2009-11-06 08:22![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldisciplineSo, bookended by cat puke theatrics, I had a brief, lousy, frequently-interrupted night's sleep (what with feline racketeering, skin regrowth, and whatnot). That didn't preclude me from having one of the sicker dreams I can recall in a while.
The segue into the dream was MBI telling me that Jar-Jar Binks was going to make an appearance in the next Star Wars movie. Little did I know that I was apparently going to be the director, and that it would be written and shot in a manner that would make the producers of 24 squeamish.
The woman coughed and opened her eyes, shaking the water that had been thrown in her face out of her short-cropped black hair.
"Welcome back. Your... friend... has not been very forthcoming, though he's been quite cooperative."
She looked to her right, where Jar-Jar was strapped to an adjacent table, unmoving, breathing shallowly. "Meesa not tell them anything." His voice was barely above a listless whisper. His upper arms were cut open nearly to the bone in two or three places, the dark flesh exposed and glistening.
Their captor smiled grimly and held up a black-handled scalpel barely longer than his fingers.
"That's--" her words cut off, and her eyes went wide as he swung his hand against her left hip. A huge line of searing pain tore through her. Warm blood spattered on her face, his arm, and across Jar-Jar's chest.
"At least meesa is not bleeding."
She looked into the bearded face above her. "As I said, he was cooperative, but unhelpful. We have not harmed any of his internal organs... yet. Perhaps you know more than your friend? I understand that direct visceral trauma is very unpleasant.
"You will answer one question for each organ."
"All right. But at least have some mercy, and go from the back."
"Of course." He spun the table around its long axis, and with a single, short downward stroke, pushed in the blade. Jar-Jar stiffened and whimpered. "Pale, cream-colored foam, faint scent of tree nuts. I believe that's the liver."
Weighing her options, she felt tears begin to run from the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, my love," she whispered.
"Now, what are the Senator's plans for the colony? The Alliance needs to know."
---------
Visually, nothing more graphic than the bloodless upper-arm cuts were shown. The camera work was primarily shot from low angles, almost as her POV - over the woman's shoulder, looking up at the lights in the ceiling, at the face of their interrogator (who, unfortunately, looks like a bit like Christopher Lee, though not necessarily in the Count Dooku role, since this is supposed to be years later (ie: Ep. VII). Lots of bare, shiny (but dark) metal and the suggestion of moisture.
The segue into the dream was MBI telling me that Jar-Jar Binks was going to make an appearance in the next Star Wars movie. Little did I know that I was apparently going to be the director, and that it would be written and shot in a manner that would make the producers of 24 squeamish.
The woman coughed and opened her eyes, shaking the water that had been thrown in her face out of her short-cropped black hair.
"Welcome back. Your... friend... has not been very forthcoming, though he's been quite cooperative."
She looked to her right, where Jar-Jar was strapped to an adjacent table, unmoving, breathing shallowly. "Meesa not tell them anything." His voice was barely above a listless whisper. His upper arms were cut open nearly to the bone in two or three places, the dark flesh exposed and glistening.
Their captor smiled grimly and held up a black-handled scalpel barely longer than his fingers.
"That's--" her words cut off, and her eyes went wide as he swung his hand against her left hip. A huge line of searing pain tore through her. Warm blood spattered on her face, his arm, and across Jar-Jar's chest.
"At least meesa is not bleeding."
She looked into the bearded face above her. "As I said, he was cooperative, but unhelpful. We have not harmed any of his internal organs... yet. Perhaps you know more than your friend? I understand that direct visceral trauma is very unpleasant.
"You will answer one question for each organ."
"All right. But at least have some mercy, and go from the back."
"Of course." He spun the table around its long axis, and with a single, short downward stroke, pushed in the blade. Jar-Jar stiffened and whimpered. "Pale, cream-colored foam, faint scent of tree nuts. I believe that's the liver."
Weighing her options, she felt tears begin to run from the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, my love," she whispered.
"Now, what are the Senator's plans for the colony? The Alliance needs to know."
---------
Visually, nothing more graphic than the bloodless upper-arm cuts were shown. The camera work was primarily shot from low angles, almost as her POV - over the woman's shoulder, looking up at the lights in the ceiling, at the face of their interrogator (who, unfortunately, looks like a bit like Christopher Lee, though not necessarily in the Count Dooku role, since this is supposed to be years later (ie: Ep. VII). Lots of bare, shiny (but dark) metal and the suggestion of moisture.
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You go Rafe's subconscious! You just keep going with that! :-D
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She answered nine questions.</>
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That kind of torture reminded me of this series.
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And this dream would be perfect but for one thing. She needed to not call him "my love". I cannot imagine any female of any species loving that mentally damaged, incompetent, blundering buffoon.
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