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[SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
here's where we put all the misc one-off stuff! any team member can contribute to this thread, comments are allowed, and stories will be added to a table of contents here. requests from this thread will also be put here!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Wax and Wane spend some time together.
Ringor Mortis, General Morbit
CW: Depictions of psychosis/chronic illness
Dysthanasia goes out to get meds.
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Alloy comes over for a visit.
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Eastwood makes an attempt at parenting.
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place very soon after Wane's death
No content warnings
Grind tries to tell Wax something important.
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Alcohol, intrusive thoughts, self destruction, grief
Wax tries to make sense of it all. Request.
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Torture mentions, grief, abuse implications
Chelsea begins her morning routine.
Ringor Mortis, TCP Gauntlet, old, extremely short and debatably still canon
CW: Drugs, needles
Multiple short glimpses into the life of Dropdead.
Ringor Mortis, TCP Gauntlet
CW: Drugs, violence
Come one, come all, to Hoopla's greatest new show- the TCP Gauntlet!
The question everyone has, however...what is our host like off the air?
The question everyone has, however...what is our host like off the air?
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Abuse implications, gore, negative self talk
Derry begins its morning routine.
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Abuse implications, denial of DID
In which Chelsea considers murdering a god.
Ringor Mortis, Vest Party, pre-Sleepwalker
CW: Abuse, implications of past abusive relationships
Leo and Ashton have an argument.
Buffet- 2019
B. Comorant + Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place in past
No content warnings
Chelsea and Bucket go on a little date. Request for @chemtrails!
B. Comorant + Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place in past
No content warnings
Chelsea and Bucket go on a little date. Request for @chemtrails!
B. Comorant, Crankshaft Rafflesian, takes place before comic's events
No content warnings
Two robots meet over paperwork.
Beta Testing- 2018
knux400, TCP Gauntlet, takes place before RP events
CW: Gore, Violence
Bandage meets with Dropdead? to test a potential Gauntlet enemy. Hilarity ensues.
Vacation - 2019
B. Comorant, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place between Punch Clock Animal /Crankshaft Rafflesian and Masa con Papas
No content warnings
Charon meets up with his cousin to take some time off in Plaza
A Normal Therapy Session for Robots- 2019
B. Comorant, Crankshaft Rafflesian, takes place before comic
No content warnings
Dotty has a session with her therapist.
An Unwanted Invitation: A Bucket Solo Venture- 2019
B. Comorant, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Bucket reluctantly attends a wedding at Rein's request.
Fledgling - 2019
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Wax and Wane have an argument over their newest god.
Lockout - 2020
Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
Content warnings: intrusive thoughts, anxiety, dissociation, parental neglect
13-year-old Juno tries to do some bonding.
Macaroon - 2020
Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
No content warnings.
Blink loses a bet.
Feedback - 2020
Rin + Shivers, High gods
No content warnings.
Wax stumbles into a project.
Candidates - 2020
Rin + Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
No content warnings.
Wax conducts follow-up interviews.
Standing By the New World Order - 2020
Seth, Universal Constants, [Work Not Found]
CW: death, identity destruction, body horror, family strife, gore, military themes
All in-universe links are real, please click them.
Logs of an important day
Red Ice - 2020
Como + Shivers, Punchclock Animal
Content warnings: violence, blood, injury, mentions of death, mild body horror
Bucket takes shelter in an abandoned cabin.
Convertible - 2020
Rin + Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
CW: serious injury, self-harm, breakdown
Pepper helps an injured opponent.
Fourth Plate - 2020
Como + Shivers, Masa con Papas + Patchwork Kernel
CW: injury, blood, needles
Erica has a surprise visitor.
Total Scrap Containment Sphere Operations Manual- 2020
knux400, General Morbit
CW: Medical, death, suffocation, needles, and memory/personality altering
A pamphlet detailing how to operate some kind of device.
Fishbowl - 2021
Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
CW: violence, unhealthy dynamics, surveillance mention
Pepper enlists Blink's expertise on something new.
knux400, TCP Gauntlet, takes place before RP events
CW: Gore, Violence
Bandage meets with Dropdead? to test a potential Gauntlet enemy. Hilarity ensues.
Vacation - 2019
B. Comorant, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place between Punch Clock Animal /Crankshaft Rafflesian and Masa con Papas
No content warnings
Charon meets up with his cousin to take some time off in Plaza
A Normal Therapy Session for Robots- 2019
B. Comorant, Crankshaft Rafflesian, takes place before comic
No content warnings
Dotty has a session with her therapist.
An Unwanted Invitation: A Bucket Solo Venture- 2019
B. Comorant, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Bucket reluctantly attends a wedding at Rein's request.
Fledgling - 2019
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Wax and Wane have an argument over their newest god.
Lockout - 2020
Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
Content warnings: intrusive thoughts, anxiety, dissociation, parental neglect
13-year-old Juno tries to do some bonding.
Macaroon - 2020
Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
No content warnings.
Blink loses a bet.
Feedback - 2020
Rin + Shivers, High gods
No content warnings.
Wax stumbles into a project.
Candidates - 2020
Rin + Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
No content warnings.
Wax conducts follow-up interviews.
Standing By the New World Order - 2020
Seth, Universal Constants, [Work Not Found]
CW: death, identity destruction, body horror, family strife, gore, military themes
All in-universe links are real, please click them.
Logs of an important day
Red Ice - 2020
Como + Shivers, Punchclock Animal
Content warnings: violence, blood, injury, mentions of death, mild body horror
Bucket takes shelter in an abandoned cabin.
Convertible - 2020
Rin + Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
CW: serious injury, self-harm, breakdown
Pepper helps an injured opponent.
Fourth Plate - 2020
Como + Shivers, Masa con Papas + Patchwork Kernel
CW: injury, blood, needles
Erica has a surprise visitor.
Total Scrap Containment Sphere Operations Manual- 2020
knux400, General Morbit
CW: Medical, death, suffocation, needles, and memory/personality altering
A pamphlet detailing how to operate some kind of device.
Fishbowl - 2021
Shivers, Patchwork Kernel
CW: violence, unhealthy dynamics, surveillance mention
Pepper enlists Blink's expertise on something new.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Respite- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Wax and Wane spend some time together.
“You look even more tired than usual, champ.”
You glance over at your partner, their grin wider than ever. It’d been a while since you’ve been able to meet like this, and you’re not sure how they’re able to stay so upbeat. You flop into their lap, Wane retracting their horns and patting you on the head.
“Cmon, tell me what’s eating you. That’s not the face of somebody having a good day.”
You groan and shove your head into their mane, still grumpy from earlier.
“It’s just the usual. I’m just...exhausted.”
“Cult again?”
“Mm, I don’t know why they’re so active as of late...I really should talk to Spit about it. I try to stay out of everyone’s business, but-”
“She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?” They tilt their head and lift you up a bit, getting you to face them. “Every day I wonder ‘huh, maybe making a god of violence was a shitty idea’.”
You can’t help but snort, perking up a bit. “I did tell you it was a bad plan!”
“And I never listen, do I?”
“Never, but that’s not going to stop me from trying.”
They give you a quick peck on the forehead, and you settle into a comfortable hug. Their fur is so warm, and it’s easy to drift off into much more pleasant thoughts. You can hear them humming a tune, and you recognize it as one of your favorites.
Someday, you will miss them more than anything.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Frostbite- 2018
Ringor Mortis, General Morbit
CW: Depictions of psychosis/chronic illness
Dysthanasia goes out to get meds.
You bundle yourself up in lineart, your grin warping into a grimace as it formed a tight dress around your body. You wouldn’t bother with it most days, but it’s an all new low temperature in the city, and you learned your lesson last year. Your body may be tough enough to bear it, but having your slime that cold felt fucking terrible. You glance over at the mirror, grimace worsening as you see yourself blink. You give your reflection a thumbs up, grateful that at least that seems synced up with the rest of you. You cover your eyes up quickly, hair extending over your face. Time to get moving.
Elevator’s broken, because of course it is. You check around to make sure nobody’s watching before wrapping some lineart around your feet, making some impromptu boots. Those stairs were icy on a good day, and you weren’t testing your luck. You’ve lived in this complex long enough for the other tenants to get used to your appearance, and they didn’t even bother giving you a second glance. At first you were grateful, but there was something sobering about it now- your brain is quick to tell you that you weren’t worth thinking about now that they got used to your weird looks. They believed your story hook, line and sinker, and if you actually went and told the truth, you’d just get laughed at.
No high god could be this small, or this sick.
They ran out of your meds at the drug store again. You maintain your smile and tell them it’s all good, you’d just come back again tomorrow. They apologize profusely but avert their eyes, and you’re pretty sure they’ve got plenty in the back. You’re not sure whether to feel proud that they consider you enough of a problem to take all the extra strength painkillers off the shelf, or like shit. You buy more cheap candy than you should and leave before they can give you the change back. You didn’t need the stupid medicine anyway.
It’s snowing, and most people are trying to get the hell out of the cold. You’re a few blocks from home still, and things are starting to get fuzzy around the edges. It’s not even that heavy, but your bag of candy is getting hard to hold. You keep yourself upright and try not to slip, and keep focusing on your steps- one in front of the other. You didn’t need the meds, and you were going to get home in one piece, and it wasn’t really that cold, not worth thinking about. It didn’t hurt, and you were fine
and now you’re inside. The elevator is working again, and you’re okay.
You’re riding up to your twelfth floor apartment, and you’re okay.
You’re stripping down and throwing your candy onto your bed, catching your face distort in the mirror as you repeat your mantra over and over- you’re okay, and you’re home.
You don’t know how long it takes for your mind to clear, but it does, as much as it can. You unwrap some candy and pop it in your mouth, and it helps some. Who needs painkillers when you have this, right? You drag your computer over using some lineart, careful not to drop it- it took a while to save up for one of these portable models, and you’d kick yourself for weeks if you broke it. No one’s responded to your new posts, but you’ll make more of them, and something’s gotta come of it.
It can’t be like this forever.
Elevator’s broken, because of course it is. You check around to make sure nobody’s watching before wrapping some lineart around your feet, making some impromptu boots. Those stairs were icy on a good day, and you weren’t testing your luck. You’ve lived in this complex long enough for the other tenants to get used to your appearance, and they didn’t even bother giving you a second glance. At first you were grateful, but there was something sobering about it now- your brain is quick to tell you that you weren’t worth thinking about now that they got used to your weird looks. They believed your story hook, line and sinker, and if you actually went and told the truth, you’d just get laughed at.
No high god could be this small, or this sick.
They ran out of your meds at the drug store again. You maintain your smile and tell them it’s all good, you’d just come back again tomorrow. They apologize profusely but avert their eyes, and you’re pretty sure they’ve got plenty in the back. You’re not sure whether to feel proud that they consider you enough of a problem to take all the extra strength painkillers off the shelf, or like shit. You buy more cheap candy than you should and leave before they can give you the change back. You didn’t need the stupid medicine anyway.
It’s snowing, and most people are trying to get the hell out of the cold. You’re a few blocks from home still, and things are starting to get fuzzy around the edges. It’s not even that heavy, but your bag of candy is getting hard to hold. You keep yourself upright and try not to slip, and keep focusing on your steps- one in front of the other. You didn’t need the meds, and you were going to get home in one piece, and it wasn’t really that cold, not worth thinking about. It didn’t hurt, and you were fine
and now you’re inside. The elevator is working again, and you’re okay.
You’re riding up to your twelfth floor apartment, and you’re okay.
You’re stripping down and throwing your candy onto your bed, catching your face distort in the mirror as you repeat your mantra over and over- you’re okay, and you’re home.
You don’t know how long it takes for your mind to clear, but it does, as much as it can. You unwrap some candy and pop it in your mouth, and it helps some. Who needs painkillers when you have this, right? You drag your computer over using some lineart, careful not to drop it- it took a while to save up for one of these portable models, and you’d kick yourself for weeks if you broke it. No one’s responded to your new posts, but you’ll make more of them, and something’s gotta come of it.
It can’t be like this forever.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Uncle Grind- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Alloy comes over for a visit.
“hi!! grind!! uncle grind!!!”
He’s already climbing- slithering?- all over you, and you can’t bring yourself to feel annoyed...he’s a sweet child, not a mean shred in his body. You manage a laugh and keep your body language welcoming, hiding the nasty headache you had from earlier. He’s none the wiser, giggling and giving you his weird snake hugs.
“It has been a long time. Are you behaving at home?”
“yep! i do so much work it hurts my head but grandpa wax says i do a really really good job”
“I’m sure you do. You care a lot about your people”
“mmmhm! i wanna make sure everybody has things like school and food and pillows and”
“And your lesser gods are good to you?”
“yes theyve been teaching me all sorts of things like math and space and even oceans! did you know how big the oceans are because i sure didnt and”
There he goes. You listen to him, content to endure a child’s dear ramblings after your rough morning. Part of you wishes you got to have children of your own...but that was clearly out of the picture. Still, your time acting as his ‘uncle’ scratched an itch you would never admit you had- to be parental. It was nice, in a way.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Parenting Skills- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Eastwood makes an attempt at parenting.
“Caaarrriiiiie.” You hear your dad calling you and grimace. Here he comes.
He knocks and you let him in, surprised to see him sober. First time you’ve seen him not high off his ass in...what, a week? Still, it’s good to see him not doped up, for once.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“You uh...you going out tonight?”
You finish wrapping your hands in cloth, stretching out and looking for your jacket. “Yep.”
“....”
“....”
“Well, just...be careful. Again.”
“I’m gonna be fine, Dad. It’s just another match.”
“I know, but you came home all bruised up and shit the other night, and...and I worry. I wasn’t able to help you out, and I suck at this, and-”
“Dad, it’s okay. Really.” You get yourself pulled together and head for the door, giving him an extremely brief hug. “I know how to hold my own out there.”
“No motif use, okay?”
“Dad.”
“Okay, okay. Just...be good. Don’t get your ass kicked.”
You give him a thumbs up and hurry on out the door, wondering if he was going to be okay tonight himself. He’d probably be out cold by the time you came back in the morning, but you had to do your own thing. You can’t just babysit your dad all the time- it felt cruel to think, so you chase that away. He’s not a very good one, but you guess he’s trying as best he can. Sort of.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Shooting the Messenger- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place very soon after Wane's death
No content warnings
Grind tries to tell Wax something important.
“Leave.”
“I am telling you. I have crucial-”
“Grind. I appreciate you coming, and caring so much, but I need you to leave.”
“I can’t. Not until you listen to me.”
“Not today, Grind. Contact me when you get back home.”
“NO! You need to hear this, here!”
Wax hisses, clutching his head and shifting, eyes blazing with anger. You take a few steps back, bowing your head instinctively. A metallic whine escapes as you see his face burst into petals, thorns jutting out from his neck. You don’t want to see this, you don’t want to be here, but you can’t just leave-
“What I NEED, Grind, is for you to get the HELL out of my house.”
Wax bends down and you can see his face perfectly now, your whines turning into choking cries. You can’t look away, no matter how much you want to, no matter how much you need to tear your eyes away from him.
“P-please. I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t come...you need to! Please.”
“Shut up.” He leans even closer and you keep backing up. “You have no, no idea what I have been through, and I cannot even begin to address ANYTHING but this right now.”
You nod, backing up again until you feel the wall behind you, turning around and running as fast as you can. Nothing matters more than escaping that face, not even what you came here for. In the moment, the raw feeling of unease and dread building over the past few weeks has been replaced by sheer terror. It would have to wait.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Pareidolia- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Alcohol, intrusive thoughts, self destruction, grief
Wax tries to make sense of it all. Request.
It’s not quite right, but you’ve done your best. At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself as you try not to tumble out of your seat, legs of the newly made stool wobbling underneath you. You’ll never know what one of these things look like up close, like everything else you’ve made for yourself here. It’s all guesswork, desperately trying to grasp onto bits and pieces floating around in the collective mess.
Like some kind of patchwork disaster. Some kind of holy creator I am, can’t even make a barstool right. The so-called king of Taverne, or whatever the hell they call me these days.
The walls aren’t right either, with discordant, confusing patterns papered on. Looking at them makes you nervous, seeing faces and figures where there’s nothing but blobs and streaks. You desperately try to find something else to look at, settling on the bar in front of you.
Well, I did come here for a reason.
You don’t have to focus very hard to conjure up a mug, godspace filling in the blanks of what you don’t know. It’s a shitty mug, but it’s yours now, at least for however long you mope in here. Getting an actual drink in there is trickier, and you don’t think the result is any one kind of booze. Mortals were so obsessed with alcohol, even other gods- but being the size you are, you’ve never actually tried-
Except once
-before in your very long life. One of Wretch’s lesser gods was notorious for consuming this stuff, and you always dismissed it. He was drinking to stop feeling, to kill himself slowly, to abuse his body until it rotted. Hell, you looked down on him for it. But in this moment, can’t anymore. You almost understand it now.
If this could take even a fraction of the pain away, it would be worth it.
Downing the drink is horrible from start to finish, coughing without lungs and struggling to keep it down- not that there was any way to spit it back up, with your body. All of these feelings and vestigial behaviors for functions you don’t have, choking, crying, gagging and swallowing. But it does go down, and you let it settle, bracing yourself for whatever effect it may have.
What am I doing here, waiting for some...mortal drug to kick my ass. I’m supposed to be on top of this. I’m not supposed to be sitting here, hoping that this foul drink either gives me some sort of foolish enlightenment or wrecks me to the point where I don’t think anymore. I’m not supposed to be this weak, pathetic shell of a god.
You look down at your hands, clenching and unclenching them into fists.
But I always was, wasn’t I?
You hate them. Useless, fingerless hands, crayon outlines shaking and distorting slightly. Hands too large to protect, the slightest motion risking destruction outside of these planes, your body kept still and quiet back in a lonely cave, isolated from the outside world.
Wane was always the strongest, the one people looked to and cheered for. People loved them, and looked to them for everything- and they gave. They were adored.
Their smile flashes in your mind, all teeth and confidence. It’s paired with that look in their eyes that they got after winning yet another game against you, so obviously letting you get ahead- but allowing that, just so that you could run ahead laughing, and they could chase you, and catch you, and hold you.
They deserved it. All of it.
Nights spent together in this very plane, poking at concepts floating by and seeing what new inventions the mortals had come up with- and how you know they would enjoy the things of today, with all of the sports and television , how they would adore television, just as they enjoyed the theater, asking you again and again if you could conjure a play for them.
They had so much love to give, and I had so little, and what little I had I was either too afraid to give it away, or gave it to them. And even then, it wasn’t enough.
There were fights, of course there were fights. Millenia upon millenia passed and to this day you cannot remember how many times arguments broke out, over creation, over the ethics of mortals, over their children, over raising them right- and who was to define right, you or them?
It’ll never be enough, and I’ll never be able to tell them just how much they meant to me. How much they still mean to me.
There were times that they grew quiet, refusing to answer for weeks at a time. Months, at worst, at one point perhaps even a year- you had stopped counting, every day spent primarily here, creating environments they liked in a desperate attempt to bring them back to you. When they returned, it was without fanfare, only guilt deep in their eyes and attempts to reassure you that everything was fine. That they were home now, and that was what mattered.
I know they had secrets, I know they lied to me. I know there were things unspoken between us and maybe, maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was for my own safety, but I know they used their powers at least once.
Memory blanks, not often, but there. Things that don’t add up, but nothing so solid that you could say anything, and never about anything important. Some still linger, holes in your mind that you try to ignore, shoving them away almost frantically.
At least once, and on me.
They had stopped playing games with you as much, towards the end. Of course the both of you would try, and it was almost as much fun as it always was, until you saw the corner of their mouth twitch. Even if just a single smile was forced, you felt your energy fade, and wished desperately that they would let you in, if only for a moment. That they would let you help them.
I loved them still. I love them now. Perhaps it’s delusional to forgive someone for betraying you like that but god damn it I can’t see them as a bad person, I can’t see them as someone-
Wane’s sleeping face next to yours was the most serene thing you’d ever seen, even with the ability to conjure as many natural wonders in this space as you could ever want. None of it came close to how precious they were to you, and in that moment you forgave everything, and hoped with all of your heart that the next day, maybe the next day they would talk to you. Please, let them talk to you.
I can’t see them as anyone other than who I do now.
They were an ideal to you, the perfect partner, even with all of the flaws and dishonesty, so ironic for a god of truth. Even after the worst of it, they would sit gently by your side and you would lean on them, no one saying a single word. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but that’s what it was, and it was still better than anything you deserved. Anything you could ever hope for.
Maybe that’s not right, either. Right of me, or right to say so. But I’ll never know. It’s just this endless, having to admit to myself “I don’t know, I never will!” and it goes on and on and on until it suffocates me and there it is again, a useless process I’ll never actually experience and yet my mind screams of suffocation and losing air and
You throw your mug against the wall, shoulders heaving and form distorting hard, tears rolling down your face.
....
You look up at that horrible wallpaper, and you swear in all of your blurred vision that you can see their face, eyes lidded and mouth wide in a drunken smile, blissed out and warm.
This was better with you, Wane.
You don’t look away this time, staring dead into the wallpaper face’s eyes as the tears stream down.
I’m sorry.
I’ll be better tomorrow. I promise.
I promise.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Clutch- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Torture mentions, grief, abuse implications
Chelsea begins her morning routine.
The screams have started up again, a dull but unfortunately familiar ambiance to your morning routine. Whether the sun was actually up was a mystery, but if you woke up, it was morning, and that was that. It was a rule you made for yourself decades back in an attempt to carve out some semblance of a normal, sane existence for yourself, one that didn’t involve hearing the pleas of a doomed man as you scrubbed gristle out of your clothes. Making an arbitrary distinction between “morning” and “night”, it didn’t mean anything to anybody but you- but that was how you preferred it, these days.
Other people getting involved in your shit never ended well.
You open your crate, rifling through the world’s most sorry looking wardrobe to pull out what little things you have to your name. You check your stash once in the morning, and once before bed, just to ensure Spit hasn’t fucked with it. For decades she’s remained utterly disinterested, but you knew better than to trust the devil herself.
Today, your inventory is safe: Three outfits (full of holes, permanently stained, absolutely disgusting), a handful of pens (cheap, ballpoint, half empty), the palm-sized box used to carry your scraps (flesh-bound, mediocre at best, distressing to think about), a collapsible staff (somewhat trusty, more useful than anything else you own, good at whacking), and a stack of journals locked with binding scraps, the most current one tucked away at the bottom.
You haven’t journaled in a good month or two, but maybe today’s the day you get off your ass and actually write something, even if it’s trash. Hell, especially if it’s trash. At least it’d get it out of your head, freeing up prime real estate for more torture and death, and maybe, if you’re lucky, something actually worth saving. You shuffle it out with care, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.
Something falls out from between the pages, and you know what it is without even looking. Every other time you go to write it slips away, and you nearly fall over trying to keep it from hitting the ground. You don’t want to get it any dirtier than it has, lettering already fading around the edges. The note itself held little importance, but the tiny scrap embedded within was your most precious possession, and as with every other time, you can’t keep yourself from looking within.
A laugh, confident and happy even with that gentle, almost invisible undercurrent of unease that you knew all too well. You’re laughing too in this frozen moment, and the feeling of fur, clean and soft against your cheek, makes your breath hitch. You pride yourself on your ability to numb your mind to even the most horrific experiences, and yet, here you are, fighting back tears over the last hug you’d ever received, and probably ever would.
God, why did they have to be so stupid? So kind, so horribly kind and hopeful, the worst qualities to have in this nightmare job. You cuss them out as you cling onto this scrap, the last good moment in your life, like it’s some kind of tattered life raft that god, you know is going to slip away and you’ll drown, but for now, please, just another moment...
The memory fades and the screaming resumes. You wipe your face before your brain can even properly register you’ve been crying. You were so good at routine, and this had wormed its way in amidst the false day and night, a moment of weakness you despised yourself for, every time.
And like every other time, you tuck the scrap away, careful not to let it fall. You set the journal down in its rightful place, the most delicate part of your day. A few more seconds wasted lingering and you pull yourself together with a sharp, rattling exhale. Today will not be a writing day, and there’s no time to mourn the foolish.
You have work to do.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Old Gauntlet Scribbles- 2018
Ringor Mortis, TCP Gauntlet, old, extremely short and debatably still canon
CW: Drugs, needles
Multiple short glimpses into the life of Dropdead.
Part 1: Dirty Dealings
"So you're the one giving us these shipments." Dropdead would narrow her eyes if she had any, but settled on trying to look as intimidating as possible to the motif encrusted person before her. They didn't react, keeping a steady, equally eyeless gaze back at the TCP.
"That's me. You're the first tester of this shit, aren't you."
"Unfortunately." She fails to keep aggression out of her voice.
"Look, I'm just here to get paid-"
Dropdead takes a step forward, the dealer standing tall in front of her. "This ruins lives. You're killing us, piece by piece! Good people are being kept in the worst hell imaginable, only because you want a quick buck!"
"Without this money," the dealer raises their voice in kind. "I'm protecting TCPs more than your company ever will. The way you treat your own kind sickens me!" They lean in close and snarl, grabbing the cash out of Dropdead's hand and shoving the case into her chest. "Maybe you'd deserve to live if you were more like them. You're the sick one."
With that, the dealer whips around, leaving the garage as quickly as they came.
Dropdead's shoulders shook, and despite knowing it was in vain, she screamed at the dealer's back.
"IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT I'M SICK!"
Part 2: Daily Fix
I'm in charge, she tells herself. I'm still in charge. They're not the bosses here, I am.
They plunge the needle into her skin and she's screaming mentally, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing it escape her head.
I'm the boss. This is just what has to happen. I'm the boss and they have to listen to me, not the other way around. This is just standard procedure that I can stop any time I want.
Her fluid runs cold, familiar and soothing, the burning itch satiated for another day.
They walk away, leaving Dropdead in her massive bed, large for a karacel and dwarfing for a TCP.
I can stop.
I can stop.
Part 3: Trashy Television
“Dropdead, you might want to look at this.”
Dropdead stirs from her dissociative rest, rolling onto her side. “What’s so damn important it’s gotta wake me up?”
Meatball turns one of Dropdead’s portable TVs, placed on a wheely cart and covered in wires. The recording shows one of the contestants having a pretty severe breakdown, and a good number of other TCPs coming to her aid. Dropdead watches in silence as they work to calm her down, and both her and another contestant are tucked in for the night.
“I don’t want to-”
“I know, Meatball. I know. I’m not gonna air it.”
“Wait- Really?”
“Yeah. There’s no...honor, or some shit, to that. People want drama, but we’d look like dicks if we aired something like that. We’re not trashy television.”
Meatball watches as she rolls back over, waving her hand in his general direction. “Get rid of that clip, all of it. No use to us.”
He nods and wheels the cart away, leaving Dropdead to stare at the wall restlessly, trying not to ruminate on what she just saw.
Some things were too close to home.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
DROP DEAD!- 2018
Ringor Mortis, TCP Gauntlet
CW: Drugs, Violence
Come one, come all, to Hoopla's greatest new show- the TCP Gauntlet!
The question everyone has, however...what is our host like off the air?
Part 1: Breakdown
Brat. Fucking brat.Dropdead stood in her office, trying to get a grip on herself. The walls were swimming and the small cuts in her hands were starting to bleed, shards of broken mugs and vases surrounding her. She staggered through the sharp pieces and onto her couch, wondering if they’d be less painful than the shoes on her feet.
Fuck this show. Fuck every single one of these contestants, but especially that one.
She traced the markings on her arms and shuddered, looking away as best she could. Everywhere. It was everywhere and she couldn’t do anything about it. Nothing new though, right? Just one more thing she couldn’t deal with-
She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, wishing she was strong enough to tear it in two. She didn’t know how long it lasted, or how loud she was, but by the time she stopped she had nothing left in her. Empty again.
Good.
Stopping wasn’t an option. She would clean up her office before Meatball found out, and continue to film the players. She would sit through interview after interview, and ideally, none of them would go this badly. No more of this. Nothing like that would happen again. There were only a few left, and things would be fine.
It was all going to be fine.
Part 2: Basic Business
“This wasn’t part of the deal.”You’re seething, all vitriol and rage directed at the man in front of you. He remains smiling, as always.
“You see, kid...that’s the thing.” He leans forward, overbearing and looming. “When you make a deal, it’s usually...an even split, or close to it. A deal requires both parties to have something the other wants. That’s just basic business.”
He reaches out, placing a claw under your chin. You turn away, trying to ignore the sting. “And you know, Dropdead? Everything you could offer me…” You try not to hiss as he puts pressure on with his claw, ignoring the feeling of your skin burning. “I already have.”
“I have all the cards, so I suggest you...what do you tell the contestants?” He starts laughing, a rattle that slowly escalates into a high pitched cackle. “Play nice, was it?”
He withdraws his hand and you nearly pitch forward, trying to catch yourself as he grabs your neck in a single motion. “We good, kid?”
He squeezes.
“Or do I have to make some calls?”
You shake your head and he drops you, falling over for real this time. He taps his foot a few times before shoving you along the floor with it, out towards the door.
“Glad to see we have an understanding. Keep those ratings up, won’t you?”
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
As Usual, As Always- 2018
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Abuse implications, gore, negative self talk
Derry begins its morning routine.
It’s dark here, just like always. You’re not scared of the dark, or what comes with it, but it makes your skin feel even worse than usual- it’s too tight, too constricting...Lina always calls you a baby for complaining about it, even if they do the same thing, all the time! It’s different with them, though...
I’m not a kid. I don’t know the right words sometimes, but I’m not a kid! But no one ever listens to me...
You stagger to your feet, trying to ignore how wrong it all felt. The weight wasn’t right, the shape didn’t fit, the feeling of a heartbeat reminding you just how much you don’t belong here in this skin.
Hunger gnaws at your stomach, and you just know that Harvey will be disappointed if you don’t eat. You don’t like it, you never do...maybe a little , but it’s one of those things. One of those things that got people calling you names.
Derry’s so gross, Derry’s fucked up in the head, Derry shouldn’t be allowed to do anything because it’s so, so wrong!
You sniffle and wipe your face, trying to shove the feelings of shame down.
You walk to the kitchen, all wobbly. There’s glass on the floor, and everyone would be so mad if you ended up cutting up your feet again. You didn't mind much at all, really. Cuts don’t hurt too bad. People yelling at you though, that was the worst.
I’m going to mess it up again, I’ll do it again and, everyone will be so mad...
As usual, the fridge’s contents were limited to raw meat, some of it looking really really rotten. You’ve eaten stuff like that plenty of times, but today you had other options. The last time you tried to cook it, you burned your hand...You pull out a chunk of someone’s arm and take a bite.
Thank you for letting me eat you. I’m sorry that it probably hurt a lot, but it’s over now! You don’t have to worry anymore. You’re kinda lucky-
You choke it down, wishing you had some water or something. It’s so much worse going down without it, but you don’t have much choice in the matter. A voice cuts through your inner monologue, high pitched and grating.
“Where’s my demon, where’s she hiding?”
You can hear her coming, only just barely able to pick out footsteps in your dissociative haze. It gets harder and harder to focus as she grows closer, and you know that eventually, all that’s left will be the dull feeling of getting what you deserve.
“Cheeeelsea, come on out...I’ve had a long, long day.”
Sometimes you forget that she’s talking to you, using a name that isn’t yours, touching a body that isn’t yours, causing pain that is yours, and no one else’s.
She looms over you, smile wide and twisted. You stare back up at her, feeling the emptiness wash over you, as usual, as always, as always usual.
Everything stays the same, with you.
Everything.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Just Jealous- 2019
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
CW: Abuse implications, denial of DID
In which Chelsea considers murdering a god.
You’re going to kill it. You’re absolutely, definitely, going to kill it.
Yeah? With what? You’ve tried offing Spit before and couldn’t pull off the job.
It’s different this time.
Oh, so you can’t put up a fight for us, but you can do it for some broad-
Don’t call them that.
They abandoned you. They abandoned us.
They’ll be back.
When? When the hell are they coming back? How long’s it been, Chelsea?
Stop it.
They fucking left you, and you’re STILL hung up on it, and guess what? They’re not coming back! Ever!
Stop it.
For all you know, they could be dead-
Shut up. Just, just shut up. You’ve had enough of this shit and you’re tired and you’re going to kill it, goddamnit.
What makes you think they even still want you anyway? You’re not their type. Nah, you’re lacking in the whole “strong and brooding intellectual” department. You’re a scraggly little bitch. That’s what you really are, and thanks to some assholes in here, our body’s fucked up to the point of nobody ever wanting us. How about that, Chelsea? You gonna kill somebody just because you think you have a chance? Because you think it’ll make them into you? Yeah, real hero you are. You just want to kill it because you’re fucking jealous.
That’s not true.
Then why now? We’ve been here for this long and you were fine and dandy with that creep’s shit until it went and fucked up a pretty dog that you got a crush on. You didn’t care. You looked the other way, every time, and you’re still doing it unless it’s got something to do with your unrequited sweetheart.
You’re a terrible goddamn person Chelsea, and it’d do you some good to actually admit it for once. You’d be the same thing for them. Fucking poison. We have dirty hands and you know it, but you still want to put them all over-
It’s not the same. You’re not the same as Rein.
So you’re the better choice? You? You’re Spit’s trophy wife at best, and Derry’s even better at that than you. You both make me sick.
You try not to hear him.
Listen to me.
No-
LISTEN TO ME
You don’t want to. You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear another word. He’s not real. He’s not real, he’s not real-
I’M REAL AND YOU KNOW IT
It’ll all go away, it’ll be fine, it’s...it’s fine.
Have it your way. Spend your life trying to ignore us, see how much good it does you. They’re not coming back for you either way.
...you know that.
Then stop hoping already. It’s just miserable to watch and I’m sick of it. Besides.
He hesitates.
...They wouldn’t want to be around if they knew more about us, us as in all of us, anyway. Not like this.
You never had a chance.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Just Right- 2019
Ringor Mortis, Vest Party, pre-Sleepwalker
CW: Abuse, implications of past abusive relationships
Leo and Ashton have an argument.
It’s late at night, the night air is clear, and your partner is polishing your jewelry. He’s talking, but you can’t tell what he’s saying over the sound of your own thoughts. Something about today’s mission, no doubt.
You can’t stand it.
“Ashton.”
“Yeah?"
“Please. Shut up.”
He almost puffs up in rage, biting his lip and exhaling hard. “I don’t have to take this shit.”
“Yeah? Name somewhere better you could be right now. Anywhere at all.”
He clams up, and you can’t help but smirk. “That’s what I thought. I’m the best you’re gonna get.”
“Hmph.” His tail lashes around as he crosses his arms and mutters something under his breath.
“You wanna say something to me, Ash?”
“Never mind .”
“No, no, I want to hear it.” You reach out and grab his tail right before the tip, squeezing hard enough to make him wince. “Go on. Say it.”
He snarls, avoiding eye contact. “...For all the shit you gave Flynt for getting emotional over his ex, you still get worked up over him.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I’m sick of it! You barely even look at me anymore! All you do is mope around and think about that pathetic, sniveling little bird.”
You grip his tail harder, Ashton still going off through the pain. “I want to kick his head right off for what he did to you, but you’ve got plenty of good right here-” He gestures to himself, running his hands down his torso. “-that won’t break your goddamn fingers, or cry in the middle of the night when you’re trying to sleep, or whine about life here in Monte not being good enough .”
You let go of Ashton’s tail, the other de’moneres letting out a gasp of relief. “Fine. Maybe you’re right.”
“And ANOTHER thing- wait, what?”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t be thinking about that piece of shit anymore. Doesn’t deserve the space in my skull.”
He grins, all misgivings forgotten at the smallest implication of being right about something. The man’s brain was a painfully simple, almost stupid thing, and it’s easy enough to get him to shut up by playing this game.
“You really mean it, Leo? Really?”
“Yeah. From now on, it’s all about you.”
You have to keep yourself from snarling at him as he pounces, tumbling onto the ground.
“I knew you’d be receptive, darling! Oh, you’re just wonderful-”
You start ignoring his praise all over again, nodding and giving the occasional obligatory “of course”. It didn’t take much to get him back on track, and as much as his incessant chatter bothered you, you liked how fast he snapped back from a fit. He was easy to deal with. Malleable. Able to take orders and get his hands dirty, whenever you asked- reveled in it, even. Oh, Ashton was just as twisted up as you were.
He was just right.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Buffet- 2019
B. Comorant + Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place in past
No content warnings
Chelsea and Bucket go on a little date. Request for @chemtrails!
"You've arrived... much earlier than I anticipated! I don't expect most to make it until a 15 minute buffer before or after the prompted time." Bucket Judgment, best dog, was slightly more overdressed than usual for what was to be dinner at the region's local seafood place.
"Well...I wanted to be here, I guess...though I don't get why we're doing this here." Chelsea tried not to look anxious, glancing around at all the people. "I thought you liked that stuffy mansion."
"Stuffy is an understatement, one that merits a need for outside air. I'm just glad to see you've joined me for this... are you familiar with the establishment we're about to dine in?"
"I don't ever get the chance to go out like this."
"Might be good for the two of us then, yes? Certainly at the very least we'll fulfill a craving for flesh of the ocean.... it's a self service place, a bit on the casually fancy end. I figure you do not mind minimal interaction with strangers."
"I'll be fine." She bristled as someone passed by her. "Just show me how to do this whole self service thing."
"Certainly!" They held out their hand. "I'll lead you... since this is likely rather new as a concept to you after all."
Chelsea hesitated for just a moment before reaching out to take it, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. Oh god they're holding my hand and I'm so gross and please god don't notice that I'm gross
They returned it with a genuine smile. "Spit is difficult so I'm sure any time away from her is valuable... but if I may be selfish I'd like you to spend your visit with me... and that just happens to involve a good meal here and there.""
"No, I...I want you- I mean, I want to have time with you. Here. In this restaurant."
"Then so it shall be! Follow close." The dog shuffled them both toward the front entrance where upon opening the door they were bombarded with the smell of grilled fish and dark hot drinks.
She kept a tight grip on their hand, careful not to bump into anyone.
"So first things first, grab yourself a tray! I suggest you only stack what you know you can eat now however, they don't care for those who pick up excessive food only to dump it... they will find you and fee you on it."
"Yeesh. Do they really have people watching for that?" She let go of their hand reluctantly, reaching for a tray and realizing how anxious she was over how balance was going to work out.
They dog took notice quickly and held out their hand. "Ah! I apologize for not considering your situation, pass that along. I'll carry if you assist in serving."
"You sure? I don't want to burden you, and I-I've made worse work." She avoided eye contact.
"I'm certain.... if you'd like we could also share a tray. There's more than enough space!"
"If you're sure..." She managed a smile.
"Mmhmm! Give me the tray, pick anything you'd like."
She passed the tray over, looking over the options. "Uh...Could you give me some recommendations? I haven't exactly had any seafood aside from, well. Leftover remnants."
"There's ocean remnants?"
"I'm surprised you haven't seen any, thought you were an expert on that kind of thing."
"You'd think so! But I'm merely a woodlander well versed at using a sharp stick on unusually toothy things. The ocean is a criminally unexplored domain on my regards. Go for the shellfish, they're quite chewy."
She reached over to put some on their tray, getting a bit of everything. "I'd say you're a bit more than well versed."
The dog kept a good grip as they went down the line. "Only the littlest bit..."
"You can give yourself more credit than that."
"I know I could but... I like to avoid flaunting too much even if it's true."
She couldn’t help but frown. "Does Rein tell you to do that?"
"Of course not! I simply wish to give the impression to others that they have a fighting chance to compete."
Her smile returned, more than a little relieved. "I see how it is. You're lulling them into a false sense of security."
"Mm! If you're truly strong, you only try to look strong enough. Weak foe will avoid trying to confront you and strong foe don't feel threatened enough to put you on their radar."
"Guess I just come off as someone to pick fights with."
"You come off strong!"
Chelsea gave them a look.
"Sincerely! Before we continue may I suggest we shuffle toward a table?"
"Yeah, sorry...don't want to hold up the line."
"You're fine!"
"That corner table alright?"
"Mmhmm. You have a preference for them I take?"
"I like my back against the wall...I mean, if that's stupid we can always pick somewhere else."
"No that's.., actually a pretty common reason for that seat believe it or not."
"Really? Guess that helps a bit..."
"Mmhmm! You'd be surprised how popular the corner table is. A solid pick!" Bucket placed the tray of food onto the table and slid into the chair.
Chelsea settled into her own seat, realizing she'd have to scoot a little closer to share the tray. "Is, is it alright if I move my chair? They're not going to yell at me, right?"
"Nobody would dare do so in front of me."
She moved her chair closer, bringing her fork with her. "So...you think I'm strong looking?"
"Mm! You certainly have that sense of feeling bigger than you look without the distinct brand of insecurity often tied to it... it's real!"
"I just feel small next to you."
"Do you really? Even when you can poke out an eye with a headbutt?"
"Bucket, you could pick me up and throw me across this restaurant."
"I can do that to anyone."
"Right, and that makes me feel small."
Their ears flopped down. "Is... that bad?"
"No, no, shit, just...I guess with you it's okay. It's good."
"Mm... you're alright coming here too yes? I'd like to get a good idea of what places you like and what you'd avoid for our days out together."
"I can manage this. Are you sure you want to do this, though? I mean...you're out with a pretty notorious demon right now. Back at the manor you don't have to deal with, well...your rep getting hurt. Because of me."
"My reputation is difficult to hurt and will always recover, and even if it weren't true it wouldn't matter."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I wouldn't be a hero to anyone if I wasn't. I wouldn't be here having a nice brunch with you without a fear in the world."
Chelsea busied herself with the food, trying to hide the fact that she was blushing.
The dog caught on and did the same, trying to cover up their satisfaction with her response to their cheesy speech.
She peeked over as discreetly as possible.
Bucket fumbled, trying to hide that they were watching her quietly.
Chelsea didn't catch on, keeping an eye on the dog as she ate, feeling the tiniest tinge of guilt as she couldn't help but notice all the little things that she liked.
They seemed nothing but comfortable eating here with her.
She wished more than anything to herself that she could say something. Anything, really.
They looked back up at them. "The food is good yes? I really do hope you're enjoying this even if it's a little odd for you."
"I am, honestly. More than I thought I'd like something like this, but...I guess it's because it's with you."
"That's good! Between you and me, I don't like going out on my own if I can avoid it."
"Really? You're so confident, though."
"One can be confident and still prefer time with friends and family. It wouldn't be nearly as good an evening if you hadn't come."
"Guess I'm not used to the idea of being considered anybody's friend, let alone family."
"We've known each other a good while now so... I'd do hope that you consider me one or the other."
"I mean- yeah, of course...just....get worried it isn't a mutual thing, you know? Us being friends." She took a bite of some fish, swallowing before continuing on. "Kind of stupid, I guess."
"Not at all! If I'm entirely honest... though I felt that we were it's quite assuring to hear it from you directly."
"Yeah?"
"Mmhmm! I think everyone is like that."
"I never would have guessed it from you, but I guess that's not really fair of me."
"I like to know that the people I want to be around also want me there I suppose. Especially since you knew me before my status reached a point that it'd create a bias when meeting people."
"I was real rough to you then..." She shook her head. "Resisted every single thing you tried to do to help me."
"You needed assistance... even if it was hard I couldn't sit and watch Spit mistreat you so much."
"I bit you!"
"I've been bit worse!"
"You had to clean off weeks worth of grime and everything...I was so embarassed, even before I knew your status."
"You're doing quite better now! I could hug you!"
"E-eh? Here? People will see and youll get stared at and-"
"I didn't mean right now but if you'd like I wouldn't mind."
She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut before reaching out.
They pulled her in for a big but gentle hug.
She tried not to think about everyone watching, or what people would think, or the fact that Bucket's fur was this soft, or that she wanted to fall asleep in their chest fluff, or-
"If it isn't too strange for you... I think I consider you my best friend."
Chelsea froze, completely unprepared for an emotional shock like that.
"I'm really glad you've stuck with me for so many years."
This had to be some kind of dream or something.
"... I'm sorry is it too much?"
Chelsea snapped out of it, shaking her head carefully, not wanting to hurt Bucket with her horns.
"Do tell me if you feel uncomfortable, I'll understand."
"No, I just..." She pulled away, trying to hide the fact that tears had welled up a bit. "Thank you."
"Thank you too."
She wanted to say so many things.
They took a moment to pause, waiting for a response.
She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. If she even got a glimpse of them at this point, she knew she'd do something stupid in front of everyone. "I'll...I'll do my best to be a good best friend."
"You already are."
She turned bright read and distracted herself with their tray, now completely clean. "G-Guess we were hungry."
"We certainly were. "
"I haven't eaten that well in a long time."
"We'll have to try to change that, at least whenever you're here."
"You don't have to go out of your way like this for me..."
"It's not going out of my way to spend time with you."
She let herself make eye contact, smiling. "In...in that case, do they charge for seconds?"
They smiled back. "I wouldn't mind either way."
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 11-20-2019
Sign Here- 2019
B. Comorant, Crankshaft Rafflesian, takes place before comic's events
No content warnings
Two robots meet over paperwork.
You rest in the bed of a local doctor's office. Staring down at you is a retro looking synthetic construct in uniform. You have probably made a mistake at some point in your life.
"Alexandra DeRambo?"
"Just call me Lex."
"I'm Dotty, here from the state dueling regulation guild."
"Ah."
She presses the flat of her pen against a stack of papers on clipboards and folders.
Dotty: I need a few confirmations on a few events you've participated in today, if that's alright?
Lex: Uh....
Dotty: Were you in a fight or a duel? I need direct verbal confirmation before I continue here since there was no registration for it.
Lex: Dude was getting fussy and I let him take shots twice before hitting back. It's self defense. Fight.
She scribbled down.
Dotty: Good good, noted. You know you can call self defense after the first shot though.
Lex: I like to make sure I have witnesses.
Dotty: You know what? Fair. Any use of outside arms?
Lex: Nope, guy had claws though.
Dotty: Did you cause any direct provocation?
Lex: None.
Dotty: Motive?
Lex: Uh... disagreement.
Even though she can't really emote much, you can feel her look.
Dotty: ...About?
Lex: You know TCP?
Dotty: I know of them.
Lex: Tiny Cat People.
Dotty: Yes, they're an invasive species.
Lex: So a friend of mine and I got our usual debate right? He thinks someone is making them, and I'm saying nobody can just be making that many.
She coughs to hide a rising cackle.
Lex: Some random jackass just slides in and starts going off about how cats have no feelings.
Dotty: Big cats or tiny cats?
Lex: Does it matter?
Dotty: First one is high really key offensive, second one gets you blacklisted by 40% of gods.
Lex: ...I feel like there's some weird priorities here.
Dotty: There's entire city states that haven't seen a regular cat, it's a region by region case like oranges in a bathtub laws. Sign and initial here to prove that we talked about this.
You do so.
Lex: Huh... am I going to be alright?
Dotty: Well, you bled quite a bit and your arm needed a couple of stitches. It's mostly superficial though. Nurse will probably tell you to take it easy I'm sure.
Lex: He knows I won't.
Dotty: Ah, you're a repeat visitor.
Lex: Yep. Guessing I'm in trouble though..
Dotty: Probably not. You got roughed up a lot worse, you didn't break dueling law, and you didn't break regional law so at this point all you need to worry about is your campus. I'm sure they'll understand though.
She fusses to organize her folders of paperwork for a moment.
Lex: Yeah....
Dotty: You know you have a lot of registered duels in your docs, I was checking earlier for reference. You don't do this for a living do you?
Lex: Nope.
Dotty: Then you're a hobbyist.
Lex: You can say that.
Dotty: I can admire that. I used to do that sort of thing back in the day I think.
Lex: You think?
Dotty: I'm pretty sure anyway. Head kinda just.
She made a gesture with her hands.
Lex: Bad memory?
Dotty: Gone memory. Rebooted, like reincarnating as yourself and not remembering your past life.
Lex: How long ago?
Dotty: Uh... not too long ago? Had to relearn a lot of stuff. Doesn't bother me all that much though.
Lex: Shoot.. what did it?
Dotty: You know what? I don't know but apparently I've just been in a tar pit for years and years this whole time and they had to go and clean me out and put my AI in cycling for a couple of decades and all.
Lex: Ah...
Dotty: Normally you just retire someone after that but I guess I used to be someone special so I got a second chance.
Lex: You know, I'm kind of surprised you're so open. Like... I'd shut down hard if I was under that kind of pressure. How long you've been reactivated?
She pressed her pen flat against the mass of papers as she took a moment to do the math in her head.
Dotty: Uh.... 17 years of AI cycling and a year and 4 years installed.
Lex: So you're 21?
Dotty: I mean yes and no? My frame is apparently some hundred year old lost tech stuff that just doesn't exist anymore.
Lex: Wild. 121.
Dotty: God please don't make me think about that.
Lex: You know you could probably be 420 one day.
Dotty: Nooooo thank you. Don't think I'll hold up another 300 years in tar.
Lex: 300 minus 1. That penny could save lives you know?
Dotty: Pennies are tip jar change.
Lex: People need those.
Dotty: People don't need to be 420.
Lex: I do.
Dotty: You really don't! God, now you've caught me rambling in uniform.
Her voice was significantly more relaxed.
Lex: I won't tell on you, I'm having fun honestly.
Dotty: Off the record? Same. I haven't talked to anybody proper outside of work in a good while. I guess technically I'm still working but...
Lex: If you're up for it, we can do more of this. I'm usually good for stuff during the evening.
Dotty: Mm.If you name a spot I'll meet you after shift around 7-ish.
Lex: Toasty Bernie's by the boardwalk?
Dotty: The sandwich place?
Lex: Yeah, that too far?
Dotty: Nope. As long as you're good for it.
Lex: Yeah, course I am.
Dotty: Well then uh... I guess for now I'll just poke at the doctor to say I'm done here. Hopefully they'll let you out soon.
Lex: You'll show?
Dotty: Mm. I'll see you in a few hours.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - knux400 - 11-20-2019
Beta Testing- 2019
knux400, TCP Gauntlet, takes place before events of RP
Content warnings: TCP Gore, Violence
Bandage meets with Dropdead? to test a potential Gauntlet enemy. Hilarity ensues.
![[Image: 3xgaSWvAM3o8k51gisW7Rpvn5sbdq92nYzxQh6Px...8pn6_Q82gE]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/3xgaSWvAM3o8k51gisW7Rpvn5sbdq92nYzxQh6PxmnGscsZnsUtDNMkC17qz1NPepl_KYICKYeg9A42bEk2-X0kkfM9ZAvlFYOeOqpgyfREUUte8AaC0VuEd692paP8pn6_Q82gE)
“Ad said you tested deathtraps. Wouldn’t be much of a deathtrap without poison on it, would it?” The TCP let out a heavy sigh- or at least a long sort of ‘bbbbb’ sound that was meant as a sigh.
“I’m not immortal, alright? You lop off a limb and I can stick it back on and have it function again within a day or two, and even if I can’t get the limb back I can regrow it in a few weeks. But chemicals- like poison- are different. I would regenerate too slowly to overcome whatever effect it might have, and then I would be dead just like anyone else. Now do you have anything non-chemical-based to throw at me, or are you going to continue to waste both of our time?”
Bandage walked down the busy street, carrying its satchel over its right shoulder, its left arm still flopping uselessly at its side. It had one more consultation to get through, and then it could take a couple days off until its next test began. It gently poked at the bandages on its left shoulder. Good, it thought. Feels like it’s already connected. I’ll probably start to get feeling back in it in a few hours, and I might even be able to move it around sooner than that if I get lucky. It turned into a small alley, where a thin, shaggy beatfox in a casual coat and jeans was waiting. She bent down, scooping the TCP into her shirt pocket.
“Where to next?” asked Bandage as she began walking.
“Got a client called Dropdead, wants you to test out some sort of crystal hound thing.”
“Live animals, huh? Don’t get that one too often.” Bandage rubbed its cheek, gently sliding its hand over the small band-aid it wore on its face. Unlike all the other bandages it wore on its body, this one wasn’t covering up a wound of any kind- Bandage wore it both as a fashion accessory and as a small comfort item- the smooth plastic surface felt good to touch, unlike the rough fabric strips holding various parts of its body together. Bandage often opted for the cheaper bandages, since it went through so many rolls in its line of work- the disadvantage being rough, itchy fabric that occasionally failed to hold limbs on. The beatfox noticed Bandage’s silence.
“You nervous?”
“Little bit. Why do you ask?”
“You always rub your face when you’re nervous.”
“Wow, you’re absolutely right, Selvage! Meeting with someone named Dropdead to talk about going to get mauled by one of their crazy mutant dogs is a completely normal thing that no one should ever be having second thoughts over.” Bandage sighed.
“...Sorry. Yeah, I’m a little on edge. It’s probably not helping that the last guy tried to poison me.”
“Poison you?” Selvage stopped and looked down at her shirt pocket.
“Yeah. He wanted me to test some kind of guillotine thing. Mentioned something offhand about the poison he’d put on the tips, and I stopped him right there. Apparently we need to make the words ‘NO CHEMICAL-BASED WEAPONS’ big and bold in the ad.”
“They’re already big and bold.”
“Bigger and bolder, then.” Bandage shrugged. Selvage continued walking down the street as they both fell silent once again. Before long, the two of them arrived at a small office building. Double-checking the address, she walked inside a small lobby area. Several chairs lined the room in a haphazard fashion, occupied by a wide variety of different OBJ, beatfoxes, karacels, de’moneres, and even a few Selvage couldn’t immediately identify. An elevator sat in the corner of the room, and beside it a directory.
“Looks like Dropdead’s office is on the third floor. Should I wait in here?” Selvage asked. She wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of standing in another random alleyway for a half hour.
“Yeah, sure.” Bandage replied absent-mindedly.
“Alright, up you go, then.” Selvage stepped into the elevator, lowering Bandage down to the floor. She hit the ‘3’ button and stepped out into the lobby again, the elevator doors closing behind her.
Bandage gently rubbed its cheek as the elevator slowly rose, rattling and squeaking as it went. There was a soft ‘ding’, and the doors opened, revealing a hallway with a series of doors, each with a person’s name and the name of their business on it. Bandage walked past three different doors- a greater distance than it seemed given its stature. Eventually, it reached a door with the words ‘DROPDEAD- GAME SHOW HOST’ printed on it. Below it was a small handwritten note reading ‘CURRENT PROJECT- GAUNTLET’. As Bandage raised its fist to pound on the door, it noticed a small button mounted on the wall at a convenient height for a TCP. It didn’t look like part of the building- it was being held in place with some nails, and had a wire snaking up the wall and through the door. Bandage pressed it curiously. A buzzer could be heard from within the room, followed shortly by a small whirring sound as the door opened on its own. As Bandage stepped into the room, it glanced at the wall- sure enough, there was what looked like some kind of hastily built contraption for pulling the door open remotely. It looked up at the wire- it led to a small speaker on the other side of the door. A chilling voice came from within the room, snapping Bandage back to attention.
“You must be the product tester. Come in.” Bandage turned to the desk in the center of the room. From the angle it was at, it couldn’t see who or what was sitting behind it. A set of wooden steps led up to the top of the desk. As Bandage cleared the last few steps, it was greeted by a small TCP-sized chair, and directly across from it an imposing figure. Its face resembled that of a beatfox, but as if someone had removed all of the skin from the forehead down. Its eyes were curved slits dripping some kind of fluid, and its teeth were locked in a permanent grimace. It was wearing a formal suit and tie, and sitting patiently with its arms crossed. Bandage sat down in the small chair, face-to-face with the figure.
“You must be Dropdead.” The figure hesitated slightly, almost as if surprised. It quickly regained its composure and replied.
“...That’s me. And you are?”
“Bandage.” After a short pause, it continued. “You wanted me to test out some kind of dog?”
“Yes.” Dropdead replied, grinning. “We’re developing a crystal hound for use in a game show we’re working on. It hasn’t been tested on a… living subject yet.”
“So you need me to get beat up by it?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Alright, well firstly I’ll need to know a time and place to show up at, and I’m going to ask that you have-”
“A time and place?”
“Yeah, a time and a place. And you need to have payment ready when I get there. Now for something like a hound, my going rate would start at-” Bandage was abruptly cut off by a large stack of cash being slammed onto the table.
“I’d like you to begin immediately.”
“Wh-” Bandage stuttered, staring at the stack of cash. It looked fresh from a bank, the $100 bills neatly stacked and held in place by a small paper band. Judging by the size of it, it had to be worth at least a thousand. It stared up at Dropdead, whose smile had faded.
“...Seriously?”
“Something wrong?” Dropdead began to lean in closer, an expression of mock sympathy on his face.
“Listen, I can’t right now.” Bandage managed. “I can only regenerate so quickly, and right now my arm’s-”
“This is over triple your advertised rate.” Dropdead leaned over the table, cutting Bandage off. He loomed over Bandage as it pushed its chair back slightly.
“If I were you, I’d be thanking me for my generosity,” he growled. “I’d imagine money is quite difficult to come by in your line of work.” Bandage would’ve gulped if it had a mouth or a throat. It had been in a bit of a dry patch recently, especially with the previous job falling through.
“It… wouldn’t be good if you tested this thing on someone who’s already beat up, right? It’s better for you to wait.” Dropdead leaned in closer in response, his cold breath hissing over Bandage.
“I can either pay you the money…” Dropdead raised the stack of bills over his head. “Or I could just let you have it.” Bandage was on its back now, its chair fallen over in a feeble attempt to scoot backwards. It could probably survive those bills being slammed down on it, but it would take weeks to regenerate from a blow like that, maybe even months- and in the meantime, it would be completely helpless on Dropdead’s desk.
“I’ll ask one more time. Yes… or… no?”
“...Fine.” Dropdead immediately sat back down in his chair, suddenly as cheerful as could be.
“Wonderful! If you’ll stand back a bit, I’ll just introduce you to your new playmate.” He plucked the fallen chair off the desk, shoved the money aside, and reached down to retrieve a large metal box. As Dropdead slammed the box down in front of him with a heavy thud, Bandage could see the box took up nearly the whole desk. Only a tiny bit of wood was peeking out on either side, and as Dropdead shoved the box further onto the desk, Bandage was backed up to near where the staircase was. The box was about 10 inches tall, nearly as wide as the entire desk, and it looked fairly long, too, given how much Dropdead had to push it. Bandage could hear something moving inside, but before it could speculate as to the exact nature of whatever was in there, Dropdead suddenly plucked Bandage up off the table by the head, lifting it up over the top of the box. As Bandage rose into the air, it could see that the top of the box was lined with some sort of clear plastic. At one end was exactly what was described- it was a small canine beast, with rocky skin and glowing crystals jutting out of its back. It looked up at Bandage through the glass and growled, baring its crystalline teeth. Luckily, it was held in place by what looked like a small chain connected to the wall of the box. From where Bandage was, it could see that the chain had a sort of pull tab on the outside of the box- likely so that Dropdead could release it whenever he wanted. Dropdead opened a small hatch on the top of the box and dropped Bandage into the room, closing the hatch behind it.
Bandage landed with a soft whump, quickly scrambling to its feet. The crystal hound was at the end of its chain, snapping and biting at Bandage from the opposite end of the “room”. Bandage only had a moment to regard its opponent before Dropdead’s voice rang out in a singsong fashion.
“Have fun~” With a small click, the chain came loose from the wall, and the hound began charging at Bandage full speed. Bandage braced itself, then leaped right at the last second, turning itself in midair and swinging its right fist. A solid blow landed on the back of the hound’s head, and it skidded to a halt, bumping gently into the back wall. Bandage glanced at its hand. It had been bruised from punching the hound’s rocky skin, and the hound seemed to shrug the blow off in seconds. Before Bandage could react, the hound lunged again, headbutting Bandage a few inches back and sending it tumbling to the ground. Before Bandage could stand up, the hound was there, biting into Bandage’s midsection and lifting it off the ground like a chew toy. Bandage steadied himself, placing its left hand on the hound’s muzzle before punching it in the face with all its might. As the hound’s eye closed in response, Bandage got the sinking feeling it was doing more damage to its own hand than to the hound. The hound’s eye snapped open again, staring directly into Bandage’s face. After a split second of eye contact, the hound began violently shaking its head side to side, and Bandage with it. Bandage could feel the hound’s teeth digging further into its torso, could see its arms flailing uselessly above its head, and worst of all, could hear Dropdead’s voice calling to it from behind the glass.
“You’re doing great, kid, keep it up!” As Bandage flailed to either side, it instinctively tried to grab on to something- anything- and to its surprise, it felt its left hand close around something. It was hard to say what exactly- feeling was still fuzzy in the left arm- but it was good enough. Blindly, Bandage fumbled with its right hand, and found another handhold nearby. Looking up, it realized it had grabbed onto two of the crystals protruding from the hound’s back. They were surprisingly thin- Bandage’s whole hand fit comfortably around it. Evidently whoever engineered this thing was going for quantity over quality when it came to impaling people. Or maybe it was just supposed to be armor. Either way, Bandage’s thoughts were interrupted by the hound tugging its head to the opposite side, pulling Bandage away- although it kept its grip. The pointed sides of the crystals dug into Bandage’s hands as it began to feel a sharp pain coming from its left shoulder. The hound reared back and tugged again, and Bandage heard the distinct sound of tearing fabric. As the hound reared back a second time, Bandage barely had time to utter a particularly choice word before the hound tore the arm clean off. It went flying across the room, landing with a gentle splat in the middle of the floor. Now Bandage only had its right hand to keep it from being shaken back and forth like a chew toy. The hound tugged again and again, and Bandage began to brace itself for the ‘armless’ puns Dropdead would surely be throwing its way momentarily- but something else gave first. A sharp crack could be heard as Bandage was swung to the side- still holding the crystal. Both were stunned by this for a moment, but Bandage was faster. It lifted its head up and plunged the crystal straight into the hound’s eye. It made a horrible sort of muffled scream, biting down even harder in response. Bandage could barely think at this point- all it could do was punch the crystal again and again, jamming it deeper into the hound’s head. Eventually, the hound collapsed to the floor, its jaw still locked tight around Bandage.
Bandage lay bleeding in the closed jaw of the hound, and neither moved for a few tense moments. Eventually, Bandage feebly tried to pry the hound’s locked jaw off of its torso, but to no avail. It lay its head down on the ground, staring up at Dropdead, who was furiously scribbling down notes.
“Hey.”
“Just a second.” After some more note-taking, Dropdead reached down through the hatch and pried open the jaws of the crystal hound.
“Nice work. I was expecting to have to bring you back in a plastic baggie.”
Bandage slowly wrenched itself free from the crystal teeth impaling its torso, and began patching itself up- a slow, agonizing process with one arm. Dropdead, completely unfazed by the grisly display he’d just witnessed, continued.
“That was good, breaking a crystal off its back. It almost looked like you meant to do that.” Bandage remained silent, focusing on patching itself up.
“Oh, don’t feel bad, kid. Honestly, flailing around helplessly was a perfectly reasonable response.” After a few long minutes, Bandage’s arm was back in its proper place, and most of its torso was covered in a thick layer of bandages. Already, the dark blue fluid was beginning to seep through it. Bandage looked up at Dropdead, who simply lifted it back out of the box with a clawed hand and set the stack of cash next to it.
“Thanks for your services, kid. Have a good one!” Dropdead called out mockingly. Bandage leaned heavily on the bundle of cash and began slowly pushing it down the stairs and out the door.
“Selvage.” Bandage had collapsed just in front of the elevator, back in the lobby area. The bandages covering its body were now soaked and dripping, and had left a trail going back into the elevator.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?!” Selvage exclaimed, scooping up Bandage and the money. As she began wrapping Bandage up in a napkin in a desperate attempt to contain all the fluid, Bandage spoke in a soft, ragged voice.
“We are never taking a job from Dropdead... ever... again.”
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - A_Mi_Manera - 11-25-2019
Vacation - 2019
B. Comorant Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit, takes place between Punch Clock Animal /Crankshaft Rafflesian and Masa con Papas
No content warnings
Charon meets up with his cousin to take some time off in Plaza
![[Image: vacation.png]](http://homebrewdeviants.com/static/story/oneshots/vacation.png)
You sit down firmly on a leather seat in the lobby for the ferry you just stepped off of moments ago. You've had a long trip filled with road bumps and nausea from sailing across the rocking sea. You feel a little better though at the sight of family you haven't seen in awhile heading your way.
"Geezer."
"Charon! Yo, you finally made it! I didn't think you'd make it before dark, what took so long?"
"Four hours of delays apparently, I can't ever suggest you travel by boat."
"Take it you're ready to head to the house then."
"Mm. The sooner the better, I take it the car is right outside.
"Yeah about, had trouble finding parking close so it might be a bit of a walk and...."
Your cousin Geezer leans his eye toward your cane.
Geezer: Shoot, what happened there? You okay?
Charon: Nothing new.
Geezer: I thought you didn't need that anymore?
Charon: Normally I don't but between the motion sickness and the winding nature of place I may have to make an exception today. I may... need to ask for help from time to time during my stay.
Geezer: 'Course, you know there's no point in playing this tough so far from home right?
Charon: ...I suppose that's true. Covering up my difficulties has been difficult with the reputation our line has back in Taverne. Particularly after the dog from solitude's run put all of us back in the proper spotlight.
Geezer: I thought they went missing a long time ago? People still talking?
Charon: People compare, and people say they keep showing up whenever Spit is in Solitude. Perhaps a ghost?
He shrugs.
Geezer: Maybe... but I don't wanna think about business yet you know? We're talking the week off to eat junk food and yell at tourists for wearing socks with sandals on the beach.
Charon: Certainly fair. I don't want to think about work much either if I'm honest, and I admit I derailed things just the slightest. To the car?
Geezer: Yeah uh, bit of a walk. Two blocks at least. Streets are crowded as hell right now so. ..
Charon: Ah... is it always like this?
Geezer: This is kind of a popular vacation spot so a bit? You're lucky you got folks like me to hook you up.
Charon: I certainly appreciate it. Give me a few minutes.
You lean back into your chair.
Geezer: Yeah no take your time, it's all a uphill walk from here.
Charon: You should rest too.
Geezer: I'm good.
Charon: No you're not, I see those slopes outside.
Geezer: I live here, you get perfectly used to them.
Charon: Hmm. Don't tell me not to play tough and then do the same thing. You're wearing heels.
Geezer: Hey, with a little conditioning it's-
Charon: I can tell from experience you're full of shit right now. Look me right in the eye.
He hesitates. He's not very convincing.
Charon: Yeah I thought so. It's a noble effort but you can afford to rest a bit too.
You tap your cane against a nearby seat.
Geezer: I mean I guess I could too but... Once we're back they'll be plenty of time to sit anyway. Besides, I'm not taking off these bad boys in this line of work.
Charon: And why's that?"
Geezer: 'Cause employers like tall knights and I'll take any inch I can.
Charon: Personally I'd kill for an extra three or four but I don't have the stamina to walk like that all day.
Geezer: I'm gonna pocket that as a win over you.
You grumble.
Charon: You're still holding me to our old tally?
Geezer: Absolutely. Til the day you die.
Charon: I'm going to find a very tiny lead and then drop you into a pit.
Geezer: But not today.
Charon: No, because I .....may need your assistance getting up. Please.
Geezer: Heh, sure. No worries.
He grabs your arm to help you pull yourself up.
Charon: Appreciated. I'll be better about this by tomorrow morning hopefully, but for now I will require a shoulder here and there.
Geezer: Don't sweat it if you're still tired. You mind if I stop somewhere to grab a bite? I don't got too much at home right now.
Charon: Certainly, I'll cover my part if you pick up something for me too.
Geezer: Eh... tonight I've got things covered. You gotta do breakfast though.
Charon: Fair enough. Allow me to grab my luggage and....
Geezer: Okay look, for real I got this alright? Take it easy.
Charon: Mm. And I'll return the favor by covering breakfast.
Geezer: You sure fucking will.
Your wallet hurt the morning after thanks to some very large pancakes.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - A_Mi_Manera - 12-02-2019
A Normal Therapy Session for Robots: A Crankshaft Rafflesian Story
You're Dotty. You've been spending the last few days with your mind uploaded into the server after your body had a critical failure and rejected you. While the folks in charge of your life sort things out, you've been granted some time with a shrink of sorts. They seem nice. They visit a couple of times a day, they seem to genuinely want to help. They even let you swear sometimes, but you're holding back to avoid being rude. You limit yourself to a single f-bomb per session.
You honestly don't mind the digital space too much even if at the end of the day you're just floating in a bunch of tall black boxes and things technically aren't the greatest right now. It's like being sick maybe, but you'd probably get yelled at if you somehow managed to catch the flu. You'd even say you're downright more comfortable here if only because there's less issues with the faulty old tech that's countless renovations away from being where you need to be.
![[Image: therapy1.png]](http://homebrewdeviants.com/static/story/oneshots/therapy1.png)
Dotty: Some days I'm doing good and some days I'm just crashing on a regular basis you know?
Papaya: You know what sets it off?
Dotty: No but... there's usually a disconnect. A disconnect from my brain and everything else. From me, from the shell I'm stuck with, from the world and people. And.... part of it's just stuck there.
Papaya: Might be the age of the rig, retrofitting on a piece like that's pretty hard you know? Serious talk, the fact that they were able to recover as much as they could is a miracle in its own right. Most folks don't get that chance.
Dotty: ...Can I say something bad? Off the record?
Papaya: Yeah, go for it.
Dotty: That felt like a mistake... I know I should probably be grateful but...the person they're hoping they can recover doesn't feel like me. Maybe it was, but I don't know anymore. You know technically I don't even own my body legally? If something goes wrong they want me to pay for a fix right away but... it's such a old shell you know? It doesn't always feel right, like a jumbo sized costume I'll never grow into.
They pause in thought for a moment as if picking Their next words as careful as they can until Epiphany settles. He grimaces.
Papaya: Want me to be real? Existential level real. This might be upsetting.
Dotty: Please. No sugar coating, there's a room full of nerds who do that daily.
Papaya: Restoration's kind of a new art. I don't know all the details on how the lab goes and does it but.. from what I know you were awful corrupted when they found you. Nothing more than a fumbling mess who couldn't make a real sentence to save your life.
Dotty: You weren't ... around for that were you? I remember that more than I want to and I really don't like knowing people saw me like that.
Papaya: Nope, I had to read some of your docs before doing this. Don't work in this office, heck I'll be honest with you. I'm only here because I've done and goofed myself.
Dotty: You had an accident?
Papaya: Just a little. Shell got wrecked by a cab. I'll shake it off but... back to important things.
You can't help but side-eye the fact that they brought it up but don't really seem to want to elaborate on it.
Papaya: Restoration's kind of new ground. They had to take shortcuts somewhere since putting you back together with how little there was to work with isn't feasible. Honestly I don't know if full restoration is possible, we had to spaghetti code you from some donors so... that could explain some of the dissonance. Made of bits and pieces copied from the closest thing they had.
Dotty: I mean... I don't mind it too much. I barely remember jack of anything. Nobody to miss, nobody to think about owing money, no grave sites to look up.
Papaya: That's kind of a grim mess though, right?
Dotty: Maybe, but it's all true. I don't want to be someone I don't remember, I want to be me and as far as I'm concerned nothing back then counts really. I just wish I could feel that a bit more, feel like I'm not recycled. Don't like sitting in a lab, don't like not knowing when they'll say I can be let out.
Papaya: Yeah well... I don't do this too often but I know a lot of folks with assets. You got cred up top you know. Massive cred. Worked close to a few big people. Friends of gods, a history of knighthood and dueling. You'd have to talk to some folks who you probably won't recall but... it's something. You need out of this place anyway, too young to be locked down like that.
Dotty: You think they'd go for it?
![[Image: therapy2.png]](http://homebrewdeviants.com/static/story/oneshots/therapy2.png)
Papaya: I'd have to be awful convincing but it's nothing a little prep won't help with. You gonna be okay with that though? Handing out with some century old bums who might need someone to be muscle at parties?
Dotty: Please, I can't do any of this anymore. I want out so fucking bad you have no idea.
Papaya: Consider it done. Might take awhile but.... I'll make it happen as soon as I can.
Dotty: Hey uh, one more request? Might be a tad big.
Papaya: The worst I can say is no so lay it on me.
Dotty: You don't mind visiting a bit here and there until I'm out right? I need people to talk to...
Papaya: I'll stop by when I can, I gotta come every once in awhile anyway so easy.
Dotty: Thanks... like thanks a ton, Don't think I could ever do enough of that.
Papaya: Hey, no worries. I can stick around just a bit longer so if you want to talk a bit more about stuff I'm game.
Dotty: Honestly? I just want to soak it all in for a bit. You don't mind right?
Papaya: Course not. Just stay strong for now.
Dotty: I will.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - A_Mi_Manera - 12-05-2019
![[Image: unwanted1.png]](http://homebrewdeviants.com/static/story/oneshots/unwanted1.png)
A Unwanted Invitation: A Bucket Solo Venture
You're sitting in the second row of a isle next to a group of hands at the temple, a place of worship toward Rein and it's ideas but also a common setting for a wedding in the region. Rein volunteered you in response to a rather wealthy associate requesting a knight at their special day. Normally you don't like selling yourself toward such for strangers but you're assured there will be many acts of charity from them should it go well. Chelsea happens to be over at the same time, the standard for a meeting between gods. You were told that it'd be a easy thing but it seems like a shortage of staff has forced you to stay longer...
"You're going to be okay helping catering get their stuff all good after yeah? I know it's a ton right now but they're short on hands right now and..."
"I assure you it'll be fine. If the wedding goes smooth they'll be tuckered by midnight."
"Oh? You got somewhere to be?"
"No... not in particularly but less troubles do prompt themselves should the majority be ready to retire prior to the witching hours."
The volunteer raises a brow for a moment.
"You couldn't deal with that yourself? You're a knight, right?"
"The witching hour is not about literal witches, I do not fear that I lack the mettle to fell the witch by any means. People tend to have unusual occurrences though so late and as such.. I suppose it's a safety concern really! You may disregard such superstitions however."
You just lied through your teeth, you just want to get out of here as soon as possible. The snake that holds your paycheck and your living situation with a grip has volunteered you for this regardless of whether you had plans or not and now you have to bare and grin despite the fact that you'd rather spend time with Chelsea. Granted, she does come here more frequent as of late but.... it's not enough you suppose. A few days of respite whenever Rein has business with Spit go by very fast. In technical terms, the gaps between them aren't the worst when you consider the larger picture. Hundreds of years ahead of both of you in theory should make the wait a fraction of that for anyone else. Yet no matter how you try to justify this as a normal part of living, a occupational limit you've signed for, it shouldn't be the case to begin with. Those aren't selfish thoughts, yes? Maybe they are.
"Hey, dog uh..."
"Judgment. You may refer to me as such."
"Right, so they're about to wrap things up not too long from now, mind keeping your head up a bit? They're going to want you to march out ahead of them. Want a proper knight to escort them and all."
"Of course!"
"Between you and me, not too big on how they're treating this like it's the royal wedding and all."
"Do they still have those?"
"Off continent maybe, kind of arrogant yeah?"
"It's not my business to tell others how to handle such affairs but... off record?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"It's somewhat snide to make an matter of such personal nature so loud and large and public. Inheriting such fortune and flaunting it in almost a voyeuristic way.. I couldn't imagine it being anything other than intensive in stress and a float and pat of the ego."
"Fancy way to say things."
"I call it as I do but... I suppose I am not the one getting married today yes?"
"Yeah, well... aren't you close with Rein? I mean I know it's all speculation but..."
"I cannot comment."
"Heh, sure."
You try to ignore that. You focus your attention back onto the couple and notice an error.
" Is there no bouquet?"
"There should be? Aww shoot did people forget to set that up? That's.... well nobody noticed maybe. We're short on folks."
"I did. Surely someone else did too."
You get up.
"Where are you going?! You're going to get in trouble!"
You shuffle your way into the other room discretely and shuffle about, surely enough there were a row's worth of these nests of freshly cut flowers.
You slide back in. Wait for a moment of pause, waiting not to come in right as the vows happen. The couple looks toward you as you approach.
You keep every moment of poise you can in this, not a single visible sign of the nerves that scatter in the wires of your brain. The entire room is silent. The bride and groom try their best not to scream. Any mistake is a incident, a crashed wedding.
You get on one knee and bow, all eyes on you. The Bride reaches down for the bouquet. You wait until she has her grip nice and firm on the wrappings at its base. You lighten your hold as it gains lift. In that flash you vanish in a flame, a skill of yours which you try not to flaunt too often but certainly makes for a saving roll here. You scurry outside while they're distracted.
You admittedly stole the show more than you'd like to have. You can hear rows of clapping from outside the temple, just a little louder than the golf claps of expectation. Nobody wants to be rude and make their applause louder than that of the newly weds after all.
You sit on the stairs just outside, creeping out of view the slightest from the entrance. You'll find praise and scolding after this, and you're admittedly not up to that sort of mood whiplash. You didn't want to be here at all though, you wanted to be back home. Back spending time with Chelsea, you don't get enough of it after all. You wonder how much she notices that, she always seems to be nervous at the idea. You try to give her space, you don't want to make this difficult at all for her... you wonder though of what will eventually come. This likely won't be your last time at the temple, and odds are you'll be exchanging vows yourself though... certainly not with your first choice.
You don't mind but....
I mean you should! Most of the time you do but whenever it's in the room something makes you drop your guard even if you feel frustrated toward it after...
Would it be mad knowing you care more about someone else? That you'd rather be with someone else? When you signed up after all you never intended any of this to happen. You didn't think it would make advances, or bring up the idea of a wedding, or seem interested in such at all. It doesn't resonate emotionally the same way at all though for you and while you'd never say this to its face, you find it as attractive as a tea kettle covered in bandages. You should decline it proper really.. but every time you walk up there's a sensation of guilt. What if you hurt its feelings? What if it genuinely always wanted this? What if it really does care?
It's like you lose any will to outright reject anything it says. You don't feel like yourself when that happens. Perhaps that's attraction but... that certainly never lines up with the way things are with Chelsea. Is it influencing through unusual means? Certainly it wouldn't.... you pray so.
You hope this wedding is over soon. You almost wish it was a funeral, because nobody would blame you for not wanting to be there.
You want to go home.
RE: [SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots - skinstealer - 12-15-2019
Fledgling - 2019
Ringor Mortis, Punch Clock Animal/General Morbit
No content warnings
Wax and Wane have an argument over their newest god.
Your head is pounding, and you can tell they’re avoiding eye contact. You maintain your glare, crossing your arms as your partner squirms.
“Wane.”
They say nothing, humming quietly under their breath.
“Ignoring me isn’t going to help your argument. Quit acting like a child.”
They finally look at you, their eyes angry. “That’s a hell of a thing to say when you’re the one being so heartless.”
“I’m being practical, Wane! You- we, can’t do this. You can’t keep it.”
“Don’t call her that.” Their voice has an edge to it now, a growl sneaking in.
“You cannot be serious right now.” You massage your temple, trying to process what could even bring them to such a stupid, dangerous idea. “No. Absolutely not. We are not keeping a horror.”
“She’s completely inert!”
“And how can you be so sure? Do you know how disastrous it would be if a whole population mutated, just because of our careless negligence?”
They pale slightly, and turn away once more. A small pit of dread forms in your stomach that you can’t entirely pin down, the feeling of something wrong quickly replaced with surprise as they take a step towards you, posturing.
“I would never do such a thing, and how dare you even imply it- I love our people! And despite what you think, horrors are just as much our people as any of the other gods.”
“They aren’t even fully formed-”
“They’re children, Wax! Just children that we left to rot in the ground, giving up on them just because they’re unable to control their powers!”
“That’s oversimplifying things and you know it.”
“No, no it isn’t! We made them, we created them, the very first things we created with our own hands!”
“Mortals cannot exist alongside of them safely.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“How- Wane, are you kidding me? We have piles upon piles of evidence towards it, we’ve seen entire populations fall, no, civilizations fall because of horrors! The sheer destruction they cause is something we cannot risk letting loose, let alone endorsing. Do you really think people won’t notice the similarities between it- her, and horrors?”
“She isn’t the first god to resemble one, there’s Anne from Luxson-”
“That isn’t the same.”
“Why not? She looks just like one, but she’s safe and beloved. No one protests her existence, or insists she has to be put back underground.”
“And you honestly think you can get this horror to that sort of status?”
“Not alone. Not without your help.”
“Wane…”
“We’re in this together, Wax, we always have been. You know that.”
Even if you had a reply to that, they barrel on before you can get it out.
“I want to raise her as a greater god, more than anything. If we can prove that horrors can be stabilized, that we can return them to their intended states without any radiation, we could do amazing things for our planet...and for the horrors themselves. They deserve so much better than to be crammed into the ground like they are now, and always have.”
You sigh, pressing your head into your hand.
“Please. Please, Wax.”
“Fine. Fine, we’ll raise her as a god. But you can’t let her go alone- I’ll create a contrasting god just like we did for Rein and Spit, they’ll operate as a pair, and she’ll be watched over carefully. We aren’t letting her on her own until we know for sure that she’s safe, both for herself and others.”
“Deal!”
Their face lights up, all signs of frustration gone. It’s almost like the argument never happened, a complete thing of the past. You can’t help but hate that feeling, but you’re used to it- they just don’t hold grudges like you’re prone to, and as soon as they get their way, everything’s fine again.
“In the meantime, I suppose we can have Spit and Rein show her the ropes…”
“Oh, Spit’ll love that! She’s always wanted a new sibling, said so herself to me the other day.”
They clasp their hands together, a wide grin spread across their face.
“This is going to be perfect, Wax! You won’t regret this, not one bit!”
You’ll have to see about that.