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hello vonnie
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NASA
trying on a metaphor
Love Begins
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@blackandb100
[PVT]
no no you think you see
aka
have i got a story for you
yes im still here ill probably be here for another week maybe more come on back tell them i asked for you
Hm
Fair enough
I'll be right up
>It takes an extremely awkward interaction with hospital staff to go back the direction you came from, but eventually you end up outside her hospital room. Seems the tables have been turned in terms of who's in what condition
"Hello. How are you holding up?"
[PVT]
ill get you the husktop
as for the scrapyard im not sure we even have one of those but ill ask koroni he should know
and uh
well i guess you were right
i guess.
serket snapped it.
I see
Are you still here
In the hospital I mean
There is only so much time they'll let me spend in the lobby
Without a good e%cuse for being there
[PVT]
no problem
i cant get you a place, and of course you know ill help if you need me to.
materials might take a while im not sure where i can get those but if you can let me know the specifics of what you absolutely need ill see what i can do i can also probably supply whatevers left of my arm a
hey wait a second how did you know i needed a new arm
I need scrap and circuitry to work with
A scrapyard w001d provide ample metal and any one husktop can provide enough circuitry for me to work with for an arm
I guessed
It seems to be a pattern with you
I mean no offense by that
[PVT]
amorteacolyte replied to your post:So they finally discharged me I dont suupose it…
!! hey youre back online
I managed to recover a husktop from a recently deceased patieny
This wasnt meant for onehanded operatuion
funnily enough neither was mine and yet here we are
i dont suppose youre particularly skilled in one armed metallurgy are you
I have not tried
Is there any way we can strike a deal
I need materials and a place to work, sleep, and eat
And you need a an arm
As do I
If you can supply me with lodging and scrap, I c001d build limbs for the both of us
Probably with some assistance
amorteacolyte replied to your post:So they finally discharged me I dont suupose it...
!! hey youre back online
I managed to recover a husktop from a recently deceased patieny
This wasnt meant for onehanded operatuion
So they finally discharged me
I dont suupose it will be of any ease finding a hive and proper work with one arm to work with, will it
D --> It is a simple concept
D --> That I cannot trust anyone aside myself with administering medical attention to myself
D --> And worse yet, they refuse to discharge me
D --> I have no assets to burn
D --> And you put me in a hospital
Your lips thin into a grim line and you secure your grip around his waist, reaching across with your other arm to press lightly against his throat, slip inside the tatters of his shirt and cup against his heart. You feel the beat sputter and spike as he coughs.
You’re no doctor, of course, but it’s safe to say that when you still worked in the vesting corps, not every corpse you threw out was a corpse when you found it.
You’re amazed he’s still conscious, let alone standing.
"If we don’t get you transfusions soon, you’re done for," you mutter, more to yourself than to him. He’ll just had to deal with jade transfusions— it’s rare enough, but blue is even rarer and jade is the only universal compatible. You clear your throat and shift again, gnawing at your lip, glancing around at the street.
"Five.. ish, miles?" You edge out towards the edge of the alley, heart thudding in your ears, sweat gathering at your brow, all senses on high alert. "Shorter if we take a couple cuts, but I dunno about your condition.. I might just have to carry you."
It’s a testament, you think, to how much you actually give a shit about him. Debt or not, you could just leave his ass here to rot and there’s not much he could do about it at this point. You’re risking a lot by trying to get him back to Fengbei.
It’s equal parts him and equal parts Nepeta’s memory, but, then again, that’s not really something you ought to be dwelling on right at this exact moment.
Five miles. You could sprint that distance on a good day -- and now, that seemed half the world away. Better than being dead, at least, but even now, that reality was all too possible. At the very least, the worst was over. You'd survived the initial trauma -- and the loss of the arm hadn't even been a part of it. Shock didn't kill you, blood loss hadn't killed you, and whomever you pissed off that left you there hadn't killed you. You'll be damned if a little walk down the street's going to finish the job.
"Hrgh," you grunt in reply, drifting into and out of conscious thought. But even now, despite all the difficulties of focusing on anything, let alone analyzing your well-being, you'd know that a blood transfusion isn't an option. Had you still had any cash on hand, it could have been, but you were broken and broke.
"Don't. I can walk." It would be a dead man's gait, sure, but you still couldn't swallow the pride preventing you from letting her carry you. Nor the pride opposing a transfusion, but you'd burn that bridge when you get to it.
Your shoulders sag as you watch him struggle to answer, some kind of exhausted despair in your eyes. Knowing him, the loss of control is needling at him more than the blood and the bruising. The missing arm, even.
You’ve never seen him so lost, and for all his pompous, gruff, highblooded ways— he’s really been good to you. And with Nepeta dead, something is just so utterly sad about him now.
"Well, depending on how long you’ve been missing.." It’s been two weeks since the execution. You have no idea when he snapped— and you know, undoubtedly, that he did. "Ah. Of course, you know that’s not even a question. Come on, can you stand?" You shift to crouching, securing your grip around his torso and under his one arm to lug him up with you— he’s a heavy one, and you’re incredibly small compared to him, but between lugging around railguns and corpses it shouldn’t be too much of an issue.
Carrying him isn’t won’t problem, but figuring out how you’re going to get back to Fengbei safely with an injured man will.
Nepeta’s cats are going to have to wait.
Standing wasn't the issue. Well, it was, but, after all, it wasn't your leg that was missing. At the very least, you managed, after a bit of heaving and grunting and whatever you did at the moment that passed as floundering for a grip, put yourself in a more or less vertical state. That answered that question. You felt lightheaded, of course, but next to the pain that accompanied your very existence at the moment, that wasn't even something you noticed.
Your lips cracked (or felt like they were doing so) with a few brisk words. "How Far?" Even talking was a luxury you could not afford to waste at the moment, it seemed, as that question was followed by heavy cough. The picture pieced itself together in your mind now. It was clear -- at least now -- that whomever left you in a gutter didn't expect survival for longer than a few hours.
Sloppy work, you can't help but think. In their place, you'd have finished the job.
As soon as he roars and as soon as he jolts you reel back, falling to your ass against the uneven asphalt, palms slapping against the jagged ground still damp from earlier summer rain. Your heart’s thudding in your throat, and your body isn’t sure what to be threatened by first— the roaring highblood, or the ever-looking threat of curfew patrol.
Your fall seems to save you, though, as it knocks back your hood and betrays your face— which he recognizes, after his moment of confusion. As he stutters through his eloquent status report, you glance over him, assessing the damage.
Simply, there is a lot of it. Oddly enough, though, you think most of it isn’t as easily visible as blood and missing teeth.
His anger and anguish ring in your ears and for a moment you choke on the grief you’ve stashed down and covered up with apathy and anger and things to do instead.
"Shh." You lean down to press your lips to his briefly, in some show of— what, sympathy? Solidarity? You don’t know, and you don’t particularly care; you aren’t much thinking about it— and tuck one arm under his, the other circling round his torso to pull him all the way behind the dumpster. "Seriously," you grunt. "Curfew’s awful around here."
Thin lips, grim-set expression as you glaze over his missing arm, and then you reach out to tug aside the flaps of his jacket. “What happened? This is.. this is purple— no, violet? What did you do?” You squint and frown, checking him over for fresh or life-threatening injuries. “Do you have anywhere to go?”
"Hrrgh...," you grunt, trying to remember the clusterfuck that led to this mess. There wasn't much -- not from what you could recall. Unbridled fury met with the state of a berserker's rage does that to a troll. "I don't -- bah! -- don't remember. It was like..." You pause, coughing up dry blood. At the very least, one Equius Zahhak could take a beating. "It was like a switch went off in my head..."
Your gaze went to the ground, avoiding Aradia's eyes. You were supposed to be better than this, above the primal furies that were at the heart of every coldblooded troll. And now where were you? Left to die in some gutter in the pit of poverty, probably wanted for several murders and assaults, and with nothing more to your name than the clothes on your back. With your moirail dead and with no place to call your own, for the first time in your life, you felt truly and utterly alone. It was a humbling notion, one you buried to the back of your mind for the time being.
"My hive is probably being investigated as we speak." Your chest heaves painfully with a sigh, and you look back to her. "I don't suppose it would be asking too much to call in whatever favors you owe me for the work on your arm?"
It’s been a rough couple of days, to be quite frank, and they still aren’t over yet, but at least you’re doing something productive, you think. Admittedly, it’s a risky something, and a nervewracking something, but it’s better than sulking at the hive or sweeping at Koroni’s or just generally avoiding eye contact with Karkat.
You can feel how heavy the material of the sweater is, the way it hangs on your shoulders and weighs in your hands as you pull the hood over your head. But it has to be— it’s day time, and although the sun is a threat, it can’t stop you from going. It’s the only time you would even attempt to leave Fengbei, now. The last time you snuck around the city in places you weren’t supposed to be during the day, you used the sewers.
But by now, you’re sure they’ve destroyed your worker’s ID. So you bite the bullet and pull your sleeves over your hands and tuck up your hair and take to the streets, the shadows. There’s a curfew out, still, and you have to be careful.
While full of several close calls, the journey to Nepeta’s old apartment is comparatively uneventful, partly because you run into something much more noteworthy along the way and partly because this starter is getting too long.
And that something is a very scruffy, very beat-down, very familiar, and possibly dead lump in the gutter. Your breath hitches in impossible shock at the sight of his horns, and you wrinkle your nose in unease at how close the sun is to his nose. A few more minutes and he’ll be fully exposed.
You take a look around the street— no police as far as you can see— and drag him further back into the shadow of the alley and behind a dumpster, shaking his shoulder with one hand while the other is tense in front of your rib cage, prepared to defend yourself if he snaps upon waking.
If he wakes.
"Equius." Pause. ”Equius!!”
Monstrous visages surrounded you on all sides, jeering, laughing. Snaggled teeth stained with olive -- you could only guess at what signified. You hear a scream -- the same scream that's been hounding your thoughts, your dreams, your very being, for the past week. That scream, that horrendous scream, that of your moirail (or so you imagined) was joined by another. No, this was different. It was concerened, it was calling your name, it was -- it was something else. Your eyelids crack open, vision clouded by a blue haze.
"Wretches!", you roar, flailing wildly into the air. Except there was nothing to flail with, your dominant arm having been severed at the shoulder. "You took her from me! You --" The clouds obscuring your vision receded, as did the jeering seadwellers that hounded you for days. "A-Aradia?"
As you come to proper consciousness, you note more and more of your surroundings. This was the lowblood quarter -- the smell of excrete and waste was especially pungent in the drainage gutter that's become your hive for the day. What the hell were you doing there? The last thing you remembered was the slick blood on your hand, violet and blue, the wailing sirens of alarms, and the same jeering faces that hounded every fibre of your being.
You groan, trying to sit up. Everything hurt. You were sure several ribs were broken by now -- that little stunt with the roar left your breathing pained and difficult. Dried blood caked your face in black and blue, and your clothes were in absolute tatters. Your pockets were empty -- whomever left you here for dead made sure of it, it seemed.
"I feel like..." Another groan. It hurt to talk, even -- several teeth had been knocked clean out of your mouth, and other cracked or shattered, while your lips were bruised and cracked with a lace of blue-black cracks. "I feel like shit," you finally squeeze out of your throat, resting upon your one elbow.
As much as it hurt you, though, the corners of your lips turned upwards into the most defeated smile possible. "It's nic --", you cough, "--nice to see you, though."
A Limb Sundered, A Stallion Lamed
[cw for body horror, gore, and mentions of violence]
Your name is Equius Zahhak, and you have just botched your work in the most royal of ways. On the one side hangs an arm, limp and lifeless, connected by only a few half-severed tendons. The bone is shattered, you note, the nerves -- well, you sure as hell can't feel shit shoulder down -- severed and dead as well. Your coat hangs upon you in tatters and your face looks like it's been mauled by an ursal beast. Teal and blue coat virtually every surface. She'd been prepared. Smart woman -- saw you dogging her every single step, saw the exact moment when it was either fight or die. She fought, of course, and Serket's payout had better be something worth nearly dying for.
"Blood and ashes," you mumble to yourself, outlining your next moves within your head, "blood and bloody ashes." The scene was far too soiled with the grime of conflict to be cleaned in due time, even if you had both your arms to work with. That would mean you'd have about a week, two, if you were lucky, until authorities showed up at your doorstep. Equius Zahhak is a dead troll walking, you realized. There would be nothing left for you after this -- no more work, no more assassinations, no more of the relative safety your blood provided.
But first would be the matter of cleaning yourself up. Pyrope severed both arteries and veins -- and, though you could handle far more blood loss than she could, you were already feeling dizzy -- not to mention the danger of a vein allowing air into your bloodstream. The bleeding had to be stopped, and your arm needs to at least seem still-attached. Legislacerator has to be smart enough to have first aid kits at her residence. You moved quickly, ransacking any place that could hold one. It seemed an eternity later that you'd held a white box in the one hand that still worked, though it was only a minute, maybe two, after your first burst through her skull.
You couldn't afford to be careful, nor slow. First came the jarring feel of tendons and muscle ripping, severing dead from living. Then a searing pain spread through your shoulder as peroxide poured over the wound. More pain would follow with the white gauze hastily wound about the blue flesh -- but at least, you weren't going to die. Not tonight, and not of infection or blood loss. Your dead arm you'd place in the duffelbag you brought with you, expecting an easier set of conditions for cleaning whatever mess you'd have made. In any case, you'd need to look like you had two arms to get to the money Serket owed you -- and to whatever safehouse you could find. That would mean carpentry staples, gloves, and a coat that didn't look like shit.
But all that would come after you got back to your hive, after you'd scrounged up every caegar you'd possessed and after you've made sure that there was absolutely no possibility your movements would be hounded. All the fortunes of Alternia couldn't be worth the frying pan you'd found yourself in, nor the fire that would be soon to follow.
:o?
is it.
D --> It is a notion I suppose
+carnievore
D --> Well then
D --> That is
D --> Quite the notion
I felt like doing a new one with different pallets!! Send a character and a number and I’ll draw them with that pallet!
No you fucking idiot we meant it isn’t commonly known.
Who knows that????
D --> Apparently not Vantas
