Secret Santa for Chanel_no5

[VividBubbles!]

Happy (belated) Holidays, @Chanel_no5!  

Sorry for the tardiness of your gift, I had a lot more going on during the holidays than I thought I would, and this was much more difficult to write than I expected. This is my first attempt at writing Westworld in addition to writing female sneezes in general, and while I enjoyed being pushed out of my comfort zone, I did have to work a bit to crank this out. Hopefully it’s okay and you enjoy it!

I gave Theresa Cullen a shot, because I know you adore the character, but I am by no means an expert on her or Westworld, so please excuse any inaccuracies you may come across. I don’t think I was able to completely find Theresa’s voice, but I hope that I was able to do her at least some justice. This is set sometime before season one of the show begins. Theresa and Bernard have been sleeping together for a bit now, but their not entirely comfortable with each other emotionally yet. They’re still testing the waters, so to speak, though they’re still as adorable as ever. Also, I meant for this to be a one-shot sort of thing but some plot snuck itself in because I have no self control and couldn’t help myself.

SLIGHT MESS WARNING: not much mess in this, but some spray (which hits another person) as well as mentions of congestion

***

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Jesus fuck, Theresa thinks to herself as she makes her way down the hall to Narrative.

Normally, the sound her heels make against the pristine tile is rather pleasing. She likes that the sound is uniquely hers. When she’s about to enter a room, Theresa doesn’t need to catch the attention of her employees and colleagues through any visual or vocal means. No, the sound of her heels announces her presence for her.

Today, however, the sound that she usually appreciates seems to echo around in her brain, and in combination with the bright fluorescent lights and her already pounding head, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d be ending her day with a migraine. Although, pretty much anytime she’s required to make an impromptu trip to Narrative, she ends up with a migraine anyways, so might as well bite the bullet now.

To be completely honest, she’s actually been feeling off for the past few days now. She’s an executive at one of the largest multinational corporations across the globe, so of course she’s used to being tired, but these past few days she’s been nearly exhausted. Her throat’s been in that odd state of sore where it’s not necessarily painful, just uncomfortable, and her voice has fallen quite a bit in pitch. Her sinuses are solidly congested, and she suspects a little swollen, but luckily her speech has remained unaffected so far.

In total, Theresa suspects that whatever bug she’s coming down with is really going to knock her on her ass and likely soon. Which is honestly just her fucking luck. It’s all hands on deck right now as Delos Destinations meets it’s fiscal quarter, and in addition to that, Narrative has a story deadline that’s basically thrown a fucking wrench into the typically smooth turning gears of her department. If Lee doesn’t get his shit in order soon, she suspects the Board will get involved, and she’ll do anything in her power to keep that from happening.

“Theresa!”

Jesus Christ, she thinks to herself. Speak of the fucking devil.

Said devil is Lee Sizemore, Head of the Narrative and Design department, who has just yelled her name from down the hall, the exact opposite direction from where they were meant to meet. She turns to face him, cocking one eyebrow as he takes up a slight jog to reach her faster.

“Lee. I thought I was meeting you in your office?”

“Change of plans,” he replies. “There’s been an issue with the Bluebell storyline in Sector 7. Bernard left a few minutes ago with a small team, so we need to hurry if we want to meet him.”

They begin to move as Lee briefs her, and though Lee’s pace is rather swift, he’s only a bit taller than her, and she takes pride in how even overworked, ill, and in heels, her ability to keep up with him does not falter. She doesn’t miss the irony of this thought though, as only seconds later she’s forced to slow her pace due to the intense tickle that’s taken up residence in her left nostril. She pulls out a tissue from her blazer pocket, bringing it up just in time.

“Hihh! hh’ETSChhuu! hhh’ASChhiiu!”

“Bless you,” Lee says reflexively before continuing on with his briefing.

Theresa’s much more focused on the tickle in her nose than the words coming out of his mouth, though, and she misses most of what he says, but she’s not too worried about that. Whatever Lee has been prattling on about for the past few minutes will likely be summarized by Bernard in a few sentences once they’ve reached Sector 7.

“huh’ESsCHHhuu!”

“Bless you again.”

Theresa has always hated that once she starts to she tends to sneeze when she’s ill, the tickle remains in her nose for days after the rest of her feels back to normal. It’s almost ridiculous how sensitive her nose is when she’s ill, especially when she’s not congested enough to no longer be able to smell.

She curses her nose’s hypersensitivity as she piles into the black UTV along with Lee and several members of the security team. She takes the passenger seat, but immediately wishes she hadn’t as one of the members of the security team—Thomas, if she remembers correctly—climbs into the driver’s side. The man’s cologne isn’t unpleasant, and it’s not like it’s overpowering or even very strong. In fact, it’s likely that most of the other vehicle’s passengers don’t notice the smell at all, but her nose is just so damn sensitive that she doesn’t even have time to reach for her tissues.

“iih! HH’ESSHHuu!! ISsHHhh! huh’EttSSHiiu!”

“Bless you, ma’am,” Thomas says.

She nods her thanks but doesn’t trust herself to respond vocally. While the sneezes did make her more congested, they didn’t do much to satisfy the itch in her nose. Her nostrils continue to twitch as she pulls out a tissue which she uses to irately scrub at the offending appendage. She knows that is bound to chafe the sensitive skin there, making her illness even more apparent, but it feels so good that she can’t bring herself to care.

Luckily for her, the UTVs are open-air vehicles, and the scent of Thomas’s cologne is blown away by the wind during their drive. Sector 7 is rather close to the main headquarter facilities of the Westworld park, so it only takes their team a bit over 15 minutes to reach the site. She exits the vehicle as soon as they stop, hoping to avoid another encounter with Thomas and his irritating scent, and quickly surveys the situation before her.

Sector 7 is one of the more peaceful areas of the park, mostly consisting of both farmed fields of wheat, hay, and other crops, as well as “natural” fields of long grasses and wildflowers. A river runs through the center of this sector and continues on to cross through many other sections of the park. In other sectors, the water can get quite deep and violent, featuring rapids and waterfalls, but here the water is swift but calm and shallow. Along the bank of the river is another UTV as well as a small team of security and field technicians.

Separate from the team, a bit downstream, is Bernard and a host who Theresa recognizes as Isabell Pane. From what she can remember about Isabell’s narrative, the host is stationed on a farm not too far from this location along with four others which play the roles of her husband and their three children. Only a few other families of hosts reside in this sector, but none of them are closer than two miles from one another. This section of Westworld appeals more towards the relaxation aspect of their guests’ visits, and though it’s not as frequented as other areas of the park, it’s Theresa’s favorite.

This is one reason why, out of so many hosts and so many different characters, backstories, and storylines, that she remembers Isabell. The host that stands across from Bernard is also one of her favorites of his work. Somehow, this host is beautiful in the way that only mothers are, her face soft and caring, brown eyes gentle and kind. Curly brown hair is pulled away from a heart-shaped face into a low bun, and a few loose strands flutter in the wind.

Speaking of flutter, as Theresa approaches Bernard and the host, Lee and the other members of her team convening with Bernard’s, she feels another tickle blossom towards the back of her right nostril. She sniffs in an effort to dispel it but only ends up aggravating it more. Sighing in defeat, she pulls out another tissue and lets her breath begin to hitch.

“Hh… ihh’NgTtSSHhuu! hih-HH!... uh’ESSCCHHH!!”

The second one tears out of her, and in order to avoid blowing her nose she gives a liquid sniff that makes her inwardly cringe. Even worse, she can still feel the tickle in the back of her nose, and she nearly groans at its irritating persistence. Returning her attention to Bernard, she notices that he’s shifted his gaze from the information on his tablet and is now focused on her.

“Bless you,” he says, frowning. “You’re worse today.”

The amount of concern contained in his words nearly makes her roll her eyes.

“I’m a big girl, Bernie,” she says, moving so that she can read over his shoulder. The riverbank is fairly steep, and with the added height of her heels she can stand fairly close behind him and still be able to see. She doesn’t dare touch him, not here, not so publicly, but she enjoys the way he stiffens at the feeling of her breath on his neck.

“You know, I can take care of my—huh’EHSSHHHhhiuu!”

The third sneeze comes out of nowhere. It doesn’t even give her enough time to turn her head, and in the bright light of the late morning sun, she can clearly see the droplets of spray that settle not only on Bernard’s tablet but also spatter part of the back of his neck.

She can feel as her face immediately flushes with heat. She wants to apologize but finds that she’s forgotten how to get her mouth to form English words. Instead she just stands there, frozen and bright red, until she hears a quiet chuckle come from the man in front of her.

“Bless you,” Bernard says, and she can hear the small, self-satisfied smirk in his voice. “You were saying?”

“Shut up,” she quips back, though she can’t suppress a tiny smile of her own. “Now, tell me what we’re looking at.”

***

And that’s where I think I’ll stop! I have a few ideas as to where I’d go from here, but I also don’t currently have the time or motivation to continue so for that I apologize. Maybe one day I’ll get back to it, but for now this is where it ends. I hope you enjoyed! 

Edited January 13, 2019 by VividBubbles!

[Chanel_no5]

* reads intro and promptly faints*

I am so happy right now.  

12 hours ago, VividBubbles! said:

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Jesus fuck, Theresa thinks to herself as she makes her way down the hall to Narrative.

Normally, the sound her heels make against the pristine tile is rather pleasing. She likes that the sound is uniquely hers. When she’s about to enter a room, Theresa doesn’t need to catch the attention of her employees and colleagues through any visual or vocal means. No, the sound of her heels announces her presence for her.

Excellent start! This is definitely very Theresa. 

12 hours ago, VividBubbles! said:

To be completely honest, she’s actually been feeling off for the past few days now. She’s an executive at one of the largest multinational corporations across the globe, so of course she’s used to being tired, but these past few days she’s been nearly exhausted. Her throat’s been in that odd state of sore where it’s not necessarily painful, just uncomfortable, and her voice has fallen quite a bit in pitch. Her sinuses are solidly congested, and she suspects a little swollen, but luckily her speech has remained unaffected so far.

In total, Theresa suspects that whatever bug she’s coming down with is really going to knock her on her ass and likely soon. Which is honestly just her fucking luck.

Yes please! This is simply lovely! (though the lady in question might beg to differ…. )

12 hours ago, VividBubbles! said:

This section of Westworld appeals more towards the relaxation aspect of their guests’ visits, and though it’s not as frequented as other areas of the park, it’s Theresa’s favorite.

Okay, I know that's not fetish-focus, but I really love this because it always seemed to me like Theresa was really uncomfortable with the violence and blood and gore of the more frequented areas of the park, so this feels very much like her. 

13 hours ago, VividBubbles! said:

“Bless you,” he says, frowning. “You’re worse today.”

Awwww!   I love how he notices these little details before she even said a word.  

13 hours ago, VividBubbles! said:

“You know, I can take care of my—huh’EHSSHHHhhiuu!”

The third sneeze comes out of nowhere. It doesn’t even give her enough time to turn her head, and in the bright light of the late morning sun, she can clearly see the droplets of spray that settle not only on Bernard’s tablet but also spatter part of the back of his neck.

She can feel as her face immediately flushes with heat. She wants to apologize but finds that she’s forgotten how to get her mouth to form English words. Instead she just stands there, frozen and bright red, until she hears a quiet chuckle come from the man in front of her.

And this is adorable. I don't picture Theresa as someone who would necessarily be embarrassed by such a thing (or anything, really) in general, but I DO think she's just like anyone else when she's falling in love - and that includes being embarrassed by things like this. And Bernard, well... of course he wouldn't mind. What's a sneeze between lovers anyway?  

Thank you so, so much, I LOVE this!!! Should you ever get the motivation to continue I would read the hell out of it, but I am SO HAPPY with this as it is! THANK YOU!!