Writing Sketches

[skinstealer]

wheeee it's another writing thread except this one is for stuff that is probably noncanon in the grand scheme of things and is for just fun/venting/whatever

ill set up a proper index later

[skinstealer]

 

Shattered- 2023
Krowling + Ellerie Mortis
Tonic + Marrow, Untitled Project
It's hard to stay afloat.
CW: Vampiric feeding + death mentions (both of people and animals)

---

MARROW: …you good?
 

Tonic looks over his shoulder, his chest rising and falling as he tries and fails to regain his composure.

TONIC: …fine. Why wouldn’t I be?
MARROW: You’re freaking out.
MARROW: Shaking, even.
 

The rat looks down at his hands, seeing them tremble as he clenches and unclenches them into fists.

TONIC: I’m.
TONIC: I’m good.
 

Marrow leans against the living room doorway, making a soft “mmm” as she gestures to the mess on the ground.

MARROW: That chair good too?
 

The former piece of furniture lay in a shattered heap, guilt starting to build in Tonic’s chest.

TONIC: It’s…
TONIC: I’ll fix it.
MARROW: You don’t have to.
 

She cracks her neck before stepping forward, the massive mothlie poking at the wreckage with her cane.

MARROW: I like it smashed.
MARROW: You could call it a modern art piece, or something.
MARROW: Fits right in with the other people around campus.
TONIC: Can you not mock me, please?
MARROW: I’m not trying to, asshole.

She rolls her eyes, smacking some of the wood with her cane before returning to her spot by the wall.

MARROW: Stop assuming everything’s about you.
TONIC: You can stop making snide comments to people who are clearly going through it!
MARROW: Yeah, and what’s “it”? You said you were fine.
 

The look Tonic shoots her is nothing short of infuriated.

MARROW: Look, I’m just trying to help.
TONIC: You’re shit at it and you know it.
MARROW: If I don’t try, I can’t improve.
TONIC: Well-!
 

I can’t really argue there.

TONIC: M…maybe just, try on someone else, then.
TONIC: I don’t want to be someone’s guinea pig.
 

He clenches his whole body and counts to ten, sitting on the floor as he unclenches.

MARROW: That that whole, uh…therapy trick?
TONIC: Mm.
MARROW: …does it work?
TONIC: …sometimes.
MARROW: Is it working now?
TONIC: It would work better if you just-
 

He catches a slight look of hurt in the mothlie’s eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing.

TONIC: …I’m sorry.
TONIC: You are trying. I know.
TONIC: I’m. Not receptive to things like this when I’m mad.
TONIC: Your technique may need work but I can tell the effort is there, and I shouldn’t diminish that.
MARROW: …even though you sound like a stuffy teacher saying it, the recognition’s appreciated.
TONIC: Fuck you.
MARROW: Fuck you right back.
 

Tonic can’t help but burst into a laugh at that, getting a chuckle out of Marrow in turn.

TONIC: …I wish we got along better, Mare.
MARROW: Yeah.
MARROW: Me too.
MARROW: Got a lot in common.
TONIC: That’s the nature of sharing a brain, isn’t it?
MARROW: Mmm. Maybe.
MARROW: I don’t know what some of these people are thinking half the time.
TONIC: …we’re making it work, though.
MARROW: Are we?
 

Tonic’s fur bristles, his good mood slipping away.

TONIC: We haven’t fed on anyone live in weeks. I consider that a win.
MARROW: That’s what led you into this mess though, right?
MARROW: Not feeding.
TONIC: I’m feeding.
MARROW: On blood bags.
TONIC: It’s.
TONIC: It’s what we have.
TONIC: I don’t want to take from a person.
MARROW: You think I do?
MARROW: There’s some farms by the shoreli-
TONIC: Absolutely not.
MARROW: You think you’re too fancy to bite some livestock?
MARROW: Too good for it?
MARROW: Because before you were in the front all the time, I made fucking do with that.
TONIC: …
 

He casts his gaze away, lost for words.

No one speaks, the air heavy and suffocating. Every second seems to stretch, Tonic opening and closing his mouth before finally struggling to get something out.

TONIC: If I were to feed now, I’d-
TONIC: -probably kill something.
TONIC: I can’t.
MARROW: …I know.
MARROW: Trust me, I know.
MARROW: But this blood bag thing isn’t working, man.
MARROW: You’re acting like you’re hooked up to a car battery. Wired to something shocking you.
MARROW: And I’ve been there.
MARROW: And I know the longer you wait, the worse it’s gonna get.
MARROW: …then, you won’t have a choice of whether it’s a pig or a person.
MARROW: Your call.
 

Tonic doesn’t look up, hearing the sound of cane on wood flooring as she retreats, presumably to her own room.

The cabin is cold.

[skinstealer]

Pill Bottle- 2023
Algor + Ringor Mortis
Lo-wave with a small dose of Raggedy, Untitled Project
Too many holes.
CW: Heavy dissociation, ableism, medication struggles

---

DOCTOR ???: Lo.
 

The fluorescent lights are buzzing so loud.

DOCTOR ???: Lo-wave.
 

I just want to go back to my room.

There’s a snapping sound in front of the robot type’s face, startling him out of his stupor. The TCP in front of him- sporting fingers big enough to create the noise in the first place- is a depression type with an irritated posture.

 

Doctor…what was his name-?

DOCTOR ???: You’re barely lucid. Have you been taking your medication?
LO-WAVE: …it makes me sick.
DOCTOR ???: You must not be taking it right, then. It’s proven safe.
DOCTOR ???: Are you eating enough?
LO-WAVE: I don’t-
 

I don’t like it…

The doctor sighs, rubbing his temple.

DOCTOR ???: We’ll lower your dosage until you get more in the habit of eating.
DOCTOR ???: You need your medication.
DOCTOR ???: You understand?
 

I don’t even remember your name-

LO-WAVE: Yes. Sir.
 

Another sigh, but a nod this time- he’d done enough to get approval.

DOCTOR ???: I’ll need to go over some pa…p…er…work…

When Lo snaps out of it, he’s at the entrance of his apartment, the door still open behind him.

LO-WAVE: …I’m home.
 

No one responds, not that he’s expecting it. That was something left behind long ago, but he’s never been able to kick the habit.

There’s a bottle of medication in his hand.

Why am I holding this?
Oh. Right.
I didn’t bring my bag. I forgot.
So I had to carry it.
People probably saw me.
Hm.


He stares at the bottle for a moment before closing the door behind him, stepping forward and setting the orange pill container on the counter.

It’s a small apartment, same as any other in the facility. Uniform size and layout, varying only in the decor the TCP inhabitants brought to the table. He hadn’t shown up with any possessions aside from a simple phone, a wallet, and the clothes on his back, so it started off sparse and remained that way the entire time he’s been here.

When did…I get here again?
A month ago- no, can’t be, my medication refilled…a few times.
Is it weird to count months by meds refilling?
It works, I guess. I think I still have them-

 

Another jump ahead, this time to him on the floor by his bed, surrounded by orange bottles. After a moment to shake his head, he’s counting each one.

LO-WAVE: Eight.
LO-WAVE: It took them a month to figure out what to give me. Weirdness with machine types. Or something.
LO-WAVE: I’ve been here nine months.

 

He glances up, spotting the mirror hanging on his closet door.

And I’m still not better.
…Whatever that means.

He stumbles back up into bed, leaving the mess for tomorrow. It could wait.

To his surprise, he’s got a message on his phone.

[DIGITAL_HORROR]: hey!
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: do you remember that time back in school when we talked about making games together?
 

...what?
I barely remember school….
But…
Rags wouldn’t lie to me.
We must have talked about it at some point.

[HUMAN_SADNESS]: oh?
[HUMAN_SADNESS]: think there’s a hole there. sorry.
[HUMAN_SADNESS]: i believe you tho.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: it’s okay, man!
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: we can catch up.
[HUMAN_SADNESS]: sure.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: in the meantime… i might have a proposition for you.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: what with your interest in constructs and humanity and whatnot…i think you’re gonna like it.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: but first, we need to get you a real computer…