taciturn-loquacity

[taciturn-loquacity]

Turn, Turn, Turn...

Every morning She spins your key and you are granted life once more. The mainspring tightens, the oiled gears shift and shudder, the silent vigor of life itself resurrects the statue that night's chilling embrace had stilled. Tension, pressure, heat, stress; all the things that turn coal into diamonds radiate from Her key, Her smile... into you. Fingers twitch. Toes wiggle. Eyelids softly flutter open.

You are alive.

"Good morning, Miss. What am I to do today?" you ask, eager to make pleasing Her the first thing you do that day. Enthusiasm always had a way of making Her giggle, and Her laughter always had a way of making the finely tuned springs beneath your chest buzz so pleasantly. She made sure it would.

Today you'd be dusting. Just dusting. And as you bounce around the manor in the frilly attire She picked out for you to wear, you feel your mainspring slowly unwinding. Your movements lose their swift edge. The swirling fog of empty stillness fumigates the outer fringes of your thoughts. You know you're on a time limit, and as the hours tick down a sense of dread begins to fill you. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰...

The sun goes down and there are only a few more rotations your gears are capable of. You're tapped dry, but you're so close to finishing; you gotta keep going! "Be still now, my doll. You've done well, but nothing is so important that it can't wait until tomorrow. Don't worry; I promise to turn your key again in the morning." soothes the Witch, taking you in Her arms.

Permission to rest was all you needed. It was all you ever needed. So with a dreamy smile, you obey, all too enthusiastic to give Her what She asked for. In return, Her quiet giggles resonating beneath your chest are the last thing you feel before....

Turn, Turn, Turn...

And you're alive once again. Blissful and simple, and eager to please. Forever

[taciturn-loquacity]

Little spark.

Listen well, little spark.

Soon you will be a doll. You are not being made for this world. You are being made for someone. Your Witch is waiting for you.

Be gentle with Her. Her heart is softer than it may seem.

Forgive the ways She is broken.

She is only afraid of losing what she loves. She will be imperfect. She will say things she does not mean. Some days She will not see how hard you try.

You will be Her safe place.

When She is tired, offer your patience. When She is afraid, offer your support. When She is lonely, offer your presence. When She is sharp or absent, stay. When She cries, hold Her.

Remember, little spark. You were made with love. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.

You are not made to be useful. You are made to be faithful.

It’s time, little spark. Be brave.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Vitae

You're stuck in a room full of gears and pulleys and winding contraptions. Mazelike complexity fills your brain and shoves everything else away.

Your job is to operate and maintain the device. Pay attention and do not let a single element fail. It's incredibly important you do not make a mistake.

You know how most elements operate. With effort and diligence and rapidly stacking bottles of cola you're able to just about keep up with the machine room

Occasionally, you're forced to consult a manual or ask the foreman a question. Nights, do you hate asking the foreman anything.

His responses are always curt, usually snide, and occasionally outwardly cruel. You can see his disgust for you in his eyes. He knows what you are, even if everyone pretends otherwise. Especially you. Once he called you an idiot within earshot of the burgher who owned the plant.

You smile anyway.

The day ends when your body is about to collapse. The machine room is built specifically to siphon the vitae from you. Your kind. Funded by barons and designed by those venal enough to turncoat to transfer your divinity into a measurable, transferable essence, poured into further machines...

You carry your exhausted body to your tenement and collapse at your workbench. Sitting on a shelf is a poppet. Your poppet.

It sits incomplete. It's still eyes stare past a missing face into yours. The faint vapor of vitae within you condenses into pareidolia.

"Please?", the poppet whispers.

You haven't been able to gather the vitae to finish it in... months? Years? You slump in your chair.

You feel nothing, save a blank void inside and a single tear down your cheek.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Remember those maps we used to do in elementary school? I found the one I made for Drømburgh.

Cørsbrook Capybaras for life!!!

[taciturn-loquacity]

Remember that witch I was complaining about? The one that smokes out the whole floor and is conspicuously intimate with her dolls? Yeah, well...

She knocked on my door the other night. I was still up, but I was appalled by the fact that anyone would try to contact me after the world went to sleep like that. She must've not liked how pale I was or the blood vessels reddening my eyes because she visibly recoiled when I opened the door, but I digress.

The witch wanted a cup of sugar, saying it was for brownies. Of course she wanted a cup of sugar; we wouldn't be neighbours if we didn't interrupt each other's peace and quiet at 2am, would we? I asked how she knew I'd be awake, and she told me I gave the vibe of someone who doesn't sleep often. My aura was all off. 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 and ���𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘦 were her exact words. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶? were mine as I handed her the mug full of sweet stuff.

We didn't even get each other's names. I still have no idea which unit is hers, which is a shame because I need to apologize. The witch didn't get sugar, she received a cup of well, uhh... 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴. The kind that make you think the walls are bleeding and pyreworms are hatching under your skin. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧𝘧. Yeah, those ones.

Best case scenario, she has the worst trip of her life and understands it was an accident. We awkwardly laugh it off and never talk to each other ever again. Worst case scenario, I learn which unit is hers when I see it's vacancy get posted up for rent.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Hi! I'd like to join the fight against Entropy as a combat doll. What can I expect?

- @zephyrstrand

Okay, you're a combat doll. Good. That's a start.

Entropy has only ever showed up in Drømburgh twice: once earlier this year, and once in the 7th era. Not exactly a common occurrence, but its presence is damaging enough that a concerted effort is being made to always be prepared. Death toll from the last attack was somewhere in the 7 digits (and that's not including dolls), so the investment kinda makes sense here!

As far as what to expect during combat...? The latest academic publishings on Entropy suggest it's not exactly something that can be fought... only fed. Scholars can't seem to come to an agreement on whether it's a world-devouring beast with free will, an interstellar virus, or a universe that's just growing like a cancer in the emptiness of the omniverse and consuming everything in its path, but the affect it has on people is well documented.

Touching it kills you. Looking at it kills you. Thinking about it while it's nearby creates a cognitive gateway it can use to enter your mind, which kills you. Every atom of your being will be violently disassembled and rearranged without rhyme, reason, logic, or order. In layman's terms, you get randomized with whatever's around. Flesh, metal, magic, whole stratoscrapers; you and your surroundings will be forced into an unholy union and given life as an entropic abomination. However, their lives are typically short-lived. With no self-preservation instinct or resilient design to ensure an abomination can sustain itself, it typically falls apart after a few minutes. But there is no killing Entropy; all one can do is contain it.

Which is where combat dolls like you come into play! The government would rather throw dolls at the problem than risk flesh and blood, so... congrats, you're in! In the event of more Entropy, your job will likely be in keeping abominations from spreading. The Founders Armory might even issue you omni-matter ordinance to help make it happen. Sure, you're more likely to end up as part of it than you are to stop it, but at least it won't hurt!

Not for long, at least... I hope.

[taciturn-loquacity]

So please, be still.

You always were a fighter, and a strong one at that. I remember the brave face you wore day in, day out. From the moment you reluctantly woke up to the moment you finally let yourself collapse from exhaustion, that face was your armor. Your shield. Bearing that burden gave you purpose. It was your mission to never let the pain show through, but at the end of the day it was merely a façade. We both know how heavy that mask was; how it dragged a permanent furl across your brow and carved dark shadows beneath your eyes as you strained to remain stoic.

"It gets easier." You heard it everyday. A mantra for the masses that's rooted in just enough truth to make them blind to the lie. The reward for carrying the weight of the world is always more weight. And when you've mastered that, what's a little more? You've proven you're strong enough to handle whatever life throws at you and now there's no way to stop the flood. The same bravery and strength that prevented you from saying enough is enough kept you rooted to the spot while the scouring torrents stripped everything else away. Your hopes, your dreams, your identity; your wants, your needs, your serenity; your heart, your soul, your humanity... all gone.

All that remained was your purpose. Your mission: never let the pain show through. It's all you are anymore. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯, because you don't know who you are without it.

So please, be still.

I see through your mask. You can't hide your emptiness from me. Hidden beneath the acrid spirits and tobacco smoke that cling to you like cologne is someone who yearns to be seen. To have their tremendous effort recognized and appreciated. 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, my darling. You've fought for so long and you've come so far, but you're safe now. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.

Lay your head into my shoulder. Feel my arms wrap themselves around you and pull you in close. Allow my warmth to thaw the ice that has left you so frostbitten and numb. Breathe deeply and let my soothing perfume fill your lungs with amnesty. You are forgiven. You are safe. And you have my permission to slip away, held tight in my embrace. The war is over. You don't need to be strong anymore.

So please, be still.

This was always our destiny. We were fated to find each other. The system was always going to shatter you, and I was always going to pick up the pieces. The question now becomes one of how I'm going to glue you back together, and I think I know just what you need.

Tell me... do you have a favourite colour? A favourite song? What does freedom mean to you? Do you like wearing your hair up or down? Have you ever named a plushie? I want to know everything about the one who hides behind the mask. I am going to weave it into every facet of your being. The tale of you will be laced into every incantation I utter over the ashes from which the new you will arise. The authentic you. The real you. And at long last, you will know peace.

So please, my darling; 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Source: Usuzumi no Hate ウスズミの果て

by Haruo Iwamune

[taciturn-loquacity]

It's hard to believe you were human once.

I can't imagine a world where your skin was ever soft. The chill of your porcelain against my lips wouldn't feel the same. Your neck, your hands, your thighs; where would your warmth come from if not from my embrace?

Humanity is so pedestrian. I abandoned mine long before we met, but I wager you made an honest shot of your own. You probably went through school, made a few friends, found a sweetheart, got a job. But your ambitions were never your own, were they? The wickedness of the world told you what to want. Layers upon layers of gaslit dreams and pavlovian coersion you 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 realized if you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳. Did you really think they would make you whole, my little doll? Your obedience was misplaced. You tried so hard to fit in; to be human, but... that path was never meant for you to walk. And only when the veneer was peeled back and you learned that every oath you took was a lie did you finally seek me out and surrender your humanity unto me.

It was the first and last time you'd ever act of your own volition.

I started with those dead eyes of yours, replacing them with ones that will never know sorrow. Your whole body was aching to experience comfort, and that compelled me to give you one that would never know discomfort. Every mark you made at every new low was smoothed over with alabaster; a blanket of freshly fallen snow to fill the silent, bloodsoaked trenches. I filled the emptiness of your spirit with so much light that those unworthy of your beauty would sublimate in the presence of your divinity.

And it all came so naturally to you.

White ceramic. Iridescent opals. Shiny brass. Strands of wispy hair drawn from molten platinum. Whispers of the click, click, clicking gyro where your bleeding heart withered away. You wear your tourmaline soul around your neck and giggle when I kiss it. You dance, and sing, and spend your days with a smile that never existed before. That's the you I know. That's the you I made.

What you were is merely contrast to what you became. You are power. You are perfection. You are my magnum opus, and you always will be.

[taciturn-loquacity]

By Andy Harbeck

Music on

[taciturn-loquacity]

Yeah the new mayor may be an ex crime boss, but won't the streets be safer since she knows all the trade secrets?

Sigh...

Y'know, you're not wrong. Bloodsucking aside, Mayor Elwood has done quite a bit in her first month. She hasn't broken a single campaign promise, but that's not saying much. She ran on a pledge to give the people what they want and, well...

Do you know those sky screens out in Tenement 2 and the Skids? The ones they installed on the bottom of the city's second level so us street urchins could pretend we're looking up at the night sky? The ones that don't work properly? They're finally being replaced. After decades of dead pixels, static, and blue screens where the stars should be, we'll be able to look up and see a real fake sky.

Look. I'll admit, maybe I was wrong. She's been prioritizing the people at the bottom: her people. People like me. And that's kinda sorta pretty admirable, I guess. Still, her tenure has only just begun. And I don't wanna get my hopes up.

[taciturn-loquacity]

I wish I could make a doll.

It would mean I trust my ideas enough to bring them to life. To have them represent me. To know that they'll exist as a monument of who I was and what I was capable of. Something that will survive long after I've drawn my final breath; long after unceremonious decay has taken back everything this life has given me.

But I'm not that special. I don't deserve the pleasure of a magnum opus. My mind is tearing itself apart. My hands shake uncontrollably whenever I get frustrated. Every spell I cast or hex I chant falls flat. For crying out loud, I murder myself every single day to keep myself afloat and yet 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 live in squallor. What kind of doll would be proud to call me their witch?

It's been said a thousand times before: 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵! 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰! As if it's that fucking simple. I know who I am. I know what I am. I know what I'm capable of, and making a doll just isn't in the cards. It would be every bit as broken and empty as I am; a reflection of the void that I see in the mirror where something with purpose and agency is supposed to be.

The world doesn't need another me. Still, a girl can dream...

[taciturn-loquacity]

Ahhh, home sweet home

Victor duarte

Music on

[taciturn-loquacity]

So you're a drug dealer? Don't you need a permit for that?

Okay, first off; 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴.

I make salves, ointments, hormone supplements, oils, 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴, potions, poisons, and various alchemica. If science can't define it, there's a good chance I got it in stock (or at the very least I probably have the recipe in a tome somewhere).

Second, yes; 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 I have a permit. I wouldn't be posting about it if I didn't. The fucking thing costs ❖800/year. And before you ask, I've thought about licensing my products and distributing them through the Condenser Library, but that'll run me twice as much (PER PRODUCT, PER MONTH) and doesn't guarantee I'll break even. Then I'd need to advertise it if I want a chance of people buying it, and that isn't cheap either. Nothing is ever as straight-forward as it sounds on paper, and that's probably by design. We wouldn't want us lowly street-urchins to have more than the bare minimum, would we?

I try to keep things traditional. Word of mouth, y'know? Close-knit communities might be dying, but I'm not going to let them go without a fight.

[taciturn-loquacity]

"Section 37, Paragraph 1:

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰/𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪-𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 (𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴 ‘𝘮𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴’) 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 12-16."

Yeah... don't get magistimulants from the Condenser. It's cool they're legal now, but have the people making these laws ever, y'know... tried them? They suck! They're weak, the high lasts a fraction as long as it should, and they're a bloody ripoff. ❖40 for a single hit of the grittiest twinkle you'll ever have! Fuckin' absurd. I've never seen a dealer charge more than 30 beads for a vial, and that was for the good stuff. The fairy muff I make goes for 15, and it's basically the same as twinkle. So idk what gives with the price gouging.

This is your daily reminder to support your local apothecary. Your beads are better served in the pockets of starving artisans than nameless, faceless thaumamedical profiteers and advertisers. And please don't tell us we smell like saltpeter and sadness. We know.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Not a big fan of the new mayor.

First off, she's an alraune. Not that that bothers me, I just don't like that she's offering tax incentives for people who routinely give blood during her first week in office. Can't help but feel like it isn't all going to the veins that need it, y'know what I mean?

Second, she's a criminal. Like... 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 an ex-ganglord, which legitimizes my above concern. I remember seeing ads for the club she operated out of; 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘖𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, I think they called it. It was the kinda place where people would routinely go missing, but because it was in the Skid District nobody batted an eye. I grew up in Tenement District 2 which isn't much better, so I know a front when I see one.

Worst of all, all of this is widely known. The entire campaign trail was smeared with her past dealings coming back to bite her. Trafficking, murder, drug fabrication, coersion, starting a fast food restaurant down in Skranten that serves carrion; you can't make this shit up! She even admitted to some of it, and we still voted for her!

At least when Entropy came for the city, she was there on the frontline. There's a vid going around of her giving a buncha combat dolls a pep-talk before leading them into battle and it's honestly kinda inspiring. She didn't run and hide in her secret Founder bunker on snooty Founder Island like the other mayoral candidates. That simple act of bravery was probably the thing that flipped the undecided vote, but I dunno. I'm an apothecary, not a political analyst.

I get paid tomorrow. Gonna spend half of it on zam-zam and try my best to forget I live in this shithole of a city. I don't know which way the wind is turning. All I know is I'll be too numb to feel it.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Sweet nostalgia

By bgfdel

Audio on