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She's leaving Tim Hortons with several cups of coffee in her hands, big black bags under her eyes, and blank expression on her face. She's not doing a great job at looking where she's going.
cara's awakening goes less well
She drops her hand and steps back. "Well. That's a decision I get to make now, isn't it?" She moves to her mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to drink this. All of it. Then you're going to lie down and sleep for..." She checks her phone. "Four hours. When you wake up, we'll see how much of you is left."
She presses the bottle into Cara's hands. "And if you're very, very lucky, maybe I'll even let you have an opinion about what happens next."
She watches Cara settle onto the bed, then pulls her desk chair over to sit beside it. Four hours. She sets an alarm on her phone, then leans back to observe. She reaches out to brush a strand off Cara's forehead, letting her fingers linger.
In practice, it's easiest for her to steer when her companion is asleep.
Perhaps unfortunately for Vera:
1. Cara has not used the bathroom in 11 hours
2. Vera has instructed Cara to drink a lot of water in the past few hours
A few minutes after she falls asleep, she wets Vera's bed.
She jerks her hand back as the smell hits her. "Oh, for fuck's sake." She stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. Of course. Of course the hollowed-out little puppet wouldn't think to mention needing the bathroom. Why would she? No one told her to.
She stares down at Cara's sleeping form, jaw clenched. Her sheets. Her mattress. She closes her eyes, counts to five, then opens them again. Fine. This is what she gets for not thinking through the logistics of keeping a human pet.
"Wake up." She shakes Cara's shoulder, not gently. "Get up. Now."
"Stand there." She points to a spot by the door, away from the mess. "Don't move." She strips the sheets off the bed with sharp, irritated movements, bundling them into a ball. The mattress underneath is soaked through. Of course it is.
She grabs her laundry basket and shoves the sheets in, then turns back to Cara. "You're going to the showers. Now." She grabs a clean towel from her closet and throws it at the girl, hard enough that she stumbles. "And next time you need to piss? You tell me. I don't care if I have to teach you to bark like a dog to get my attention."
The towel falls to the floor, since she'd been instructed not to move, but when given the showers order she does pick it up.
She looks around. "Where?"
"Down the hall. Third door on the left." She grabs Cara's wrist, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "And if anyone asks what happened to you? You don't remember. You were sick. You're fine now." She releases her with a shove toward the door. "Go. Wash everything. Use soap. Don't come back until you're clean."
She needs to deal with this mattress. And figure out what the hell she's going to do with a broken toy that requires this much maintenance.
Cara stumbles the hallway. She's not the only one in the showers, but this early in the morning, nobody talks to her. She washes herself slowly, methodically, using the soap everywhere. It's rough on her skin and hair.
It takes her about a half hour.
While Cara's gone, she strips the bed completely, bundling the mattress protector—thank god she had one—into the laundry basket with the sheets. The mattress itself is salvageable, barely. She flips it, sprays it down with the enzyme cleaner she keeps for lab accidents, and cracks the window to let it air out.
Then she sits at her desk and starts making a list. If she's keeping this thing, she needs to be smarter about it. Basic maintenance schedule: bathroom breaks, food, water. Like having a very stupid, very breakable pet. One that feels incredible to touch and that she can mold however she wants.
She checks the time. Thirty-two minutes. The door opens.
"Close the door." She stands and crosses to Cara, plucking the towel from her hands. "Your hair is still soaked." She starts toweling it roughly, not particularly careful about pulling. "Did you at least remember to use conditioner after that soap? No, of course you didn't. I didn't tell you to."
She drops the towel and runs her fingers through the damp tangles, feeling that pleasant buzz of compatibility again as she cups her face. "Sit on the floor. Right here." She points to a spot by her desk chair. "I need to figure out what to do with you, and I think better when I can touch you."
She sits in her desk chair and cards her fingers through Cara's damp hair, working out tangles with little care for whether it hurts. The contact hums between them as she brushes her scalp, that sweet compatibility singing through her nerves.
"Here's the problem," she says conversationally. "You're in hell week. That means you need constant guiding or you'll just... stay like this. Maybe get worse." She tugs a particularly stubborn knot free. "And I have classes. A life. Things that don't involve babysitting a broken doll."
She leans back, keeping one hand resting on Cara's head. "So. Options. I could dump you at the campus health center. They'd figure out what you are eventually. Ship you off to some facility." Her fingers tighten briefly. "Or I could keep you. But that means you need to be a lot less high-maintenance than you are right now."
She drums her fingers on the arm of her chair, thinking. "Let's start simple. When you need to use the bathroom, you tell me. Say 'I need to use the bathroom.' Try it."
"I need to use the bathroom", the doll says in a monotonous voice. If there's any semantic intent or understanding behind it, it's neither visible nor audible.
"Good girl. Same thing for being hungry or thirsty. 'I need food,' 'I need water.' Practice those too." She threads her fingers deeper into Cara's hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. The contact feels so nice she has to suppress a shiver. "And when I'm not here, you stay in this room. You sit on the floor by the bed. You don't leave, you don't touch anything, you don't answer the door. Understood?"
She's already thinking ahead. She'll need to set up some kind of feeding schedule, maybe leave water bottles within reach. The bathroom situation is trickier. Maybe she can train her to hold it for longer periods. Or just invest in some rubber sheets.
She pauses, fingers stilling in Cara's hair. That's interesting. She leans forward slightly, studying Cara's face. "You don't think you can what? Be specific."
"Tell you when I need to go to the bathroom, or need food, or water." Her face is mostly the usual blank, but her brow is slightly furrowed.
"Oh." She blinks, then laughs—a sharp, delighted sound. "You can't tell when you need things. That's part of it, isn't it? No access to your own wants." She cups Cara's face between her hands, tilting it up to study her more closely. "You literally don't know you need to piss until it's already happening."
She releases her and sits back, tapping a finger against her lips. "Alright. New plan. Every two hours, you use the bathroom whether you think you need to or not. Every four hours, you drink water. Every six, you eat something." She pauses. "Can you keep track of time? Or is that gone too?"
