Iwon'tgrowup
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 18, 2005
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(A little extra playtime the last couple days. Don't know when I'll get that again, so here goes . . .)
Even in unending hypersleep, she had dreamed about It . . . maybe always would. IT would always be with her. Not the monster so much as the monster inside. HER. RIPLEY.
She'd never been so empowered. A gawky, gangly young woman, big hands, big feet, big bones, strange name: Sigourney. But -- although her first name was unusual, the Weaver name still wielded some Hollywood clout. She'd landed the Ripley role.
A magic name. A formidable character. A heroine. No, HERO, dammit she dreamed. Hero. Yes. Acting girly and vulnerable at just the right times until everyone was "dead" and she was the one remembered. The star. She and . . . IT. She'd blown the monster out of the goddamn airlock, but IT -- Ripley -- survived. Star. Hero.
Now she slept.
The "acid for blood" idea was one of the greatest science fiction writing gimmicks ever. Director Ridley Scott had wanted more than just gimmickry, though. His aliens must have blood of the most realistic color and texture. FOX Studios had a relationship with a major chemical company in West Virginia's Kanawha Valley. They supplied "blood" that turned out to be more than just realistic.
Scott, Weaver and the crew shot the final scene repeatedly. Sigourney killed the alien over and over. Scott wanted many angles, many takes. Now there were only a few available minutes before they were forced to vacate this studio. Sigourney was continuously splattered with the "blood," quickly wiped down, shooting continued. Flashing lights, shadows and movement hid the damage to her costume and makeup. A new, larger bag of "blood" was placed inside the rubber alien suit. During the final take, the "blood" thoroughly doused "Ripley's" exposed hands.
After the exhausting final shoot, Sigourney collapsed in her dressing room, too weary even to shower. She slept almost immediately, nightmares of alien appearances, exalted images of her ascent. Dreams that went on and on, stretching into what seemed . . . 57 years. Ripley the alien killer, the hero, superior to all others, taller, stronger, far more commanding, more deadly. And the chemical blood, absorbing into the skin of her hands and co-mingling with dreams, gave Sigourney more power than she had ever dreamed of. A psychokinesis of previously unknown scope and force. She slept on her couch, changing the world around her, dreaming Ellen Ripley's universe into physical reality.
That's how it began. All who had fought beside her and others yet to come were permanently trapped in the world of her dreams-become-flesh.
But now . . .
The acid-blood chemical Hicks had poured on her bare right foot was about to kill her. It was as if a tiny quill had been set vibrating at maddening speed within every molecule of her foot. Being tickled was her only fear. Ripley was as ticklish as Sigourney had been. She hated tickling because it took away that which she needed more than anything: Control. Even as Sigourney, she had always managed to look pouty and pissed off. No one, not even her beloved father, had ever tickled her for more than 2 or 3 seconds. All feared her salty language, her withering comments, her obdurate expression. Her anger at being restrained had allowed her to overcome Hicks's fingers on her soles. But now, oh God . . .
HA! (pause) HA! (pause) HAA! (long pause) Ripley's laughter turned silent, her body in a stiff arch. She could no longer breathe. Yet the tickling grew more intense, the liquid seeming to soak into the muscles, the vessels, the bones of her foot. Every nerve reached, penetrated, seized, tickled.
Merciless.
"Corporal," General Perez said. "The atomizer. Antidote. Quickly."
Hicks withdrew a small nozzled bottle from his uniform, spraying Ripley's foot with a light yellowish liquid. Hicks understood little of why he was living in this reality; Perez, only a little more. But both fully grasped that Ripley was responsible for their shadowy lives, hiding in constant fear of the monsters. She was insane, obviously. She thought Alien was just a play, a production of some kind, an entertainment for some long-ago culture. It made her feel loved, feted, adored.
"But it's all in your mind," Perez muttered. "This is reality. How do you like it . . . Sigourney?"
Breath eased into Ripley's lungs, blood rushed to her face. Along with hatred. She panted, glaring at her tormentors. "Fuck (pant pant pant) YOU."
"Oh?" Perez inquired mildly. "Do you know how long our little episode just lasted?"
Ripley only glared, panting, teeth clenched.
"Fifty-seven . . .seconds," Perez said, pointing to an instrument on his wrist.
She couldn't believe it. It had seemed like . . . 57 years. Her diaphragm still spasmed painfully from the force of her laughter, her desperate struggles for air.
"Really?" Hicks said. "Hee HEE! And if she turned blue in 57 seconds . . ."
"Then what will eternity be like, Ellen?" Perez asked. "Will you still be cursing me after you've passed out once? Ten times? Fifty times in a day? Will you have enough breath to tell me to fuck myself while we're trying to revive you with oxygen? Will you still say fuck you when Hicks sprays you with antidote for the hundredth time?"
Ripley shifted her stare . . . less hate-filled now . . . from General Perez's eyes. She looked at her foot, still covered by the now-neutralized alien fluid.
"This is vengeance, Ellen." He nodded slightly to the grinning Hicks, who stood at the foot of Ripley's exam chair.
"Vengeance for the hero, Corporal Hicks. You are a hero, aren't you, Lieutenant Ripley?"
Hicks tipped the jar over Ripley's left foot, and, for good measure, poured a generous new quantity on her right foot, too. "Tickle, tickle . . .hero."
Ripley shrieked laughter immediately. "No NO NOO NOO HO HO HO HO HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!!" Her deep voice broke into a falsetto, a screech, a desperate scream for help from two men who would never give it. "PLEEEASE! (gasping) NO (gasp) MOOOORRE HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAA . . ."
Perez wiped a small bead of saliva from the corner of his mouth, briefly touched his crotch.
Then his hand dropped quickly to his sidearm as a razored alien tail burst through Hicks's midsection from behind.
(I think one more part to go. I'm having fun! Hope you are.)
Even in unending hypersleep, she had dreamed about It . . . maybe always would. IT would always be with her. Not the monster so much as the monster inside. HER. RIPLEY.
She'd never been so empowered. A gawky, gangly young woman, big hands, big feet, big bones, strange name: Sigourney. But -- although her first name was unusual, the Weaver name still wielded some Hollywood clout. She'd landed the Ripley role.
A magic name. A formidable character. A heroine. No, HERO, dammit she dreamed. Hero. Yes. Acting girly and vulnerable at just the right times until everyone was "dead" and she was the one remembered. The star. She and . . . IT. She'd blown the monster out of the goddamn airlock, but IT -- Ripley -- survived. Star. Hero.
Now she slept.
The "acid for blood" idea was one of the greatest science fiction writing gimmicks ever. Director Ridley Scott had wanted more than just gimmickry, though. His aliens must have blood of the most realistic color and texture. FOX Studios had a relationship with a major chemical company in West Virginia's Kanawha Valley. They supplied "blood" that turned out to be more than just realistic.
Scott, Weaver and the crew shot the final scene repeatedly. Sigourney killed the alien over and over. Scott wanted many angles, many takes. Now there were only a few available minutes before they were forced to vacate this studio. Sigourney was continuously splattered with the "blood," quickly wiped down, shooting continued. Flashing lights, shadows and movement hid the damage to her costume and makeup. A new, larger bag of "blood" was placed inside the rubber alien suit. During the final take, the "blood" thoroughly doused "Ripley's" exposed hands.
After the exhausting final shoot, Sigourney collapsed in her dressing room, too weary even to shower. She slept almost immediately, nightmares of alien appearances, exalted images of her ascent. Dreams that went on and on, stretching into what seemed . . . 57 years. Ripley the alien killer, the hero, superior to all others, taller, stronger, far more commanding, more deadly. And the chemical blood, absorbing into the skin of her hands and co-mingling with dreams, gave Sigourney more power than she had ever dreamed of. A psychokinesis of previously unknown scope and force. She slept on her couch, changing the world around her, dreaming Ellen Ripley's universe into physical reality.
That's how it began. All who had fought beside her and others yet to come were permanently trapped in the world of her dreams-become-flesh.
But now . . .
The acid-blood chemical Hicks had poured on her bare right foot was about to kill her. It was as if a tiny quill had been set vibrating at maddening speed within every molecule of her foot. Being tickled was her only fear. Ripley was as ticklish as Sigourney had been. She hated tickling because it took away that which she needed more than anything: Control. Even as Sigourney, she had always managed to look pouty and pissed off. No one, not even her beloved father, had ever tickled her for more than 2 or 3 seconds. All feared her salty language, her withering comments, her obdurate expression. Her anger at being restrained had allowed her to overcome Hicks's fingers on her soles. But now, oh God . . .
HA! (pause) HA! (pause) HAA! (long pause) Ripley's laughter turned silent, her body in a stiff arch. She could no longer breathe. Yet the tickling grew more intense, the liquid seeming to soak into the muscles, the vessels, the bones of her foot. Every nerve reached, penetrated, seized, tickled.
Merciless.
"Corporal," General Perez said. "The atomizer. Antidote. Quickly."
Hicks withdrew a small nozzled bottle from his uniform, spraying Ripley's foot with a light yellowish liquid. Hicks understood little of why he was living in this reality; Perez, only a little more. But both fully grasped that Ripley was responsible for their shadowy lives, hiding in constant fear of the monsters. She was insane, obviously. She thought Alien was just a play, a production of some kind, an entertainment for some long-ago culture. It made her feel loved, feted, adored.
"But it's all in your mind," Perez muttered. "This is reality. How do you like it . . . Sigourney?"
Breath eased into Ripley's lungs, blood rushed to her face. Along with hatred. She panted, glaring at her tormentors. "Fuck (pant pant pant) YOU."
"Oh?" Perez inquired mildly. "Do you know how long our little episode just lasted?"
Ripley only glared, panting, teeth clenched.
"Fifty-seven . . .seconds," Perez said, pointing to an instrument on his wrist.
She couldn't believe it. It had seemed like . . . 57 years. Her diaphragm still spasmed painfully from the force of her laughter, her desperate struggles for air.
"Really?" Hicks said. "Hee HEE! And if she turned blue in 57 seconds . . ."
"Then what will eternity be like, Ellen?" Perez asked. "Will you still be cursing me after you've passed out once? Ten times? Fifty times in a day? Will you have enough breath to tell me to fuck myself while we're trying to revive you with oxygen? Will you still say fuck you when Hicks sprays you with antidote for the hundredth time?"
Ripley shifted her stare . . . less hate-filled now . . . from General Perez's eyes. She looked at her foot, still covered by the now-neutralized alien fluid.
"This is vengeance, Ellen." He nodded slightly to the grinning Hicks, who stood at the foot of Ripley's exam chair.
"Vengeance for the hero, Corporal Hicks. You are a hero, aren't you, Lieutenant Ripley?"
Hicks tipped the jar over Ripley's left foot, and, for good measure, poured a generous new quantity on her right foot, too. "Tickle, tickle . . .hero."
Ripley shrieked laughter immediately. "No NO NOO NOO HO HO HO HO HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!!" Her deep voice broke into a falsetto, a screech, a desperate scream for help from two men who would never give it. "PLEEEASE! (gasping) NO (gasp) MOOOORRE HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAA . . ."
Perez wiped a small bead of saliva from the corner of his mouth, briefly touched his crotch.
Then his hand dropped quickly to his sidearm as a razored alien tail burst through Hicks's midsection from behind.
(I think one more part to go. I'm having fun! Hope you are.)
