(A/N: I started drabbling this last night because I'm obsessed with the idea of a female Nine, and then it started writing itself. Updates will probably be sporadic, and of all different lengths, though I'm sort of challenging myself to write a little bit more every night. Nothing is capitalized because that's how I originally wrote it, and I didn't feel like reformatting the entire thing, so I'm going to keep it consistent and call it creative license.)
imagine rose being cornered by living plastic mannequins in the basement of henrik's and thinking she's about to be killed and she's only 19 and she thought so much more could have come out of her life, but here she is in concrete hell, going so mad that she's hallucinating manic mannequins - she must be. and then imagine, as she's cornered by these plastic people and she's going to be beaten down at any second, a woman grabs her hand and calmly says, "run."
she's a handsome woman - not conventionally beautiful by any standards, but maybe the kind of beautiful that you start to see the second or third time you look at her. she's tan; tall; rugged. short, messy hair, a big nose, and even bigger ears. big hands, too - her long, spindly fingers fit perfectly in with rose's, and rose doesn't even know her name. but rose doesn't really dwell on any of this yet, because she's running.
and then she's inside of an elevator gasping for breath, insisting that the mannequins must be students, and the woman is mocking her a little bit in a way that makes rose want to be mocked, and then she tells rose to go home.
"i'm the doctor, by the way. what's your name?" she says, the words spilling from her mouth quickly, frantically, but casually.
"rose," rose replies, not quite so sure of herself yet.
"nice to meet you, rose," the woman (the doctor) says, friendly as can be. "run for your life!"