#buzz-tow

[ricorper-tow-blog]

Could I get Lady or 352 maybe?

What did it mean, to be human?

A mouthful of oil and machinery. Sardonic clicks of gears that didn’t want to turn. Grease and the backlash of shorting circuits. The whine and grind of metal on metal; threatening to wear down and not work as well as it could’ve. A mercurial core of chemistry and kinetics constantly fizzing and fissuring. A stomach of nausea and nuclear war.

When it--she--looked at herself; when she caught glimpses, she didn’t know what she was supposed to be acknowledging. There was an error message hidden somewhere in her facade. There was a problem with her code that kept her from fully processing the depiction of her “self”. There had been, before, no signs of awareness--spacial awareness, yes, but no...recognition of individuality. She served a purpose, a functioning design.

 If she didn’t have that, what did she have?

“Happiness.” She tried the word that Kellan had said, watching her mouth move in the mirror. “Joy.” One hand rose to touch her cheek, and she tried to smile. She watched herself. She tried again. “J-joy.” There was a jitter to it, so she avoided saying it aloud and chose a known synonym. “G-g-g--” Glee couldn’t get past her lips. Frustrated, she dropped her hand.

Then she realized--she was frustrated. An emotion. Her mainframe spiked; beeping warnings. She froze, waiting to acknowledge something her internal core tried to decipher, desperately avoiding kernel panic. 

And then it came to her:

If she didn’t have a purpose...perhaps she was a little bit human, after all.

[ricorper-tow-blog]

clara

He was laughing as she spun around and stepped up on the bar, just out of reach with her arms raised and her posturing on-point.

There was a ferocity in the witch’s dark eyes that matched the way she moved and swayed--for all intents and purposes, Clara was a free woman .The fire in her was unmatched, struck from a chord that sang inside of her with a need to set not only herself free, but others, too.

It was in the way she moved herself--the very direct, precise way she posed, her chin upraised and her eyes dancing before she did. Everything she chose was with care, every mannerism and thing she chose to share a point she had to make. 

But when she danced, somehow, it was even more pronounced than ever before. She glittered; she shone, never quite going up in smoke, but always letting other people know she was prepared to burn all bridges if necessary and torch a path ahead only she could walk. 

And sometimes, times like these, Clara shone a light on something warmer and gentler, and her sharp angles gave way to smiles, and she didn’t scald the hands that rose to hold her sides anymore than she melted the wax of the wings of the man who chose to love her; who dared to fly close to something as hot as the sun.

[clara-tow]

What is a week in the long run {TAG: Buzz}

Anons were in the apartment. Again.

At least they weren't throwing anything around or doing anything more annoying than speaking a little louder than necessary. That was something, right? Clara sidestepped one of the faceless beings to open the fridge. "What did you get him?" It asked excitedly. Clara thought it sounded excited, anyway. It was a little difficult to tell what someone was feeling when they lacked facial expressions. "None of your business." The witch grabbed a couple soda cans before turning to leave the kitchen. Hopefully the overly curious pest would stay behind and ask the toaster oven what its favorite color was instead of following the somewhat annoyed witch into the living room. 

"You should have the place fumigated." She sighed, flopping onto the couch. "There's gotta be a place around town somewhere that deals with them. If not, we should start one. We'd make a killing. Catch." She tossed a soda can towards the cyborg before popping the top of her own. She could imagine her anon pest control business now. 'Clara and company. We catch 'em so you don't have to throw them out the window anymore.' The catchphrase needed a little work. She'd think about it more later. 

"Sooo," She smiled as she brought metal to her lips and took a swig of sweetened carbonation. "Today's a day. An important day, eh?" 

[dud-tow]

Metal Man {Tagged: Buzz}

     It was a nice day, for the most part. The skies were clear enough and no one in the immediate vicinity seemed to be making evil plans. None that affected the boggart's afternoon anyway. It had been nearly a week since the boggart had left the safety of the apartment. Though safety was all relative lately it seemed. Since the isle had been trampled and left for dead, the boggart had been left disillusioned as to whether any place was truly safe. Perhaps he was just as safe on the street as he was living with his fellow boggart. He was strong enough to fight off any threats that came his way. Or, at least, self-confidence had been deeply instilled within him as a child, so he now believed he could. Whether it was true or not was for any future circumstances to determine. Either way, he had to admit that it had been nice living with a roof over his head again. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to take real showers everyday, with hot water. He'd even come to miss the lumpy living room couch, which he now looked back on as a king's throne compared to the paint chipped bench he now called a bed. The place had either been heaven or hell. He couldn't decide which. At the time it had been like a retreat, but now he saw that it had only given him things he would be forced to go without once he returned to a life of wandering. They were trivial things really, but he did miss them. Breakfast every morning. A warm blanket. A smile to greet you home. Home. The word itself left a ringing in his ears. It wasn't home though.This was home. The mountain town was home. The isle as a whole was home. No one building was home. No one apartment. No matter how nice it had been to think of it as such.

      People passed by the park bench at a leisurely pace, as they usually do on Sunday afternoons. Pedestrian watching had become one of Dud's favorite pastimes. Favorite in the context that it was how he spent a majority of his time. It wasn't very exciting, and he would have much rather been doing something that was. However, It didn't require much money, of which he had none, so he ended up staring at passersby more often than not. Though it wasn't action packed, it had helped Dud to calm down considerably over the time he had lived upon the isle. It took patience for the teen to sit still and not say anything for long periods of time, not that he had anyone to speak to during most of it. He was thankful that the inhabitants of the town were interesting to watch if one really took the time to do so.

[arthur-tow]

bernard-tow liked your post: ... francis-tow liked your post: ... jackstanford-tow liked your post: ... andydavis-tow liked your post: ... buzz-tow liked your post: ... buzz-tow replied to your post: ... /scoops up and feeds yummy things calla-tow liked your post: ...

/lays across everyone

/gobbles up yummy things and possibly Caity's hand

how's everybody? -3-