—relinquish the flesh

“-—why would anyone trust their life to a fragile muscle of flesh and blood?” independent canon divergent roleplay blog for VIKTOR, the machine herald penned by NOX / NEQUAS

[ceryxi]

She'd observe Zaun in silence, dilapidated & bent-sideways buildings filling her vision one by one. Even towards the top - towards were she knew the Sun Gates to be - the fog was already strong. Still, she found in it a roguish charm, a gritty we-made-this kind of atmosphere that invigorated her. " I have come and gone so many years - but I think this is the first full view of the city I have. " Turning to him with faint smile, she fiddles with her wedding band out of habit. " I like it. "

@eciled

riven is  the first company the herald managed to keep for longer than the perfunctory visits for augmentation; not many see the herald for more than the myth and the threat. he much prefers it that way, for all he cares to think about. it is sweet irony to know what allegiances she keeps, but no prejudice is held from his part — he’s no fool to ignore it, always fond of detailwork as he is, but it surprises that his former colleague had not poisoned the well so deeply before they met she would not dare to cross paths with him.

that alone made the thought that this relationship could be one interesting to keep, for its novelty status. there shall be the time where he no longer feels the pull or need for this sort of human interaction, but for now, while there’s still bits and pieces of him weak, made of soft and fallible flesh, he indulges in these small pleasures. friendship, it seems, can be rewarding when made with the proper person.

( something whispers in the back of his mind: 

it is too early to judge for sure, still.

he almost laughs at the knee-jerk reflex lingering in the depths of his core, but that sort of bitter reaction has long been pried out of his system; yet, the point stands: once bitten, twice as shy. )

he cannot help the vague smile the tugs at his lips under his mask. she cannot see it, of course, but it reflects in the metallic hum that escapes from under it as neon orange lamps turn towards her. “perhaps all you lacked was a proper, local guide.” his accent lingers through the static before his eyes turn to the landscape once more, standing tall before the white-haired woman. “if your husband doesn’t find the idea of this becoming a habit repulsive,” the jab is soft, his tone lacks bite -- if anything it is tinged in humor. “there are a few other places i could show you in your next visits, should they come soon; i cannot guarantee how my schedule should stand, but the offer is made.”

[lifeinpoetry]

My god, will I ever not be / surprised by what I can survive?

Ruth Awad, from “Let me be a lamb in a world that wants my lion” published in Southern Indiana Review (via lifeinpoetry)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

People do not see you, / They invent you and accuse you.

Hélène Cixous, from The Selected Plays of Hélène Cixous; “The Perjured City,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[thequotejournals]

You don’t ask people with knives in their stomachs what would make them happy; happiness is no longer the point. It’s all about survival; it’s all about whether you pull the knife out and bleed to death or keep it in…

Nick Hornby, How to Be Good (via wordsnquotes)

[psychonom]

You care and that’s what kills you.

Skins UK (via psychonom)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I wanted the company of cold people / who would never touch me.

Kate Daniels, from The Niobe Poems; “Alcestis,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[ceryxi]

techmaturge → ceryxi.

[allofmyflaws]

Visit Original Link

[ceryxi]

soothefox:

          ‘  a  what  ?  ‘  ahri  said,  furrowing  brows  as  she  tugged  at  her  coat,  letting  his  statement  sink  deep.  she  couldn’t  figure  it  out,  couldn’t  find  out  what  ever  it  was  he  wanted  from  her.  and  it  left  her  quite  bothered.  her  hues  gazed  at  the  man,  inspecting  his  mask  and  armor  clearly.  she  hadn’t  come  across  any  like  him  before,  so  naturally  her  curiosity  had  been  sparked.

          she  inhaled  deep  before  she  spoke  again,  ‘  may  you  repeat  that  for  me  .  .  .  please  ?  although  i  doubt  i  know  what  it  is.  ‘  digits  intertwined  and  palms  laid  calmly  pressed  against  her  stomach,  posture  held  perfectly.  though,  now  she  carried  a  smile.

he’s a sight to behold in all the steel he wears, orange hues flaring neon behind his mask. he’s an unnatural, unwavering thing, wrought by his own design; he melds very well to zaunite scenery. the fox woman’s curiosity, in a sense, is reciprocated: he’s never seen one of her kind, after all, and a scientist would be no such thing if not for their interest in new knowledge. at her confusion, however, he can safely assume this is her first trip to the undercity.

“A RESPIRATOR. an apparatus that helps you breathe purer oxygen.” his explanation is given in a patient tone, though it is corrupt by the sound of static. he wonders if she’s ever even seen such thing. she seems like the type of creature to dwell in nature. “it is a way to ensure your health’s safety in a place such as this.”

[scntrx-deactivated20191108]

[ceryxi]

sara vc: psst, viktor is a nerd ---

@seamonstress

viktor voice: why, indeed i amviktor voice: great observation skills fortuna

[onceuponamusing]

     the only TRUE f a i l u r e                    is when you STOP t r y i n g.

[ceryxi]

goldenjerk:

You tried, Jayce, so many times. What made you think this time would be any differnt?

Jayce wasn’t sure, but the stinging voice in his head couldn’t be right. He just wouldn’t accept it. He deserved the chance, and he would not step back until Viktor - because he knew there’s still at least some Viktor behind that unfaltering gaze - gave him that chance. Yes, he betrayed - he can’t avoid this word anymore - his friend at the very least once, twice if he was to be honest, but he would strongly debate it was Viktor who betrayed him during the third incident. 

“It wasn’t me who ordered a small army of robots to kill my friend when he came to talk a thief out of doing something very ille-”

He’s not allowed to finish his sentence, because the air is pierced by a shrill shriek coming from back in the crowd where they initially saw themselves. For a moment, Jayce looks Viktor in the eyes, unsure. But then his ‘hero call’ takes over, and he dashes out of the backalley and towards the assemblage square. This conversation, unlike others, didn’t end in a fight, so he was sure next time he could pick it up without much problem (or at least without more problem than he had this time).

It is difficult to tell what the scream was about, and where it came from, but soon Jayce finds a place where the crowd is denser and a commotion begins to form, so he takes his chances and heads there. What he finds is wasn’t what he expected: a girl, not even of age yet, but already looking like she worked her fair share in some kind of factory; her eyes are closed under her bedazzled, fake-gemstone eyebrows, and her throat still full of pained screams. Soon, Jayce realises what causes her so much pain - the augment arm of hers is loose, and obviously malfunctioning. There were at least three screws missing, and he couldn’t see them around, so it was very likely the girl broke the prosthetic some time ago and didn’t have the funds to get it fixed. Not there was blood and oil seeping out of her shoulder where the metal met the flesh.

And he wasn’t an expert in human augmentation.

“Calm down,” he attempts to console her, but it has no effect, so he just holds her down. “The more you trash around the more it hurts! I’m going to help you, so calm down!”

the mention of the laboratory events is unnecessary to put it lightly. the immediate loss of life that came as consequence of his former colleague’s recklessness still haunts the herald, embitters him to the core. he’s logical enough to know jayce had wrong assumptions of the nature of his dealings that fateful day, but it lessens little the bite of memory, even with the help of his neural augments.

“it was not me that would not LISTEN to reason.”

the flare of anger that licks at viktor’s conscious is undeniable and for a second, he gives into it, eyes narrowing as his expression twists into a muted version of the emotion. he catches himself, though, the second the scream pierces the air. composure returning, he looks back at jayce; something must be done and both of them are aware of it --- while not crowned a hero by many, the zaunite’s instict to aid those in suffering has always been present, since long, long years ago. he lets the defender leave first before he seeks out the source of the sound himself, steps measured and much less rushed than the defender’s as he locates that it comes from the assemblage.

dysfunctional augments installed by those less skilled were often the source of a discomfort among the usual frequenters of the church. besides that, of course, there were those that still sought a skilled hand to offer them aid and often enough, he’s been the one chosen by those fortunate enough to find him before despair had them take less reputable offers. some could say he himself was disreputable, but he had no ears to that. he’s aware of the care he puts onto his procedures and he’s aware none of his would be pivotal in the scene he witnesses in the assemblage grounds. they are built to be resilient and as pain-free as possible: no weakness of flesh afflicting those he’s helped.

amateurs and counterfeits, always a thorn on his side.

the herald takes his place in the crowd watching for a moment as jayce fumbles about with the girl until the moment one of the gloriously evolved recognize him by his own augments. MESSIAH, one of them calls him, please help her. he nods, silent as always, and takes steps towards jayce’s side. “move away.” he orders, though no bite is in his tone now, and one of the people watching bring him tools (conveniently stored nearby as the church itself was known for offering augments) with reverent hands. none of them are as good as his own, but he supposes he can make do as he thanks the man briefly, kneeling by the desperate girl’s side. she has quieted down slightly now, but her moans of pain and frightful eyes tell him enough. there’s likely been some extent of nerve-ending damage and if it is true, he might have to take her back to his workshop in zaun.

unfortunate, most unfortunate.

“unless you wish her to suffer more, i’d advise you to merely let me take the reigns of the situation.” his tone is ice cold towards the piltovan as he barely bothers looking his way. there is the off-chance the crowd decides to turn against him in case they realize exactly who he is, not to mention an unaugmented person should not stand upon the sacred soil of the gloriously evolved. “i’d also advise you to LEAVE, but you are certainly far too stubborn to hear me.”

[ceryxi]

the-economics-of-death:

Talon’s smile was a polite one as he tilted his head at the other man’s words. He had heard of a man - assisting - those unfortunate others in the city, and had sought him out, more of curiosity than anything else. 

He stepped from the shadows with a single fluid movement, appearing from darkness more like a ghoul than a simple human in the light. A danger, of course - he did not dare presume the stranger would not simply attack him. Indeed, his blade was a carefully held comfort beside him, although he held it only loosely, almost as if inviting danger. 

His heart skipped with it. 

“I heard there was a man… helping those he could. Yet… surely, so freely rendering assistance ensures they would use their new strength to trample him in their wanting for power,” he murmured, almost as if he were not there. 

He tilted his head questioningly. 

“Why?” 

viktor listens, quiet and solemn, the thick darkness of zaun enhancing the unnatural glow of his eyes. the grey has always helped having the undercity dipped in shadows and it seems, poetically enough, mankind took it as a sign they should make it so in all senses. the thought is vague and brief, but passes through his mind as he watches the younger man question him.

an interesting point of view, he assumes. he’s not shocked with the encounter, assuming he’s used to being stopped in the streets by the curious, by those who knew of his fame of the foretold messiah of the gloriously evolved. he finds their title for him distasteful, but if it aids him in his pursuit for the betterment of humankind, he can tolerate it.

“there is no man i know of that does so,” his tone is almost soft even if distant, corrupted by static. “but i do know that if those helped desire to trample their helper, then they haven’t learnt a anything taught to them.”

he pauses, letting the words sink in.

“it is not the helper’s job to be frustrated, but to move on and accept they must change methods to achieve the wanted result.”

[quotemadness]

My heart was too big for my body so I let it go.

Anis Mojgani (via quotemadness)

[ceryxi]

@cup-cait​

THE HERALD had come out from his laboratory with the sole interest of purchasing more provisions for his lab, which often enough was easy to find in the boundary markets. it is, of course, a surprise to see piltover’s sheriff around, as it’d be to see any famous piltovan lingering by these parts of the city --- but he supposes this is still in part her jurisdiction; the divide between zaun and piltover is often thin enough to be forgettable in places such as this. 

it makes it comfortable for him, however, to know that the divide is unclear. it remains a comfort zone, per say, even though this could be considered a neutral territory. he does not know what brings him to talk to her; perhaps he should check his neural augments later.

“SHERIFF,” he starts, the word nearly mauled by the static. his tone holds more humor than what is expected from the likes of him.  

                                             “---what brings you so far down?”

[ceryxi]

@the-economics-of-death​

IT IS ANOTHER SOMBER NIGHT in zaun, with the particularly thick smog of the grey feeling nearly tangible. he’s had plenty of time to finish his tasks of the day, including a few augmentations in a neighborhood of factory workers. it has been taxing, even to someone like him, more metal and more augmented than the average born-human should be, yet he cannot help noticing the particular feeling of being followed. it doesn’t seem like the average zaunite seeking his help, since they were either frightful or reverent in their approach, so it raises his suspicions slightly.

he hums, under his breath, the static breaking the sound into something metallic, and takes a turn towards the suspected source of the feeling, eyes aglow with renewed light, bathing his mask with a ghastly aspect.

                                          “WHAT DO YOU SEEK, stranger?”