#autoclaverp

[autoclaverp-blog]

hi angels !!

we’ve seen all your asks wondering if autoclave is still going to be a thing and we are !! the admins want to apologize for disappearing so abruptly. we’ve had a lot going on the past couple weeks but we’re back now and continuing to work on things !!

please bear with us as the blog admin is starting a new job and the graphics/coding admin is powering through university !

thank y’all ♡♡

[toonazcoolforyou]

Naru Machiko. 22. Maid. Six (Little Nightmares).

for the record; state your full name, age & where you were born.

She remained quiet for a while. Her curiosity led her to look up, down, and around the room, as though she were absorbing all of the surroundings into her consciousness. There was a paper in her hands that stated her name was Naru Machiko, age twenty two, and that she was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. She never said any of this information out loud, though.

ever been outside of las vegas?

She tilted her head slightly, calculating something. She shook her head, then shrugged. Another shake of the head cemented the fact that she was saying ‘no’ though the other gesture left room for doubt. She was never going to clarify her answer.

how do you make a living?

“Eating.” she simply said at first, playfully shifting her legs in the chair she was sitting in. “When I eat, everything is better and I continue to live.” On the paper briefly stating some of her personal information it read that she was a maid for one of the local hotels.

what’s your family like?

She shook her head. This time, however, her gaze did not leave the interviewer and there was a long, drawn-out silence that permeated the room.

describe your best moment.

“Eating.” she said again, repeating the same tone as she had done previously. This time, however, she did not add anything more to her statement. She started to play with the strings on the yellow raincoat she was wearing, completely ignoring the interviewer.

your worst?

She furrowed her eyebrows slightly. This time she was taking more time to think -at least according to her concentrated expression- but then she suddenly looked like she was panicking. She gripped the sides of the chairs until her knuckles were white, the paleness on her face matching that color. She began to hum a tune to an unfamiliar song and after a few minutes she started to calm down. “Not again.” was the only thing she muttered under her breath.

close your eyes & say the first word that comes to mind. what does this word mean to you?

She closed her eyes briefly before opening them just as quickly. “Fire. It lights the way.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter, flicking it on and off quite a number of times. She did not look like a smoker.

do the neon lights hum to you?

For the first time, she smiled. It was an innocent one though she held onto that smile for longer than was probably deemed socially appropriate. She began to hum the same tune she had hummed before -this time more calmly- as she swayed back and forth a little in her chair. For once during this interview, she seemed peaceful.

[toonazcoolforyou]

Kai Quinn. 39. Drifter. Thrall (Warcraft III).

“If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy

for the record; state your full name, age & where you were born.

“I am Kai Quinn. I am thirty nine years old and you do not need to know where I am from.” Kai let out a sharp breath of air through his nose, showing his annoyance at that part of the question. “Where I am from does not matter in the grand scheme of things; merely the person in front of you will be able to show their worth, one way or another. That is the most important aspect to a person.” Somehow, by his tone, a sense of avoidance could potentially be detected. Maybe it was something he was ashamed of and did not want to speak about it -more than likely, he was just bullshitting his way through the answer.

ever been outside of las vegas?

“I’m not from here.” He glanced away for a moment before returning his attention to the one who had spoken to him. He furrowed his eyebrows in slight irritation. “I wander from place to place, not really settling anywhere in particular. I imagine Las Vegas will be similar.” He did not say anything more on the subject.

how do you make a living?

He shrugged. “Jobs.” he simply said at first, leaving just enough awkward silence between his sentences to let the vague nature of his comment sink in. He continued, “I pick up whatever I can find; if someone needs to clean a restaurant in the dead of night, I’ll be there. If someone needs help moving some furniture to the dumpster, I can do that too. Nothing that requires, uh, any qualifications or anything similar to that.” He fell silent again as he merely stared ahead.

what’s your family like?

"I don’t know.” he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “I mean, I don’t know my real parents. My foster parents, on the other hand… they were good to me. My foster father was more close to me than my foster mother, but because of my foster... “ His sentence trailed off and he looked to the side of him, as though he were avoiding something. “They were good to me.” he repeated himself as he turned to peer back at the interviewer.

describe your best moment.

He paused for about a minute, looking deep in thought. A small smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “My si- uh… someone I had known had taken me to the park on a nice day. Mundane, I suppose, but we had some time away from the troubles in our lives. The breeze was cool, the trees green, and there were an abundance of people in the area. That meant there were dogs there, too.” He chuckled. “She and I bought some ice cream with the change we had gathered up. While she had grabbed a spoon for hers, I had forgotten to by the time we had walked away so the only sensible thing to do was shove the ice cream into my face. She laughed and laughed and laughed. I did not want the day to end. Ending meant that we would have to go back to…” He shook his head. “The day has never ended in my heart. She is still there, laughing.” He fell silent.

your worst?

He scowled fiercely. “I do not wish to speak of what I have been through, dare I live it again. There are some things that are best left unknown.” The scowl did not leave his face for quite a few minutes, as though the mere thought of asking such a question had angered him so.

close your eyes & say the first word that comes to mind. what does this word mean to you?

He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching his face in order to reflect his concentration. “Light.” He opened his eyes back up. “For me, it means escape -freedom. It means not having to sit in a dark, cold room for long hours of the day unless told to work elsewhere equally as dark and as cold. It means… warmth.” However encouraging and thoughtful his words may have been, the hopefulness did not reach his eyes.

do the neon lights hum to you?

He stared blankly at the interviewer. “I…” The expression on his face morphed into a mixture between confusion and worry. “I do not quite understand what that means, I’m sorry.” He paused for a few moments, his eyes flickering away to observe something else. “Unless you are speaking about the electric currents that run through the lights in order to power them up, then yes -yes I do hear them hum. Despite what some people think as ‘unnatural’, I believe there is still order among man-made objects.” Though there was confidence in how his words were placed, the worry and confusion never fully left his demeanor.

[reblogmodus]

♠️ theodore metzger / 35 / casino owner / emma frost

Give me all access, give me what I want

for the record; state your full name, age & where you were born.

He smiles, genteel. “Theodore Metzger, pleasure. “ he stands up, heading for the small but showroom worthy bar resting behind. the office is expansive, a mixture of new and minimalist with old touches of some old country richness. the glittering decanters are a nice touch where they are, sparkling from the nevadan sun. theo pours a glass, then a second, answering as he its back down. “I  was born in las vegas thirty five years ago.” he pause. “A drink? It’s good, 25 year old Macallan, a terrible luxury but I can’t seem to resist. Besides good company demands a good drink.” That smile flashes again- “I try to be a good host.”

ever been outside of las vegas?

"Yes, the usual reasons- business sometimes, or on holidays,” he smiles, humming, “I love this city of course, but there’s only so much to see. Bali’s beaches? Florence’s architecture? They’re all worth a look if you have the time.”

how do you make a living?

"I bought out and now own the Casino Inferno. Not quite the MGM but we do well.”

what’s your family like?

"Quite lovely, I was lucky enough to be born to a well off family. They’re a bit surprised I wanted to strike out of my own but we still talk- I just wanted to be my own man, figure out who I am without my parents.”  Theo takes a sip of the scotch, thoughtful, smiling faintly. He says nothing off the uneasy disappointment, the crushing pressure. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. 

describe your best moment.

"Honestly, buying out the Inferno, the Pits they called it before, absolutely terrible, was quite the achievement. I’ve always wanted something to call my own, and the previous management.” He shakes his head, the picture of sadness. “Regardless of what people think of us dens of vice, we have a lot of good people- they worl hard, and I am quite fond of this old place. Giving it the attention it deserves and seeing it flourish? Nothing better.”

your worst?

"Well can’t have the good without the bad can we? Striking out on your own’s always hard-learning to be independent and make your own way.” This time there’s a glitter to his smile, cruelty that wasn’t there, or maybe you just didn’t see. “But look at me now- the journey’s tough, but as long as you believe in your work, it’ll be worth it.

do the neon lights hum to you?

He laughs, throaty, “It’s Vegas, don’t they always?”

[reblogmodus]

♦️ medina ‘ina’ mahajan. 29. crowley (good omens).

i’ve got a reckless tongue, what are you looking at me for?

for the record; state your full name, age & where you were born.

she drawls out the answer while draped over the armchair, hips slung low, an ankle resting on the other knee. she’s all mess, all easy elegance. she blinks and for a moment her eyes look golden, but no it must be those mustard shades. right?

 “don’t you know?” she rolls her eyes, shakes her head, “christ of course not. it’s ina majahan, please don’t fuck up the pronunciation. i’m twenty nine, born and raised in nevada.” her mouth ticks up into a smile. “some desert town in the middle of nowhere, but who doesn’t want to go to vegas?”

ever been outside of las vegas?

“who hasn’t been?”

how do you make a living?

"working sales for an insurance firm.” her smile tic, tic, tics up again- “ah, you know how it is. you win big, you lose big unless you’re the house. so seemed like a safe enough job.” the words come automatically, an easy lie worn smooth by time. and it’s true, to an extent- she works all kinds of sales and making sure they’re secured, be it via cajoling, gifts, whispers or knives. they’re not exactly insurance either but that’s probably less important. close enough.

what’s your family like?

an amused hum rumbles out her throat. “what, you looking for my yearbook?” she waves a hand, “small town high school sweethearts and all that, big city dreams yada yada,” she drones out. her nails click against the leather seat, “i don’t really talk to them.” or vice versa she thinks. no one can resist the power of good ol’ shame after all.

describe your best moment.

she’s stumped for a moment. ina’s not maudlin exactly, hardly drunk enough for it, good things happen to her and all that jazz. but ina? at her best? the taste of best settles oddly on her tongue. thoughtlessly, she pushes up her sunglasses, golden lens glinting again as she struggles silently, invisibly. “when i got a big sale, got promoted and all the bells and whistles,” she drums out, the lie weaving itself easily. she clicks her tongue, “made it to the big leagues they said.”

your worst?

the memories are already there, lapping at her edges. it’s easy to follow. she straightens a bit, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. no one can say if they’re trembling.

(it’s perfectly normal to sick up at the sight of blood on your arms, the lukewarm spray of it, wet then tacky, dark, dark, dark.)

“jesus what is this? truth or dare? bad date with the hottest girl i guess, awkward as hell,” she laughs, brittle. it’s so easy, saying nothing at all.

close your eyes & say the first word that comes to mind. what does this word mean to you?

“cigarette- this was supposed to be my smoke break. but i guess you know what they say, no one expects the spanish inquisition.” the words come out smoky, drawled out and curling in amusement. her shades seem darker. her hands, long fingered and corded, are still in her pockets. 

do the neon lights hum to you?

she swallows. her stare breaks, glancing out, eyes golden. “you’re a weirdo, aren’t you? they’re just lights.”

[reblogmodus]

alias: mera pronouns: she/her timezone: gmt+8 (philippines!) favorite author: neil gaiman!!! my love tho tbh im terrible at this question & terrible at reading dont @ me favorite mythological creature: HMMMMMMMM THATS HARD vampires are my first love but i love witches (esp depictions that arent the norm or nonwestern takes), aswangs and selkies!! what kind of things are you hoping to see on AC?: NEW GODS A LA AMERICAN GODS + i always love unexpected takes on familiar spirits!!!  some tropes you’re fond of: BATTLE COUPLE, found family, uhh not sure what else honestly give us a quote. lyric or part of a poem that is sticking with you right now:  god is a woman and lorde’s melodrama is p good right now though your bring out the mexican in me is a baller poem

[toonazcoolforyou]

Intro!

alias: nazcool pronouns: she or they timezone: est favorite author: (oh geez putting me on the spot?) uuuh since it’s something i’ve been sort of reading/rereading ‘cause i keep losing my place, i’m gunna go with Mark Z. Danielewski and his House of Leaves book xD;;; favorite mythological creature: since it’s the only one that comes to mind right now due to it being in a short game i like, i’m gunna go with the Huldra/Hulder (Norwegian and Scandinavian name respectfully) ‘cause her mythology is pretty cool. i’m sure there’s others but i’ve completely forgotten their names lol what kind of things are you hoping to see on AC?: honestly all the different spirits that people go with! it’s always cool to see new and old sources for people’s inspirations! some tropes you’re fond of: i’m, like, lamer than trash right now but i honestly cannot think of any?? i mean i know there’s gotta be some but it’s late and my brain is all but fried lmao give us a quote. lyric or part of a poem that is sticking with you right now: this is gunna kinda sound dumb but i really like this game called Darkest Dungeon and the narrator has these super pretentious lines that he says throughout it. one of my favorite ones tbh is “Remind yourself that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer.” due to the fact that things can go south rather quickly in the game and it sort of just crops up in my head from time to time??

[pansexualjaybird-blog]

tw: implied child abuse/sexual assault, mentions of blood

for the record; state your full name, age where you were born.

ever been outside of las vegas?

the twitch of his eyebrow, an exhale of breath that's almost like a snort of laughter. “the only people who have never left vegas are either too broke, too stupid, or too batshit crazy. i’m a little crazy, but not enough to be stuck in this dump forever." he dreams of city limits, of chasing the sun all the way to the horizon but... vegas sinks him like a stone.

how do you make a living?

a half-smile quirks at his lips, doesn't quite reach his eyes as his fingers drag back along the tabletop, trace the minute imperfections in the wood. “i've kinda got a robin hood thing going actually. kill the rich, give to the poor.” he runs a hand through his hair, pushes the black locks back from his face for a moment as his eyes sparkle in the low light. "that's the kind of shit robin hood did, right?" his hand drops and he shrugs a shoulder. "'cept i think the vegas ghetto's a little shittier than whatever forest he used to run in."

what’s your family like?

the weighted word plunges the room into a heavy silence, cold and deadly. for the first time in the conversation, angelo's movements are less practiced, uncomfortable as his boots drag against the floor. he picks at a piece of imaginary lint on the thigh of his jeans. “don’t have one.” he won't talk about found family, won't say some cliche bullshit about how he found a better family than the one he was given. it's all bullshit. all unconditional love until it's... conditional. he won't talk about business deals in back alleys, about business moguls who think they're above the rest, won't talk about him. "they're all dead, or at least they're dead to me." he spits the words like venom, fingers curling into a fist as the muscle in his jaw works, tightens with withheld rage.

describe your best moment.

he thinks of the smell of butter sizzling in a pan, of toasted bread, and a warm smile, a real smile. he remembers a t-shirt that hung off his frame a size too big and lanky arms wrapped around his waist. he remembers a warm bed and food in his stomach for the first time in ages. he remembers kisses pressed to his cheeks and the tip of his nose. he catches his expression before his lips have a chance to slide into an unintentional smile, the easy kind that angelo hates, the kind that betray too much. he purses his lips instead, glares as though it's the interviewer's fault for asking the question in the first place. "can't think of one."

your worst?

this one's easy. this one is blood on sheets and crying in dark rooms. this one is the chilling red blink of a camcorder light, a voice that asks him to do the unspeakable. this is memories that still make his palms sweat, his stomach turn. he swallows around the lump in his throat, crushes his cigarette into the tabletop. there's a tremor in his hand as his gaze is so intense it seems like it could burn a hole straight through the wall. "you don't wanna know." there's a tightness in his voice that wasn't there before, a clipped way of speaking, like he wants to cut off the words before they're even out of his mouth. "let's move on." there's a dark growl in his voice to hide the painful squeeze in his chest, the way his heart hurts when he thinks about the past.

close your eyes & say the first word that comes to mind. what does this word mean to you?

his tongue clicks against his teeth as his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then back again. "stupid," he mutters, crosses his arms over his chest. "as in, this is fucking stupid."

do the neon lights hum to you?

he pushes his chair back from the table, raps his knuckles lightly on the wood as he rises to his feet. he looks older when he's standing, broad shoulders squared under leather as he digs the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, grabs another to set between his lips. a lighter flicks, flame flutters on and then off a second later. "this whole fucking city talks to me. i can't get that shit out of my head."