Anonymous asked: Writing Prompt: Deryn's Reaction to Fabricated Human Soldiers
Sickness swept though Deryn's gut, but she couldn't look away from the pile of flesh in the glass tank before her.
"Quite Impressive," the 'Boffin' said proudly, tilting his bowler up, "Took us weeks to get a living one, and he isn't perfect, but we'll having a working one yet!"
The Lady Boffin coughed into her glove. Deryn was all at once furious at the woman for looking so…diplomatic.
"Quite a fine…example," Doctor Barlow said, "But what caused your fabricators todo such a thing."
A crack of disgust managed to break through at the end of her sentence, like a striking snake.
"Well we've been thinking, beasties are all fine and good but it's the men that do the piloting, so the boys up in the labs decided, 'why the hell not?' and we started work on this beauty."
The fab looked up at them then, reaching a hand to its creators, its wrinkled flesh leaving sweat marks on the glass. Hideous. The swollen lips managed moved, as if to imitate speech.
"But of course, we will have to gas him with the others," The Boffin took off his hat, "Just wanted to show you British how we've mastered your old Darwin's work!"
The urge to vomit welled up in Deryn's gut, but she was still fascinated by the poor creature in the tank. He was neither man or beastie, an ungraceful splice that was unstable and pitiful. As if in a trance, Deryn approached the tank and put her palm up to the beastie's. It smiled at her, its fat lips mouthing more words.
"Why?" Deryn said in a voice that shook, "What's wrong with it? Why do you need to gas it?"
"He isn't the smartest," the Boffin said, fingering his beard, "At least the unstable ones could string together a sentence. Old Jackal here can only repeat things."
There was intelligence in the beastie's eyes, a sad kind of hopelessness that burned under its smile. Did it know what was going to happen? Was it afraid? Did it hate or love its creators for what they had done to him?
"Jackal," Deryn repeated, her fingers still touching the glass, "You named it?"
A woman coughed from behind them. The Boffin smiled.
"Was Sheila's idea," he announced, beckoning for the woman to come forward, "We took the embryo cells from her and her husband after all, so it felt only right to let her name it."
Deryn glare was wasted on the woman, who only looked blankly ahead at the abomination. It was her barking son.
"You seem rather interested, Mr. Sharp," The Boffin said, "Would you like to say hello?"
Deryn jumped away from the glass as if it had burned her. But then took another look at the beastie. It's smile sagged, as if it knew of her disgust. Guilt washed through her.
"No," she said defiantly, never taking her eyes off of the fab.
"A pity," the boffin shrugged, "But so kind of you to visit. Now if you excuse me, we are expecting the second of the batch in a few hours. Really must be on my way."
The Lady Boffin steered Deryn away by the shoulders.
"Come now Mr. Sharp," she said softly.
Deryn at least managed to make it outside before vomiting. The sick was followed by heaving sobs that racked her body. She trembled even as the Lady Boffin lead her into the privacy of the car, but everyone saw. Deryn didn't care. She was haunted, disgusted, and sadder than she had been in a while. What made it worse was the idea that they were making more.
The sobs kept coming the entire ride back to the hotel, and when the staff opened the car doors, Deryn raced out to wretch again. They looked in horror at the mess, but said nothing.
"Get me a messenger tern immediately," The lady Boffin said to a passing bellman, "We're cutting ties with America."