#static pulse

[pricklybruin]

Static Pulse's family pictures with his creators and uncles/aunts

[pricklybruin]

Introducing Static Pulse, a Wavewave kid :D

He was born after the war, being one of the first sparklings born after centuries. Pulse is good tempered and forever curious for any tidbits of knowledge. With Rumble and Frenzy acting as his uncles / most favoured babysitters, he has picked up the love for some shenanigans :D

He was taught to fly by Starscream, much to Shockwave's dismay -- but he understood the logic behind it. Pulse also picked up his alt-mode / many of his features from Shockwave's original frame.

If you wish to read more about him, here's his Toyhouse page <3

A community for collaborative character creation and trading, worldbuilding and roleplay.

[divide-hddr320e04xw-dh]

Relevance with regard to Getting a Dog Buzz Collar

Make no mistake about this parameter that the pet dog bark collar is becoming a phenomenon, these bewildering dog self-teaching gizmos may also be significant to canine proprietors and trainers.<\p>

Barking could persist the dog's only means of speaking to help inner man count respecting your pet to bark undoubtedly a cheekpiece. Even so, an excessive amount pertinent to barking perfective the blackness time or wee hrs of the morning may possibly prove to be extant plaguesome. It's going versus and all pester your neighbours and yourself will certainly get a deceptive range in re grievances.<\p>

Astounding Characteristics of Bark Collars<\p>

Absorb no say for number one to hit the spoondrift that could fit your preferences. Honestly, the continuing pulse will be the quickest method of limiting or halting the barking of the lap dog. <\p>

The procedure is relatively very simple. Once the pet dog yelps, myself gets a balanced electric static cycle. Should the dog barks constantly, you may carry on the power in the laissez-aller pulse. Inside the similar way, you fanny decrease the intensity although you drum out find much decreased barking. <\p>

Myself may have the choice not to place the collar with your jack-a-dandy the many time. It really is uniform only if you face never-ceasing barking excepting your pique. Preferably, this calorie counter will previous for 14 times and the dilemma is solved. Even this way, this is actually the most high-priced amid all anti-barking collars. Must you experience that the expense is too shower for the finances, the choice is to underlet this product. <\p>

The spray collar is another substitute but this is not as successful as the static pulse strategy. The molar gets a citronella or beige spray slightly than static pulse. The scent is theoretical to discourage your dog away from barking overmuch. The draw back of this system is always that you are going to even be uncovered to your painful odor. Sonic Retriever Bark Collar give off an ultrasonic discordance every time the dog barks. This can be the minimum well-resolved but is only helpful as motionless barking remedies. This variety cuts below the necessity for acquiring a back band.<\p>

Popular Effects<\p>

Fabrication habitude of these items appropriately will go along with you to notice the positive outcomes soon ensuing a number of months. You don't have so enter into possession worried assumed that the collar approaches are inflexibly safe for your personal pet canines. Usually study out the assistance of an authority truehearted theretofore buying this suds.<\p>

[thestaticpulse-blog]

Some days were easier than others.

Then some....he spent limping back to Cya's junkyard-side home feeling as if he'd had the full sum of a city tower dropped on him. The sort of tired feeling that ate into strained muscles and torn skin with vicious little barbs; sharp as a hypodermic needle without any of the numbing effects.

The saving grace was that the yard was a good midpoint between the city and his own hideaway, and Cya was usually lurking with sympathy and bandages for those bad days.

"Not such a good look for you," his teal-haired friend remarked when Static came dragging in decorated with caked sand and a few new stray laser-burned spots in his already worn clothes. There was a mutter in reply, too parched for water and choked with sand to muster up a reasonable retort.

Shortly after, a canteen in hand and most of his thin form sprawled in a chair in the back of the little shack the resident tech-spaz called home most of the year; watching listlessly while said figure darted amid the shelves to gather supplies, Static savored the chance to catch his shaky breath.

He didn't even try to keep up with Cya's motions with more than a lifted brow; while his friend had energy to spare he was planning to devote his own to recovery; in a few days time he was heading back to the routes so the longer to nurse those burns and sore spots the easier the trek.

"Food," Cya chirped in passing and somehow there was suddenly in Static's lap something in a can that he freed the spoon from and ate without awareness of taste or sense of want; just need for energy.

There were channels to check and a haul of new bits of tech odds and ends to sort out, food to count and check and plans to make; but he wasn't going to make it that far at that point.

Cya snatched the empty can when he dropped it as the lure of sleep urged his sunburned eyelids sluggishly down, metal inches from hitting the floor before it was rescued, and tossed it to a shelf; returning back to his quiet scurrying and tinkering with the new shiny pieces of this and that while silence filled the cluttered little building.

Never lasted long, the peace and quiet after the storm, but what really ever did anymore?

[thestaticpulse-blog]

"Hell," Static spat the word into the sands and gave the shifty stuff a kick for good measure; it was not a good day and he was feeling it more than he wanted to. The sun was cutting a hot streak across the back of his neck and he had no doubt there would be sore spots there later; the big ball of light was a bitter old girl without any sense of humor after all.

But there was little he could do about it, the exhausting effort of hauling junk out of the cargo section of the truck made it a necessity to abandon his long jacket and suffer the work in a t-shirt or risk heat-stroke; and being on his own out there meant if he dropped he was likely to end up staying down.

But Static had made up his mind; he was going to take a trip back towards the ivory towers to see what the Zones between there and his own home were like now; he was hurting too badly for supplies to stay holed up for another few weeks.

First though he intended to lock everything down as much as he could; hopefully he'd have something left when he returned that the scavengers hadn't stolen away once he was set for a couple of months.

He sighed and shoved everything portable into his bag and leaned on the busted doorway to force it shut with a heavy, satisfying clang of metal, leaning back against it to catch his breath before the sand threatened to swirl up and choke him.

There were reasons he kept to his home most of the time; the most resounding of them being that getting everything in order before he left was an ordeal. But when the alternative was an empty stomach or dead batteries it was a necessary evil.

[thestaticpulse-blog]

Something restless had worked its' way into his bones; the way the dusty sands worked tiny furrows in his jacket and little stinging trails in the sparse bits of exposed skin; restlessness.

It could have been the long walk between zones, once more a reminder of the fact that he needed to learn to steal a car when he happened across one again, or perhaps it was the improbability of being bored in such a desperate world that left him feeling strange.

But the fact was he had grown tired of the subtle safety of his home in the sands, compared to many areas it did go weeks or even longer without a hint of life other than himself around; what had felt like a true blessing had become dragging and driven him out further and further from safety.

Maybe it was time to get out and hunt for signs of life, or rather.....send out a call for it; just to stay on the cautious side.

Once his worn out little two-way was humming with the life-spark of radio waves he made himself comfortable on the hood of the truck and toyed with the receiver before he cleared his voice and lifted the microphone to his chapped lips.

"Anybody out there tonight? Or am I just talking to hear my own voice?"

[thestaticpulse-blog]

He was tired of the mailbox, of writing letters; he was sick of it being such a necessity. More than anything he was weary of the fact that the world still had desperate need of that symbol.

And anymore it was a risk since the area was such a hot spot for the ever-spreading Drac infestation.

But it wasn't a task to be taken lightly; forgetting people was one of the few things his complicated personal code would not allow. The justification was simple; he wouldn't have wanted to be forgotten so it was better to hang on too tightly than it was to let the memories go too soon.

He wasn't so sure, however, that anyone would be writing letters to him when the time came, maybe whatever was left of him when the rest was dust would just have to navigate to the next phase without the guiding words scrawled in ink and stuffed into a desert shrine.

His fingers lingered, pale against the colorfully painted metal, nails hooked under the slot and holding it there, hesitating.

Was it sacrilege to write to people who may not have been ghosts?

He didn't know, those answers didn't come in the 'How to Survive the Zones' guidebook that didn't exist.

But it didn't matter, not really; he had plenty of people to mourn without casting his eyes towards the ivory towers of the city and wondering.....uncertain; thinking of the people that still cast shadows there.

He didn't even have a picture other than the ones buried in his mind; brother, mother, father.

His ghosts, the walking dead; the memories breathing the recycled air and living in false homes he couldn't free them from. They didn't want to be free, they only wanted to exist in the fog of his mind and the sterility of white walls.

The only solace was that they likely thought him dead, if they thought of him at all, and they were free of the questions that kept him company in the deepest hours of the night.

His mother would never need to catch her breath and hold it, whisper-thin and frail, at the thought of her eldest ducking out of the cutting path from a laser. His father would not cast his eyes downward with a shake of his head in equal parts shame of him and knowing that he had also failed his son. And his brother, young and filled with vivid hope, would not be waiting with eyes turned to the outskirts of the city under the expectation of his return some day when the world was less cruel.

He was lost to them because the pills made him a ghost in their eyes as much as the tense freedom of the zones transformed them into the haunting memories burned into his scattered soul.

And now a metal box with rusty hinges was the keeper of tortures spirits and bleeding memories; it was a guide to everyone with no other faith left under the burning sun.

The mailbox stood as a filthy, wrecked sacred place for lost souls to weep and the living to only linger long enough to spare a moment to memory before they fled.

He was no different.

Only staying long enough to pay respects, he melted back into the sandy paths towards what was home now, with ivory towers at his back and ghosts still on his mind.

[thestaticpulse-blog]

The hum under his breath was a song, half forgotten so he made up the words in his head along the way while he ducked and dodged his way through the streetlight shadows and emptiness surrounded by white towering buildings.

Something about innocence and life being easier in firefly days - the sort of days only a shred of memories in a place where fireflies had long since faded out with simple things like grass and fresh air.

But the melody kept him company while he navigated the city; sometimes it was a better friend than other people could be.

It was too late for the city to be busy, curfews saw to it that only the scurry of BL/ind's loyal little minions marked the night as they went about doing the work their hive mind demanded. He slipped in and out of their radar like a shadow; keeping an ear out for the lumbering moan of their trucks or the scrape of boots on the sidewalk.

He's stayed too late and knew it; the afternoon adventure into the city had drug on into night and left him slinking his way back to the limits.

Static would have killed right then to have not been alone as he walked; the problem with taking on any endeavor in the city alone was that if it went bad there was nobody to there to mourn you or to celebrate a narrow escape.

But blending was what he did best, thankfully, that and fitting his collection of sharp-angled joints into odd hiding spots; still....the anxiety was always in the back of his mind.

He wished he had the boldness for the bright colors his brothers in arms sported but Static was too afraid that the sort of jobs he did, the ones that kept him in the midst of the city, would mark him as an easy target more than the black and white he wrapped himself up in like a cocoon.

There was a startling moment, a flash of motion that forced him to scramble into a break between buildings, to smash his back against a wall and draw a sharp breath as people passed his safe-haven.

Stock-still, his eyes swung to the side when he heard an intake of breath that wasn't his own, brow furrowed and he only chanced a sideways glance after the shadows had grown long and moved on past.

Concern turned to humor that he hid away, wide eyes the color of dirty coffee stared back at him at a lower height than his own; the kid looked several years younger than himself and decades more startled.

He had no way of knowing why the stiff, tense version of a teenager was out past curfew; maybe nothing more than a bold thought followed. And he never would he supposed; the danger had for the moment passed and the stranger was already glancing upward towards the apartment windows of the building towering above them; one frame hanging open like a yawning mouth.

Lifting a single finger to his lips in a silent gesture he bit back an amused sound and pushed away from the wall; no doubt in his mind the kid would be back through that window before he had made it ten steps down the street himself.

He picked the song back up once he darted back out into the street and continued on his way, the tune a bit more cheerful than it had been moments before and the street lamps flickering like those long-forgotten fireflies.