brigitte fitzgerald (keepitatbay) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-10-22 18:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ginger snaps: brigitte fitzgerald, hunger games: johanna mason |
Who: Brigitte Fitzgerald and Johanna Mason
When: Oct 22nd, Morning
Where: Common Area, Near the Cubbies
What: It's been a few days since Brigitte took her monkshood and she's not feeling so great.
Rating: TBD
Warning: mentions of "drug" use and addiction
Brigitte could barely believe that she had been here a month. It wasn’t that time had slipped away from her. The daily dosage of monkshood she had to take kept her painfully aware of the ticking clock as her supply depleted. Instead, her disbelief came from the fact that she was still here. A part of her thought this was just a fever dream, some hallucination that she’d eventually wake up from. Another part expected a full revolt after the last experiment. Even despite her lack of faith in others, surely, there were enough angry people to overpower the those keeping them here. Her worst offense was the hope that once the monkshood ran out, she wouldn’t need it anymore. The scientists hadn’t turned Jessica back to human, but they had effected a fundamental part of her physiology. Brigitte should have known when they told her they would provide more monkshood that her captors had no intention of reversing her transformation.
She had felt fine the first day after her supply had run out. The second day left her a bit shaky, but that was easily excused as minor withdrawals. Yesterday was when she realized that nothing had changed. If anything, things had only slowed, but she wasn’t sure if that was the institute or being so far from the wolf that had been hunting her. It was disappointing, to put it as lightly as possible, and she had no one to blame but herself.
That her refill, so to speak, would be delivered straight to her room was too much to expect. It would have been a comfortable convenience, and this place provided anything but. Brigitte avoided the common area as much as possible, but if she wanted her monkshood, she had no choice but to venture out of her room.
She looked like the junkie the rehab center had taken her for: sweaty, stumbling, and a disregard for everything but her next fix. So much so that Brigitte only registered that she was about to walk into someone until after they locked shoulders. Pinching her eyes shut, she took a weighted breath, and turned around to apologize.
“Sorry.” The word was clipped and didn’t sound nearly as remorseful as it should have.