#missmaverickhunter

[moved--thefirst-sonof-light]

@missmaverickhunter

[ T E X T ]: Santa and my panties both share something in common right now

[TEXT]: Then... take them out of the freezer?

[x-thelostandfound]

Upsy-Daisy (from Red)

Send “Upsy Daisy” for my muse’s reaction to being carried bridal style by yours

“Whooa!” The hunter flailed as he was swept off his feet, but when he caught sight of the culprit all he could manage was confused blinking. This young lady looked like she could be Zero’s sister or something, wow.

“Wha… Um… Hi?”

@missmaverickhunter

[moved--thefirst-sonof-light]

[ @missmaverickhunter from X ]

An indignant squeal escaped the blonde as she was abruptly (and, as much as she hated it, easily) hauled up off her feet. Her legs kicked as she tried to wiggle free, but it was hard to really get much leverage without being able to push off with her arms.

Which, speaking of- her left arm was hanging uselessly at her side, the jacket shredded to expose the synthaskin beneath. The damage done to her armor had happened there as well, and sparking wires were visible poking through bleeding gashes. The gashes curled around her midsection, the result of something large and nasty backhanding her like she was nothing more than tissue paper. Her other arm had been dislocated at the shoulder, making it difficult to move – but she had managed to curl it around herself to hug her bleeding limb against herself.

“Sharp, put me down right now!”

The moment he’d heard Red take a hit, it hadn’t even taken a second’s consideration for him to drop the maverick he’d been tangling with and dash to her.

Analysis confirmed both her arms were out of commission; regardless of the pain, that meant she couldn’t fight. Couldn’t defend herself. He had to get her out of here, now.

“No.” He held her tighter in response to her resistance, his voice hard as steel and his eyes fixed on his destination. “I’m getting you off the field.” Immediately he began to sprint toward a lone standing wall about sixty feet away--

His vision went white for an instant, and a searing pain spread itself across his back. When he regained his senses, he was on the ground on all fours, and Red lay some distance ahead of him. Shit.

[moved--thefirst-sonof-light]

IC Update: Sharp comes online as a Reploid.

Bᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ﹕ [Bʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ] sᴛᴀʀᴛ Sᴇɴsᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴘᴜᴛ﹕ ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ

Blinding light—darkness. Whirring fans. Cool air. Soft strands tickling his forehead, his ears, the back of his neck. So many voices, combined into a hum.

“01000011 01100001 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 hear me? Open your eyes. They should adjust to the light.”

Light—light… a ceiling. A room… a laboratory.

“Do you remember your name?”

Another voice, farther away, muttered, “Sir, remember, that memory anomaly, he might not—”

Name. A knife. A note? A weapon. A song…

‘Sharp—’ His mouth moved, but nothing came out. His eyes unfocused in confusion, searching within for the source of the problem.

“Ah, you’ll need to inhale before speaking, and exhale as you say the words. You should find the protocol in conjunction to your breathing.”

In… Out—“SHARP.” Oh. Too loud. The others in the room turned to look, surprised or irritated or both. He looked back at them with a neutral expression that he wished was a glare. Facial expressions were still sorting themselves out.

“Right, and volume modulation as well… You’ll get the hang of it. It’s easier if you leave it as a background process; the program usually sorts itself out how it should.

“Let’s do some tests, alright? First, sensory.” They ran through some mundane, generic examinations: What color is this, what do you smell—that was an interesting experience, as well as taste—then moved on to tactile assessment. The fur was soft, the sandpaper was rough (and a pretty odd feeling on his knee, of all places), the pin—

His hand jerked back, clasped tightly to his chest—which was… moving? Why? His breathing protocol was—it was going too fast, why was he breathing so quickly? His eyes were wide, his jaw was tight—all of his muscles felt tight, actually—what was the reading from his emotional programming?

Whoa—a wave of complex emotions overwhelmed him as soon as he thought to acknowledge them, the first and foremost of which was fear.

Fear, huh?

After a moment’s thought, he understood why: He hadn’t felt the sensation of pain since Rock killed him. But fear did him no good in this situation; it was unnecessary. He tried to manually override it—and failed?

Still outwardly showing symptoms of panic, Sharp growled at the medic. “Can’t you turn off all these emotions? Where’s my override?” His voice was rougher than he remembered from his previous life, but they obviously hadn’t been able to salvage anything from his corrupted files. He didn’t care either way.

The other Reploid laughed heartily in response to his request. “I’m afraid there is no override, and no way to disable them, either. We Reploids are ‘gifted’ with much more complex, humanoid emotions. We all have to deal with them the ‘old-fashioned’ way: through effort and practice.”

Sharp scowled at the floor and began to manually slow his breathing—not through manipulation of his programming, but conscious control of his muscles.

He’d just retained some sense of calm when the door slid open to reveal a haughty, familiar figure in red.

“Aw, look at Pinocchio over here!” Red cawed, laughter in her voice. “Looks like you’re a real boy now!”

He wrestled a reflexive smirk back into his customary frown, and followed her from the room without a second thought.

[moved--thefirst-sonof-light]

[ @missmaverickhunter from x; Royalty AU ]

No one would know him here. And that was infinitely better. No one to accuse him of witchcraft or serving the devil or what have you. If he had it to do over again, he’d have drunk more of that poisoned ale and made sure he died.

But now... Stripped of his rank and cast out from his home, he was just another nameless vagabond in a town of nameless faces. Just staying alive for one more day. Though why, he still wasn’t sure.

But that face... that girl, she didn’t belong here. What was anyone doing out this late, let alone a young beautiful woman?

From his place in the shadows, he began to follow her. While it wasn’t his intent to scare her, he certainly wasn’t a master of stealth. He’d specialized in a bit, ah, more direct manner of combat.