My first attempt at a Dollhouse fanfic. And I went for gold and tried to write DeWitt. Please read and review~
"Everyone has their first date... and the object is to hide your flaws. And then you're in a relationship and it's all about hiding your disappointment. Then once you're married it's about hiding your sins." ~Adelle DeWitt
The First Date.
Rossum had carefully cultivated you from the beginning. Nurtured your talents and fed your ego. After years in a public branch, working on stem cell research, you thought you were finally getting due notice. You thought you might finally fulfill yourself. You thought you deserved it.
You thought.
It wasn't an intimate encounter, strictly business. As you prefer, as the higher-ups needed. You had desired something more, and Rossum gave it to you. Your dedication was noted, your knowledge and people-skills were much complimented. You were the complete package. Just as they needed, just as they wanted. The offer was tantalizing, seductive. You couldn't fathom many people who would refuse. You were happy. You bought more formal wear, ditched the lab smocks, and packed your bags that night.
Adelle DeWitt: new head of the LA Dollhouse.
The Relationship.
Your office was clean and orderly from the start, as you thought the office should look. It's started to get messy now. The odd empty bottle here, a half drained glass there. You're reckless behind closed doors, Rossum is ruthless no matter. Problems come and go, packaged up as pretty young women, obsessed men. Topher-shaped distractions run in, Whiskey runs out.
The staff has more in common with yourself than you'll ever admit. Compromised people with detachable souls. Amoral, guilty, broken little worker drones. It's crossed you mind more than once in a drunken haze that the Attic might be a kindness for some of them. Nobody in the Dollhouse is ever what they seem. Invisible masks grace every face; some wear them better than others. The Actives, your dolls but heaven forbid they become your playthings, truly are the purest souls among you. And you envy them for it. You drown your disappointment in alcohol, and everything else along with it.
Obviously you weren't the only one lying during the interview.
The Marriage.
If you close your eyes you could almost believe in perfection. When you look out onto the city you can forget who walks the floors hidden deep down below. Pretend your jar of fireflies is something different. You've always preferred butterflies (but the jar is really filled with hearts).
Day-to-day you hold congress with the most needful things, whitewash your entire life. Rossum has you entangled in its web; every so often they like to remind you that you're getting pulled in closer. Rossum is the Handler, and you are but a Doll in their games. You shudder at the thought, reach for a drink. White noise hides the truth from already knowing ears. New carpet, windows, doors. New staff. Moving on.
You're doing such good work. You're helping people. You're helping people.
Mr. Dominic used to atone for your sins. Now you have to do it yourself but you're not sure how. It's so late at night as you walk through your House. And you can't help your mind straying to unwholesome things, the truth, nightmares. Rossum isn't doing such good work. And the Dollhouse feels too much like home nowadays.