That sort of thing has nothing to do with me

archived

[recreor-stygia]

CHARACTER AESTHETICS: OC EDITION.

bold what applies.

I. THE FAIRY.  chipped nail polish.  glitter highlight.  tall trees with smooth bark.  tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar.  talking too loud and too fast.  overgrown flowers in your hair.  crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature.  flirting.  walking home at 3am with no coat.  platonic hand-holding.  blowing smoke out of your nose.  dragonfly wings.  chaotic good.  freckles.  fairy rings.  secret meetings.  gender nonconformity.  leather.  smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.

II. THE REAPER.  computer errors.  a shiver down your spine.  haunting beauty.  hard liquor.  crowns of thorns.  shadowed alleyways.  decaying plant matter.  shattered mirrors and broken glass.  corrupted memories.  stopped clocks.  the scent of stale cigarettes.  tattered black hoodies.  walking your friends home.  the crescent moon.  the sea.  a graveyard on a foggy day.  cold rings on cold fingers.  absolution.  looking out the window of an airplane.  soft kisses.

III. THE WITCH.  graffiti.  pretending to know what you’re doing.  worn paperback books. growing up too fast.  parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.  lace and combat boots.  moth wings.  candles on every surface.  a weathered deck of cards.  turning the music up.  fireflies in jars.  calloused fingers.  drawing on your skin.  sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor.  a dying rose in a jar.  wearing a crystal pendant.  illusions and spells.  black cats.  mint gum.  chapped lips.  dirt under your fingernails.  the cycle of life and death.

IV. THE WOLF.  murders of crows.  frost-bitten leaves.  wolves howling at midnight.  knocking on your door.  leaving food out for stray animals.  the twang of an acoustic guitar.  honey.  tiny red buds on trees.  claw marks on the walls.  golden eyes.  slightly too long stubble.  sharp canines.  soft, thick fur.  hunger.  a small cottage in the middle of the woods.  knitted fingerless gloves.  sleeping on the forest floor.  always finding your way back home.

Tagged by: @iacon-stargazer​ Tagging: anyone who wants to do it!

[lilac-rph]

                   Honey, there’s thousands of ways to 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞.

                                    I just don’t 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃.

[recreor-stygia]

@protoformx: [cont. from here]

Rampage tilts his head in contemplation. “What can I sense…? ‘Sense’ is too bland a word for it. I’ll tell you what I taste. I taste fear, pain, hate, want, despair; all different cuts of the same rich meat. I taste life, flickering so pitifully against its fragile cage until it’s finally extinguished.”

He levels his searing emerald gaze at the stranger. “…But you and I, we don’t flicker out, do we? We catch on the smoke of our own agony, and are reignited.”

He doesn’t know exactly how this bot’s abilities work, but he knows all too well the taste of death without oblivion gripping its claws into a spark. It’s overbearing enough to drown his processor in its echoes some days. Standing in front of another source of the feeling… he feels a faint urge to claw at his carapace, overpower the other’s pain with something easier to parse, much good as he knows that would do.

~ ♛ ~

“Fascinating,” Chrysoprase mutters, just barely audible. Already he’s analyzing the information and noting details in his processor for additional future consideration.

It’s a rather poetic way of describing it, but beyond the flowery words he can’t deny that it has a note of accuracy. The possibility that the other has simply heard about his ‘ability’ and is lying in effort to get close to him can’t be entirely eliminated, however, and a thread of Chrysoprase’s processor flips through possible ways of confirming the claim. It’s only a background thought for now, presently not worth the risk of turning the other against him.

Chrysoprase’s spark is suspicious, mistrustful, but it’s a passive background note rather than anything sharp or sudden—he’s always mistrustful.

“I am Chrysoprase,” he adds. “What is your designation?”

[recreor-stygia]

"You. You're... like me, aren't you? I can feel it-- the darkness in your spark, the aftertaste of the pain you've suffered... I know it all too well. Tell me your name, friend."

Chrysoprase stares at the stranger, only just holding back the urge to roll his optics. There are a lot of presumptions being made here, the referral to him as a friend foremost of them. Still, his curiosity overpowers his distaste.

“Are you an outlier?” he chooses to ask.

[rampagehasleftthebuilding]

The stranger seems affronted by his forwardness, spark twisting with thin, sour strands of disdain, but that’s nothing unexpected. Clearly this mech can pass himself off as normal well enough to integrate into polite society.

“Outlier? Is that what they call it? Hm… seems awfully sanitized, all things considered. I’ve only ever been called aberration, mutant… monster.” He clicks his mandibles in faux lamentation. “You’re lucky, my friend. They don’t realize how much pain you could cause them.”

[recreor-stygia]

So an outlier indeed. Chrysoprase’s curiosity grows into interest and he turns a bit more to face the other. “They’ll call it what they will. The word simply indicates difference from the range of what they consider normality.” Logically, there isn’t enough consistency among such deviants for a more descriptive term.

“What can you sense about sparks?” he asks. Any sort of information he can gather has a chance of providing crucial insight into how his own and related conditions function. Death is excruciating, but that pain is temporary, and something he’s had to grow accustomed to. The idea that it may wear on his spark in the long term is concerning, though he gives no hint of that in his outward mannerism. It’s unconfirmed, after all.

[carly-myers]

[recreor-stygia]

"You. You're... like me, aren't you? I can feel it-- the darkness in your spark, the aftertaste of the pain you've suffered... I know it all too well. Tell me your name, friend."

Chrysoprase stares at the stranger, only just holding back the urge to roll his optics. There are a lot of presumptions being made here, the referral to him as a friend foremost of them. Still, his curiosity overpowers his distaste.

“Are you an outlier?” he chooses to ask.

[9uys]

i love this meme and i haven’t seen it been done with this yet

[iacon-stargazer]

{{GENERAL INFO about this pending muse!!

Designation: Chrysoprase (…possibly subject to change)

Appearance: 5.2 meters (just barely taller than Arcee), with pale and dark gray plating, energon-blue optics and biolights

Alt mode: A very small compact car

Occupation: Medical student (prewar), then eventually also a strategist and possible spec ops

Personality: Quiet, distant, cold, calculating. Can feign emotion eerily well if necessary, but rarely bothers. Is baffled by the concept of empathy. Just wants to live a normal, quiet life. Lawful Neutral -> True Neutral

Hobbies: Studying, occasional cyber-chess

Outlier abilities: Regeneration upon death due to a spark-level connection with interdimensional black matter (takes about three minutes); temporary paralysis via his voice (specifically a scream)