become one

wip rp blog for transistor function characters [AUTOPLAY WARNING]

[bonewaggin]

grapefruit girl

tried to mimic transistor’s style with this!! im still workin this girl out but i have a few more ocs i need to do >: o

but haha TRANSistor ,, ?? haha,,, (shes trans)

[dys-functioning-blog]

a finished wave sprite!! lovely giraffe son

[dys-functioning-blog]

I’m working on Wave sprites! just, for. i dunno. whatever i may need sprites for

[dys-functioning-blog]

I feel absolutely horrible. What with finals and all, I... completely forgot about this blog.... will doodles make up for it??

[dys-functioning-blog]

Another week of inactivity... Expect this to be regular! During the school week I have little to no time for this... I’m terribly sorry!! ;A; The school year will end soon.

I would love to continue all of my current threads, though! You guys have been so patient holy heck ;_;

EDIT: I forgot to mention -- don’t be afraid to send in some asks! I’d love to see them keep on comin’!! :^)

[dys-functioning-blog]

Messy Farrah doodle because why not.

[dys-functioning-blog]

Niola, would you tell us some of those super sweet memories you have of Goldwalk that makes you love it so much today?

“Goldwalk is a beautiful place. The people are sweetest you could ever meet; I must admit that even the worst of them all are held close to me.

One time.. ha – One time, I was holding a ceremony for a girl who had passed due to an unfortunate accident. All Goldwalk citizens were invited, and it seemed like everyone was there. I don’t think I’ve hugged more people in one day. Everyone was together, everyone was rejoicing, in memory of a single member. It’s moments like those that make me want to go back…”

[dys-functioning-blog]

Ardent

[ameliaovc]

Dark eyes, precise and kind, scanned his face. Their shared Selection of Awareness wasn’t for nothing, and Amelia could easily tell that something perturbed him. “Seeing how anything alters with time in Cloudbank is always an interesting prospect. Ever-changing needs and desires, but… is there a pattern? Some people stay popular through the years. And of course, there is always a future for those working in some professions.”

A quick hand gripped his broad shoulder as she gazed up at him. Her ticket number flashed up behind him at the counter. “Walk home with me, Wave.”

Her hold tightened for an instant. Then she was off, darting back to the counter for her flatbread and back, putting her box alongside his and scooping them all up in a jumbled armful. “I’m not taking no for an answer,” the reporter warned Tennegan.“Everyone has a voice in Cloudbank, but there are some things better said in private.” Even laden down with flatbread containers Amelia hooked her foot around his ankle and tugged him toward the door.

[dys-functioning-blog]

Wave’s uncharacteristically grim face nodded. His fingers rubbed against the tight skin of his face, from his cheekbone to his jaw; grasping the edges and hard features familiar to the radio host.

“Indeed -- a pattern... I believe it depends on the profession, yes. Take the infamous Maxamilias Darzi, that clothing designer -- he had created one of the fastest-growing fanbases in the entire history of clothing industry. Almost everyone has something with his name on it; but if you ask, say, the younger generation about him, they’d tell you they’ve never heard of him. I’m still struggling to know just why -- I admit I don’t know all too well the public’s views on fashion, which is something I hope to look into soon.”

At Amelia’s sudden interjection, he blinked, but nodded soon afterwards. The rush of adrenaline only reporters can feel in a conversation was returning; a smile crept across his face, and it was obvious that he was in.

“Yes -- I agree. Never be too careful.” he said, taking an involuntary glimpse around at the other bleary-eyed customers before moving alongside Amelia. 

Snatching half of the boxes from her arms, he held the door open, and followed out among the misty streets of Cloudbank. 

“The sky is gorgeous, today,” he said. Usually he’d have a whole report in his head describing the sky’s prism of colors, but he realized there are more pressing issues than the colors of the clouds.

[dys-functioning-blog]

Succor

[thelastofcloudbank]

“Oh.” Facsimile’s expression of false-cheeriness faltered. Feeling it was a little disrespectful to sit above the stranger, she pushed off from the stage and landed lightly on stockinged feet. She’d abandoned her high-heels– they were a pain to wear for long periods. “Well, you missed quite the finale…” she tugged at her twinkling, transparent shawl self-consciously. Facsimile eyed the man over curiously. His square jaw and athletic build seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place them. The singer’s face coloured slightly as the man inquired after her predicament. The truth was, she’d stayed behind purposefully. The area would be empty for the next two hours, and thats exactly what Facsimile had wanted. But suddenly the presence of the man tugged at her heart– Charlie hadn’t been able to make the concert; he was away on business and wouldn’t be back for weeks. Facsimile was suddenly ravenous for company, but not the company of friends– friends would ask what was wrong, they’d pity her and offer all sorts useless advice. She didn’t feel like speaking to any of them– only Charlie would really understand, anyway. But in the company of a stranger, she could pretend to be unburdened for a while, and pretending was so close to the real thing if you weren’t surrounded by reminders. But then, she couldn’t think of any reason for this man to stay, and she didn’t want to give him any false ideas. She fumbled for something to say, some excuse to retain his presence. She looked down at her dress; the bulky lower half was removed, exposing a generous portion of her legs. She flicked her gaze back up to the man, who’s identity finally fell into place. An idea struck her. “I… A-actually, yes.” she paused to put on an anxious expression– it wasn’t hard, given her current emotional state. “You’re right– they did leave me here. I’ve been a bit worried about leaving, actually. I’ve got errands to run, but the make-up trailer is locked and I can’t straighten my curls– I’ll be recognized instantly, and I’m worried that something might– er– happen…” She dropped her eyes back to the floor. “If… If it isn’t too much trouble, would you accompany me on my errands? Just… you know, so I have someone to go with.” Her eyes traveled to his face again, and she unconsciously crossed her white-gloved fingers behind her back.

[dys-functioning-blog]

Olmarq was surprised; Facsimile was a big deal in Cloudbank. Honestly, he expected a swarm of suits around her at all times -- to be a replacement, while an honor, seemed to be difficult considering the importance of the celebrity’s welfare.

“I -- sure! Erm... I guess, if you want me to. It’s either this or just mope around in my house...”

He caught her hopeful stare with a hint of suspicion, like she was planning something. But the fact that she was a woman in need pushed him into validating his answer; he will help this woman.

Wiping his palms on his trousers, he considered what would happen should her managers discover her seemingly rebellious escapade. All he knew is that he had just pledged loyalty to Facsimile -- he intended to keep his word.

“I... don’t suppose you have a name I could call you by? Unless -- unless your real name is Facsimile.” He rubbed his elbow nervously, hoping he wasn’t treading in grounds he shouldn’t be. “I’m Olmarq, by the way."

He decided he would not mention his previous status as star quarterfielder; should she not recognize him, it might make the whole process a little more less awkward.

Pausing mid-turn, he looked back at the singer with an inquisitive expression. “Where are we going, anyhow?”

[dys-functioning-blog]

I’m home and (hopefully) alive!

Time to get on some replies people’ve been waiting on. ;v;

[dys-functioning-blog]

Okay, as things are slowing down I have more time to spend here!

Sorry for the wait. ;_;

After school today I expect to reply to all the patient people waiting for replies and hopefully draw some answers to asks!

[dys-functioning-blog]

Sorry if I’m a little late for a bunch of things -- things are getting busy on my end, and whenever I find time for tumblr I’m really out of the mood for RP. ;v; 

Still a bunch of asks left, and I owe two replies to thelastofcloudbank and ameliaovc. I’m really close to finishing the OC blog too!!

[xxmoved-blog]

Memory Meme

Past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories. 

–

❥ - a childhood memory

♣ - a fading memory

✂ - a vivid memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✈ - an eye-opening memory

✤ - a memory that involves romance/love

☤ - a memory of death/loss

✍ - a memory of their mother

☽ - a memory of their father

♘ - a memory of their sibling(s)

✌ - a memory of a relative

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

✓ - a sexual memory

♬ - a friend/best friend memory

[dys-functioning-blog]

Private Endorsement

[chairwomanplatt-blog]

Her back stiffened, pierced on the spot by that serious, single eye. Lillian raised her chin at his approach, locking her jaw. “I’ve already resigned,” she said. 

“And,” here she paused, folding her arms across her chest, “I’m not the type to let things lie. This is more for me as it is for Max. I need closure, and if you say that there’s a chance for that much, then – well. I’ll take it, I suppose. What else should I do, I want the truth.”

[dys-functioning-blog]

His eye softened into a more grim expression, his shoulders relaxing.

“I’m aware. I thought you would.”

He took a deep sigh, staring at the ground for a spell before returning his hard gaze to Lilian. 

“You know of my ability to prognosticate. To see the future as a string of numbers, probabilities, and code -- that is the premise of my entire career. I do not handle this lightly. So, please, Miss Platt...”

Worry and sorrow crept slowly across his face just then. Such potent emotion was almost a stranger to the detective’s face; he voice seemed to falter.

“.... Take care, whatever you do. I know I have nothing on your stubborn nature; so please, just know -- know that what you are about to do could cost you your life.”

[dys-functioning-blog]

This new update is bent on killing both my connection speed and myself, I swear to the Lord -- !!

[dys-functioning-blog]

Succor

[thelastofcloudbank]

Facsimile sat quietly at the edge of the stage, toes together, arms braced behind her, as if about to jump off. She didn’t, though. She simply sat and contemplated her lower extremities with a slightly lost expression.

She was obviously fresh from a show– a competition, to be exact. Her pinkish hair was all done up in voluminous spirals on either side of her head and her cheeks and lips were rouged.

She started a little as someone called out. She looked down with a slight bobbing of curls to see a brawny looking fellow with bright eyes and a cautious expression standing near the foot of the stage.

“Oh! Hello!” she gave a giggle in that false-cheery way that people do when they’re trying to cover something up. “I’m afraid you’ve missed the show, sir, it ended a half-hour ago.”

She didn’t answer his question.

[dys-functioning-blog]

He rubbed his arms, looking completely out of place. 

“Oh -- I know that,” he said, eyeing the woman’s costume. “I was here earlier, but I, er.. I left early. I didn’t get to see who won.”

With a shock, he realized the woman he was talking to was Facsimile; only a small section of her costume had been removed since his saw her onstage. Not wanting to look like an imbecile, he kept quiet, planning to speak with a little more respect from that point on. 

Olmarq then realized his ignorance was due to the fact that he, at the time of the concert, was looking more at Red than Facsimile. He quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets to avoid partaking in one of his many nervous ticks. It was strange to see the infamous quarterfielder, renown for ferocity on the field, look almost pitiful in that moment. He was good at throwing spirals and smiling at the camera -- he was not the most socially adept.

A moment later, however, and his usual edge of steel returned.

“Do you need anything? It -- it looks like your managers left you in the dust here...”

Now that he mentioned it, it was true. Facsimile was sitting here, alone, unattended. She said herself the show ended only half an hour ago, yet here she was still partially in her costume. Frankly, Olmarq was worried they’d abandoned her on purpose.

He could only guess what the outcome of the battle was.

[dys-functioning-blog]

Ardent

[ameliaovc]

She could have laughed at his rueful gesture before he spoke. The enormous work schedule was something Amelia was certainly familiar with, and she knew that with Wave’s star in the ascendant he was busier than ever. That he took time to explain his conclusions, though, made her smile wider.

“I find that those who don’t have anything to say to you generally have an angle you need to find. More often than not they have a personal reason not to share that sort of information with you, so you have to find the precise set of words that will open up the truth.” The smell of baked crust, cheese, tomatoes, and blend of toppings from the flatbreads in Wave’s hands made her mouth water as she remembered the reason for stopping by.

“I’ve got some articles that I’ve been working on, apart from the usual headlines of the day! One moment, please.” The editor wove through patrons to the front, pressed the “Mystery Jan’s” button, took the ticket the machine spat out, then stepped back toward Mr. Tennegan.

With a flick of her hair Amelia Garbur twisted the ticket in her grip. “I’ve been making notes about how Cloudbank treats artists over time,” she answered brightly. “Why some last for years, while others shine at the top for two months before vanishing forever. It’s just an idea I’d been kicking around before I decided to answer the question and started looking up statistics. Fame is so fickle, isn’t it?”

[dys-functioning-blog]

Wave grinned and nodded at Amelia -- he was happy there was someone quite like Amelia to get excited around. She always had something meaningful and relevant to say, so he took every word seriously.

“That’s not untrue, not at all,” he said, shifting the four boxes in his arms. “You wouldn’t believe the kinds of things I’ve had to say to finish a story, but -- another story for another time.”

At Amelia’s mention of her newest topic before walking over to the ticket dispenser, Wave recalled a certain story he did on strange disappearances. Almost all of them were former celebrities or political leaders out of office, as if it wouldn’t matter. Wave was not one to let things go unnoticed.

Feeling their conversation might last a little longer, Wave set down the boxes in his arms. He mulled over Amelia’s story-in-the-making and his, but let his attention snap back to her when she returned.

“Fickle... Yes. Capricious, almost.”

The connection he was making to he and Amelia’s steady rise of popularity and impact on Cloudbank to the mercurial fame of others, quite frankly, troubled him. 

He decided he wouldn’t trouble Amelia with it, too -- after all, it was just speculation. However, he has learned to trust his gut feeling... His eyebrows drew together, worry creeping across his face.

“Amelia -- keep doing so. I think that’d be a most valuable set of data for the Archives, and it sounds like a wonderful story (as always!). I, myself - speaking of the Archives - have begun to poke around the inner workings of Highrise and how data storage is sorted and re-sorted with age... it uses this insanely long equation just to make sure we can find everything! It’s fascinating, but I wish Highrise weren’t so far up, ha!”