Dr. Marie Delacroix :: Engineering (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
prosopopoeia) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2012-07-11 11:06 pm
prosopopoeia) wrote in poly_chromatic2012-07-11 11:06 pm
Entry tags:
019 :: text/video
DELACROIX to CSEmployees: 11-07-???? re: Mental Health Day
I will not be in tomorrow.
Delacroix
DELACROIX to VOID: 12-07-???? re: Anniversaries
[When the video begins to record, she can be seen inside of her very small apartment, seated next to a coffee table that is strewn with nuts and bolts, pieces and fabric. In her hands, she has a mostly finished product, an odd little inch worm that she makes a few more adjustments to before placing it on the floor, a light flashing as it begins to move across the hardwood.]
Zhere is never enough to do, and zhere is always more still left undone.
[It's box wine and cigarette time now, folks. She's sitting back against a settee, looking pensive, if not morose. The whirring of her latest construction fills the silence as smoke drifts from her mouth.]
Some failures are defining, yes?
I will not be in tomorrow.
Delacroix
[No, she isn't embarrassed about working naked in one of the labs yesterday. It reduces static, don't you know anything?
Time works strangely in this city. When she had arrived here in the cold of January -- her body shredded by tooth and claws, peppered with bullets and singed from lasers -- it had been July 12th, it had been the day of her death, the day of all her last scrabbling acts of defiance. She had installed those traps into SHODAN, she had gone to the cargo bay to destroy those eggs. She dreams about these things and every time she fails anew. In some ways, she lingers there on July the 12th, indefinitely, irregardless of what the calendar now reads. It's tiring, truthfully. Fighting the same losing battles over and over is tiring, working day in and day out. And so, today, on the anniversary of her death - (the first of three, the one she always returns to) - she has chosen to take a day off.]
Time works strangely in this city. When she had arrived here in the cold of January -- her body shredded by tooth and claws, peppered with bullets and singed from lasers -- it had been July 12th, it had been the day of her death, the day of all her last scrabbling acts of defiance. She had installed those traps into SHODAN, she had gone to the cargo bay to destroy those eggs. She dreams about these things and every time she fails anew. In some ways, she lingers there on July the 12th, indefinitely, irregardless of what the calendar now reads. It's tiring, truthfully. Fighting the same losing battles over and over is tiring, working day in and day out. And so, today, on the anniversary of her death - (the first of three, the one she always returns to) - she has chosen to take a day off.]
DELACROIX to VOID: 12-07-???? re: Anniversaries
[When the video begins to record, she can be seen inside of her very small apartment, seated next to a coffee table that is strewn with nuts and bolts, pieces and fabric. In her hands, she has a mostly finished product, an odd little inch worm that she makes a few more adjustments to before placing it on the floor, a light flashing as it begins to move across the hardwood.]
Zhere is never enough to do, and zhere is always more still left undone.
[It's box wine and cigarette time now, folks. She's sitting back against a settee, looking pensive, if not morose. The whirring of her latest construction fills the silence as smoke drifts from her mouth.]
Some failures are defining, yes?
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[Got her fridge stocked with wine. She's ready for this.]
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