[ Strange and sudden as everything is, Suzanne lets herself go along with it. True, she has been confused and a little bit upset right after her arrival, but she was calmer now; some helpful authority had held her wrists so she would not continue flinging her arms about wildly, and by the time she is in downtown Heropa proper she's been filled in on the facts of the situation.
It's all fairly unbelievable, but less so to Suzanne's mind. She figures it's all relative... reality, that is (or "realities," plural). She's not about to argue the point, at least, because these folks living here would know more about than her about it, right? The unknown doesn't scare her.
She calms down, accepts it, doesn't stress about it any further. Or think about it at all. She can always do that later. She moves on to other thoughts, what direction does she walk in now that she's out on an actual city sidewalk? Forward, backward, should she cross the street? Is she breaking any rules right now? Where did they say she lived now? Getting out, being free -- in some fashion -- were not things Suzanne thought about too often, it was far enough in the future and thinking ahead isn't her strong suit. This city may be small, but it's bigger than what she's gotten used to in the past few years. Big enough that she has no idea what to think, where to go, what to even do next. And hot, which makes her very thankful for the free drink even if she questions the wisdom of that business strategy. People are giving her strange looks, too, though she is more used to that. It's probably because of her uniform; she's not blind to the fact she's dressed very differently from everybody else.
"Some of them can't be right in the head," she hears someone say. She stares forward, hands twitching at her sides and moving up as if to cover her ears, though they just hover beside them. "The government's gotta crack down on their medical files."
She turns to one of them, abrupt and argumentative, pointing her fingers, gesturing, pointing. ]
No no no no. No no no, no, no, nope. That is not for you to know, no it is not. We... are still people. [ Although who all is encompassed in that "we" Suzanne is still processing. She hits the side of her head with her folder twice, her mood seeming to escalate, but the local she's addressing moves along rather quickly. She reiterates loudly after him: ] People.
[ Okay. Okay, everything's fine. She's already agitated and that can't happen yet, they'll... well, she doesn't know. To calm down, she dumps her free drink over her head and takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. ]
Now that-- [ Dripping wet now, she says this to whoever happens to be there when she turns her head again: ] Was rude. Right?
( NONAH )
[ It is very, very overwhelming here. So many things to look at or do, Suzanne's neck already hurts from turning it this way and that, her eyes blinking wildly. Even more overwhelming than that are all the things she's being offered to the point where her head is spinning -- it all sounds great. But she doesn't know what to say yes to, or no thank you, or if she should just find somewhere quieter to be.
To one of the vendors, she says: ]
I see where you're coming from -- probably should get me some new clothes, this is a special occasion. But I don't got any money. [ As she talks she's gesturing vaguely with her hands, back and forth and in circles, as she shakes her head. Then she points upward to amend that thought: ] ... Yet. Have to... save up, somehow. We get to do that now. I-- oh.
[ Someone else with an armful of clothes wants her to move along, if she's not buying anything. She gives the vendor a quick wave and moves herself aside. ]
Um, bye.
[ New clothes would be nice. It's been a long time since she's worn anything that wasn't regulated, provided for her; she could get whatever now, couldn't she? A leather jacket. Rainbow socks with the individual toes. Pink... nail polish. A tutu. The list goes on and the sky's the limit, anything would be a refreshing step away from her inmate khakis -- the pants, the short-sleeved shirt, the longer-sleeved grey shirt beneath with holes for her thumbs to loop through. She looks down at the name-tag ("WARREN," it reads) still pinned to her chest and pulls it off, drawing her arm back as if she's about to throw it as far as the wind will carry it... but then changes her mind, tucking it instead in the pocket on the breast of her shirt. There's still something comforting about it, all of it, she doesn't want to just get rid of.
She lifts her hand to her face, biting at her nails, and mutters to herself, but loudly: ]
Okay. All this "hero" talk really is confusing me.
suzanne warren ✌ orange is the new black
[ Strange and sudden as everything is, Suzanne lets herself go along with it. True, she has been confused and a little bit upset right after her arrival, but she was calmer now; some helpful authority had held her wrists so she would not continue flinging her arms about wildly, and by the time she is in downtown Heropa proper she's been filled in on the facts of the situation.
It's all fairly unbelievable, but less so to Suzanne's mind. She figures it's all relative... reality, that is (or "realities," plural). She's not about to argue the point, at least, because these folks living here would know more about than her about it, right? The unknown doesn't scare her.
She calms down, accepts it, doesn't stress about it any further. Or think about it at all. She can always do that later. She moves on to other thoughts, what direction does she walk in now that she's out on an actual city sidewalk? Forward, backward, should she cross the street? Is she breaking any rules right now? Where did they say she lived now? Getting out, being free -- in some fashion -- were not things Suzanne thought about too often, it was far enough in the future and thinking ahead isn't her strong suit. This city may be small, but it's bigger than what she's gotten used to in the past few years. Big enough that she has no idea what to think, where to go, what to even do next. And hot, which makes her very thankful for the free drink even if she questions the wisdom of that business strategy. People are giving her strange looks, too, though she is more used to that. It's probably because of her uniform; she's not blind to the fact she's dressed very differently from everybody else.
"Some of them can't be right in the head," she hears someone say. She stares forward, hands twitching at her sides and moving up as if to cover her ears, though they just hover beside them. "The government's gotta crack down on their medical files."
She turns to one of them, abrupt and argumentative, pointing her fingers, gesturing, pointing. ]
No no no no. No no no, no, no, nope. That is not for you to know, no it is not. We... are still people. [ Although who all is encompassed in that "we" Suzanne is still processing. She hits the side of her head with her folder twice, her mood seeming to escalate, but the local she's addressing moves along rather quickly. She reiterates loudly after him: ] People.
[ Okay. Okay, everything's fine. She's already agitated and that can't happen yet, they'll... well, she doesn't know. To calm down, she dumps her free drink over her head and takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. ]
Now that-- [ Dripping wet now, she says this to whoever happens to be there when she turns her head again: ] Was rude. Right?
( NONAH )
[ It is very, very overwhelming here. So many things to look at or do, Suzanne's neck already hurts from turning it this way and that, her eyes blinking wildly. Even more overwhelming than that are all the things she's being offered to the point where her head is spinning -- it all sounds great. But she doesn't know what to say yes to, or no thank you, or if she should just find somewhere quieter to be.
To one of the vendors, she says: ]
I see where you're coming from -- probably should get me some new clothes, this is a special occasion. But I don't got any money. [ As she talks she's gesturing vaguely with her hands, back and forth and in circles, as she shakes her head. Then she points upward to amend that thought: ] ... Yet. Have to... save up, somehow. We get to do that now. I-- oh.
[ Someone else with an armful of clothes wants her to move along, if she's not buying anything. She gives the vendor a quick wave and moves herself aside. ]
Um, bye.
[ New clothes would be nice. It's been a long time since she's worn anything that wasn't regulated, provided for her; she could get whatever now, couldn't she? A leather jacket. Rainbow socks with the individual toes. Pink... nail polish. A tutu. The list goes on and the sky's the limit, anything would be a refreshing step away from her inmate khakis -- the pants, the short-sleeved shirt, the longer-sleeved grey shirt beneath with holes for her thumbs to loop through. She looks down at the name-tag ("WARREN," it reads) still pinned to her chest and pulls it off, drawing her arm back as if she's about to throw it as far as the wind will carry it... but then changes her mind, tucking it instead in the pocket on the breast of her shirt. There's still something comforting about it, all of it, she doesn't want to just get rid of.
She lifts her hand to her face, biting at her nails, and mutters to herself, but loudly: ]
Okay. All this "hero" talk really is confusing me.
( WILD CARD )
[ Choose your own adventure. ]