Will Punch Your Butthole
Posts: 114
Preferred Name: Donut
Pronouns: Her/She
Character Name: Ellie 'Evrika' Waters
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Post by Ellie on Dec 30, 2015 11:32:31 GMT -5
FART NOISE
Figured since I need to make myself write stuff that isn't fanfiction, I'd make a thread here for any re:dux drabbles. //pbbbt
Will maybe make this more pretty when I'm not a lazy fuck hahasonever
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Will Punch Your Butthole
Posts: 114
Preferred Name: Donut
Pronouns: Her/She
Character Name: Ellie 'Evrika' Waters
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Post by Ellie on Dec 30, 2015 11:34:01 GMT -5
Ellie's Past
Her hair was the wrong color and fell in her eyes too much. Her nose was the wrong shape, too wide. Skin wasn't smooth enough, she was too short, her mouth was too big. She was riddled with imperfections. Strangers would compliment, such a cute child, but she wasn't what she was supposed to be.
In school she had even more failings. Science confused her, complex math was beyond her comprehension. She excelled at physical activity, stout body showing grace for dance. Her only intellectual saving grace was an easy understanding of language and literature. At parties she would often dance or recite passages she'd memorized from classic literature.
Once she made the mistake of telling one of her mother's coworkers that she wanted to be a member of the police force. Her parents had been furious.
Being a police officer was barely high class, a career for the ugly or talentless. No glory or fame to be had unless you got a heroic death. She would be wasted on such a job. No, she would be a dancer or a reporter. Once she passed the Test, they'd get her the surgery to fix what was wrong with her face. She was too stupid for a science career like her parents, so she could earn fame and recognition by being an entertainer. Her mother would oversee her surgeries personally. She couldn't succeed with such a plain face.
It was during her two years at the police academy, required as a high class youth, that she learned how to fight. Her arms swelled with strength, thighs thickened beyond the dancing muscles. And in the adrenaline of a fight, she found something she'd never felt before: joy. Landing a hit gave her more pride than any dance she had mastered. Her hands, with fingers too slow and stupid for any of the instruments her parents had tried to force her to learn, became strong. She could crush a bottle in one hand; not even flinch at the glass cutting into her skin.
The last day before her Test, she got into a fight with a would-be Vigilante. It had been a kid, younger than her, who had managed to sneak onto the training grounds. She never found out what he'd been planning. Maybe he had a bomb, was going to blow all the rich brats to hell. Or maybe he had an informant on the inside. She didn't know and, really, she didn't care. What she cared about was the way his knife had nicked the side of her neck during their fight. It hadn't been deep enough to be a threat to her life, but she remembered the way it had bled. The way the on-site medic had laughed as he cleaned it to get it ready for Novigel.
Lucky you're here. That'd be an ugly scar.
She'd stopped him from putting the Novigel on the cut. No, she'd let it heal on its own. Let it scar. Let it mark her skin that already wasn't smooth enough, wasn't soft enough. And with the bandages still on her neck, she took the Test that would direct her life.
She bombed it.
Nothing was better, could even compare, to the looks on her parents' faces when her results came in. They'd been outraged. There was no way their daughter, the project they had slaved and poured so much money into, had failed so severely. A mistake was made. They demanded a retake, a chance to prove she wasn't a complete loss.
She wasn't allowed much to take with her when she was escorted out of the high class district. There were some pieces of her mother's jewelry hidden in the bottom of her bag. Something to sell while she figured out her new life.
She was free at last.
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