Georgia Carolyn Mason (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
choosetruth) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entranceway2017-04-19 12:01 am
choosetruth) wrote in entranceway2017-04-19 12:01 am
action/video } from Ace of Spades, the Wonderland blog of Georgia Mason, entry #6
Action
Georgia steps out of the wood, barefoot, ready to make what excuses she needs to and… stops. Dr. Thomas is nowhere in sight, and this definitely isn't the CDC biodome she was in before. Anyone observing would find it hard to recognize her. She looks so different from the girl she was before. Skinny to the point of malnourished, dressed in white, CDC-issued pajamas, her hair, short again at least, thank fuck, is streaked patchy with bleach instead of dyed back to her natural color. And then there are her eyes, clear brown instead of flat and black, unprotected by sunglasses even in the afternoon sunlight, and she's not flinching from the brightness. Still, there's a certain determination to her scowl that's familiar enough, even if the rest is wrong.
A mix of emotions lance through her as she looks around. An initial burst of fear of what they'll do to her if they catch her not where she's supposed to be. Annoyance at the fear. She's Georgia Mason, dammit, being where she's not supposed to be is something she's good at. Relief at the thought that maybe, no matter how impossible it seems, she's somehow managed to escape. Confusion, since people don't just turn around and find themselves escaped from secure facilities.
And over all of those a creeping, almost disturbing sense of familiarity. She knows this place. She didn't seconds before, but all the memories are rushing back to her in a burst of almost confusing intensity. Wonderland. Her heart starts hammering, the impossibility of the situation melting away in the face of a far more important realization. Shaun's here.
She pulls the tiny ceramic gun from her waistband. It fits into her hand like it was made for her, which it likely was, as she stalks purposefully towards the mansion. She misses her fucked up eyes more than she ever thought possible, and more than that, misses her sunglasses. It's so much harder to mask her emotions, to keep herself from looking wide-eyed with the fear still racing through her veins, with her face naked and her eyes so fucking expressive. She marches forward, gun pointed down, but ready to raise it at a moment's notice. She has to get to the mansion. She has to get to Shaun. She has to warn him.
Video
[Georgia doesn't address the network until later, when she's had a chance to clean up. Her hair's dyed back to its usual dark brown. She has a black blazer over a white shirt, a few sizes smaller than she's used to, but they look like her clothes. She has shoes and she's seriously debating sleeping in them. And she has sunglasses, wrapping the world back in its usual comforting monotone and hiding her far too normal eyes. She looks like herself again. She nods as the recording starts.]
My name is Georgia Mason, and I can tell you for a fact that I have never been here before in my life.
[She shakes her head, holding up a hand.]
I have never been here before, and yet I remember everything. I remember space. I remember wizard school. I remember paintball and New Year's parties and writing op-eds that pissed people off and actually starting a print publication.
[It's almost comforting that she feels the same amount of disdain for print. Anything that's the same about her is something to cling to. She takes a deep breath before continuing.]
I remember a lot of things that didn't happen to me. Up to and including, my brother holding a gun to the base of my skull and shooting me before I could turn into a zombie. I know that didn't happen to me because that's not the sort of thing you live through. Those are all things that happened to Georgia Mason and I--
[She smiles shallowly, almost sadly, and forces herself to keep looking at the camera. Not like anyone can see where her eyes are pointing through the sunglasses, but it's important to her that she stays strong.]
I'm the closest thing you're gonna get. I'm a genetically identical clone with 97% of her memories, and how the fuck that can include Wonderland when I didn't remember it at the time of my death is one of many things about this place that will never make sense to me. It's up to you to decide if I still count as her. I don't know how to be anyone else.
[She adjusts her sunglasses, leaning in towards the camera and adds, in an entirely pleasant and matter-of-fact tone:]
Now. Can anyone tell me where the fuck my brother wound up? His stuff's still here, but he's not answering his phone. If Wonderland was seriously enough of an asshole to take him away before I got back, I'm going to start setting things on fire until I get him back.
[She reaches to turn off the camera, then hesitates. Nothing matters as much as finding Shaun, but that doesn't mean nothing else matters. She's Georgia Mason, for better or for worse, and she has a paper to run.]
Until I find him, address all queries about The Shattered Mirror to me. Thank you.
[She cuts the feed. Now she gets to wait. She's held herself together this long. She can manage another week. Fuck she hopes it's not more than a week.]
Georgia steps out of the wood, barefoot, ready to make what excuses she needs to and… stops. Dr. Thomas is nowhere in sight, and this definitely isn't the CDC biodome she was in before. Anyone observing would find it hard to recognize her. She looks so different from the girl she was before. Skinny to the point of malnourished, dressed in white, CDC-issued pajamas, her hair, short again at least, thank fuck, is streaked patchy with bleach instead of dyed back to her natural color. And then there are her eyes, clear brown instead of flat and black, unprotected by sunglasses even in the afternoon sunlight, and she's not flinching from the brightness. Still, there's a certain determination to her scowl that's familiar enough, even if the rest is wrong.
A mix of emotions lance through her as she looks around. An initial burst of fear of what they'll do to her if they catch her not where she's supposed to be. Annoyance at the fear. She's Georgia Mason, dammit, being where she's not supposed to be is something she's good at. Relief at the thought that maybe, no matter how impossible it seems, she's somehow managed to escape. Confusion, since people don't just turn around and find themselves escaped from secure facilities.
And over all of those a creeping, almost disturbing sense of familiarity. She knows this place. She didn't seconds before, but all the memories are rushing back to her in a burst of almost confusing intensity. Wonderland. Her heart starts hammering, the impossibility of the situation melting away in the face of a far more important realization. Shaun's here.
She pulls the tiny ceramic gun from her waistband. It fits into her hand like it was made for her, which it likely was, as she stalks purposefully towards the mansion. She misses her fucked up eyes more than she ever thought possible, and more than that, misses her sunglasses. It's so much harder to mask her emotions, to keep herself from looking wide-eyed with the fear still racing through her veins, with her face naked and her eyes so fucking expressive. She marches forward, gun pointed down, but ready to raise it at a moment's notice. She has to get to the mansion. She has to get to Shaun. She has to warn him.
Video
[Georgia doesn't address the network until later, when she's had a chance to clean up. Her hair's dyed back to its usual dark brown. She has a black blazer over a white shirt, a few sizes smaller than she's used to, but they look like her clothes. She has shoes and she's seriously debating sleeping in them. And she has sunglasses, wrapping the world back in its usual comforting monotone and hiding her far too normal eyes. She looks like herself again. She nods as the recording starts.]
My name is Georgia Mason, and I can tell you for a fact that I have never been here before in my life.
[She shakes her head, holding up a hand.]
I have never been here before, and yet I remember everything. I remember space. I remember wizard school. I remember paintball and New Year's parties and writing op-eds that pissed people off and actually starting a print publication.
[It's almost comforting that she feels the same amount of disdain for print. Anything that's the same about her is something to cling to. She takes a deep breath before continuing.]
I remember a lot of things that didn't happen to me. Up to and including, my brother holding a gun to the base of my skull and shooting me before I could turn into a zombie. I know that didn't happen to me because that's not the sort of thing you live through. Those are all things that happened to Georgia Mason and I--
[She smiles shallowly, almost sadly, and forces herself to keep looking at the camera. Not like anyone can see where her eyes are pointing through the sunglasses, but it's important to her that she stays strong.]
I'm the closest thing you're gonna get. I'm a genetically identical clone with 97% of her memories, and how the fuck that can include Wonderland when I didn't remember it at the time of my death is one of many things about this place that will never make sense to me. It's up to you to decide if I still count as her. I don't know how to be anyone else.
[She adjusts her sunglasses, leaning in towards the camera and adds, in an entirely pleasant and matter-of-fact tone:]
Now. Can anyone tell me where the fuck my brother wound up? His stuff's still here, but he's not answering his phone. If Wonderland was seriously enough of an asshole to take him away before I got back, I'm going to start setting things on fire until I get him back.
[She reaches to turn off the camera, then hesitates. Nothing matters as much as finding Shaun, but that doesn't mean nothing else matters. She's Georgia Mason, for better or for worse, and she has a paper to run.]
Until I find him, address all queries about The Shattered Mirror to me. Thank you.
[She cuts the feed. Now she gets to wait. She's held herself together this long. She can manage another week. Fuck she hopes it's not more than a week.]
no subject
[Anything else is too much like leaning on someone else, and she doesn't do that. Not now that she's back to looking like herself and has the choice.]
I'm sure he'll contact me as soon as he gets here, but just in case he can't for some reason. Doesn't hurt to look.
no subject
Then I will. Shouldn't be too hard--you two seem to make a splash wherever you go.
For now, are you all right? Physically, I mean. From what you've described, I have expect you to pull the camera back and be missing an arm.
no subject
I'm fine. Don't worry, I'm far too big an investment for them to damage me before they've wrung every bit of data from me they can.
no subject
Well, that's a relief. That they didn't hack you into little pieces, that is. Not the lab rat part. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're locked up in a bigger prison with a better bedside manner.
[Only people who've been caged in worse conditions than this get prison humor.]
no subject
[Or if she had Shaun with her. If--when Shaun gets back, it won't matter anymore. She'll have him, she'll be home.
But they've already been over that.]
But yeah, I'm glad too. As glad as I get, anyway.
no subject
[Centers for Disease Control or a cult with an easy-to-pronounce acronym? He wouldn't at all be surprised if it were the latter, since you can't seem to throw a stone without hitting one in Thedas.]
no subject
[There's an edge to her voice, the same one that sometimes shows up when she's talking about her parents. The world is a complicated place, and nothing ever fits into supposed to as neatly as it should. She's known this her entire life, but this has never stopped her from trying to force the world to be a little more like it should.
It didn't work with her parents. It won't work with the CDC either.]
no subject
Yes, well. It seems to be an unfortunate trend that entities serving in the name of good tend to do more good for themselves than the people they serve.
But when they cloned you, it appears they cloned your refusal to stand there and take it, too.
[It's a compliment.]