Farah
Virtuosa
Khar Delba
Castle Methushael
[member="Darth Carnifex"]
The concrete structure was all she had known. It was her world and she hadn’t even been allowed in the better part of it—only the medical wing for the most part. There was plenty of observation, plenty of tests and exams concerning her physical stature, mental fortitude and ability in the Force. Not that she knew what it was, but she got the impression that it was important.
Five days and sixteen hours. That was how old Farah Zambrano was, taking the form of an adult Zeltron woman. She was a biological replica of someone who’d already existed, who’d grown from childhood and had her own memories and experiences. On this front, Farah was lacking.
Her eyes traced along one of the many chrome pipelines in the exam room, from the machine where they began to the exhaust somewhere outside. There were bundles of them, streaming out from the various devices that were neatly arranged against the walls. She recognized her surroundings as an exam room, a place where she’d spent most of her life. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but she found comfort in it all the same because she had nothing else to fall back on as a familiar concept.
Farah was nervous. After days of questions that had been dodged by the men and women in white lab coats, she was to meet her creator. Today, for the first time. She did not know what to expect, idly picking at the lining of the armrest of her chair. All she could do was wait until someone entered the room or she was escorted away—wait and keep her mind from wandering into a more anxious place.
Castle Methushael
[member="Darth Carnifex"]
The concrete structure was all she had known. It was her world and she hadn’t even been allowed in the better part of it—only the medical wing for the most part. There was plenty of observation, plenty of tests and exams concerning her physical stature, mental fortitude and ability in the Force. Not that she knew what it was, but she got the impression that it was important.
Five days and sixteen hours. That was how old Farah Zambrano was, taking the form of an adult Zeltron woman. She was a biological replica of someone who’d already existed, who’d grown from childhood and had her own memories and experiences. On this front, Farah was lacking.
Her eyes traced along one of the many chrome pipelines in the exam room, from the machine where they began to the exhaust somewhere outside. There were bundles of them, streaming out from the various devices that were neatly arranged against the walls. She recognized her surroundings as an exam room, a place where she’d spent most of her life. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but she found comfort in it all the same because she had nothing else to fall back on as a familiar concept.
Farah was nervous. After days of questions that had been dodged by the men and women in white lab coats, she was to meet her creator. Today, for the first time. She did not know what to expect, idly picking at the lining of the armrest of her chair. All she could do was wait until someone entered the room or she was escorted away—wait and keep her mind from wandering into a more anxious place.