Disclaimer: I don't own DP.
BGM: "8th Commandment" by Sonata Arctica.
Curiosity II
I had the absolutely brilliant idea to try to fix a ridiculously complicated device, designed and built by a couple of mad scientists, no less. So, how did I go about it? Did I ask for help, did I get back-up, did I even make a plan? (Never mind that no plan survives first contact.) No, I just borrowed a jumpsuit and some assorted bits of equipment that wouldn't be missed (without asking, of course) and jumped right in.
I'm an idiot.
I'm an idiot, and that is why I am currently trying to disentangle my stupidly long hair from some poorly designed bit of machinery protruding from the inner walls of the Fenton Portal Mark II. There was no other explanation, save that I really and truly had (finally) gone insane due to overexposure to said couple of mad scientists and their many, many unstable inventions.
"Crumbs, crumbs, crumbs, and furthermore cookie crumbs," I muttered in irritation, fumbling with a (most likely superfluous) metal structure through the too-stiff fabric of my gloves.
I shook out my aching fingers and gave up on trying to tease my hair out of the stiff hooks and loops that just. Wouldn't. Budge already!
Then I slapped my forehead with a gloved hand, wincing as the movement pulled on my scalp. I had a flashlight and a toolkit. Why was I messing around with my bare hands? (Well, not bare, but- oh, why am I going on about this now?)
Biting my lip, I turned myself around and pulled the needed items off my belt. Then I realized that I would need two hands for tools as well as the flashlight to see, and I only had two total hands. I muttered another insult at myself for not thinking to bring a miner's light, or better yet, following the basic lab safety rules I'd had drilled into me since I could walk and tying my stupidly long hair back before I started poking around. But no, I'm the smart one, so I couldn't have forgotten something.
"Stupid, stupid…"
I let a tiny whimper pass my lips and felt my face heat up, and then remembered there was no one else around to watch me make a complete fool of myself. Grimacing, I experimented with places to put the flashlight. (I was not going to put that in my mouth. Who knew where it had been?)
Eventually, I managed to get it wedged between my left ear and shoulder, like a painfully odd-shaped phone headset. Flicking the light on (at the last second, because who knew when the battery was last changed), I got out a little hook and started trying to untangle my hair from the inner workings of the Fenton Portal. Again. Frowning slightly, I yanked the confining headband off, huffing a breath out through my nose (my jaw was far too tense to open my mouth, even the tiniest bit) as a little more pressure came off and I got the first few hairs out of the mess.
I stubbornly worked at it for minutes on end, ignoring the pain from cramping muscles, and managed to get most of my hair untangled, leaving just a few stubborn strands that had somehow managed to get themselves worked deep into a bit of exposed circuitry. How…?
(Never mind. I don't think I want to know the answer to that particular question, not that badly. It wouldn't surprise me much, at this point, if it turned out that the Fenton Portal actually had something resembling a will of its own. It might just explain that incident.)
I shifted positions to get a better view.
The flashlight slipped from its place, and I tried to grab it, but it clattered to the floor and guttered out.
Finally, alone in the darkness, I let myself cry. I didn't allow myself that weakness for long. I reached into the toolkit and felt for the smooth oblong of a tiny Swiss Army knife, and the rigid grooves of its attachments. Sorting through them by feel, I felt a sense of something equal parts triumph and relief when I got to the tiny scissors and, carefully, snipped through the last lock of hair, nearly grinning as I felt them settle back into place. Forget contamination (for now); I can go back and pick everything up when I can actually see.
And darn whoever didn't think to put emergency lights in the Fenton Portal anyway! I could see the basement lights out of the corner of my eye, but it was still too dark to make out any details here. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, let alone fiddly bits of metal. Just how far does this tunnel extend? Am I even still on Fenton property at this point, or does it cross the property line? (And is that going to get my parents into legal trouble? Oh, dear, I hope not.)
Feeling the cramps easing out of my neck and shoulders, I yawned and reflexively stretched my arms out, forward and back, feeling pressure give under my fingers. I stopped and, not seeing anything amiss, started to pick up the dropped objects. It wasn't like a few seconds here or there would make much difference at this point.
I shot one last baleful look at the bit of hair still tangled in some circuits, and the world stopped. There were lights active, tracks in the circuitry glowing bright green (active circuitry, oh G-d, oh G-d).
I heard things fall to the floor, but was a bit preoccupied with not being inside when the thing turned on-
Then the light caught up with me.
(The light was green, at first. Then it slowly faded into a murky cloudy off-white like smoke gathering that dissipated to reveal a beautiful clear red, like the most brilliant of flawless rubies.)
I heard someone screaming, like a frightened little girl.
(It was such an annoying sound, like nails-on-a-chalkboard screeching that got into the tiny bones in your jaw and made your teeth buzz.)
I saw flesh shrivel and peel off of yellow bone that bleached white.
(And I thought: How am I seeing this when I felt my eyes melt?)
I saw hair in bright-red-orange fire-colored locks mixing with melted plastic and rubber.
(And I wondered why I couldn't smell the fumes.)
Then the pain hit.
(There were a million tiny needles, I thought, a thousand tiny knives cutting me apart and then someone was sticking the needles in, and then salt was rubbed in the wounds as muscle and skin and bones and organs and blood vessels and nerves and every invisible little piece of me/what-had-been-me was all mixed up and churned up and pulled and pushed this way and that and poured into a mold and set.)
Then I fell forward, out of the mouth, into bright light that jabbed at my (new) eyes and stung my (new) skin.
Distantly, I saw someone small and white and pale (and hurt in such a sweetly simple way) making animal noises and scrambling out of my field of view.
Then a dawn-bright light swallowed me, and I knew nothing.
A/N: So. Think of common English idioms, you'll understand the title fairly quickly. (And yes, I probably could have made it all one chapter, but the muse is fickle. I literally only just wrote this.) Also, what the heck is my muse smoking? Yeesh.
Please read and review, and tell me honestly: What do you think?
