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| There was the shattering of a window. That's all. The crystalline twinkle of a thousand glass shards and the reflection of sun and water in each one. The distant dirge of a fog horn. In the quier moments, the lucid moments, Ri knew that it was the fishermen returning with their catch, as they did every day. But everything was contained in that single memory of life. Nothing else existed in her mind, but the will of the Keeper and that one singular memory.
| | [[Category:Werewolf]][[Category:Irraka]][[Category:Iron Masters]][[Category:Crime]][[Category:Hackers]][[Category:Inactive PC]][[Category:PC]] |
| | {{Character |
| | | title = The Hacker of Systems and Flesh |
| | | full name = Gabrielle Locannon |
| | | played by = [[User:Jest|Jessica]] |
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| A crash of glass. A fog horn. The sun and the water. Nothing more.
| | | contacts class = character-2columns |
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| The quiet moments were always terrible. They were the signal of waking, the half-remembered dream before waking. But for Ri, waking meant being contorted into a living image of beauty. First there was a flash of light into her little box. It happened slow, as if the Keeper enjoyed prolonging the dread, but Ri did not know if such a being even knew care, or dread. Then the music. Screeching noise such as her ears could not understand, but to the Keeper were as like honey made sound. Then the pedestal, the marble round that was her home more than any she had had ever forgot. Ri knew the punishment for not clambering to her position by the time the Keeper had opened the jewerly box that was Ri's tiny, horrible home. She scurried up as quick as her aching limbs would allow, and then held the pose that the Keeper found pleasing that day. Somehow the Keeper would plant the image in her mind, and she knew better to fight it. Most days she was a graceful ballerina, her toes in a pirouette that she surely never had done in life. Some days they were simpler poses, casual beauty, and her clothes and demeanor would be changed for her in a more relaxed way. Other days, the worst days she would be put on display in some demeaning manner. Others would be brought to her and laugh at the failings of mortal form.
| | | stereotypes position = off |
| | | | disclaimer position = off |
| And then, when the Keeper as well pleased, so came the change. Her muscles would stiffen, and grow cold, until only a marble version of Ri, impossibly beautiful, remained. Then, nothing but the sting of objecthood and display.
| | | hooks position = left |
| | | | gallery position = left |
| Always it would seem that she would lose hope of being anything but a marble statue that her muscles would begin to soften, to relax, and always the same words. "Sleep, my beauty." Then, blessed nothingness until the crashing of glass.
| | | custom position 1 = left |
| | | | custom title 1 = Renown |
| The fog horn.
| | | custom position 2 = left |
| | | | custom title 2 = Soundtrack |
| Marble for a day.
| | | portrait class = character-rounded |
| | | }} |
| The crashing of glass.
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| Then some pratfall act of contortion until everything was pain.
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| The sun and water. A crash of glass. The fishermen coming off the Bay.
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| The Bay.
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| And suddenly, something broke. Some part of the spell loosened its grasp. The fog horn was the same time that Jessica would come home, her beautiful smile lighting up the crystal window in the door. The smell of fish and squawk of seagulls. The San Francisco Bay shining like a jewel in the autumn sun. The Coit Tower looming over their apartment on Lombard. The size of it, how it always made Jessica tell phallic jokes and send Ri into fits of laughter. The idea of something big after being crammed into this tiny box...
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| The light glared into Ri's already open eyes. There would be no dainty statue today, no pretty ballerina, no degrading lewd position for the Keeper's inhuman desires. Ri was never a large person, but she was certainly bigger than a jewelbox figurine! With that thought, her body surged out of the box, shattering it within the Keeper's hands, and out sprang an impossibly large Ri, her voice distorted and hewn with her marble tongue making guttural cries of freedom as she smote the Keeper, a marble fist to a Fae face, and strode from Arcadia, her giant foot steps trampling over things she recognized from fairy tales and fiction.
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