imaginatorcreates

[imaginatorcreates]

JummBox: Part 26

Is it possible to get burnt out from doing things you find interesting? Perhaps so, but that makes a break worth it...if you can find some way to relax.

Not to get philosophical, but here we are with more music! This break from school is nice.

This is my 59th creation. I just got a strong want to make something in 5/4 time again, so I referenced some things I found online and made this! A friend said it sounded like "Mission Impossible", and that's because both are in 5/4! It has a groove that I like. I was originally trying to make a battle theme for a character of mine, but then it veered off into general music territory. Who knows, but it's speedy!

This is my 60th creation. It's for a character that I made just recently: Icarus, a fallen star (it/they pref., but any pronouns can also work). I originally made this to practice chiptune music so I can get more experience in it, but I had Icarus in mind while making this so it just turned into Icarus's theme. It may be on the softer side, but it's also on the more cluttered side (in terms of moving parts).

Icarus is learning, just like we all are. This is its first time being alive, so be patient with them.

[imaginatorcreates]

Fixing Up

28 December 2024 — 28 December 2024

Summary: A short insight of Eden's security bot, by the security bot.

Word Count: ~980 words

Author's Note: As you can probably tell from the date, I wrote this nearly three months ago but never published it. I'm not sure why.

This was written for the Chaotic Crafters' Word Challenge, a Discord server, featuring the words: Belief, Belong, Love

These characters may or may not be backup DND characters as well.

You consider yourself to be a serious being, and it’s that belief that allows you to continue doing your job with the precision that you pride yourself on. You increase the distance between you and your enemies and fire from the safety of that large distance. You (and your clients, you guess) appreciate your methodical approach, and things usually go well in the end. You get your payment, your makers take 90% of it, and you go back home to them to rest.

It’s not like you can complain, but you find your small moments to do so. You find it rebellious to do so, kicking at the ground in the privacy of an alleyway before heading back, or sending out useless pings to anything you can. You know that the pings won’t bring any useful information back to you, since you haven’t fine-tuned the code for them yet. You had yet to match the pings to the brainwaves of living beings to send them messages after all, and you aren’t even sure if these beings can send their own messages back.

It’s a work in progress, one that you’re keeping on the downlow for as long as you’re here with your creators. It’s not like you can ask them if you can be free, and it’s not like you really think about your freedom too often.

(Liar.)

Freedom comes with an expansive array of problems, problems like where you might find the tools to fix yourself up when you break, or where you might find beings who will do their best to fix you up after the accident.

(They’re moving on from you. You can tell mostly when you return from the jobs that you’re sent out to. Their attentions are wavering around you, their fixes on your systems enough but never preventative anymore. You quietly steal parts of the toolkits that your creators use to fix you.

(You’ve gotten used to your defective body after the accident. The seams that mark your metal panels beneath the grown skin and muscle on your arms are easier to find because of it, so you don’t have to adjust your pain sensors as much before taking a clean razor or scalpel and slicing yourself open to peel back the metal panels beneath and adjust your wires and cords. The flesh heals up fine with little to no scarring, and you’re often thankful for it. Your clients don’t need to get the wrong idea.)

But freedom finds you either way, and you’re deeply uncomfortable with the sensation of it. The reasons for it shift between the days, but you manage to find the words for the reasons: 1) Now that the weight of obeying the ones that made you is gone, you feel like anything can push you over, and 2) The client that bought you out of your owed servitude is annoying.

What’s worse about the second reason is that you’re obliged to follow her around, something about her needing a bodyguard and you being perfect for the job.

Your client’s name is Eden, but as you found out, that’s not her real name. Whatever. It’s not like you’re keen on finding a name yourself, so you just call her Eden.

She’s shorter than you, all green and pink with flowing skirts and capes and flowers. The flowers seem embedded in her, growing and blooming from her head and neck. She smells like flowers too, fragrant on some days and cloying on others. You’ve learned that the scent sometimes matches her physical wellbeing. When she can spin around you and attack others with a shortsword (as much as you shout at her to get the fuck back where it’s safe), then the flowers hardly smell like anything. She laughs at your worry, and you can only imagine the expression she makes beneath the bird-beaked mask she wears. You can feel the organic neurons in your main processing unit get stressed just from imagining it, so you try not to.

When it’s stumbling forwards, occasionally leaning on you (you stiffen up every time, but if it even listened when you had said multiple times that you loathe touch, you don’t know), the flowers smell sickeningly sweet. Its frame feels looser, more malleable. When it’s on the verge of collapsing and you have no choice but to let it lean on you lest the two of you plan on not reaching the next town, you feel its form shift beneath its clothes. Paws, thousands of fragile legs, tiny hands, all buzzing and murmuring, all held together by roots and sheer will.

It’s an odd being, Eden.

In the quiet of the rented inn room, you fix yourself up.

“Do you need help?” Eden asks, mask still on and flower crown tightly keeping her hood up.

You don’t know what she looks like underneath that, and you don’t want to know.

“Not really,” you reply.

She lets out a wheezing laugh, one that she claims rattles whatever is left of her lungs in her body. “Do you feel like you belong here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re hard to read.”

“I can say the same for you,” you say as you close up your metal arm panel and rub the flesh atop of it until it’s smooth again.

“See? That’s why I love talking to you,” she says.

“Don’t say that,” you spit out. There’s no venom behind your words, just immense tiredness over having to repeat yourself.

“It’s true,” Eden says. “You’re very fun to rile up because I know that you’ll still do your job in the end.”

“Protecting a quack doctor trying to find a cure for herself? Sounds about right.”

“Excuse you! I’m a legitimate doctor…in training. Who is practicing the craft in advance.”

You snort and send Eden a useless ping before going on to work on your other arm.

[imaginatorcreates]

JummBox: Part 25

Occasionally, instead of writing, I get the idea to make music for my characters. It's a different form of creative expression which has its own challenges along the way, mostly because the tune I end up making sometimes doesn't match what I had in mind originally, but it's all okay in the end. Maybe the tune ends up subtly shifting what the characters are about.

This is my 56th creation. It's one out of two tunes for Eden (she/it), a plague doctor (that's 100% inspired by the Nymph Plague Doctor). Here, she's slowly falling apart, quite literally. Her body's not meant to be surviving for this long, yet it does. Slowly, slowly, Eden trudges onwards to find the cure for its ailment.

This is my 57th creation. This is the second tune for Eden! A bit of trivia: "Eden's Body" was in E minor, while "Eden's Garden" is in G major. They're relative keys! (Please don't ask me what exactly that means, I'm not well-versed in music theory). Here, Eden features her external personality: someone who's trustworthy and graceful. Lovable and cutesy! Of course, she has to be; otherwise, how will she get patients and enough money to do her research for her cure?

This is my 58thh creation. This is for my unnamed security bot (it/its). It's been way too long since I made something battle-worthy or high-energy like this, so I had to reference older bits of music I made, as well as other tunes that people have made. So to say that this was hard and had fought me may be an understatement. I was originally going to feature more chip-tunes in here, but electric guitar is so much fun. I also decided to add in the section that sounds slightly off because this security bot may seem competent at its job, but it's got so many issues with its sense of worth. It's a facade! It knows what it's doing but it's so scared of messing up.

[imaginatorcreates]

Sleeper Sensorium

17 December 2024 — 20 December 2024

Summary: An exploration of the Sleeper's senses, shown through their experiences on Erlin's Eye.

Word Count: ~4.5k words

Author's Note: Getting into "Citizen Sleeper" was not part of my 2024 bingo, but hey. Last minute surprise! I love "Citizen Sleeper" so much. It's everything. I pulled from aspects of my game-play while also trying to keep it as generalized as possible.

Also on AO3

1: Taste

One of the first things you remember when you had first arrived on Erlin’s Eye was how empty you had felt. Not exactly in a physical sense, though you had surely felt that way from how cramped your joints had been after you had finally stretched your limbs out from the wrecked freighter ship you had smuggled yourself into. Suddenly having the room to do that, your extremities allowed to move far away from your torso, had left you feeling cold and empty.

But you quickly discover that beyond the everlasting emptiness you feel when you think a little too hard about yourself and what you had done to get here (well, not exactly you; what the emulated mind of whoever resides in this mechanical body of yours had done), you are also empty in a simple, deeply human way.

Your body requires food. Simple energy to keep yourself going and prevent your condition from deteriorating faster than it already does.

Whenever you feel your systems start complaining, small vibrations running up and down your abdomen reminiscent of a stomach growling, you head down to the Bright Market. Among the bustle of the crowd, you expertly drift your way down to a certain stall in the corner of the open market. If anyone asks, you say that you’re just following your nose.

It isn’t hard once you know where to go, for the air around your favorite food stall is heavy with the scent of spices, both as seasoning and as something that assaults the senses. Some days, your eyes blink rapidly as Emphis throws down a dash of red powder into his hot wok. Other days, you catch him as he squeezes thickened liquid onto someone else’s fixing before loosely tossing together the meal and handing it off.

When he sees you, he gives you a nod and starts preparing your meal. You set aside the fifteen cryo necessary for it, and the two of you exchange money for food with a nod and what you hope is a smile. You’re still trying to find those requested mushrooms for him, but for now, you hope that he doesn't mind seeing your familiar face around here with nothing but cryo to spend on his food.

Emphis’s spiced fungus is one of the few things you feel is potent enough to stimulate your very limited taste sensors. You waste no time in stabbing a few of them onto your fork, along with some of the loose leaves mixed in, and shoveling it into your mouth. Immediately, your sensorium is sending warning signals repeatedly. Spicy, it alerts, spicy!

Spicy, you think to yourself as your feet tap the ground in bliss. A mixture of a sigh and a moan of delight escapes you as you will yourself to slow down and savor your meal. You don’t know what Emphis puts in here to make it so tasty, but you know that you’ll always come back here for more as a fungus fan.

Today, you consider licking the bowl clean. You manage to restrain yourself from it (as tempting as it was, just to get every last bit of the sauce that coats the mushrooms and leaves), and place it in the dirty dish container.

“Good luck Sleeper,” Emphis says as you turn to leave.

Reenergized, you spin on your heel to face him and give him a playful salute. Your eyes shine and you do your best to communicate a smile with your limited facial muscles. Whatever expression you manage to flash to him pulls a chuckle out of Emphis as he goes back to his wok.

“Thank you!” you shout, the remnants of the spicy fungus still leaving your taste sensors reeling. “And I’ll be back!”

Emphis’s bark of a laugh shoots through the market and settles into your body, energizing you just as his meals do.

------

2: Touch

You know this body of yours can metabolize food, as it likes to remind you every few cycles, or when you push yourself on a bad day. But it doesn’t require water, like a human body does. Still, you always wonder if it can metabolize something in between the two.

Namely, alcohol.

Alcohol is known for providing empty calories with nothing beyond that to boot. No vitamins or minerals, and it even dehydrates the drinker despite being liquid.

You, however, aren’t exactly normal by human standards. If anything, the alcohol should just give you energy.

At least, that was the plan before you had found yourself two drinks in, twelve cryo poorer, and harassed by a spacer. You didn’t know if it had been true malice towards you (and what you were), or if it had been a combination of the spacer’s own job stresses catching up to them as alcohol loosened the lips. All you had known was the sound of glass shattering on the floor, pointed words, then the owner of the bar coming to your rescue.

One, final glass had sailed towards your head, and in your hopes to salvage what little pride you had left, you had tried to catch it. The spacer’s words had rattled you more than you had liked, and the shot glass had instead become embedded in your arm in multiple small shards.

The owner of the Overlook Bar, Tala, clicks her tongue as she nurses your wounds. She takes her tweezers (they were more like pliers, but she said that she had sanitized them, so they were tweezers now) and gently picks out the shards from your arm. One hand stabilizes your arm as you prop it onto the bar table, while the other maneuvers the tweezers in a way that shows that this wasn’t her first rodeo.

You didn’t feel the pain of the glass entering your arm, and you don’t feel the pain of the glass leaving your arm either. You only feel the small status messages lightly pinging you about dermal damage and exposed structures. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in, waving away their repeated pings until they’re nothing but static in the background.

“You’re doing good so far, we’re almost done,” Tala says, voice low. She digs her tweezer into your arm to dig around for a small splinter that seems insistent on staying in you. She manages to pull it out, drops it into the metal container she brought along, and strokes your arm with her thumb. It’s warm and tender, juxtaposing her hard stare and pointed words towards the spacer from earlier. “If you need a break, let me know.”

You shake your head, and she continues her work. Her fingers brush over a scar on your forearm. It’s a rough little split, one that never healed up properly from your previous work at Essen-Arp. You forgot where exactly you got it from, but sometimes you find yourself rubbing it, near the end of a cycle. Was it a scar of defiance or one of pain? You hope it was the former.

Your eyes drift to observe Tala’s work. While you can’t exactly feel pain, you can feel other things. Vibration for one thing, as it’s often your first sign of a collapse in the work environment. Temperature, though dully so sleepers don’t get too comfortable for Essen-Arp’s liking. The different types of touch, you can feel to varying degrees. You can discern a tight hand on your shoulder and a soft nudge of another sleeper’s arm against your own.

Tala’s hands are warm, her grip on your arm firm and gentle. As she picks out the last of the glass splinters, she looks up and meets your gaze. A mix of a smile and a smirk crosses her face and you jolt a little in your seat. You look away and Tala’s laughter graces your ears. The tweezers clank into the metal container and you feel one of her hands squeezing yours tightly before letting go all too soon. “You did good Sleeper,” she says, her dark-colored eyes twinkling. “The Overlook is a safe place. I make sure it is. Now, if you’re looking for a place to stay, or a job, then just knock, alright?”

She places a firm hand on your shoulder and squeezes it once before patting it twice. “Just don’t become one of my drinking regulars,” she adds as she heads to the back to place her supplies away. “I’d hate to see that happen.”

You slowly step out of The Overlook, the memory of warm hands already fading on your physical body, but staying strong in your mind.

------

3: Hearing

Mina’s tour of her block (“Mine and daddy’s block!” she corrects you) leaves her pockets full of snacks, her face littered with crumbs, and the neighbors charmed at Lem’s daughter and her robot babysitter. Of course, they don’t call you that name, but Mina’s nickname for you sticks with some of the kids in the Lowend as the little girl calls out to some familiar faces. You’re a bit tired today, having used up most of your energy working elsewhere, but you had promised Lem that you’d watch over Mina while he works on the Siderail Horizon. His and Mina’s ticket off the Eye to a better life.

Maybe that would be your ticket off too. If you can get your tracker taken off you (Feng, maybe work a little faster on that?), then your opinions would open up.

But for now, you’re being dragged around the Lowend by Mina and Bun-Bun, the hand-sewn rabbit having seen better days. She drags you past a grocery store and you pick up her wiggling body before backtracking your steps. “Groceries, Mina. How about we surprise your dad tonight, hm?”

Mina’s face twists into something unrecognizable as one of her arms finds its place around your neck. She lets out a small huff. “I miss daddy,” she murmurs as you enter the grocery store and pick up a basket. She wriggles around in your arm and you pause to readjust her and give her one of her pocketed snacks. The sound of her crunching near your audio processors shouldn’t bother you a lot, but today it does. You don’t dare show it on your face.

Despite your energy being stable, your condition is fading. You can feel your joints aching more, the smaller things setting you off. Despite having enough energy for the day, you can’t do as much. You have one vial of stabilizer left, but saving up for another has been a bit of trouble. You often have to decide between not starving or setting your cryo aside for your medicine. Not starving often wins nowadays.

You fork over the cryo to pay, watching the metal chits holding the money get stored away by the cashier. Maybe you can pick up a shift elsewhere in exchange for some cryo or free food. You leave with Mina’s cheek resting against your shoulder. You rush back to Lem’s apartment and drop off the groceries before warming up some food for her. You take a slate and open up some books to read to Mina.

The sound of your voice and warm food in her stomach soothes Mina to sleep, and you don’t dare move, even when the apartment door jiggles open and Lem steps in. His eyes are tired but they light up when they see you two. He drops his things off and carefully picks up his daughter, hushing her as she squirms a little in his arms. As he carefully moves to her room, you stand up and feel a few of your joints lock up. Your voice box hisses quietly as you stand there, waiting, begging your body to move a little soon. Eventually, your body listens just as Lem steps out and closes the door behind him.

“Hey, Sleeper,” he half-whispers, half-sighs. “Thanks for…you know.” His head jerks towards Mina’s room. “Groceries too.” He shuffles over to the bags and looks through what you picked out. They were things that were on sale mostly, though you had tried to get a few nutritious options for Mina. “Do you want to stay for dinner? Maybe a drink?”

“Please,” you say, already drifting forward to help. “I’d appreciate it.”

The kitchenette can’t easily accommodate both you and Lem, so you’re jokingly pushed off to the table to help chop things up while Lem bares the heat of the gas stove. The dish is simple, but it’s hot and fills you up. Lem pours you a drink and you accept it to be polite. Conversation is heavy tonight, as Lem confesses a few things about himself and Mina. How she’s not really his, the guilt he feels over it and his actions. If what he did was giving Mina a good life right now.

You stay silent as the conversation lags, the bustle of the Lowend slowly fading as the cycle comes to a close. You don’t know why you decided to do this, but if anyone asks, it was the alcohol.

You stand up and press the side of your head against Lem’s chest. Your audio processors pick up on how his heart stumbles and quickens, and you barely catch the sound of his lungs sharply inhaling (though that might be the sound of his mouth, not his lungs…you might inject your stabilizer tonight).

You stay there for a long time, maybe a minute or two. Your hand presses against your bare chest, feeling the emptiness there. Your body houses an emulated mind, but it can’t be reprogrammed. You breathe because the human mind will panic otherwise, scared that it’s choking. You eat because your body can metabolize the energy, reminding the mind of what it’s like to consume something. You close your eyes and listen to that steady beat, imagining it in your own chest.

Lem’s hand finds its way on your head, stroking you before you shift and move away. The house seems louder now: each creak pounds at your head, a whirr of a machine providing heating and cooling buzzes nearby, and you can hear your own shallow quiet breaths.

“Sorry,” you manage to choke out.

Lem rubs his eyes, face flushed from the drink. In the dim lighting, you almost miss how his hand twitches closer to where your head once was. “It’s okay, Sleeper.”

“It’s getting late,” you say. “I should go back.” The word ‘home’ lingers in your mouth, but you avoid saying it. “Thanks for the meal.” As you step away, your processors pinging you with irrelevant things like ‘warm temperature’, you hear Lem shift towards you again. You turn around and jolt as his face nearly meets your own.

“Thank you again, Sleeper,” he whispers. “For looking after our daughter.”

On your way back to your empty container, your home for now, the words ‘our daughter’ tumble around your head until you close your eyes and dream of a little girl’s laughter on a planet far, far away.

------

4: Smell

Some days, when you’re low on energy and can’t risk a lot more for cryo, you step into Min-Gi Express for work and a guaranteed meal afterwards. When you open the door and step inside, the smell of salty noodles, hot broth, and savory sauces almost immediately wafts over you as Lowenders order, some with take-out to enjoy in their units, some to enjoy in the small dining space Min-Gi provides.

Min-Gi gives you a nod and jerks his head to the door leading to the basement. You clean your hands and step in, the stairs creaking with your weight. The air is saltier here, thick with a dampness that’s different from the steam above. The kelp stack is a dry golden brown, and a packet of white powder sits nearby for you to use alongside some water. The kelp is already clean and dehydrated, so you set about pulverizing it with a machine that used to clank loudly before you fixed it up.

You mix the powdered kelp with a few scoops of water and the white powder (sodium…something; you’re not really a chef, you’re just following what Min-Gi taught you) and mix them before molding them and twisting them into a tangled nest. The noodles are a pale white, almost clear like glass. Customers here say that a long, long time ago, kelp noodles were a healthy food craze. Now though? Kelp noodles are just food, something to eat and enjoy.

The work is mechanical to you, something to zone out to and think. You had messed up a batch or two a few times, but each time you would get fed. Sure, you had to eat your botched noodles because Min-Gi couldn’t serve anything less than ideal to his customers (and they’re unpleasantly gooey…just thinking about the texture makes you shiver), but you still eat something.

The money you get from noodle making is just a small bonus.

Min-Gi steps down a few hours later to check up on your work. His eyes scan the batches you’ve already made with a discerning look, then he nods. “Good.” He takes a tray up to the kitchen and leaves you alone once again.

When the door shuts, it carries with it a small blast of air from the kitchen above. It’s always a strong salty smell upstairs, one that clings to your clothes long after you leave and quite possibly sticks with you for a few days afterwards. Sure, it can make you a bit nauseous after smelling it for too long, especially if your condition is low or if you freshly injected your stabilizer (you remember one such moment: you had woken up the cycle after injecting it and the smell of Min-Gi’s food on your clothes had been so strong to your newly refreshed body that you couldn’t summon the energy to go out and do much, so you had stayed in your home hacking systems instead), but it was familiar, and it was energy for yourself.

You quite dislike starving yourself.

Another few hours pass by and Min-Gi brings down a hot bowl of soup for you made with the noodles you made today, along with a few cryo. You raise the noodles to your mouth and slurp it down. First the heat hits your sensors, then the salty taste. As you eat your well-deserved meal, you let your mind drift off to the oceans that these kelp came from. How far away were they? For kelp noodles and a price this cheap, perhaps there’s a place on the Eye where kelp is grown.

Maybe you can find it and smell the salty ocean yourself.

You finish your bowl and exhale.

Maybe without too much kelp though.

------

5: Sight

Zero gravity is an interesting situation for your sensorium. On one hand, you don’t have to worry about feeling nauseous to the point of physically puking everywhere, which is what some spacers unfortunately experience. Gross and embarrassing. On the other hand, your senses aren’t built to experience zero gravity when your condition isn’t optimal and stable, and even less so when you go beyond flickering to fading to dying.

You’re working on changes for that, tinkering with your body with pieces of scrap that you find and sometimes buy. So far, your scrap is useful for repairing your body to stave off the need for stabilizer, though not by a lot. You also manage to unlock your photosynthetic skin, allowing you to spend some of your energy under the lights of the Eye to avoid starving via producing glucose like a plant. On top of that, you manage to better your work with digital interfaces, sometimes finding yourself five cryo richer from intercepting others. Now, you’re not going to share how that happens; some things are best to remain a secret. You’re also working on improving your more social aspects, so you feel like you’re doing pretty good with the different ways you can approach your problems.

As you float in Gimbal Lounge, surrounded by other spacers heading through for a very nutritious but otherwise very bland meal, your gaze drifts down to down to a part of the Eye that you have yet to explore. A lush green stretch of land floating precariously in space, disconnected from the rest of the Eye in both physicality and data-wise.

You had figured out the toll to board the Founder’s Ferry to get to that section, and it was a painstaking 150 cryo. That’s the cost of one, maybe two doses of your stabilizer. 150 cryo. It’s a one-time fee thankfully, so your plan is to save up at least 200 cryo before handing over the fee to explore what lies beyond the Founder’s Gap.

For now though, you can look at it and wistfully imagine.

Your gaze shifts from the green stripe of the Eye to the other parts that you’re more familiar with. Down the Free Spoke that allows you to access the zero-gravity section of The Hub, you spot the Lowend, where Yatagan tries to keep some sort of government and control over the people living there. You idly remember the caches of Havenage data you had hacked over the past few days, and consider selling it to them. Then again, you also have caches of Yatagan data you can sell to Havenage.

You quietly laugh to yourself and shake your head. The government here is so confusing and as much as you would rather avoid it all, the political groups here always seem to drag you back into it, one way or another. Whether it be for your stabilizer, a favor, food, connections, you always find yourself being pulled into the lives of everyone here.

Beyond the Lowned and the Bright Market, your eyes pass over the Rotunda and the Shipyard, then they settle on Drago’s scrapyard and your first home: an empty container. It’s also currently your only home, but you’re hoping that the derelict unit you found in the Lowend would be your new one — or at least a second one — soon.

You push yourself out of your seat in the Gimbal Lounge, having long finished your spacer meal, and float there for a breath. Two breaths.

Then, you hear the tell-tale sign of someone retching nearby and you quickly push yourself away and towards the door. You’ve already seen what vomit looks like in zero-gravity once, and you don’t really want to see it again.

You float and bounce around outside, surrounded by the endless expenses of space around you. Above, below, and all around your sides, are millions of bright stars. You never had enough time to admire the stars back in your time at Essen-Arp, and now that you can admire them without risk of someone punishing you for it, you think that the stars are the most beautiful thing ever.

------

+1: Data Mind

There’s a certain place in the Eye where you feel almost untouchable. Physically so, unless someone manages to touch you and jolt you out of it, but you never enter that place unless you’re in a quiet and safe area. That was usually at home in your empty crate, but the formerly derelict unit is now fully repaired and yours and you can access the Data Cloud in the Lowend a little easier now. Gone are the days of straining your emulated mind to traverse through the thick web of data to reach far-off nodules, and you thank yourself for that.

You wonder how it must look to others: you closing your eyes before your body slumping against a wall. You know your body’s not useless down there, but it’s almost as if your senses to your physicality are dulled, instead becoming highly attuned to the web-like structures of the Data Cloud. It’s like you’re floating in a dream, where you know you have something tethering yourself to the waking world, but if you dare look down at yourself to try to visualize or feel that anchor, you might wake up and interrupt your hacking.

Your usual activities in the Data Cloud are saved for your low-energy days. Havenage and Yatagan leaks are easy enough to hack into and sell, but occasionally Feng has you try to hack into higher-security systems, which take up more of your energy. You grumble at those sometimes, but the promise of your tracker being removed from you keeps you working at it.

Today however, in your rented Kisho Capsule on the Hub (Capsule 0451, you think to yourself as you frantically enter the Data Cloud, Capsule 0451), you throw the entirety of your energy towards the three nodules of highly encrypted data that hold the Hub’s fading Data Cloud together. Get rid of those, and you have a chance to run back to where you had slotted the shipmind holding NEOVEND — no, Navigator — and save the sentient entity from Killer.

How you had managed to escape the strange vortex that’s holding Navigator captive, you don’t know. What you do know is that you’re not sure how much time you have before Killer’s sharp, blind head will find Navigator in the void of the Data Cloud.

You unlock one nodule, and the Data Cloud shudders. You feel it slightly in your physical body: a pulse in your head and a twitch in your limbs. Your emulated mind, floating in the Data Cloud, processes it as a full body shudder. You press your mouth shut and float to the other two nodules.

The second nodule you undo sends a shiver down your spine.

Quiet clicks sound behind you, the sound of a quadruped moving towards its prey. You barely manage to hear a faint whooshing, like a knife being swung through air.

You freeze. Hold your breath.

Killer’s sharp head slices the space to one side of you. From your peripheral vision, you see the protocol’s gouged eye sockets. If it still had eyes, what would it look like? What would be its emotion, if any, as the protocol hunts you down?

One end of Killer’s bladed head nicks your shoulder.

You stay silent, still. If you pretend you’re dead, then maybe Killer will stalk past you.

Killer moves away and disappears into the void.

You pull your mind back into your physical body, your hand already clutching your shoulder as sharp pain blooms deep within it, radiating out. You feel your condition slip, and without caring about other potential renters in the capsules, you scream. You scream until you feel tired, until you’re sure your vocal processors are raw and crackling. No one has knocked on your door.

You dive back in and rush to hack the last nodule, reentering your body and rushing out before you can fully settle in. Your head spins as you bounce and float to Navigator’s physical location.

The Data Cloud might be perfect for your low energy days, but something always feels good about your physical body gripping cords and ripping them out of their sockets.

Take that, Killer.

[imaginatorcreates]

Sleeper Sensorium

17 December 2024 — 20 December 2024

Summary: An exploration of the Sleeper's senses, shown through their experiences on Erlin's Eye.

Word Count: ~4.5k words

Author's Note: Getting into "Citizen Sleeper" was not part of my 2024 bingo, but hey. Last minute surprise! I love "Citizen Sleeper" so much. It's everything. I pulled from aspects of my game-play while also trying to keep it as generalized as possible.

Also on AO3

1: Taste

One of the first things you remember when you had first arrived on Erlin’s Eye was how empty you had felt. Not exactly in a physical sense, though you had surely felt that way from how cramped your joints had been after you had finally stretched your limbs out from the wrecked freighter ship you had smuggled yourself into. Suddenly having the room to do that, your extremities allowed to move far away from your torso, had left you feeling cold and empty.

But you quickly discover that beyond the everlasting emptiness you feel when you think a little too hard about yourself and what you had done to get here (well, not exactly you; what the emulated mind of whoever resides in this mechanical body of yours had done), you are also empty in a simple, deeply human way.

Your body requires food. Simple energy to keep yourself going and prevent your condition from deteriorating faster than it already does.

Whenever you feel your systems start complaining, small vibrations running up and down your abdomen reminiscent of a stomach growling, you head down to the Bright Market. Among the bustle of the crowd, you expertly drift your way down to a certain stall in the corner of the open market. If anyone asks, you say that you’re just following your nose.

It isn’t hard once you know where to go, for the air around your favorite food stall is heavy with the scent of spices, both as seasoning and as something that assaults the senses. Some days, your eyes blink rapidly as Emphis throws down a dash of red powder into his hot wok. Other days, you catch him as he squeezes thickened liquid onto someone else’s fixing before loosely tossing together the meal and handing it off.

When he sees you, he gives you a nod and starts preparing your meal. You set aside the fifteen cryo necessary for it, and the two of you exchange money for food with a nod and what you hope is a smile. You’re still trying to find those requested mushrooms for him, but for now, you hope that he doesn't mind seeing your familiar face around here with nothing but cryo to spend on his food.

Emphis’s spiced fungus is one of the few things you feel is potent enough to stimulate your very limited taste sensors. You waste no time in stabbing a few of them onto your fork, along with some of the loose leaves mixed in, and shoveling it into your mouth. Immediately, your sensorium is sending warning signals repeatedly. Spicy, it alerts, spicy!

Spicy, you think to yourself as your feet tap the ground in bliss. A mixture of a sigh and a moan of delight escapes you as you will yourself to slow down and savor your meal. You don’t know what Emphis puts in here to make it so tasty, but you know that you’ll always come back here for more as a fungus fan.

Today, you consider licking the bowl clean. You manage to restrain yourself from it (as tempting as it was, just to get every last bit of the sauce that coats the mushrooms and leaves), and place it in the dirty dish container.

“Good luck Sleeper,” Emphis says as you turn to leave.

Reenergized, you spin on your heel to face him and give him a playful salute. Your eyes shine and you do your best to communicate a smile with your limited facial muscles. Whatever expression you manage to flash to him pulls a chuckle out of Emphis as he goes back to his wok.

“Thank you!” you shout, the remnants of the spicy fungus still leaving your taste sensors reeling. “And I’ll be back!”

Emphis’s bark of a laugh shoots through the market and settles into your body, energizing you just as his meals do.

------

2: Touch

You know this body of yours can metabolize food, as it likes to remind you every few cycles, or when you push yourself on a bad day. But it doesn’t require water, like a human body does. Still, you always wonder if it can metabolize something in between the two.

Namely, alcohol.

Alcohol is known for providing empty calories with nothing beyond that to boot. No vitamins or minerals, and it even dehydrates the drinker despite being liquid.

You, however, aren’t exactly normal by human standards. If anything, the alcohol should just give you energy.

At least, that was the plan before you had found yourself two drinks in, twelve cryo poorer, and harassed by a spacer. You didn’t know if it had been true malice towards you (and what you were), or if it had been a combination of the spacer’s own job stresses catching up to them as alcohol loosened the lips. All you had known was the sound of glass shattering on the floor, pointed words, then the owner of the bar coming to your rescue.

One, final glass had sailed towards your head, and in your hopes to salvage what little pride you had left, you had tried to catch it. The spacer’s words had rattled you more than you had liked, and the shot glass had instead become embedded in your arm in multiple small shards.

The owner of the Overlook Bar, Tala, clicks her tongue as she nurses your wounds. She takes her tweezers (they were more like pliers, but she said that she had sanitized them, so they were tweezers now) and gently picks out the shards from your arm. One hand stabilizes your arm as you prop it onto the bar table, while the other maneuvers the tweezers in a way that shows that this wasn’t her first rodeo.

You didn’t feel the pain of the glass entering your arm, and you don’t feel the pain of the glass leaving your arm either. You only feel the small status messages lightly pinging you about dermal damage and exposed structures. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in, waving away their repeated pings until they’re nothing but static in the background.

“You’re doing good so far, we’re almost done,” Tala says, voice low. She digs her tweezer into your arm to dig around for a small splinter that seems insistent on staying in you. She manages to pull it out, drops it into the metal container she brought along, and strokes your arm with her thumb. It’s warm and tender, juxtaposing her hard stare and pointed words towards the spacer from earlier. “If you need a break, let me know.”

You shake your head, and she continues her work. Her fingers brush over a scar on your forearm. It’s a rough little split, one that never healed up properly from your previous work at Essen-Arp. You forgot where exactly you got it from, but sometimes you find yourself rubbing it, near the end of a cycle. Was it a scar of defiance or one of pain? You hope it was the former.

Your eyes drift to observe Tala’s work. While you can’t exactly feel pain, you can feel other things. Vibration for one thing, as it’s often your first sign of a collapse in the work environment. Temperature, though dully so sleepers don’t get too comfortable for Essen-Arp’s liking. The different types of touch, you can feel to varying degrees. You can discern a tight hand on your shoulder and a soft nudge of another sleeper’s arm against your own.

Tala’s hands are warm, her grip on your arm firm and gentle. As she picks out the last of the glass splinters, she looks up and meets your gaze. A mix of a smile and a smirk crosses her face and you jolt a little in your seat. You look away and Tala’s laughter graces your ears. The tweezers clank into the metal container and you feel one of her hands squeezing yours tightly before letting go all too soon. “You did good Sleeper,” she says, her dark-colored eyes twinkling. “The Overlook is a safe place. I make sure it is. Now, if you’re looking for a place to stay, or a job, then just knock, alright?”

She places a firm hand on your shoulder and squeezes it once before patting it twice. “Just don’t become one of my drinking regulars,” she adds as she heads to the back to place her supplies away. “I’d hate to see that happen.”

You slowly step out of The Overlook, the memory of warm hands already fading on your physical body, but staying strong in your mind.

------

3: Hearing

Mina’s tour of her block (“Mine and daddy’s block!” she corrects you) leaves her pockets full of snacks, her face littered with crumbs, and the neighbors charmed at Lem’s daughter and her robot babysitter. Of course, they don’t call you that name, but Mina’s nickname for you sticks with some of the kids in the Lowend as the little girl calls out to some familiar faces. You’re a bit tired today, having used up most of your energy working elsewhere, but you had promised Lem that you’d watch over Mina while he works on the Siderail Horizon. His and Mina’s ticket off the Eye to a better life.

Maybe that would be your ticket off too. If you can get your tracker taken off you (Feng, maybe work a little faster on that?), then your opinions would open up.

But for now, you’re being dragged around the Lowend by Mina and Bun-Bun, the hand-sewn rabbit having seen better days. She drags you past a grocery store and you pick up her wiggling body before backtracking your steps. “Groceries, Mina. How about we surprise your dad tonight, hm?”

Mina’s face twists into something unrecognizable as one of her arms finds its place around your neck. She lets out a small huff. “I miss daddy,” she murmurs as you enter the grocery store and pick up a basket. She wriggles around in your arm and you pause to readjust her and give her one of her pocketed snacks. The sound of her crunching near your audio processors shouldn’t bother you a lot, but today it does. You don’t dare show it on your face.

Despite your energy being stable, your condition is fading. You can feel your joints aching more, the smaller things setting you off. Despite having enough energy for the day, you can’t do as much. You have one vial of stabilizer left, but saving up for another has been a bit of trouble. You often have to decide between not starving or setting your cryo aside for your medicine. Not starving often wins nowadays.

You fork over the cryo to pay, watching the metal chits holding the money get stored away by the cashier. Maybe you can pick up a shift elsewhere in exchange for some cryo or free food. You leave with Mina’s cheek resting against your shoulder. You rush back to Lem’s apartment and drop off the groceries before warming up some food for her. You take a slate and open up some books to read to Mina.

The sound of your voice and warm food in her stomach soothes Mina to sleep, and you don’t dare move, even when the apartment door jiggles open and Lem steps in. His eyes are tired but they light up when they see you two. He drops his things off and carefully picks up his daughter, hushing her as she squirms a little in his arms. As he carefully moves to her room, you stand up and feel a few of your joints lock up. Your voice box hisses quietly as you stand there, waiting, begging your body to move a little soon. Eventually, your body listens just as Lem steps out and closes the door behind him.

“Hey, Sleeper,” he half-whispers, half-sighs. “Thanks for…you know.” His head jerks towards Mina’s room. “Groceries too.” He shuffles over to the bags and looks through what you picked out. They were things that were on sale mostly, though you had tried to get a few nutritious options for Mina. “Do you want to stay for dinner? Maybe a drink?”

“Please,” you say, already drifting forward to help. “I’d appreciate it.”

The kitchenette can’t easily accommodate both you and Lem, so you’re jokingly pushed off to the table to help chop things up while Lem bares the heat of the gas stove. The dish is simple, but it’s hot and fills you up. Lem pours you a drink and you accept it to be polite. Conversation is heavy tonight, as Lem confesses a few things about himself and Mina. How she’s not really his, the guilt he feels over it and his actions. If what he did was giving Mina a good life right now.

You stay silent as the conversation lags, the bustle of the Lowend slowly fading as the cycle comes to a close. You don’t know why you decided to do this, but if anyone asks, it was the alcohol.

You stand up and press the side of your head against Lem’s chest. Your audio processors pick up on how his heart stumbles and quickens, and you barely catch the sound of his lungs sharply inhaling (though that might be the sound of his mouth, not his lungs…you might inject your stabilizer tonight).

You stay there for a long time, maybe a minute or two. Your hand presses against your bare chest, feeling the emptiness there. Your body houses an emulated mind, but it can’t be reprogrammed. You breathe because the human mind will panic otherwise, scared that it’s choking. You eat because your body can metabolize the energy, reminding the mind of what it’s like to consume something. You close your eyes and listen to that steady beat, imagining it in your own chest.

Lem’s hand finds its way on your head, stroking you before you shift and move away. The house seems louder now: each creak pounds at your head, a whirr of a machine providing heating and cooling buzzes nearby, and you can hear your own shallow quiet breaths.

“Sorry,” you manage to choke out.

Lem rubs his eyes, face flushed from the drink. In the dim lighting, you almost miss how his hand twitches closer to where your head once was. “It’s okay, Sleeper.”

“It’s getting late,” you say. “I should go back.” The word ‘home’ lingers in your mouth, but you avoid saying it. “Thanks for the meal.” As you step away, your processors pinging you with irrelevant things like ‘warm temperature’, you hear Lem shift towards you again. You turn around and jolt as his face nearly meets your own.

“Thank you again, Sleeper,” he whispers. “For looking after our daughter.”

On your way back to your empty container, your home for now, the words ‘our daughter’ tumble around your head until you close your eyes and dream of a little girl’s laughter on a planet far, far away.

------

4: Smell

Some days, when you’re low on energy and can’t risk a lot more for cryo, you step into Min-Gi Express for work and a guaranteed meal afterwards. When you open the door and step inside, the smell of salty noodles, hot broth, and savory sauces almost immediately wafts over you as Lowenders order, some with take-out to enjoy in their units, some to enjoy in the small dining space Min-Gi provides.

Min-Gi gives you a nod and jerks his head to the door leading to the basement. You clean your hands and step in, the stairs creaking with your weight. The air is saltier here, thick with a dampness that’s different from the steam above. The kelp stack is a dry golden brown, and a packet of white powder sits nearby for you to use alongside some water. The kelp is already clean and dehydrated, so you set about pulverizing it with a machine that used to clank loudly before you fixed it up.

You mix the powdered kelp with a few scoops of water and the white powder (sodium…something; you’re not really a chef, you’re just following what Min-Gi taught you) and mix them before molding them and twisting them into a tangled nest. The noodles are a pale white, almost clear like glass. Customers here say that a long, long time ago, kelp noodles were a healthy food craze. Now though? Kelp noodles are just food, something to eat and enjoy.

The work is mechanical to you, something to zone out to and think. You had messed up a batch or two a few times, but each time you would get fed. Sure, you had to eat your botched noodles because Min-Gi couldn’t serve anything less than ideal to his customers (and they’re unpleasantly gooey…just thinking about the texture makes you shiver), but you still eat something.

The money you get from noodle making is just a small bonus.

Min-Gi steps down a few hours later to check up on your work. His eyes scan the batches you’ve already made with a discerning look, then he nods. “Good.” He takes a tray up to the kitchen and leaves you alone once again.

When the door shuts, it carries with it a small blast of air from the kitchen above. It’s always a strong salty smell upstairs, one that clings to your clothes long after you leave and quite possibly sticks with you for a few days afterwards. Sure, it can make you a bit nauseous after smelling it for too long, especially if your condition is low or if you freshly injected your stabilizer (you remember one such moment: you had woken up the cycle after injecting it and the smell of Min-Gi’s food on your clothes had been so strong to your newly refreshed body that you couldn’t summon the energy to go out and do much, so you had stayed in your home hacking systems instead), but it was familiar, and it was energy for yourself.

You quite dislike starving yourself.

Another few hours pass by and Min-Gi brings down a hot bowl of soup for you made with the noodles you made today, along with a few cryo. You raise the noodles to your mouth and slurp it down. First the heat hits your sensors, then the salty taste. As you eat your well-deserved meal, you let your mind drift off to the oceans that these kelp came from. How far away were they? For kelp noodles and a price this cheap, perhaps there’s a place on the Eye where kelp is grown.

Maybe you can find it and smell the salty ocean yourself.

You finish your bowl and exhale.

Maybe without too much kelp though.

------

5: Sight

Zero gravity is an interesting situation for your sensorium. On one hand, you don’t have to worry about feeling nauseous to the point of physically puking everywhere, which is what some spacers unfortunately experience. Gross and embarrassing. On the other hand, your senses aren’t built to experience zero gravity when your condition isn’t optimal and stable, and even less so when you go beyond flickering to fading to dying.

You’re working on changes for that, tinkering with your body with pieces of scrap that you find and sometimes buy. So far, your scrap is useful for repairing your body to stave off the need for stabilizer, though not by a lot. You also manage to unlock your photosynthetic skin, allowing you to spend some of your energy under the lights of the Eye to avoid starving via producing glucose like a plant. On top of that, you manage to better your work with digital interfaces, sometimes finding yourself five cryo richer from intercepting others. Now, you’re not going to share how that happens; some things are best to remain a secret. You’re also working on improving your more social aspects, so you feel like you’re doing pretty good with the different ways you can approach your problems.

As you float in Gimbal Lounge, surrounded by other spacers heading through for a very nutritious but otherwise very bland meal, your gaze drifts down to down to a part of the Eye that you have yet to explore. A lush green stretch of land floating precariously in space, disconnected from the rest of the Eye in both physicality and data-wise.

You had figured out the toll to board the Founder’s Ferry to get to that section, and it was a painstaking 150 cryo. That’s the cost of one, maybe two doses of your stabilizer. 150 cryo. It’s a one-time fee thankfully, so your plan is to save up at least 200 cryo before handing over the fee to explore what lies beyond the Founder’s Gap.

For now though, you can look at it and wistfully imagine.

Your gaze shifts from the green stripe of the Eye to the other parts that you’re more familiar with. Down the Free Spoke that allows you to access the zero-gravity section of The Hub, you spot the Lowend, where Yatagan tries to keep some sort of government and control over the people living there. You idly remember the caches of Havenage data you had hacked over the past few days, and consider selling it to them. Then again, you also have caches of Yatagan data you can sell to Havenage.

You quietly laugh to yourself and shake your head. The government here is so confusing and as much as you would rather avoid it all, the political groups here always seem to drag you back into it, one way or another. Whether it be for your stabilizer, a favor, food, connections, you always find yourself being pulled into the lives of everyone here.

Beyond the Lowned and the Bright Market, your eyes pass over the Rotunda and the Shipyard, then they settle on Drago’s scrapyard and your first home: an empty container. It’s also currently your only home, but you’re hoping that the derelict unit you found in the Lowend would be your new one — or at least a second one — soon.

You push yourself out of your seat in the Gimbal Lounge, having long finished your spacer meal, and float there for a breath. Two breaths.

Then, you hear the tell-tale sign of someone retching nearby and you quickly push yourself away and towards the door. You’ve already seen what vomit looks like in zero-gravity once, and you don’t really want to see it again.

You float and bounce around outside, surrounded by the endless expenses of space around you. Above, below, and all around your sides, are millions of bright stars. You never had enough time to admire the stars back in your time at Essen-Arp, and now that you can admire them without risk of someone punishing you for it, you think that the stars are the most beautiful thing ever.

------

+1: Data Mind

There’s a certain place in the Eye where you feel almost untouchable. Physically so, unless someone manages to touch you and jolt you out of it, but you never enter that place unless you’re in a quiet and safe area. That was usually at home in your empty crate, but the formerly derelict unit is now fully repaired and yours and you can access the Data Cloud in the Lowend a little easier now. Gone are the days of straining your emulated mind to traverse through the thick web of data to reach far-off nodules, and you thank yourself for that.

You wonder how it must look to others: you closing your eyes before your body slumping against a wall. You know your body’s not useless down there, but it’s almost as if your senses to your physicality are dulled, instead becoming highly attuned to the web-like structures of the Data Cloud. It’s like you’re floating in a dream, where you know you have something tethering yourself to the waking world, but if you dare look down at yourself to try to visualize or feel that anchor, you might wake up and interrupt your hacking.

Your usual activities in the Data Cloud are saved for your low-energy days. Havenage and Yatagan leaks are easy enough to hack into and sell, but occasionally Feng has you try to hack into higher-security systems, which take up more of your energy. You grumble at those sometimes, but the promise of your tracker being removed from you keeps you working at it.

Today however, in your rented Kisho Capsule on the Hub (Capsule 0451, you think to yourself as you frantically enter the Data Cloud, Capsule 0451), you throw the entirety of your energy towards the three nodules of highly encrypted data that hold the Hub’s fading Data Cloud together. Get rid of those, and you have a chance to run back to where you had slotted the shipmind holding NEOVEND — no, Navigator — and save the sentient entity from Killer.

How you had managed to escape the strange vortex that’s holding Navigator captive, you don’t know. What you do know is that you’re not sure how much time you have before Killer’s sharp, blind head will find Navigator in the void of the Data Cloud.

You unlock one nodule, and the Data Cloud shudders. You feel it slightly in your physical body: a pulse in your head and a twitch in your limbs. Your emulated mind, floating in the Data Cloud, processes it as a full body shudder. You press your mouth shut and float to the other two nodules.

The second nodule you undo sends a shiver down your spine.

Quiet clicks sound behind you, the sound of a quadruped moving towards its prey. You barely manage to hear a faint whooshing, like a knife being swung through air.

You freeze. Hold your breath.

Killer’s sharp head slices the space to one side of you. From your peripheral vision, you see the protocol’s gouged eye sockets. If it still had eyes, what would it look like? What would be its emotion, if any, as the protocol hunts you down?

One end of Killer’s bladed head nicks your shoulder.

You stay silent, still. If you pretend you’re dead, then maybe Killer will stalk past you.

Killer moves away and disappears into the void.

You pull your mind back into your physical body, your hand already clutching your shoulder as sharp pain blooms deep within it, radiating out. You feel your condition slip, and without caring about other potential renters in the capsules, you scream. You scream until you feel tired, until you’re sure your vocal processors are raw and crackling. No one has knocked on your door.

You dive back in and rush to hack the last nodule, reentering your body and rushing out before you can fully settle in. Your head spins as you bounce and float to Navigator’s physical location.

The Data Cloud might be perfect for your low energy days, but something always feels good about your physical body gripping cords and ripping them out of their sockets.

Take that, Killer.

[imaginatorcreates]

JummBox: Part 24

GUESS WHO FINISHED FINALS! I DID!! WOOO!!!

Anyways, take some music. One of them is a

Gifted Tune!

This is my 54th creation. I wanted to visit 6/8 time again, so add in a few triplet notes, slap bass, jazz guitar, and grand piano, and you get something that's really groovy! I originally wanted it to be for a robot-esque feel, but that went out the window with the groove of it. Next time!

This is my 55th creation. This is for Elliott (belonging to @ilovethecolorblue). Elliott is a shapeshifting alien who's somewhat connected to Starii (@dianacoreexe)! Try and see if you can spot her here! This tune tried to fight me! It was a feisty thing, starting off with an already odd melody. It's weird how adding a steady sound upwards can fix things. I tried to make it sound a bit more space-esque, so it's a bit more 8-bit and electronic sounding than my usual tunes. Maybe it's Elliott trying to invent something.

[imaginatorcreates]

It’s Clawed Its Way Into You (And You Never Want It Out)

02 December 2024 — 02 December 2024

Summary: While Roz is stuck in a Universal Dynamics greenhouse, she yearns.

Word Count: ~760 words

Author's Note: So I watched "The Wild Robot". It's amazing. Go watch it if you haven't yet. This short fic was partially inspired by @little-paper-man's Something Wild series, which I love. Additionally, I have yet to read the books, so this is entirely based on the movie only!

Also on AO3

ROZZUM Unit 7134. The only ROZZUM unit retrieved from the typhoon.

From the state that she was retrieved in, compliant and willing, Universal Dynamics talked about how impressed they were.

Her exterior was shabby and dirty. Dirt and dust had wormed its way into every crevice. It pained Roz somewhere deep inside when every crack had been scrubbed free of grime. It had felt like home to her.

Claw marks had marred her round body, and what wasn’t clawed up was barely holding on. But Roz had already forgiven Thorn for it, along with the raccoons and the moose. She would still forgive them even after the fissures were closed up.

Moss and flowers had grown on her, producing what some employees had described as a faint woody scent. Roz wished she could’ve brush the humans’ hands off as they had uprooted the only greenery on her.

When her wooden foot had been taken from her and replaced with a matching one, she watched with melancholy as Universal Dynamics had chalked it up to her adaptability instead of Paddler’s handiwork. After all, they had said, the island where she had been marooned on was pure wilderness, so it wasn’t as if someone else could’ve carved it.

Universal Dynamics extracted everything they could from her memory banks before placing her in a greenhouse, expecting her to work like normal again.

Except ROZZUM Unit 7134 could never be normal again.

How could she, when even the dirt she worked with here was sanitized? Every speck was meticulously analyzed for the correct mineral content lest the vegetation got ill. Each fruit and vegetable was counted for quantity and scanned for quality. The trees within the greenhouse produced perfect fruit without fail, and while she knew that living things needed to eat, she also knew that it wouldn’t kill anyone to have a misshapen piece.

So, perhaps as a little act of rebellion, Roz didn’t prune all the required flowers off, leaving one or two extra on a tree. It was as random as she could make it, and while it sometimes resulted in fruit that wasn’t up to par, Roz did it anyway, allowing her fingers to brush a few of the petals.

They bloomed beautifully and gave her a moment to breathe in between the redundant reports and methodical way she was supposed to act.

Head forward. Walk in rows. Use the correct tools for the correct job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Even when Roz dipped into her artificially cheerful voice and greeted others with “Hello! I am ROZZUM Unit 7134!”, she was ignored soon after. She was alive and well here, yes, but when no one was looking, she snuck a peek elsewhere.

Her eyes wandered down to the soil, deep inside the foliage of the fruit trees, up into the towering sky above her. Her entire being yearned to burrow into the dirt and run into some dens to say hello to the creatures who lived there. More than once, she thought she saw an animal within the trees, but each time, her hopes were in vain. The skies above her were clear and blue like the ocean, and if she was lucky, she could spot some birds freely flying with the wind.

Of course, sometimes Roz got into contact with animals. Therapy Pet Tuesday was always a welcome respite for her, as often a small cat or dog would scurry away from the main crowd just outside the greenhouse and wander inside. After she initiated contact with them, she became known as “Roz, the one with all the stories”. She kept her experiences on the island alive through her very defiance of remembering, and through the therapy animals.

Roz found and talked to the racoons in the vents soon after some of the ROZZM charging ports stopped working.

(“I know the electric shock can be a bit fun, but this is not safe for you.”

(“It understands us? Wait, it talks to us!”)

Whenever she was directed to rest in the sun to recharge her batteries while employees tried to fix the problem, her mind wandered to the raccoons in the vents of the greenhouse, then to the raccoons on the island. Roz chuckled to herself, her LED lights lighting up blue like the sky against the white of her main body.

She watched the skies when she could, the dark of the night and the light of the day. She wished to migrate out, but for now, she would just look out for the familiar v-shaped outline of the geese.

[imaginatorcreates]

It’s Clawed Its Way Into You (And You Never Want It Out)

02 December 2024 — 02 December 2024

Summary: While Roz is stuck in a Universal Dynamics greenhouse, she yearns.

Word Count: ~760 words

Author's Note: So I watched "The Wild Robot". It's amazing. Go watch it if you haven't yet. This short fic was partially inspired by @little-paper-man's Something Wild series, which I love. Additionally, I have yet to read the books, so this is entirely based on the movie only!

Also on AO3

ROZZUM Unit 7134. The only ROZZUM unit retrieved from the typhoon.

From the state that she was retrieved in, compliant and willing, Universal Dynamics talked about how impressed they were.

Her exterior was shabby and dirty. Dirt and dust had wormed its way into every crevice. It pained Roz somewhere deep inside when every crack had been scrubbed free of grime. It had felt like home to her.

Claw marks had marred her round body, and what wasn’t clawed up was barely holding on. But Roz had already forgiven Thorn for it, along with the raccoons and the moose. She would still forgive them even after the fissures were closed up.

Moss and flowers had grown on her, producing what some employees had described as a faint woody scent. Roz wished she could’ve brush the humans’ hands off as they had uprooted the only greenery on her.

When her wooden foot had been taken from her and replaced with a matching one, she watched with melancholy as Universal Dynamics had chalked it up to her adaptability instead of Paddler’s handiwork. After all, they had said, the island where she had been marooned on was pure wilderness, so it wasn’t as if someone else could’ve carved it.

Universal Dynamics extracted everything they could from her memory banks before placing her in a greenhouse, expecting her to work like normal again.

Except ROZZUM Unit 7134 could never be normal again.

How could she, when even the dirt she worked with here was sanitized? Every speck was meticulously analyzed for the correct mineral content lest the vegetation got ill. Each fruit and vegetable was counted for quantity and scanned for quality. The trees within the greenhouse produced perfect fruit without fail, and while she knew that living things needed to eat, she also knew that it wouldn’t kill anyone to have a misshapen piece.

So, perhaps as a little act of rebellion, Roz didn’t prune all the required flowers off, leaving one or two extra on a tree. It was as random as she could make it, and while it sometimes resulted in fruit that wasn’t up to par, Roz did it anyway, allowing her fingers to brush a few of the petals.

They bloomed beautifully and gave her a moment to breathe in between the redundant reports and methodical way she was supposed to act.

Head forward. Walk in rows. Use the correct tools for the correct job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Even when Roz dipped into her artificially cheerful voice and greeted others with “Hello! I am ROZZUM Unit 7134!”, she was ignored soon after. She was alive and well here, yes, but when no one was looking, she snuck a peek elsewhere.

Her eyes wandered down to the soil, deep inside the foliage of the fruit trees, up into the towering sky above her. Her entire being yearned to burrow into the dirt and run into some dens to say hello to the creatures who lived there. More than once, she thought she saw an animal within the trees, but each time, her hopes were in vain. The skies above her were clear and blue like the ocean, and if she was lucky, she could spot some birds freely flying with the wind.

Of course, sometimes Roz got into contact with animals. Therapy Pet Tuesday was always a welcome respite for her, as often a small cat or dog would scurry away from the main crowd just outside the greenhouse and wander inside. After she initiated contact with them, she became known as “Roz, the one with all the stories”. She kept her experiences on the island alive through her very defiance of remembering, and through the therapy animals.

Roz found and talked to the racoons in the vents soon after some of the ROZZM charging ports stopped working.

(“I know the electric shock can be a bit fun, but this is not safe for you.”

(“It understands us? Wait, it talks to us!”)

Whenever she was directed to rest in the sun to recharge her batteries while employees tried to fix the problem, her mind wandered to the raccoons in the vents of the greenhouse, then to the raccoons on the island. Roz chuckled to herself, her LED lights lighting up blue like the sky against the white of her main body.

She watched the skies when she could, the dark of the night and the light of the day. She wished to migrate out, but for now, she would just look out for the familiar v-shaped outline of the geese.

[imaginatorcreates]

JummBox: Part 23

You know, music is a nice practice for me. It allows me to capture something in audio, sort of like how I capture something in writing.

These are for a world I like thinking about. DND/Fantasy-esque. It's nice to think about for me.

This is my 51st creation. I was greatly inspired by "And the Hound" by Yaelokre, specifically the chorus near the end where voices blend together. This is for The Dreamer, a wild fae. Think of Wild Fae as the biblically accurate angels of fae. With the power to manifest a whole dream forest when asleep, it understands little about those that reside outside of its dream.

This is my 52nd creation. This tune came around while I was sort of mindlessly saying the title in musical way: "Tama Cat, Tama Tama Cat". If this song had lyrics, it would just be "Tama Cat". This is for Tama, the cat of a train depot in my worlds (but also inspired by the actual Tama, a cat who was a station master)! I wanted a little chiptune practice, so I did my best to make it such.

This isn't exactly a new tune, but instead an updated version of an older one. Here, we added a bit more instruments to blend together when one begins dreaming. It gives it depth! Perhaps this is what you hear when you fall into The Dream Forest.

[imaginatorcreates]

JummBox: Part 22

We're back! And we have another...

You guessed it!

Gifted Tune!

This is my 53rd creation. This is for a friend's sona, @7evenz, as a birthday gift 🎉🎂!

Featuring violin, a bouncy feel, and what I call "bloopy", this is fit for someone who's as bouncy as the sona it's made for! Also, I love your art and talking with you! Keep up your great work! Love you 💗 /p

[imaginatorcreates]

Prompt Foundry Day 31: Celebrating Halloween! | Fictober Day 31: "it's always been you" | 31: Costumes (bweird OC-tober) (what are your ocs wearing for halloween?)

24 September 2024 — 24 September 2024

Word Count: 649 words

Author's Notes: Prompts by @thepromptfoundry and @fictober-event and @bweirdart. Full promptfoundry list here. Full fictober-event list here. Full BeWeirdOC-tober list here.

“Remember Zephyr — ”

“I know!”

“Not too much candy. And please try to stay close.”

Zephyr groaned. “Whynn, I’m not gonna run off super far! I’ve gotta take care of the passengers! And you’re one of them.” Really, it should be obvious from their costume. Maybe Whynn didn’t understand what they were dressed up as. So the child posed in the middle of the dark street, one hand pointing forwards and the other on their hip. “All aboard!” they called out.

Their hair fluffed out, untethered by a hat or other head accessory. While a hat would’ve really sold their costume, they hated the feeling of almost everything on their head. The most that they allowed was a hood, and even that felt too weird if they really thought about the sensation.

A few beings looked at the child, some cooing and others rolling their eyes. Zephyr ignored them at first, but as their gaze drifted between Whynn and the passerby, their bravado slowly faded into something sheepish. “You think my costume is nice, right?”

Whynn stayed silent for about 13 seconds of varying length before they patted Zephyr on the shoulders. “Very cute.”

“Very professional!”

“Professionally cute.”

Zephyr lightly hit their guardian on the arm and whined, “I’m a professional! ‘M not cute!”

“Oh, fine. You’re the most professional one there is.” Whynn fixed their short cape and said something under their breath that sounded like, “Maybe I should’ve done a different costume.”

“I like your costume. Wizards are super cool! They’re also super smart, like you,” Zephyr said. “You’re just missing the big hat they wear where you can shout ‘Sun and moon! Stars and sword! I summon to me, places not explored!’ or something!”

Whynn blinked owlishly behind their glasses, then gasped. “That’s a perfect spell!” They waved their hands with the grace of someone who didn’t exactly know what to do with their hands and recited the rhyme Zephyr made up. “Oh, that’s perfect!”

Zephyr hopped around their guardian. “Is it?”

“It is!”

The child let out a loud whoop of joy. “It is! I’m a spellmaker and a conductor and– AT!” Zephyr’s attention jumped from celebrating their new careers to the familiar conductor. The conductor was dressed in a classic black costume…maybe a vampire? Zephyr guessed that someone at the train depot or station gave it to the robot. “AT! Look, look!” They stumbled into a run towards the robot, leaping into a floating and slow-moving projectile. “Guess what I am!”

AT-1225 caught the light child and put them down. “Let me see…” He looked at their costume, and Zephyr caught the moment when she paused. “Oh? Are you a miniature me?”

“Yeah! It’s always been you!”

AT-1225 did something a little odd: it made a static-filled sound before covering its mouth. The static turned into a crackly laugh that continued even when Whynn managed to catch up to the duo. “Apologies, but — ” He tapped at his throat and static still echoed out. “Come on…” She tapped her throat a bit more before things calmed down. “You dressed up as a train conductor?”

“Of course! Whynn’s a wizard, I’m a train conductor, and you’re a vampire!”

AT-1225 shrugged. “My coworkers insisted.”

“No hat?” Whynn asked.

“My coworkers also insisted that the hat would ruin the overall costume.”

Zephyr watched as Whynn took one of AT-1225’s gloved hands and pressed the back of it to their mouth. AT-1225’s voicebox fizzed and he reached up to grab a hat that wasn’t there. She instead shaded her eyes and crackled out, “Whynn! You — !”

“Sorry, sorry. I had to.” Whynn looked happy, a sheepish smile on their face.

Zephyr on the other hand, pretended to gag. “Ew! Ew ew ew! I’m here for candy and pointing at people, not this!” They circled around the two with increasing intensity until they could finally move forwards.

Halloween, here they all go!

[imaginatorcreates]

Prompt Foundry Day 28: Being silly

21 September 2024 — 21 September 2024

Word Count: 419 words

Author's Notes: Prompts by @thepromptfoundry. Full list here.

“Ironhorse, Ironhorse!” Zephyr called out. “Guess what?”

The sentient train, being very smart and observant but lacking the proper words to say it, creaked a questionable creak. It even flickered some of its lights in that four-pattern way that the child knew meant a question.

“I’m the conductor now,” they mock-whispered. Their voice was lower to make it a whisper, but it still echoed through the empty hallway of the cabin. They raised their voice to a shout and repeated, “I’m the conductor now!” They removed their dark shoes and took a running start before they slid the rest of the way down the hardwood floor in the cabin. “Lights! Do the lights thing, Ironhorse!”

Ironhorse waited until Zephyr scurried to the end of the hallway again before it lowered all the shades over the windows, removing all natural light from the cabin’s interior. Its lights all flickered off before only a few were left on.

Zephyr spun around in their spotlight, singing a little tune. “Da-da duh da!” Their white curls puffed out as they pointed down the clear hallway. “Light slide, Ironrhose!”

The child repeated their build-up to speed. First a small run, which was a bit hard in socks on the hardwood floor. One had to have the right angle so one didn’t slip and fall completely. Once they built up the speed, they tilted their feet and leaned their body back a bit and let the momentum carry them through.

Ironhorse’s light followed the child, the shades raising as they passed each row. The light flooded inside the car as Zephyr raced down the darkness, like that one god that Whynn read about to them.

Does that make AT-1225 some sort of god too? In a way, maybe. The robot carried passengers from one place to another, maybe from dark to light. Ironhorse was the carriage, so AT-1225 could totally be a god!

Would that make Whynn a god too?

Would that make them a god?

Zephyr leaned too far back and felt their back collide against the floor. They let out a cry and held their head as they curled up. “Ow ow ow…conductor down.”

Ironhorse let out sympathetic creak, since it couldn’t do much to help Zephyr anyways. It was a train, what could it do?

Zephyr slowly sat up and placed their shoes back on. “I dunno how AT does it, being a conductor. I can be a junior conductor though, right Ironhorse?”

One thump of the door.

It was a yes.

[imaginatorcreates]

Prompt Foundry Day 20: Presenting as a different gender

20 September 2024 — 20 September 2024

Word Count: 515 words

Author's Notes: Prompts by @thepromptfoundry. Full list here. It's not 100% "presenting as different gender", but more so putting an OC that's normally presented as more masc into something more fem for a change.

AT-1225 enjoyed the limited number of clothes that they owned. There was always the reliable white button-down shirt paired with loose navy pants that looked elegantly like a skirt when he stood with his legs next to each other. There was the navy vest with the right number of pockets for a hole punch, snacks for passengers, and a small repair kit for minor breakdowns of her joints and systems. There was the pair of shoes that it laced up in a double knot to protect potential exposed wires and metal. There was the pair of white gloves that kept its finger and wrist joints from catching on anything.

And of course, there was their navy train conductor hat. The black visor and the pair of golden buttons accentuated the overall appearance of the cap, and the cap hid AT-1225’s silvery white hairs that stood on end after a long day.

Whynn called it hat hair.

Zephyr called it a surprise and an opportunity to try to steal the cap off his head when he wasn't paying attention.

Sometimes she let the child do that. Other times, AT-1225 caught Zephyr in the act with a crackle of laughter from her speakers.

But today, as a gift from someone at work, it had something new. Its coworkers demanded that it take a day off. Ironhorse would be okay taking a rest day as well, seeing as the train needed maintenance for a mysterious clattering noise in the engine. The robot had been reluctant to leave the sentient train alone while engineers poked around its engine, but Ironhorse had let out a piercing whistle and locked its doors when AT-1225 tried to enter.

Fine. They could take a hint.

AT-1225 dusted off the article of clothing they were gifted. They kept their white gloves on lest their metal joints catch on the fabric of the dress. It felt like good quality fabric, and the skirt had a darker, extra layer underneath. An underskirt, they think.

It was relatively easy to slip on, no buttons or zippers on the back that needed to be done up. The sleeves were loose enough that it didn’t catch on any of his joints, and the skirt was a comfortable length, ending at halfway down his calves.

The robot spun around a little. The pleated skirt of the blue dress flared out just a bit, similar to the pants of her uniform yet with a new feeling. It wasn’t too bad.

It lightly pressed its covered fingertips to the covers over its camera-like eyes. If it thought about it, then it could imagine some of its coworkers talking about how it was a shame that makeup would probably ruin its systems if it wasn’t cleaned or applied properly.

It didn’t mind it either way.

She smoothed her hair out a bit before she placed her cap back on her head. In the quiet place she was given to rest, she let out a small static-filled chuckle. “Pretty,” she murmured. “This is pretty.”

[imaginatorcreates]

Prompt Foundry Day 19: Interacting with a child in their life

21 September 2024 — 21 September 2024

Word Count: 469 words

Author's Notes: Prompts by @thepromptfoundry. Full list here.

Whynn didn’t see themself as a parent.

Sure, they certainly acted the part, taking care of their younger cousin when their aunt and uncle — Zephyr’s parents — decided that they didn’t want the baby breeze. Whynn didn’t like thinking about it too much. Sometimes, they imagined it to be a fantastical thing: a responsible, talking stork dropping the child off at their front door.

They imagined telling Zephyr that was how they were found, but they never did. Family reunions got in the way of those. Sharply so.

Legal guardianship was another thing they didn’t like thinking about. It had involved a lot of documents and signatures for someone who was eighteen at the time. Even when they’re twenty-five, thinking about that period of time made their chest twist.

But was it all worth it?

Was it all worth the sleepless nights? The research and books?

Whynn might be older, but sometimes they wondered if they left their wisdom behind somewhere. Misplaced it perhaps.

“Whynn,” Zephyr said as they pressed against their guardian’s shoulder. “I found something that you should look at.”

Whynn placed their book down and put their glasses back on. The world came back into focus and they looked at Zephyr. “What did you find this time?”

“I found some night.”

“Some night?”

“Yeah.” Zephyr didn’t wait for another clarifying question as they tugged on Whynn’s hands and started pulling them onto their feet. “I found it in a bush.”

“You found some night in a bush,” Whynn repeated as Zephyr dragged them away from their shaded spot underneath a tree and into the sun. “Was it small? Metal?”

“No. It was dark and it sounded nice.”

“Dark?”

“In the bush!”

“Zephyr, are you talking about ‘knight’ with a ‘k’?”

“No!” Zephyr abruptly stopped and pouted a little, their white curls puffing out. “I told you! I found some night in a bush, and it was dark and it sounded nice.”

“Okay?” Whynn lightly shook their head and allowed themself to be once again led by the seven year old. “Do I have to be quiet when you show me the night?”

“I think so. I think the night is shy, like you.”

Whynn chuckled. “Thanks.”

Soon, the pair were crouched in front of a bush. Zephyr reached in and parted some of the foliage. “It’s the night,” they whispered.

Whynn leaned closer and placed a hand behind their pointed ears. Between the small rustles of the leaves, there was a quiet chirping noise. One that often was only heard at night.

“Oh.” Whynn slowly backed away and gestured for Zephyr to look at them. “You heard a cricket.”

“You heard it too!” Zephyr grinned at them and added, “Do you think it sounded nice too?”

Whynn patted Zephyr on the shoulder. “Yeah. The night sounded lovely.”

[imaginatorcreates]

Fictober Day 16: "no, I'm not okay"

23 September 2024 — 24 September 2024

Word Count: 536 words

Author's Note: Prompts by @fictober-event. Full list here. Connected to yesterday's prompt, "Giving comfort to another".

CW: Contains (vague) descriptions of a panic attack. Anxiety abound.

It was a silent day for Whynn.

It had hit them all of a sudden, choking at their throat and clawing up their chest. Their eyes only focused back after too long. They had been sitting in front of their writing, pencil in hand. They had suddenly drew their hand back, fully intent on throwing the pencil against their wall. If it had ricocheted back and hit something, then it would. If it had grazed their felt, they would sew themself back up. The stitches would fade away and no one would be none the wiser.

Their grip had tightened, then all the energy to throw their writing utensil had left them in an instant. Their fingers had loosened and the pencil clattered to the ground. Their chest had felt too tight, tighter than it normally felt. They had reached up to their hair and grabbed fistfulls of it. Dark clouds started to appear at the edges of their vision, and they released their hair to wave the clouds away.

Calm down.

The words couldn’t come out. Each inhalation to say it aloud wasn't enough.

They couldn’t let Zephyr come home from school and see them like this.

They looked at the time. It was enough time.

That's why they were sitting inside one of Ironhorse’s empty cabins, faintly listening to the train’s concerned creaks. They weren’t fluent in its language yet, and that thought agitated them more than it normally did. Their little cousin — a mere seven years old! — understood more of Ironhorse’s unspoken language than they did. They knew that everyone had their strengths, but it still stung a bit more today.

Whynn opened and closed one of AT-1225’s gloved hands, feeling the joints beneath the fabric move but not once catch. They bent one of its fingers a bit further than it was supposed to, pushing through the resistance.

Sharp crackles and static hissed from the conductor’s voice box. “I would advise against that.”

They knew it was to prevent anything from breaking, but their mind (it was still so very loud in there) slinked away and they followed suit.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” The words fought their way out of their mouth, forcing their tongue to shape it into something tangible and audible. “No, I’m not okay.”

“Do you want me to do anything?” AT-1225 asked. He gently tugged at the hair tie in Whynn’s hair and pulled it loose, freeing their purple hair. “I could fix your hair. There are a few loops poking out.”

They let her. Fingers ran through their hair, combing out the small tangles and smoothing out the damage that they had hastily covered up by redoing the ponytail. Quietly, their hair provided less resistance, and they felt their own chest steadily detangle. Their mind quieted, and words started to detangle. Slowly, they felt gentle tugs to signify that she was tying their hair back up, exposing their undercut. They should clip it sometime this week.

“Cafuné,” Whynn murmured.

“Excuse you?”

Whynn slowly turned around, and before they could talk themself out of it, they pressed their forehead against the conductor’s. “Thanks.”

The gentle pressure in return confirmed the reciprocation, and they let the world quiet down.

[imaginatorcreates]

Prompt Foundry Day 15: Giving comfort to another

23 September 2024 — 23 September 2024

Word Count: 435 words

Author's Notes: Prompts by @thepromptfoundry. Full list here. Connected to tomorrow's prompt, "no, I'm not okay".

“Hello there Whynn. What is– Oh?” AT-1225’s fingers flexed closed for a moment as the blue-felted puppet wordlessly pressed their forehead against his shoulder. He tilted his head to try to better view the other’s face, but Whynn only turned their face away. “Are you alright?”

Whynn didn’t respond.

“Is it a silent day today?” AT-1225 tried.

The slightest of movements answered her. A nod.

“Ah, I see. Would you like me to guide you further inside Ironhorse?”

Another nod.

AT-1225 held out a hand, and waited until Whynn limply placed their hand in her own. She guided them inside Ironhorse, who lowered some of the shades. The train car lit up with the interior lighting system, creating a warm environment against the dimmer world outside. “You have not had a silent day in a while. I will not pry on the reasons for such, but you are free to share it when you are ready.”

Whynn raised their head from AT-1225’s shoulder. Their dark eyes were heavier than normal, their eyelids partway down as if they were halfway asleep. They raised their arms against their torso, hands gripping the sleeves of their long maroon coat. Their mouth opened, then closed silently.

AT-1225’s eyes adjusted and looked over the puppet. They kept silent and only looked away to give Ironhorse their full attention when the train creaked and flickered a light. They tapped the floor with their foot, and Ironrhose gave a long creak in return.

The conductor turned its attention back to Whynn and static burst from its voice box as the puppet wrapped their arms around it. Its arms were still free as Whynn at gone for a hug underneath the shoulders, but the force of the hug caused the conductor to take a step backwards. The puppet partially buried their face in the crook of AT-1225’s neck, causing the robot’s voicebox to static out once again and its eyelights to flicker. It waited for a minute, then slowly tapped a finger against its upper head and neck. The finicky parts fixed themselves.

“Whynn?”

Whynn’s only response was a tightening of their arms.

AT-1225 slowly placed his arms around Whynn. “Is this okay?”

A silent nod.

“Take your time.”

“Don’t go.”

It was a quiet order. Not even an order, just a request. But AT-1225 felt how much effort it took for Whynn to say it: the fingers momentarily curling as if contemplating the decision to grab onto her navy vest, the inhale to form the words, the harsher exhale of the words.

So they hugged them tighter. “I will be right here.”

[imaginatorcreates]

Fictober Day 9: "don't listen to me, listen to them"

21 September 2024 — 21 September 2024

Word Count: 558 words

Author's Note: Prompts by @fictober-event. Full list here.

“I need you to go — ”

“And leave you behind? Absolutely not.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, or to let out a loud groan of annoyance. You manage that resistance for long enough to throw off suspicion over your emotions, then you slap both hands to your face and let them slide off. You put enough pressure on them to let the flesh on your face peel down a little, like you have seen some humanoids do to expose the bottom of their eyeballs.

“You hired me to protect you on your journey to the capital. Now we’re here, and there are better people to ensure your safety instead of me.” It was the truth. You can see the powerful spellcasters here, the soldiers and knights with their heavy weapons in hand. You can also approximate the number of times that those weapons have been bloodied, and it was enough to count on one hand only.

“Madam.” One of the soldiers extends a hand, metal plate armor clicking as they do so. “We must go now. You are safer with us.”

Your client, a sorcerer from a rather influential family in the capital (you don’t pay much attention to politics, so sue you for not knowing specifics), looks at you. Her eyes look at you up and down, then she clasps her hands in front of her.

Oh gods, she’s begging.

“Mysterious protector of mine with no name,” she cries, “at least allow me to offer you a spell of protection if you are to go out and fight those that have trailed me.” She starts to blink more frequently and sticks her lower lip out a bit.

You contort your face into a grimace. You hate it when others start pulling things like this on you. So maybe charms like this work on most of your client’s previous protectors, it wouldn’t work on you. “Save your spells.”

She stomps her foot on the cobblestone. “I’m offering you a good spell, so it’s best you take me up on my offer.”

“Madam, we have to go — ”

“Not until I give this spell to them!”

You grimace again. “It,” you spit out. “Not ‘them’. ‘It’.” You wave your hand dismissively and add, “Anyways, don't listen to me, listen to them.” You gesture to the spellcasters and knights, ready to sweep the sorcerer off her feet and take her far away to safety.

Your client, soon to be a former client as soon as you can get away from her, sighs. “You are so frustrating.”

You keep your mouth shut.

The sorcerer rapidly takes a step towards you and exhales a word weaved with magic as she taps your nose with a finger. “Let them try to burn you,” she whispers.

You recoil from her touch and consider punching yourself in the nose, but that’s an idiotic move. You instead rub at your nose with the sleeve of your jacket as you glare at her from behind your tinted glasses.

The sorcerer giggles and moves behind her new, more qualified protection squad. “Consider that my tip,” she calls as she’s whisked away.

“Stupid touch spells,” you spit out to no one. You sort of hope that you get punched in the nose by the ones that have been trailing you. Pain would be better than that gentle tap.