sargafust
Hurricane Drunk
"My name's Harlow. Kosakowski. Don't have a middle name, though," she said directing it to Keethan. "I'm not really new here, Aria knows me, but I suppose the rest of you don't. I used to be in a different building, which was so much nicer, for real, it had flowers and other bullshit like that, but then they realized I'm not like the rest of them over there, so I got sent here. Not that you asked."
Harlow stretched her arms and yawned. Now that she was free to move again, she was reminded of that tube she was strapped into for a couple of tests, making her shapeshift against her will nonstop. That man, Dr. Talbot explained what the machine did, but Harlow just went on talking over him about her favorite painter (who was Van Gogh, by the way). But as procedure began, her voice didn't work anymore, like her vocal chords were forcibly held down. It only made her want to talk even more.
It was how you got to be noticed and given affection to in orphanages and foster homes; you had to be the loudest of the bunch.
She turned to Aria and started getting even more suspicious of her. This girl was way too nice to be trusted. What if she was some kind of spy of the institute to uncover what they thought and what they planned. She felt ridiculous thinking that of course, because who would do that? But still, she decided to be vary of her. "Thanks, that's great. I just hope they haven't done any permanent damage and make my brain into liquid or something."
Harlow observed as Isabelle back into the corner of the small, dingy room, smelling of metal and dust. She wanted to say something, but whatever phrase came to her mind, she recognized as unhelpful and mean, when look at that girl, she was half out of her mind with misery. So she opted to talk more about solutions, than rude remarks and comments. "You know, if only we could get that door open somehow, maybe we had some chance of escaping. This can't go on any longer."
As she said it, the guards had another person thrown in, wretched and meager. "Well, hello there, glad you joined us. Hopefully, our margaritas will be here soon enough." She tried to flash a comforting smile to let her know she was only joking, but she wasn't sure it got through.
Harlow stretched her arms and yawned. Now that she was free to move again, she was reminded of that tube she was strapped into for a couple of tests, making her shapeshift against her will nonstop. That man, Dr. Talbot explained what the machine did, but Harlow just went on talking over him about her favorite painter (who was Van Gogh, by the way). But as procedure began, her voice didn't work anymore, like her vocal chords were forcibly held down. It only made her want to talk even more.
It was how you got to be noticed and given affection to in orphanages and foster homes; you had to be the loudest of the bunch.
She turned to Aria and started getting even more suspicious of her. This girl was way too nice to be trusted. What if she was some kind of spy of the institute to uncover what they thought and what they planned. She felt ridiculous thinking that of course, because who would do that? But still, she decided to be vary of her. "Thanks, that's great. I just hope they haven't done any permanent damage and make my brain into liquid or something."
Harlow observed as Isabelle back into the corner of the small, dingy room, smelling of metal and dust. She wanted to say something, but whatever phrase came to her mind, she recognized as unhelpful and mean, when look at that girl, she was half out of her mind with misery. So she opted to talk more about solutions, than rude remarks and comments. "You know, if only we could get that door open somehow, maybe we had some chance of escaping. This can't go on any longer."
As she said it, the guards had another person thrown in, wretched and meager. "Well, hello there, glad you joined us. Hopefully, our margaritas will be here soon enough." She tried to flash a comforting smile to let her know she was only joking, but she wasn't sure it got through.
Last edited: