dear_mun | (no subject)

(no subject)

This isn't a problem you can fix with surgery. I don't think you can cut away anything that's happened and make it better. [his tone turns scornful] After everything that's happened you should know that.

There's no flesh to make clean, no tumor to excise (and you'd know all about tumors being removed.) ...GeneCo doesn't have a really positive mental health department.

So I can't offer you anything in particular except what you seem to have figured out. Or what you seem to be close to working out. It's clear you need more control if you still respond that way.

That's not to say you can't learn it.

And what better time to learn it then now?

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Um. Just so you know. There's probably, like. Not any problem that can be fixed with surgery. I mean...short of an actual, real medical problem.

...Does GeneCo even take care of those anymore?

[snort] I think she's coming to realize that. Maybe. We can hope. Society makes people want a quick-and-easy solution by nature so that people can get what they need faster. It's been my experience a lot of people take that as opposed to working out their problems and wanting more then just "this fixes things temporarily." [beat] I can hope that's finally been driven home.

[The man raises an eyebrow. His first instinct is to say "No." His second is to give the party line response and say "GeneCo can and will assist you."]

If they do it's not my department. [snort] Nor is it widely broadcasted.

[A nice compromise between the two.]

There's no such thing as a good temporary fix. Or, at least, not through GeneCo.

[Headtilt.] Your department? Oh. You're not a doctor.

[wry look] some of the new organs...

[He makes a thoughtful face] I was when I was in the military. I shifted professions...awhile ago.

[Eyeroll.] Right, because designer insides are totally necessary.

[...Oh. We know that kind of a story.] Hm. I don't suppose you knew my dad, then.

If your outside's ugly people seem to think having your inside pretty makes things different.

[he frowns] Your dad's a GeneCo Sawbones?

That kinda thinking probably means your "insides" are going to be ugly, no matter what you do.

Um. He was. And then he was something else. And now he's dead.

...In the beginning.. [he hesitates.] Well, from what I can remember nobody really focused on the inside aspect of it? People would get worried about you know, tumors and organs failing but it was this huge... [shrug] deal to get on a transplant list or even be considered for that kind of thing.

Then the plague happened and things like that became easy and people were saved but they didn't really learn anything. They came to equate getting a new.. [he waves a hand] insert whatever you want meant they were being fixed and that they didn't have to be scared anymore.

[He looks distant] ...something about coming back from death really cahnges people. I mean coming back from a really bad situation. You can either rise to the challenge and say [his voice is firm] "No, this isn't me. This isn't the person I want to be." Or you can cling to things and never believe you're meant for something better. And people are meant for better things. The depths that people can sink to..

[His gaze goes distant. The thousand yard stare. He's buried in battlefields, dug in trenches, the things he's seen and done.]

People chose to fall. They chose to make those choices. But they can also chose to rise above it and believe that they're meant for something more then just scrambling at GeneCo like rats on a sinking ship.

[he pauses] And there's a way too adult rant for you. I teach. Sorry. Classes at the local martial arts school in my spare time.

I mean the plague hit everyone. If you assume that ten percent of the population rose above it and decided that they wanted to be better and that they weren't scared of death and that they really wanted to live their lives and not be enamored in their own petty bullshit?...those people are already dead and that leaves 90 percent of the population dumber then a sack of fucking rocks.

[Quiet. That kind of language and tone. He recognizes it.] ...Which one was he? One of the people afraid or one of the people who decided to fight?

[Oh. A lecture. A propaganda lecture? That's what she's bracing for. That's what you get out of GeneCo employees. If you get anything out of them, at all. She folds her arms, almost like a huffy teenager...but she lets him finish.]

I know. [About all of that? ...Well, sort of.] I mean, I know about NOS, I had history lessons, too. But you can't put this all on scared people, when GeneCo became...you know, what it is.

My dad was afraid. Probably for his whole life, but mostly after my mom died.

...I'm sorry about your dad.

[Beat] Mostly your mom. Dads are shit. Ridiculous fucking shit.

Thanks. I guess I'm not that sorry, so I feel less...sick, less bad if someone else is.

I'm sorrier for my mom, too. Everything would have been different, with her.

That's usually how it goes.

[And then he tries to be encouraging.] Hey, you're-what- [he glances] ...seventeen? eighteen?

Time to leave. Just head on out of there, join up with friends, go to school, or join the military. That's what I did to get away from my dad.

[Actually his dad raised a hand to him that last time and he...nearly killed him and ran off. Don't do that Shilo.]

Seventeen. I don't...really have anywhere to go, yet. [Or any way of getting there...or any practical knowledge of...anything to use, once out of familiar territory.]

[Little snort.] I don't...think I'm really cut out for the military.

. . . You got somebody with you? I joined up with a guy. I watched his back and he watched mine. It makes it easier when you're out there and you don't know anybody.

Yeah, I guess I...sorta joined up with a guy, too. He's sort of the only person I have left.

[His brow furrows but he nods. Slowly.]

...Even if it's just one person that person can make the world shine for you. [beat] I mean making it on your own is tough but as long as you have one individual other people will follow. Blind faith from one single person attracts attention.

...Did that first line sound like something out of an opera to you? I've been working downtown and I think I might have had it stuck in my head.

I wouldn't call what I get...blind faith, exactly. But...it's probably the right kind of support I need, right now.

[And a little smile.] I guess everything sort of sounds like an opera, on the Island.

[That makes him laugh.] ...You're probably too young to remember movies. [wistful] ...I miss movies. I mean the dramatic nature of life that can't...I dunno, I've dated a couple of opera extras. All that singing. Movies had their own charm and quality. everything wasn't "life or death"

I know what movies are, I have video tapes. I mean, not many, but some.

But...I like operas. I like the singing. Or. I used to. When it was Mag doing the singing...

[He looks down]

...I have to admit I liked her in Aida. I only caught half of her last performance.

Well, she was good in everything.

Until she had to kill herself to get away from GeneCo and my dad. ...But I guess she was even good at that.

[He saw that performance (who didn't?) he saw that performance and...]

Your father was the repo man.

[The Repo man? The ONLY repo man. His colleagues looked up to him. he was...]

Yeah. I guess a lot of people knew him that way.

I hope things get better for you and your mun, sir. -Mine seems to recognize you from somewhere, though. And beg pardon, but what's a "GeneCo"?

Really?

[this could be a loaded thing] I know I look like a cop and some musician, but beyond that..

[pause] Geneco...is. That's like trying to ask about the Vatican or...It's a company that sells organs.

[The last part is said rather quickly.]

I don't think it's from either of those. And there was a woman up here... I think her name started with an I...?

[...Okay, that last bit earns a dismayed expression. What.]

It- what?1

...Irene?

[He knows that name. Oh god. Irene. He freezes like a deer in front of an oncoming truck.]

They sell organs.

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