[COUCH SURFING] Incandescence's Workshop

[King-Clod]

CW: poverty, homelessness

Bugle, a neon pink, cyan, and black spider/clown hybrid tcp hops off of a taxi in a hurry. He fumbles with his belongings, and for once he's almost thankful for his multitude of arms from his spider half. He wasn't able to grab all of his things, unfortunately. His bigger furniture and a good portion of his game collection was left behind in the kershuffle. All he had now was his Spectersphere, his Gameway, their accompanying games, and his trusty lamp. Hopefully next time he had to move shop he'd be more prepared.

The taxi driver shouts at him about something, but he was far enough now that he couldn't make it out. They were probably cussing him out for skimping their pay. He hated to do it, but he was scraping the bottom of his savings as it was. He needed to make sure to have enough money for basic necessities. And this was the only transportation that didn't make him pay upfront.

He rushed to the door, checking over his shoulder briefly to make sure that the driver wasn't leaving the vehicle, and knocked. He shuffled with his bags uncomfortably in the brisk night air as he waited. Gods, it was late. He hoped they hadn't gone to bed already.


...No, he shouldn't worry about it. Just gotta be chill. Just...chill. Everything was gonna be alright.

[Ignispark]

A faint whir of some sort of motor at first only distantly audible and progressively draws nearer. Then, a click and the sound of plastic footsteps lasts for a short few moments. The miniature door (which is part of the lower section of a much larger door) opens up to a greyish mobile phone type, with purplish details. They look more than a bit stiff, their eyespots a bit lost. They're leaning a bit on the doorframe. Behind them the expanse of the workshop is evident. There's some various stuff. Mostly tables. Complex-size tables. And a few machines. And notably a tiny truck, reminiscent of stuff construction workers haul rocks with, but you know, tcp scale.

Despite being a bit worse for wear right now, they still talk a lot. they do not stop talking for a moment after they start. it's a continuous stream of words that could rival a freight train.

"hey. so you're here. hope the weather wasn't to bad on the way here. currently i have a nonstop static sound in my head due to this dumb fucking magic weather. i want to hit whoever invented weather in the face. anyhow, i'll show you over to where you want to be. sorry about the wait and, you're gonna have to wait a second. this workshop was set up for complexes before i got here so. The uh, smaller stuff is toward the back. luckily i have a little truck so. it won't be too long. feel free to put your bags in the back seat area or the bin if you prefer that. you're probably riding shotgun unless you really like riding in the back seat of trucks or like. want to sit in the bin. or walk. uh. yeah. anyhow uh. names? i do have another name other than abberant incandecense. yes. plyfenn. it's a good name. what's your name. oh also how was getting here? anything you need or that i can get for you?"