In case you were wondering, yes, I drew my profile image. Do you like it? I think it has a depressing sort of beauty.
Disclaimer: I can sometimes be a little too honest, and my standards might be too high. People don't like that. But let it stand on record that I also view myself with the same light. I would not criticize others if I am not willing to take criticism myself. Be mature. Don't hold stupid grudges. If you've come here to scope me out, to find some shameful detail or quench some personal spite because my honesty upset you in some way, -- I'm sorry but there is nothing here for your desperate attempt at self-validation. I will settle the pettiness with an apology. Sorry. Happy?
The winded tinkerer practically tripped over himself as a blaze blurred past him, letting out a less-than-graceful yelp as the alleyway lit up behind him. It didn't look like the pursuers really expected it either. One unfortunate soul was caught in the flare, letting out a shrill scream with his allies scrambling to to douse it out and recover their position. As he stumbled, Ayer held onto his precious Ars, spinning his body try and save it from impact. He'd rather die than lose it now. Of course, it wasn't that dramatic. A hand had already yanked the wimpy tinkerer and propped him up against a flight of stairs. Ayer was confused, blinking wildly. In the flash of the orange bloom, he saw a young man. Someone he's never met before. Was this person trying to help him? For what reason? But as he looked at the face, he realized something even more important. This wasn't just any man either, it was an Eldi.
"You're..." but before he could even finish, the mysterious savior was already leading the way. "T-to the roof? Wouldn't that...? Uh, ah, okay!" he said over the chaos below, following up the stairs after the fleeting shadow.
There was no time to question things now. He had no idea how to navigate this town. One way or another, he was bound to be stuck running endless circles in these binge-scented backstreets until they caught him. And with the commotion going on now, the rest of the search party was surely making their way here. Despite his hard-wired nature against making half-calculated decisions, heeding this stranger was his only chance to get out alive. Ayer tried to keep his breath stable as he tailed along, his feet stamping up the long path of stone steps. Each step, which grew only heavier and heavier, he realized just how unfit he was for all of this action. He wasn't built for this. Not at all.
At the top of the steps, Ayer bent over heaving as he tried to catch his wits, his breath, and to contain his growing need to vomit. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like war-drums, his face crunched in absolute pain.
"Sorry... I just, I just don't do this sort of thing often... haha..." he blurped, cursing to himself and spitting the iron-tinged saliva out of his mouth. What a shame. Fortune from the divine shows up to his aid, and this is how he presents himself. Truly, what will his name become if word of this gets out? If he even gets out?
"Quickly! Over there!" called a distant voice. A scramble of footsteps then diverged overhead.
Ayer could barely process the words as he crawled through the narrow space between the layered buildings composing the dock-yards, scurrying through the muck and refuse, hoping to anything, anyone that his current equipment didn't act up now. It was the last of it. His precious Ars, the last existing proof of his grand theorem. As he clung to this shamble of pipes, plating, and gems, he struggled to think of a way out. It was hard to focus. There were footsteps everywhere, commotion that stirred the sea-side town in the middle of the night. He managed to buy time, a regretful sacrifice, but they were getting closer. And he wasn't really getting anywhere. He cursed to himself for being so foolish to trust them. The Nilliums were well-spoken and tactfully prose, unlike the other families who ruled the region. They promised his ideas would benefit the estrange people of this region. But as it turns out, they were nothing more than beasts playing proper. They only wanted his grand inventions for brutal, animistic warfare. He couldn't allow his beautiful inventions to be abused like that. Not as a proud inventor, the great visionary of this generation.
The name 'Ayer Lecomte, the Arcane Theorist' shall be respected for all time! Or rather, that's what he'd like.
But despite his own brave betrayal and sacrifice, there was no one he could turn to. No one recognized him a hero. He was an outsider here. And no one would dare oppose the gangs that ruled this territory. Ayer was practically a fish caught out of water.
"It can't end like this... after all I've done... and yet to..."
He waited a moment of silence before poking his head back out. "Dieu'n Merci, they've missed me..." Accidentally slipping to his native tongue, "Now all I need to do is get down to the port... and I'll have more time... maybe steal a ship... No, that'd be to obvious... Maybe I could... Zute, zute, no time to think now! Let's go!"
And just as Ayer hauled himself out of the dirty crevice, in his adrenaline and fear fueled hurry, he overshot himself. The Ars device swung awkwardly at his shoulder and banged against the wall, the many components clattering noisily with themselves. He held his breath, hoping the noise reached nowhere important. But of course.
"Hey! I found the ratty runt! He's down there in the gutters!" called a voice high above.
Ayer looked up and saw a shadow start bolting down the canopy roof-top. Hearing shouts and footsteps coming from the west, the arcane inventor, in all his brilliance, thought of a plan. A flawless escape maneuver that would outwit these thuggish miscreants. Or at least, he wished something like that would happen. This wasn't a fairy tale. He was no god-hero that could take on a whole army alone. In his amazing escape plan, Ayer simply darted for dear life the other direction. Blindly, he pushed through this alleyway and that, even tearting down a hanging shop sign for misdirection. Though it was more like a few pitiful yanks with the in-built crow-bar on the Wax Jury. For human standards, Ayer was even lacking. Despite all these efforts, things were looking grim.
He was practically out of breath in just a minute or so of sprinting. Not to mention he was completely lost in the foreign town, the footsteps growing ever closer. As sweat drippled down his brow to his eyes, Ayer saw the glistening of the moonlight as he bounded over a puddle of water. He can practically see the gleam in their sabers now.
Name: Ayer Lecomte Age: 27 Appearance: Just linework. Too lazy to color.
Height: 5'11 Race: Human Home Nation: Arcadia
Magical Capabilities:
Ayer possesses a few 'devices', which emulate different node circuits that copy something of a mage's abilities. Simply put, with these tools, Ayer has a wide arsenal of spells, rudimentary as they are, that he would otherwise not have access to normally or are out of his expertise. These 'Ars' devices have a few uses before they need to be cooled off for a while and recharged through arcane sensitive conductors. Multiple uses from them in a short burst is highly dangerous and will probably destroy them entirely, causing indeterminable levels of extreme arcane meltdown.
Ars Core 'Alpha' - Mark 4.3 // “Wax Jury” - His most simple device, though bulky, complex, and crude as it may seem. A series of make-shift mana-lines, essence condensers, and coolants are connected and packaged with the main power unit to ensure full safety and functionality. Though not the most proud looking piece of equipment, Ayer had to work with what he had. Depending on the ‘core’ used, housing different selections and alignments of mana sensitive gems and jewels, the device will expel raw arcane power through a specialized barrel. The complexity of spell is rather simple, with elemental effects, such as water, wind, fire, and electricity being the most stable type of magic being emulated. Increased intensity will cause the arcane essence to be unstable, resulting in dangerous elemental explosions.
Ars Core Prototype 'Beta' - Mark 0.8 // "Callous John" - Recently lost. Ars Tool 'Gamma' - Mark 2.2 // "Jupiter Dawn" - Recently lost.
Aside from this, his talent as a mage is quite lacking. Despite possessing a library worth of technique and understanding across all manner of schools, though namely the Elemental, his actual ability is Novice at best. His arcane nodes had always been weak, no matter what he did.
History:
Magic brought the onset of wonder and imagination of the sentient races to an overgrowing peak, a force of miracles, a display of the soul and will all at once. But Ayer knew the limitations of his own frail body. Still, he never stopped trying to disprove the impossible.
He was the type of boy to risk his life to prove a point, to satiate his wild curiosity. Ayer was always a troublemaker and odd-ball, often arguing with everyone in his village, even his parents, who thought his wild clockwork inventions and doo-dads were a waste of time. Once he was old enough, Ayer would take his savings, accumulated over his young life, and depart the dusky old hamlet he was born in. He would set off for the ivory capital of Arcadia, the center for intellectual and magical significance in the entire world.
As an 'arcane theorist', though purely self-claimed, his intention was to get rich quick by partitioning off his 'grand, revolutionary ideas'. But it was not so easy as the naively optimistic boy imagined. Naturally, because of his lack of social awareness and over-inflated ego, Ayer was the laughing stalk of every place he went. He may have been well-versed in his small village, but the mages and alchemists, who've spent their entire life studying and brooding over tombs, articles, and papers, there did not see the charm in his passion. It didn't help he always started off introductions by proclaiming himself a prodigy and genius of this generation, the 'next Frugel', followed by hair-brained theories that any rightful mage or alchemist would find ludicrous. Quickly, he earned himself a reputation. The 'Theoretical Arcanist' as those of the magic world would come to title him, openly mocking him for his original self-proclaimed title. It was not easy for the eccentric boy, who often slept in the cold of the streets as he would foolishly spend his money on futile, fruitless experiments, acquiring research materials, and collecting intellectual readings of 'rivals', purely to spiteful debate them in his loneliness. Luckily for Ayer, he was pretty talented when it came to fixing things and turning junk to working contraptions. And the fact that he actually shut up when he was focused on work, made him rather tolerable for a while. Otherwise he truly would've starved.
Although he would owe his survival to his job at a small workshop in the city, thanks to a misguided admirer, he always criticized the musk and pollution that steam technology would bring about.
As a year passed with no progress, for many this would be the end. But Ayer never gave up, despite all the remarks and comments and labels instilled upon him by his colleagues. He took their cruel beatings and continued to attend every conference, meeting, and talk, to expand his knowledge. One day, eventually, things changed for the wild dreamer. While attending a lecture by an acclaimed mage in the Arcadian Academy of the Arcane Sciences, of which he furiously debated with the professor mid-lecture, his greatest idea dawned upon Ayer while he was being dragged out of the building. Though, it could be argued that perhaps it was delirium from his head hitting the concrete. That being said, drawing mana was impossible from environment to body. That much was an agreed and establish arcane law, an irrefutable fact. But that was because of fear of self-destruction. However, what if we used a medium to circumvent the influx of energy, eliminating the chaotic imbalance and instability that rendered our blood and flesh to ash and muck... If one was able to circumvent the frailty of sentient form, perhaps then, Mana can be used for other purposes? It was far-fetched, indeed, but he has seen it work on a smaller scale. This idea was the same with heat and steam, generating kinetic force, was it not? The most difficult part of this theory was how to siphon and control mana from the environment, as mana was a volatile form of matter, and mages are only able to do so with the arcane nodes located in their body. But if these nodes can be artificialized and replicated, then that would lead to a revolution in science and magic.
With his new theory brimming in his mind, Ayer bade farewell to the ivory city of Arcadia. And for once, he received cheer as he walked out the academy after proclaiming his great venture. Though it was probably not for the reason he would like to think. The young arcanist would spend the remainder of his teen years dedicated to honing this theory, one he was convinced could work, seeking to understand the nature of these arcane nodes and the relation that mana had on the physical world. Mana existed in all things, and he believed sentience only aided us, while the ability to manipulate mana is a product of the restructuring of nodes that already exist. And nodes, though small, tiny, and insignificant surely must exist elsewhere. In fact, they already exist.‘Psy-Stones’ were physical objects that were able to transfer mana, similar to that of an arcane node. The main problem that many before him faced was how to hone that chaotic energy while removing the ‘mage’ from the equation entirely. And the fact that acquiring such things were beyond conceivable for his measly budget, meant getting any sort of proper data was very difficult. Ayer scoured the entire world, traveling to this dangerous spot to that, volcanic crags, icy tundras, and blistering deserts, hoping to find something others overlooked. This went on until he found himself nearly drowning in the eastern seas trying to observe the nature of massive spark-eels.
Maybe it was a stroke from the divine? Or the fortune of a luck-starved bastard. Though most likely, even the carnivorous eels didn't want any of the sour egg. Waking up in an underground cavern, was when Ayer discovered the breakthrough of his theory. There, in the cavern was a host of crystals that glimmered and sparked. Taking a shard back to his mobile laboratory for analysis, he discovered something. There was nothing special about these gems at all, aside from a striking harmonious mana reading. Analyzing various other types of gems and crystals, he discovered a common trait. That, due to their internal prismatic geometry, this allowed gems to contain an astonishing network of arcane nodes within them. At least, potentially. However, ordinarily, a large majority are dormant and inactive. With this new data of the glimmering sea-crystals, he realized that this innate potential can be unlocked through stimulation by a harmonious frequency and stable current of mana. This whole coastline was famous for one thing, the 'Festival of Glimmering Storm'. What made it unique was that this implied 'storm' was actually triggered by the mating rituals conducted by the looming, great spark-eels in seasons of heat. This was known to be quite the sight, as though the ocean before the coast would bloom like lights in the sky, stirred by the stormy electricity released by the eels. During this day-long ritual, the tides to rise and fall at regular intervals until the impassioned creatures tired out. The shores and seabed would be washed with enriched mana. Luckily, crystals contained the charge for a long time, as it would seem the nature of jewels physical construct appeared to easily trap mana.
Ayer had intended to make it on time too, but he was delayed a few days and thus, missed the event. However, that blunder proved to be the key to all of this. Truly, it was a stroke of mad coincidence.
Perhaps ‘frequency’ was the key? After acquiring a large number of varying gems, he would begin the heavy experimentation period of any proper theory. He soon discovered a few things, actually. Carving them into select-shaped jewels allowed further personalization and specialty, intensifying or waning the concentration of mana contained within. Similar to how a mage would practice and hone their own nodes for specific spells. Using both his knowledge of science, machines, and the arcane, he would develop a interconnected two-point charge that used multiple gems to mimic a network of nodes. Very similar to how Psy-Stones operated, except on a grander, more condensed scale. However, he would instead reverse the whole process. One would be dormant, while the other contained a charge, which when stimulated by a reverse charge, would begin to trigger an influx and absorb mana from a nearby source. Of course, that lead to a series of failures, until he was able to perfect the frequency to allow for steady influx flow. Ayer would create basic devices or 'Ars' that would be able to absorb and trigger a stored mana charge. Like a compact, activate-able 'spell' that required little to no mana usage from the user. Finally, after years of labor and frustration and ridicule, of eating the scraps of the wild and begging for left-overs, Ayer had something to show for it all. He would be able to return to those pompous, cowardly intellectuals and prove them he was worth something.
All that was left was to test and see the results. What he found, was troubling. This process was maybe a little too efficient.
In the end, while there was nothing really 'revolutionary' about these devices, more like glorified elemental payloads, they proved that the newly named 'Arcane Energy Conversion' theory was possible. Maybe it didn't break or contradict any arcane law, but perhaps it was the next big step in technological advancement. Just like the steam engines before him. Ayer knew he had something, but he refused to go back with a half-baked invention and data. Not until he can come back with a theory so great and so undeniable. One that will completely wipe the cheeky smirks off the stupid faces of his detractors. Bolstered by his spectacular failure, he set his eyes on the next step of improving his theory. First step? Probably to get funding to appropriate a new laboratory. Perhaps one that was more flame-proof this time.
And so, the inventor, the self-proven Arcane Theorist, would continue his journey to revolutionize the entire world.
Tink found herself sitting atop a nearby building once again, staring down at the chaos that continued beneath. It was almost as if she was right back where she started, fluttering like a lost flower above the metal complexes. But now a drooping flower. Tink was unable to hide her disappointment, her head hanging low and her arms clutched at her side. Her eyes gazed listlessly at all the flashing lights.
Though she kept her life, she was unable to finish her mission. Once she reached the VIP lounge, Tink discovered a huge commotion going on in the area. Apparently someone really important was shot and heavy Eurocorp forces were swarming everywhere. It made attaining any sort of information quite impossible. She couldn't even get a name either. There was no hearing past all of the noise. It felt like sloshing in her head. Even now, all the sounds and screaming ring like small bells being rung aside her ears. And the sight of red lingered like a pair of heavy lens behind her eyes. Maybe her calibrations were off again. Did she require another check-up again? Ah, but that would require her to deliver some sort of payment, does it not? Tink was still paying off the last one. Or was it two? Time and time again she has shown up to their doorsteps, with little to offer. Money came sporadically for someone like her. Yet they always choose to help. And though they always assured her that she was not a burden, Tink knew otherwise. She was tired of receiving their good will. She felt so shackled by this helpless feeling. How many more debts will she owe before she will be truly free? How many.
What an awful party. And she has been at a great number of awful parties.
Tink was happy to not be invited. She just wanted gone with it all already. Taking a deep breath, she can at least be grateful for the nightly air. The chilliness helped freshen her senses and cleanse her thoughts. So to speak. Her enjoyment was probably because she couldn't taste how awful it truly was.
But still, even accounting for all the positives, her mood did not improve. Her mind was still on the failure of the mission. The payment alone was not what worried her though. There will be more people seeking her services. There was not many like her, who liked to solve problems without a trace. Without a mess. Rather, she promised something special for the strays when she returned. Time is drawing close on all of them. She tried to move away from the subject, wishing not to ponder such things right now.
"Appears those pair of shoes were squandered..." she finally muttered, glancing down at her exposed, rusted arm, "What an absolute mess, really. How wolves follow blindly when there is blood..."
Tink stood up upon this note, turning back to her mysterious companion. A sweet looking girl, if not rough around the edges. Though they did not really share any words over this short venture, she enjoyed their presence through it all. It is not often she has someone following her who did not want to take her light away. She smiled openly, giving them a curtsy bow by lifting up the folds of her remaining dress and arching her back in an overly elegant manner. Despite what she felt inside, she wanted to give off a good impression to this kind(?) stranger. Well, kind enough not to try and kill her at the very least.
"I do not know your intentions, little one, but I appreciate not being alone in this dark moment. And though I would like to get to know you better, I'm afraid I must say farewell. I must make it back across the city tonight. I must make a report, lest my reputation be stained. More than it already has... I hope you have a safe trip home."
And with that she turned around, hopping down the rooftops like steps and stepping back into the hazy smoke.
The trigger on a loaded gun fires with unexpectancy and with great disaster.
Tink has never seen fireworks this close before, staring in awe as the dazzling structure before her erupted with resounding brilliance. But despite the beauty of the frizzling wire and blooming luminescence when the neon signs and graphics crumbled and shattered, the doll quickly found herself frowning in reservation. This side-show only disguised, hoping to lessen the impact of the slaughter to come. Predators immediately began preying in on the scattered folk. The poor moths screamed in confusion and horror as their light was squashed and they were left in shadow. Soon, gunshots blasted away the leaking puffs of darkness, replacing what was left of the light with a ray of crimson blood. It was a familiar, if not unfortunate, sight for Tink. All corporate parties came with an unexpected surprise, a way to 'remember the event'. Sometimes it was more pleasant than others. But that was only a matter of perspective of who was receiving the reward and who was serving it. Tinkerbelle never liked watching this far into them.
"Well, that was quick... but I suppose a hungry wolf grows ever reckless when there are others also waiting on its meal."
She had noticed others who had readied themselves in the shadows during her short time there on the high place. Though they were clever and sneaky, they could not hide fully with so many in their pack. Whatever their purpose, she needed to act first now that the moment has realized itself. Enough waiting. It was time for Tink to assume her role as a hunter.
The beam pivoted as Tink dove down, leaving it to swing alone in emptiness. She landed on the rooftop below with a light thud, skipping slightly to negate the impact, bolting now as she leaped again over to the rooftop of the party with an arcing movement. Soaring like a swan taking flight. And she would flutter across to land. With a huff, she darted over the rain stains and rusted pipes, crouching down over one of the roofside windows leading to the fringes of the party. There, she scanned with her glittering indigo eyes. And for a moment, she allowed her mind float in all the chaos and screaming. She needed to locate her target, and quick. The only way was to allow the images to bleed through. And bled through, they did. And in this slight moment, she felt it return. Such a heavy feeling. As though her heart was wretched and sunk beyond her own body.
But luckily, it lasted just that moment.
A secluded corner on a crimson dance floor... hidden by sable bushes... After marking her destination, the doll turned back and leaped off the side of the roof.
She slid down the steeping slope of the decorated awning into the backside where they managed the deliveries and pick-ups. There, Tink was met with an unfamiliar face. A young woman who seemed to be up to her own plans. They seemed to be searching for a way in, with little to no success. She thought for a moment to help. That is, if their motives aligned. But hearing the violence intensify, Tink knew she cannot afford to waste time with pleasantries. Swiftly discarding her flowering brimmed cap, and the first layer of her attire, the doll hooked herself off the side and rammed through a high-lying vent with her heels. The soles of her boots snapped off, much to her despair. But at least she afforded her way through.
There will be other boots and clothes, as much as she adored the last pair. However, time cannot be bought in the same way.
The doll began to crawl through the cramped space, unhindered now by the excess that would've otherwise restricted and dragged her. Given the success, Tink did not look rather pleased. She felt much less dapper and vulnerable already, like some poor, rutty slog. And in a way she was. Her faulty neck-brace covered much of the damage, but the ruined synthetic flesh across her left shoulder and arm revealed gnarled metal joints without her flush coat. While she crawled, arms and hands ever reaching forward, the grisly sight would always remain in vision. But now was not the time to be fussy. If there was no more motive, there would no longer be payment for tonight's gambit. So she resolved her mind and moving quickly towards the screaming and flashing fire.
Her intention was towards the obscured lounges where the VIPs were being held. To offer escape. When the blood thirst sets in, let the wolves fight amongst themselves. It would take a miracle for each pack to resist fighting each other over their prey.
Though she sought information above all else, the Ori's being alive were necessary to fulfill that goal. For if they died, that meant all of the information would be useless. No? Of course. That meant keeping them safe and alive.
The difference between creatures of the dark is whether they hide or hunt. But even hunters are not all alike. Wolves hunted in numbers to prevent escape. This was like a small, organized gang. A tiger did not care for numbers, for they had power. This was like the Blacklight and their sects, who dominated this side of the world through sheer force. And mercenaries? They were like the resourceful and fierce hawk, though some more like the poaching vultures. What would that make Tink themself, then? Hm...
The porcelain doll watched as shadowed figures around her gathered towards the depths of the district, like moths drawn to an over-exposed lure. Though she can see them, they were unable to see her.
The doll walked in a place where no living thing would dare look. Nor would they even care to look. Surrounding her was the foulness of the outer districts, building and accumulating at such an express rate that they were constantly released from large exhaust pipes all around. What was the point in looking through the trash? This black smog was so thick and massive they would drift across for miles. And she found a way to drift between them. A hunter tries to get as close to their prey as possible, to ensure their success. This is what she learned from watching the strays, who must learn to avoid the hunter to survive. Though even the most desperate and hungry would not try this method. If not for her abnormal physicality, she would've succumb to the noxious fumes by now. For hours, this has gone on. This blind walk in the swirling darkness. This was as close as she could get to people without them realizing, standing only a few dozen meters away from the ground below as she deftly traced the awnings, arches, and bridges between towering structures. And even if they were to look, they would find nothing. She was holding her breath, so to speak, focusing all of her internal power reserves into the neck-bracing device. In this manner, her functions were reduced to their absolute minimum, this combined with the frequency jamming, essentially made the android 'silent'.
Eventually all the pitch nothing would reveal a dim light. And so she would follow.
Corporate parties were something that confounded the doll. Though they lay their intentions blatantly, they only do so to hide secrets in plain sight. Why? She often wondered. Her friends would tell her about the dangers of this world. People are like moths. They seek the light. They need it. But moths covet light so much that they forget to notice the flames. This party seemed to be different though. They held it in this rusted, abandoned place of all places. What was their intention? Tink only knew what she was told. Ori was a young venture in Europa. Yet already they claimed a foothold and seized a fistful of power. Ambition is easily misunderstood as war mongering to those who do not know the cause. Especially when the same powerful fist is waved around. They also promised change. Coming this close, she could feel it in the air. A huge tide waited in the shallows. If this change meant their benefit, it would drive a human to do almost anything. But whose change would this benefit? This was her purpose here. To ensure her clients that they would not be toppled by this power. Knowledge leads to the correct answer, and thusly, leads to peace. Correct?
She hoped so.
Tink pushed out of the smog and onto a precarious walkway, like brushing through smokey curtains, as she stepped towards the rotted steel edge of the overhanging beam. She hovered like a dangling flower above the shining, booming structure before her, the frilled dress swooshing like petals in the cold breeze. The dying smoke trailed behind her for a split second as she leaned down to gaze at the blinding lights of the warehouse converted nightclub. The whole rundown structure looked like the sort of place where only the self-dignified and overly important would claim to be classy and refined.
"All this pale glamour and glee..." she said softly, "What are you hoping to hide here?"
Though despite her excitement, with a sigh, Tink folded the dusk colored dress hollows and began to settle down. She laid atop the steel beam with both legs hanging over the side. Much like how a lady would sit upon a saddled horse. It was about a hundred meter drop towards the nearest rooftop from where she was, and the creaking metal and slight swing as she did this simple movement was not exactly comforting. But the doll did not think about the fact she might fall at any second. It wouldn't hurt that much, really. But rather, she was focused on how pleasant the feeling of the wind was this high up.
She wanted to bide her time in the least boring way possible, taking in the prospect of danger with a smile. She took this time to let her imagination run wild, all the while waiting for something. Anything. A moment of disruption, for her to slip through. Tink knew she was nowhere equipped to storm a party. Let alone not even knowing what kind of arms they were bearing in the security force. So, it was best to wait for someone who will. Correct? Surely.
This sort of gathering would surely attract all sorts of beings. Not only moths. Maybe there will be some hawks and vultures who will show their faces tonight? That would cause quite the uproar.
Though she did not condone violence, she could not stand in the way of two beasts fighting one another. She could only try to prevent their harming of the innocents around. But judging by the nature of this party, seeing glimpses of the 'show' being held through one of the roofside windows - Tink wasn't entirely convinced there were any innocent here.
Hazy and blue. Those were the reflecting colors of the ever-glowing sky in the shattered windows. A strange time-worn figure stood between the wreckage of the vehicle and the crumbled wall. The oddly archaic clothing contrasted the retrofitted world around, the weathered frills and laces fluttering as she leaned down. She couldn't help but glance closer upon the unfortunate circumstance, though with a deeply troubled expression.
She had a terrible feeling about it.
The smoke and flames had long withered away by the congested slummy air, leaving only a mark-less black spotted shell behind. A package presented and preserved by the neglecting corporations themselves, funnily enough. For all the ideals they like to spout, they forget the very value of humanity itself.
Her eyes twinkled in both awe and revulsion when she pulled back the metal, and was met with a corpse. A pair of eyes stared right back at her. Between these deadened lenses, and that of her own, it was difficult to say whose was more real. The doll blinked once, reminding herself to recoil a bit. The massive weight around her neck, the hefty, bulky regulation device was a constant reminder of that fact. The failures of her emotional programming allowed her to be aware, but no longer instinctively react. So she needed to remind herself to act 'naturally', like a normal human would. And though she couldn't react in the same way, that didn't stop her from knowing it was probably 'odd' to be poking about.
Though she wanted to look away, Tink knew she must continue. If not her, then who? No one cares for the lowly people behind the city, not even themselves, ironically as it is.
As she looked on at the fatty, swollen face, it was clear this person had been left to reach bloated stages of bio decomposition. It was a pose of seizing desperation, their hands clutched at their chest and throat. Asphyxiation, no doubt, was what saved them from a suffering far worse. Even now, their soft eyes still captured the essence of entrapment and hopelessness. Despite her innocent look, Tink seemed completely uncaring of the grisly sight before her. Dimly glowing electronic eyes glanced around the darkness, leaving small purple rings as they scanned the interior for things. Well, to be more specific, each person carried about significant things. Whether in life or death, they would never dare stray away from them. And these items can be just about anything. And though this person and this scene were like many of the others she has come across, Tink made sure to note differences and set this one aside.
From the precious metal lighter, the stash of burnt photos in the ruptured compartment, and the morphed, semi-melted corporate nameplate, she witnessing a small glimpse into his life. Though it all intrigued her, she kept being drawn back to the staring eyes. They held the greatest measure of weight. A story that no object could ever tell. The story of a living being. Where once a soul existed within.
To her, looking into the eyes are like staring into a photo. So many things said without being said. A puzzling contrast.
Was there a tinge of regret and loneliness in those eyes? A broken heart? Perhaps suggesting an attempted suicide after a failed romance? A shattered dream, maybe. Such could break even the most resolved. Or was this an unfortunate accident that was never taken responsibility for, this victim only left to ponder and worry about a life left behind? There was no real evidence for any of these cases, but she liked to paint a grand narrative anyway.
"Poor soul..." Tink muttered as she turned to look around the crowded, neon-lit landscape, "Out of the millions and millions, not a single one to care for you..."
And though she felt sad, she made sure to smile. Perhaps a wrong contrast, but she wanted to show her determination. "Though I can never undo what has already become. Do not worry, poor lost soul. This one will make sure you are never forgotten."
The world outside of the palace was strange and painful, as she has come to learn. Tink has come across this kind of scene many times in the higher districts, in the slums. But each time, it still amazed her. In all sorts of ways. And it was the unnamed ones who experienced it the greatest. The ones who live day to day in this cold world, trying to do nothing more than to survive. In a way, strays and humans of this status are no different. Were they not? Never to be remembered, never to be acknowledged. Smashed underneath the relentlessness of human construct and idealism. Even now, at the abandoned edges of the city, she can hear the whirring of the corporate mechanisms and buzzing of the neon lights. How does one even cry above all the noise?
Her glimmering purple eyes narrowed and widened as the final scans were made. She had been carefully saving this 'image' into her own picture book, making sure not to miss any detail. She wanted this lonely far-cast soul to be remembered. So they can have a story too. Even in one so small and insignificant.
This was one of the perks of being not human. To remember everything. To make sure every moment meant something. But sometimes, she would have to admit, there were some things better off forgotten.
Though it seemed like a long while, in reality, she had only been there a few short moments. Maybe a minute or so. Most of the time had been spent prying than thinking. All of these introspective thoughts and observations had already happened before words were able to translate, such is the way of a cybernetic mainframe. Even regular brains worked faster than the words spoken from a mouth, or transcribed through writing. And in this way, a picture was indeed worth a thousand words.
As much as she wanted to do more, there was nothing more to do. Only the memory and promise would remain.
The porcelain doll quickly issued a small prayer, laying a dainty flower from her basket upon the car before going on her way. There were countless other memories to make. To save, and to discover.
And to think, this all started with her simply wanting to go out to pick some flowers.
Hello, there really isn't much to see here. :^D
In case you were wondering, yes, I drew my profile image. Do you like it? I think it has a depressing sort of beauty.
[b]Disclaimer:[/b] I can sometimes be a little too honest, and my standards might be too high. People don't like that. But let it stand on record that I also view myself with the same light. I would not criticize others if I am not willing to take criticism myself. Be mature. Don't hold stupid grudges. If you've come here to scope me out, to find some shameful detail or quench some personal spite because my honesty upset you in some way, -- I'm sorry but there is nothing here for your desperate attempt at self-validation. I will settle the pettiness with an apology. Sorry. Happy?
I can't do anything more than that.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hello, there really isn't much to see here. :^D<br><br>In case you were wondering, yes, I drew my profile image. Do you like it? I think it has a depressing sort of beauty. <br><br><span class="bb-b">Disclaimer:</span> I can sometimes be a little too honest, and my standards might be too high. People don't like that. But let it stand on record that I also view myself with the same light. I would not criticize others if I am not willing to take criticism myself. Be mature. Don't hold stupid grudges. If you've come here to scope me out, to find some shameful detail or quench some personal spite because my honesty upset you in some way, -- I'm sorry but there is nothing here for your desperate attempt at self-validation. I will settle the pettiness with an apology. Sorry. Happy? <br><br>I can't do anything more than that. </div>
Daemos