Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own REPO! The Genetic Opera, or any of it's characters. I do however, own any of the original characters presented here, as well as the plot.
Dolly Character Sheet: .com/art/Dolly-Character-sheet-245733241
Author's Note: I really hope you enjoy the story! Feedback is much appreciated
Dolly sighed and stuck one thin arm out of her scraggly blanket, slamming her palm down on her alarm clock. When the ungodly sound didn't stop, she poked her head out of the threadbare black sheets encasing her and grabbed the assaulting object off the floor. She squinted at the time. 12:00am? Why was her alarm set for 12:00am? Oh, yeah. An angry grunt accompanied her slow extraction from her make-shift cocoon, as she slumped off of her cot and pulled herself into the bathroom. The cold- grimy tiles were a shock to her still-warm feed, and Dolly hopped from foot to foot while she found the light switch and forced her feet to be still as she examined herself in the mirror. Her image was still a shock even weeks later from the change.
Her once sun-kissed long, wavy brown hair was now shaved off on the right side, bright red on top, and deep black on bottom. Her copper, usually-bare skin was dirty with the day's leftover makeup, heavy around the eyes, and crimson on the lips. She splashed some water and soap on her face, dabbing it with a towel and being especially careful around the tender piercing the tattoo artist called a "Monroe", named after a star from the 1900s, who had a famous natural beauty mark there. These days most beauty marks were surgically added or tattooed, but Dolly preferred to stay away from that stuff. A piercing seemed safest in case she decided she didn't like it after all. Or if she ended up having to return home. She audibly groaned at that thought. She was 17 years old, and a little financial trouble was not going to force her to let her family down and return home. She was going to do this, she could be strong.
Dolly left the bathroom, discarding her over-sized t-shirt as she yawned. Maybe she shouldn't have stayed up all day. The only closet in her dismal apartment doubled as general storage, and a place for clothes. She pulled out a corset, and a short navy skirt, putting them on as she searched for her stockings and boots. When she walked past the mirror and caught a glimpse of herself, she cringed. Sure, she wanted to look like a scalpel-slut, just to keep from sticking out, but she didn't want to look like an actual whore. After pulling on her thigh-high stockings and work-boots, Dolly grabbed a sheer purple shirt from underneath the cot. It had been left by the previous owner, along with a lot other clothes, and Dolly tried not to think about the fact that she was wearing a dead girl's shirt. People in the city died all the time, and this person just so happened to leave some things that were of use to the 17-year-old.
Before dashing out the door, Dolly picked up her bag and checked to make sure she had everything she would need for the coming task. Needles? Check. Vials? Check. Gun? Check. A knife just in case of an emergency? Check. This was it…. Dolly was going to collect Zydrate. She locked the door behind her and disappeared into the night.