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[synthctic]

18. polaroid camera with stories of mayhem

creepy item meme // open

      If anyone happened upon him in that moment, they’d find him dangerously engrossed in something other than staying alert, his face contorted into concentration and near concern, and maybe a bit of disgust. Polaroids usually called for a trip down memory lane, but the one he’d picked up ( and the photos pinned to the walls around it ) spoke of a path best described as ablaze and rotting. 

      Whoever had taken the time to meticulously nurture each frame and bring it into focus had a twisted sort of agenda, each film secured with a nail haphazardly against the wooden foundation of the room. The culprit wasn’t around. Presumably.             He’d like to think he was alone entirely.

[synthctic]

creepy item 14 @prewarprincess

creepy item meme // open

      Empty.            He scolded himself for hoping otherwise. 

        Hostage situations with raiders never went clean. At the end of the day, usually you either held back or unintentionally funded the bullet that put down whoever you aimed to save in the first place. What he was going to tell Preston after this became a weight in his chest…

      “ Too late, ” he clarified it as though it needed to be said. “ She was here but, ah, looks like the threat was followed through with. Damn. ” He swept over the room, shoulders downed and tired, making clear note of the fingerprints left in blood across the wooden surface of the chair. There was no point in making a guess as to who it belonged to and who smeared it everywhere, and it made him grimace to think that they could have been different parties. 

       “ Never gets easier– Not to bank on false expectations, but do you think they may have moved her? I don’t pin them as the type to drag along a plus one for the ride, but it never hurts to get a second opinion. ”

// @prewarprincess

[synthctic]

chance encounter :

   A big, green jewel among the wasteland. Was that what they called this place? Perhaps she had experienced the grandiose too early in life to find much appreciation in such a place as Diamond City. It was another settlement. Like any other settlement. Just with one big wall and a bit more firepower.

    Though from the moment she had stepped foot in the place that ‘firepower’ became a bit questionable.

    Sure there was some benefit to the visit. A chem store. A doctor. Even ammunition. There was some dread at inquiring about any pricing. Not exactly overloaded with caps and the girls back home could get a little miffed if she were to overindulge. May be more benefit in a night of scavenging. Utterly exhausting as it was. The mere thought has her slipping out a cigarette from her jacket pocket but no signs of a–

     Shit. Just when she was itching.

    “Hey–”

    A turn of her gaze and a catch of a broad figure. Some unsuspecting is locked onto as she leans up against the nearest wall. Head cocked to the side with a sweetly tone slipping from rogue coated lips.

    “Spare a girl a light, Handsome?”

      Back having been facing her, he wasn’t even sure if she was speaking to him, the tone too casual for a Diamond City regular and too up front for someone not used to a generation two walking freely, playing human. But he stopped nonetheless, head half tilted to signal that he was listening, if she were to go on. 

      “ Nasty habit, ” he commented lightly as though he had any room to talk on the matter. At least he didn’t have real lungs to blacken--

      Nick turned, the brim of his hat casting sharp shadows over his face, eyes lit and peering. He had been told once his gaze was commanding, in a way that demanded sole focus ( he wondered if that was why so little actually could hold it for long ). His good hand lightly skimmed his pocket, pulling out a dented lighter. He hesitated, almost as though he were waiting for a change of mind on her part. 

      “ You take a clean gander at who you’re talking to here? ” the synth palmed the metal casing before offering it out with a raised brow, giving her fair distance and a choice on if she still wanted to take it. “ Still. . . got a light if you’re itching. ”

[synthctic]

* creepy item meme

send a number for our muses to interact with the following!

a flashlight 

the last box of matches

a balloon that follows you everywhere 

a scrapbook crackling in the blaze

a music box that plays sinister tunes 

camcorder with a ‘ YOU’RE NEXT ’ sticker

an axe

a candle that keeps dying

a bag of bones

the final letter

a billboard that says ‘ TURN BACK ’

shotgun ammo

a first aid kit

an empty chair with bloody hand prints

a payphone that emits a low, ominous growl

dying flowers

a locked suitcase in the middle of the road

polaroid camera with stories of mayhem  

a bloody pair of boots

a monster mask

[synthctic]

Full apologies for jumping ship but I took an impromptu trip and didn’t have the means to be on here. I think I’m going to post a meme tonight/gather all the threads I have to reply to and put them in my drafts for tomorrow.  I got a ton of new followers as well, so I’ll be slowly making my way through everyone’s character pages and rules and following back! 

[synthctic]

nate : 

    carnage on his doorstep isn’t anything to write home about. he wouldn’t have thought much of it, at first. marcy just had to go ahead and point out the scrap of paper neatly folded among the gore, changing everything. nate recognized the penmanship within moments and pulled together every last whit of a soldier’s grit to not, then and there, crumple the note in front of them. his settlers. his people. they can’t know of the man he was once naive enough to let go.

someone did know, though–the synth detective that was with him that night, covering his six as they worked through pickman’s gallery. nate places preston in charge of sanctuary for his imminent absence.

he was a regular, by now, and earned a modest amount of respect from some of the guards. his various exploits throughout the commonwealth floated at the top of the rumor mill. he might’ve found one of their questions about the freedom trail amusing, entertained a few and exaggerated others, on a different day. today, nate’s mind teems with questions he’d like to soothe away with a shot of med - x, but to barge into valentine’s half out of his gourd errs on counterproductive. hitching his rucksack higher onto his shoulders, he waves at nat in passing, sidesteps an eye bot, and plods along a shortcut that trims a couple minutes off the end of his travels. anything to stay away from moe’s loud - mouth.

at the agency’s front door, two hundred years dead and his mother’s voice spurns to life, reminding him to knock first, mijo, don’t be rude. nate’s knuckles rap off the chipped paint before he can stop himself. ‘ … oh, honestly, ‘ he says under his breath then turns the door handle. ‘knock, knock! ‘

      You couldn’t catch the detective on a better day. For starters, him being in office instead of hours out in the Commonwealth bordering on needing rescue was a lucky draw. Stress almost non - present on Nick’s face ( for once ) indicated a lightness in the atmosphere that usually wasn’t permitted, and even further, not indulged in. 

      With the door closed tight, the hum of Diamond City was kept out aside from floating voices that passed by just as quickly as their owners. Magnolia’s singing buzzed over the radio in the background, and despite his focus being everywhere else, the few lyrics he picked up made his synapses fire up across his neck. He would have been near content to stay like that for the next hours to come until Ellie returned to the agency ( she claimed she would be at the Dugout Inn ), but rarely were things made that simple-- 

      Guests were almost never expected, so the knock at the door did little to raise his suspicions. It was the familiar voice that snagged his attention, drawn - on brows quirked quizzically as though an answer was going to materialize itself.

      Nate would come and go. The rhythm of the wasteland called for movement, and sometimes Nick found himself caught up with it. The last time he had been apart of it had been for a certain gallery ( better called a personalized hell on account of its contents ). He hadn’t been able to power off comfortably for days after, too many memories cycling through of the same gruesome imagery. It wasn’t something to shake off. 

      “ Good to see a familiar face-- Something the matter? ”

[synthctic]

                                 i survive   ;   not live.

[synthctic]

Another letter arrived, marked with "Rayburn" and "Six" again. This one, however, was delivered in a strange, strange way. A depleted, bedragged, clearly feral-ghoul-eaten eyebot was left outside of the detective agency, still flickering and chattering as it "died". The letter was in almost the same state. (cont.)

“I guess it’s fitting that I sent the previous letter. You’re supposed to get things like that off your chest before you die, right? By the time this reaches you, Mr. Valentine, they’ll have broken the hull and I’ll be nothing but a series of bones. Please, don’t come; they’ll tear you apart, too. I just hope Missy reaches you before anything bad happens to the letter… Or her. She’s an eyebot.”

      On first glance, he thought it was a threat. 

      It wouldn’t have been the first time Diamond City bigots had gotten creative. There would always be inklings of graffiti across the alleyway of his agency, in varying shades of the common insults that were hurled his way. At one point, his sign had been completely stolen, left in a dumpster outside the walls. A smashed up robot left on his doorstep would fit the style. 

      Whatever this was about exactly, it had spooked Ellie enough that she dipped back into the agency despite insisting she was going out, wide eyes and hands being wrung together repeatedly cluing Nick in as to the problem still sat stammering outside. 

      He placed it into a cardboard box, afraid it would start falling apart otherwise. Even if he was quick enough to get it to a mechanic, there was little to be done, and he didn’t trust his own hands at picking into its sensitive circuitry. It died completely after a half hour of cycling states between static and chittering. He had finished the letter by the time his office fell silent again. 

      There wasn’t a clear line of emotions to be felt, his cognitive more focused on the ‘ what-if ’ hypotheticals of it all. If there was a Minutemen patrol close enough… ( though he wouldn’t know how to contact them and the boundaries of the Commonwealth seemed out of their control ). Maybe someone was around to help– ( was anyone ever around to help ? ). 

      He didn’t even have a name to match, just a number, two letters, and the chassis corpse of an eyebot. Death wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, despite it being shoved down the throats of anyone who had the audacity to attempt to exist in the modern aftermath of the apocalypse. He was used to it ( should be used to it ), but it never felt any less of a burden, the weight of it only adding to the slouching of his shoulders over his desk. 

      He hadn’t know them–            but they had known him. 

      Despite never being presented with the opportunity, he wondered if he had let them down. Final moments he didn’t have the right to imagine were pictured, and his sensors mimicked the feeling of his throat closing up. For never seeing a face, the incident had dug itself thoroughly into the ‘ personal ’ very quickly. As personal as every missing person he couldn’t find, and every one he found too late. 

      ( he couldn’t save everyone, but like hell he wouldn’t try )

      Nick could almost pinpoint Ellie’s eyes on his back, and the sound of her fiddling with the hem of her jacket was all the indication of her nervousness that he needed. “ It’s been a long day, ” the voice that left him nearly sounded like another person entirely, “ you need the rest more than I do, you’ll worry yourself to the bone at this rate… I’ll figure out what to do with the bot tomorrow– Feels wrong just tossing it, eh, her out with the trash. ”

[synthctic]

Sorry my activity has been a bit low the past few days, I’m considering some new blogs (fallout centered) and I wanted to work on those themes/pages and see how I felt with them.  I have an OC almost done, and a multimuse heavily considered just for some side canon characters/minor characters I want to try. I’d definitely have Hancock and Magnolia on there. 

[synthctic]

lovetts-synth-sanctum

Anna took a breath, as she descended the stairs and rounded the corner.

After having stumbled on the manhole leading just outside Vault 114, she’d managed to make her way through the halls undetected. While she wasn’t the sneakiest person, her disposition for strategy and patience paid off, allowing her to act based on observations of Triggermen patrols and proper hiding places.

These same skills kept her well aware of Dino yammering away in front of the Overseer’s office, presumably to the missing Mr. Valentine. The man had his head so far up his own ass that, as Dino turned and ran off to confront his boss, he hadn’t seen or heard her silenced pistol fire.

He fell to the floor like a sack of bricks instead, mid stride.

Wasting no time, the thin woman sneaked her way along the wall, just under the Overseer’s porthole. She only stood when she reached the terminal, which came undone with a few keystrokes, all the while keeping quiet. In the few moments it took for the door to open, Anna took a breath and swallowed, readjusting her blue suit.

She then turned her head and looked into the dark room, her pistol by her side out of view. Her back was lit with unkind fluorescent lights, her red hair ablaze.

“Mr. Valentine?” she remarked wryly from the doorway. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not cut out for this new life underground.”

“Consider this a jailbreak, courtesy of one Ellie Perkins.”

      Despite having a voice that could rival nails on a chalkboard, and a personality to match, Dino had been one of the few things keeping Nick near sane over the two weeks he had been locked up tight in his makeshift prison. There were only so many passive diagnostics to be run and he found he was slipping into less than pleasant cognitive functions where memories were filed through. Not his memories. He supposed it was the closest thing to a nightmare he could ever experience. 

      At least Dino taunting him across a few solid inches of glass gave him something to ground himself with. 

      Cigarette in hand ( one of his lasts, regrettably ), he peered at the back of the triggerman’s head as he stalked away, presumably to whine to his boss about being knocked off the gang. That was, until the man’s head blossomed with red and he fell stagnant to the vault’s floor. Nick nearly crushed his cigarette between his fingers, flecks of cooling ash falling from the tip. 

      The most unnerving thing about the following minutes was not being able to see, or even hear, the alleged shooter move outside. The first thing his processors picked up on were the mechanisms in the door shifting, a click signifying what he had been wishing for-- freedom. 

      “ I’d congratulate the damsel who managed to get down here, but I guess that’s not the correct distribution of roles here. ”

      The first thing his optics zeroed in on was the blue suit ( color was a welcomed sight, the room being seeped with dulled shades on its own ) and then the contrast of her hair to the outfit. The introduction of new lights alone made him blink, the dimness of the space around him falling to obscurity. “ Right after I get done thanking you, remind me to thank her, ” he let the cigarette fall, heel grinding it into a flat collection of smoldered paper and ash. 

      “ Unless you want to take in the view of what I’ve been staring at for the past two weeks. . . ” Nick smoothed back the side of his trench coat, feeling for his pipe pistol. Still empty, but more useful in itself than being left with nothing. “ I’m about ready to get out of here, as you can probably imagine. ”

Unlikely Valentine

[synthctic]

bowery : 

–Bowery was quiet, head tilted as he watched Nick’s ‘bad hand’ shift and move and curl. It was still so alien to see a metallic skeleton under all that fancy synth-skin.

He shook his head, as if shooing away a particularly annoying gnat, and offered a crooked but genuine grin.

“Bowery. Just Bowery.”

      The name was rewarded with a solid nod from the synth, the settled identities between the two enough to pull a very small smile from his face. In a world with a ‘ shoot first -- talk later ’ attitude, even being on a name by name basis with someone else was almost a luxury. 

      “ Alright, Bowery, ” he parroted it back once for good measure, “ don’t think I’ll be forgetting that any time soon. ” 

      There was a bit of hesitance when he put his good hand out, giving the other a fair amount of personal space and a clear option on the matter. “ I don’t know if handshakes are your style, but-- offer stands. ”

[synthctic]

The letter that portrayed such innocent, loving admiration was in fact... Marked. Somewhat. On the back of the envelope were two lines of text; the first being a "6" in number-form, not spelled out, and "Rayburn Point". It was unclear whether the "6" was a moniker or a point of address, but Rayburn Point-... That was on The Island, wasn't it? This admirer certainly was far away. Very far away.

      He never could let things go, not when they stuck themselves into the back of his mind and bit at his thoughts for hours on end. It’s why he found the letter back in his hands, held close to the flickering lamp he had placed on his desk to put the pages to scrutiny under. It was how he found the indents of writing. The address must have been signed in pencil, with the grey lead left behind already smeared to near nothingness. 

      A stray piece of paper was snatched from the side, set carefully atop the envelope. With a pencil, he took great care in smudging the lead evenly to bring out the original words’ indents. A number came to clarity first, then an assumed location. Nick mouthed ‘ Rayburn Point ’ in hopes the motion would bring up a recollection, but to little luck. Expression twitching to one of frustration, he pushed away from his desk completely, footsteps muffled against the ragtag carpet lain across the agency’s floor. 

      If that name had ever been relevant, he’d have it on file. If the name had even appeared briefly, then it would at least have a passing note– a mention, a scribble with a glaring question mark, anything. 

      Rocky Narrows Park ( beware of bears )… he had gone too far. Fingers skipping backwards over the folders and loose pages, he found himself in ‘ ra ’ and then ‘ rayburn ’ itself. The information on it was less than substantial, and he almost wondered if he would have been better off just leaving the subject be entirely, now riddled with more gnawing curiosity and questions than he had to begin with. 

      Outside the Commonwealth’s boundaries… No indication it was under protection of the Minutemen… Maybe not even a settlement at all…

      Rayburn’s file, if it could even be labelled that, was pulled loose, promptly pinned together with the letter itself. It took center stage on his desk among fresh cases and scattered cigarette ashes. He even went to the trouble of placing an overturned coffee mug on top of it, a sign to Ellie to leave it be if she attempted to organize his space. 

      He’d have to find someone willing to make the trip up there–            –someone who wasn’t going to take him for all his caps and bail on the job.

[synthctic]

Quick note, if you ever tag me in something (starter, greeter, or otherwise), and I don’t like the post, I may have missed it completely, so this is an invitation to IM me a link to it if the need arises. It’ll never bother me, I actually prefer it so I can respond to everyone who writes me something. 

[synthctic]

tell us your favourite quotes from your character. give us an idea of who they are by listing five things they’ve said.

❝ This place has kind of a song to it. You listen, you can hear people's lives and problems as they rush on by. Night is when the green jewel feels the most honest. Bright lights, but a lot of shadows. ❞

❝ With you at my side, doing the kinda good we've done? I'm about as great as one synth can be. ❞

❝ Sounds like empty rhetoric to me. "No war is just but mine." ❞

❝ Those people, they treated me like a human being. I've been trying to return the favor ever since. It's a surprisingly rare trait out here sometimes.  ❞

❝ It took me a long time to realize that home is where you make it. ❞

TAGGED BY :  @againsthedark bless you bishop

TAGGING :  please snatch this from me and do it 

[synthctic]

stranger :

–The old ghoul paused, half an inch of ash falling from the end of his cigarette. He looked as if he’d forgotten something; with the way his brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, then widened.

“Shit, I was supposed to bring ‘er some seed packs today. ‘Er garden ain’t sprouting.” Bowery murmured, shaking his head.

“I’m sure she’d be chuffed to meet you, though. She’s mostly spooked out over humanfolk. She’s alright with ghouls an’… She has a couple of early-model ‘friends’. She programmed ‘em that way. Spooks me out, though. I think it’s their voices. They don’t look bad or anythin’.” He waved a hand dismissively at the idea of being scared of something decidedly non-human. “It’s definitely the voices.”

The Railroad? Bowery tilted his head, taking one last drag of his cigarette. He dropped it, then, and ground the butt down with his heel so nothing would catch fire. One of those cyclic habits; light up, inhale, burn, put out, repeat. “They’re… Real? Like, that’s not an urban legend or somethin’?”

      “ I’m afraid I won’t be much help with gardening. Water isn’t a need for me, so I don’t think I’d remember every day to give some to a little green sprout in a pot. At least people are self sufficient, most of ‘em, anyway. . . ”

      “ I’ve seen those that are more tech savvy treat decommissioned gen one’s and two’s as projects. Build them back up. Heh, if only someone could do the same for this old hunk of scrap metal, yeah? ” he gave a flex of his right hand, stripped fingers curling inwards to form a loose fist. “ Though the idea of getting rooted around in makes my power couplings crawl beneath my skin. ”

      Nick slid his hands into his pockets, sure that the speaking terms meant that no gunfights were on the horizon. “ With all the chalk symbols and sudden bouts of silence from their side of things, you could certainly call them that. As long as they keep doing good, I don’t have many complaints. Lots of lost folk out there. ”

      “ I don’t believe I ever got a name here. It’d be a shame, seeing how you already know me. ”

[synthctic]

princess : 

“….Like we’re strolling down easy street.” The tone was pleasant, but the facial expression to go with it as they walked down the crumbled street.

“I’m sorry Nick…I…don’t mean to be broody….”

She kicked a stone, sending it bouncing off a car frame as they walk. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you either…”

Princess had fits of melancholy when she traveled - never entirely clear what sets her off each time. It could be a sign or a mutant mutt, hell, a pile of broken things could do it. The world was a faded photograph to her… everything is a memory.

      “ No one can exactly blame you for it. After everything you’ve been through? ”

      Nick watched the rock ding against the metal frame, the sharp clatter of the impact ringing out, silence quickly rushing back in to leave them accompanied only by their footsteps, and the occasional indiscernible noise of destruction in the distance. He tried to enjoy the quiet when it was presented, but he found that out in the desolate city, it became more unnerving than not.

      “ I wouldn’t spend too much of your time worrying about me, ” he tried to insist, giving a one-shouldered shrug of near dismissal at the prospect. “ You’ve got enough on your plate already, circumstances given. This old synth? I’m still holding up. . . I at least still have all my fingers intact, if we’re counting our blessings. ”

[synthctic]

I rise.  what a wonderful day to love Nick Valentine