ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ

hope springs eternal

[timeir]

Do you like robots, though.

[timeir]

Dishonored would be more fun if the kid didn't cry every time I stopped playing Low Chaos.

[fbihound-blog]

Will’s smile is genuine and unfaltering as he watches the dogs welcome Rebecca with wet noses and tongues. He is proud for the moment that they are so quick to embrace her, more than ready to accept a new member into their pack of strays. They’re making noises, small huffs of breath through their snouts and the occasional whine in their excitement. In moments like this they are untamed hounds interacting within the frequency of the pack, so notably alive. It’s easy to fall into the space that they carve away, and let them fill in where he lacks.

Humanity might be lost on both of them, perhaps for different reasons. Will Graham is just glad to see her—this girl who makes crayon-and-colored-pencil improvements on sad things, this girl who worried the few lost-an-found mutts wouldn’t like her—being indoctrinated into the family (if he can call it that, which he can’t). A rare moment when she is fully accepted.

When she mentions her back brace, and the offending puppy who has scrambled up onto her, Will jumps with nearly awkward urgency to pull it off, the soft syllable, “Oh,” cut off by his breath. He picks up Ruth, and immediately the puppy is squirming in his hands. She twists in his arms so that she can nip and bite at his fingers, with protesting whines and groans.

Will’s smile isn’t really gone, even now, though it has fallen some to a half-grimace that might be explained away by the sun or the tiny puppy teeth attempting to puncture skin. Her small teeth don’t make any it past the first layers, not that she’s really trying.

                                   “ Sorry. She’s———fiesty. ” 

He doesn’t ask if she’s alright just yet, but he looks over at her and tries to gauge the fallout of Ruth’s venturing.

[timeir]

Becca pushes herself back up into the car, a sea of dogs milling about her feet, and pushes down a blush. It's not her fault, it's not her fault, it's not. The sketchbook pokes into her butt and she struggles her breathing down, struggles her smile back up and past the awkward twist of her mouth. 

"It's - it's okay! It happens a lot, actually. I just - she's very small."

She twists her hands over themselves, and pushes them into the fuzzy puddle.

"It's real embarrassing, you know? Like there's all these things what I could do except for how I can't. I can't get it wet, or knock it on anything, or do basically most things that aren't sitting still and drawing. It's not too bad mostly because all of us medical labrats are like this, but dogs are really energetic, aren't they?"

Ducking her head, she lets the braids cover her eyes for a moment, and then she pushes them aside. The weird watery smile is gone and her face is scrunched back up in her own pained interpretation of the real thing.

"I don't think she did any damage, though. Can I hold her? Please?"

Hands out, heart thumping, she squints at the man that she snuck onto her blog's friend list and who she's kind of definitely not been thinking of as a real fake dad and attempts to look like someone responsible enough to hold a puppy.

[fbihound-blog]

"I don’t think they’ll be angry. They were all strangers once." Will is actually happy when he says that, his voice has a sincere hum that uncurls without effort. He doesn’t notice that he’s smiling, doesn’t think about it as he closes the door to the car and fishes for his keys in his pocket. The dogs do that to him—they bring him back to the best of himself even when everything around him is rotting corpses and manipulation.

They whine a little when they hear the sound of the door being unlocked. Being well-trained enough, the dogs stay with eager tails sweeping back and forth until he beckons them out with a soft, “Come on.” All seven bound outside and there are a few sharp, happy barks of excitement. Their fur brushes past his legs in a rush.

Will Graham follows them out into the yard in comfortable strides, a rare moment in which nothing haunts him. “I’ve got someone to show you,” he adds while moving behind them, their noses taking the dogs towards the young girl. They’re more curious than anything, and excitement at someone new shows as some of their ears drop back and their tails pick up speed. (As a kid he called it "soft ears," when they pressed flat as a sign of submission, and the term surfaces briefly in his mind again.)

"Rebecca, this is everybody. Everybody, this is Rebecca."

Blue eyes watch her reaction, hoping she isn’t scared by the number or how they tend to swarm. Seven is a lot to handle all at once. They’re welcoming enough, though—perhaps too welcoming. Will is vaguely aware of the fact that she may not have a desire to be covered in dog spit from appeasing tongues, and wanders closer in case he has to call any of them back. 

It can only be pride that he feels, watching how they greet her as warmly—maybe even a little over-excited—as he could have hoped. To have the immediate acceptance of a dog is always a good feeling, especially to those who are used to feeling separated. 

[timeir]

Her eyes stay fixed to the page like butterflies on a board - not nervous, not nervous, not, not, not. A little nervous. She pays attention to only the lines, to the shape of the thing that she fully intends to memorize, to the weird leaden lump in her gut. She doesn't hear it when the radio clicks off, or when the dogs make their arrival. Honesrtly, if his long-cast shadow hadn't fallen over her drawing like spilled water, she might never have looked up.

She's popped the door open before he reaches her, sketchbook thrown haphazardly into the front seat where it'll be safe. (She likes that she's as important as his dogs when he talks to them together. She likes the way he says her name like she's almost one of the "everybody" before she's even gotten out of the car.)

There's a frozen second when the dogs take their measure of her and she takes her measure of herself and comes up wanting, definitely, stupid terrible fake girl who should get back in the car and go home and stay there, and - and then ---

One of the dogs licks her hand. Another barks. Within seconds she's surrounded in big warm eyes and silly happy animal mouths and there are ghost-bites up and down her arms that only she remembers and she was so scared, she realizes now (detatched and wondering, like she's gotten a difficult sum in class, like she's beaten a hard boss level), so absolutely fucking terrified that his dogs would hate her and bark at her like she was something to eat and that he'd hate her for it and let them drag her into the backyard and bite her open in punishment.

Another dog licks her across the face and now her eyes are definitely wet and she's falling out of the car and to her knees and she's laughing, definitely laughing, and when the next lick swipes across her open mouth she spits and giggles and licks the dog right back. She licks a dog in the mouth. If Will Graham was ever worried about her getting on with his dogs (because she certainly wasn't!), he can lay those fears to bed right now. 

He might have to start worrying about re-assimilating her back into human society, though. Or - on second thoughts, as one enterprising puppy jumps into the car and onto her back - maybe not.

She goes completely still, grin not so much fading as being totally eclipsed by regular teenage embarrassment. Narrowing her eyes against the sun, Rebecca Storm looks at Will Graham and winces.

"Um, sorry. I think he's on my back brace. Could you - could you help me get him off? I'm sure he didn't mean to do it."

[timeir]

Robots. Robots?

I miss Ness Comma Loud.

Robots. Sometimes dogs. Definitely robots.

I miss Flare. I miss Flare a lot. 

Doctors suck and so does everyone else.

I'd give up robots if my friends would be around more. (This is a hint.)

[timeir]

!

[timeir]

I could eat this entire box of eggs right now and nobody could stop me because nobody is home.

[fbihound-blog]

He unconsciously tucks away the idea that she finds cool parties and celebrity things uncomfortable, smiles at it a little at the familiar feeling. Getting to know people in this small way, the few flickers here and there and the honesty with which they peel themselves back for you is always something he finds comfort in. That is, until he gets too close, until too much of himself is peeled back. He doesn’t think about that now, though, he just keeps his eyes on the road and enjoys the new settling of pleasant calm, like gently running rivers.

It does make Will happy to talk about his dogs. He imagines for a moment one of her pictures hanging up on the refrigerator, looking at it in the late hours of the night to bring himself to somewhere safer than the normal routes his mind takes. 

"They won’t mind," he answers, "but they may bark at first.”

They’re getting close to the house now. Will waits until they start to pull up towards the aged white building, flat fields stretched out in front of it, before he continues with that thought. Glancing towards her, he offers, “I think it’d be best to have them come out and meet you in the front. Welcome you into the pack before going inside.” To be honest, the strays didn’t make great guard dogs, but this small step was easy enough and worth it, if it might alleviate some anxiety between them. 

The house itself is as it always is, old and secluded and echoed calm, like water lapping at the edges of a boat. Being there soothes. Will unbuckles himself and the first thing he does when out of the car is breathe in the air, let it sift through all of his atoms. Disassemble, then reassemble, cleansed. He can’t always find the peace of mind this place brings, thoughts sometimes too dark and haunting, but for now his mind is relatively still and Will lets the field’s atmosphere infect him.

[timeir]

She doesn't think of it as a peeling back, or as any kind of clinical analysis. But she likes the way he nods along like he doesn't know he is, like he listens to the radio and pretends that everyone talks like that, that everyone is loud and happy and welcoming. If she had it in her - if she had just one more year in the labs under her belt - maybe she'd understand the scalpel flavored metaphors he thinks in, maybe she'd bring her own out to match and start to see just why he can agree with her on things that mark her so obviously as an outsider with a wrong brain.

But she doesn't, so she can't, and all his agreements stir in her is a melancholy kind of joy. She doesn't want him to be sad or alone... But she's glad that he can understand the things she does to convince herself she's still real (in a way that none of her other friends really can, since they don't care about being normal).

If he asked her for a picture, she'd draw him ten - dig out the paints she bought before realizing she sucked at them, and really drag herself out trying to make him something as calm and safe and good as she imagines his home should be. As good as it deserves to be, with ivy crawling around the windows and a lake for him to sail across.

"What do they sound like when they bark? Are they loud? I've never heard -- I've only ever heard dogs when they're angry. Do you think they'll be angry at me for visiting?"

She is worried but not for herself, not for the idea that all dogs know criminal robot girls when they see them; she's worried that if his dogs hate her, it'll upset him, and they can't be friends. He likes her, but people aren't always very good at spotting things that don't belong. If his dogs don't want her there, he'll have to listen to them, right? He seems like the kind of person who would listen to his dogs' feelings.

His house is beautiful, and she rips to a clean page and lines it out instead of undoing her seatbelt or attempting to open the unfamiliar car door. Rebecca digs through her bag for the right colours, too caught up in finding something that doesn't need decorating with pastel pink flowers to notice that she really should be getting out of the car, and soon.

[cxhle]

              I’ll buy burgers with you ————               Just so long as you buy beer with me. 

[timeir]

I don't know what those are, but I can stand next to you while you buy beers. Are they nice?

[burningdownromearchive]

     That’s a terrible attitude to have towards drugs. 

[timeir]

If I ever take a painkiller, I might literally die. I definitely can't be doing weeds. You should talk to Zane for that.

[timeir]

+ texandetective

This is like, the first I have been actually for-real hungry. And nobody is here to buy burgers with me.

You're tall.

[burningdownromearchive]

 …….. Drugs? What kind of drugs? 

[timeir]

I don't know! They aren't my drugs. Or pasta. So I don't care.

[timeir]

+ burningdownrome

Help me. I want lasagna but all we have in the house is oranges and drugs.

[timeir]

T⋅I⋅M⋅E⋅I⋅R ☆ (rebecca storm)      + semi-indie oc roleplay blog for metuere's labkid universe

“Do you like robots?”

♈ → over 4 years roleplay experience, mostly on tumblr ♈ → will reply to all starters + follow back most blogs ♈ → happy to interact with canon characters in non-magical (or magical) universes ♈ → uses aries trolls reaction icons, but faceclaim is willow smith ♈ → mostly does short prose posts, but adores longer threads

       ♈ → (about) ☆ (overview) ☆ (medical file)

[timeir]

It is really sad that Spirit is the only person on tumblr right now that I know. 

[timeir]

+ ignotusumbra

My boyfriend has been gone for two weeks and I played all our video games. I can't even be bothered to ask if you like robots.

[timeir]

... I ran out of games to play.