#scratch becile

[ask-the-becile-boys]

I was thinking about how the Walter bots had raised generations of little Walters and how the Becile bots didn't have this opportunity. The closest thing was The Jack, in a sad, twisted and cruel way.

Do you have any thoughts on how they would have raised a kid?

Ohhhhh, y'know, it'd be easy to joke about how they'd be terrible influences and the most rowdy, trouble-inspiring set of uncles and aunt, but they'd probably be a mixed bag... They'd just stagger their bad ideas until the kids were older XD

Hare's squeamish around Human Oozes so he'd probably keep any babies at arm's length, literally. Once the kid was older he'd be teaching them card and coin tricks and how to steal from the adults, and then sneaking them out of the house, and you know you're gonna be getting your license soon, have you ever considered driving a get-away car. And of course if the kid was queer he'd be very supportive.

The Skull is 100% a disciplinarian and a snitch so that kid is going to do their homework. He'd be against Hare's influence in some ways, mostly in trying to point the kid away from stealing from other family members, and in doing so ends up a target for hi-jinks himself. The kid would not be scared of The Skull because he would not hurt them.

The Jack, well, assuming the timeline stays the same, he wouldn't be left alone with the kid a lot. In actuality he'd be more likely to run away from a crying child than to put them in any danger, but no-one trusts him at that point. Once the kid was older they'd probably get tasked with watching out for The Jack like Hare and The Skull were.

Dee was a mother in her past life, but there's only so much you can do from behind a closed door. She might offer advice to Hare when the kid starts to have complicated emotional problems, or talk through the door to them for short times.

Locksmith was locked up, but that's ok, because manipulation aside, the kid would find Locksmith borrrinnngggg.

Riker and Scratch don't super factor in here, but if they did... Riker probably isn't great with kids or teens and knows it, so while he wouldn't be mean, he'd be stand-offish. Scratch on the other hand is young enough to remember being a teen and would be friendly with them.

And Tatters would love the attention.

[ask-the-becile-boys-vf]

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two warm up sketches i decided to post cause they felt Cutesy and ive got brain worms

[ask-the-becile-boys]

A fan piece based around the events of 'Starting From Scratch!' (Tumblr link, Ao3 link)

Thank you so much!

Fic: My duty

Short description: Colleague's words willy-nilly bring Mercy Dawn back to the past — a sad event in 2020, about which even Dawn prefers to remain silent.

Warnings: death, mentions of dead bodies, blood loss, shooting, injections, limbs and their absence.

Author's note: I'll try to be brief. I've been writing for a long time, but this fanfic can officially be called my first piece. I would like to pay tribute to the @ask-the-becile-boys blog and its moderator, which became the source of my inspiration. Dear Muse, you are my muse. Don't judge me. My friend forced me into writing this pun.

Translator's note: Guess who :)

Just wanted to wish you to enjoy the reading and also remind you that all claims for the translation are provided to @alreorem. It's my first time doing Russian to English translation so don't judge me too harsh, please. Just DM me and politely point out my mistake if you find one. Thanks for understanding! <3

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Dawn, laying on the dining table, diligently tried to sleep, but something, or rather someone, interfered with this important, urgent matter.

Soroh: Dawny~ Ten more sheets~

Dawn: Nope.

Soroh: Hey! Don't even think about shoving everything on me!

Dawn: What do you mean by ʼeverything'?! There's a little left!

Soroh also looked tired. So much that he couldn't argue with his colleague and only pressured her with a clouded look. Next to them was a thick stack of documents that could scare any inexperienced worker, but Dawn and Soroh are old-school people, and this amount of work was a little less frightening.

The game of peepers was interrupted by Flint, who placed two mugs of water right in front of the noses of the sufferers. For an hour, he watched his barely alive colleagues, who seemed to have lost their last convolutions on half of the paperwork. Recently, they ended the argument about the correctness of filling the documents, and if earlier Soroh still took up the alteration of papers, now he quickly gave up, agreeing with Dawn and her 'It'll do."

Dawn: OOOH! Boiling water!

She cheered up and began to warm her hands. Coffee, tea, sugar weren't brought so often, their last joy was hot or cold water, though all sorts of impurities felt terribly wrong. They even tried to mix it with a tasteless parody of food, but they quickly regretted it. And sometimes Dawn managed to get vitamins. And even for such merits, Soroh still couldn't calm down.

Soroh: Work first.

Dawn: Am I even not allowed to drink?

Soroh: Exactly. No, I mean, are you serious? After boiling water, you'll stop thinking at all!

Dawn: Actually! As an assistant, you should do all of this. Look at me. In my youth, I was left alone with all the work.

Soroh: ... In the youth. And what period of life are you experiencing now?

Dawn: Old age Soroh, old age. So be kind, show respect for old age and finish everything yourself.

The woman lay down on the table and stretched like a sleepy cat with her arms and legs extended as far as possible. Soroh, on the other hand, didn't share Dawn's enthusiasm, shoving her leg with force.

Flint: Old age? And how many years have you been working here?

Dawn: Well... It's been four years already.

Flint: But that's only one year longer than Soroh..

Soroh: It depends on how to look at this situation. Dawn is the only one of my good acquaintances who has worked at Industries for more than three years. Though... There are also quite a few silent people, and I had no business with the authorities.

Flint: For real?

Dawn: ... Don't even look at me.

Flint was genuinely puzzled. He knew that Industries wouldn't let go of its wards, but then where did ordinary workers who had worked for more than four years go? The only outgoing person of the trio was Soroh, and Flint shifted his gaze to him.

Soroh: I've heard rumors about... a large-scale incident. Someone talks about an explosion that caused the release of green matter; someone talks about mass liquidation ... A lot of rumors can be heard, but I don't know what to believe...

Flint looked at Dawn again, hoping to see at least the slightest clue in her facial expressions, but she was already sitting, finishing her work and no longer going to take part in the conversation.

Dawn: ...It's not something you should know.

-

THREE YEARS AGO

_

Pylartes: Look. I need you to rewrite it on new forms and put it in piles. Oh, and write down two people with the best performance for me.

The day began quite ordinarily. It'd seem that only yesterday Dawn managed to deal with all the paperwork, as she was handed a mountain of new documents. And where do they get so much paper from, so that later they can rewrite it all! Mercy had a lot of resentment about her work, even with a lot of experience and a year of work, she had never received confidence in operations in Becile Industries.

Dawn: As you say...

The woman already knew that it was useless to argue with this position, at least with Pylartes. Not even an hour had passed before he hurriedly left the laboratory, not bothering to report whether he would return today or not. But Dawn wasn't upset by her loneliness, she only made herself comfortable, throwing her leg over a nearby chair.

This could have continued all day long, if not for a sudden interruption in the system.

After blinking a couple of times, the lamps went out, and the buzz of the working devices subsided. The last thing that stopped working in this room was Dawn, who was still finishing the sentence from memory. The main problem here is that in the dark the words climb on the lines, or even worse, on other words.

Only after the dot was put, the girl looked out into the corridor, which was also immersed in darkness, only a couple of anxious voices came from the direction of the Archive. The electricity was cut off in the entire building, which was actually strange and could only speak of an unforeseen situation. Pylartes would definitely warn about this, even though he was quite forgetful.

While Dawn speculated, the workers quickly fell silent as they returned to the workplace. Mercy, too, could have returned to her office and shy away from work, but she had two strong but poorly sealed refrigerators that couldn't withstand a long lack of power.

At her usual pace, Dawn cleaned up as much as possible, closed the laboratory and headed to the mechanics she knew. They didn't talk much; a couple of times she brought them a hematocrit centrifuge for repair, and a couple of times they came to her for medical help. Quiet guys, however, they weren't the only quiet ones. She hoped that they have at least some information or ideas on how to keep the cold in the cells.

Her vision took a long time to get used to the dark, only her hearing helped. As she was approaching the turns, the clatter of steps in front became duller, and on the sides, on the contrary, freer. Dawn never considered darkness to be something terrible, only her own sounds were alarming, which rapidly spread through an absolutely empty space.

Entering the workshop, with eyes already accustomed, Mercy looked around the room.

“Absolutely empty”, played in her head again, she was already nervous.

The place was quite large, and the guys could just relax somewhere far away or even in a warehouse. Dawn took in more air in her chest to call for one of the workers, but when she realized how loud she'd be in this place, she quickly changed her mind and preferred a quiet inspection.

She didn't have to be here often, but each time everything was different. Details that differed from each other in shapes and sizes; sheets of various kinds of metal, which sometimes didn't fit in the workplace; even the tools were constantly changing their position. It seemed that all this was completely out of order, or maybe all these things were just abandoned in a hurry.

Abandoned in a a hurry...

She felt uncomfortable. And why the heck would she think that? Although, it was really too quiet for anyone to be here.

The door from the warehouse was wide open and after listening for a couple of minutes, Dawn concluded that there was no one after all. It was at least not safe to enter a place full of heavy, unknown objects, and Mercy wasn't a fan of looking for adventures on her adult head. It remained to assume that the guys left to solve problems in the system and soon everything would work. She can go back.

The noise began to reverberate down the corridor. At first, Dawn was even happy that someone was coming in her direction, but the longer she waited, the more anxious she became. One step grew into five, and five into twenty, and twenty into a hundred. The whole space was filled with the sounds of the march, which only became louder.

Dawn stepped back at one of the tables and leaned against the wall. Even if the heart began to throw out portions of adrenaline, but her mind was clear and ready for rational action. Mercy knew what fear can lead to and was especially well aware that in stressful situations, the brain tries to intimidate you even more. There may be a less creepy explanation for all this than the imagination betrays.

Or so she thought, until she heard a powder pop. Her body stiffened, followed by the thoughts that had just shouted: “Run! Hide!”, as if they themselves didn't expect a shot that marked the beginning of a terrible show.

The march played with a distraught orchestra, where every instrument was for itself, and the death was the conductor. The hail of lead was accompanied by flashes and the more often they sparkled, the more lives were taken.

Quickly realizing that disaster was rushing in her direction, Dawn fell on her knees and moved to the very depths of the table. One hand helped her body to stay in tension, and the other closed her mouth, so that the trembling didn't take possession of her body.

What a pity there was nothing to close her ears. In addition to the shooting, aggressive exclamations fear-filled screams and the last wheezes of people were heard. Only one word sounded louder and clearest, in which confidence and despair lived. That word was “Move!”.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, but Dawn was hesitant to move.

It turned out to be not in vain. Slow, haughty footsteps scoffed, echoed, first down the corridor and then in the workshop. Her jaws chattered as Mercy diligently watched her breathing. Her lungs were filled to the brim with oxygen, and then very slowly deflated, almost suffocating. The only thing that differentiated her from the floor was the rumbling of her heart. The blood pulsated through the vessels, causing her body to be thrown whether into the heat or into the cold.

Her thoughts began to get confused from an overabundance of noise in her body, thinking only about how to silence everything. In the meantime, the steps were getting closer, clearer.

They stopped only when they were near the table, right above her head she was afraid to raise. What if they've already seen her and are just just playing with her now? Waiting for Dawn to raise her cowardly eyes?

Time dragged on, and thoughts only swarmed in an already noisy head. An unknown person went to the pantry and only then left the room. For a while, their footsteps reverberated through the corridor, and even when they were completely silent, Dawn continued to draw them in her mind.

It was no longer possible to sit under the table. While everything was quiet, it was worth returning as quickly as possible. With the utmost care, Mercy looked around the room and gradually got to her feet. A slight feeling of relief spread throughout her body, involuntarily increasing the trembling. No longer feeling her own weight, Dawn hurried to the exit, where only a small part of the incident was seen.

The emptiness was filled with dead noise. If someone else were in the place of the girl, then their fantasy would clearly play out and begin to reproduce scenes from creepy movies with zombies or other creatures. But the woman was too old for that.

Dawn is a doctor, but the last thing she wanted at the moment was to do her duty. The chance of saving only her own skin, among possibly living bodies, was so attractive, just not to become part of the fresh cemetery.

And then, muffled wheezing. Only it was able to stop Dawn. Her legs simply refused to go any further.

Someone behind her back was alive, but she didn't dare to turn around. Someone who so desperately needed her help was very close, but Mercy also wanted to survive. She, not only as a doctor, but also as a person, couldn't drop her oath and hurried to the workshop for a first-aid kit. What a stupid decision.

Her mind cleared up immediately, and it was followed by insanely clear actions, like a machine performing the same program. Unfortunately, Dawn knew all too well how ruthless the hands of watches can be.

It was easy to find the alive, but wounded victim among the corpses. She tried to be quiet, discreet; but in addition to wheezing, panic betrayed her. According to the old habit, Mercy quickly began to act, completely forgetting about someone else's fear.

No sooner had she approached the girl than she jerked back sharply, making a sound that would have sounded like a scream if it had not been for her broken voice.

After inspecting her from top to bottom, Dawn could already clearly see the spots of damage. Of course, most of the bullet wounds were on her prostheses, which replaced almost all of her limbs. The only part that was made of flesh and blood was the left hand. And it was what bothered Mercy the most.

Dawn: Calm down, I'm a doctor.

Her hands rose up on their own accord in a conciliatory gesture. Even though a fragile thread of trust was stretched between the girls, the fear didn't go away. Mercy helped the girl sit down, simultaneously asking all the important and necessary questions for the doctor, to which she only nod or shook her head. She didn't even try to speak.

The only visible injuries were two bullet wounds: one through in the humerus (biceps brachii muscle) and one blind wound, all signs that the bullet went straight into her shoulder joint.

First of all, she tried to stop the bleeding. If a tourniquet could be applied to the first wound, then the second had to be covered with a pressure bandage. The woman forcefully squeezed the fist of her prosthesis, the grinding of metal and heart-rending groans were heard.

Dawn: Hush, it's okay, you're doing fine.

The doctor spoke without hesitation in order to somehow calm the wounded girl. Everything was supposed to stop as soon as possible, as soon as the light returned, the incident would immediately be made public. Everything will end soon, she will live.

Her hands reached for the first aid kit. Doubtfully, but among the adrenaline, insulin and other drugs in the form of a bottle, it was painkillers and another pack of bandages that were pulled out.

Dawn: Bear it just a little more. Soon the pain will end.

By injecting the drug and starting to fix the shoulder, Mercy was finally able to afford unnecessary thoughts. The manner of thinking developed by time and continuous work did not allow to be distracted or think about something else during operations or medical manipulations.

The burning determination to help someone else quickly faded as Dawn looked around. The bodies simply disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, which seemed endless. In addition to the wheezing of the wounded girl, the space was filled with an all-consuming silence. It seemed that in the abyss Mercy could hear the beating of someone else's heart, but it wasn't true.

How long will she have to go to check on everyone? Will there be any point in doing it? Examining the surroundings, she noticed that severe and fatal wounds were striking. Even with non-working prosthetic legs and a wounded arm, the girl was really lucky.

“Are you... One of ours?”

Apparently, the drug began to act. The girl no longer gritted her teeth and seemed relatively calm.

Only the question squeezed out of the girl's chest stuck in Dawn's head. ʼOf oursʼ? The only thing Dawn was sure of was that she was an employee of the Becile Industries. If there are so-called ʼoursʼ and ʼnot oursʼ among the workers, then Mercy successfully passed by the sorting hat throughout the year.

The victim saw the doctor's confusion and simply brushed off her silent question.

“Go away... You mustn't get into it.”

The girl forcefully closed her dried eyes, took more oxygen into her chest and threw her head back. Pain and anxiety gave way to fatigue. Whatever her fate is, it was inevitable. Is that why the girl let go of Dawn so calmly? The only living person willing to help?

Still, Mercy didn't know what she was getting into, and the weight of the adhering dirt was already weighing on her body. Dawn had a lot of questions, a lot of variations in the development of events: maybe people with guns would come back and kill them, or maybe others would come and fight back? But everything revolved around one word ʼmaybeʼ.

The likelihood that no one will know about her presence is so big that the most sensible decision was to leave. To just run away, and as soon as possible.

Dawn rose to her feet in an instant and disappeared just as quickly into the darkness. Without hesitation, she slipped into the darkness and disappeared like a vision. And the wounded girl had nothing but to peer into the void, looking for the outlines of a long white robe. She still had hope. No one in their right mind would want to die, especially here, especially now, especially alone; but the poor fellow had already let go of his bird.

There was nothing to wait for and her eyes began to close. Her eyelids were heavy, either from fatigue or from drowsiness. She can take a little break, just a little.

“Hey! Now's not the best time to sleep!”

It was a woman's voice. Is Dawn back? She's really back! The tall silhouette appeared as soon as it disappeared, holding a box filled with tools.

Dawn: So listen here. Let's take off the dentures and I'll carry you. Whether I'm 'yours' or 'their' is my problem.

The girl looked at the doctor with a sad look, clearly regretting, sympathizing, but didn't contradict.

At the moment, Dawn was bothered by too many questions to which she clearly wouldn't be able to get a concise and clear answer. If everything was thoroughly simple, then their own wouldn't kill their own, as in a slaughterhouse.

The doctor began to detach the robotic legs and, sensibly assessing her physical abilities, removed the functioning arm. Prostheses can always be replaced, new ones can be attached. There's nothing wrong with losing one of them.

Without the metal, the victim was quite light, the only discomfort was in carrying her around. Dawn had to improvise and use her doctor's gown so she was able to fix the girl on her back.

Looking at the bodies more closely, Mercy noticed the metal, too. On their legs, arms, eyes, mouths, necks, you name it. Did they all really need these prostheses so much? Yes, they can be useful and comfortable, but to lose tactility, a healthy part of your body to just put them? Dawn didn't understand this. Jaw prostheses were at least impractical and deprived the mouth of the simplest functions. And somewhere the weight from the metal was completely distributed incorrectly, from which the spine suffered, and if only the arms were replaced, then the legs could also suffer. The doctor could reflect on this for a long time, reluctantly finding more minuses than pluses. Dawn didn't understand this. Jaw prostheses were impractical and deprived the mouth of the simplest functions. And somewhere the weight from the metal was completely distributed incorrectly, from which the spine suffered, and if the arms were replaced, then the legs would also suffer. The doctor could reflect on this for a long time, reluctantly finding more cons than pros.

Dawn: Why do you all have these prostheses?

The girl didn't react to the asked question, as if she didn't hear it at all. She didn't look around. At the very beginning, she buried her head in her shoulder and diligently covered her eyes, just not to become a witness to what had happened again.

In the meantime, the bodies were running out, a couple more steps and everything would be left somewhere behind. If she's lucky, then in the upcoming future, Dawn won't have to regret either her actions or decisions.

Dawn: Usually I ask for the name right away, so... Can I know it at least now?

Such a simple question turned out to be unexpected. The reluctantly wounded girl raised her head, but the corridor was already empty. If she doesn't look back, the terrible life episode will seem to be over.

“Alice... Just Al--...”

There was a sound. Dawn was ready to run, but then her brain stopped her. She quickly came to her senses. She stood and listened, waiting for the noise to repeat.

A sound, or rather a murmur, came somewhere behind, very close. Mercy didn't want to linger, didn't even want to look back, but it was worth checking to find out what the chances of saving a life were. And Alice apparently didn't mind.

It was a ginger man whose hair and face had long been filled with red. The bullet hit the head.

Dawn felt pain near her temple. He won't do it. Too much time has passed. As soon as she got closer, her legs slipped. Something wet and still warm squelched under her feet, sticking to her shoes with a stranglehold. The floor around it was completely flooded.

Without understanding why Dawn untied Alice from herself, placing her in the opposite of her, and set to work. He was still alive, mumbling something indistinct and wasting all his strength just to not lose consciousness. Doesn't he deserve at least a little attempt? And if she manages to stop the blood, then it'll be possible to drag and save two lives.

Staying clean was hard. Her hands smeared in blood every now and then and the funds in the first-aid kit weren't enough to the point of bitterness. She had to use everything that played under her hand. Her own robe was long enough to tear off part of the hem and use it to stop the bleeding.

“Today... ”

Now it was possible to catch jerky words from his slurred speech, but this wasn't a sign of improvement of his condition. The man still didn't respond to Dawn's voice and reacted poorly to external incentives. He was still pale and weak, and a gray-red liquid flowed from his nose.

“... must take them out...”

It was necessary to somehow drag the two victims away and the question wasn't about Dawn's physical abilities, but about the carrying capacity of the robe. She had to go even further back and pull off the clothes of the dead.

“We've been waiting so long...”

Alice was still on Dawn's back, and the man was firmly fixated in a sitting position in a pair of jackets and dragged along the floor. Fully blooded shoes had to be removed.

“Annabel.”

The last word that is firmly ingrained in the walls of this corridor. Everyone knew it except Dawn. Will it remain within these walls or will it disappear at the first breath of wind, as soon as the authorities find new workers? Alice didn't want to believe it, but it would take time before the documents arrived.

Alice: Cyborgs. Industries has done all of this to us...

[npdzane]

Being able to speak for the first time in how many years??? A lot??? Must be revolutionary for a yapper like Scratch. I JUST KNOW he would've never stopped infodumping if they visited him again. im gonna sob my eyes out.

Characters belong to @ask-the-becile-boys (Hope i drew him right)

[littledraga]

Becile Birthday!

It’s @ask-the-becile-boys 11th birthday for the AU! Had to do something special for it! Not sure if this is it, but it’s what I did! It’s late, it’s only half edited, have fun with that. :p Thanks for keeping these funky dudes alive!

Maybe it was a little weird for Scratch to give Tatters a little scratch post a month after Christmas. It wasn't like her claws needed it, but no one said anything. And Tatters did like beating it up and napping on top of it.

When he got Locksmith mustache wax at the end of March everyone was confused. No one more than Locksmith himself. It was left with a card with a cake covered in candles. Odd? But who was he to turn down such a thoughtful gift?

Dee screamed when someone other than Hare knocked on her door. She threw open the door, intent on clawing at whoever was there. Instead of a person, there was a box with a bright bow. Inside were old records and a little bear with a loud sweater. Holding the teddy close, she looked around before slamming the door hard enough that some walls shook. Jazz filled the halls while she slowly danced around with her new little friend. It made the stifling heat as summer crept closer a little more pleasant.

Later, when summer was fully on them, Hare caught Scratch wrapping something in the lounge, struggling with tape that had gotten stuck on his shirt. Turning around this way and that, more and more tape unrolled and he huffed behind the respirator.

Hare huffed a small laugh as he walked over to take the tape before Scratch became a mummy.

"Whatcha got there?" He asked, trying to look over Scratch over his shoulder.

At first, Scratch tried to cover it with his body before his shoulders slumped. Sitting up, he offered a small wrapped box to Hare.

"I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I guess a day early won't hurt," he signed.

Taking the box, Hare tilted his head, looking at it carefully. "What is it?"

Scratch laughed enough his shoulders shook.

"It's a present. For your birthday." He paused and tilted his head a little.

"Power day? Turn on day?" He signed, not really sure what to call it.

Smoke billowed out of his cheeks.

"Wha? You remember sometin' like dat?" Looking at the wrapping paper, he scrunched his good eye.

"Uh, thanks?" He said before tentatively opening the small box. Inside were three small locks. More confused, he looked at Scratch.

He looked confused and tugged at his sleeves a moment before he explained.

'It's a lock picking kit. I know you've been practicing. So I thought you'd like some new locks." It may have made him a little uncomfortable, but he didn't think of Hare as a bad person. And he did seem to actually enjoy picking locks, just because.

Hare grinned, at least as much as his faceplate would allow.

"Thanks! 'Priciated." Hare shuffled a little from foot to foot, not sure what to do. Another quick thanks and he hurried off to put his new locks in his room.

It wasn't long after that that Scratch came up to Jack, looking nervous and holding a bag behind his back.

Jack was in the garden, watching the birds and twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, enjoying the freedom now that Riker had fixed his wires.

He noticed Scratch's shadow first. Turning around, he smiled warmly up at him and hopped to his feet.

"Good morning, Scratch! It's good to see you." He paused when he saw how nervous he was. "Are you alright?"

Scratch stalled a moment before quickly holding the bag out in front of him. Waiting for Jack to take it with a confused look, he finally explained.

"I wasn't sure what you would like. I hope it's okay?"

Blond curls bounced while Jack tilted his head.

"Oh? I'm sure whatever it is, it's lovely." Digging into the bag, Jack pulled out a short top hat and a new bow. They were older, and it showed, but still in good condition. His face split into a wide grin.

"Oh! These are lovely! Thank you, Scratch!" Holding them to his chest, he did look a bit confused.

"But I'm afraid I don't know the occasion? Surely it's not so late in the year it's Christmas again, is it? I haven't gotten you anything."

Scratch laughed, though mostly his shoulders just shook.

"It's to celebrate another year, Jack. From when you powered on first. A birthday," he signed, smiling as much as his limited face would allow.

"Oh my! I had completely forgotten about that! Thank you, Scratch! This is very sweet." Something for his first birthday since he was repaired.

"You're welcome! I need to wrap Skull's now. Take care!" Waving him off, Scratch hurried off back inside.

By now, the manor had caught on to what he was doing. So a few days later when Skull saw him from the corner of his eye while he was taking a rare moment to relax and knit, he put his needles down.

"Hey, Skull." Scratch lifted up another bag.

"Happy birthday. Or um wake up day? Or?" He still didn't know what to call it.

Skull watched him for a moment, pretending not to notice the bag in Scratch's hand.

"Birthday is fine." It was a human thing anyway.

"Thanks," he huffed. But before he could pick up the needles again, there was a bag in his lap. Looking up, he saw Scratch looking at him expectantly. Smoke curled from his neck as he sighed.

Looking inside the bag, he carefully pulled out skeins in various colours and a new set of needles.

"I know you have some yarn already, but I thought you might like having some new colours," he explained.

Skull's face softened. Or at least as much as his faceplate would allow.

"Thank you. They're good colours. And I did need some new knitting needles. I appreciate it." When Scratch beamed, he laughed. Just a single chuckle.

"You've been busy."

Which made the man beam more. Or as much as he could.

"Everyone deserves something good on their birthday. It's important!" He enthusiastically signed.

"We always had big parties when I was growing up."

Skull hummed at that. He wasn't sure he remembered any kind of birthday celebration. Even when Thaddeus was alive there were no celebrations at the manor. Frivolous things he would call them. But Thaddeus wasn't here anymore.

Things were quiet, for a little while. Then Scratch took to the kitchen at the end of July. He was cooking up a large batch of chicken and dumplings and sides. Something that had the robots peeking around the corner.

Hare spoke up first, walking over to look over Scratch’s shoulder as the man seasoned some chicken in a pan with what looked like dough in a bowl.

“This doesn’t look like a smoothie,” said Hare while he tried to figure out what was going on.

Scratch stopped long enough to quickly sign.

“Chicken and dumplings. It’s Riker’s birthday. So I thought I’d make him something while he was down in the workshop.”

Hare looked at Skull, who was still at the doorway. He just shrugged.

“Looks like a lot of work for someone that just eats ramen. When he eats,” huffed Hare, moving when Skull gave him a hard look. It wasn’t like it was his fault!

“It’s his birthday,” explained Scratch simply.

“Everyone needs to have something nice on their birthday.” And he was back to cooking away, leaving the two to look confused. It wasn’t like they had a lot of experience with birthdays.

After too long in the workshop, trying to keep the tools from getting too rusted to use, Riker nearly cried when he saw a banquet set out just for him. Scratch had to push him into a seat to get him to eat.

“Man, this is better than Ma's from when I was a kid.” Riker suddenly stopped, spoon halfway to his face to glance at Scratch who was looking rather proud of himself.

“Don’t ever tell her I said that.” As if anyone here would likely meet her, but a man couldn’t be too sure.

Scratched crossed his fingers over his chest before putting away the leftovers. At least Riker would be eating real food for a couple days.

A week later, Riker found himself cornered in the workshop by three robots. Even if they, probably, wouldn’t hurt him, it was still unnerving. Crossing his arms over his chest and a cigarette hanging off his lip, he watched them, waiting for some explanation as to why they were ganging up on him. Jack broke first.

“What do you do for birthdays?” He asked and stepped into the room, careful to give the workbench as wide a birth as he could.

He grinned a little, just a smidge. “It’s about Scratch’s turn, ain’t it?”

Hare huffed and followed Jack in.

“Yeah, and we wanna know what yer ‘sposed to do for a birthday.”

Riker just shrugged.

“Been a while. Mostly a lot of drinking, but I don’t think Scratch would be real interested in that,” he told them as he put out his cigarette.

“I’ve heard that people like surprise parties. Do you know about those?” inquired Jack innocently enough.

A brief memory and Riker shuddered. A surprise of people, never something he wanted. When the other three looked at him with concern, he quickly brushed them off.

“A surprise birthday party would mean keeping him out of the manor or at least part of it. Guess this place is plenty big enough. Normally they decorate the room, have cake and presents, and do stuff the birthday person likes,” he explained.

Tapping his chin, Skull thought that over for a moment. Smoke curled from his neck vents as he started to plan.

“Cake wouldn’t be a good idea. Scratch can’t eat it,” he reminded them.

When Hare shoved his hands into his pockets, pretending not to pout, Riker tried not to laugh.

“Probably a bad idea,” he agreed.

“But they have ice cream too. Could probably make him a shake?” he offered, leaning against one of the tables.

Skull looked up at that.

“There’s probably some kind of birthday milkshake. I’m sure I can find something.” With his mission decided, Skull made his way back upstairs.

“Well, that’s one thing settled,” huffed Hare, still looking sour.

“We could decorate the lounge?” offered Jack with a smile.

“We’ve seen movies. I bet we could do something spectacular!” When Hare perked up a little, Jack’s smile grew. Taking Hare’s arm, he gently tugged Hare away They had planning to do.

But at the door, Hare turned to look at Riker, pointing a gloved hand at him.

“We’ll get it planned, but you gotta keep him busy for a while, got it?”

Riker rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell him I need to check his leg or somethin’. Now get goin’. I need a drink.” he muttered as they all left. There was plenty to do.

It was hot when Scratch’s birthday came around, it was easy to get him down to the workshop for a look over. At least it was cooler in the basement levels.

“I haven’t been having any more trouble than normal,” he explained while Riker was looking the knee over. It may have been a cover, but it didn’t hurt to look while he had the chance.

“That’s good. Everythin’ looks fine. I just want to make sure I ain’t missin’ somethin’,” he explained. Eventually, Scratch got a clean bill of health. Or at least the machine part of him did. There was no way anything ‘living’ was going to be healthy here. But still, Riker kept looking. At least until he heard three bangs on the floor above him.

“Looks like you’re right as rain!” He sarcastically cheered as he backed up to let Scratch get to his feet as he put his tools away.

“Why don’t we head up and get something to drink? Should be something cold in the fridge.”

Scratch nodded and would wait for Riker.

“Wish I could eat popsicles,” he signed while they walked.

“Used to be the best part of summer.”

“Ya know, that does sound pretty good,” he agreed as they walked.

“But I can think of something better.” As Scratch looked to him for an answer, Riker stepped into the lounge and waited for him.

Inside was a messy banner that had ripped in three places when they tried to hang it up. A few messily wrapped boxes sat on the coffee table as well as two oversized shakes covered in tiny sprinkles.

Everyone, save Dee, who refused to come downstairs, was waiting for him. Jack was smiling brightly.

“Happy Birthday!” They all said at once, some with more enthusiasm than others.

Scratch stood still, looking at everything. His remaining eye teared up.

“Thank you,” he signed once, twice, and again, and again. There was static from the vent. It was hard to tell if it was laughter or a sob.

Skull stepped over with his gift, handing it to Scratch.

“You told us birthdays were important,” he reminded him as he pressed the wrapping paper into his hand. Inside was a box set to an anime Scratch had been talking about.

Scratch took his time with each gift, gushing with everyone. Even Locksmith was at least, mostly, agreeable for the party. He’d be up late with his new anime and shipping on yet another birthday cake shake. Best birthday.

[steambot-shenanigans]

My first major foray into a larger fanwork

Oh gosh I just got done reading all the becile boys comics and I am excited to see where this story goes! Also what a way to spend an afternoon! The characters and story were so compelling I couldn’t stop reading.

I think my favorite character is Scratch! They are such a good person and as an ASL student, I always love seeing ASL come up in media (and seeing if I can recognize the signs)

I think this series (along with most all SPG Mechanisms crossovers) is going to the top of my list for favorite SPG fanworks so far! :D

[ao3feed-spg]

Everyone Needs Something Special for Their Birthday

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8vCHakV

by Waywocket

It's the 11th birthday for the Becile bot AU so I had to do something fun! Scratch tries to give everyone something good for their birthday. And in turn, they do their best.

Words: 2240, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Steam Powered Giraffe

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Scratch Becile, Skull Becile, Hare Becile, Jack Becile

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8vCHakV

[not-a-workin-boy]

r.d. becile is my muse and also runs the cult.. that i’m. uhm. in

none of you have any idea who i’m talking about and wont get elaboration until. idk when. feel free to reblog or comment and ask or whatever this IS oc posting btw

scratches neck. yes r.d. becile is a descendant of thadeus becile. no one in the manor cares i think (i’m talking to a wall rn)

[wiilbiiciide]

Wanted to draw something for Halloween and this is my wip!

So Hare as a pirate to be honest I drew the pose first and just thought it fit his sword is very much fake because he cannot be trusted with a real one.

Then we have The Jack as a spooky ghost which he tried to make a little friendlier with a smile drawn onto it but I think I might have accidentally drawn my new sleep paralysis demon.

Finally The Skull who I really struggled with what he might dress up and settled on Tetsuo Shima from Akira! I feel like Scratch would have shown the movie to him.

Characters belong to @ask-the-becile-boys and if you like spg or just good comics in general check them out

[ask-the-becile-boys]

[ID: A digital sketch in black and white. A screaming and crying snake (avatar of Muse) is coiled around a heart shaped cake that reads 'happy bye' on the top. The snake is surrounded by the Becile Bots. Dee is screaming back. The Jack says placatingly, "W-We'll always be with you! Kinda!" The Skull scowls while holding a forlorn looking Tatters. Hare winces and says, "Eeesh." Scratch makes an anime-style sweatdrop-and-closed eye expression. Riker grins smugly at the viewer and says, "I get a boyfriend in the next project." Locksmith's disembodied, X-eyed head lays on the table wearing a party hat. End ID]

@ghoulishjester suggested this as an end-of-blog celebration, and while I'm still looking for something to do IRL, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do something really really stupid

[ask-the-becile-boys-vf]

Lore entier

Attention ! Ce post contient beaucoup de spoils. Si vous préférez garder le suspense des histoires qui vont être postées, passez votre chemin.

Mais si vous vous en fichez ou avez besoin de références : vous êtes au bon endroit !

Biographies

Hare est un escroc plein d’esprit et avec l'estime de soi d'une coque de cacahuète briése. Il compense en se moquant de tout le monde autour de lui, mais il s’emporte si le même traitement lui est infligé ou si des commentaires sont faits sur ses blessures au visage. Hare est rusé et machiavélique, mais il a toujours un certain honneur et une certaine volonté de faire « le bien », bien que c'est en suivant ses propres morales. Il a passé une grande partie de ses années de formation à essayer de plaire à son créateur, mais son côté voyou ne tolérait pas les abus de Becile, créant un cycle écrasant qui a miné son optimisme. Il a un penchant pour les jeux de cartes et est méchamment doué pour cela, et il arnaque souvent les gens grâce à cela. Ses doigts sont acérés et font d’excellents crocheteurs de serrures. Hare avait une "petite amie" sous la forme d’une perceuse électrique qu’il appelle Gwen, mais actuellement ils "se laissent de l’espace". Il ne peut plus jouer de l’harmonica ni chanter, mais joue toujours du piano. Il a un accent de Brooklyn, mais il lui arrive de parler inconsciemment italien. Il est souvent connu pour boire de l'essence pour se saouler, comme il le fairait avec de l'alcool, mais pas au degré pathologique de Szarka. Son noyau se trouve entre ses omoplates. Hare a été le premier des Becile Bots à être activé.

The Skull est impassible et pragmatique. Arborant une plaque faciale que Becile n'était pas enclin à terminer, il fait de la contrebande afin de maintenir leurs finances le moins possible dans le rouge. Depuis son activation, il a promis la plus profonde loyauté à son créateur - et l'a payé cher, étant souvent le premier à souffrir des mains de Becile. Malgré les abus, le dévouement de The Skull aux idéaux de Becile reste constant même après la mort de son maître. Bien qu'il incarne une menace de violence très réelle, il est tout aussi stratégique, patient et prudent. Il s'occupe en grande partie de l'entretien du manoir Becile et est connu pour tricoter pendant son temps libre. C'est un bassiste accompli, bien que son instrument soit cassé et injouable depuis des années. The Skull est le seul Becile Bot encore capable de chanter - c'est un basses - mais il le fait tout aussi rarement. Il parle aussi peu qu'il peut, mais on peut détecter un accent du Midwest quand il le fait. Son arme préférée est « Suzi l'Uzi », mais contrairement à Hare et Gwen, leur relation est strictement professionnelle. Son noyau est au milieu de sa poitrine. The Skull est le troisième des robots à être activé.

The Jack était à l’origine un robot joyeux et désireux de plaire qui suivait Hare comme une ombre. Il était souvent victime du mauvais caractère de Becile et développa une peur intense de lui et de The Skull, mais ne fut jamais complètement intimidé grâce au soutien de Hare. Après un accident dans lequel il fut frappé par la foudre et jamais correctement réparé, la personnalité de Jack a changé de tout au tout. Il est devenu imprévisible et hystérique, s’en prenant aux autres et à son entourage, ce qui a incité Becile à demander à Hare de l’attacher dans une camisole de force. Aujourd’hui, Jack a été réparé par Riker Szarka. Sa "folie " s’est révélée être semblable à une crise de panique ; en conséquence, il en est sorti plus fatigué et plus capricieux qu’il ne l’était quand il était jeune. Il a un accent cockney et, comme Hare, parle parfois italien. Il ne peut plus jouer du violon en raison de tremblements persistants causés par l’accident. Sa perruque est brune, mais fortement tachée de suie (de plus en plus après son accident). Son noyau est dans son estomac. Le Jack a été activé en deuxième position des trois robots originaux.

Locksmith est apparu dans le manoir Becile en 2013, à la grande surprise de tous, et s'est rapidement senti chez lui. Il était un "projet spécial" de Becile, enfermé en raison des fuites de son noyau et les souvenirs de son existence furent effacés de la mémorie des autres robots. Locksmith a tous les atouts d'un gentleman traditionnel, notamment une manière de parler loquace et le vocabulaire d'un thésaurus. Il se considère comme supérieur aux autres robots Becile, daignant travailler avec eux uniquement par nécessité. Il est égocentrique, cultivé, guindé et ambitieux. Et, bien qu'il n'en parle pas avec les autres, il se souvient d'avoir été humain. Il a un accent difficile à définir, bien qu'il énonce comme un présentateur de nouvelles ou un animateur de documentaire. Il ne peut ni chanter ni jouer d'aucun instrument. Son noyau est dans sa poitrine et a une trappe ; l'ouvrir peut produire un effet aléatoire ou rien du tout. Il parle parfois à The Jack, en particulier des rêves de ce dernier ; il prétend n'avoir aucun motif caché pour cela, bien que Jack semble perturbé par les conversations. Locksmith a été activé en quatrième position des Bots, bien qu'en tant qu'humain, il était plus âgé qu'eux tous.

Dee n'est pas un robot ; c'est un mannequin de couturière possédé. Becile croyait qu'elle était l'esprit de Delilah Morreo lorsqu'il l'a attachée, et a passé des années à manipuler l'esprit confus, essayant de briser son "amnésie". Surnommée Dee par Hare, elle est facilement agitée et devient agressive sous le stress. Ses souvenirs et sa conscience sont souvent brouillés, et elle se considère elle-même et les autres robots Becile comme des monstres. Elle passe beaucoup de temps à lire et à écouter de vieux disques. Elle peut chanter, mais ne sait pas si elle peut jouer d'un instrument. Dee ne quitte jamais le grenier du manoir Becile, permettant occasionnellement à Hare de lui tenir compagnie mais refusant généralement les visiteurs. Elle a un accent du Sud. Elle n'a pas de "noyau" à proprement dit, mais son corps contient une certaine quantité de Sucre Rocailleux. Elle a été la cinquième à être "activée".

Thadeus Becile était en fait deux hommes – l’homme qu’il était avant la Matière Verte, et l’homme qu’il était après. Et pendant les longues décennies où les Becile Bots l’ont connu, il était un tyran. Il était convaincu au plus profond de lui-même que le monde lui avait fait du tort et reportait ses frustrations sur ses créations. Il exerçait un contrôle exigeant sur The Skull ; il intimidait et humiliait The Jack ; il dégradait Hare ; il torturait psychologiquement Dee ; il utilisait Locksmith comme cobaye. Il attendait une obéissance parfaite et était prompt à punir ; en même temps, il était distant et indifférent à ses créations. Les prothèses métalliques qui lui permettaient de travailler après la destruction de ses mains ont fini par fusionner avec ses bras, bien qu’il puisse toujours échanger ses griffes contre des doigts plus acceptables socialement. Il a eu deux fils (avec une femme connue des Becile Bots uniquement sous le nom de « La Veuve Becile »), Ignatius et Norman. Il a été le mentor d’Ignatius pendant un certain temps, mais les deux se sont finalement séparés. Becile est décédé à la fin des années 1990 après des décennies passées en ermite au manoir Becile.

Riker Caleb Szarka est l'ingénieur actuel des Becile Bots. Originaire du Midwest, la trentaine, il fume comme un pompier et boit comme un trou. Weed essaie de rester discret, reconnaissant ses "protégés" comme imprévisibles et dangereux. Vous ne voulez pas l'entendre essayer de chanter. Il est facilement effrayé, cynique, négligé et très déprimé. Cependant, il reconnaît le besoin très réel que les Becile Bots ont de lui et fait un véritable effort pour les maintenir en bon état. Cela est fortement limité par son ivresse fréquente et ses gueules de bois débilitantes, mais il essaie quand même.

Scratch, secrètement Royce Ellis, est un cyborg en trois parties - un humain augmenté contre sa volonté par Becile Industries en utilisant leur technologie, puis réparé par M. Szarka avec divers débris antiques créés par Thadeus Becile. Les blessures qui ont nécessité ces dernières réparations lui ont laissé des douleurs chroniques. Il était étudiant en études de la matière et s'intéressait à la technologie des noyaux. Alors qu'il essayait de trouver un stage, on lui a proposé un poste d'entrée lucratif chez Becile Industries, qu'il a accepté. Au cours des années suivantes, il a été entraîné de plus en plus loin dans les machinations de l'entreprise, s'enracinant progressivement dans leur travail de laboratoire expérimental pour se rendre compte trop tard qu'il était lui-même un cobaye. Il a fini par s'échapper, libérant également The Skull qui était emprisonné, entraînant une dette pour The Skull envers lui. Scratch a une vingtaine d'années. Il utilise principalement la langue des signes, car il est éprouvant d'utiliser la voix qui lui reste (il avait un accent de la côte ouest américaine). Il a une personnalité réservée et réfléchie à la limite de la dépression. Il réfléchit soigneusement avant de s'engager et remet en question son propre sens du bien et du mal. C'est aussi la personne la plus geek du Manoir, trouvant beaucoup d'excitation et de réconfort dans la fiction et les jeux. Avec une formation d'ingénieur, il aide M. Szarka à réparer et à entretenir les Becile Bots. Sa mission principale est de fournir les preuves contre Becile Industries qu'il essaye de faire passer en contrebande aux parties intéressées dans l'espoir de détruire l'entreprise.

Tatters est un chat mécanique recouvert des restes d'une peau empaillée qui a été remise sans ménagement aux Beciles. Elle aurait été récupérée lors d'une vente immobilière et transmise à l'un des contacts du marché noir de The Skull, qui l'a ensuite mise en gage pour lui. Bien qu'elle soit effrayante à voir, elle passe la plupart de son temps assise en hauteur et à avoir l'air critique. Elle accepte les caresses, mais toute personne qui essaie doit être avertie qu'une partie de sa peau pourrait tomber.

Personnages Secondaires

Jager est un cyborg "spécialiste de l'information" et un trafiquant d'armes qui se fait passer pour un prêteur sur gage. C'est un sale type, le principal contact de The Skull pour les transactions clandestines.

Mme Chinadoll est une riche mondaine automate et artiste avec des contacts. Elle et Locksmith prétendent être amis, bien que la sincérité soit discutable. Elle est charmante à l'excès mais totalement impitoyable.

Agent Ester est une cyborg de haut rang membre de la "force opérationnelle" de Becile Industries, les personnes qui s'occupent des affaires les plus sales. Elle est actuellement sous les ordres directs de Buster pour éliminer Scratch et les Becile Bots.

Jaime Huron est l'ex-petit ami violent de Riker Szarka et l'un des nombreux ingénieurs de Mme Chinadoll. Connu pour être obsessionnel et narcissique, il a promis de tuer Riker pour l'avoir quitté.

Histoire

Thadeus Becile était autrefois un gentleman scientifique respecté au sein de la société du Cavalcadium. C'était un ingénieur brillant, un inventeur prolifique, un homme de la Renaissance très instruit et un fabricant d'armes talentueux mais prudent. Sa découverte de l'énergie dans la matière verte contenu dans le Sucre Rocailleux l'a condamné ; ses deux poursuites de l'utilisation de la matière verte et de la main de Delilah Morreo ont tracé une vie toxique qui a détruit d'abord ses amitiés avec Morreo et le colonel Peter Walter I, puis sa réputation et enfin sa morale. Il a assiégé les mines de Sucre Dandy avec une armée d'éléphants robotiques géants, contrôlés par les carcasses zombifiées d'hommes qu'il avait embauchés. Au cours de la guerre du week-end contre le colonel Walter I, la majorité des os des mains de Becile ont été brisés et le scientifique en disgrâce a été capturé et condamné à des décennies de prison.

De nombreux mineurs ont été tués pendant le siège et le chaos qui a suivi. Trois sont à dénoter.

Le premier s'appelait Tony. Fils d’immigrants italiens né aux États-Unis, Tony rêvait de devenir chanteur et pianiste professionnel, mais il n’avait ni argent ni relations. S’il était encore en vie aujourd’hui, il se serait identifié comme un homme transgenre. Cherchant à économiser pour son rêve, il a pris un emploi dans les mines de Sucre Dandy, prenant un bateau en partance pour l’Afrique. Dans son ombre, il y avait une deuxième personne notable : le frère cadet de Tony, Jack. Sans but dans la vie et terrifié à l’idée d’être laissé seul avec ses parents violents, Jack a menti sur son âge et a sauté sur le bateau après Tony, ne se révélant qu’après avoir quitté le port.

Après des semaines en mer et un pénible transport jusqu’à la mine isolée, les frères se sont retrouvés à partager la chambre avec un troisième mineur, un homme noir nommé Frank, arrivé plusieurs mois plus tôt, et ils se sont se lier d’amitié avec lui. Frank, bien qu’il soit un homme rude et réservé qui parlait peu de son passé, a pris les frères sous son aile, les aidant à s’acclimater à leur nouvelle vie. Il est rapidement devenu comme un troisième frère pour eux, et les trois se retrouvaient souvent au coin du feu après les heures de travail, discutant, riant et chantant en harmonie à trois voix.

Tony et Jack étaient dans les mines lorsque le plafond, détaché par les tremblements de terre provoqués par les pieds des éléphants géants, s’est effondré sur eux. Jack a été écrasé par les rochers ; Tony a survécu à l’effondrement mais s’est retrouvé piégé et a suffoqué quelques heures après.

Quelques jours plus tard, le colonel Walter Ier est arrivé et a commencé à faire la guerre à l’armée de Becile. Au cours de la bataille, un éléphant est devenu incontrôlable et s’est déchaîné dans la cheminée d’une usine de raffinage. Le feu s’est répandu dans le bâtiment, brûlant la plupart des ouvriers finissant carbonisés jusqu’aux os – y compris Frank.

Aucun de leurs restes n’a été récupéré.

Becile a passé près de deux décennies en prison après la guerre du week-end, souffrant de ses mains qui n'ont jamais guéri correctement. Après sa libération en 1914, il est retourné en Afrique en secret et a récupéré une réserve de Sucre Rocailleux dans les mines et ruines de Sucre Dandy, aujourd'hui abandonnées, ainsi que quelques… bricoles intéressantes. Se repositionnant discrètement sur ce qui restait de ses propriétés, il a fait commander une paire de prothèses qui lui ont permis de retourner à l'ingénierie. Après avoir vu les débuts de « The Steam Man Band » en 1916, Becile a commencé à travailler sur ses propres automates en acier, utilisant le Sucre Rocailleux pour alimenter les cœurs de leurs noyaux de matière verte.

Le Sucre Rocailleux, pour ceux qui ne le savent pas, est de l'ectoplasme solidifié.

Lorsque le premier robot s'est réveillé, il était prévu qu'il ne s'agisse que d'un essai. Cependant, Becile a été surpris lorsqu'il a commencé à parler et à bouger sans programmation. Il l'a surnommé Hare, ne connaissant que le nom de Rabbit, du groupe « The Steam Man Band ». Le miracle de l'acquisition d'une conscience spontanée se poursuivit avec le deuxième robot, qui s’identifia comme « Jack » ; Becile fut celui qui modifia son nom par un « The ». Becile activa ensuite le troisième robot, bien qu’il n’ait plus de matériel pour terminer sa plaque faciale. La structure squelettique de son visage incita les deux autres robots à l’appeler « The Skull », et le nom resta.

On leur a dit qu’ils allaient être des artistes, ce à quoi ils réagirent avec enthousiasme. Hare fut celui qui proposa le nom « Smokin’ Blokes » ; Becile trouva le nom grossier, mais ne put les dissuader de l’utiliser. Ils étaient tous désireux de faire plaisir à leur "père" les premiers mois, et les Smokin’ Blokes obtinrent un succès mineur dans les circuits underground que Becile avait réussi à mettre en avant. Ils chantaient en harmonie à trois voix ; Hare pouvait jouer de l’harmonica et du piano ; The Jack jouait du violon ; The Skull jouait de la contrebasse. Bien qu'ils n'aient pas le style comique de « The Steam Man Band », ils avaient un certain succès, dont une fan féminine qui a essayé de courtiser The Skull, à son grand désarroi.

Leurs performances ont été brusquement interrompues lorsque Hare s'est blessé après s'être faufiler dans le manoir, étant parti sans permission. Sachant que Becile serait en colère, il a tenté de se réparer ; au lieu de cela, il a déclenché une réaction de son noyau qui lui a fait exploser l'œil, a scellé sa mâchoire et a détruit le mur séparant ses évents de suie de sa boîte vocale. Becile, furieux, a refusé de réparer les dégâts jusqu'à ce que Hare le "mérite". La plaque faciale de The Skull n'a également jamais été terminée en raison du désintérêt de Becile.

Après les avoir retirés de la scène, Becile a commencé à utiliser ses robots pour des projets moins légaux. The Skull était prêt à tout, surtout si cela permettait d'éviter des ennuis à Hare et The Jack. Il a appris à utiliser une arme à feu et à jouer des muscles pour soutenir les acquisitions de Becile. Hare, essayant toujours de rendre Becile fier, a découvert qu'il avait un talent pour le vol à la tire et l'escroquerie, que Becile trouvait beaucoup moins utile. Le Jack, cependant, n'a jamais acquis de talents criminels, ce qui a rendu Becile furieux. Un robot qu'il ne pouvait pas utiliser était un robot dont il n'avait pas besoin, et il est devenu de plus en plus violent envers le Jack. Cela a créé un fossé entre Becile et Hare, car Hare avait toujours été très protecteur envers The Jack. Les relations sont devenues toxiques, et The Skull est intervenu avec mécontentement à plusieurs reprises pour prendre la punition et la responsabilité des actes de Hare et The Jack. Ils n'en ont jamais été conscients, et The Skull en garde toujours une certaine rancune.

Fournisseur de matériaux du marché noir et proche associé de Becile, « Locke Smith » (un pseudonyme) a été diagnostiqué avec une maladie en phase terminale et a accepté de faire partie d’un projet spécial, testant la capacité du Sucre Rocailleux à retenir les esprits et les souvenirs. L’entreprise a été un succès – cependant, le conteneur du noyau du nouveau robot était défectueux et, incapable de le désactiver, Becile a scellé Locksmith dans un coffre-fort, pour ne plus jamais revoir la lumière du jour. Becile a ensuite effacé tous les souvenirs de Locksmith et du projet de la mémoire des autres robots. Locksmith a finalement réussi à s’échapper en 2013.

Un jour, les robots Becile étaient en train de faire des vols à la tire, utilisant The Skull comme leurre. The Jack, dans une tentative d’impressionner Hare, est parti alors qu’il était distrait et a tenté de voler un collier de perles. Des policiers de passage l’ont remarqué et, paniqué, The Jack s’est enfui sur les toits. Il avait commencé à pleuvoir ; The Jack, acculé, se tenait à côté d’un paratonnerre et a été frappé par un éclair. Il tomba au sol et fut récupéré par Hare et The Skull, qui le ramenèrent au Manoir Becile. Dégoûté, Becile dit à Hare qu'il aurait dû faire plus attention et le força à aider à attacher son frère devenu fou dans une camisole de force.

Peu de temps après l'accident de The Jack, Becile fit une dernière tentative pour s'approprier Delilah Morreo. S'éloignant de la science et se tournant vers des arts mystiques sombres, il attacha un esprit au mannequin de couturière, croyant qu'il s'agissait de Morreo. Il réaménagea le grenier pour en faire une « vraie maison » pour elle et interdit à ses robots d'y entrer. Mais sans qu'il ne le sache, Morreo n'était en réalité pas vraiment morte, et il passa beaucoup de temps à essayer de briser "l'amnésie" de l'esprit, en vain. Cela la laissa désorientée et paniquée, sujette à l'autodestruction. Finalement, Becile réalisa son erreur et renonça à interagir avec l'esprit, abandonnant complètement le grenier. C'est Hare qui l'a surnommée « Dee », et il fréquente depuis le grenier quand elle le lui permet, lui apportant des disques et des romans pour passer le temps.

Après ses nombreux échecs et embarras, Becile s'est complètement retiré. Il a passé ses dernières décennies en ermite, prolongeant sa vie grâce à l'utilisation de la Matière Verte et aux soins de The Skull. Il est décédé à la fin des années 1990, une coquille amère d'un homme brillant. Hare et The Skull l'ont enterré derrière le manoir Becile, sous les côtes du dernier éléphant en ruine.

Actuellement, les Becile Bots sont entretenus par Riker Caleb Szarka. Garçon de la campagne du Midwest, M. Szarka a été élevé par sa mère célibataire, elle-même mécanicienne, qui a encouragé son talent prodigue pour l'ingénierie robotique. Cependant, il s'est rapidement épuisé en déménageant sur la côte, tombant dans un cycle autodestructeur de dépression et d'alcoolisme. Finalement, désespéré, il s'est tourné vers la mise au rebut illégale de robots pour joindre les deux bouts. Il a été poussé à réparer Hare par The Skull après que le premier ait été presque mis au rebut et a été "récompensé" par un poste permanent au manoir Becile, où il vit depuis plus d'une décennie.

En 2020, The Skull a été emprisonné par Becile Industries et sauvé par un groupe de cyborgs en fuite. Seuls lui et un cyborg sont sortis, celui qui avait insisté pour emmener The Skull avec eux. Se sentant redevable, The Skull a ramené le cyborg au manoir pour le faire réparer. Prenant le nom de Scratch, le cyborg a commencé à s'installer dans la vie du manoir tout en se préparant à se venger de Becile Industries.

Début 2021, les Beciles ont été adoptés par un chat mécanique nommé Tatters.

À l'automne 2021, on a découvert que Becile Industries avait commencé à envoyer des drones espions au Manoir Becile à la recherche de Scratch. Ils sont sous la direction de l'agent Becile nommée Ester. Initialement hostiles, ils se font actuellement discrets après que Locksmith essaye de négocier avec Ester.

Locksmith prépare quelque chose. Il a été surpris en train de fouiller dans les archives contenant les anciens travaux de Pops, et en plus de ses discussions opportunistes avec Becile Industries, il travaille avec l'ex de Riker, Jaime Huron, sur une sorte d'appareil…

Pendant tout cela, il a été révélé que Pops n'a jamais essayé de réparer The Jack ; Hare avait inventé cette histoire alors qu'il luttait avec sa culpabilité. Il est actuellement ostracisé par le reste du groupe, à l'exception de Dee…

À l'automne 2022, The Jack a été réparé.

Aujourd'hui, lorsqu'il ne chahute pas les Walter Bots, Hare peut généralement être trouvé en train d'escroquer, de voler et de boire de l'essence. À l'occasion, il est connu pour se battre dans un bar avec des hommes qui harcèlent les clientes. The Skull reste occupé à faire de la contrebande. Il ne travaille plus pour Becile Industries. Il garde un œil attentif sur les autres. Lorsqu'il est au repos, il lit le journal et tricote. Locksmith s'est fait un nom dans les cercles mondains underground et assiste régulièrement à des spectacles de grands arts (auxquels les autres Beciles se mêlent parfois). Scratch se remet du traumatisme de la convalescence et prévoit de faire tomber Becile Industries. En attendant, il regarde probablement des dessins animés. Dee reste au grenier. Quant à The Jack, il reste à voir ce qu'il compte faire de son autonomie nouvellement retrouvée…

[soren-of-the-sea]

So I made animal designs for the Beciles and the others, might do Chinadoll, idk

@ask-the-becile-boys

#beciles #dee #skullbecile #thadeusbecile #harebecile #jackbecile #riker #scratch #locksmithbecile

[sparreaux-art]

@ask-the-becile-boys ‘s Scratch, in the flesh!

Well, more or less..

[littledraga]

@ask-the-becile-boys I did something with it! They’re in dire straights at Becile Manor but Skull’s got an idea on how to deal with it. If only he had ear plugs! (Scratch doesn’t seem to mind the noise though.)

They were low on funds, and even lower on parts to work with for repairs. They were used to barely getting by, but they were now one accident away from not being able to be repaired again. Skull couldn’t let that happen. Not if he could do something about it at least.

And he just might be able to. Or he hoped, for what good hope would do him. That chatterbox was willing to help before, he might get them to help again. They had said that the workers didn’t really take stock, who would notice some parts missing?

When he thought everyone was busy, Skull donned his jacket and hat to make his way across town. Only, knocking on a nearby wall got his attention. How Scratch called out without using what voice he had left.

He lowered his brows and waggled a finger by his head before pointing away with both hands then signed an S, pressing it to his chin like he was in thought. “Where are you going, Skull?”

Wrapping one hand around the other, he lifted it. “Out,” he explained before trying to leave. Another knock. Scratch was obviously concerned. He didn’t have to look to know he was signing to try and ask again. 

Scratch put his thumb under his chin before moving both hands across his body to make fists. “It’s not safe.”

Without parts, they had been staying in, but they had to leave to get parts. They couldn’t just sit there and rot.

A heavy sigh and smoke curled around his face from his neck vents. He really didn’t want to talk about this, but he didn’t want Scratch to worry either. “I know a place where I might be able to get some parts. They helped me out before, I  might be able to get them to again. Just enough to get us working.”

Scratch looked worried, Skull wasn’t known for making the best friends. Useful, sure, but not the best people, but then again, he supposed Skull wasn’t either, but he had always been good to him. He pointed at himself before placing a fist on his palm and seemed to offer it to Skull. “Can I help?” At least if he was there, someone would be there to help him, or at least make him be careful.

The Skull stood still a moment. He wasn’t sure he wanted to put Scratch through Bip’s questions. But having someone else there might be helpful if nothing else another eye to find good parts and carry some home. Not much, of course, he knew the man was in a lot of pain. “Fine,” he said eventually. “But stay close and put on a hoodie at least.”

 A quick nod and Scratch was off to grab his stuff. California was a little warm for hoodies and jackets, but he had a light one just for such occasions. A light red one to try and help with the heat, and enough colour to block out his face with the hood up. 

Not wanting any more followers, Skull waited outside. So long as no one noticed them, things would be fine.

 If Bip didn’t want to help, at least he wouldn’t have to feel bad roughing them up a little. They’d be fine. So either way, they’d get their parts. 

Once Scratch stepped out, he started walking, no point in waiting too long. 

It was already late when they left, and after nightfall before they reached the scrapyard. Which worried Scratch. Looking at Skull, he put two fingers by his elbow and quickly ran them up to his lifted wrist. “Are we stealing?” He didn’t want to do that. But if they needed parts.

Skull shook his head and tapped his fore and middle fingers on his thumb. “Someone lives here. Going to try and get their help.” Walking up to the fence, he paused. It wasn’t like there was a front door to knock on. Well, he could try the front fence and see if they were there. 

By the time the duo made it around, the fence was left wide open, only there was no one there. “Weird.” Out of instinct, Skull reached into his jacket for his gun. Keeping Scratch behind him, he slowly made his way inside. He remembered them talking about the green skinned men.

The storage room they used was open. Waving for Scratch to hang back, he peered into the room to see Bip sitting on the futon, tapping away at their phone. His shoulders slumped, and he relaxed. Or at least as much as he’d let himself here. “Saw us coming, I take it?”

Bip grinned widely and looked up, tucking away their phone. “Yep! Well, Spider did and had a fit. Figured it would be easier to open the door for you so the alarm wouldn’t go off.” Looking him up and down, their head tilted slightly. “You’re in better shape this time!” They chirped. 

A long plume of smoke. “Yeah, had someone at home to fix me up.”

“Oh! Like Takoda! When I can’t do it myself, he helps me. He’s really nice,” they beamed. “I‘m glad you got home safe!” They chirped.

Before they could lay into him with more questions, he raised a hand. “Thanks, kid. But I’m afraid I’m here for another favour.”

They tilted their head the other way at that. Skull didn’t seem like the type. But they nodded a little. “I don’t know what I can do, but I can try?” They offered.

“Really, we just need you to turn a blind eye for a little while,” he explained. “We need parts.” 

“We? The person that fixed you up?”

A long sigh. It was hard to keep things short with the kid. “Kinda.” Turning his head, he called out. “Scratch, come in here, will ya?”

Seeing Scratch step into the room, Bip’s eyes lit up. They were a person and a robot! That something they didn’t know could even be a thing!

Jumping up, they hurried over and leaned up on their toes to get a closer look at his face. “Hi! I didn’t know a person could be a robot. Or are you a robot that’s a person? Are you going to be all person or all robot? Is it a lot of work? Does it feel weird?”

Babbling away, Bip was too engrossed in their million questions to notice how uncomfortable Scratch was getting and how he started to recoil at the barrage.

Skull did notice. The patchwork bot was as excitable as last time. How anyone could talk that much was beyond him. Even Hare wasn’t that chatty. At least they weren’t malicious. Just annoying. Stepping up behind them, Skull put a hand over their mouth, and the other pressed down on Bip’s shoulder to try and keep them still. “Slow down, kid. You’re too fast for Scratch. Besides, that ain’t none of your business,” he reminded them.

Bip’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry,” they tried to mumble from behind Skull’s hand. He hadn’t let them go yet.

With a chance to breathe, Scratch relaxed. A little. He still needed a moment.

Opening his hand, Scratched tapped his thumb against his chest. “It’s okay,” he signed to Skull, trying to look at least a little chipper with what was left of his face.

Skull huffed when Bip started to excitedly wiggle again in his grip. They were asking questions again, not that anyone could understand them with his hand over their mouth. Of course, the kid would need a translator. This was going to be a long night.

Scratch’s shoulders shook. Figures he’d find it funny, thought Skull while he kept a hand tightly clamped over Bip’s mouth, trying to get them to calm down. Once the wiggling died down, he slowly let go.

“Do you need special parts for being part person? Or something for your voice box? I know there’s some old radios that came in today. Would something like work? Or is it your mouth that doesn’t work? It looks okay, but I-”

And Skull put the hand back over their mouth. “Kid, be quiet. Please.” More mumbling, and he huffed. Which finally made them stop. “Thank you.”

This time when he moved his hands away, Bip stayed silent. They looked between the two, waiting for an explanation. It looked like it took all of their willpower to keep their mouth shut.

Something Skull didn’t take for granted. And was quick to fill the silence to keep them from talking again. As much as he hated it.

“We don’t have what we need to keep us all running. There’s a few of us. We can’t afford what we need, and without it, we can’t work, got it?”

A sharp nod. “You guys need to take stuff from the yard without the humans finding out, right?” They asked, and beamed when Scratch nodded and signed the affirmative. They mimicked him. “That means yes, right? Like nodding your head.” When he did it again, they cheered.

At least Scratch seemed to be able to deal with them, if anything he was amused by the chatterbox, but he was better with people than Skull. 

“Yeah. Was hopin’ you’d turn a blind eye and let us get some spare parts.”

Another nod. “Sure! Come on, I’ll help you look!” Picking up their friend, Bip grabbed Skull’s sleeve and tugged him along.

Skull stumbled a little as he was dragged along. Behind him, he could hear the electronic breaths from Scratch as he laughed. With a long sigh of smoke, Skull followed Bip into the yard. Not what he wanted, but he supposed the extra help would be good. Surely, they knew the yard better than anyone else.

And he was right! Bip knew every inch of the yard. They even knew how to find certain parts. “New cars cut down on a lot of things, but the older ones are great for parts. Joshua says it’s cuz they were built to last.” They pulled out some of the inner workings. “But they all still end up here in the end.”

While the lot of them were digging around, Scratch kept watching Spider on Bip’s shoulder. Eventually, he tapped Bip’s other shoulder. Putting one hand over the other, he mimed them crawling away before pointing away from his body with both hands. 

Of course, Bip was clueless and looked to Skull for help.

“He’s asking where you found that Spider,” he explained, not seeming to even look at them.

“Oh! He came on a lead crate, I think,” they chirped, picking up said Spider to show him off. “He had a broken green light back then though. Like Skull! But his made him sick so I fixed him,” they explained.

Scratch looked worriedly at Skull, but the robot just shook his head not to say anything. They both knew what that meant. He could ask later. The last thing they needed was Becile Industries to find them now.

After a little more time and a lot more digging, they had enough parts to last them a little while. At least long enough for Skull to get some work in.

“Thanks, kid, you really saved us here.”

Bip beamed as they helped pack up the last of their load. It wasn't enough that anyone would notice, so they didn’t care. “Of course! It just sits around or gets melted down, may as well put it to good use! I can’t do it all the time, but if you need help, I can try,” they excitedly chirped.

Scratch’s shoulders shook. Looking at Skull he brought a hand to his mouth before moving it to lay palm up on his other hand then linked his two pointers together. “Bip’s a good friend,” he told him, eyes closing happily.

Which just made Skull huff. This was twice now Bip had bailed him out. He owed a debt and he wasn’t sure how he was going to pay this one off. They didn’t seem real eager for something in return, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be something. 

While Scratch taught them 'thank you' and 'your welcome', Skull shouldered the heaviest of the load. “Come on, Scratch. We got a long walk to get home.”

Waving Bip off, the two stepped out to head back to the manor. Riker would have a lot to do come morning.

Scratch curled a finger and pointed it down, then he flipped it palm up and brought it to his chest before wiggling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Should invite Bip.”

A burst of coal smoke. “To what? Sit around and listen to Jack laugh at himself? Or let Locksmith get his grubby little claws on them?”

He looked down at that. The manor really wasn’t the best place for guests, but still. Pointing away and across his body, Scratch circled his face and brought a finger to and down from his lip twice. “They look lonely,” he explained while they walked. It wasn’t his place, but he knew what it was like to be alone, and what could happen.

[amuseoffirebane]

[ID: Steam Powered Giraffe characters Buster and Vivian Becile in a ‘candy gore’ aesthetic/pastel color palette. On the left, Buster, a smirking young man with frosted tip hair, holds a Starbucks-knockoff coffee. His right eye is black with a glowing green pupil and is dripping black liquid. On the right, Vivian, a young woman with X’d out eyes and smeared lipstick, is smiling and scratching an undead, half-skeletal rat under its chin. Her eyes are dripping pink fluid. End ID.]

And finally, the Becile siblings Buster and Vivian! and that wraps up the set!