#quietsubject

[talk-to-wheatley-blog]

MY CHELL IS DORMANT

[theevilidsphere]

She nodded at this with a little smile- she enjoyed it very much when people understood her gestures right away instead of her having to spend goodness knows how long trying to portray what she wanted; some people just didn't quite understand, and while she was accepting of that fact, it didn't make things any easier for her. Still, the fact that he understood what she wanted gave her some relief-- she doubted she'd be able to talk to him much without something to write on.

He looked throughout Aperture really quick in the background, finding a pen and notepad. He picked one up in a claw and brought it to her, dropping it in front of her. “Th-there you go!”

[theevilidsphere]

OOC Post: Restart Roleplays? ^^''

(( Okay um I know this is kinda ridiculous but... can we all restart our rps? It's hard to find ways to add M!As into storylines >< make the new one into an after the old one, please ^^'' ))

[hearingvoicesallmylife]

[Rather longing to rp as a variant of Potatos.. Is anyone interested possibly?]

[hearingvoicesallmylife]

Anyone interested in a roleplay?

[talk-to-wheatley-blog]

Proof

quietsubject asked you:

[Haha I'd post longer if there wasn't a character limit] Chell's grip on him tightened the nanosecond she realized that her feet were no longer touching the floor, now having her arms coiled around him and whatever she could hold onto, really. At his stubbornness, she huffed, and pressed her forehead to the metal ring just above his optic, eyes boring down into deep blue light. "No." Again, she spoke- soft, defiant. "Don't, Wheatley." She wasn't worried about falling; the boots helped with that.

((Totally should have done this earlier, shoot me. XD))

Wheatley shook himself hard, determined, to prove his worth. Feeling the tightening grip, he thrashed wildly, the lighting turning ominous and the panels stuck out from the wall slightly like a threatened porcupine's quills. He wasn't sure if the human knew how easy it would be to simply knock him out at this enclosed distance. The corruption initiative telling him she was a threat, that he was in danger, that she was after him, to get him out and put him back in space-- or worse. 

"No!! Get Off!!" He shouted desperately, those thoughts echoing around his processor. The core's voice hinted at a darker, heavier tone coating his voice something like a blanket. His own voice sounding laced in a small panic.

After another moment of the rash shaking, he finally stopped, his plates held tightly against him trying not to leave a single seem as he lifted himself as high off the ground and 'away from the threat' as possible. The blue circle about mid size almost looked angry but fake, the panic showing in his eye as it darted around frantically. 

Time halted for a brief moment, Chell's forehead against his own 'forehead'. All movement ceased and some of the tension seemed to bleed out of the sphere. The blue light watching the girl paused on her eye and the bottom shutter bobbed slightly, like someone swallowing thickly or gulping. Then, as quickly as the moment had come, though it seemed to last much longer then time should have made it linger, it was gone-- or more like it seemed to be stolen away. The sphere tensed up again and his eye widened, suddenly looking at Chell like she had just insulted him.

The look changed to abrupt anger, seeming misplaced and hollow though, tension increasing as she continued speaking, discouraging him, telling him he couldn't, don't, you'll ruin everything. The corruption chip warped her words, Wheatley only hearing it as a consciousness, not a threat. He whipped his head to the side, trying to throw her off, letting out a frustrated yell that sounded anything but his normal ever curious accepting voice; it sounded full of hate, and heavy with distrust. 

"AUHH! Why won't you let me PROVE IT!! If I'M such a moron!! Why not just let me fail!!-- I won't though!! Get OFF ME!!"

[talk-to-wheatley-blog]

So, it was him after all-- he recognized her, and that alone was telling. Chell eyed him suspiciously for half a second; she wondered just how he'd managed to return from space, for it seemed like an impossibility all on its own. Then again, she had come to realize through her trials in Aperture that not everything was as impossible as it seemed at times. Nevertheless, she smiled some as if trying to soothe the other, tipping her head in amusement at the response as if to ask 'Are you alright?'

His shell plates flexed once more, then tightened to himself, making him look like he had shrunk a good deal.  Pulling back on the suspended over taken body to sputter a few more times before actually getting his jumbled thoughts in line decent enough to make a simple sentence.

“Y-ou’re here— and not- out there- Well I guess that much is obvious but- well I wasn’t- er- expecting you…” He turned away briefly and the wall panels rippled barely but rythmatically like someone would drum their fingertips together nervously. He glanced her way once more, then hesitantly turned back. 

“Right Right. Here now. Alright… Let’s um.. Let’s start this over shall we..? Oh!- I’ve got it. Wonderful idea really. Bloody brilliant. Why don’t you.. leave and then come back. And this time I’ll be expecting you, so.. I won’t be… Yes? How ‘bout that?” The core’s plating fluttered a bit like a bird puffing his feathers, as if he were truly proud of his idea.

[talk-to-wheatley-blog]

Upon seeing him, Chell had no idea what to think. When last they met, both of them were in danger of hurtling out into space, and she had failed to pull him back in thanks to a certain AI knocking him away. Yet there he sat. Logic told her that he was probably a remake, but why would /She/ go to the trouble of remaking him? Still, she couldn't help but place a hand on his shell, to the right of his optic, and take a closer peek. "...?"

The small intelligence dampening sphere had momentarily paused, and was observing something off in the distance. Mumbling some type of gibberish or explanation for something, there wasn’t always much difference. When abruptly a small soft heat had touched his casing, catching him off guard and sent him reeling back. Almost something you would call a greatly over-dramatized flinch, uttering a startled,

“Guh-Ahh!!” Wheatley had never had much practice with contact. He had been in charge of the subjects, but even when they were alive not many touched him. A few of the kids possibly, at times. But that had been decades ago. The only human touch he had to memory was Chell relocating him. Other than that, contact in general had been a purely negative thing, only receiving it from Glados at random extensively spaced out intervals, never ending well for him.

His optic whirled around to face the other, his brackets trembling a bit— until the one standing there identified as none other than Chell. Although he had never learned the subjects name. (She refused to just simply tell him okay?) The bright blue lense widened and stared for a few moments before sputtering, 

“It’s y-ou—”