glow inching towards her jaw. "I could make that look in fifteen minutes. -Ohhh, sure- sit there in yer celestial baroque- yer seraphic gauche. GET WITH THE TIMES! I'm human ye' wee fuck- WHY would they portray me with chitinous opulence? I'm not Fae!"
Siofra says "Ye' judge so quick ye' not even TRY to find the art! How can ye' call yerself an artist if ye' judge work across genre?"
There's a pause, a momentary look of shock as Juliet realizes what her words have done, and then her expression cracks into a grin, and she grins over to Siofra before grinding her attention back towards the doctor. "Really, fuckface?" Juliet continues now, trying to press her advantage, coming to stand and crossing her arms, adopting a cocky stance with her hip jutted out. "That's pretty pathetic, what a way to waste your life. Honestly? You should probably take that scalpel and just start from scratch. Cut it all off. What kind of bone structure are you working with anyways? Was probably pretty pathetic if you needed all of that surgery. Gah, all those flabby sacks of silicon sloughing off your body, and you think she's the one who needs a nip and tuck? Why don't you nip and go fuck yourself buddy, right back on to your own plastic surgeon's office!" She glances over to the glow up Siofra's neck a bit sidelong, but keeps focused on insulting the doctor, hoping her tirade is doing... some sort of damage to the specter.
An attempt by Siofra only seems to rile him, his eyes - now the mirrors show some sort of melting blending between the ghost and of Siofra, peeking through the humanity - another, carving line around the nose, around the eyes. The voice hisses out, "You are a failure. A mistake. Something thrown together and then discarded. Neither beauty nor art. There is no message to you other then you are disgusting, and pathetic, neither emphasizing or flattering. The only parts of you that are worth keeping are -original-," Comes the sneer, emphasizing that last word as if it is the deepest insult of all.
And then, the doctor shrinks back from Juliet. The looming, inhumanly large form that was scraping the ceiling, gradually retreating from Juliet. His hands dropping to face himself. As if in response to Juliet, her words, what she's saying, the skin and flesh starting to peel away, revealing layers of rubber and plastic and crawling worms who were coming through the dirt that chewed their way through the artificially of the form to get at the real, rotting insides beneath.
"No..." He protests, weakly. "My work..." The walls gradually returning to normal. Reality reasserting itself, with only the shiny surfaces of Siofra's weapon and the mirrored glow of steel surfaces - but all of them, now, returning the ghost's own appearance, dwindling and dwindling.
"discarded." Siofra repeats in a higher pitch, eyelids straining to hold their space- connected to the second skin above.
"God, how are you even uglier when you're leaving?" Juliet comments and steps closer, more boldly to the fading form of Dr. Voss, glancing over to Siofra with some concern, but not relenting with her slew of insults until every last trace of the ghost is gone from the room. "Go on, get out of here. You can try another facelift, but honestly to get your trainwreck of a face fixed, you're gonna need so many lifts that your eyes will end up up on the sides of your heads and you're gonna have monocular vision like a fucking herbivore." She huffs, looking riled up, focused on the fading image of Dr. Voss with the steely intent to scare him off with mean girl energy.
Siofra recovers from a long day at work, the nine to five showcase of self to a medieval equivalent crowd. The vine curling about her jaw retreats with a pluck, taking a wince from her face with it as it returns to however it stows itself along her back. "Maybe in a few hundred years, he'd have understood."
Gnashing of plastic, rubberized teeth, that go squeak. "Garbage. Garbage is what it is," The mewling creature snaps, shrunked and gnarled into a deflating thing by Juliet, still protesting Siofra's words. "You know you're just... traassssh..." How much of that is directed at Siofra, and how much is projection as it molders and peels and collapses inwards, the limits of human surgery and science spelled out by Juliet's words. The transformation and crumbling further and further before, suddenly - it's gone. Leaving Juliet and Siofra back in the very normal hospital room, with sleeping forms as the hum of the lights and electronics and machinery returns to the realm.
Stillness.
Safe, sane, stillness. But for how long?
Siofra takes out a complimentary rubber glove, folds the electro-thing, compresses it, spins it, and then turns three notches with a whining pitch that ends still before returning it back to its holster. "If I cry it's a lie." She mumbles abruptly.
Siofra says "Deamhans only cry for sympathy so they can make others hurt more."
Juliet pauses for a beat with her fists clenched and her teeth gnashing as she looms over the disapparating pile of surgical detritus, and when she's sure it's gone she rushes over to Siofra's side, bundling her up in a squishy hug. "Fuck 'em. You're alright," she affirms.