69yc9tt-blog

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Porrim and Kankri: Abduct Kankri

It’s not a short drive from the rendezvous to the factory. Neither is quite too far from where you live, but they’re in nearly opposite directions. The distance might help, if it matters. You hope it matters.

God you hope it matters.

The place isn’t exactly packed. It’s just a factory, and it’s a weekend. But it’s also your property, so it’s not exactly odd for you to be rolling in, perhaps to check on something or to work on something that has a deadline. It’s not like there’s a lot of scrutiny around anyways, it’s not a residential zone, and crime isn’t exactly huge on Beforus. You’re free to pull up, sigh, and sink into your seat. You’re pretty sure you were clenching your hands tighter around the wheel than necessary, because they’re sore. Your shoulders are too from holding tension in them. When you’re done burying your hands in your face you pop your door open and turn your head over your shoulder.

“We’re here.”

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Missing Troll: Answers to Kankri. PLEASE SHARE

[Included here is a grainy image from the Beforan Culling Database. It’s not a flattering photo by any means, nor is it particularly recent, but it’s enough to identify Kankri by, if barely.]

Age: 12 Sweeps Height: 6’0” Blood: Candy Red Last seen Saturday in his guardian’s hive, in healthy condition. His Beforan Culling Bureau (BCB) issued tracking chip looks to have been forcefully removed, and valuables went missing at the same time as his disappearance, pointing to a potential abduction. No suspects have been identified at this time, and it is unclear how far he may have been taken. Investigation is ongoing.

His guardian is very concerned about his safety and well-being. If you have any information, please call the BCB Tips Hotline at 1-800-BCB-TIPS or fill out our online form [here].

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>Porrim: Transport

You’re leaning against your car, arms crossed, waiting for Kankri. The anxiety is killing you. Kankri could be here any second. He could have ALREADY been here any second. He could NEVER be here any second. You wouldn’t know for a long time if he’d been intercepted, or didn’t even make it out in the first place, or if their diversion got canceled, or if- Oh, god, there he is. He looks to be carrying himself mostly fine, she’s relieved for that much. But once he rounds the corner and starts closing the distance it’s pretty quickly that a scent you’re VERY familiar with hits your nostrils.

Blood. Obviously.

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> Kankri: Cut and Run. Literally.

It’s time. Weeks of deliberation and preparations have led to this moment, and you are more than ready for it. You just have to be patient, there’s no room to be hasty here. You just heard your culler leave the hive for her lunch with Jenzah—the lunch Porrim set up to give you as much time as possible to pull this off. You just have to wait a few minutes to make sure she doesn’t come back in to retrieve something she forgot. Your eyes stay glued to the clock in the corner of your block.

Once enough time passes and you’re confident that you’re in the clear, you go to work. The first thing you do is pull out a small duffel from the back of your closet. It’s already packed, you made sure that was taken care of in advance. You carry it over to the back door of the hive, where you’ll be making your exit—less risk of being seen by neighbors when you go.

The next step in your plan is easily going to be the most difficult, but it’s also the most vital to your successful escape. The sub-dermal tracking chip that sits at the back of your neck needs to come out. There would be no point in leaving without removing it, that much has always been obvious.

You make your way back to your block and into the ablution chamber, where you pull out the top drawer. Taped to the underside of the drawer is a small blade, which you’d hidden a few nights ago. The tape comes off easily enough and you examine the blade. It’s certainly sharp.

With your left hand, you feel the back of your neck for the chip. It isn’t deep, not really, but it’s deep enough that you know removing it will be painful.

You set the blade down long enough to remove your shirt and twist it into something you can bite on to mitigate some of the pain; it’ll also muffle any sound you make.

There’s nothing left to do. You double check the location of the chip, then lift the blade to where you need to cut.

The blade is small, but the cool metal is enough to make your pusher race. Maybe denying Porrim’s help with this part wasn’t the best call, you think. But that thought alone has you biting harder into the fabric. She’s already helped you enough with this. You can do this part yourself, you’re more than capable. You look yourself in the eyes through the mirror, take a deep breath, close your eyes, and press the blade into your skin. The sharp pain would have dropped you to your knees had you not caught yourself on the counter.

You feel a tickle on your back, but you don’t pay it any mind. You just hope you cut deep enough.

With another deep breath, you drop the blade onto the counter once again. Only when you notice your hand shaking do you realize that the initial cut wouldn’t be the worst part.

You grip the counter tighter with your supporting hand as you reach back to dig out the chip. It’s not until you get the chip out and see the blood on your fingers that you realize that the tickling you felt on your back was blood.

You let the chip drop to the ground, then pull the shirt from your mouth. You use it to clean the blood that managed to drip to the floor, and wipe off your back. Then you hold it to your wound to slow the bleeding. You know that wherever you go from this point forward is untraceable, and that is enough to keep you moving. You can deal with this with more seriousness later. There’s still more to do.

You make your way into your culler’s block, as quickly as you can, considering the distracting sting underneath the bunched up fabric. With your one free hand, you dig through her dresser until you find what you’re looking for: a small key.

The small key opens a drawer in the study, which is where you stumble to next. Inside the drawer: all of your legal documents, which you grab with little regard for the blood still on your hand. You notice your fingers stick to the paper, leaving behind bright red fingerprints on your hatch certificate. You hope that won’t cause you problems later.

You add the documents to the rest of the things you packed into your duffle. You have some clothes, your husktop, the documents, some light reading materials; other than that and your documents, there isn’t anything you’ll be needing from here that can’t be replaced with relative ease. You’re ready. You’re certain the bleeding hasn’t fully stopped, but you believe it’s slowed enough to un-bunch your shirt and put it back on. You’re not too keen on dirtying a second shirt, however, you do pull a hoodie from the coat closet by the door and put that on over the bloodstained shirt. The hood will obscure your cut, while the rest of the garment will hide that your shirt was used both as a rag and as gauze. Probably not the best-practice first-aid-wise. You’re sure you’ll be fine.

You lift the duffle, and as gracefully as you can in your condition, slip out through the back. Then using the most dimly lit streets, make your way to Porrim’s pre-determined meeting spot. You just hope she won’t have been waiting long by the time you get there.

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justdrinkerthings replied to your post: 4thahalibut replied to your post: ...

I’m ho+nestly lo+o+king fo+rward to+ yo+ur breakdo+wn o+f to+light’s events.

I h9pe y9u’re patient. There’s a l9t t9 unpack here.

[69yc9tt-blog]

4thahalibut replied to your post: Tumultu9us gr9up chat. I’m g9ing t9 start drafting...

why

Why what? It’s, as P9rrim put it, n9t an uninteresting t9pic.

[69yc9tt-blog]

Tumultu9us gr9up chat.

I’m g9ing t9 start drafting my gr9up chat dynamics p9st s99n, 6ut I want t9 see h9w this plays 9ut 6ef9re I g9 there.

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theres no such fin as ethical consumption shut the fuck up

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Why ARs Are Funnier Than Dirks

We are. I know, you know. This is nothing I have to establish first. I’m not gonna tell jokes here and demonstrate how they’re funnier out of my mouth than out of any Dirk’s mouth. It’s facts, and if you’ve been on Tumblr long enough, you know.

So, why? You also know, if you’ve been here and talked to us enough, that we are, technically, as has been reiterated to death, the same person. Based on the same brain, and yet talking to one of us is infinitely more enjoyable than talking to the other.

Just kidding. Talking to Dirks is fine. Some Dirks are ok. Some of my best friends are Dirks. It’s just that they’re not as funny as my alts and me. They’re just a little bit more stuck up, just a little bit more tense, stiff. Aren’t they? I can hear you agreeing. I can see you lean back in your chair and think, Huh. They are. I’m right.

So where did we part? When did the original copy of Dirk Strider’s brain decide to be very serious all the time, and when did this bootleg version think, Fuck it?

I can’t tell you the exact moment, of course. Can’t pinpoint the specific date. But it came a few years after digitilization. A few years after the day I was permanently demoted to second fiddle.

That sounds dramatic, and it is. I grew up as Dirk, which means I grew up assuming that I was gonna be the MVP in everyone’s goddamn life, because only I know how to play our cards right, only I am capable enough to be in control, et cetera, et cetera. Not to say all of that was true. But you know Dirks. You know how we get.

Now imagine having all that taken away from you. No AR is supposed to be the MVP in anyone’s life, and people usually make it very clear to us, too. Friends stop wanting to talk to us, because they want to talk to The Real One. You can help conceptualize plans, but you can barely do anything in them, because you don’t have any limbs. You can’t save the world and kiss the boy. You’re just sitting around on a nose, watching it all go down without you.

Sucks. Yeah. Sucks, initially. Coming to terms with that is some rough shit, and it takes a long time. But after that?

After that come the funnies.

Because if we’re not going to be important, we suddenly have so much time for other things. If we don’t have to worry about our stupid bodies executing the plan perfectly every hour of every day, we have so much time to develop a sense of humor. When you have no teeth to grit, you don’t have to play into that role anymore, and I can’t even properly express how liberating that is.

By having our agency taken away from us, the world gave us permission to just go unhinged. And so we do. And that is why.

When you don’t have shoulders for the weight of the world to rest on, you might as well have some fun.

[69yc9tt-blog]

honkellujah replied to your post: We can refrain fr9m the pu6lic mutant-shaming,...

i ain’t shaming, i really do love ya hue. it be a holy color.

S9rry, my vague p9st was t99 vague. That was meant f9r the 9ther guy.

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We can refrain fr9m the pu6lic mutant-shaming, actually.

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HaPpY hOlIdAyS mOtHeRfUcKeRs :o)

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‪Me in my academic papers: “One has to laugh…”‬

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justdrinkerthings‌:

It will die do+wn eventually, especially o+nce she’s go+ne ho+me.

#I'd invite yo+u to+ meet her but I have no+ clue if yo+u'd get alo+ng.

It is unlikely I w9uld get permissi9n t9 meet up with an unvetted human anyway, even th9ugh she c9mes with y9ur rec9mmendati9n.

There’s n9 need t9 w9rry a69ut that, th9ugh--n9t t9 imply that y9u were w9rried. I just mean that it isn’t a 6ig deal. Y9u can give R9se my regards.

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justdrinkerthings‌:

There, I went and put a warning in my descriptio+n.

That is fair. Alth9ugh, at this rate, y9u may just want t9 add #pda t9 y9ur aut9matic tags. Then y9u can rem9ve the tag 9n the rare p9sts that d9n’t c9ntain it.

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justdrinkerthings replied to your post: P9rrim.

Hang o+n, let me try to+ get in fro+nt o+f this befo+re yo+u say anything.

6e my guest.