tik tok; a heartbeat.

i hear soft things.

[clockwandering-blog]

@deathdevotion

                The lights of the street lamps overhead were too bright to be able to see the stars that were beginning to dot the evening sky, but that was not what Orianna had come to see. Perhaps it was foolish to dwell on the memories of her life before she had become a marvel of clockwork, but she could not help but feel a draw to them nonetheless, like some invisible tether she could not truly understand was pulling her back. Could it have been the faint ghost of sentimentality that she could remember but not feel herself anymore? Possibly. It was strange to exist as she did, with her memories haunting her and the desire to simply feel some kind of peace with herself. She had been and a part of her remains to be Orianna Reveck, but she was not the human woman of her past. 

                Still, she would linger in places that been important to Oianna Reveck, to herself. Her mechanical body ticks with sharp turns as she tilts her head back to look up at the old theater house where she had enjoyed watching ballet performances. She recalls feeling a deep fondness for the place, the memory warm in her mind as she tried to turn it about within her own conscious to understand it. Orianna feels as if she has become an observer of her own life, like she was looking in on memories that she knew were hers but felt so distant now, like they didn’t truly belong to her. The memories of this theater would not leave her as of late, so here she was.

                Orianna had been to here so many times in the past, sometimes by herself, some with her father, and there were warm, rose-tinted memories of her here with Camille. Camille’s presence in her memories were... it stirred something in the soul that lurked within this metal body. It was a a deep well of thoughts that all interlaced together, woven with various colors and thoughts, all warm and tender to the touch. She remembers looking up at Camille, soft light crowning her with the warm colors of gold, red, and purples to surround her. The first thought that comes to her mind as she dwells on the memory is that she misses Camille. At least she thinks she does— yes, she decides, she does; she didn’t need to over analyze and debate this one thought. Orianna misses Camille. That’s why she was here, with her metal hand resting on the ornate railing and looking up at grand oak doors at the dead of night. 

[ptcrow]

Orianna Reveck

[nathanieljostn-deactivated20190]

Artists of San Francisco Ballet

Act 2 of Giselle

credits: Amy Osborne

[speciesbarocus]

The Plantin-Moretus Museum.

> Photo by Jassy-50.

[galina]

There’s something about wandering in and out of London bookshops, alone, daydreaming.

[aurelion-solar]

Victorious Orianna Splash Art!

[c0llar-bones]

Celestial Clock

[clockwandering-blog]

fortunesails:

[x] – @clockwandering

The comment drew a laugh from Sarah in response, and the crimson-haired woman shook her head in response. “Aye, lass, any machine can do anything. My pistols shoot bullets. Cannon shoot cannonballs. They’re ultimately the same thing in their design, but that doesn’t make my guns any less impressive for what they can do.”

She turned her gaze to the ball, that unnerving ticking movement that it made, and the motioned with a slight nod toward it. “For example, that thing. No machine I’ve seen before in Piltover or out walks around with a floatin’ ball.” Her weight was set, thumbs finding themselves in her gun belt. Sarah wasn’t intimidated or otherwise afraid for this machine or her companion, but that didn’t make the mechanical movement any less unnerving. Her hands being near her guns like that gave her some level of comfort.

“But I ain’t a machinist nor do I pretend to understand more than the basic workings of a gun. Question is, what were you made for? I know Piltovians like to just make machines and see what happens, but don’t they all have some purpose, some intention when they first start out?”

                “You have- many questions,” Orianna states, more so as an observation than as a discouragement. Questions, in her opinion, were good things; they lead people to progress, to search for answers, and in turn to learn more about the world and its capabilities. 

                The center of the ball makes two quarter turns, ticking twice beside her as she listens patiently while her eyes seemingly do not stray from her curious companion. The woman’s questions were direct, and they gradually became more intimate in nature. However, Orianna has little reason to be guarded; she had grown quite used to prying questions from the wondering minds of Piltover who viewed her more as a marvel of science than as a conscious being. What remains of her emotions is not enough to hinder her direct way of digesting and answering questions, though.

                “Many machines- are made with- a purpose,” she answers. “I made the ball to assist me.” Despite her answer being somewhat vague and watered down, Orianna mentions the ball as an example because the woman refers to it when speaking of other machines and their workings. She was not entirely wrong, though, as Piltovans seemed to have an insatiable curiosity that lead them to test any possible ideas. 

                “I was made to...” She pauses and her head tilts downward in one quick jarring motion as her robotic voice came to a halt. She considers exactly how to articulate how she was made, how she became this machine but the answer is not easy. Truthfully, she was not made with a purpose; she was born like all people were, but the Lady of Clockwork was made to preserve the girl Orianna Reveck. “I was a girl,” she says as her head ticks up once more and the unwavering light of her eyes returns to the Captain. “Over time- my father re-placed my failing organs. I be-came a machine.” 

[ingelnook]

Galerie Bortier by Andrea

[clockwandering-blog]

                orianna and the ball are strangely two very connected beings. their connection is very unique to them, and in a way, they share a consciousness. this is why the ball will sometimes respond to unspoken commands, and also why the ball behaves almost on its own accord. orianna will sometimes speak of the ball as if it’s its own being, and will speak of them in tandem, sometimes even using ‘we’ pronouns when she could ( and, normally, should ) just refer to herself. this is in part due to the very unique existence of orianna herself; her concept of self, as well as her link with the ball, is not replicated anywhere else in runeterra because of the fact that she is a machine who was once human while retaining her human soul and memories. 

                part of the reason orianna and the ball share such a unique, almost symbiotic relationship is because she and the ball’s hextech crystal came from the same, original crystal. they have a kindred “source” so to speak, almost as if they share a frequency. this is because, in actuality, orianna’s hextech crystal heart and the hextech crystal found in the ball are connected by the crystal’s “song” ( as described by skarner ). the ball is apart of her, in some way. 

[clockwandering-blog]

the reason i add hyphens in orianna’s speech patterns is to signify the really robotic, almost fractured way of speaking she has, though if i figure out a better way of writing it i might change that later on 

[clockwandering-blog]

"Now, I knew Piltover had some crazy things but a walkin', talkin' machine? That's probably the most interestin' one to come out of that city yet."

                The automaton tilted her head in one swift motion, similar to the way the hands of a clock tick with each second. This woman was bold, and her accent was an interesting one. Orianna had heard many throughout her rather young life, but there was the occasional time a certain voice or a movie poster would ignite some old embers of childhood memories she knew but could not feel attachment to ( well, she did, in some way, but it was more like a ghost lived inside this metal body than anything ). The Bilgewater folk were the blunt types, at least in her experience. 

                “There are- other machines- who walk and talk,” she answers simply in the synthetic tones of her voice. Walking and talking were rather simple tasks for machines, in her opinion at least. She had seen, made, and watched her father create many wondrous inventions— walking and talking were small steps, but she supposed that those who do not live in Piltover might not see such complex machines very often. 

                “Machines can do- many things,” Orianna continues. Almost to emphasize that, the ball whirls beside her, hovering higher as its eyeglass turns to the red headed woman. 

[wearepaladin]

steampunk astrolabe by Davison Carvalho

[jawnkeets]

newstead abbey, ancestral home of lord byron

[clockwandering-blog]

❝ What the hell happened? ❞

                The ball hovered next to her, closer than usual as she holds the open circuitry of her arm. The talons of her fingers lay motionless and open palmed over her knees while she held a delicate, thin tool in her working hand amongst the wires and gears. Several of the gears had been crushed under the durable metal of her forearm several hours ago, though the exterior had only scratches to show for the immense pressure it had been under. It had been at least some time since she had been forced to fight in such a way, but this served as a reminder that she not forget it. Metal was durable. She was strong. 

                She hadn’t noticed or heard Jayce approach her, only looking up to him when the ball whirrs softly next to her and nudges her legs. Orianna finally looks up at him when he speaks, her lips a small, pert frown and her eyes were a stark contrast of searing light in the dark. Her attention return to the open arm, gold and brass cogs arranged in an almost elegant, neat display save for the broken piece that lay on the cobblestone beside her. It was a careful, arduous task removing them, one that demanded precision and patience. 

                “A mi-nor break,” Orianna says as she looks back up at Jayce, her answer rather simple given that she had endured such a casualty due to more violent reasons. The ball hovers further down, the center band turning before it parts without her verbal command. “You do-not need to worry,” she reassures him as she turns back to the ball, her free hand laying her tool down as she retrieves a replacement for the broken cogs. 

[clockwandering-blog]

                orianna still has a present day passion for making toys. she finds a particular joy in gifting them to children or just simply creating something so lovely and innocent. these toys are most often given to zaunite children; she will, however, make or sell toys in piltover if she requires money to replace her own bodily parts should they need it. 

                it is a leftover memory she had of a fondness for automaton toys she had as a child that her own father made. those that she had made for corin before leaving him were her most advanced toys; many of which could speak and walk on their own. her favorites to make are music boxes, however. 

[clockwandering-blog]

( promo made by @narcisisto ❤ )

                dreams are like whispers in the dark, fireflies floating gently and innocently through the dark while the world lays still. dreams are like memories, something she remembers from a life that feels unlike her, fluttering from her grasp and just out of reach. they’re proof that she was someone else once, that she was something else. 

                she dreams, although she never sleeps.