#en talk

[spicedrobot]

WAIT EN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? YOU'VE RANG THE ALARM FOR THE WINSTON FURRY'S.

Anonymous said: The monkey fuckers are coming... Run.

I’M HOWLING OMG!!!!!!!!! I JUST WANTED TO TEASE CYBER THAT’S ALL!!!!!

[mothric]

I’m so mad, I started a new tag a month or two ago for a new OC in En’s universe but for the LIFE of me I can’t remember what it is or what kind of post it was I tagged him in, and I didn’t include him in my catch-all ‘ocs’ tag, so he’s... lost to the ether

in more than one sense of the term

[mothric]

When there's a holiday does En know about it and does she try to celebrate? Idk I'm just remembering the little match girl seeing Christmas so close and yet so far away.

‘Christmas.’ The word is familiar on her tongue. She closes her eyes, inhales, concentrates on a fuzzy memory. ‘Red and gold… cinnamon… stars…’ She catches a whiff of a tune in her mind, distant and echoing, as if played through a little speaker in a large hall. A few moments pass, but new information doesn’t come. She gives up in frustration.

Once she’s spent some time in a real body, it becomes more solid. Sort of. She knows of Christmas, at least. The decorations and songs playing in the shops click into place like, oh yeah, that’s a thing. And she knows what other people do, but…

She wanders shops, watches people buying gifts, reads a few hallmark cards and traces the patterns, trying to connect. To access more memories, maybe. But there’s no guarantee the few memories she has even involved her home life at all. Nonetheless, cinnamon and spice makes her feel…something.

She picks up a cider from a cafe just before it closes and slips out to one of her places, an abandoned train yard. She’s got a small radio tuned to the Christmas station. An instrumental of O Holy Night crackles through. She sips her drink, watches the stars. Exists.

[mothric]

It's sad that they don't have those roadside BurmaShave ads anymore because Din would've loved those.

I actually had to look up what those were, and oh my goodness (’: that’s brilliant.

(idk if you were submitting this for the OC fact exchange but) as much as En likes serious, thoughtful poetry, I think she’d really enjoy Shel Silverstein too.

[mothric]

Fans of En should be called "Enthusiasts."

👌👌👌 perfect

[mothric]

Idk if it's been asked already but what does En do? Like how does she survive if she's kinda scared of everyone. Does she just "float" around aimlessly (at least in the beginning?) Do you have another OC or a situation she'd run into that would help her along in the world? (That's a lot of questions oh well xD)

I’d answered part of this question in response to @putyouinabook‘s question, “where does En linger the longest,” BUT that’s the one tumblr ate :^) so heyo, new information for everyone!

in the beginning, yes, she does do a lot of floating. it takes her awhile to even realize she’s conscious, and alive. from there it’s a slow series of revelations: she can move around; she can see glimpses of other dimensions but can’t touch them; she can see the physical plane and can touch parts of it; she’s from there; she needs a face to stay there; and so on.

so until she finally “touches down” as a fleshed-out person, it’s a lot of floating, watching, thinking, staring, trying to get the hang of a face of her own.

from that point, I’ve started to develop a couple possible plot points, but nothing too solid. En will make a friend her age who she relates to, who helps her feel human, but she’ll get scared of getting too close and leave. her friend will spend her later years wondering if she imagined her.

sorry this wasn’t a more fleshed-out response but i gotta leave for an appointment. send me more questions though! I’ll answer when I get back (:

[mothric]

Has En entered urban legend status with anyone? I mean, do kids at sleepovers freak each other out by talking about this girl who had her face stolen? Do they say her name in the mirror to try and summon her? I need to know.

Yes! She’s not too widely known, but there are a handful of disconnected towns where such stories circulate. No one knows her name, and they call her uninventive things: Zero, Null, No-Face, Lost Girl. Kids dare each other to wander into the spooky house / the abandoned trainyard / the tunnel under the old bridge to see if they’ll catch sight of her. Some try to summon her through the cable TV, turning to a dead channel and chanting at the static. 

Threats and origin stories vary from town to town, some more accurate than others: she’ll steal your face (or eat it); she’ll steal your soul; you’ll lose your mind; she only goes after boys; if you’re alone and your ears start ringing, she’s near; she’s a ghost, a wanderer, a forest spirit, a glitch in the matrix. And so it goes.