The Not-So Austen Bookclub discussion

Title: The Lottery

Blurb: The world is safe. Everyone wakes at the same time, eats at the same time, exercises at the same time, same time, same time. They are kept healthy and well. There are no jobs, no work to do. You do not marry or fall in love. But for some, the routine of life is boring. Their only escape is the Lottery. Every year you put your name in the Lottery. If you win, you get to leave the safety of the Dome for the Isle, where you will be pampered and get to do anything you want.... or so they say. In reality, there is a group of super billionaires. The people in the Dome are their clones. When they get sick or close to death, they just move their brain into the clone. So they can live forever. The Lottery is rigged, so that whoever is close to death in the billionaires' world can get their clone threw the Lottery.

Why people will like it: I've noticed that a lot of people in the group like dystopian and this is another take on that. I also think that it will be suspenseful even for the people roleplaying the roleplay because you don't know all the details about what happens.

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This is Cat's entry for the Roleplay Challenge Event! Please give the roleplay a try and lets us know here: http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1... what you think of it!

cool :)

Thanks.

Name: Veronica Luis (pronounced Loo-eee-ce)
Age: 22
Dome Dweller
Appearance:

Name: Skye Brooks
Age: 21
Status: Dome Dweller
Appearance:

Name: Daphne Woods
Age: 20
Status: Rich outsider who has a clone in the Dome though she is unaware that she has one. Her parents bought her one when she was a child and never brought it up. She is very much against the usage of clones and has been attempting to get inside the Dome to prove how bad it is.

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Question: Am I allowed to roleplay for both Daphne and her clone?

Rachel wrote: "Question: Am I allowed to roleplay for both Daphne and her clone?"

Yep :D

Yay!

Skye Brooks:

Perfect grey eyes, slightly slanted under a curtain of full, curling eyelashes stared back at me in the mirror as I smacked my lips together, having applied a fresh coat of lipstick. Running a hand through my hair to give it that 'messy-yet-model-worthy' look, I slung my bag over my shoulder and exited my room at a leisurely pace.

I mean, why run?

The only way to describe it, is to compare life in the Dome to a clock. You'd never see the hands of a clock speed up, or slow down, or choose their own pace. Something about the clock - the very rhythm that echoes through it, that spurs it on - keeps everything in sync. The different parts move together - click, click, click - like a heartbeat. Like a pulse. They move together, in time, and therefore the clock ticks. The clock gives you the time. The clock is a clock.

It's almost like every time I have accidentally spent too long on a task, or have forgotten something in my room on the way to the door...my body will speed up. My legs will move faster. And I'll be out the door, heading for whatever place I have decided to go to - at the same time that every other door on my street opens to reveal another Dome Dweller. Like every other door on every other street will. We'll all see the sunlit street at the same time, step out and breathe the air at the same time. There's no pause. It's like clockwork.

Today was no different. I looked good - like I always did. There was no need to worry about my outfit, because my wardrobe contained hundreds of the same summer dress I wore each day...light pink with smattering of yellow, white and lilac flowers, paired with ballet flats. When I took the dress off the hanger, it was retracted into the depths of the wardrobe, where the System brought out another one, hanging it ready for the next day. In a drawer on my vanity table sat ten packs of the same coloured lipstick, which were re-stocked every two months.

Everything was perfect.

I walked down the street, passing by my neighbours and other Dwellers walking past. Today was park day. Mondays were always park days. Tuesdays were for the mall, Wednesdays for beauty, Thursdays for the library, Fridays for the rec centre, Saturdays for the Examiners to check on my health and Sunday was spent at home.

"Hello, Skye." It was Drew. He was keeping pace beside me, our feet connecting with the ground at the same time, our arms swinging like pendulums by our sides. Back and forth, back and forth...
"Hello, Drew." The words came out crisp and right. Like I knew to say them. Like they were enough. Drew inclined his head and we both kept walking. No awkwardness. Because we knew our place. We knew our destinations. And we kept in rhythm.

"Park?" Drew asked.
"Yes. Today is Monday," I replied, because that explained everything. It was everything. "I am going to sit on the bench and sketch the four ducks swimming in the lake. Like I did last Monday. You?"
"Rec centre," was Drew's answer. The rec centre was home to tennis courts, gyms and general sports activities. "Four hours on the courts, today - and then 2 hours in the gym, 25 minutes per machine. That's what my Roster said."

Everyone had a Roster. The Roster came via the System and it presented us with our schedule - what we did for each day of the week. Whether or not our wardrobe had changed, or we had to go to the Beauty Hall and change our hair colour - maybe even change our hobby from sketching to piano. The Roster arrived every morning at exactly 7 am, flying out of a metallic strip in the wall beside our beds. Pristine, white and crisp - our lives printed there for us to see.

"I turn left," Drew said calmly, gesturing to where I could just see the rec centre in the distance. "Bye, Skye."
"Bye, Drew."

Drew turned and walked away, his feet in time with mine as I took the right turn at the intersection towards the park. The park - manicured lawns, towering trees and a lake smack in the middle. The park had twenty-six benches, sixty-four lampposts and four ducks in its lake. It was peaceful and only ever had fourteen people there on Mondays. The same fourteen people. Because the park was ours on Mondays.

Because the Roster said so. Because the System deemed it so.

Daphne Woods

"It's wrong!" I argued with my parents for the millionth time. "Keeping clones is wrong! Forcing them into a life style that they'd never agree to!"
"But that is all they know, they don't care because they don't know that they are clones." My mother replied, smoothly and elegantly as she brushed off a non-existent hair from her Michael Kors skirt.

That's my mother for you, she doesn't have a single item of clothing or accessory that cost less than $200. She didn't approve of radical and argumentative thinking, so we didn't get on too well.
She glared at my $40 jeans and band t-shirt ensemble with disgust and tutted at me. "Darling, you should dress better. You will never go anywhere in life dressing like that."
I frowned like her. "You think about clothes more than the lives of others. It's people like you that are ok with the treatment of Clones!"
"They don't know any other life, Daphne." My mother repeated.
"Ignorance of the victim isn't the issue," I told her. "It's the ignorance of society that is! I can't believe that you and Dad both have a clone! I would never get one in my life!"
My mother scrunched up her lips- a sign that she wanted to do something else other than argue the ethical dilemas of our society.
"Yes. Yes Dear. Let's go shopping, I found an outfit that you'll adore!"
She dragged me to the Porche and I got into the passenger seat. I was still annoyed with the cruelty of the Dome and all those who invest in its inhabitants.

I am a journalist andI had friends in high places, I'll go to the Dome and investigate it for myself. I'll show the truth to the World and all cloning institutions will shut down and the Clones will finally be recognised as our equals.

WHILE DAPHNE WOODS STEWED OVER HER HATRED OF CLONING WHILE DRIVING IN HER MOTHERS'S OVERLY PTICED CAR, HER OWN CLONE (BOTH OBLIVIOUS TO THE OTHER'S EXISTENCE) BEGAN HER DAY IN THE DOME.

Clone Daphne Woods

Wake up. Get Dressed. Follow routine.
Everyday is the same- organised, efficient, and totally meaningless.
Today, I was due at the Library to practice journalism. Apparently it is my hobby.

I seem to be the only one here that questions the flow of this strage society. Something about it. It is too perfect. It seems unatural.

I don't say anything, of course, that could get me in a lot of trouble.

I tied my hair into a ponytail, like every other day and slip into skinny jeans and an indi band shirt. The same outfit. Again. My vans were at the bottom of the wardrobe, waiting for me like every morning.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed to the library, by no means eager to reach my destination.

I left my residence and stared around me, everyone was awake too, ready to repeat to routine of the last week and the week before that.

There was one word to describe me:
Bored.

I had a thirst to leave this place that no amount of Library visits or violin playing could quelch.

I sat down at a library desk and prepared to continue on an article about the new type of soap in the bathroom. It was factual and emotionless, like everything there.
Suddenly I decided to do something totally absurd, I turned a page from my article in my writing journal and began writing.
"Once upon a time..."

I began writing fiction.

Veronica Luis (Clone)

Wake. Dress. Do day's activity. Undress. Sleep. Repeat. A never stopping routine. Over and over again. Your body just follows the path that is set in front of it, never thinking, never stopping, its only motivation to keep moving forward. Nothing bad happens. But nothing good happens either.

Bum, bum, bum.

I want to win the lottery so bad it hurts. It is the only escape from the Dome. But of course, I can't tell anyone that I'm not happy here. The last person who said that in public came back drugged and has never spoken out again.

Bum, bum, bum.

I don't understand why we are here. Why we are in the Dome. They say that there are raiders and huge military forces waiting to destroy us outside of the Dome, but if that is true, is the Island in a Dome too? I don't know. I only know that the Island is my only form of escape. Some days I want to scream that this world is so uniform, so aligned, and it is the only thing I've ever known. The constant motion of the Dome.

Bum, bum, bum.

It is the only world I've ever known. But hopefully, it won't be the only world I ever know. It is my highest wish to leave this place. And all of it rests on that single chance that I might win the lottery.
Everyone only gets one entry. One entry among thousands.

Bum, bum, bum.

I sighed as I walked along the street with everybody else, the footsteps making a meaningless rhythm against the paved roads. Everything is so organized. There is no time for friends or love, if such things even exist anymore. People say they do. But I'm not quite sure. I've surely never felt it in all my life. I turned, and went into the Park. Monday. My day for Park.

Bum, bum, bum.

I sat at the same bench, next to the same person, Skye Brooks, who sketches the same four ducks every time. Sometimes I've thought that the ducks were mechanical, the way that they are always there, swimming in the same circle, pecking at the same plants. Even the animals, kings of their own bodies, seem to have a Roster. I pulled out the same book that I did every Monday, and opened it to the same page that I start at every Monday, and crossed my right leg like I do every Monday.

BUM BUM BUM.

Because nothing changes in the Dome.

(This sounds fantastic by the way!)

(I thought it would be fun. Glad you enjoy it!)

The Real Skye Brooks:

Perfect grey eyes, slightly slanted under a curtain of full, curling eyelashes stared back at me in the mirror as I smiled brightly and turned to my friend Veronica.

"What do you think?" I asked, giving a half twirl and showing off my new favourite outfit. For the past few months I'd been in love with that dress my mother had brought back from the Paris region - a light pink summer dress with smattering of yellow, white and lilac flowers. I paired it with ballet flats and voila ! Fashion magic.

This outfit was a strapless dress in a deep indigo that brought out my eyes and did wonderful things for my hips. Veronica and I had gone into at least twelve stores along Shopping Boulevard that morning, and so far this dress was the most spectacular one I'd come across.

"It looks great," Veronica assured me, giving me a smile before adding, tugging on a blonde lock, "Do you mind if we stop by the park? My feet are killing me after all this shopping."
I shrugged. "Why not? Mr Verc's been nagging me to keep up my sketching - something about 'wasting my talent' and so forth."

Mr Verc was the artist my parent's had hired when I was sixteen. By that time they'd been pleased I'd found a hobby to keep myself occupied with, and let's be honest - my sketches are brilliant. Soft and hard lines with smidgens of shadows to highlight the features, connected with dots, hatching and perhaps I'd run the side of my thumb across an area to blend the shades together in a beautiful disharmony of images and actions. But lately I'd gotten bored of sketching and had been thinking of maybe even switching my hobby.

"Let me just pay for this and we'll go," I called over my shoulder to Veronica, entering the change room. I slid the curtain across and unzipped the dress, picking it up when it fell and setting it on the settee beside the mirror as I got dressed. On went the black skirt, pristine pastel pink shirt with lace ruffle and then my short black jacket and boots. Slinging the dress over one arm, I grabbed my handbag and exited the change room, Veronica in tow.

"That will be-" the sales cyborg started, as she scanned the dress with her visor. All shop assistants were 'Cys' as we called them. Saved money, employer/employee disputes, and time. They were efficient, but were a stickler to protocol.

"Here." I passed my credit card to it and turned back to Veronica, checking my watch. "Wanna grab coffees from NewBeans before we head on over to the park?"
Veronica grinned. "I could use a caffeine hit."
"Transaction complete." The Cy handed me back my card, which I slipped into my Gucci wallet. "Have a good day."

I grabbed the bag containing the dress and Veronica and I exited the shop.

Daphne Woods

My mother had dragged me into every single designer shop in the city and still, I was not converted into a Shopaholic.

I walk out of the dressing room in a grey skirt suit and black platforms.
The Cyborg shop assistants assure me of how much of a model I am while I walk over to my mother, she was purchasing an outfit that I told her I hated.

That's my mother. She never listens.

She gasps when she sees me and orders me to spin around.
"Brilliant!" She declares. "You can definitely get a job now!"
"I have a job, mum."
She frowned, "You do?"
I sigh, "Yes mum. Remember? I'm the leading journalist for EXPOSED magazine?"
She nodded and pat my shoulder. "That's cute, sweet heart. But now you can get a REAL job! Become a model. Like me!"
Yes, my mother was one of the most successful models of the century and I couldn't feel more disgusted by some of the things she had to do to attain that title.
"Nah mum. I'll stick to writing for EXPOSED."
Mother sighed frustratedly. "You'll come around, that magazine is just trash. Oh! I have to go! I have an interview with GLAMOUR!" Bye sweetie!"
She ran out and as soon as she was gone, I called my friends- they both had clones and were ok with it, why didn't anyone else hate the clone industry?
"Hello?"
"Hey Veronica" I said. "Where are you guys?"

The Real Veronica Luis

As Skye and I drove over to the park in her cherry red Lamborghini I heard my phone ring. I unzipped my purse and grabbed my wonderful phone. The newest model. According to the screen it was Daphne. "Hello?" I asked.
"Hey Veronica," said Daphne. "Where are you guys?"
"Just at the boutique with Skye, she got the loveliest dress," I gushed girlishly. "We're heading over to NewBeans for some lattes. I'm just exhausted after shopping. You know how it makes me. Can you join us?"

The Real Skye Brooks:

"Who is it?" I asked Veronica as she answered her phone.
"Daphne," Veronica replied quickly, before returning to the conversation. If it were scientifically possible, my blood cooled in my veins and my heartbeat picked up.

Daphne. Daphne Woods. She was my friend, along with Veronica...but there were consequences. Dangerous ones. These past six years of being her friend had meant that every thought I'd had I'd had to keep to myself. I couldn't write in a diary. I couldn't join in dinner conversations about the Dome or about System politics. Because to do so would mean putting myself in a dangerous position. One where the truth could slip out at any moment.

No one else but me knows the truth. That I hate life in the Outer Regions. I hate the way schools have 'Dome Days' where they take the children to the viewing platform surrounding the Dome and let them peer through viewers to gaze in on life there. Watch people walk down streets, greet eachother. There was once a viewing for Grade 11 where they let them have a look into a Dome Dweller's house. No privacy. No second thoughts that this was another person, being reduced to the equivalent of a lab specimen.

And Daphne hated that. Most people knew of Mr and Mrs Woods slightly idealistic daughter, who was one of the Outer Region's top journalists and was always walking the thin line between opinion and treason. A line I couldn't walk. A daughter of Ralph and Christine Woods of the Dawson Woods - a family immersed in Outer Region politics since its start.

I could never be anything less than perfect. Less than accomplished. And never could it seem like I'd even considered the Dome to be anything less than God's gift to our society. It would be the end of my freedom. The end of my relationship with my parents. And the end of my father's political career.

Veronica snapped her phone shut. "I told Daphne we're headed to the park. She said she'd consider meeting us there."
I frowned, then switched my expression to one of calm. Frowns meant early wrinkles, as my mother was always fond of telling me again and again. "Veronica..."
Veronica laid a hand on my arm. "It's ok, Skye."

No it wasn't. Every second of time I spent with Daphne was dangerous. If people found out that Ralph Brooks' daughter was best friends with Daphne Woods, they'd question me and my views. I mean, I hadn't even admitted the friendship to my parents. Not after the numerous times I'd heard my father mouth off about the 'Woods girl' and how her parents needed to exercise some restraint. It killed me to hear him speak like that about her.

But if my father held anger about some other person's daughter opposing Outer Region policies, that was nothing compared to the wrath I'd face if he knew about my secret desire.

I sighed. "I know. I..." How could I explain that every time Daphne mentioned how the Dome's clones were maltreated, that every time she asked us why we were 'ok with it', I felt freer than I ever had? That something inside me, deadened my this life I lived, responded and said 'Yes, this isn't right!" I ached for something I would never have.

"Mocha or ice?" Veronica asked me, stepping up to the counter. The Cy stared back at us with glazed eyes. My heart sank further in my chest, as I took a deep breath. Focus, Skye. Don't think Dome thoughts. You're Skye Brooks.

"Mocha," I replied, smiling tightly and pressing the option on the Cy's screen. "And make it low-fat."

The Real Veronica Luis

I sympathize with Skye and Daphne, I really do, but I don't understand what all the fuss is about. The clones are happy. At least, they tell us that we're happy and we've been given no evidence that it is otherwise. They don't know anything else. Frankly, I don't care too much about the matter. Clones are just that. Clones. If I'm happy in my world, my clone should be happy, right?
They've both tried plenty of times to convince me otherwise, showing me practically illegal pictures of droopy, drugged Clones with their brains being taken out and being replaced with that of an elderly woman close to death, but they don't try to convince me too much because I could turn them in at any second. I wouldn't do that, of course, but they always are so suspicious.

"I'll have a whipped caramel mocha with whipped cream and chocolate chips, please," I said perkily to the Cy. I paid for my drink and went over to Skye, who was sipping her low-fat mocha over by the wall. I hate low-fat drinks. They taste just nasty. I don't know how Skye can stand them. "Skye," I said to her carefully. "You know that the people in the Dome are happy, right? Because you seem to be forgetting that." I made sure to lower my voice. Not that the Dome wasn't a common subject around here, but it was still suspicious.

Skye looked up at me with wide eyes. "Of course they aren't happy, Veronica! Haven't you even looked at the pictures we've showed to you? They aren't happy."

"Skye. Just let it go. You're worrying yourself too much over it. It's not healthy. You really should try enjoying yourself." My tactics didn't seem to be working to get her mind off the Dome, so I switched. "I think he's got his eye on you," I whispered in her ear, guesturing loosely towards Adam Grace, who'd practically had his eye on Skye for forever. "Didn't he ask you out two days ago?"

The Real Skye Brooks:

Cursing myself for my un-Brooks-like outburst about the Dome, I took another sip of my mocha. "No. He said, 'I like coffee. Do you?'."

Veronica snorted. "He was totally asking you out."
"He might as well have been doing research for a taste-testing company, Ver. Adam..." I trailed off, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

Adam Grace - tall, tan and Greek-god gorgeous. The crush of ever girl and yet not at all egotistical. He was a sweetheart, and incredibly nice to me. We'd been good friends for a while.

"He likes you, Skye." Veronica's tone held no room for argument.
I sighed and set my mocha down. "Then why didn't he ask me out?"
"He's a guy," was her reply. "I don't pretend to understand how their minds work! Ooh - look! Here he comes!"

(Gah I'm not good with acting out teenage boys. I have no earthly idea how their minds work. I'm not even their age. Help!)

βιβλιοφάγος (a.k.a. Cat) wrote: "(Gah I'm not good with acting out teenage boys. I have no earthly idea how their minds work. I'm not even their age. Help!)"

(*laughs* Ok!)

The Real Skye Brooks:

"Hey, Skye." Adam smiled down at me, before giving Veronica a polite nod. "Veronica. Can I sit-"

"Sure!" Veronica exclaimed, before he could finish his request. Adam glanced at me, seemingly for approval. I gave him a small smile, trying not to think anymore about Domes, clones and politics. He took the seat beside me.

"The Lottery's coming up this weekend," Adam said lightly. Veronica snuck a quick glance at me, but my features were schooled into an expression of polite interest.

Daphne Woods

I walked into the cafe and called to a Cy. "Dpuble shot dkim latte."
"Yes miss."
I wove through tables of people, it was a popular cafe. I spied some people reading my most recent article in EXPOSED about a very controversial debate about the proposition on paying Cys basic wage. People loved my work even though it ventured into dangerous territory. I think most people though, are waiting for the day when the New Yorker reads "ACCLAIMED JOURNALIST DAPHNE WOODS RESIGNS FROM WRITING TO JOIN THE MODELIBG INDUSTRY"
I think the government wansts that too because whether they like it or not, I am the most influencial writer in the country and I am not affraid to voice my opinions.

People love my work. Most of them hate me though. Messed up right?

I spotted Veronica and Skye sitting at a table at the back of the room. Adam was with them too.

Adam was one of the rich people that hated me. I tend to undermine rich people with my work and some of them would love me to join modeling because then I'd shut up and my opinions would no longer be publisized to influence the public.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate people. It's just that my articles are based on current issues and relate to them.

Adam will hate me especially. His father owns lots of factories where Cys work for free. To target this issue for my Feature article seems like I'm targetting them. As I said, I'm not, they are just related to the issue.

I knew about Skye's feelings towards me and her fears of people knowing that we're friends. Kind of like a Romeo and Juliet situation.
So fot her, I fake indiference towards her. But not Veronica, she's quite happy to have a long and ethical debate with me in public.
"Hey." I said once I got to the table.

The Real Veronica Luis

"Yeah..." I said. I couldn't really see why it mattered. But something in the back of my head wanted to win the Lottery so bad. Wait, WHAT? I couldn't win the Lottery. I wasn't in it. It was just some thing for a clone to get pulled out of the Dome and implanted with a new brain to become the millionaire's next body. I tried to push those crazy thoughts out of my mind. Win the Lottery? What...? It just didn't make sense. I hardly even noticed Daphne walk up with a latte in her hand. "Oh, hey, Daphne," I said, a little too late. I guestured around the room, still trying to get my mind off those crazy thoughts. "A lot of people are reading your new article. I read it. It was... thought-provoking. But the Cys are just robots, you know that, right? Why should we pay robots? I mean, we're the ones funding their batteries."

Name: Amelia Hudson
Age: 23
Status: Dome Dweller
Appearance: (http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=h...)

The Real Skye Brooks:

I winced as Adam's eyes darkened. Adam's family had been using Cys for nearly a century, and they even had there own line of Cys - for domestic and manufacturing purposes. My father spoke highly of Mr Grace's contribution to society, and he thought Adam was a "highly capable and far-sighted young man."

I knew my father would like nothing better than for Adam and I to date officially. The 'Golden Couple'. He'd love to be able to mention the connection at dinner parties, offhandedly to his associates and even in interviews, smiling proudly through a shimmering screen to the world.

As for me...well, all I knew was that I felt nothing when Adam smiled at me. Nothing when he slung his arm around my shoulder and next to nothing when he held my hand, or brought me gifts. He was a nice guy. But he wasn't the guy.

"You bring up a good point, Veronica," Adam said, glancing over to me to see if I was listening. "The Outer Regions have already ruled that as man-made devices and the product of countless years of research and engineering, enough funds have already been placed in Cys to bother paying them. Do we pay trees for providing oxygen? Do we pay the roads for allowing us to drive smoothly to our destinations? We don't pay for services that we have created."

He paused, taking a sip of his drink. "What do you think, Skye?" he continued, brown eyes eager. "Should we be paying Cys?"
I frowned at my coffee, suddenly not thirsty. "I think my drink's gone cold," I murmured, picking up the paper cup and standing. "I'm going to go toss it. Be back in a bit."

I tucked in my chair and walked through the maze of tables, heading for the trash Cy. I pressed the green button and dropped the cup into the tray that opened in the 'bot's midsection - watching its screen flicker with unseen signals.

Daphne Woods

"If Adam," I sat down. "You ever decided to get off your rich pompous ass and go look at some evidence that is shown in the world around you, you may discover your basic sense of morality." I said. "This case isn't about whether or not the Cys deserve basic wage. It's actually focussing on the major contradictions that are so blatantly obvious in our sick society. If you read into the recent revisal of rites tht was just released by the government, you'd see that it is clearly stated that every being that works is entitled to basic wage. To ignore this rite just because said worker is of a robotic nature would be to totally disreguard those rites. So, Adam, I don't know yet whether Cys deserve basic wage, but to continue living without following and believing in said rites, it could lead to further disobediance on a much larger scale and then, the foundations of our alreadily twisted society would crumble. That is why we need to follow and believe in the rites that have been given to us. So Adam, please continue living like an arogant child, but don't question the real world until you know the facts."
I looked at him, but he was speechless. I could tell that he was trying to formulate an argument but it just wasn't happening.
I looked at my watch and stood up.
"I have to go. I have a tour of the Dome to attend."
"How did you of all people get a tour?" Adam asked incredulously.
I smiled. "I have my ways. See you guys soon!"

hey this roelplay theme is kinda like the 2005 movie *The Island*... wow i just realized

I know, I thought that too XD

Never seen or heard of it. What is it about?

The Real Skye Brooks:

When I came back to our table, Daphne was nowhere to be seen. Veronica answered my unasked question when I sat down.
"Daphne left for a Dome tour," she told me, her tone becoming hushed when uttering the last two words. Like saying them louder could make them more real, more dangerous.

Adam shook his head. "She's more trouble than she's worth, that girl."
Veronica frowned slightly, her index finger circling the rim of her coffee cup. "What do you mean, Adam?"
"Nothing; just that if she isn't careful people will take her fascination with the Dome Dwellers as a sign that she might be..." He paused, pursing his lips. "Defective."

Veronica's hand jerked, nearly knocking her cup over. I sat still, barely moving. Focus, Skye. Don't think Dome thoughts. You're Skye Brooks. "Defective - defective?" Veronica hissed. "Daphne's not-"
"I meant no offence," Adam said smoothly, brown eyes clear and unmoved. "I'm just saying - people will talk."

βιβλιοφάγος (a.k.a. Cat) wrote: "Never seen or heard of it. What is it about?"

its just like this rolpaley (u can google it)

Daphne Woods

I walked briskly out of the coffee shop and down the street. I called a taxi and got in it.
"The Dome." I said clearly to the driver as I buckled myself in.
He looked shocked as he stared at me. "The Dome?"
"That's what I said." I replied cooly, trying my long hair into a ponytail.
He stared at me for a few more seconds before turning around and putting the car into drive.
"I read your article Ms Woods." He said casually after a minute or so, which surprised me because most of the people that talk about my work to me do it in hushed voices, like they don't want others to know that they read it,even though almost everyone in the country was reading my work.
I smiled. "You did? What did you think about it?"
"I liked it a lot. It got me thinking, Have you ever considered politics?"
I laughed. "Then they'd have a reason to kill me. No, I prefer writing and investigating. I don't want to overthrow the government, I believe in change of policy through changing social behaviour and belief."
"What does that mean?" He asked puzzled.
"Government policy is always affected by one thing- Society. To influence change in the way society thinks and functions will inevitably bring about change in government. Policy will need to be adjusted in order to accommodate this new social view. I can do that more effectively with my writing than I can with any other form of expression. The government knows this. That's why they've invited me today, they want to scare me. They want to show me everything about the dome that makes it so alluring to millionaire investors. They will show me something, aiming to either convert me or shut me up."
"It won't work, will it?" My driver asked, slightly worried.
I smiled, this man was really nice. "Of course it won't! I'll need more than a scare to stop me from writing."

Name: Percy Shepard
Age: 28
Appearance: