beyond the cheap coloured lights ) open

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Claire stood by the empty swimming pool; all the actives were in their dormitories by now, or at least supposed to be, but nobody had arrived yet to clean it (at least, she assumed there were people to clean it – she’d never seen anybody around but the Dollhouse was always spotless). She’d turned off the main lights when she’d come in, not wanting the luminescent glare to give her a headache, so the area was lit only by the spotlights in the pool itself. They gave the room a blue glow and the reflections of the water on the walls shimmered. Claire thought it was very pretty, but she’d not come here to look at the lights; she rarely indulged in something so fanciful. Claire had both her feet firmly on the ground, and it was something that she was grateful for; with things being as they were in the world outside, it would have been so easy to get caught up in rumours and ghost stories that you heard so many times you thought they were true. Claire didn’t care about the impending apocalypse – or maybe it was the current apocalypse now, she wasn’t entirely sure – because they were safe in here. That had been made sure of, a hundred times over. In the event of some major disaster, the Dollhouses had all been designed to keep the people inside them safe. Worrying about the present was more than enough for her; what-ifs and the like only served to increase paranoia and raise the chance of mental breakdowns. Claire had already had one of those this decade, thank you very much; she didn’t want another one. And so she focussed on her job; she did it well, and as long as she continued to do it well, she didn’t feel under threat of being wiped and sent back to her doll state – there were no other medical doctors in the facility. She might be an imprint, but she was the best they had. It was quite a nice feeling, to be needed.

But even Claire, who was a self-confessed workaholic, couldn’t work forever; she needed some downtime too. Sometimes she curled up with a book in the corner of her office, or out in the main area, sometimes she spent time with some of her colleagues, and sometimes…sometimes she just wandered. It wasn’t something that she’d ever done before; Claire had always been content to stay in her little part of the Dollhouse. She’d almost lived in her office, in fact, and her bedroom, tucked away beyond the actives’ dormitories, had only been made more home-like by the books that were dotted around it; she couldn’t leave her work behind, even when she was supposed to be off-duty, and the files and reports in there had been ever-changing. But now she was different. It was subtle, and probably not noticeable to most people (Topher probably would have noticed, except that she still avoided him like the plague, and did everything she could not to engage him in conversation even when she was giving him his medication), but Claire knew she was different. She wasn’t just Claire Saunders anymore, the serious, reclusive doctor who tended to the actives and avoided everyone else; she was Whiskey too. And she was holding on to who she was with everything that she had – Claire did not want to die – but knowing that she was a doll had definitely changed her. In general, she thought it had been for the better.

Whiskey liked swimming. All the actives did, of course, but Claire remembered that specifically; she’d been good at a lot of things, but she’d liked swimming almost as much as she enjoyed cutting bonsai trees. She didn’t like that anymore, though; the very idea of those shears was enough to make Claire shy away from the art room altogether. Sometimes, it was bad enough just looking at her tray of medical instruments, and seeing the scalpels there. She needed them, but they were still sharp blades; they gave Claire the chills. Standing here, though, she felt relaxed, or as relaxed as anyone could be at the knowledge that they might be the only people left alive – the fact that she might never see blue skies again didn’t worry Claire. She’d never liked being outside, anyway. She clutched her clipboard to her chest (she rarely went anywhere without it; it was almost a security blanket, if she’d felt the need for such things) and stared at the water. She was glad that she wasn’t Whiskey entirely…but things were simpler when you were a doll. Sometimes she missed things being simple.

[X-RAY]

Criss, or X-Ray as he was here, knew the drill well by now. Nearly two years of 'service' in the Dollhouse. He was suppose to be asleep. This place, this house was all he remembered but for the scattered faded memories of his sister. It seemed like a dream, all of this here now in the Dollhouse and his old life it could remember which was real. So as he lay there in the silence of his bed as always thoughts ran in his mind. Many different ones, though it all he was tired but mind would not sleep. Laying there in his pajamas he was quite so no-one would know that he was awake. But Criss being a man who needed action wouldn't be able to linger in the silence not moving for long. Even with fading images flashing in his mind of his sister he couldn't be amuse by that alone. No he need action. He longed for it. With everything as it was now he would have loved it, if he weren't a doll. Criss had no clue what really went on in the world outside the Dollhouse. No concept of the dangers outside these spotlessly clean walls. The silence was almost deafening this time of nite. He couldn't stand the silence, right now even the constant string of music in his mind wouldn't please him. No he couldn't stand the lonely feeling of the long hours of darkness. Even the clinging to the distant pieces he remembered weren't enough to drown out the lonely feeling washing over him. To him he was asleep somehow, trapped in a dream that he couldn't wake from. No matter how hard he tried.

He couldn't stand the stillness any longer, he had to get up to move around. Though he knew the rules, right now his stubborn streak bleed into him and he just didn't care. He'd gotten out of bed before, so it wasn't to bad for him to be awake, at least depending who he ran into. Reaching up he put his hand to the glass over his head, pushing at it lightly he slid the glass back quietly. It moved back easily and Criss climbed out without trouble. Before turning he slid the glass back sealing his chamber, then stood up to his full height. All six feet six inches of it. With his icy blue eyes looking around him he walked silently around on his bare feet. With no true idea where he was going he just walked along. Though the thought crossed his head to go for a swim. He liked swimming. That was where he was mostly, the bonsai trees didn't amuse him. Only swimming and magic, he loved magic. The thought seemed to win over his steps and slowly lead him towards the pool. The thought of the cool water on his skin, and the relaxing feel of the water on his muscles amused him, that sounded good to him. Much better than the loneliness in his bed there in the darkness. No he didn't want that, he liked dark but when it was alone too he couldn't deal.

It was dark, the whole house was bathed in the darkness and Criss liked it. Only the dim lights enough to see his steps lit his way, were seen dotting the halls. He took his sweet time there was no rush. No need to be in a hurry to get anywhere. He was simply happy for the movement, it wasn't exactly action but it was better than laying alone in the silence. Oh how he hated being alone. There was no feeling like it that he hated more, except maybe boredom. But it was a close tie if anything. His slow steps took him around every hallway he could, stalling he wasted time walking to the pool. There was no rush, and no sure thing that he'd go there his mind could change before he reached it. But he did end up there, finally his steps brought him, walking through the door quietly he blinked looking rather shocked to see someone there this late. Staring at her back he knew who it was, Dr. Saunders. Though part of him still wanted to swim, his desire not to be alone, was okay with her presence there. Still though, Criss said nothing at first he just stood there watching her, his head tipped to the side slightly. His gaze shifted from her back to the water, even empty it moved, crystal clear and translucent he could see the floor and the opposite walls. Still he was silent saying nothing just staring into the water. Dr. Saunders forgotten as he looked deeply into the water almost unblinking.

....

OCC :
I saw your thread open.. ^^ I just 'came back' .. hope you don't mind lil' ol' me.

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[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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It was always surprising to Claire how well she could function on very little sleep; there was always so much work for her to do – a doctor never stopped working, even when there were no more assignments, especially now that the actives were becoming (and being allowed to become) self-aware and needed their mental health monitored closely – and she could almost guarantee that the moment she lay down for the first good eight hour sleep she’d had in weeks, there would be some crisis or other that she’d have to go and see to; as if it wasn’t enough that she was the only medical doctor onsite, barring any dolls that they imprinted temporarily, Claire had found herself as one of the senior staff members, overseeing imprints when Topher wasn’t up to it and having to attend some of the most boring meetings about keeping things safe. It was pretty obvious, as far as she was concerned; don’t let anyone in, don’t let anyone else, don’t use technology even though things are supposed to be safe. The only computers still running were those that ran the chair, and even those were on only when necessary. Perhaps it was safer that way, but Claire knew her job would have been a whole lot easier if she’d still been allowed to use her computer; doing everything by hand took three times as long, and it made record-keeping far more difficult. How anyone had ever survived before the invention of computers was something that she couldn’t remember; it seemed impossible. She just knew that it was unlikely anyone would trust them again, if indeed there was a time when this wasn’t it – there was the likelihood that the people inside the Dollhouse were now the only ones who were either in possession of their own minds or had volunteered to be imprinted and were being treated how they were meant to be treated. Claire didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to poke her head up in the outside world to see. If there were people who weren’t imprinted left, then…well, people could be very resourceful when they had to be. They weren’t her concern; the people in here were.

And there were a lot of them to be concerned about, from a medical perspective if nothing else. Claire rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, stifling a yawn; perhaps she was tired, after all. She had no need to be on duty now, so perhaps once she’d finished contemplating (or was it wishing? Remembering?), she’d see if she could drop off for a few hours. Other than the fact that she had a lot of work to do, Claire was also finding it rather difficult to get off to sleep lately, and without resorting to the use of sedatives, which she really did not wish to do, it made more sense to be doing something rather than simply lying awake in bed, wishing that she could sleep. It would make sense, then, for her to take advantage of her tiredness, because she knew the dangers of going too long without sleep; however, Claire didn’t quite want to leave the swimming pool area yet. She felt more calm here than she had for a long time elsewhere, and she certainly wouldn’t find it this quiet during the day. She was so busy, with examinations and reports and meetings and stock-taking and God knew what else that it was nice for her to – just for a short while – simply be. Nobody was making demands on her, nobody was expecting her to do anything; she could be whoever she wanted down here. A part of her wanted to be Whiskey, to dive right in and do laps – to try and beat her record – but Claire knew she wasn’t Whiskey. Whiskey was part of her, but she couldn’t simply be the active; she’d have been the same if she’d never found out who she really was – Whiskey simply wasn’t who she was. Claire knew exactly who that was, even if nobody else could wrap their head around it.

Behind her, the door to the pool opened, but Claire didn’t turn round just yet; she’d talk if they wanted to, but she also wanted to maintain the illusion of tranquillity for just a moment longer. It wasn’t very often that you found somewhere quiet, other than at night; the actives weren’t loud by default, but they weren’t silent either. Even shutting herself in her office didn’t get rid of all noise. Eventually, however, the person came nearer and Claire couldn’t ignore them any longer; she wasn’t a huge fan of company, but she didn’t like people being near and not knowing who they were either. Clutching her clipboard to her chest, she turned round, and breathed a sigh of relief; it was an active. Even those who were remembering were easier to deal with than the rest of her colleagues. “Hello, X-Ray,” she said, her voice automatically the soothing tone that they’d been trained to use around the dolls, just as they’d been taught stock phrases that they would respond to without hesitation. Once, she would have gently suggested that he go back to bed, but it wasn’t so easy anymore; they weren’t dolls anymore, they were becoming people, and though the old rules still applied, treating them like children wasn’t always the best way of getting a response – Claire was actually writing a report on this observation at the moment, or at least she was when she wasn’t staring at the swimming pool. “Can you not sleep?”

[X-RAY]

Sleep was a strange thing for Criss often times it was pleagued with dreams and strange hallucinations that he couldn't quite figure out which was real and which wasn't. Sleep didn't come easy for him either. It was as if he feared it almost like a child. But reality it was the feeling of being alone that scared him. Closeing his eyes meant eveything went dark an it was just him. He didn't like that feeling. Maybe it was him becoming more self-aware, or just the scattered parts of his past echoing in his mind that made him squirm in the dark. Either way he found himself laying awake more often than he slept. He dreamed still, and thought of what was 'out there'. When he was on a mission he didn't stop and stare so much. He did only what he was programed and told to do. But he remembered each person he'd been, though none made sense. He just knew he had a different name and personality he wasn't even sure he knew his real name anymore. He'd been called X-Ray for so long he didn't know any name for sure, but his sister's Lamia. That name he knew for sure. But everything else, was like a computer, the files where in the recycle bin there, but somehow he didn't have access to them anymore. They were forgotten and locked away unwillingly. He was but an empty shell of himself, but his mind still functioned trying to process what he knew, or thought he knew. He long for a time when he might find the way back to those memories, or a way out. Though the thought of leaving the Dollhouse for real, when not imprinted scared him, almost as much as being alone.

There had been more time in the chair lately. More wakeing up wondering 'Did I fall asleep?' But not remembering a dream. Feeling only like he'd blacked out and knew nothing. It became so frequent now that he didn't always ask 'Did I fall asleep' He gave Topher or whoever was around a confused look and got up and left. Things in the Dollhouse were beginning to fall apart for him, and for others he suspected. There was something going on and he couldn't place what. Criss wanted to know, but his mind wouldn't let him, just like he wouldn't let his mind sleep, unless it forced it. It was then that he was the last one out of his bed even after the glass slid back he stayed there as long as he could until someone noticed him. But most of the time he got up. He walked about or went for a swim until someone came for him for an engaement. It seemed only outside of the Dollhouse was he ever out of the darkness. But in here he didn't know himself. Criss wasn't quite as self-aware it as the others. Still he was controled by the Dollhouse, it scattered his thoughts real and programed. He didn't know who he really was anymore, he felt trapped as if he was underwater. No matter how hard to tried to break the surface everything else pulled him back down.

Criss tried to be quiet, and he didn't know anyone else was here, only when he saw her. Still he didn't speak. Criss didn't know what to say, and like Dr. Saunders he wanted the silence. Yet didn't want the alone feeling. He would have been happy with it quiet, just to know there was another person he trusted near by put him at ease. Criss like all the dolls trusted the Dollhouse staff, they were programed to yes, but still. He felt safe around them, and around her. Dr. Saunders wouldn't rat him out for being awake. She was nice, quiet sometimes, but nice. He liked that. Topher talked to much, Cris could never understand him and DeWitt she was kind of grouchy, he was almost afraid of her at times. Criss blinked looking from the water to Dr. Saunders, he smiled at her. "Hello Dr. Saunders." He replied in his heavy Russian accent, that lingered on his tongue. Left to him perhaps because people liked other languages. Criss was glad to still have it, the accent sounded right to him. As he stood there watching her now he was glad she didn't suggest he go back to bed. He didn't want to sleep, still he knew the rules, even if it seemed there was more freedom in some ways within the house. If she'd told him to go back to bed he have listened. Shaking his head in a 'no' he answered her, "No.. to many thoughts." Came the reply, but he added, "You're not sleeping either.." His tone was respectful, yet questioning too. If she was awake couldn't he be too? Just for a little while.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Things had been simple, once. The Dollhouse had been Claire’s life, and she’d simply been living there because nowhere else was safe for her. She’d had a job that she liked and an environment she was comfortable in, and she knew that no-one, not even Alpha, could get in and hurt her again – because Alpha was dead. She had known who she was and what purpose she served in the Dollhouse, and she had no desire to go elsewhere. Looking after the actives was her life, and she wasn’t making excuses to keep herself in control of her phobias when she said that she wanted to stay where she was. At first glance, things were still the same now; her job was the same and she definitely didn’t belong elsewhere, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t think about it often, because she liked being Claire, but there was that niggling feeling that the things that happened in her past were just fabrications, made up by Topher freaking Brink to keep himself amused when faced with the dull task of reassigning a broken doll. She knew who she was, though, even now, and it was something that Claire was holding on to very firmly; she didn’t want to be wiped, or even get anywhere close to sitting in the imprint chair, because Claire had no desire to die. But Alpha was alive, she was feeling Whiskey in her head more and more, and the world was even scarier than it had been before, with no guarantees that the Dollhouse was any safer, despite the fact that signals couldn’t be transmitted, not to mention the fact that she now remembered her attack twice-over, which made it twice as horrible. Being aware was a good thing, Claire fully believed that – it was why she was supportive of the actives who were realising what they were – and she wasn’t about to ask for Ivy to remove her memories of being Whiskey (it was something she’d never ask Topher for), but it made things harder too. It changed your whole perspective on reality. If there even was a reality anymore; there was the chance that nothing in the outside world was how they’d left it. Claire didn’t care to find out.

If they were the only people left in the world who hadn’t been wiped, Claire didn’t care; she had her job, and that was what mattered to her. The world at large…it had always been a scary place. She’d never been concerned about what had been out there before – she never read the news or listened to the radio – and that much hadn’t changed. If anything, having been out there until recently, something that she didn’t talk of, she wanted to know its state even less. She was better off in the Dollhouse; they all were. Yes, she thought it was wrong what was happening – nobody should be imprinted without their permission and she would do what she could to find a cure – but what if they were the only people left who were either in their own minds or had signed up to this voluntarily? Her first priority lay with making sure that everybody in here was well and in no danger from the emerging self-awareness. She’d quite like to write a research paper on it, really, but not only did she not have enough time to do so, it wasn’t as though there was ever going to be anyone to read it. She was pretty sure that anyone remotely related to the other Dollhouses were either dead, wiped or evil and working for Rossum, and they were still secret. Mainly because people on the surface no longer existed as themselves, she thought, but still; the Dollhouse was a secret, and probably always would be since ‘imprints’ was going to become a dirty word, and unless she wanted to write the paper just for herself, there was no point. She didn’t even think there was anyone in here who’d find it interesting. Topher may have done, once, but it wasn’t like she’d ever show him anything. Boyd would read it out of politeness, but Claire didn’t think he’d really understand it. Maybe it was one of those things that was better left unwritten. Putting words onto paper made everything seem more real, and Claire did not want this—this apocalypse to be real.

"No.. to many thoughts. You're not sleeping either.."

Being around actives was easy. Even now, when they weren’t all the wiped, child-like figures they’d once been, their programming made them easy company. You couldn’t say something wrong to them; either they didn’t have a deep enough understanding to really know what you were saying, or else they just smiled and nodded. It was good, Claire found; she thought that the rest of her colleagues were judging her, waiting to see if she’d crack (again) or if her imprint would hold now that she knew it was one, or gauging how she was coping – perhaps she was a little paranoid, but she was about a lot of things. It was hardly her fault; she had no idea why Topher had decided to make her pretty much everything-phobic, but then he’d made her hate him as well. That made no sense; a lot of things about him didn’t. “I can give you something, if you’re having trouble sleeping regularly,” Claire replied; she didn’t hand out medication willy-nilly, but it seemed that several of the actives had too much going on in their heads now, or perhaps the gases pumped into the pods were at the wrong concentrations now that they weren’t completely blank slates. She should talk to someone about that – yet another thing to go on her to-do list. “I have a lot of work to do. I just…came here to think.”

[X-RAY]

Things were simple for Criss, before the Dollhouse. He had a life and a family, he and his sister. Criss had been happy. Neither of them had a lot of money but the had each other That was all Criss wanted. Nothing else mattered to him, but then it was all ripped away form him. He remembered the accident, it didn't seem real, it was blurred. The squealing tires the feeling flying through the air and feeling his bike, a kawazwki ninja 450 falling on him then everything going black. He was lucky nothing more broke then a few ribs. But it knocked him into a coma, one he never woke up from on his own. Reality had blurred and twisted burning together into something he didn't recognize and couldn't make sense of. Criss couldn't help but think about it all. His mind never stopped, he kept to himself clinging to what he knew, or thought he did. Holding out hope for his sister, he wasn't even sure if she was really real. Or just something else he thought up to help him deal with all this. Whatever the case Criss kept to himself, clinging to what he saw in his mind. Believing with all hope that she, his sister was real. He had done things he didn't like. 'Been people' he didn't approve of, or wouldn't have if you knew really. His real life, the one he watned was better. There was something else out there, he had to believe that to keep some symbolance of his sanity. Whatever that was.

There had to be something else. He thought about them, he saw them before. He use to go out in the real world. He hadn't recently not since everything. He didn't know really what, he wasn't sure if anyone did. But he never asked. He listened to things, being quiet worked to his advantage. He did learn things, but it didn't make sense. All the wipes and people he'd been it didn't make sense to him. It was like being forced back into being a kid again. The wipe the state of mind they were kept in it just left them out of themselves. It wasn't a life he'd have chosen had he had the option. Though he couldn't seperate real from imprinted here, he knew there had to be something else besides all this. There was something else too something he couldn't understand, it was darker now, like there was an evil rising that none of them really quite understood. Or perhaps wanted to. There were some of the 'Dolls' around him that were different. It was almost scary to him it just wasn't normal for the Dollhouse, it wasn't something he was use to. The Dollhouse was always so organized it was about structure. Now it seemed what he an the other 'Dolls' was use to was falling apart. He always had to have structure even outside these walls. Though he didn't always get it, he always wanted it. Falling apart now where it was most important in the Dollhouse he couldn't handle that.

He and sleep didn't get along well.

Never had he been overly social, but there were a few he liked being around here. Dr. Saunders might have been his favorite. She was always nice to him and the other 'Dolls' Some made sense, there was something about her. He had no way of knowing she was once like them. But maybe that's what made her so easy to talk to, that she understood. The others here they didnt' get it Boyd cared, all the handlers seeomed too but DeWitt an Topher they just didnt' get it. At Dr. Saunders offer of giving him something, he shook his head in a 'no'. "Please no Dr. Saunders.. I don't want to sleep not now.." He told her. Though in reality there was more too it. That he just didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. Criss' face fell a little when she said had a lot of work to do. She probably wanted to be alone. "I wanted to think too.." He replied, but quickly added, his voice sounding hopeful, "Can I help you?" Smiling lightly, trying to look innocent and helpful.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Perhaps she’d curl up with a book tonight, Claire decided; her work wasn’t going anywhere, after all, since she no longer had to check actives coming in from multiple assignments, and she’d not given herself a break for a long time now. She always impressed upon everyone else how it was important for some leisure time, that working constantly would only increase the possibility of stress-related illnesses, especially in a place where there were limited places to go to get space from other people – and nowhere to get fresh air – but Claire was notoriously bad at following her own advice. She’d always been a workaholic, and now more than ever she seemed reluctant to give herself some downtime. What was the point in resting, if they were all going to be dead soon, anyway? She had important things she could be doing – like analysing the self-awareness of the actives to see if it was directly related to the signals flying about all over the surface, or seeing if there was a medical way she could create a cure (at least in theory) or if that was something she needed to leave to Ivy and Topher, when he was lucid. But apparently, she wasn’t going to end up doing much work for the rest of the night, given that she was already standing here, staring at the swimming pool with the clipboard that she’d brought along to take notes on clutched to her chest; it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if she curled up in bed for a little while. The world wasn’t going to end overnight – and if she did, Claire was safe in the knowledge that there wasn’t actually anything she could have done to stop that from happened. Of course, she’d be dead so she wouldn’t have any knowledge, which was probably an added bonus for her conscience.

If she let herself rest, instead of staying up for several nights on the trot, her mind would probably be clearer tomorrow, too. Yes, it seemed like a good idea, and Claire found herself suddenly looking forward to the idea of getting through a chunk of one of her books – a fiction one, of course, since she had a tendency to leave her work behind at her desk and pick it up again straight away when she got to her room. She couldn’t be doing that tonight; there might still be files strewn over her bed, but she’d put them in a neat pile and try to forget about them until the morning. She had some novels dotted around too, and given that she rarely got a chance to read anymore, given her status as a chronic workaholic, she’d have to find them first. Hm, what did she fancy? A good romance sounded like a great idea; things were always simple in those novels, the two lovers finding each other as if by magic, without any of the normal pains of life. Claire could do with something simply and heart-warming at the moment; everything about life had turned so grey and fill of a desperate battle for survival. She wondered if there was anyone in here who still read thrillers or post-apocalyptic stories. She couldn’t see why anyone would; novels helped you escape the world, and she couldn’t see the point in reading something that was more of a reality now than it had ever been. Claire didn’t want to read about an apocalypse when there was one going on right above her head.

"Please no Dr. Saunders.. I don't want to sleep not now.."

Claire nodded; that, she understood. Even if she went back to her room and curled up with a – nice, gentle, non-violent – book, there was no guarantee that she’d actually get to sleep. As well as being a workaholic, she was also something of an insomniac. Dreaming about psychotic serial killers slashing your face open could do that to you – especially when you now remembered being attacked twice, and the fact that you’d once considered said serial killer as close to a friend as actives got. “Come and see me if you decide you do,” was all she said; she wasn’t going to go forcing medication on the actives now, not when it was something as non-urgent as sleeping pills. If she assessed X-Ray next week and he was suffering from not sleeping, then she’d make him take the medication. But the time of forcing things on actives when they didn’t want them (and it wasn’t a necessity) was over; they’d evolved into people now, and most of them knew what they did or did not want. If X-Ray didn’t want to sleep, well, Claire could understand that.

"I wanted to think too. Can I help you?"

“There’s a lot to think about,” Claire said absently, watching the ripples in the pool again. She didn’t know why the water was moving, since there was nobody there to make it to so, but it didn’t matter; there was probably some vent blowing air at it, but it was pretty—and very distracting. She’d done laps in here, once; Claire remembered being proud of the day she’d reached twenty, telling her handler how she’d done and waiting for the obligatory, ‘you were your best’ response. She wondered if she could swim now; it was something that she’d never had a desire to do – Claire wasn’t sure that she’d ever set foot in a swimming pool in her life – but Whiskey had enjoyed that specifically. Maybe she’d give it a go sometime, when she didn’t have another active for company. (She thought it was strange, from an objective point of view, how when she started to think of herself as Whiskey, she also thought of herself as an active; when she was just being Claire, she didn’t count herself among them.) “Thank you for the offer,” Claire said, turning her attention back to X-Ray (although really, she couldn’t think of anything worse that having someone else go through her files and mess up her system) with a small smile, “I think I have it covered. I was going to call it a night, anyway.”

[X-RAY]

Things were different around the Dollhouse. There was more downtime, Criss had always been a man of action he hated being idol and doing nothing. Always he had to be moving or doing something. The idea of reading book often bored him. Though he vagely remembered his sister, if she were even real, telling him stories. He liked hers, the were more exciting than a book. Never the same, always changing. The same mindless thing and quite routine bugged him. All of this bugged him, it missed with his head, left him to think, and be alone in his thoughts and he didn't like it, any of it. The thoughts made him sad, and the sadness made him lonely. He didn't like either. And with no true understanding of what was going on outside the hallowed walls. The world inside the Dollhouse had changed, so that had to mean the word outside had changed too. Criss wanted to know what was going on, to understand it all, but he hadn't 'broken' like the other dolls yet. His mind was still almost child-like because the wipes. Still he could be controled with those simple phrases. Though he had recently learned to say 'No', still he had no knowledge, understanding or even the slightest consept of what was going on all around him.

Sleep was a novel thing, Criss didn't sleep often or well. Now recently sleep came harder and farther between. Maybe he was broken after all. But right now he only wanted to think and not be alone to his thoughts. Alone was just that alone. His mind was empty enough, aside from his thoughts, and he grew so tied of that. Hearing only his own voice. Use to he had been quiet, keeping to himself happy because he could go out, because there was a reprive from these walls. But everything changed, he changed, and the silence here no longer amused him. If anything it made him sad. Made him want to gravitate towards others. Anyone! He wasn't picky, an voice was better than just his. Nothing could drive away the lonely feeling in him. The bonzai trees, swimming, singing, or drumming a beat on his pant leg or any thing else that made a sound. The voices never stopped and the thoughts never ended.

It was good to be understood. To be treated like he still had a voice. Criss was getting to the point he was almost afraid to sleep. Things happened when he fell asleep. When he woke up he always felt confused and even more empty than he had before. Sleep was apparently bad, so the young Russian male was deciding. He was afraid now that oneday he might close his eyes and never open them again, not realizing that had already happened once. He was quiet a moment in his thoughts, looking from her to the water like neither could hold his attention for long. Distracted, tired and broken nothing could keep his mind still. Criss nodded a little at her, "I'm afraid to sleep.. afraid I won't wake up, and afraid of the dark. The voices don't stop. They seem like me, Dr. Saunders.. but they're not." He told her, though not meaning really to blurt that out. He looked to her then, as if he wished he could swallow his words an have never said them.

Criss nodded, "Always something to think about.." He replied softly when she looked back to the water. Stareing at it, he blinked then was still, almost like a statue, just stareing at it like it was the most interesting thing to him. It made his mind be still, gave him something to focus on. Maybe that was why he came here. Not to swim, but the water, just to sit and stare to just not think for a little while. That was always nice, just silence nothing going on, just quiet time to just be. "You're welcome." He smiled at her lightly, nodding again. "Thats good, you covered it." He said looking way from her from her to stare at the water again, "If you go.. Can I stay here, just for a little while?" Criss asked his eyes lifting back to her for the answer.

....
OOC :
Sorry it s a lil short, still kinda medicate. Allergies. >_<

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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There were times when it was difficult to remember that there was a world outside of the Dollhouse. There were no assignments now, but other than that and the self-awareness of the dolls, almost nothing had changed. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; there were assignments, but they were recon missions or trips to get fresh supplies and take stock of the world outside – Claire wasn’t entirely sure, but as long as nobody got badly hurt and she didn’t run out of medication, she felt no need to know what was happening in great detail. It didn’t interest her; the outside world never had. She didn’t know whether it was an intentional facet of her personality or just a fault in her programming, but the Dollhouse was all Claire needed; she guessed it was intentional, so that she didn’t want to leave – and it had worked. Some days, she even forgot that she couldn’t leave now; it was better than trying to find excuses to stay, anyway. But standing here, watching the ripples across the blue water, it was impossible to comprehend that right above their heads, there was an apocalypse. Claire didn’t know the state of Los Angeles, because she’d never asked, but she imagined that, if the rumours were true, it wasn’t exactly a great place to be right now…if anyone was still alive out there. Echo hadn’t brought back anyone from any of her missions, anyway, which implied that everybody in the city had been wiped, as Claire was sure that Echo would bring them here if she was sure they were really themselves; the Dollhouse was the safest place in the city, and quite possibly in the country. It was the only place they knew of where signals couldn’t get through. If there were still non-imprinted people out there, Claire hoped that they’d find their way here soon, before they were all killed. She might have no interest in what was happening in the world, but that didn’t mean she wanted people to be killed – she was a doctor, after all; preserving life was her raison d’être.

"I'm afraid to sleep.. afraid I won't wake up, and afraid of the dark. The voices don't stop. They seem like me, Dr. Saunders.. but they're not."

Just like that, a switch flicked and Claire was in doctor mode again; she drew her gaze away from the swimming pool, suppressed her desire to jump in and see how many laps she could do, and focussed on X-Ray. “What are they like?” she asked, her voice just as gentle as it had been before; she didn’t want to scare him away now. She’d not known that he was hearing voices, but the fact that he was meant that she probably needed to spend some time with him, or he needed to go back in the chair – and while she could do the former, she wasn’t sure he’d agree to the latter without a lot of persuasion; those actives with memories and personalities now seemed to want to stay away from the chair. Claire couldn’t blame them, but sometimes…sometimes it was necessary, for their own well-being. “Do they say things to you?” She hugged her clipboard to her chest, not wanting to seem like she was interrogating the active; it just meant that she’d have to do some more work before going to bed, and meet with Ms Dewitt tomorrow to discuss it, if she thought it was an issue worthy of the boss’ attention and not just the original personality conflicting with the doll architecture or something. “Sleep is nothing to be afraid of. You’re safe in here.” They were just words, though, Claire new that; empty words that meant nothing when you were scared.

"Always something to think about…If you go.. Can I stay here, just for a little while?"

“There is,” Claire agreed; there was always some thought or another whirling round in her head, and even when she was asleep, her dreams weren’t quiet or untroubled. Perhaps the idea of an apocalypse was affecting her more unconsciously than it was when she was awake; recently, her dreams were no longer of Alpha attacking her with a knife or shears, but of Alpha attacking everyone, his dream-weapons turning them into sociopathic clones of himself. It wasn’t pleasant; if Claire could know that Alpha was one of the people who’d died during Rossum’s taking over of the world, it might make the whole situation better for everyone. She knew that she’d be willing to go to sleep if she didn’t have to worry about him finding her again; she hadn’t wanted her scars healed, but now that they were, she’d rather not have him slice her face open again. Remembering it twice over was bad enough. “Just for a little while,” she agreed; she couldn’t say know, when she also feared going to sleep. “You must go to bed soon, though.”

[X-RAY]

The was something else beyond these walls. Criss knew, he remembered going out there on engagements. Though he didn't remember all the details some of the voices and people still ran in his mind. He saw the others come and go but couldn't fathom why he and others stayed behind. There were secrets now, more than before, there were things that he and others still didn't understand. Like why some of the dolls had changed. They seemed different somehow. But Criss didn't get it, how dolls like Echo and even Juliet were changing, different than he was and yet the same too. It confused him and made him wonder what was really going on. He wanted to be up there, out in the city. Even if just for a little while. But he was growing bored now. Twitching and alone he need something to amuse him, nothing down here did that anymore, it never had. He had always been eager to go out in the field to get out of these walls for a time. But now they were all trapped it seemed. Criss was stuck not just here, but mentally. He wasn't totally just a doll any more and yet he wasn't an 'Actual' he didn't have all the memories of who he was, didn't understand all this. It scared him to be so lost, to feel like he was broken, he feared the attic, that he might be thrown there. Never to be seen or hear from again. No doll wanted to go tot he attic. It was dark and lonely, no banzai trees or crystal clear waters only darkness and loneliness. To things Criss wanted desperately to stay away from.

He hadn't noticed the change in her, to him she was always Dr. Saunders. He was perhaps blissfully unaware that she had ever been anyone but Dr. Saunders. Knowing nothing of 'Claire' she was just who he knew, always helpful and gentle. He trusted her, knowing she wouldn't hurt him. Yet even as he stood there knowing he was safe. He was scared too. Criss hadn't meant to say that aloud, he squirmed slightly almost like a child in trouble. He wasn't sure how to explain it, and scared to as well. "I don't know.. One of them.. I think his name is Criss, I like him best. But one of them scares me. He made someone bleed with his bare hands." Criss said looking at his hands, one relaxed the other almost like a fist, staring at them as if he could see the blood there on his knuckles. "There are others too. But they just blur and fade.. I don't understand Dr. Saunders" His eyes sullen. Criss wasn't scared of her, he trusted her, but rather was scared of the voices and jumbled images he saw and was unable to make sense of. Honestly Criss wouldn't have fought the chair at this point, not totally. Though he didn't enjoy what was going on in his head he didn't want to lose all of it. Some parts were nice, others made his scared, to scared to sleep. "Criss does.. but he makes me happy, there's a girl's voice too but she only talks to him. And the bad man.. the one with blood on his hands, he talks about it about it the blood and... Please, Dr. Saunders I'm not broken.. I don't want to go to the attic." He told her. The last part was pleading, he was begging her he didn't want to go there. Looking back down at his hands rubbed at them as if trying fruitlessly to wipe something off that only he saw. "No.. no.. you don't understand. Sleep is bad! That man the others they're louder now.. but Criss is softer Criss an the girl.. Sleeping makes them go away.. I like them.." His words scared him now, sleep terrified him to no end.

He only nodded, and whispered to himself I don't want to break.. please.. don't let me fall.. Nothing made sense, he didn't remember the last time he'd 'fallen asleep' in the chair. Maybe thats what he needed to do, go for a treatment and forget it all. Maybe then he'd be 'okay' but right now wither he wanted to admit it or not he was not even in the vanity of okay. The world he knew was crumbling, the world he only knew as 'someone else' had fallen and he was just as broken and falling as the rest of it. Dr. Saunders words calmed him, but didn't make him feel better just then. He didn't want to sleep and being alone sounded little better. His icy blue eyes meet hers as a light sigh escaped Criss' lips looked to her for answers and help, but begging too not to be sent 'away'. Not to be forgotten, and cast aside. "Thank you Dr. Saunders." He replied then looked back at the water silently. Dreading the time when she would leave, yet considering it, maybe after she left he'd jump in the pool and swim laps until he was to tired climb back out. Maybe then he'd sleep there afloat on his back moving softly in the water. Maybe then the voices of the 'bloody man' would let him relax enough to sleep without seeing and smelling the blood on the hands, that somewhere in the back of his mind, deep in his fragile psyche he knew was on his hands.

....

OOC :
No clue where my muse got this.. or where it's going, but hope it works for you.
'Tis kinda interesting.. I suppose.. lol

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Those in charge thought that allowing the dolls to evolve into a self-aware state was a good thing; they would no longer be mindless children, but could help with simple tasks, and those who had been returned to their original selves could stand up and fight with Echo and the rest. In theory, Claire thought it was a good idea; they were people, after all, however much they forgot that sometimes, and they had the right to be allowed to become who they were without being impeded by wipes every time they showed signs of realising what they were or doing something different to the norm. But her highest priority was the dolls’ welfare, and there were some who seemed to be coping with the transition less well than others – she didn’t mean those who rejected their original personalities in favour of remaining who they were as an active, or those who were dealing with the issues surrounding their return to themselves as they’d been when they joined, but rather those who were neither a self-aware doll nor a real person…those like X-Ray, who didn’t quite fit in anywhere and weren’t doing well with their new status. Perhaps he was doing better than her on the spot analysis implied, but he was clearly troubled in a way that the others weren’t; Claire needed to evaluate whether that was his original personality, or his doll personality, or a combination of the two.

Letting them be their own people was all well and good, but it was damaging the minds of some of the dolls, and Claire couldn’t in good faith let that happen. She was here to help them, and she didn’t know how to do it with X-Ray. She didn’t know the right thing to say to convince him that things were how they were meant to be, or whether to suggest a treatment (and what that treatment could do, without Topher lucid enough to consult with), or whether she should talk to someone – and she didn’t quite trust Adelle DeWitt. Claire still thought that she’d just dump anyone who seemed like a problem in the Attic, although she was probably misguided with that judgement. Adelle had done a lot to help them, and it was clear that her loyalties lay with the actives and keeping them safe. The Attic had been Rossum’s idea; who was to say that they weren’t using it now, somehow, to aid in the devastation of mankind? It wouldn’t have surprised Claire; Rossum were known to be notoriously evil, after all, what with the way that they’d imprinted the unsuspecting world. Whatever Claire thought of Adelle, she had never wiped someone who hadn’t signed a contract first.

“Please, Dr. Saunders I'm not broken.. I don't want to go to the attic."

“No, X-Ray, you’re not broken,” Claire agreed gently, trying to reassure the man that really, being sent to the Attic was the least of his worries nowadays, what with the so-called butchers and Rossum doing their utmost to kill them all. Not that she was going to tell him that; the longer the actives remained blissfully unaware of what was happening outside, the better. Even Claire herself had no real desire to learn of the real state of the world; she felt safe in the Dollhouse, and she didn’t want that illusion to be shattered. Too many illusions in her life had been broken in recent years; she thought she was allowed to keep some of them intact. “What you’re feeling is perfectly normal in the transition between doll and what you’re becoming,” she said, although Claire felt to explanation to be clumsy; it didn’t articulate what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t quite figure out the best way to phrase it so that it’d be understandable enough for the actives, most of whom still retained their child-like vocabulary. This wasn’t the first time that she’d had to give explanations of things that dolls wouldn’t have needed to know, once before, and she guessed that she needed to make sure she had her descriptions ready. She could have told X-Ray that she knew what he was feeling, that there was a woman inside her head, called Whiskey, but Claire didn’t want to divulge that, not even to a doll. It would complicate things, and the chances were that he’d innocently mention it to someone else, and then the sorts of questions she’d be asked weren’t just ones about multiple personalities and love and reading. “No-one’s going to the Attic,” she assured him, “but try to take control of them. If they’re saying things you don’t like, simply don’t listen.” She wasn’t sure how accurate her advice was, but she wasn’t a mental health professional. She guessed Topher should have loaded her up with those skills, while he was playing God and making her.

"Thank you Dr. Saunders."

Claire nodded in response, still hugging her clipboard to her chest as she stared out over the water. “You could always have a treatment,” she suggested; once, it would have been an order, in the way that the programmed ‘suggestions’ were orders, but now it was different. Everything was different; Claire guessed that that was the way of the apocalypse. She’d always hated change, but even she could see that down here at least, not all of the changes were bad ones. Just the majority of them.