-- boldly gallivanting --

An Insidious Operation || w/ subject-zenx49

“Ha, ils ne m'ont jamais vu,” quietly chuckled Orson; he had just snuck out of an American base in the middle of the desert. Hell, it wasn’t even a normal base; it was Area Fifty-freaking-One! Perhaps the most secure military installation in all of North and South America. Still chuckling, Orson keyed in return coordinates to his flat in Berkleyshire. “Whoo!” He whooped as he dematerialized.

The transit was smooth as it normally is. New colors and abstract concepts whizzed by Orson’s matter stream in the transdimensional quantum foam. There were other presences, too; other travelers like him, perhaps, or entities that called this space-between-spaces home. The glow ended, however, as a feeling of apprehension stole over the marsupial.

The feeling was followed by a sharp yank towards a distant bubble of reality; something was actively pulling him off-course! Was this even possible? It apparently was as it was actively happening this very instant.

The reconstitution proccess was a lot more violent than normal as Orson was thrown into a bulkhead. He shouted out, more in surprise than in pain. “What the bloody hell was that?!” The kangaroo scanned the room; advanced tech, white surfaces, and bright lights illuminating it all. “Christ above… ”

@subject-zenx49

Within this monochromatic chamber of enameled plating and sterile, textureless walls and floors, a darker end of the room could be seen, spotlit by a one tiny ceiling fixture aimed and angled down to a strange… almost coffin-like container with bright lines glowing along its angular-headed edges and contours. Unlike the rest of this strange room, it was a coal gray, almost black, with a single triangle light on the top of the lid. It was mounted to a plinth of sorts, standing from the floor and holding the pod at a partial angle with its nose pointed downward. There were consoles and holographic displays along the edges of this section of the room.

There were observation decks viewing from above, but they seemed to have one-way glass. To the left and right of the area with the pod, two multi-part sliding doorways opened, revealing a couple of somewhat humanoid figures. Machines, arguably, but bipedal. They possessed plating not unlike the pod, and small lights on the heads clicked on softly, creating an eerie green glow.

Their heads turned onto the kangaroo…

There was a strong presence of a voice suddenly everywhere, with no determinable source. It was loud… oppressive… grating, and somehow strained. It wasn’t natural, and it was indecipherable. Something like a series of clicks, screeches, caws, and abrupt little squeaks, birdlike were it not so forced and gutteral.

The automatons began to approach with an eerie lack of sound from their footsteps. But halted partways, glancing behind Orson. The tapping of clawed feet could be heard from behind.

“Oh god… Run…! Get out of here!”

A weird mouse with strange reptilian-like hybridized features stumbled in the room, beaten and bloodied, with their body covered in scores of burn marks and just kept decent by hole-ridden undergarments. Were those horns and wings…? What was happening?

No time offered to think however, the machines were approaching Orson. The stranger ran ahead and held an arm out defensively in front of the kangaroo, panting with evident exhaustion.

“Ark’s the name, I travel a lot for a living. You can run, or stay if you’re good in a scrap. You got any abi–… nevermind that; you’re new.”

Orson held his right shoulder, having injured it somewhat, as he examined the room. It was definitely ahead of his time, that much was certain. The coffin-thing was downright unsettling. Orson shivvered at the sight of it; whatever it was, it had a negative aura about it.

Orson took a step backwards at the sight of the automatons. “What in the –” He began, but flinched at the harsh ‘voice’. Shaking, sweating hands balled into fists. “Don’t take a single bloody step closer!” Orson said through clenched teeth. Then the things stopped and seemed to look over his shoulders. Naturally, Orson turned to follow their so-called gaze.

“Nom de Dieu,” muttered the kangaroo upon proccessing the mouse’s appearance. He barely noticed the machinations’ resumed march until the mouse held their arm out in front of him. “Orson’s mine. I think we ‘ave a way out.” With that said, his left hand scrambled to his right wrist, to his gauntlet. Orson tried to input some coordinates, but the silver device spat out a few sparks.

“Shit – oh – putain! No, not now!” growled the kangaroo, staring at his gauntlet in disbelief. The interdimensional transmission circuits were fried. Looking back up at the approaching robots, Orson was thankful that he had added storage capabilities to it. “Right, got no way out. Things’re lookin’ a lit'le bleak, innit? Think we ‘ave a chance?”

With their other hand, sparks traveled in arching trails down their entire arm, concentrating into a small, dancing sphere of electrical energy. Even their eyes were glowing, it was downright unreal.

“If I don’t… pass out from this… we might…”, the strange dragon rodent grunted out shakily, concentrating an orb of electrical energy before them.

The automatons drew from mechanical compartments in their four arms, various tools and hazards of an undiscernible, yet presumably dangerous design. They were lunging forward!

Orson, holding his shoulder again as it dully throbbed in pain, took a step backwards, again. “Oh, great, you can do magic. Christ.”

Orson stiffened in apprehension at the sight of the things being wielded by the automatons. “Even better. Deadly metal bastards and a magical alien. Why do these things always happen to me?” His yammering was mostly to himself in an attempt to keep his head on. “Bloody nice.”

Ark swung their arm sharply to their left, launching the orb in a dazzling blast of purple-hue lightning. The brighter mass of energy cleaved into the plating of the closer of the two machines like a plasma cutter. It fell to its knees and then flopped face first to the floor with a rough thud. The other took a step to the side.

The mouse dragon didn’t seem to have much go left in them…

“I can’t… keep this up for much longer… You might need to run while I keep this thing busy. Don’t let them hit you with their little darts… Pretty obvious what happens next.”

“RAAAAAGH!!!”, the draconic rodent growled out angrily, tackling the machine and laying into its mechanical, wired neck, their claws flayed and tore out the circuitry they could get their grip around. The machine fought back, nailing the mouse in the face twice for good measure before giving up the ghost.

But while Ark vented their rage on the robot, more doors opened from the sides, and more robots were approaching. That god-awful voice returned too, shrieking, clicking, cawing, all in some urgent cacophany grating on the inside of Orson’s skull.

“Right. Good luck, mate. I hope to see you out of here,“ said Orson, giving Ark an English salute. Then he cringed upon the sight of the mouse literally tearing the automaton to utter shreds.

“Jesus Christ.” Orson now made to go the way that Ark had originally entered from, hoping that it led away from all these robots. “God – shut up, already,” he muttered as the alien spoke over the address system. Orson had stopped only fourteen steps down the corridor when he registered the absolute deluge of metal monstrosities. “Goddamn it!”

Orson could not have moved away fast enough from the robot that emerged from the door next to him. The metal monster grabbed Orson none-too-gently by the upper arm and threw the kangaroo to the floor, onto his previously-injured shoulder. There was a soft but nasty-sounding crunch. “God above!” he shouted, scrambling to get back up and away from the thing.

Crossing Paths || Closed RP with tempusfelis

Retrieving a pair of binoculars from his backpack, the feline scanned the distant peak, finding no sign of sentient life.

“Sounds like a good place to start. How do you feel about flying?” The soles of the cat’s boots split open, glowing with soft blue light as he hovered several inches off the ground.

“Faster than walking. Or…you do hop, yes?” He teased, offering a hand to his travel companion.

Orson had a double-take moment as he processed the question. “I- beg your pardon?” He half-asked, half chuckled. He held the back of his hand up to his mouth as to stuffle laughter. “I s'pose flying’s f-faster'n walkin’ or - or hoppin’, innit?” He accepted Icarus’ offer and grabbed the offered hand.

Grasping both Orson’s hands, Icarus launched the both of them into the air, his boots whirring to life as they raced towards the distant peaks.

“I TAKE IT YOU DON’T FLY TOO OFTEN, YEAH?!” he hollered over the wind.

Orson’s eyes were practically shut with how hard he was squinting. “C-can’t s-s-s-say that I ‘ave!” he barely got out. “N-nevah flew exposed – always in a-a-a jet!”

After a few minutes of flight, Orson was hoisted onto the ground, Icarus landing next to him and grinning smugly.

“I’m two for two on landings. Maybe I can change my name.” But then he fished out two pairs of binoculars, handing one to his companion. “Okay, just to be safe I’ll activate a camouflage beacon, but it runs out of energy pretty quickly.”

#ooc #;;updatesupdatesupdates

Orson nodded and cleared his throat. “Eh… right.” He held his pair up and scanned the distant horizon. He was slightly shaking from the flight over. “It’s like, um, like southern California, innit? Or the Khalahari?”

“Good God!” he exclaimed after a moment of viewing. “I - I think I just found the site of a - of some sort of bloody massive explosion!” A great blackened scorch mark radiating out from a sizeable crater. “It must be miles away,” estimated Orson in a calmer tone of voice. “At least ninety miles, if not one hundred or so.”

Right. Screw it.

>>OOC: Finally updated the bio page and added a verses page. There are now three versions of Golightly. More will be added to their descriptions as stories are had.

Bit of an update.

>>OOC: Working on rewritting Orson’s backstory, and on writing a story arc or two. Should have the backstory up either tonight or tomorrow evening and the first arc finished, at the latest, on New Year's Eve..

Reblog this if you’re interested in developing and planning epic plots that intertwine our muses’ stories across many threads and further their growth as individuals.

>>OOC: Bored. Kinda in the mood for things here, but I've already got three active threads, and I don't want to push myself too much. The struggle is killing me.

Crossing Paths || Closed RP with tempusfelis

Retrieving a pair of binoculars from his backpack, the feline scanned the distant peak, finding no sign of sentient life.

“Sounds like a good place to start. How do you feel about flying?” The soles of the cat’s boots split open, glowing with soft blue light as he hovered several inches off the ground.

“Faster than walking. Or…you do hop, yes?” He teased, offering a hand to his travel companion.

Orson had a double-take moment as he processed the question. “I- beg your pardon?” He half-asked, half chuckled. He held the back of his hand up to his mouth as to stuffle laughter. “I s'pose flying’s f-faster'n walkin’ or - or hoppin’, innit?” He accepted Icarus’ offer and grabbed the offered hand.

Grasping both Orson’s hands, Icarus launched the both of them into the air, his boots whirring to life as they raced towards the distant peaks.

“I TAKE IT YOU DON’T FLY TOO OFTEN, YEAH?!” he hollered over the wind.

Orson’s eyes were practically shut with how hard he was squinting. “C-can’t s-s-s-say that I ‘ave!” he barely got out. “N-nevah flew exposed – always in a-a-a jet!”

After a few minutes of flight, Orson was hoisted onto the ground, Icarus landing next to him and grinning smugly.

“I’m two for two on landings. Maybe I can change my name.” But then he fished out two pairs of binoculars, handing one to his companion. “Okay, just to be safe I’ll activate a camouflage beacon, but it runs out of energy pretty quickly.”

#tempusfelis #;i just got the joke about his name

Orson nodded and cleared his throat. "Eh. . . right." He held his pair up and scanned the distant horizon. He was slightly shaking from the flight over. "It's like, um, like southern California, innit? Or the Khalahari?"

"Good God!" he exclaimed after a moment of viewing. "I - I think I just found the site of a - of some sort of bloody massive explosion!" A great blackened scorch mark radiating out from a sizeable crater. "It must be miles away," estimated Orson in a calmer tone of voice. "At least ninety miles, if not one hundred or so."

Crossing Paths || Closed RP with tempusfelis

Retrieving a pair of binoculars from his backpack, the feline scanned the distant peak, finding no sign of sentient life.

“Sounds like a good place to start. How do you feel about flying?” The soles of the cat’s boots split open, glowing with soft blue light as he hovered several inches off the ground.

“Faster than walking. Or…you do hop, yes?” He teased, offering a hand to his travel companion.

Orson had a double-take moment as he processed the question. “I- beg your pardon?” He half-asked, half chuckled. He held the back of his hand up to his mouth as to stuffle laughter. “I s'pose flying’s f-faster'n walkin’ or - or hoppin’, innit?” He accepted Icarus’ offer and grabbed the offered hand.

Grasping both Orson’s hands, Icarus launched the both of them into the air, his boots whirring to life as they raced towards the distant peaks.

“I TAKE IT YOU DON’T FLY TOO OFTEN, YEAH?!” he hollered over the wind.

Orson's eyes were practically shut with how hard he was squinting. "C-can't s-s-s-say that I 'ave!" he barely got out. "N-nevah flew exposed -- always in a-a-a jet!"

#tempusfelis

"Huh... I've never met a kangaroo in person. Coulda' sworn they all lived in Australia or something."

An eyebrow raised as Orson proccessed the remark. “I s'pose today’s your lucky day, then, mate. An’ that’s a lit'le steroetypical, innit?”

repair-bear

ofinfinitepotential:

Orson smiled. “Ah, I’m just takin’ the mickey outta ya.” He offered a hand. “’m Harrison, but most jus’ call me ‘Orson’. Uhm, do you know how far Cascadia is, by any chance? Only I’ve been asked to give a lecture at Fairmount College in ‘bout a week.”

“Ah, right…” Will simply gives a relieved sigh… before perking up an eyebrow and twitching an ear at the kangaroo’s question.

“…Cascadia?” The cat asks before pulling out his phone and looking up the name. “Oh, uh… that’s… Yeesh, about 250 miles away. I mean, according to this you could get there in about five hours, but… That’s a bit of a trip.”

“Yeah, it is, innit?” Orson tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “Already spent, what, something like twenty hours on a jet from London. I could have been there yesterday, but," shrugged Orson, "complications with the ride popped up and I had to spend a couple hundred pounds for a plane ticket and take a cab all the way across England t' get to the aeroport."

“And sorry if I’m rambling, I tend t'do that quite often.“

"Huh... I've never met a kangaroo in person. Coulda' sworn they all lived in Australia or something."

An eyebrow raised as Orson proccessed the remark. “I s'pose today’s your lucky day, then, mate. An’ that’s a lit'le steroetypical, innit?”

repair-bear

“Heh… Yeah, sorry. I just… Okay, I have no excuse for that, ‘m sorry..” The cat rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well, uh… Name’s Will. Repairman and electrician, if needed.”

#;hello to you too!#;how ya doin?

Orson smiled. “Ah, I’m just takin’ the mickey outta ya.” He offered a hand. “’m Harrison, but most jus’ call me ‘Orson’. Uhm, do you know how far Cascadia is, by any chance? Only I’ve been asked to give a lecture at Fairmount College in 'bout a week.”

"Huh... I've never met a kangaroo in person. Coulda' sworn they all lived in Australia or something."

An eyebrow raised as Orson proccessed the remark. “I s'pose today’s your lucky day, then, mate. An’ that’s a lit'le steroetypical, innit?”

An Insidious Operation || w/ subject-zenx49

“Ha, ils ne m'ont jamais vu,” quietly chuckled Orson; he had just snuck out of an American base in the middle of the desert. Hell, it wasn’t even a normal base; it was Area Fifty-freaking-One! Perhaps the most secure military installation in all of North and South America. Still chuckling, Orson keyed in return coordinates to his flat in Berkleyshire. “Whoo!” He whooped as he dematerialized.

The transit was smooth as it normally is. New colors and abstract concepts whizzed by Orson’s matter stream in the transdimensional quantum foam. There were other presences, too; other travelers like him, perhaps, or entities that called this space-between-spaces home. The glow ended, however, as a feeling of apprehension stole over the marsupial.

The feeling was followed by a sharp yank towards a distant bubble of reality; something was actively pulling him off-course! Was this even possible? It apparently was as it was actively happening this very instant.

The reconstitution proccess was a lot more violent than normal as Orson was thrown into a bulkhead. He shouted out, more in surprise than in pain. “What the bloody hell was that?!” The kangaroo scanned the room; advanced tech, white surfaces, and bright lights illuminating it all. “Christ above… ”

@subject-zenx49

Within this monochromatic chamber of enameled plating and sterile, textureless walls and floors, a darker end of the room could be seen, spotlit by a one tiny ceiling fixture aimed and angled down to a strange… almost coffin-like container with bright lines glowing along its angular-headed edges and contours. Unlike the rest of this strange room, it was a coal gray, almost black, with a single triangle light on the top of the lid. It was mounted to a plinth of sorts, standing from the floor and holding the pod at a partial angle with its nose pointed downward. There were consoles and holographic displays along the edges of this section of the room.

There were observation decks viewing from above, but they seemed to have one-way glass. To the left and right of the area with the pod, two multi-part sliding doorways opened, revealing a couple of somewhat humanoid figures. Machines, arguably, but bipedal. They possessed plating not unlike the pod, and small lights on the heads clicked on softly, creating an eerie green glow.

Their heads turned onto the kangaroo…

There was a strong presence of a voice suddenly everywhere, with no determinable source. It was loud… oppressive… grating, and somehow strained. It wasn’t natural, and it was indecipherable. Something like a series of clicks, screeches, caws, and abrupt little squeaks, birdlike were it not so forced and gutteral.

The automatons began to approach with an eerie lack of sound from their footsteps. But halted partways, glancing behind Orson. The tapping of clawed feet could be heard from behind.

“Oh god… Run…! Get out of here!”

A weird mouse with strange reptilian-like hybridized features stumbled in the room, beaten and bloodied, with their body covered in scores of burn marks and just kept decent by hole-ridden undergarments. Were those horns and wings…? What was happening?

No time offered to think however, the machines were approaching Orson. The stranger ran ahead and held an arm out defensively in front of the kangaroo, panting with evident exhaustion.

“Ark’s the name, I travel a lot for a living. You can run, or stay if you’re good in a scrap. You got any abi–… nevermind that; you’re new.”

Orson held his right shoulder, having injured it somewhat, as he examined the room. It was definitely ahead of his time, that much was certain. The coffin-thing was downright unsettling. Orson shivvered at the sight of it; whatever it was, it had a negative aura about it.

Orson took a step backwards at the sight of the automatons. “What in the –” He began, but flinched at the harsh ‘voice’. Shaking, sweating hands balled into fists. “Don’t take a single bloody step closer!” Orson said through clenched teeth. Then the things stopped and seemed to look over his shoulders. Naturally, Orson turned to follow their so-called gaze.

“Nom de Dieu,” muttered the kangaroo upon proccessing the mouse’s appearance. He barely noticed the machinations’ resumed march until the mouse held their arm out in front of him. “Orson’s mine. I think we ‘ave a way out.” With that said, his left hand scrambled to his right wrist, to his gauntlet. Orson tried to input some coordinates, but the silver device spat out a few sparks.

“Shit – oh – putain! No, not now!” growled the kangaroo, staring at his gauntlet in disbelief. The interdimensional transmission circuits were fried. Looking back up at the approaching robots, Orson was thankful that he had added storage capabilities to it. “Right, got no way out. Things’re lookin’ a lit'le bleak, innit? Think we ‘ave a chance?”

With their other hand, sparks traveled in arching trails down their entire arm, concentrating into a small, dancing sphere of electrical energy. Even their eyes were glowing, it was downright unreal.

“If I don’t… pass out from this… we might…”, the strange dragon rodent grunted out shakily, concentrating an orb of electrical energy before them.

The automatons drew from mechanical compartments in their four arms, various tools and hazards of an undiscernible, yet presumably dangerous design. They were lunging forward!

Orson, holding his shoulder again as it dully throbbed in pain, took a step backwards, again. “Oh, great, you can do magic. Christ.”

Orson stiffened in apprehension at the sight of the things being wielded by the automatons. “Even better. Deadly metal bastards and a magical alien. Why do these things always happen to me?” His yammering was mostly to himself in an attempt to keep his head on. “Bloody nice.”

Ark swung their arm sharply to their left, launching the orb in a dazzling blast of purple-hue lightning. The brighter mass of energy cleaved into the plating of the closer of the two machines like a plasma cutter. It fell to its knees and then flopped face first to the floor with a rough thud. The other took a step to the side.

The mouse dragon didn’t seem to have much go left in them…

“I can’t… keep this up for much longer… You might need to run while I keep this thing busy. Don’t let them hit you with their little darts… Pretty obvious what happens next.”

“RAAAAAGH!!!”, the draconic rodent growled out angrily, tackling the machine and laying into its mechanical, wired neck, their claws flayed and tore out the circuitry they could get their grip around. The machine fought back, nailing the mouse in the face twice for good measure before giving up the ghost.

But while Ark vented their rage on the robot, more doors opened from the sides, and more robots were approaching. That god-awful voice returned too, shrieking, clicking, cawing, all in some urgent cacophany grating on the inside of Orson’s skull.

“Right. Good luck, mate. I hope to see you out of here,“ said Orson, giving Ark an English salute. Then he cringed upon the sight of the mouse literally tearing the automaton to utter shreds.

“Jesus Christ.” Orson now made to go the way that Ark had originally entered from, hoping that it led away from all these robots. “God – shut up, already,” he muttered as the alien spoke over the address system. Orson had stopped only fourteen steps down the corridor when he registered the absolute deluge of metal monstrosities. “Goddamn it!”

Orson could not have moved away fast enough from the robot that emerged from the door next to him. The metal monster grabbed Orson none-too-gently by the upper arm and threw the kangaroo to the floor, onto his previously-injured shoulder. There was a soft but nasty-sounding crunch. “God above!” he shouted, scrambling to get back up and away from the thing.

himurakenshin

reblog if you support they/them pronouns

i told my mom i also use they/them pronouns and she told me that i was only a girl so im still kinda bothered by it