#ic; chasing the impossible | dee fisher

[acemenagerie-a]

@huntloyalty continued from { x }

Daisy couldn’t say that she enjoyed coming into contact with other hunters, especially if it felt like they were working against, or in competition with each other. Her initial instinct was to bear her teeth right back at the other. They were a little taller than her, sure, but she was fairly confident she could take them if she needed to; she was strong.

“What do you want?” she asked, teeth baring a little more than necessary as she spoke, a warning to the other that she was dangerous.

Dee certainly did not care for coming into contact with other Hunters; too eager to kill what would better serve them alive.  Still, they knew how to navigate the bureaucracy of academia and if the Magnus Institute, as their patron, requested a different avenue of pursuit, then they would listen. 

“At the Institute’s insistence, I am changing my current research focus.  Your boss was insistent we track down this manifestation together.  Are you available?”

[ritualwritten]

DEE TAGS

[acemenagerie-a]

troubled birds starters: “A profound thinker, but I cannot stick my mental landings.” from rudy to dee

Troubled Birds Prompts || ACCEPTING @hollerhaints

Dee shrugged with a grin.  “Personally, I find some of the best thoughts come taking a mental leap and then proverbially slamming face first into the ground.”  The sort of logic that got them fired from the last university they worked for among... other reasons.

[acemenagerie-a]

starter for @hollerhaints ( i couldn’t decide for who so it is open for you to choose or u can hmu to chat abt who would fit best ^^ ) { s.c. }

“The human soul weighs 21 grams, smells like grilled vegetables, looks like a wrinkled tartan quilt, and sounds like bridge traffic.”  Dee states, apropos of nothing.  

[acemenagerie-a]

💕- A memory about their significant other [ for georgie !! ] / 💖- A memory that made them feel special [ for elias !! ] / 💓- A memory about their friends [ for dee !! ]

Memory Lane || ACCEPTING

GEORGIE

Georgie’s memory resembles her apartment, though portions seem to be more like her childhood home.  There’s a lived in quality to the space and it is more thoroughly decorated and painted than her actual apartment, perhaps a manifestation of a dream aesthetic that just... hasn’t quite happened yet.

There is a memory version of the Admiral, big and fluffy and even more orange than in real life, wandering around.

He mews and rubs up against one’s leg, shedding a memory that can be experienced.

There is a movie playing on the TV, though the scenes skip and loop and appear out of order.  Plastics bags and trays of take-out cover the little coffee table.  Georgie and Melanie are sitting at opposite ends of the couch, lounging but trying to give one another enough space to actually eat.

The Admiral pads up and hops in between them with a ‘mrrrew.’  Georgie watches him glance between the space against Melanie and the space against her.  Georgie describes the scene to Melanie, finding it too cute not to share.

“Seems like he’s trying to pick a favorite,” Melanie jokes.

“Well, the answer should be obvious, then.”  Georgie returns, lacing her tone with faux smugness.

Only to watch the Admiral curl up next to Melanie.

“I WIN!”

Georgie gapes. “You bastard!  I raised you!”

“Mrrrr!”

---

ELIAS

In the cluttered mess that is Elias’s memory, a yearbook tumbles out of the stack.  Briefly it opens on a class photo before flipping to the very back, where there is a long, long note.

There is a girl.  Her name is Stella.  She’s still having trouble convincing her mom to let her grow her hair out, but she has deftly managed to make the boy’s uniform feminine enough for her tastes.

The memory seems to shudder in a small feedback loop of all the times Elias has admired the way she just was herself and the time he finally plucked up the courage to talk to her.

In this memory, though, they have just finished correcting Stella’s name in both their yearbooks.  Stella reaches over and snatches Elias’s yearbook.  He yelps before Stella tosses hers into his lap with a wide grin.

“C’mon!  We gotta sign these things.”

Elias does not remember what he writes, so the ink swirls, settles into likely possibilities, and then swims again.  He signs ‘Elias Bouchard’ with a flourish he has not felt since this year started.

They trade back yearbooks.

Elias does not remember the exact words, not after all these years.  But what he does remember is the way his chest is engulfed in warmth.  The way his eyes sting and his vision blurs with tears.  The way he suddenly has Stella in his arms and they are both smiling and crying and promising to keep in touch after graduation.

---

DEE

Dee’s memory is an idealized version of their lab, more closely resembling their lab at the biotech company or Duke than the basement lab they currently have.  Some memories are stored in the computer, others are incubating, others are in the lab notebook on the table.

Looking in the microscope, there is another memory.

Dee is an undergrad, nervously walking into the department’s cell culture room for the first time alone.  Their lab notebook is clutched to their chest until they drop it on the table.

As if they might break it, they gingerly open the cell incubator and withdraw the culture plates.  They’re being trusted to feed or split the cells themself this time.

Tenderly they carry the plates to the microscope and check them for contamination or if they’re too confluent to use at all.  They don’t think they’ll have grown too much; the cells have never gotten too confluent in two days.

But then the frown at the microscope, looking at the carpet of cells.

Their professor said to just toss the plates that were too confluent because they start differentiating and it is a pain in the ass.  Still, Dee holds the plate in question, feeling bad.  They rub the lid of the plate, whispering an apology before gingerly putting them in the biohazard.

[acemenagerie-a]

(( add a muse at midnight? me? it’s more likely than u think ))

[acemenagerie-a]

❛ hate is a verb. ❜ ( dealers choice )

shitty horoscopes || ACCEPTING

Dr. Fisher grins, wide and toothy.  “Do you have a direct object in mind for that verb?  To be frank, I am happy to provide more to this fine institution than just my research, if you’d like.”

Just the simple notion of having a sample to retrieve already has their blood roaring, but they steady themself as best they can.  After all, they are mostly here to try and set up an amicable partnership - reagents and equipment aren’t free.  Won’t do to stretch too far, but perhaps sweetening the pot is just what they need to make this work.