TDM #3 - It Came from Beyond the Veil! [REPRINT]

[pumpkinhollow]

Pumpkin Hollow Gazette Issue #3 [REPRINT]

[Mod Note: This is a very long TDM because I was pulling out all the stops for spooky season, but I'm excited to share it with you all! Hope you can forgive all the reading I'm about to make you do, and stay spooky!]

Pumpkin Hollow Gazette

11/10/23 | TDM #3 - "It Came from Beyond the Veil!"
Content Warnings: [Article 5 (Further Details)] Murder, facial mutilation

Pumpkin Hollow continues to welcome new residents!

BLUE ISLAND BEAST BESTED AT THE BEACH

By Yorick Aberdeen

TAWNY BEACH -

Thanks to the brave and talented newer residents of Pumpkin Hollow, the day is saved! The enormous, building-sized mother crab that attacked our fair island this past month for eating so many of her babies has at last been handily defeated. The Pumpkin Hollow Damage Claims Adjustment Corps (PHDCAC) will be adding damage claims from the crab attack to their “to-do” list, behind their long list of repairs and financial aid to be given to those homes and businesses impacted by this year’s Parade Day. While the parade this year was no more or less deadly than previous years, property damage did see a noticeable uptick due to local blacksmith River la Croix becoming possessed, inciting a magically-fueled fire that impacted several local businesses. When reached for comment, la Croix had this to say of the incident: "That was hellfire. Once you get a safe distance from an unidentified flame, look to see if it's feeding on something inflammable like metal or stone. If so, good news and bad news: it won't spread beyond a single conceptual object. Your house is a single conceptual object."

In any case, with both the vile Parade and the crab attack behind us, Pumpkin Hollow leaves behind the Season of Beasts and enters the Season of Spirits with pride, dignity, and significant mark-downs on the price of crab meat. Participants in the battle against the Blue Island crab have been awarded with special medals from Mayor Poe for bravery and as much crab as they can possibly eat.

SPECTRAL CREATURES INFEST FOREST; FRIENDLY OR HOSTILE?

By Yorick Aberdeen

An artist rendition provided by local teenage artist, Cassandra Seltic.

LOCKWOOD FOREST - Reports have flooded into the local constabulary from all over the island that the forest that encompasses the majority of the Northern portion of our island has recently become overrun with small creatures with ghostly appearances. As many of you are aware, earlier this year the forest suffered a prior invasion by tree-like trickster spirits known as Brutoks, which has since waned with the changing of the seasons. The creatures appearing now seem to be of an entirely different nature. Some have even described them as “cute”.

Chief Constable Janine Kilbride has stated that numerous attempts to capture these creatures have been made thus far and have proven ineffective. When reached for comment on the matter, Dr. Neil West, local psychiatrist and occult expert, speculated that perhaps we lack the appropriate tools. However, brave souls may be persuaded to venture beyond the tree line and attempt to befriend them. Perhaps you could even end up with an adorable, dangerous, ghostly new pet! Or you could die. That is, after all, always a possibility.

A COMMUNITY MESSAGE FOLLOWING SEPTEMBER GALA

By Cecil Gershwin Palmer

A photo of Hemsworth Custom Tailoring's store front.

PUMPKIN HOLLOW (Downtown Hollow) - The Pumpkin Hollow Artisan’s Guild would like to remind all citizens that rented attire should be treated with care and returned in the condition it was rented in. Those who rent clothing for formal events should avoid running into danger, fighting, clothed sex in private corners, duels, being set on fire or other acts that may damage clothing, as additional fees for repair and cleaning will be charged for garments returned in poor condition.

A representative for the Artisan’s Guild, Saraya Meridell, had this to say: “Do you know how hard it is to repair charred velvet? Do you realize that bloodstains don’t come out of silk? Wine, yes, we expect wine. But blood? It’s really a step too far.” She shook this intrepid reporter’s rented dress shirt in his face as she spoke, her green eyes wide and bloodshot. She then continued to murmur angrily to herself, grabbing a bar of laundry soap and retreating to the back of her workshop.

The vampires who attacked Dahlia’s Birthday Gala and caused the need for acts of derring-do could not be reached for comment.

DR. WEST ANNOUNCES SEANCE

By Yorick Aberdeen

NORTHWEST HOLLOW (West Dream Analytics) - As the days gradually begin to darken sooner and sooner, the veil between our world and the Beyond thins, drawing us ever closer to the spirits of those who have left our world behind. As a result, this time of year is popular for seances among the magically and spiritually inclined. Dr. Neil West --- proprietor of local sleep psychiatry clinic West Dream Analytics, occult expert, and leader of the controversial Ocularum --- has made a public announcement that he will be holding a large group seance to reach out to departed friends.

This seance will be hosted at the abandoned home of former Pumpkin Hollow mayor Christopher Larkin, the site of the tragic Winter Solstice Party Disaster of 16:37. It will feature an overnight lock in to observe spectral activity with dinner provided. Guest beds and other furniture remaining in the house will be utilized, or bedrolls supplied.

PUMPKINFEST MOOD LINGERS; LEEDS HEIRESS PROVIDES MOOD SETTER

By Yorick Aberdeen

A scenic image of Fall's Promise.

FALL'S PROMISE CEMETERY - Despite this year's Pumpkinfest being behind us and the shocking events of its finale, the autumn air which persists into November still lends itself to the telling of tales of terror! Our own Dahlia Leeds will be hosting a festive mood-setter on the lawn of Fall’s Promise Cemetery. Leeds, member of the Town Council and daughter of Pumpkin Hollow founder Japhet Leeds, invites anyone interested down to the graveyard to join her in the sharing of ghost stories. Warm beverages and fresh apple pastries will be provided! Potential attendees are advised that the event will run until after dark, so please bring a lantern and dress warmly. It is best to walk home in pairs if you are able.

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Further Details...

Spectral Creatures

Those who enter Lockwood Forest, particularly after dark, will find it abruptly inhabited by many ghostly beasts. Those with knowledge of specific other worlds may be able to identify these creatures as Ghost-type Pokemon. As stated by the Chief Constable, the appropriate tools for capturing and taming Pokemon permanently are not available, as the knowledge and supplies required to make them are not present in Pumpkin Hollow. However, with a little patience, they can be befriended. Pumpkin Hollow residents can each domesticate up to two ghostly friends, which will stick around after the rest of their kind move on at the end of November. It is possible they will return at a later time, but not guaranteed.

While none of the creatures seem to be of a legendary or mythical variety, especially lucky explorers may encounter one shiny per resident if they purchase a Sparking Talisman from the Shady Merchant’s shop for 50 Brass. (New residents, even those test-driving, begin with 100 Brass.)

It is also possible that random Pokemon-tamers may be attacked in the forest by Marrow Isle’s local cryptid, the Pine Devil. This dangerous creature attacks locals at random with the intention of eating them. Perhaps your new partner can help you survive the encounter! Or if not, your friend can at least keep you company during your 24 hours as a ghost. Also remember that ghosts can interact with one another! Ghouls of a feather haunt together! See our Death page for information on how dying works on Marrow Isle. If you do not want to interact with the Pine Devil, please simply include an OOC note on your post opting out!

The Seance

Attendees to the seance meet Dr. Neil West outside his home and office before following him to a large old house down the road, not too far from Leeds Estate. He has a lot of gear, so he distributes the burden among volunteers---- covered platters containing the dinner he organized for everyone, candles, matches, chalk, various funny little instruments that are apparently ghost hunting equipment, spare bedding, and a few fire extinguishers. He came prepared, to be sure.

When the group arrives, Neil spends some time talking about the house. It belonged to Christopher Larkin, who had been Mayor Poe’s predecessor’s predecessor--- two mayors prior to now. He’d been a popular man. A high elf from a well-appointed family, but humble and reserved. A pianist, well-read and well-traveled before settling down on Marrow Isle. He had been mayor for many terms.

“Every year for the Winter Solstice, he would hold a dinner party for his friends and family. Not a large, ostentatious affair like Leeds galas, but there were plenty of people in attendance. However, the party that took place in the year 16:37 was different,” he explains as he sets up an arrangement of candles and begins drawing sigils on the old hardwood floor. “Something went terribly wrong. Survivors were few, and their accounts of what happened were disjointed and chaotic, but what could be gleaned from them was that the mirrors had gone… metaphysically rotten, in a manner of speaking.”

“It’s not unheard of, since mirrors are often used as portals, but whatever this was--- it was directly hostile. Predicting violence or terror which had not yet happened with impossible visions that would inexplicably play out in the room being reflected moments later, from the sounds of it. It was a bloodbath. Half the house burned down as well. It’s been silent here since then, aside from some reports of spectral activity. My hope is that tonight, we can reach out to these spirits and find out more about what happened here.”

Much of the house is coated with dust, and as Neil stated, there is a large portion that is dilapidated and scorched. A fair number of the mirrors have been shattered. The ones that remain seem normal enough now, though. You have a simple dinner together at the aging, once-austere dining table before returning to the living room to begin the seance.

Sitting on the hardwood floor around the chalk and candle circle, everyone looks to Dr. West as he performs his invocation.

”Spirits who reside here, lost and trapped souls of the fallen, we beseech you. Make your presence known to us, draw from our energy to make yourselves seen by mortals once more. Give us signs of your presence, that we may commune with you again and learn more of your lives and of your fate. Come forth and show yourselves.”

There is a foul, cold breeze that runs through the room. The candle flames flicker--- not at once, but in a wave, as if something has passed over each in turn. But then, there is no change.

“Hm.” Neil frowns. “Well, it seems there was some kind of reaction. Let’s settle in and wait.”

And so your group does just that. Guest rooms, still equipped with old and dusty but perfectly usable beds are divvied out, as well as the furniture from other rooms that remains usable. It was necessary to draw lots on who would have to sleep in the living room. Instruments are set out. People chat and wait around until one by one, they go to bed.

In the night, however, the house comes alive.

A grandfather clock which had previously not been working chimes the hour of 3am down the hall where the bedrooms are, loud enough to shake the bones and wake the dead. The fireplace in the living room roars to life on its own. The glass casings on the oil lamp in the parlor smashes for seemingly no reason.

Neil takes charge, deciding this to be a lost cause. “Let’s get out of here. Quickly, leave everything behind and head for the doors!”

But it’s too late. All the doors and windows are stuck shut. No amount of pounding will let you out, and windows that shatter heal themselves immediately. You are trapped. And as you are realizing this, ghostly figures begin pouring out of the mirrors. They fly off in all directions, into the walls and ceilings, and disappear. For now.

Attendees of the seance are trapped until dawn. There is no escape from Larkin Manor until sunrise. You must make it through the night together. Poltergeists of all sorts can be found throughout the large home. Ghosts are NPCs that can be written as players see fit, though most if not all will be motivated to attack or terrorize player characters. They can be warded off, tricked into leaving, or banished but not destroyed or harmed. Injury for player characters is a real possibility, but death is not likely. Stick together and stay safe!

Ghost Stories
[CW: murder, facial mutilation]

The wind has grown a chill and smells of fallen leaves, drenched in rain water and decomposing to return to the Earth from whence they came. A crescent moon hangs in the blackening sky, cutting a Cheshire smile across the void. Rows of white stones stand stalwart against the night, recently polished by kindly volunteers, like sentries at their posts. Fall’s Promise --- a monument to what was and a reminder of the fate that no longer awaits the residents of Pumpkin Hollow.

Dahlia sits on the steps of a mausoleum bearing her own name. A cluster of candles and oil lanterns have been placed on the cobblestone circle around it. There is a picnic blanket with treats--- homemade apple crisps in tiny pie crusts and metal carafes of tea and coffee, still hot. She beckons you into the circle. There are plenty of blankets on which to sit.

There is chatter and eating for a while as the sun finishes its descent, storytellers and listeners alike gathering round. Then, the stories begin. If you have your own, you may take your turn to share it. Perhaps it will help you strike up a friendship with a neighbor.

Then, Dahlia takes her own turn to share the story she prepared. There is an old book in her lap--- thin, like a child’s book, but not decorated with the usual colorful illustration one expects from children’s literature. The flickering candlelight casts her face with an eerie glow.

“This is the oldest folk legend local to Marrow Isle,” she says. “It dates back nearly 50 years, not too long after my late father founded the town of Pumpkin Hollow. It’s the reason we carve pumpkins to this day and is based on a true story.”

Dahlia opens the book.

“This is the Sordid Tale of Smiling Jack.”

She reads.

”Many years ago, in the time of our forefathers, Pumpkin Hollow was brave and new. Many people came from all over the Emerald Isles, from Glassighe, Anwyll, and Braxtony alike. All were curious about the mysterious island, said to have been born out of sea fog and craggy rock from nowhere, and they came across the Black Jade Sea to see the newborn town that Japhet Leeds had built there.”

“One of these people was a man by the name of Jack Briar. Jack was a cheerful sort, always laughing and telling jokes and brightening the day of everyone around him. He was well-loved by all of his neighbors, and became known to the townsfolk as Smiling Jack, as he was almost never seen without a grin on his face. But Smiling Jack had a secret. Not a large one, but damning nonetheless--- Jack was a very selfish man. He was not a kindly neighbor seeking to share a smile out of the goodness of his heart, but an egotistical fool who only loved being the center of attention. Still, this secret was hidden inside his heart with no evidence to prove its truth, so no one would ever know it. Until that fateful day when a scarred stranger arrived on the back of a trade merchant’s ship, hidden among the cargo.”

“The new arrival was a thug, a crook and a murderer on the run from the Royal Guard. He had come to Marrow Isle because it was isolated from the Great Fairisle and from the king, to hide until the bounty hunters and lawmen forgot his face or he could make his way out of the country. He kept to himself, wanting nothing more than to lay low and avoid the notice of the burgeoning town. He never even shared his name with any of the residents. His plan would have gone perfectly if it were not for Smiling Jack, because of course, how could the town jester not notice the surly man who hid in a corner always wearing a frown?”

“Every time they saw one another, Jack would run up to the frowning man and attach himself to the stranger’s hip. He showered the man with compliments, told all of his very best jokes, and played all of his cleverest pranks and pratfalls. Never once did the stranger ever crack even a hint of a smile, glowering at Jack every moment they were in each other’s company. But Jack could not stand the thought of anyone not finding him funny, of anyone not having their heart warmed by his company. Everyone liked Smiling Jack in Pumpkin Hollow. He became ever determined to amuse this stranger. And when the man would finally tell Jack to leave him alone after being followed and pestered for half the day, Jack would hold up his hands defensively and say, ‘Oh, sir, there is no need for quarrel! I am only trying to make you smile.’”

“At last, the stranger grew fed up with Jack’s persistence, and one night after sundown he followed Jack to his home on the outskirts of the village. Once the wicked man was sure Jack was alone, he pounced, forcing Jack to the ground at the edge of a darkened pumpkin patch. He took a knife and carved into Jack’s face, cutting from the corner of his lips up to his cheek bones. And as Smiling Jack screamed in agony, the strange man finally cracked a grin and said, ‘Why are you so upset? I am only trying to make you smile.’”

“By morning, the man had skipped town on a stolen boat, and Jack lay bleeding into the tilled farm soil, his mutilated face crammed into a pumpkin. A nasty surprise for anyone who might find him. Since then, it’s been said that the ghost of Smiling Jack can be seen around the time of the pumpkin harvest, wearing a grinning Jack-o-Lantern over his face to hide his grisly forever-smile. Tales say that if he finds you after dark, he will corner you and tell you a joke. Those who do not laugh or who fake a laugh will find themselves meeting the same fate as Smiling Jack, unless they can flee quickly from his wrath.”

Closing the book, Dahlia smiles. “So, apple tart, anyone?”

After the Tale of Smiling Jack is told, residents (including those who didn’t hear the story) will begin encountering the malevolent spirit around town, who will tell them a grim joke--- largely grisly black comedy or gallows humor. If you don’t find the joke funny, you will have to run or fight for your life! Find a neighbor to help you, rescue someone else, slip into someone’s house in an attempt to escape, whatever you like! Smiling Jack can only be escaped by knocking his pumpkin loose from his face (at which point he will disappear) or by going inside of a home with a Jack-o-Lantern outside the door.

Additionally, if you do find the joke funny, he will follow you around pestering you until he finds someone else to attack or until the same parameters are met.

Smiling Jack is an NPC and can be written however the player likes outside of the aforementioned. Please remember to use content warnings for the jokes if necessary! You may also handwave the joke if you can't find one you want to use.

Comments

Vika | 20XX | OTA + 1 Semi-Closed

[lastofthefirst]

Beam-In [Partially Closed to First Aid]

This place is. Rather primitive, isn't it? Vika steps off of the ferry with her body significantly changed, dressed in a rough cape wrapped around the worst of her body's damage; many systems have changed or are absent (where the fuck are her comms...), feeling the click-click-click-click of gears inside her chassis, tiny and improbably constructed. Some part of her knows that many of these mechanisms shouldn't work, that she's still Sufficiently Advanced Technology, even like this.

The rest of Vika is still falling apart. Her non-weapon arm ends in a blunt prosthetic hook, worse than the shitty grasper she'd been working with. Damn A. it all and B. the white-haired lady in particular. She's going to need to find work, which means finding someone competent to get her in working order. You might be approached by Vika here, lurching with a distinct limp and the most Done expression on her incongruously human face, to be asked about someone who can make or install arms or at least a new tool on the end of hers.

The weapon arm is, however, non-negotiable.

Eventually this quest brings her to First Aid. Being told that the doctor is a machine doesn't prepare Vika for the actual event of seeing him; when she walks into the clinic her hollow expression hardens, and that strange weapon that is her entire left arm starts charging. She opens her mouth, and a string of code spits out: 4964656e7469667920796f757273656c66.

'Identify yourself', from the hexadecimal. Her tone is not a request.

For Science [Edge of Town]

There's a robot flying through the trees. Terms and conditions apply. Vika needs to know the limits of her new body, and they're surprisingly similar to her old one. If you come to the edge of town you may just spot her sliding down trees only to leap off them and onto a new one, circling Pumpkin Hollow without ever quite touching the ground.

There's also a possibly awkward moment, involving Vika high up in the branches, pointing her weapon at a deer that is, and I cannot stress this enough, peacefully eating leaves.

She's charging to fire. There's nothing in those eyes.

Living Space [Oak & Iron]

Vika does not eat. Strictly speaking, she does not sleep. She's still winding down. When she left the ferry she had a massive wind-up key, and now she sits at the Oak & Iron, staring at it on the table. There's a slot in her back where it belongs, to keep her going, but does she trust the staff to do that for her?

She frowns. Vika's going to, essentially, starve to death without being wound. But caution wars with survival. Not just anyone can just, just, touch her mechanisms, that's...

Damn A. it all and B. the white-haired lady specifically, again.

Wildcard

Come at me

Living Space

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris has their own house now, but they still frequent the Oak and Iron some nights -- for the social aspect mostly, and also because they know almost all the newcomers spend at least some time living in the rooms of the tavern.

There's something tugging at their senses, though... a pull that they (only in retrospect) recognize as what had them noticing Regina. Someone here is marked by death.

Other patrons will have to move out of Chris's way as they wander the main room, eyes filmed over with a red glow, but the locals have seen this often enough from them that they clear out with little comment. (Just another oddity from these new people brought in by Mortanne...)

Chris stops beside the cyborg, and says quietly, "Hello."

[lastofthefirst]

Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click...

Vika looks up slowly. Without the properly-shaped armor her successor got, without all that time on marketable aesthetics, it's painfully obvious that her face ends at the top of her neck, giving way to metal. And yet what an expressive face it is! Only this close is it clear that her eyes aren't organic, and only really after a moment at that; her expression goes from frustrated contemplation to Blank as naturally as any human's might, with about as much passive social rudeness.

..Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click...

It takes Vika a moment in hollow silence to remember that her IF/F isn't installed here. Of course she's not getting one off this human, duh. That's. Going to be bothersome for awhile.

..Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click...

"Good a-a-aftern-noon." That blank expression flashes into a scowl, and then goes back to something empty. Every time her voice jitters, it goes crunchy and robotic. She thumps the steel of her chest, and something rattles loose that probably shouldn't be. "Can I help you?"

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"You look like you need help," Chris replies. They point very carefully, so as not to look as though they are reaching for the wind-up key at all. "With the item you're contemplating."

Chris studies her blank face, and then says, "Death is never easy to go through."

[lastofthefirst]

"N-n-no, it's n-not." Thump. Something sparks, high in her chest, just under her throat. Those big, expressive eyes...they have a look of suspicion. Who is this human to offer? To ask?

Then again...

The machine looks away, leans over the table.

Moves her cloak aside. There's a slot, high on her back, for the wind-up key. It's going to be a two-hands kind of job.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

When Chris sees the slot on her back, they say, "Ah, I see. That is an awkward place for you to do the winding yourself."

They take a moment to inspect the area, and then Chris moves so that they can be seen from her peripheral vision. "Would you like me to help you right now? Or we can go to your assigned room if you would prefer some privacy. But I am glad to help. I work at one of the clinics in town, and help at the others."

And before they forget: "My name is Chris Freeman, by the way."

[lastofthefirst]

"Vika." Whatever that thump knocked together, it's working; her voice is much steadier. The offer of the room has a certain appeal; she stands, letting the cloak fall back into place, and scoops the key up with her hook through one of the holes in its wings. She leads the way without a word.

Most of the room's furniture has been repurposed. The mattress is off the bed and tidily stood up against a wall so that the bed frame can be used to block the window; the chairs and desk have been pushed up against it. There's no fire in the fireplace, which means the room is dark, but Vika leaves the door open enough to set down the key against the wall and gesture to the provided matches for the lamps.

"I appreciate the help. It's...inconvenient." That flash of a scowl again, a note of faint venom on inconvenient.

And then, blank. Back to resting.

Beam-In

[lovinglefthand]

"Oh dear," First Aid says faintly, and puts his hands up. Being shot by a newcomer is not on his to do list for today, thank you.

"My name is First Aid," he responds in hexadecimal, voice pitched low and as soothing as the language will allow. "I'm one of the two doctors who work in this clinic. I have no interest in hurting you."

If she's going to shoot him, he really hopes it doesn't damage any of the equipment; unlike him, it won't just come back tomorrow. But saying that out loud runs the risk of upsetting this stranger further.

[lastofthefirst]

An equivalent response. Good. No need to panic the organics. This is already going differently than Vika might have feared, but she needs to be sure. Needs. To be. Sure. This space is small, and this machine is large. From the sound of those engines, faster than he'd look too.

The shell she's arrived in is already such fucking garbage. Vika isn't interested in learning how trash the next one might be.

576561706f6e733f

("Weapons?")

[lovinglefthand]

"I don't have any," is First Aid's response. Hopefully she believes him; people often didn't, in his home universe. "I'm a pacifist. If you try to hurt me, I'll have no other option but to either stand my ground or retreat." Thank goodness the clinic is empty right now, Chris out running errands and no other patients in the building. Hopefully this patient will calm down before that changes...

"What's your name?" he asks her gently.

[lastofthefirst]

She doesn't move.

Not an inch.

But her weapon, at length, powers down. "A pacifist," Vika repeats, her voice flat, hollow. But her eyes are still so hard. "With a body like that. Sure. And I'm a g-gardener, with a seed gun."

"...My name is Vika. People said you're a mechanic."

That's not quite what they said, but...

[lovinglefthand]

He flinches like she decided to shoot him after all. "Just because I was built to fight in a war, doesn't mean I have to," he says, more sharply than he meant to. "I can choose to be other things, even if it costs me. Nobody can force me to fight."

He inhales deeply, moderating his voice. "Please excuse me. If by 'mechanic' you mean I have the training to work on mechanical lifeforms, then yes, I am. But I still prefer the term 'doctor.'" Mechanics are for non-sapient machines. But perhaps this poor femme, wherever she come from, isn't sure of the difference.

[lastofthefirst]

"Tch -" The noise of faint annoyance turns into an extended scramble; Vika's neck sparks, her face contorts with the flash of agony.

She thumps her chest, hard. Something rattles. "D-d-d-doctor, then. You sell those s-services here? Elective p-p-procedures included?"

Every time her voice jitters it goes from being mostly human and distinctly feminine to "Sonata For Cell Phone Through A Train Tunnel"; mechanical and scrambled.

For Science

[pinandcove]

As she's charging up, there is a hollow thump from the bottom of the tree. Beneath her, there is some fucking moron trying to get her attention while clearly making an effort not to be loud.

"Psst! Hey! Down here!"

[lastofthefirst]

Vika's head moves, but not her weapon ("Don't change targets," Ace had said. "Eat what's on your plate."). That's a human.

That's an arm.

She speaks in a low voice common to singers, spies, and mothers about to kill someone: "Is this life form armed?"

The young buck is still.

Just.

Eating leaves.

In his lane.

Unbothered.

[pinandcove]

"Huh? The deer?" Milo actually looks to be sure, because the conviction with which she asked has made him second guess how ridiculous the question is. "Uhh, no, he's just chillin' I think."

"I was just gonna tell you that looks like a bad weapon to hunt with. It'll fuck up the meat, you know?"

[lastofthefirst]

"I am n-not hunting." Her weapon powers down, instantly, and the metallic lass slides from her perch and just keeps sliding; hook arm against the bark, feet oddly flat on the tree, legs poised to jump.

The buck takes off like a shot.

Vika lands near Milo, her blank gaze fixed on his prosthetic. But her manners aren't completely irredeemable: "Thank you. I'm n-not f-familiar with organic life. Mostly."

[pinandcove]

"Aw, no worries. M'happy to help." He follows her gaze, then arches his shoulder a bit to show off the clamping motion of his prosthetic. "Whatcha think? Pretty cool, huh? No electricity needed, it's all pulleys."

[lastofthefirst]

"...A full replacement. Rather b-better than my g-garbage." Every time her voice jitters the effect produced is extremely distorted; both robotic and crackling. "But I was g-given to understand that trying to replace organic systems is usually fatal."

Another lie from her fathers, or just missing information?

living space a little bit?

[theresalwaystheview]

It isn't seeing Vika made of scrap components that concerns him most (though it is concerning, to say the least), it's watching as she seems to dissociate where she sits, angry at what looks, even from a distance, like the kind of wind-up key associated with clockwork of old. He's been working quietly at his own table, only looking up when someone on staff has offered him a refill on the water, or juice, or weak ale that he's been drinking, or to inform him that a meal would be ready soon if he would like to partake (there's a pleading air to the way they try to convince him to eat but when your stomach has shrunk enough that just a hand pie could make you nauseous there's not a lot to be done about that). Now, as his hand and wrist begins to cramp, signalling a need to stretch, Bart stands and carefully pushes his chair in against the table where his work is stacked neatly.

"Pardon me," is what he leads with, approaching from the opposite side of the table to keep from spooking her.

[lastofthefirst]

"P-pardoned."

Click-click-click-click-click...

Vika looks up at the new person with the smallest little smile at her own joke. Where the hell is Freeman? Damn it...

"D-did you need something?"

[theresalwaystheview]

The stutter is patiently waited out, and Bart offers a small smile, his hands tucking behind himself to keep himself still and hopefully alleviate any annoyance from that.

"Oh, no! But I'd noticed that you might be having something of a difficult time here, and wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help. I have limited experience in biomechanical engineering, and, well, I'd hoped that maybe..." He frees a hand to gesture toward the turnkey. "If you aren't opposed to a stranger's help."

CW assuming a gender for Chris

[lastofthefirst]

"I rather n-n-need it. Freeman was supposed to m-meet me. She's running late."

Vika's experience with gender as an idea is pretty limited. She and Nina, who don't have melee weapons, are women. Ace and Draco, who do, are men. Her fathers are men as far as Vika can tell, but since Freeman has no weapons, no lab coat, and isn't a senior citizen, Vika has filed them under 'woman'.

Her first visit to Gerry's queer lecture is going to be. Fun.

"Under the c-cape is the slot. Here is fine." Vika leans on the table for ease of access. "B-biomechanical...not a d-doctor?"

[theresalwaystheview]

Bart doesn't even skip a beat regarding the way that she referred to Chris. After all, he himself hadn't actually thought to ask to begin with, automatically assigning them the neutral identifier unless they themself thought to correct him as tends to be standard for new acquaintances. He would expect no more or less from anyone else.

"It's likely that they're dealing with some emergency or other," he muses, looking toward the door in case they might be on their way in. "The clinic has plenty on its plate from what I've seen so I think some patience is the order of the day."

As he relays the thought in that perfectly pleasant tone, he moves immediately to carefully move aside the cape, folding it up and laying it over her shoulder to keep it secure out of his way as he examines both the slot, and the plating immediately around it.

"Goodness... This isn't very well secured at all, is it? Would it be at all possible for you to run a diagnostic protocol? Something that could tell us in more detail what's happening to you?"

[lastofthefirst]

Vika's Turing protocols rally again, getting a snort from her voicebox. "M-most of my e-electronic components are gone. N-no comms, no diagnostics. The huge 'bot r-ran what scans I l-let him. N-not in the mood t-to get pried open, m-miss."