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Oct. 24th, 2024 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lab_reportsThe brushed metal door slid into the ceiling like something from a spy movie, and Cynthia Broadmoore entered. The small room was faced in dark, rich wood, subtly textured, trimmed in brass. A golden glow of recessed lighting overhead, tastefully lush carpet below. Nearly empty but for a large, rectilinear black leather chair. And now, her.
The door slid shut. She circled around the chair to its seat and deposited her large posterior, smoothing the skirt of her lab uniform as she sat.
Lithe, spindly robot arms unsheathed themselves from the ceiling. They delicately unraveled Broadmoore's severe hairdo, depositing ornate sticks and hairpins on a nearby trivet as though they were surgical instruments, then teased the braids and knots loose. Unbound, her hair was voluminous and wavy, almost frizzy from its bondage. Tension ebbed from her posture along with that of her hair; her hands remained folded in her lap.
"Fifteen minutes, no interruptions," she said.
The arms withdrew and the lights dimmed further. Broadmoore closed her eyes, relaxed the lace of her fingers. There was the sound of her breathing, slow and regular, the faint plastic strain of her uniform against the black leather, and behind these, the dense no-sound of sonic isolation.
Broadmoore took deep, deliberate breaths at first. She resituated her legs to a more comfortable position. Her closed eyelids flickered, then stilled. Her body evinced the faintest tidal sway, imparted by the beating of her heart.
Broadmoore breathed in, breathed out.
Time passed, unmeasured. It unwound, softened. Five minutes or five hours?
She breathed.
She'd become nearly as still as the room itself. Her stillness chased time from the room. She was a presence but not present, having exited through a door within.
Breathe in, breathe out.
In its small, discreet universe, the statue of a giantess rested, presiding over the stasis its gravity had formed around itself. There was no 'outside,' only this timeless space held in thrall to the presence of its inhabitant, who herself had abnegated its reality.
For fifteen minutes.
Broadmoore exhaled and opened her eyes. Her time fell in with that of the outside, the transmission of a great and dangerous machine settling into gear. The robot arms gave her a moment before attending, gathering her hair and braiding and knotting it, resituating its jeweled accoutrements until it was again tightly bound and unforgiving.
She drew a deep breath, held it, let it go, gossamer steam flirting across her lips. Then she rose, straightened her uniform, and walked out.
The door slid shut. She circled around the chair to its seat and deposited her large posterior, smoothing the skirt of her lab uniform as she sat.
Lithe, spindly robot arms unsheathed themselves from the ceiling. They delicately unraveled Broadmoore's severe hairdo, depositing ornate sticks and hairpins on a nearby trivet as though they were surgical instruments, then teased the braids and knots loose. Unbound, her hair was voluminous and wavy, almost frizzy from its bondage. Tension ebbed from her posture along with that of her hair; her hands remained folded in her lap.
"Fifteen minutes, no interruptions," she said.
The arms withdrew and the lights dimmed further. Broadmoore closed her eyes, relaxed the lace of her fingers. There was the sound of her breathing, slow and regular, the faint plastic strain of her uniform against the black leather, and behind these, the dense no-sound of sonic isolation.
Broadmoore took deep, deliberate breaths at first. She resituated her legs to a more comfortable position. Her closed eyelids flickered, then stilled. Her body evinced the faintest tidal sway, imparted by the beating of her heart.
Broadmoore breathed in, breathed out.
Time passed, unmeasured. It unwound, softened. Five minutes or five hours?
She breathed.
She'd become nearly as still as the room itself. Her stillness chased time from the room. She was a presence but not present, having exited through a door within.
Breathe in, breathe out.
In its small, discreet universe, the statue of a giantess rested, presiding over the stasis its gravity had formed around itself. There was no 'outside,' only this timeless space held in thrall to the presence of its inhabitant, who herself had abnegated its reality.
For fifteen minutes.
Broadmoore exhaled and opened her eyes. Her time fell in with that of the outside, the transmission of a great and dangerous machine settling into gear. The robot arms gave her a moment before attending, gathering her hair and braiding and knotting it, resituating its jeweled accoutrements until it was again tightly bound and unforgiving.
She drew a deep breath, held it, let it go, gossamer steam flirting across her lips. Then she rose, straightened her uniform, and walked out.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-25 02:03 pm (UTC)Even Broadmoore needs a moment of respite now and then, it seems.
Wonderfully rendered, and very evocative.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-25 09:08 pm (UTC)