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The Venusian Gateway

“The theory of multiple dimensions and alternate timelines is something I have explored in my studies, pre-disaster that is, however new evidence has come to my attention that supports my theories. Further research is impossible without my facilities.” Steroids lifted his reading glasses from his face and closed his handheld journal, he tucked it away into his bedding. He looked into the distance, and observed Chicken following Venuz’s every move, assuming she was undetected.

Time passed, noon became evening, and evening turned to night. Chicken’s mistrust of the Venusian was as constant as the morning sunrise, Steroids didn’t think of himself as a behavioral psychologist, but this was an interesting development. Besides, it may just be a lead for progressing his theories.Steroids lifted his notebook again. “Both subjects continue to avoid interaction, Subject B remains following Subject A, no reason for this mistrust, as far as has been observed. Subject A appears oblivious.”

One week passed, and no confrontation or change occurred between the two of them. Steroids remained vigilant, focusing on Chicken’s behavior especially.

“What’s goin’ on with those two?” Fish asked from behind, startling Steroids who was deep in an observatory focus. He stood from the log he sat upon and turned to address Fish directly. “Not sure, they’re not hurting each other I suppose, but it definitely is fascinating.” Fish looked skeptical

“Yeah? Sure is fascinating watching the world’s longest game of hide and seek, is it?” Steroids ignored that comment, not risking to jeopardize the confidentiality of his study, if any one of these people found out, they’d surely never leave him alone about it, demanding answers. Three days later and an interesting development finally took place beneath the moonlight. Venuz stood in an open drift of sand, away from the prying eyes of the group, as far as he knew, no one was watching. But both Steroids and Chicken knew better than to call out to him. The Venusian lifted his arms above his head and held his palms together. A golden emanance began to appear from his grasp. He then reached out in front of him, and as if he were tearing open a curtain, he pulled the very air in front of him apart into a glowing portal. It was dark, yet released a bright light and a low hum. Venuz began to levitate through it and disappeared from within. Steroids couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed, He turned to find his journal when rapid footsteps approached from behind. Chicken sprinted towards the opening, sword drawn, eyes ablaze. Steroids immediately dove to stop her, but was a distance too far. All at once, she jumped through the portal, as it closed behind her, leaving a moonlit sand dune, devoid of sound.

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The Mutants in Winter

Fish: Sitting on his log, which he has officially moved closer to the fire because of the season. Made a big deal about it and everything. As group dad, he decides that the camp needs some lights strung up.

Eyes: Wet, cold, constantly stepping in slush and slipping on ice. Has to frequently use telekinesis to keep himself from falling face-first.

Melting: Bundled in literally every blanket he can find, as if the world wasn’t cold enough already.

Crystal: Keeping watch on some of the other mutants out in the snow drifts, she has prepared several cups of hot cocoa for their inevitable cold, tired return. Occasionally tossing Fish a tool while he’s up on the ladder.

Yung Venuz: Levitating casually above the fire, throwing dollar bills in it every few minutes or so. Any time he gets cold, he blasts a few shotgun rounds into the sky and hugs the barrel for its heat.

Plant: Speeding through snow drifts, throwing ice everywhere, generally making a huge mess. Tries to spread his roots into the ground, but can’t. Decided to eat maggots instead.

Rebel: Throwing snowballs with Rogue, who doesn’t seem all that interested, but throws a few back in good spirit. She and Horror are building the biggest snow fort anyone will ever see.

Steroids: Trying to reprogram Robot to work as a fabricator, wants to make a decent pair of snow boots for Eyes before he hurts himself.

Robot: [Temperature Reading: Below Freezing] [Execute Program: Heat Generation] [ERROR: User Panel Override] 49 5c 27 6d 20 43 6f 6c 64           

Chicken: Packed a snowball full of rocks, she’s waiting for the perfect opportunity to sneak up behind Venuz and peg the back of his head with a wad of stones.

Rogue: Throwing snowballs with Rebel, trying her best not to use her training to nail her clean in the face. Not-so-casually stressing about gift-giving.

Horror: Genuinely having the best time of his life, running and jumping into the snow and watching it melt away around him. He keeps trying to help Rebel build her big wall, but everytime he brings her some snow, it’s melted in his mouth.                

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A shitpost because I think I’m funny

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Did some more sprite work based on @bl00dalchemist‘s human chicken!

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Opia with Eyes?

From this, Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable

Eyes was not a harmful soul, but commonly misunderstood. He felt this way whenever he met new friends. They were always afraid of him, of his features, his communication. But he could show them who he was, before the disaster and after it.

The very first day he met Rebel, she refused to approach. His many gazes seeming to pierce through her goggles and into her soul. Rebel hated being watched, it reminded her of the life she came from, always looking behind you in the hopes that someone or something else wasn’t sizing you up.

Eyes could see that this new friend was afraid of her, but he kept trying new things to help her see that he wasn’t some kind of monster, nothing like the vile creatures that thrived in the wastes, something she surely had come into contact with. That’s when he had a brilliant idea.

The Rebel slept peacefully that night, having not seen Eyes’ harsh and unwavering stare that evening. She had no contempt for him, but the way he saw her, it out her on edge, made her feel helpless and alone, as if she were still living in the wastes.

Eyes watched from afar, keeping track of his friends’ movements. Once Rebel had gone to sleep, he snuck back to his belongings, and retrieved exactly what he’d need to make this all work.

The next morning, Rebel slept later than she was known to, enjoying the rest she felt she deserved. As she cracked her eyes open to see the morning sky, a blotch of blue appeared in the corner of her vision. There, sitting against the stone-laid cliff, Eyes jumped up to greet her, every one of his eyes covered by a little sticky-note, aside from the first two, on top of which he wore an oversized pair of old school 3-D glasses.

Her monster was a comedian, it seemed, she lowered her head and giggled. This is a friend she could get used to.

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Euphonious for all the gang? Fish plays his guitar for everyone to have a good time.

From this, Euphonious: pleasing; sweet in sound

I put a little hyperlink in the bottom, click it once you’ve read for the full experience of this reply.

Over the horizon, the sun began to dip below an ocean of sand as cool winds blew over the dunes, shifting each and every grain of coarse sand. Beneath the shroud of an impending blackness, the mutants huddled around their fire. All was quiet in the group, save for the fire crackling and whistling breeze.

Fish sat quietly on a log, a knife in one hand, shreds of wood in the other. A few more shavings from the scrap, and he threw down his pocket blade.

“Well gang, I finally made another pick.” He exclaimed as he leapt off of his log.

The mutants all acknowledged him in some way, Steroids looked up from his book, marking the page and closing it. Plant stopped crunching on a maggot, Rebel sat up from her bed, cross legged.

Dropping to one knee, Fish bent down to look inside the hollowed section of his makeshift bench.

“There she is” he said, reaching around inside the log. As he pulled out his arm, a beaten guitar came with it.

The mutants all watched him now, as he thrust himself backwards onto his seat.

“Thanks for coming out tonight” Fish said, imitating a microphone with his hand. “So great to be back here for you all in the wasteland. This one is a personal favorite”

With a sweet strum, the song started.

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Uncanny for Chicken and Y.V.? like what if she doesn't trust him at first.

Really sorry for the late response! This as well as the remainder of them will be done before the end of the week, promise!

From this, Uncanny: strange or mysterious, especially in an unsettling way

Times were tough in the wasteland, minds were broken, and spirits drowned in the misery and betrayal that surrounded. So naturally, Chicken was suspicious to see this triangular being for the first time. His levitation and the light that emanated around him was all too new, and therefore dangerous. He claimed he was a god, something like the figures that people in the times past would worship. But this was no figure of reverence, Venuz was just about as god-complex as one could get, minus the humility. His way of speaking, the way he carried himself, it all just gave her a bad feeling. So as the gang fraternized with their new friend, Chicken watched in the shadows, remaining ever vigilant should things take a turn for the worse.

Days passed and this would-be assailant didn’t make a move. Chicken remembered her training, her countless viewings of Seven Samurai, Enter the Dragon, and The Mysterious Island. She carried her sword by her side, not daring to draw until blood needed to be shed. The hours were long as Chicken plotted against the foreign element that could be her downfall.

More time and more tension, as Venuz slowly gained the trust of the group, but she saw the way he looked at her, he had to be plotting something, somehow he had to know that she didn’t trust him. She needed more training, this was an enemy that she mustn’t underestimate

The day was long, and every muscle in her body ached, but Chicken’s prey would soon fall. But first, she needed rest. She collapsed onto her jerry-rigged mattress of cushions and tape, her sword clattering beside her, bloodied and beaten.

Morning comes, and Chicken is awoken by the dawn. She reaches for her sword, and fins the blade sharpened tremendously, polished to a shine, and the leather handle reupholstered. A note hung from the hilt, on it in golden ink, a tiny caricature of Venuz is drawn. Chicken looks up to see Venuz looking at her from the smoldering embers of last nights fire.

“Well, you tricky bastard, guess you’ve got some good in you then.”

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Kuebiko for Y.V.?

In response to this, “Kuebiko: a state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence”

Shots rang out through the air, ceaselessly disrupting the peace. Bandits and other desert creatures fell dead beneath him, riddled with holes and dismemberment. Venuz relished this opportunity, cleaning the desert of the mindlessly mutated through a process of his own special brand of senseless violence. He was a god anyway, what did it matter? These beings would perish in the next couple of years anyway, and they sealed their fate when they decided that an immortal might make for a decent meal. He subconsciously counted his kills as more kept appearing out of seemingly nowhere, it was almost like they craved death, running towards carnage like that. With a quick turn, he fired his revolver into the bodies of three more bloated maggots.

Time passed quickly, as was typical of a busy mind, and Venuz found himself out of ammo before he was even winded. Besides, it was getting hard to tell which of the creatures still moved amongst the hundreds of them that didn’t. He started back, subconsciously hoping to stumble upon something else to continue his rampage. But as the sun fell beneath the horizon, and the warm glow of the campfire grew closer, his brain seemed to shut down on him. His arms like spaghetti at his side, as he levitated closer to the ground than ever. As he laid eyes on his bedding, the levitation he maintained became a fully fledged faint as he crashed face down into the ground.

Steroids looked up from his book, folded his glasses and picked up the now sleeping gun god, and made him comfortable amongst his bedding.

“Kuebiko.” He said, picking up the revolver, the gold color tarnished from several hundred rounds cycling through it. “You’re a mess, Yung Venuz.”