Having Karr monologing in his own mind while exploring an abandoned building, jumping through the fears and horrors to the most mundane trivial thoughts, oh hi that's a cool thing over there-....but existential crisis right now-... actually where did i come from??? I didn't pay attention.
“I don't understand... what does it mean to live then? Where do we all come from? Do people go back there when they die? If that's the case... where will I go when I die? I came from here, this laboratory... Why am I shaking? ...What is this that I'm feeling?”
The eye doctor is the most fun doctor you can go to. They never steal your blood. They never make you get naked and put on a paper dress. They're just like, "Can you see these letters? It's fine if you can't, we can fix that." And they don't even spell anything.
No but they are lying ass bastards who tell you to put your eyes into this thing and then tell you that you're going to feel a small little puff of air and then just shoot you in the eyes with a glock.
Ah, no, that's what the headlights look like when not turned on. When the headlights aren't needed, they lay back in a recession in the hood. They are very good cars. We had a silver one, a burgundy one, a purple one, and a pelham blue one that had the 1979 Car of the Year plaque on the center console.
They did come in black! At the time they were made and for a long time after, they were the only production model Porsche with a V8 engine, the timing belt of which was seven feet long, and if you've ever seen just the engine by itself, you'd know why; it doesn't look like it fits in there at all but somehow it does!
im not very knowledgeable about the star fox games but... isn't falco supposed to be based on falcons/birds of prey? why does he feel more like a chicken in the redesign?
i dont mind the more "realistic" angle but its not realistic in the right way i guess, it seems they just mushed together general bird traits rather than putting more thought into it.
the lack of actual realism becomes more obvious when you compare him with a real life falcon. they have more rounded head shapes, larger and darker eyes, and only the ceres are colored yellow.
the face shape and the eyes being overly human is what gets to me the most. like thats not really realism thats just adding more detail to a design that doesn't really need it (and honestly the extra detail makes the red patches feel less natural?)
there IS a falcon relative called a red throated caracara that actually has red on its face, but i doubt the designers wouldve committed to balding him for realism points.
that being said a specbio take on falco could be fun, i just dont think this is it.
I mean, for those of us (like myself) that are old enough to have been playing these games since the original came out on the Super Nintendo, they all look almost exactly the same as they did on the box art for the original game where they were Thunderbirds-esque puppets (google it, children), and I for one am very happy with the way they look and am completely fucking stoked for this game.
Ah, no, that's what the headlights look like when not turned on. When the headlights aren't needed, they lay back in a recession in the hood. They are very good cars. We had a silver one, a burgundy one, a purple one, and a pelham blue one that had the 1979 Car of the Year plaque on the center console.
They did come in black! At the time they were made and for a long time after, they were the only production model Porsche with a V8 engine, the timing belt of which was seven feet long, and if you've ever seen just the engine by itself, you'd know why; it doesn't look like it fits in there at all but somehow it does!
Ah, no, that's what the headlights look like when not turned on. When the headlights aren't needed, they lay back in a recession in the hood. They are very good cars. We had a silver one, a burgundy one, a purple one, and a pelham blue one that had the 1979 Car of the Year plaque on the center console.
On the plane ride back home, Ned and Zed slept, nestled together. Ripslinger however, though also lying down, remained awake. A wary Kenny kept his distance, but could still feel him; the intense sentiments of rage that the forklift could understand, but then also a deep, long-suffering pain that he could not, punctuating through the usual static that the P-51's Soul put off.
However, when they all got home, everything went on as normal. Except for one thing. When the boys went out for their nightly endeavors, Ripslinger flew out with them. Every night. Even on the occasional night where they stayed in, the Mustang would go out by himself. Kenny was thrilled. Perhaps the attempt on his life had changed his outlook on things. Or at least, that's how things appeared. If Kenny had had the wherewithal to actually look at the radar once they had departed from RPX's private air strip, he would have noticed that while the brothers always headed north on these nights, Ripslinger had been turning south.
One night, Ripslinger didn't go out with Ned and Zed. He waited. Then, a quarter to midnight, he slipped out quietly, once again heading south. His destination all this time? A sprawling, gated estate near Huntington Beach. He circled a few times. Everything looked as it should be at this time of night. He would know. He had been watching this place for weeks. He descended, landing on the expanse of cool, wet grass.
Going around to the back of the house, he wedged his prop blades into the split of the grandiose electric sliding oak doors, and, turning his frame, forced them apart enough to where his nose cone fit between the gap so that he could push them open the rest of the way. He entered quietly.
He moved slowly and smoothly through what was for him a cramped living space, turning as he scanned his surroundings, listening hard for any sounds of movement. He knew where he was going, but then when he got there, he was surprised. Instead of a big, bright red Cadillac DeVille, a pink, tight little Porsche Cayman was laying atop the sleeping mat, flipping through a magazine.
Fuck. She wasn't supposed to be here. Should he abort? He stood, frozen in the darkly lit entryway to the bedroom. He crouched down a bit in his landing gear, beginning to shake with the nitrous oxide now beginning to flood his system. He felt his breaths coming in short as his mind began to be overtaken in a haze that was eroding his already fragile sense of rationality. He found himself staring into the abyss, and the abyss did not stare back. Still, sightless, it beckoned.
He lowered his nose, a raze of light glinting in his eyes from an adjacent room, pupils dilated in the darkness of the hall. He began to creep toward the bedroom. Then, without a sound, he rushed forward, jaws opening wide before making contact. She was dead almost before she knew what hit her.
He sat still atop her for a few moments, jaws still deeply embedded in her roof and side behind her eyes. Then he tore himself away, turning and vomiting all over the Persian rug that lay in front of the sleeping mat. He panted, wide-eyed and shaking. The nitrous oxide was building. His mind was racing. His circuitry was on fire. His body felt lighter than air. Distantly, through the haze, the taste of an innocent life gone to waste on his jaws began to strike fear into the heart of the tiny part of his original self that remained, and it screamed in terror and agony. Yet, as if possessed, he slowly continued onward through the house, not looking back at the trail of hydraulic fluid he was leaving behind.
He found his intended target sitting in the living room with a drink by the fire. This time, he did not attempt to sneak up on him. When the Cadillac DeVille looked up, he checked at the sight of a familiar, thirty-five foot plane suddenly standing in his living room.
“Craig Crimson?” he addressed the car.
“Ripslinger!”
“Do you remember me?”
“What are you doing here? How did you-” then the DeVille's face dropped in horror when he noticed the sickly fluid that marred the front of the Mustang's frame. “Oh god! Clara!”
The sedan reversed, and was already quickly running out of room as Ripslinger advanced.
“I'm the plane that you tried to assassinate,” he said as his engine began to rumble.
Crimson tried to bolt before he ran out of room to move completely, but the checker-marked plane darted to the side and blocked him.
“I'm the child that you orphaned. The last living survivor of the family that you destroyed! And now...” he growled, “...I'm going to be the one that takes your life away...”
“Ripslinger, I-”
“Do you remember me now?”
The terrified car tried bolting the other way, and was able to get past him until the plane quickly wheeled around and grabbed him up by the right side of his rear-end in his jaws, crushing his axle before throwing him back against the wall, nearly throwing the DeVille through it.
“DO YOU REMEMBER ME NOW?!” roared Ripslinger.
“Ripslinger! Ripslinger, please, I beg you!”
“Beg me for what?!” the P-51 spat, becoming more and more enraged by the second. “I'm going to show you the same amount of mercy you showed us!”
“P-please,” the Cadillac persisted, “I'll do anything you want...”
“The only thing I want...” Ripslinger said, looking down upon his victim with a face awash in simultaneous horror and fury. “...Is your life!”
And with that, he deftly flipped Craig Crimson over onto his roof, where he began tearing into his undercarriage, not stopping until he got down to his prey's innards and ripped them out. Not stopping until the car stopped screaming and struggling. By the time he was done, an oily sheen of red and dark brown fluid covered most of the front of his frame.
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning by the time that Ripslinger returned to headquarters. He met Kenny in the hallways on his way up to the penthouse. When the forklift looked upon the grizzly horror of oil and hydraulic fluid that stained him all the way up to his eyes, his jaw dropped as his eyes widened in horrid alarm.
“What did you do?” he asked, his voice low and strained as it shook.
Ripslinger only looked at him, an odd expression of delirium coming over his features as he chuckled almost bashfully before continuing on his way. When he got to the penthouse, he slowly went over into the grotto like washroom, turned the faucets on and the heat up, and simply stood underneath it. He watched bemusedly as the water and detergent from the jets mixed with the oil and other fluids as it all spilled off of him, then closed his eyes, letting out a great, decompressive sigh. When the last of it went down the drain, he dried himself under the fans before heading over to his sleeping mat and slowly lowered himself down onto it. He was utterly exhausted, but he did not fall asleep until the sun started to come up, and continued to sleep until the next morning.
It was a few days before the bodies of Craig Crimson and Clara Schutte were found by the maid that came to the estate once a week. The death of an air racing tycoon of his caliber garnered nation-wide and even international attention. It was all over the news, both television and print, and now Kenny knew that his worst fears were confirmed. He confronted Ripslinger as the checker-marked Mustang lay on his sleeping mat, watching the same news channel that the forklift had been watching before coming up to the penthouse.
“Ripslinger. You did it, I know you did it, just tell me why,” Kenny demanded.
“That's none of your concern,” was his reply.
“The hell it isn't! I am in charge of your welfare, how am I supposed to do that if you end up in prison for this?!”
“No...” Ripslinger shook his front, his eyes not leaving the television screen, “No, I'm not going to prison. I'm not going anywhere. I'm at the top of the game, and I intend to stay there. It's them or me.”
“Them? Them?! Have you lost your god damn mind?!”
“The only way to stop me from being number one is to kill me. They failed this time. I won't let them try again,” the green and black plane went on. He seemed to almost forget that Kenny was in the room with him, until he finally turned to him, cutting off his next words as he let out a screaming wail, “I WON'T LET THEM KILL ME LIKE THEY KILLED MY FAMILY!”
At this revelation, Kenny deflated slightly. There was a silence between them as plane and forklift stared at one another. He knew now, that Ripslinger would stop at nothing before all the individuals named by the assassin were killed by his own teeth and prop blades, and anyone who stood in his way, like the unfortunate Clara Schütte. But he had to try. Try and convince him to let them live. Not for their own welfare; although Kenny knew they deserved it. He was more worried for his charge. Not just for what he might face if he were to be caught, but for his very Soul.
“Ripslinger, this will not bring you closure,” Kenny began slowly, “And it sure as hell won't bring you any peace.”
“No,” the Grand Champion racer answered, “But it will bring me peace of mind.”
“Hey... Hey where the hell do you think you're going?!” Kenny asked as Ripslinger got up from his sleeping mat and started toward the doors to the penthouse.
“To scope out my next target,” the P-51 answered, not looking at his pittie as he continued into the hallway.
“God damn it, will you please reconsider before you ruin your life?!”
At that, Ripslinger finally turned to him, giving him a slightly pained expression.
"My life has already been ruined," he said before going on his way.
Hey, thanks for recommending Bibio!!! That's the kind of music I was looking for when I asked for recommendations! I would love to hear more artists like him if you know of any? (this is Yetanotherkrblog's main btw)
Oh yeah, Bibio is pretty high on my list of favorite artists. Hand Cranked is my favorite album followed by The Apple and the Tooth, Mind Bokeh, and Ambivalence Avenue.
You might also like Tycho, although his stuff is more electronic. Awake is his best album in my opinion.
Amon Tobin is also great, but his stuff is VERY experimental and not all of it is ambient and it's really not everyone's cup of tea. You might like his song "Surge". It sounds musical but it's actually almost entirely made up of recordings of engine noise. Bricolage, Permutation, Supermodified, and Foley Room are all great albums.
I can talk about music all damn day if you couldn't tell, and it is a heavy driver in all of my writings. Hope you enjoy and you can call on me any time if you need recommendations! Happy writings!
when people talk about KARR's voice people mainly refer to peter cullun, and i LOVE his voice don't get me wrong, but i wish people would give more credit to paul frees. he's a great voice actor too!! i loved the way he delivered his lines in KvK. "today is wednesday" and "don't call me boy" will always live in my head rent free
also i just learned he's the ghost host in the disney ride the haunted mansion. if i go to disney world again i don't think i won't be able to get KARR out of my head when i go on that ride lmao
Yes! This! So much this! Not to put down Peter Cullen at all, that man was also the voice of my childhood, but Paul Frees' talent literally speaks for itself when you have a character being voiced that doesn't have a face and yet with every line delivered you can very easily perceive each sneer, snarl, and devious grin.
kitt would absolutely fucking love jazz. it would hit every one of his auditory capacitors like a fucking nuke. i bet this is exactly what it sounds like inside his processor when hes in the middle of some huge bust doing wheelies and hopping over trains and shit to catch the bad guy
My headcanon for it is that, over their time spent working together, a piece of Michael's soul eventually attaches itself to KITT, with the AI gaining true sentience from essentially still possessing a soul. Michael cannot read KITT's thoughts, or recall any specific memories of his, but he feels KITT's feelings (and vice versa), and felt his distress in that moment.
at the risk of being stoned to death for vulgarity, I would like to say I think Garthe would fuck Michael simply because he's narcissistic enough to fuck himself given the chance
This is like that fucking scene in The Blues Brothers where the Nazis go flying off the unfinished bridge and every time the camera cuts they're further away and higher off the ground.
