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feel it still [open]
Who: Diana Prince [![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
monomachy] & various
When: First week of March
Where: Various places around Santa Rosita
What: Diana biffed her clinic break-in and got hardcore Tranq'd.
Warnings: Tranquilization and everything that comes with it (mind control, uncanny valley mannerisms, etc.)
i. give in to that easy living [days 1-3]
On Monday morning, Diana wakes up with a smile on her face. Her dreams were peaceful and bright--of blooming meadows and calm lakes. Or, that's what she imagines they would have been like, if only she could remember them. But it doesn't seem to bother her that she can't. Instead, she gets up out of bed, gets dressed in her finest pastel pink dress, movements a little too practiced, a little too mechanical. Her clothes from the day before are discarded at the foot of her bed, covered in dirt and torn in places, but she doesn't seem to notice. Doesn't seem to be bothered.
Nothing bothers her. Why would it? Life here in Santa Rosita is perfect.
Everything is perfect.
As she ties on her apron, she sees mud on the floor, tracked in from the back door. Her brows draw together, but she doesn't frown. It's just one more thing she'll have to clean up before heading out for the day. Nothing at all to be worried about. Diana sets about making breakfast, frying eggs and bacon and making toast, none of which turns out quite the way it should; again, she doesn't frown at her work, but simply resolves to pick up a cook book so she can make a better breakfast for her dear family tomorrow. Any visitors will find her in the wrecked kitchen, toaster and stove smoking alike, and that same eerie, wide smile plastered on her face. When she speaks, her voice is too chipper, too hollow, somehow.
"You're just in time for breakfast!"
And later in the day, she'll have whipped up something special for the neighbors down the street or on the next block. Maybe she's heard some gossip around town that this family is having a tough time, or maybe she just felt like dumping a few cans of vegetables into a jell-o mold and sharing the monstrosity with whoever is nearest. Either way, Diana has the monstrosity perched upon a cake stand with a domed glass lid, baring the entirety of its disgusting, slightly-melted glory to the world--and the poor person who opens the door to her weird grin. Again, there's a strange emptiness to her voice, though for all appearances she seems happy. Too happy.
"I thought I would pop by and drop off the dinner I made especially for you!"
Eat at your own risk.
ii. goodbye to my hopes and dreams [days 4-6]
She could have done without a job. But it's good for her to get out of the house to somewhere that isn't the grocery store, and the library is a perfectly respectable place for a lady to be. So she checks books in and out, makes sure the spines are arranged perfectly on the shelves, and (perhaps most importantly) keeps troublemakers in line.
Maybe it's a noise that draws her over--a slightly too-loud word or the sound of a dropped book. Maybe it's just where the path of her strangely stiff steps took her. Either way, Diana is standing at her full height (six feet plus a few inches thanks to the cute kitten heels she's wearing), that same eerie smile on her face paired with a slight draw of her brows. The looks is meant to be disapproving, but just looks creepy. She cocks her head to one side, the motion a bit too fast and birdlike, and speaks.
"What's all the ruckus about? I really don't want to have to ask you to leave."
What is meant as a reprimand comes out rather peppy. This may not make it less disturbing.
iii. stop flipping for my enemies [day 7, evening]
The day goes by as most others do: perfectly. Nothing untoward happens to her, she is not the subject of any gossip, a true accomplishment with some of these homemakers. Santa Rosita is a delight. The people here are a delight. Everything is.
Delightful.
She treats herself to dinner at the Blue Moon Diner, a small salad and a big vanilla milkshake topped with a bright red cherry. Folks who have seen her in the diner before might remember her chowing down on burgers and fries, but Diana seems perfectly content with the greens in front of her. It's when she starts on the milkshake when the feeling hits.
Pain, lancing through her head.
She rests a palm against one temple, her expression flickering to something other than inert cheeriness for the first time in a week. She'll flag down the waitress for the check, leaning one elbow on the table so she can cradle her head in her hand.
iv. we could wait until the walls come down [wildcard]
[ooc; i'm down for any interactions! diana will be stage 6 tranquilized for a week, only remembering her break-in as a misunderstanding that ended good-naturedly. she will still have her increased durability and strength, but will be unaware of them, believing herself an average human woman. please feel free to contact me via pm or on plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
watchet if there's anything specific you'd like to do! p.s. i will match any tagging format, brackets or prose are both fine.]
monomachy] & variousWhen: First week of March
Where: Various places around Santa Rosita
What: Diana biffed her clinic break-in and got hardcore Tranq'd.
Warnings: Tranquilization and everything that comes with it (mind control, uncanny valley mannerisms, etc.)
i. give in to that easy living [days 1-3]
On Monday morning, Diana wakes up with a smile on her face. Her dreams were peaceful and bright--of blooming meadows and calm lakes. Or, that's what she imagines they would have been like, if only she could remember them. But it doesn't seem to bother her that she can't. Instead, she gets up out of bed, gets dressed in her finest pastel pink dress, movements a little too practiced, a little too mechanical. Her clothes from the day before are discarded at the foot of her bed, covered in dirt and torn in places, but she doesn't seem to notice. Doesn't seem to be bothered.
Nothing bothers her. Why would it? Life here in Santa Rosita is perfect.
Everything is perfect.
As she ties on her apron, she sees mud on the floor, tracked in from the back door. Her brows draw together, but she doesn't frown. It's just one more thing she'll have to clean up before heading out for the day. Nothing at all to be worried about. Diana sets about making breakfast, frying eggs and bacon and making toast, none of which turns out quite the way it should; again, she doesn't frown at her work, but simply resolves to pick up a cook book so she can make a better breakfast for her dear family tomorrow. Any visitors will find her in the wrecked kitchen, toaster and stove smoking alike, and that same eerie, wide smile plastered on her face. When she speaks, her voice is too chipper, too hollow, somehow.
"You're just in time for breakfast!"
And later in the day, she'll have whipped up something special for the neighbors down the street or on the next block. Maybe she's heard some gossip around town that this family is having a tough time, or maybe she just felt like dumping a few cans of vegetables into a jell-o mold and sharing the monstrosity with whoever is nearest. Either way, Diana has the monstrosity perched upon a cake stand with a domed glass lid, baring the entirety of its disgusting, slightly-melted glory to the world--and the poor person who opens the door to her weird grin. Again, there's a strange emptiness to her voice, though for all appearances she seems happy. Too happy.
"I thought I would pop by and drop off the dinner I made especially for you!"
Eat at your own risk.
ii. goodbye to my hopes and dreams [days 4-6]
She could have done without a job. But it's good for her to get out of the house to somewhere that isn't the grocery store, and the library is a perfectly respectable place for a lady to be. So she checks books in and out, makes sure the spines are arranged perfectly on the shelves, and (perhaps most importantly) keeps troublemakers in line.
Maybe it's a noise that draws her over--a slightly too-loud word or the sound of a dropped book. Maybe it's just where the path of her strangely stiff steps took her. Either way, Diana is standing at her full height (six feet plus a few inches thanks to the cute kitten heels she's wearing), that same eerie smile on her face paired with a slight draw of her brows. The looks is meant to be disapproving, but just looks creepy. She cocks her head to one side, the motion a bit too fast and birdlike, and speaks.
"What's all the ruckus about? I really don't want to have to ask you to leave."
What is meant as a reprimand comes out rather peppy. This may not make it less disturbing.
iii. stop flipping for my enemies [day 7, evening]
The day goes by as most others do: perfectly. Nothing untoward happens to her, she is not the subject of any gossip, a true accomplishment with some of these homemakers. Santa Rosita is a delight. The people here are a delight. Everything is.
Delightful.
She treats herself to dinner at the Blue Moon Diner, a small salad and a big vanilla milkshake topped with a bright red cherry. Folks who have seen her in the diner before might remember her chowing down on burgers and fries, but Diana seems perfectly content with the greens in front of her. It's when she starts on the milkshake when the feeling hits.
Pain, lancing through her head.
She rests a palm against one temple, her expression flickering to something other than inert cheeriness for the first time in a week. She'll flag down the waitress for the check, leaning one elbow on the table so she can cradle her head in her hand.
iv. we could wait until the walls come down [wildcard]
[ooc; i'm down for any interactions! diana will be stage 6 tranquilized for a week, only remembering her break-in as a misunderstanding that ended good-naturedly. she will still have her increased durability and strength, but will be unaware of them, believing herself an average human woman. please feel free to contact me via pm or on plurk at
no subject
They're already at the house by the time she feels as if she can speak again, but she's already seated at the table when she finally finds the words. "Strong tea." Getting each word out is like wading through hip-deep muck, and it's a wonder she managed it at all. She goes on: "Lots of sugar." Something to wake her up, kickstart her mind. She's prefer coffee, but perhaps tea is a better place to start. There's a ritual to it, and watching him move about the kitchen is a good way to focus her mind on the present.
no subject
Making it good and strong, though, is easy. Erwin has plenty of experience brewing tea until it's dark and bold and ready to jump out of the pot.
Erwin stays quiet as he makes them both tea, and then sits down at the table across from her, with the tea set laid about between them. "Would you like me to pour it, or would you like to do the honors?"
He figures that pouring tea is likely a skill the city would leave intact, but doing it for herself as she wakes up can't hurt.