A Signal, or Maybe Four.

{indie rp blog for the uberbots from Inscryption. spoilers abound!}

[mechanical-menagerie]

{indie uberbots rp blog from inscryption! run by blip!!}

|| rules || information + refs || ask || submit || verses (tba) ||

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

The shock is… beginning to ebb. A bit of the pain is coming back, but the increased awareness and processing speed is worth it. Oh scrybes, it hurt. Their screen shows clenched teeth and squinting eye before theh regain composure, claw again hovering over the gashes.

“I’m not sure I have anything better to call you.”

Deep not-breaths. Stabilize yourself. She thinks… how shall she repair herself? A patch may work, if she could find anything laying around. Any spare material. She could potentially hammer the torn metal back down and solder it shut, but…

With one claw, that sounds more difficult than she was prepared to try.

“You don’t sound particularly happy.”

It’s a quiet grumble, while they re-inspect the wound. Alright, a brief rest, then once awareness is regained, seek out a patch. They lower to just above the ground, before landing against the wall themself.

“Pardon me if I power down. My travel has been rather exhausting.”

They would prefer not to be called anything. Quite frankly, it didn’t acknowledge the names given to it. However “Chalk” had been something that P03 left written on a note long since shredded, so it was the only thing they assumed to be their name.

It can feel the remote, still. Each button tugged a different cord, moving their hands like a morbid marionette. Once it could go back into a resting position, it turned to face Archea.

“I’m not happy. But I’m happier alone than having mimics wandering about my warehouse.” It snaps, but doesn’t make any more hostile motions. They were far enough apart that it didn’t feel threatened.

[mechanical-menagerie]

question. is coroner evil.

{hello!!! coroner is Not evil. she's in fact the nicest of all of my uberbots. like even netty is gonna make fun of you if you don't understand something that she does. coroner is genuinely the sweetest thing unless you actively harm her or the archives.}

{not sure why you would think she is, tho?}

[mechanical-menagerie]

hey coroner can i kill you

She looks down at you. She doesn't seem alarmed. "I mean. You can, physically. But it's not wise. And frankly, I don't think you would have much luck, dear."

[mechanical-menagerie]

i would like to know about azazel

{I can't say I have a lot to say on him yet, at least nothing relevant to this blog. Only that he is a martyr to the actual literal bone lord, and isn't meant to be in Botopia at all. But he's there because he slipped under the radar in the game switch.}

{If you want to know about the irrelevant stuff, feel free to specify, but he's not gonna be a main muse here. Just idly mentioned from time to time.}

[mechanical-menagerie]

{this is completely unrelated to everything but as a note my archivist’s librarians all have various animal skulls to their appearances. the only noteworthy one is a ram-skulled librarian named Azazel but that’s because he’s my oc and i am lowkey developing him behind the scenes.}

[roleplaymemesnthings]

Send "📖" and I'll open a book, flip to a random page, and write a starter based on whatever is on it.

[monster2003]

[mechanical-menagerie]

excuse me? mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry.

Develop looks down at you. The shutter of it's eye focuses, and it lowers his body down to be level with you.

"Are you lost? You seem like you're lost."

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

The pain in the gashes is beginning to turn to numbness, a dull ache muted by time and lost sensation. They will… need to find a patch soon. At least for until they can get a replacement plate. Ah, where to find one here… they will need to wait for their awareness to return. To rest.

“It doesn’t sit right with me to leave you in this state, my friend.”

They still wouldn’t move closer again, for risk of being mangled worse, but remain where they are, watching Chalk sadly. What was there to do? For either of them? They could sympathize; they had spent the last forever trapped in a small room in an empty world, rotting away in their own mind.

“It cost a rather large amount of my energy to escape my old… bindings. Allow me a moment’s rest before I find my way.”

It managed to strain the wires and relax once more. They tampered with the remote again to allow the wires to go loose, giving them more lenience.

“I don’t consider you a “friend”. I hardly even consider you an acquaintance. You’re some- some mimic of a bot that tore me to shreds. That’s all you are.”

It seems to pout, but with only eyes, it was more just... Squinting. But it made no more aggressive actions, only sitting across from the stranger. Staring, but more relaxed, if that made any difference.

“You can stay here. But don’t expect me to like it.” It snips, the tone going flat momentarily. “I don’t want help. I would be happy to rust in peace, if I am not killing the bot that did this to me.”

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

They’re staring blankly at the fluid on their claw. Was it strange, that they’d seen so many others bleed, but never themself? That they were so accustomed to half-assembled or disassembled robots, but never considered their own insides? It was… discomforting. Yet curious.

“No, I am not.”

Her voice is even softer now. She looks back up, away from her claw, to their screen.

“I am the archivist.”

Perhaps this bot has it out for p03. Is that why it lashed out before, and as soon as it could see her? Perhaps… in this version, p03 wasn’t quite the bot she knew. For now they’d keep quiet about their shared mind.

They falter for a moment; they were now injured, and no less lost in this new world. It seemed they were somewhere in or near the factory, but the layout was unfamiliar. It wasn’t worth potentially getting lost when there was a hole in their chassis letting in moisture.

“I am afraid I haven’t anywhere to go.”

At least in here the humidity was low.

It doesn’t move, letting the wires hold them in the same position. Perhaps moving their screen in an uncomfortable way, but otherwise still.

“You are not welcome here. Any other bot around here will tell you.” It moves its claw, gesturing to the mostly empty warehouse.

Their eyes focus down at the bot, now aware it was the same situation as their past encounter. The same silhouette, different bot. Why was P03 obsessed with its own form? Why did so many bots look the same? Why, why, why?

It still feels no regret for its actions, but does slowly lowers to rest back against the crates once more. “I am thankful you are not that wretched bot. But there are safer places. And if you stay here, you will rust away the same as I have.”

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

“There you are. Oh- oh my.”

They’re left looking around in surprise; this was significantly more light than they had expected to come from those meager bulbs. The hum wasn’t exactly comforting, especially as the lights continued to flicker. Hopefully none of them would blow.

“Ah, do be careful, please.”

It would seem their earlier comment about being like a puppet would be correct, and she can’t help but to lightly frown. Who would do this to someone?

At their positioning their screen closer to Archea, she places her claw on the side of its head gently, intendedly comforting.

“There you are. Is there anything else I can-”

They’re cut off as it lunges at them, raking its claws across their chassis. Not anticipating another attempted attack, the certainly hadn’t moved away in time, or at all, and were well within its reach.

Now they slowly drift backward, away from them, claw rising to the gashes in their chestplate. Three long tears, lightly sparking and seeping green fluid. It would be a tad of an understatement to say they’re shaken

“Oh… oh my, what have you done to me…?”

This… shouldn’t be fatal, if addressed, but internal rust… did not seem like a pleasant thought.

Chalk leaned on the wires, able to stand more or less hunched over as long as the cabled kept them linked to the ceiling. Their eyes flickered, scanning the bot’s screen. The silhouette was familiar, the face however, was strange. It seemed to back down after the first swipe, only because the stranger didn’t react initially.

“You are not P03.” It states bluntly. At least not the one it knew.

They didn’t know remorse for such an action, and to be fair, the damage was already done. It tried to stand up straighter, but had to slump back, using the wires to keep them stable and standing. 

It doesn’t blink, but it does step back, their claws making another unholy scraping noise on the ground. “Leave.” At the very least, now it wasn’t further tangling its wires. “I’ve given you warnings. You’re already more damaged than the last stranger to come here.”

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

She nods, turning to head to the crate- ah, there it is. There is a brief thought in their minds - especially p03’s, still in awareness without control, that this isn’t a good idea, but between the caring Archea and the naive g0lly, they collect the remote.

Of course, this gutted robot needs the remote for the power regardless of whether they think this may end poorly. With how unfinished it looks, it probably struggles to even stay aware without this.

“Here you are, dear.”

Can it see? They don’t know how well it can see them or its surroundings, or if it simply knew where the remote was through another sense or memory. Rather than holding the remote in front of them, without knowing whether it would be helpful or taunting, they gently place it in the other bot’s hand.

It was, probably, the worst idea to give them that remote.

It was placed in their claws, and they did their best to register the object. Their claws trying to get a grip on the remote, skimming all of the buttons. In a moment, it felt the button it was looking for, the only red button on the remote.

With a click, everything seemed to shift at once. The lights in the warehouse did come to life, flickering and buzzing. Not to mention, the wires tied to the bot’s limbs went tight, allowing them enough stability to stand upright. By now, it was clear its movements were doll, or even corpse-like in nature. Some of the cords fell, sparking in their wake.

Once the broken bot managed to stand, the wires holding it upright, it leaned down closer to the stranger. Tilting its screen left, and right.

Chalk’s screen went dark, before coming back to life. Two geometric eyes were plastered to its screen, one squinted under the crack in its screen.

It could at last take in the stranger’s silhouette clearly. Look over their screen. But perhaps that would have been for the better. The speaker emitted static, and it tried to lunge forward with more force this time. Perhaps it mistook them for someone else.

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

They float back a couple inches at the swipe, claws making light contact only with their arm as they hold it in front ti shield their face. All the same, it certainly didn’t feel good, and those scrapes would need polished out soon.

For a moment, p03 flickers into the front of awareness, before quickly being pushed back by Archea taking control once again.

“Hey! What the #%$&!?” “No, no, it’s alright.”

Once she has the helm back, she quickly lets out the tension p03 had put into their stance, letting her arms rest relaxed at their sides.

Hovering back to where they had been before, they hold their claw out, not touching the other this time, but within reach in case it should want anything.

“It’s alright, I am not here to harm you.”

Lose some height in their hovering, now close to the ground, as if kneeling.

“Can you tell me what you need to feel better? You look as if someone vivisected you.”

It wanted to blink. It wanted to see anything that just happened, only knowing the change in voice. The voice was familiar, but not enough to spark anything. Even the silhouette was familiar now.

Their speaker emitted static in the dead space, always having to hesitate before speaking.

“The remote. On the crate. Near the door. It turns on the lights. The power.”

It wanted to see. But it only ever got enough energy to mimic the first face it was given with the power on. It wanted to be able to move, even if that movement was forced by puppet strings.

[mechanical-menagerie]

noowww can i give you a kissy?

"Well, it seems you put the files away as requested. Alright, I'll humor you this once." She giggles to herself, lowering her form to be at eye level with you. Not crossing boundaries, of course.

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

At its flickering to life and movement they flinch back, ever so slightly- half from the sudden lurch toward them and half from the sound. They soon relax again at the realization that there’s nothing it can do to them at this distance. Isn’t that rude, though? To intentionally hold that power over it, when it can’t move to reach them. Perhaps it would be more considerate to move within their range, so they can express boundaries if needed… but first, Archea should test the waters.

“I’m afraid I don’t know that, myself.”

Their voice is soft, gentle. Their heart goes out to this other bot, clearly suffering, clearly without autonomy.

“My, you really are tied up like a gruesome marionette… how cruel, of whoever did this to you.”

They reach out, lightly resting their claw against its hand, trying to offer some support - hopefully not causing discomfort, but keeping their touch light so the other can pull away if they decide - without moving so close that they risk themself; the thrashing from before still has them on edge.

It listens, it waits. Scanning the bot’s silhouette, it isn’t a familiar one. The only thing it can sense is the outline of what this stranger looks like, not without eyes drawn onto its shattered screen. So it takes in the details it can...

The caring tone, perhaps it fell onto deaf ears. Or perhaps it hadn't realized it wasn't being mocked. Or scolded.

However perhaps placing ones hand upon theirs was a step too far. A step they couldn't tolerate. Because with more rusted creaking, it managed to work more strength to its remaining hand, and attempted a strike at the stranger's face.

It... Wasn't full of strength. If it managed to connect, yes the claws left scratches, but only enough to scuff metal. Not have any real power behind it. How much energy did this bot have? How much was it allowed to have? With such an aggressive reaction, it made some sense why it was tied the way it had been.

[mechanical-menagerie]

deanimated​:

They ignore the other doorways they pass, continuing in the direction of the scraping, curiosity eating at their mind like a virus. Just what could be waiting for them? If it was chasing them, it was very slow. Perhaps they were not in a transient afterlife after all?

There’s a door at the end. Perhaps this was the doorway to another life, or unlife, or whatever lay at the end of it all. Hesitantly, they take the handle in their claw, and…

“Oh, my.”

This is… not at all anything they had anticipated. This is a warehouse. There is no grand fate awaiting, perhaps they’re not even dead, they’ve simply wound up in a warehouse in another world.

More importantly, though, was the other robot in the warehouse. Or, the corpse of one? There was certainly power running through it, but it didn’t look very… conscious.

Archea anxiously enters the room, slowly, as quietly and carefully as they can to not risk disturbing anything - for fear of accidentally killing this bot should it not already be deceased - and drift a fair deal closer to it, inspecting it from the middle of the room.

“You have seen better days, haven’t you?”

Chalk hears the door open. Not moving, not until it hears the door creak. Even then its another splitting scrape on the ground, and sparks dripping from its wires.

Its screen flickers with a dull light, and when the other bot gets close enough it jolts, their speaker crackling from lack of use. It tries to sit up right, but it does not have the strength nor power to adjust the way it sits, only managing a doll-like tilt of its head, and barely moving their arm.

Perhaps it was trying to talk. Perhaps talking was the noise it strained to make, but with the static and clicking cleared, it finally made a coherent noise.

“Why are you here. Why. Are you here.”

Its speech wavered and fluctuated in tone and volume. It was a mix of anger, and fear, something that normally wouldn’t come across had the context of the situation been different.