#warframe shower thoughts

[cardinalgoldenbrow]

On the perils of swapping between Operator & Drifter...

An alarm clock goes off at oh dark thirty, like it does every night. Drifter smashes it off. "Ordis, why do we even have that alarm?!"

"That is the Operator's reminder to start another Forma in the Foundry."

Drifter pulls the covers back up. "The kid's sleep schedule is fucked."

A week later, the Operator takes back over, ready to run Elite Sanctuary Onslaught/Hydron until their backlog of kuva weapons are fully leveled. "Wait a minute...why don't I have more built forma?!"

Ordis helpfully informs the Operator, "The Drifter ignores your alarm."

The Operator considers that and says, "It's alright. They're old and need their beauty sleep."

[kassil]

Warframe Rambling

Some speculation with regards to the upcoming Duviri Paradox. Semi-spoiler-ish stuff past the cut.

So what we know, at the moment, is that the Plains of Duviri is some kind of pocket dimension in the Void, ruled over by an entity known as Dominus Thrax. The Plains are caught in a time loop, controlled by the same. We'll be playing as the Drifter, occupying the chronological stretch between when Paracesis gets run through the Operator and when we pick up as the Drifter in The New War.

I've seen some theories about who Dominus Thrax is, and have some notions of my own as well as thoughts on the ideas others have had.

The simple one is "some Orokin fucker who escaped into the Void before the Tenno killed him" but DE usually doesn't go for the simple answers. Evidence in favor: command of an Orowyrm, the distinctly Orokin trapping of various designs present. Evidence against: it'd almost certainly have to be another one of the Seven, and the only one I'm aware of being involved in a way that might allow for it is Tuvul. Last I heard, he got eaten by wolves.

Another popular one is "a third version of the Operator" - one whose bargain was selfish and seeking safety, rather than seeking to protect their fellow children (the Operator) or refusing the original deal (implied to be what the Drifter did.) Evidence in favor: the people who populate the realm, who are implied to be created by the will of Dominus Thrax, seem to regard Drifter as him. Evidence against: DE tends not to repeat the same trick too often in their quest for ongoing novelty, and this would be another round of Your Operator Got Soaked In The Void, Wow Weird Huh.

One I thought of after seeing the previous one, plus some information about how Duviri will work: Dominus Thrax and the Drifter are one and the same, the result of the Void operating on the Drifter's mind until they became an amphisbaena of sorts. Evidence: again, the realm seems to recognize Drifter and Dominus as the same. Logic: if you failed to save everyone, you might end up in a self-destructive spiral, such that you turn against and try to punish yourself; the "days" are referred as Spirals. The realm seems engineered to torment and punish the Drifter for no clear reason, at this point. Evidence against: I admit this seems like a stretch, and would be weird mind-game-tricks even by the standards of Void fuckery.

There's a theory that this is a version of Rell who made a bargain. I don't know what the evidence is, but Dominus doesn't particularly feel autistic-coded to me, and the last round they took some pains to make sure Rell was solidly sympathetic. Doing a flat demi-villainous autistic character seems more tone deaf than what we've already had.

The last one, and the one I'm most suspicious of, is that Dominus is some version of Albrecht Entrati, either the reflection that the Man in the Wall showed as for him, or as a timeline where he chose the power of the Void for himself over returning to realspace with the keys to the Void in the form of the fingers of the Man in the Wall, or the "real" Albrecht who didn't manage to escape and instead took refuge into a Void pocket, spiraling inward on himself as the only Really Real thing. I give this some credence, because Albrecht's own notes indicate that he's not sure if he's the "real" Albrecht, or if he's his own doppelganger, having escaped from Untime, and Mother from the Entrati family seems convinced that her father is just on the other side of the Untime Door, waiting for her. Sure, she could be delusional about it, but it could also be that she's on to something in that Infestation-induced semi-madness.

Edit: ...I guess I was right with the shower-thoughts guess of Drifter and Dominus, or at least closer than any of those other guesses. Dominus is a character brought to life to hold all those emotions that a kid would be experiencing with everyone else on the ship Dead or Worse.

[panged-lin]

Shwmae!

Hope you're doing well! Name's Helgi, I'm largely just here to dump whatever crosses my mind at any given moment; ramblings, shower thoughts, shitposts, any old nonsense is fair-game here. If you're already in this far, you may as well strap in and enjoy the ride.

More than happy to talk if ever you're compelled to! Try to be straightforward - tone isn't my strong suit when it's spoken, let alone written!

@attorney-appreciation-page: Where I keep all my Ace Attorney-isms

@but-a-helgi: Warframe Captura & Fashion centric page~ [currently inactive]

@court-on-camera: Ace Attorney videos of questionable comedic value~

EDIT: updated the Warframe page. Just to help temper expectations. Oh, and there's more pink now. Enjoy~

[alonetenno]

the tenno are just that “samurai waking up in modern day” vine

[nek-ros]

i wanna see Val play Spore and create the most fucked up fuckable creachure.

She's occasionally a guest star in Murmur's streams but she's always just in the background of his cam like an easter egg.

Murmur gets questions if he's haunted by zombies or smth.

Gamer girl Val.

Gamer girl Val bathwater (infused with Val Juice. 100% chance of infesting a normal person).

MURMUR bathwater but you gotta pay extra for actual water, or else you'll just get Murmur-infused shower steam.

I wanna see Val and Murmur becoming their little tag team in team vs games and wrecking some fools.

SKFJKDFJ

at one point val sees if she can also mad science her way with the games and then ends up playing warframe within warframe

val and murmur being able to share thoughts via transference probably makes them very dangerous in videogames together lol

[softly-mossy]

you know i had to do it to em

[alteredsilicone]

Had a bit of a shower thought so wanna rant about New Loka yet again, as in, do a little rewrite of their philosophy.

First of all, we need a reason for their syndicate to exist, to which I bring this bit of writing from Nightwave season 3:

Learnings of the Motherworld, New Loka Essays.

"We were designed by the Earth to live as part of the Earth. We cannot truly belong anywhere else, not in the whole of the universe."

New Loka wants to rebuild the Earth, as they realize no other place in the universe truly belongs to humanity. This is why they despise the Orokin and their creations - the Orokin not only soiled Earth but the entire Solar system and the current state of the world is all part of their hubris to be above nature itself.

New Loka is by definition anti-Orokin and they want to live a life without any and all Orokin technology. This would create an interesting dilemma, as some lore bits have alluded to the fact that practically everything of pre-Orokin humanity is lost to time. This gives New Loka a goal - figure out what humanity was in the past and how did they survive without Void technology.

So we have a goal now: re-establish Earth and the Old Ways. How do we do that?

By rebuilding the ecosystem, which requires knowledge of the flora, fauna and climate of old-Earth. At the core, New Loka are scientists. Which would also mean that they are more pacifist oriented, which in turn would rationalize their alliance with the Perrin Sequence - Perrin, much like Loka, reject the status quo (to Loka it's coveting Orokin technology, to Perrin it is the Corpus exploitative way of commerce) and prefer to solve things peacefully.

That and Corpus are inventors and industrialists so Perrin would be interested in using their scientific knowledge for good.

What about Tenno?

New Loka would be apprehensive at first, seeing the warframes as just another testament to the Orokin's violent and selfish nature, however, by ranking up with the syndicate, you, the player, prove to New Loka that Tenno powers can be used for good.

What about other syndicates? What does New Loka think of them?

Steel Meridian: Negative, NL dislikes them because they think that using guerilla war tactics to "protect the weak" only furthers violence and enables a "might makes right" mindset.

Arbiters of Hexis: Neutral, NL is apprehensive at them worshipping Tenno, an Orokin creation, but respects Hexis for seeing them more as just mercenaries and war machines.

Cephalon Suda: Neutral, again, apprehension towards an Orokin creation, however Suda "abhors destruction" therefore has some similar views with NL.

Red Veil: Negative; "my religion is better than your religion" and RV are about fire and brimstone and violently cleansing the land, which is the polar opposite of NL who want to heal the land.

The Silver Grove - the quest and purpose would stay the same; it is a sacred religious place for New Loka and is believed to be a natural entity, until it is discovered that the Grove is actually an Orokin Archimedian who used transference to fuse with the forest itself. The quest could be a way to explore Amaryn opening up to the Tenno and seeing the "dual use" nature of warframes and also to realize that there were Orokin who resisted the status quo, much like NL does now. Titania becomes a new symbol and guardian of NL as a result and Tenno piloting her are held in high esteem by Amaryn and the rest of the people.

[giant-head]

The gun is standard issue. The big arm isn’t, though the administration is happy to lavish its injured gendarmes with the most sophisticated cybernetics available. As long as they continue to kick in heads.

I also sketched this cop. He’s gonna appear in one scene in the opening montage. I played around with Krita’s ‘wet’ brush engine and watercolour brushes to try to get a watercolour effect. It’s probably faster than cel shading, but obviously never gonna be suited for animation. Fun to experiment though!

design notes:

Thanks to @grubhonker for invaluable gun knowings! I know a little about guns from watching the odd Forgotten Weapons video, but she knows much more and advised me on what stuff is supposed to be called. This is supposed to be a fairly plausible bullpup rifle, but with a blend of old-fashioned design elements (like the barrel shroud) and modern ones (a holographic sight).

The expression was inspired by a mafia guy in The Triplets of Belleville. I added a cigar because it felt like he would have one. I could probably stand to make the face less stylised and more realistic?

The big puffy trousers are inspired by a uniform you can get in FFXIV: Stormblood. I like the silhouette they give. The big orb shoulder is probably subconsciously inspired by some Grineer in Warframe... and probably other stuff I can‘t remember right now. It’s a real pain to take a shower in, believe me.

He still needs some goons to follow him about, though their role in the story is mainly to react when our protagonist punches out their boss and jumps out a window, but I’m glad this design panned out pretty much as well as I hoped when I thought of these elements. I might reuse the orb shoulder on like, a civilian wandering around the slums, since I like the asymmetry a ton.

[mistwood-archive]

tagged by @tsumtsumtakeover i love u king 

under a cut bc it’s text heavy

The Essentials

Name: amanda Nickname: min Location: florida :/ Age: 19 Height: 5′10″ Zodiac sign: saggy Any pets: 3 wonderful kitties (brooks, ace, gamora) and dog (bessie)! Favourite thing @ yourself: uhhh lol maybe my height? i like being tall Worst habit: procrastination kills Fun fact: play warframe with me

Identity, Sexuality & Personality

Gender identity: gender? in this economy? Sexual preference: bi Romantic preference: the bar is literally on the floor. i haven’t dated anyone yet “Kinsey Scale” score: between 3 and 4 Relationship status: :] Myers/Briggs type: intp Hogwarts house: hufflepuff

Routine

“Early Bird” or “Night Owl”: night owl, but only by a small margin. i have sleepy bitch disorder Morning routine: get up. get ready. pet my cats. cry. leave house. Bath or shower: shower First thought in a morning: why am i so sore Last thought before falling asleep at night: my ideal fantasy world

School/Work

Do you work or are you a student: 2nd year student waiting to transfer to a uni Where do you work/study: local community college What do you do: eat sleep fortnite repeat Where do you see yourself in 5 years: sharing an apartment with @frutadeoro and @capsvlecorps HOPEFULLY

Habits (Do you … )

Drink: nop Smoke: no Do Drugs: nope Exercise: lol no Have a go-to comfort food: publix mac and cheese babey! Have a nervous habit: biting my nails / fingers

What is your favourite … ?

Physical quality (in yourself): height.. thighs if i’m having a good day In Others: i love hair Mental/emotional quality (in yourself): ability to not let most stuff bother me and to be pretty forgiving (within reason, obviously) Drink: iced sweet tea yeehaw Animal: cats, dolphins, pandas, literally any reptile Artist/Band/Group: janelle monae, hozier, the kills Author/Poet: tolkien will always have that nostalgia spot but in general... not really Film: scott pilgrim, the shape of water, atlantis the lost empire, hidden figures TV Show: i’m bad with tv but anime counts right? watch fmab. Actor: do you have to ask. chris evans. Actress: brie larson and tessa thompson Blogger: all of my mutuals are sexy

i’ll tag @frutadeoro @capsvlecorps @mossgorl @antmenandthewasp @teamcaps @chloevlntine @enjoiras @peterbenparkr @aarontveitsgf @shieldrogers and anyone else that wants to do this perhaps!!! u don’t have to do this if u don’t want to <3

[brennanlaustsen77-blog]

ACD Distribution Newsline

ACD Distribution Newsline

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[cardinalgoldenbrow]

Drifter: "Hungry?"

Operator: "Uh. Yeah."

(Just some added context for that one scene in TNW.)

[luxwing]

the doctor said that she was p sure i just had a uti but ive honestly never had one before and just the amount of fever breaking and rebuilding and breaking is fuckin killing me is this fucking normal because i hate it and ive taken two showers in the last half hour god i really dont want to call out of work tomorrow man i cant afford that shit

i thought playing warframe would help and i was right but now im sweatin like a toasted goddamnc heeser

[theamberfang]

Browsing; Journal 469

I barely feel like even writing this post; I still seem to be quite down and distracted like I was yesterday. Remembering how passionate and excited I was about Homestuck a couple of weeks ago, it almost makes me wonder if I could be bipolar, but I strongly doubt that. I really don’t have much history with anything that could be described as a manic state—ADHD still makes more sense to me.

Anyway, I finished watching Steven Universe: Future today. It was pretty nice, and Steven’s journal of self-discovery felt pretty relevant, considering the goal I set for myself today. I exchanged a few messages with Spark about it. And I couldn’t help but continue to compare SU with Homestuck: more specifically this time, Future with the epilogues.

About that meditation/thinking though, I didn’t really managed to decide too much regarding what I want to do this week. I did settle on being okay with just playing through the rest of Night in the Woods without worrying too much about writing about everything. I also became more confident about wanting to get a new computer; my current laptop being so old is just way too limiting—it struggles to open the start menu when I have a web browser open. That’s about all I managed to think about before I got up to look for food and/or get back on the computer. Again, I’ve been pretty distracted, but that means I could be happy about managing what I did there.

As for getting a computer, I can probably talk to Skull or that trans couple that I know. My maximum limit that I’d be looking to spend is probably around $600—which I still have saved in cash from birthday/holiday gifts through my late teens and early twenties. I’d still have some left over, but that would honestly be most of it there. Still, I think it would be worth it considering how much time I spent on this old computer. I mean, I spend more time on the computer than I do in bed [for, you know, sleeping].

Mom also did offer to contribute to me being a new computer a while ago, but I’d probably have to know what I’m looking at and what it would cost. At the least, I’d probably need to narrow things down to a few definite options.

The maximum I’d hope for is something powerful enough to handle video processing and streaming with relative ease, but that sort of thing is almost definitely out of my price range (and I don’t have the connections to finagle something). My minimum would be something that can play a games like Team Fortress 2 or Warframe on medium/default settings while still being able to have a web browser and/or other applications on in the background. I suppose a major thing I’d be looking for is a decent graphics card: certainly something better than I’ve had on either of my laptops (because laptops probably don’t tend to have powerful graphics cards). Otherwise, I’d like something that is easily modded/upgraded (which mostly means not-a-laptop, but maybe there are PCs that are more convenient to open up and modify).

Actually, considering how much I’m attached to the idea of getting a new computer, I wonder if I’m actually down about feeling like my current computer sucks. I mean, it does, but maybe I’m paying more attention to it than usual. If I am, it’s probably because of the way it couldn’t handle Them’s Fightin’ Herds. I’ve also been watching a lot of Team Fortress 2 stuff on Y*uTube (I’m just in that rabbit hole now), and I don’t feel like this computer would be up for playing it. Not being able to play these games (or the perception that I can’t) is leaving me feeling more limited and restricted than I had felt before.

Oh, something else that I thought of during my moment of meditation is that I could dedicate whole weeks to stuff at a time, instead of trying to have myself jump from different tasks from day to day. So I guess this week could be dedicated to looking up and asking about computers?

Week’s Focus

Search for a new computer

Thurs and Sun: Shower

I could try to schedule different segments for my focus this week, but I’ll just have to wing it

Whimsy List

Search up computer listings via G*ogle, Am*zon, and wherever else

Dance

Sing

Ramble maybe?*

Journal

*(Oh, I guess I didn’t talk about Rambling on my secondary blog. That’s actually another thing I managed to meditate on, and I’m down with only writing on it when I really feel like it. I shouldn’t feel obligated to do anything with it.)

[heartslogos]

seas who could sing so deep and strong [10]

“Kore!”

Awareness comes to her slowly, sluggishly. Like her own consciousness is thick and viscous, blotting between her eyes and nose and fingers, giving but also lazy and stifling at the same time. Kore groans - sensation is even slower to follow.

Kore fully expects herself to be moving - ready. It is not the first time she wakes up in transference, but it is one of the more memorable times when it feels strange. Unnatural.

She has been knocked unconscious during transference. When she gets back to it, normally she’s already fine. She’s able to get up and move and continue her mission, or to at least get the hell out.

But this is different. Her warframe responds to her slowly, hesitant. It feels like - Kore struggles with the thoughts, the words, the form of it all.

It feels like her Rhino - but timid, somehow. More shy. Nervous. Uncertain. A steady bedrock underneath a swift current that makes her focus warily on her footing.

Vauban, she remembers, she was testing her Vauban frame.

With recognition comes more awareness - Judge’s voice through their private line calling her name in increasingly desperate and terrified tones.

“I’m here,” She croaks out, head pounding. She slowly turns Vauban’s head, taking in the Corpus cell - “Shit.”

“Alad V released a new wave of Zanuka Hunters,” Judge explains, the soft almost undulating magenta glow of his Nova Prime’s helmet a stark contrast to the harsh blue and white lights in the ceiling.

Kore swears, hot, vicious, and unsatisfying.

A Zanuka - new prototype or no - should be nothing to her.

Nova’s hands work on freeing Vauban from the restraints, “You aren’t used to your frame - I’ve never actually seen you in a Vauban before.”

“With good reason,” Kore replies. “Look at where it got me. Shit fuck - Hades - I was - “

Nova’s hand presses against Vauban’s chest, pushing the frame against the containment unit.

“I’m sorry,” Judge says softly, “They didn’t make it. The hostage. The Corpus caught them a little after you - after you.”

What Judge means is, after Kore slammed three extra clips of ammunition into the Lotus Agent’s hand, picked them up, and threw them into a ventilation shaft Kore knew would lead to the outside as the Zanuka closed in on her. What Judge means is - after Kore did her fucking damned best, she still failed.

Kore’s stomach sours, her guts knot.

She had been so careful. She didn’t set off a single damn alarm, they were so close. If Kore could have just gotten them out of the building, if she could have just gotten them outside of the facility - running to her ship would have been nothing. Zanuka would never have caught her. The Corpus never would have killed the operative.

“Fuck,” Kore swears, throat closing - a blistering and dry heat that cracks her voice like the deserts of Mars.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Judge says, half-supporting her with his Nova as Vauban’s systems slowly come back online after they remove all the inhibitors on the frame.

Neither of them say - you have never had the patience for the survival of others, anyway.

Kore, feels herself bite her lip in her Orbiter. The hurt spills through her, hot and burning.

“I’m sorry,” Judge says softly, knocking their warframe’s heads together. “Kore, please. I’m sorry.”

Vauban jerks back from him, she is still unsteady but she’s good enough to stand, at least. She does not want Judge’s pity.

His attention, his trust, his time, yes. But never his pity.

Nova’s hand grasps Vauban’s wrist.

She hears Judge take in a breath to say something and then a voice - unfamiliar that makes Kore’s jaw seal itself closed.

“You have your girl?”

“Yes,” Judge says into what Kore belatedly realizes is a separate communications line - she hadn’t noticed that she was tapped into it. Judge must have opened a second channel and silently tuned her in. “You?”

“Almost. Talk to you soon.”

Kore’s Mars-dust mouth is empty and full at once. Kore wants to curl into herself and lick her wounds and her bruised pride. Kore also wants to burst out of here and prove that she is not something that requires saving.

“Weapons,” Kore says. She doubts that she’ll ever see her secondary again - it’s fine, she wasn’t particularly attached to it anyway. But she does want her sword and shield back. And her gun. It was one of the few primary weapons she actually can tolerate using.

Nova nods - “Right. I found them on the way here, actually.”

The Nova frame removes a pair of holsters and hands them to Vauban. The weight is reassuring. As Vauban puts them on, Judge takes in another breath -

“Kore, when I was mad at you earlier - I didn’t. I didn’t mean for you to do this. To go off on your own and - and do something you don’t like.”

“No,” Kore agrees, “I know that. But you did mean for me to do something, Judge.”

She focuses on the dependable weight of the Aegis on Vauban’s arm, the comforting glow of it, and the focusing heft of the Boltor in her hands.

Vauban’s optics meet Nova’s.

“You hate how much I don’t care for the hostages, the people the Lotus is always rescuing. You can’t understand how I don’t care for defense missions - for rescues, for the distractions, for any of those. You don’t understand, you can’t understand. I don’t ask you to. I don’t need you to. I don’t even need you to accept any of that. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s my responsibility to care.”

Vauban’s hands tighten around the Boltor’s stock and barrel.

“I can’t,” She says, “Judge, I can’t do that. I can’t care for strangers like that. It isn’t in me. If it was, after -”

The words are hot and sour in her. The wrong kind of fizz-cola.

“ - after everything it isn’t, anymore, Judge.”

There should be more words, Kore thinks. There should be more words for why Kore can do all those things for Judge when she can’t do it for - for people she knows she should be defending since they can’t defend themselves.

There should be more words for why Kore resents the yoke of the word Tenno, the memory and stamp and brand of being Ballas’ Saryn, for the endless chain of duty and responsibility and purpose assigned to every single fucking Tenno in the entire system. There should be words for why she has been forced to place the security of others before her own and put her body and mind on the line for someone and something she never chose.

There should be words for why she does this all, willingly, for him.

Kore flinches when all the cameras and lights in the room burst, shattering with a shower of sparks around them.

Judge’s void energy - the same brilliant magenta as his Nova - lights up the room as he steps out of his frame and reaches his hands up to hold Vauban’s head in his hands.

“Kore,” Judge says, “Kore, I’m sorry. You’re right - I don’t understand. I can’t. But I don’t hate you. You have to know that, Kore. We don’t see everything the same, but I do not hate you for this. I was angry earlier, yes - angry at you, yes. But that doesn’t mean I want you to - to do this. To be something you can’t. You know I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

(And that was it, wasn’t it?

The reason why Kore used the Vauban frame she never really touched, the reason why Kore used her sword and shield and her crossbow, the reason why Kore did this -

Vauban inspires caution. Defense. Vauban and the frame’s particular skills asks of her to slow down, to use as little power as possible, to protect and guard rather than eliminate.

The crossbow is silent. The sword and shield are meant to hold back, not push through.

Kore did this, to try. Against everything in her - even her own bubbling resentment - )

“Kore, I’m sorry,” Judge repeats and Kore opens her mouth to say something - something -

A static scream bursts through the coms and they both flinch, recoiling -

“Not one fucking alarm set loose, and the second I get you out of that fucking cell you set them all off you - “

“Run, run, run, run, run!”

“I guess she found Punk,” Judge says, wryly, stepping back into his frame - giving her a piercing look that says that this conversation is paused, but not over.

“What’s a Punk?” Kore asks.

The doors to her containment cell hiss open and a blue streak dashes past, followed by a pink Trinity frame.

“That’s Punk,” Judge says, tugging her forward by Vauban’s wrist. “And the second one was Chic. He was also taken by the Zanuka Hunter - and when I was looking for your the Lotus told me his partner was looking for him, so we teamed up to get you two together.”

“Punk?” Kore repeats, “Chic?”

“You probably remember at least one of them,” Judge says, as they sprint after the blue and pink pair. “Punk is an Ember unit.”

“Not all Ember units know each other, Judge,” Kore sighs, “There were over nine hundred Ember frames that got deployed.” Granted most of those are repeats because of how many Ember frames had to be rebuilt and stationed in multiple zones for quick transference switches.

“And Chic is that Trinity unit we helped rescue in the Void that one time.”

Kore resists the urge to groan, “The loud one?”

[chamberofnectar]

Wounded, but not yet broken

Summary

No more Orokin. No more Somatic Cradle. No more forced self-sacrifices.

But scars always take so long to heal, especially if they’re dug so deep.

[Tags update over time, rating will remain the same. A strained Father and Son relationship due to financial and emotional stress]

Mature | Graphic Depiction of violence

Content tags: Operator (Warframe) | Loki (Warframe) | Operative Jacob Warren | Cephalon (OC) | Somatic Link – Freeform | Father and Son Relationship | Father Figure | Family Bonding | Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD | Emotional Damage | Mercenary Father | Merged pain | Blood and Trauma | After-action patch-up | Panic Attack | Mood disorder | Mental Instability | Self-Harm | Cannibalism | Self-Hatred

[ Story Link ] Chapter 13 of (?) continue beneath the read more! 

Silence persists as the liset’s ramp taps against the overgrowth on the dock platform, further in as they finally board it, safely stowed away from the prospect of Lotus operatives or the dread of the infested hoards that still lie in waste. Warren clings to the jar and the slightly withering branch of arboriform, his face shielded from T’viska by his hair still stuck with derelict residue. Each side-wards glance the loki takes, all he can surmise is the down casted slouch, the reserved motions as the teenager coils himself small into the passenger seat. As he turns back to the console above them, his golden claws clicking against the console and breathing life into the old ship’s engines.

As he finally begins to ease it from the derelict’s dock, T’viska itches through his reservations, the memory of his words and the vulnerable worry of before. His motions are slow, calculated, just as the cumulation of the morphology he was given. Quiet, reserved, sharp on the draw and impatient; he taps in the connection to the orbiter waiting within its void cloak a few thousand kilometers away – out of the common routes for grineer and corpus alike. Suuir takes over the directive as the connection is affirmed, tethered back into entry as the cabin remains lull.

T’viska doesn’t turn when he hears Warren sigh, the slighting trembles of tearful shakes.

His maw twists into a frown.

What is he to do… turning his attention to the notation Suuir briefs in his vision.

One more mission to go before they can reach Mars…

The liset shutters as the locking pins secure the vessel into place, pulled rearwards into the cradle.

“After this mission, we’ll be in Martian orbit. Would you like to go there again, Warren?” the loki doesn’t look over as he hears the shuffle of damp boots, the squeaking on the metal floor.

“Sure,” he hears mumbled at his back as the liset’s ramp eases down. “That’d be nice,” breathing hitches, steps turning aggressive as they move from the vessel into the orbiter’s hanger proper.

Golden claws curl against the armrest, mouth turning into a confused snarl. The transmission of anxieties coil inside his chest, the transference of sensory hiccups. Fingers press against his temples from one hand, throwing the liset back into Suuir’s control. “Ready for launch,” he snarls, “let’s just get this fucking over with,” hands cup his face.

‘Rescue of an informant, requested by Corpus, held in a Grineer facility.’ The liset shutters out of the platform, surging into life back into top speed. T’viska takes control of the steering column, snarling as it jerks into his palms. It popped up while he was on his way back, ‘On route to execution, or prolonged interrogation. They have information on the Lotus.’

T’viska, one last time, checks the lato’s barrel. To kill or return them to a neighboring vessel.

He snaps the chamber back into the gun. Three rounds left.

 Aboard the orbiter, Warren plods himself back to the residential quarters. Water pools beneath him as he sets the arboriform onto the display platform that connects the upper and lower platforms. His mouth, flesh and teeth, snarl as he rips off his coat, tears embittering his sight as he chokes back the sobs. His only pair of shoes are thrown into the corner, his coat tossed at the edge of the display platform as he shoves Crenshaw’s curious muzzle out of the way with a half curse and partial apology.

The look she gives him… startled and confused corrodes his efforts.

He scratches away the tears in his sight. He rids himself the total warmth of pants – leaving him more exposed to the temperate chill of the orbiter as he discards them. His feet are still wet, same for his ankles and part of his shins, the cold biting him to shiver as he storms around to the lower landing. From the meager cache of clothing he pulls out his other pair of pants, a shirt, underwear, and towel, digging them out in quick succession. His steps remain heavy as he chokes back the sobbing anxiety that clings in the back of his mind, hanging there in his throat as he slams the shower chamber door open. Drops the clothing to the side and locks himself inside – isolation.

Still clothed, hands wringing in his messy hair, Warren crumbles back against the tile wall. Snarling as he turns the shower head on, and the tears flow free.

He’s so fucking tired of crying.

It chases him even after he’s long dried out; his hair a hamper mess of natural curls in every which way as he sits bundled in front of the glass screen. At one side Crenshaw had curled herself up, her withers pressed against his thigh as he browses again through the near infinite trove of meager data. Nothing concrete he can find through Suuir or the previous cephalon about the plant sat at his other side, sitting quant in its jar. Almost alert as his bare void-stained fingers ease beneath areas once wilted, smooth but course on the growing ends. It hints him the lightest of a smile before he looks back into his reflection beyond the datapoints transposed before him.

There has to be something amongst the trove, his features snarl.

Fingers dance aggressive across the surface before him, through file after file, image after image amongst the classified and undisclosed, accounts ranging from intervened to abandoned records seizing from sporadic facilities along their path. Datamined and files sorted; there’s not enough, there’s barely anything to find! At the urging pain that splits in his sides, the transference, the reminder of the transference connection, only makes him angrier; and scared.

At this point, is it even worth trying…?

Warren shakes the thoughts from his consciousness with a huff, fingers pulling out corpus logs before him to read in earnest. Mere footnotes, minor mentions in passing of the strange white plants that bend and wind beneath the hulls of the tethered void-towers. The disgust of those rotting left in the derelicts that sprinkle throughout the solar system, remnants of the Orokin empire. His focus contorts, bending over against the anxieties that still plague him after Lua.

He pushes himself out with the self-defeatist rhetoric. He’s doing something wrong, all the information is there but he’s too fucking screwed up to read it right. That must be it, his hand screws through his hair, jostling it back and forth as he tries to tear out the ruminations that cobble in his chest, in his throat as his somatic sight dances over the screen. The hours he spent looking through them… the absolute bullshit he had to tinker with the files to get them into semi-coherent correspondence of data made difficult due to cephalon decay. He can only access the previous one for so long before Suuir’s words cut across the screen – they damage his neural process, they need to stop.

And cuts Warren off mid-sentence.

Is looking all this up even worth it…?

Warren glances over at the jar at his side, where the arboriform sits still with neural sap pooling at the base – reflecting solid in the low lights. Still alive… for how long he doesn’t exactly know, how long does it have left? His breathing stutters, palm rubbing against his sight where his mouth sits in bitter anger. Warren can feel himself trembling, watching it become more frustrating to course through the files placed before him, dismissing the cephalon off to the side as he just wants to know, want to just fucking know what he’s looking for.

His fist balls into the kavat’s fur, grounding him a semblance of stability, quelling the angry trembling that makes him worried – not helped by the pain that still occasionally blooms on his shoulders and back, the notion of gunfire, flame, and blade. Father on a mission, son stuck all alone…Warren fights back the chokes of feeling forgotten, dismissed to the uncaring cephalon that sits idle as he cries.

Tears mess against the glass before him.

And they reflect the inner glow of his sight as he moves onto a dark image of the void – null against the dark backdrop on the other side of the glass.

Fingers curling into fist. He can only tremble, pressing the ebbs of void energy against his reflection, staring at the exposed teeth made by Orokin abuse. Choking, shuttering, his forehead presses down against it, eyes falling closed as his left-hand dives against his side, patting.

The blades in his coat… right…

And it only makes him worse as the ruminations turn to dark verbal. Useless. Worthless. His brilliant blue eyes spotted with somatic implants curse into his reflection, snarling as tears stain down his cheeks and cut through his restraint. Pain of his own, pain of T’viska’s on a mission.

Warren’s hurting.

One foot over the other, he drops the blanket in a silent and slow motion, ebbing with void aggression as he stands to full. Standard wear, arms exposed, feet cold against the metal flooring, he moves back to the upper landing, following over to the coat that sits slumped and still damp half way down.

And he picks out the half of a spira blade.

And holds the blade against his wrist as tears stain over his eyes.

He’s hurting and he doesn’t know what to do. Physical punishment for doing something wrong, he tries to quell the screaming in the back of his mind, feeling the cold blade against his void corrupted wrist.

The damage of his face when being struck when he tried to stand up for himself, for other children, a slap he could feel and others couldn’t see.

His brows press tight, faltering back against the wall as he still holds it there… holds it there against his wrist.

This will make everything right… right?

His chest surges with choking breaths, sobs dripping through his chest and down his cheek and exposed gums. Clouding his vision, pressing it down as his hands tremble and shake.

Warren throws the blade, his hands curling into his hair as he cries.

 Golden claws remain curled into the loki’s bicep as he watches the Corpus officials tend to the informant, half preoccupied with repayment, the other with the worry of Warren; half and half melding with the young corpus that sits huddled at the edge of the stretcher the medical technicians had pulled up when his liset landed in the port. At either side stands a corpus tech, and further out crewmen that are unnerved by his proximity to their medical staff.

T’viska can’t blame them; but at least none recognize him for now.

But it doesn’t keep the nerves on the back of his neck from standing alert, sat anxious as he listens to their banter that Suuir quickly translates. ‘He’ll be fine,’ the cephalon translates from a paramedic, ‘shaken up, the bullet in their shin will take some time to heal.’ T’viska tosses a sentence to translate back, ‘that’s a relief. Curious, what information do they have?’

Communication is broken off as the technicians cart the rescued informant away, giving Suuir the leeway he was looking for to handle the final part of the transaction. Thirty thousand credits more the loki sighs in relief, escorting himself back to his ship as the corpus techs keep their supras on standby.

Back within the safety of the liset only one thing still stings in his mind as he ignites the liset back to life, coaxing it out of the hanger and back to the cephalon’s control. “How’s he doing,” the loki frowns, letting his claws drift over where he felt the taunting of a blade bite.

‘He’s doing fine, T,’ floats across the loki’s vision, ‘he’s asleep right now… he didn’t do any harm to himself.’ It grants T’viska the room to breathe, lying back loose into the comfort of the pilot seat while Suuir directs the landing craft’s controls.

“So… he had it on him the whole time. Makes sense how he kept it secret for so long,” the warframe mulls, watching the dark sky sail before him. Suuir only grants him a minor confirmation. “The ship needs a fucking clean up… I would’ve noticed sooner,” he snarls.

‘Cleaned and repaired, T’viska,’ the cephalon rebounds in the peripherals of the warframe’s vision. ‘My bolts are still loose from when you tore it open and put me in the drink,’ his words cut across, rattling off the century worth of repairs that have not been done. The ones that haven’t been mended or are in desperate need of a technician’s hand.

The loki grunts, stretching an arm around his back and behind his head. “I’ve told you, I’ll get to it when I get to it. I’m the only one that’s getting any expenses taken care of,” he briefly snarls, stretching his worn muscles with a sigh, arm hanging off his neck. Eyespots hang open as he stares into the emptiness before him, watching neutral as the liset nears the location of the orbiter. A few minutes, and he’ll be back aboard…

“Suuir, how far off is the Bazaar,” he states flat, thoughts cobbling near the hind of his mind.

‘Three minutes from your current position; you wish to redirect?’

“Yes,” the warframe heaves another sigh, claws itching against the back of his head and down the side of one horn. “Get the orbiter to Mars; I want to run by the bazaar and get some things.”

‘Right,’ the cephalon flickers out of his vision, the vessel diverting beneath his feet. Golden claws grasp around the steering column at ease, feeling the automated systems beneath his fingertips as the cephalon’s directives guide the vessel away from the orbiter. Just as stated, it takes merely three minutes to close in on the semi-cloaked bazaar adrift over Mars.

Beneath the void cloak, T’viska watches as he zooms pass grineer galleons and heavy class interceptors, only releasing his tense grip as the liset settles into its boarding cradle, sinking into the restraints that hold it steady within the habitation bubble. Social tensity clings in the back of his mind, a meeting place of merchants and mercenaries, he pats the broken lato at his side – questioning if he needs a replacement or he can fix it later. Another thing to put off.

Though his steps remain light, the loki keeps his wits about him as he passes through the antechamber and into the vessel proper – where the looms of overgrown Terran and Martian flora hang over the floors above and below, the open-air platforms giving room to the median scale prompted by Lotus interference. Not the most comfortable place he’d rather be… taking a deep breath before he exhales.

First on the agenda… a bed; and he browses through a small directory where he might find one.

 Fingers crawl through auburn hair as his exhaustion begins to wear off. Shivering, Warren finds himself slumped back against the wall, his feet and fingers freezing in the orbiter’s low ambiance as his eyes still remain tear-stung. Once pulled from his hair, his hands bury themselves beneath his arms, held there as he stares off into the middle distance, mouth pressing into a flat line.

Across from him, where it had rebounded off the display glass of one of the ship’s tanks, the spira blade.

Fingers knead in the warmth that radiates from his body as his mind sits lull, focus adverted from the physical to ruminate over and over, a cobble of self-deprecation and aggressive dismissal. He’s doing it all wrong; he should’ve just done it and let the ill red flow from his wrist. Impulsive thoughts that scratch against his neurals; overthought into the minor detail, the banishment of not overthinking and he’s an idiot.

His mouth twists into a snarl.

Clutching onto his shirt, curling his legs up against his chest, he forces his somatic sights closed.

Something else… he needs something else to concentrate on. His mouth bites at what remains of his lip, face pressing into his knees as he continues to shiver in the chill. Itching through the thought of self-hatred, the impulsive resentment of failure, he emotionally tears himself apart. As a vagabond child, the Zariman, the discovery and imprisonment beneath the Orokin empire – he snarls, pulling his legs close.

And the tears are pouring again… pooling against his clothing as he tries to wipe them free. His breathing stuttering, crying as the banishment to isolation plays over again in his mind – the internal trauma that wasn’t his own but felt just as real as could be. Being pulled from the somatic cradles and wavering to nausea and collapsing on functional legs.

Fingers pry through his hair.

Something else, his breathing hitches, fingers pulling and churning across his scalp.

Thrown into the isolation room… staring up above.

He releases his head, looking up into the direction of the now quiet holographic pane.

One foot over the other, Warren eases himself to his feet and side steps the spira blade as he walks to the lower landing. The jarred arboriform is still there, just where he left it as he fumbles down onto his knees, hands taking hold of the blanket that once covered him. He takes a second to pause, pulling the blanket over him as he still continues to shiver.

Sat with legs crossed, the arboriform shoot held almost beneath the blanket as much as him. Warren just sits there, looking over the minor structure fragments as anxious thoughts still scratch in his mind, bounding at the back of his consciousness as his somatic sight continues to look over the plant held between his palms. Even as silent tears begin their pour over his cheek and exposed mouth.

It’s at least something; his mouth stems a small smile, bundling it as his blanketed head falls against the glass with a muffled thump. Remaining there as impulsion drags through his mind, staring back into his reflection as his fingers grip around the jar. Something to keep him firmly grounded, he figures as he eases himself back to sit, hooded by the blanket that retains his heat.

Looking down to it, he sighs.

With the blanket still draped over him, checking once more before he moves, Warren stands up with the jar in hand. He ignores the half of spira blade as he walks around to the back of the residential quarters, exiting it and returning to the central walkway in order to cross it, wandering over to the medical bay. It drops from him there, which he allows once the door finally slips open for him and the jarred arboriform.

Engulfed by the dim lighting, swallowing his hesitation. Warren walks cautiously, bare feet moving from the raised platform that ramps down to the glass floor that separates the two halves, where an opening reaches down into the reservoir below. A breath choking in his throat forces itself down, overlooking the hole in the glass as he holds the glass against his chest. Forcing himself down onto his knees, looking between them – he sets the arboriform jar to the side, pulling back the sleeve of his left arm.

He reaches into the coolant water with an open palm to scoop.

And hisses as the radioactive water stings his skin, yanking it back and shaking it off.

Warren holds his limb close as he looks over the malignant damage that just as quickly heals itself as he sits there, breathing himself back calm. Between it, the arboriform, and the opening into the water below him, he questions. Wondering as his eyes flicker between them and the fish that swim beneath, the flora that blooms in the rolling reservoir.

With the same hand, he reaches over for the jar.

Taking a slow and steady inhale, exhale, he holds the jar steady in both hands. One sleeve pulled up, the other sitting loose around his wrist, he angles it, dipping it into the water carefully as for one side to plunge beneath the surface as the volume beings to flow inside. His hands remain steady as he endures the tensing pain around his fingers and palm, letting the water pour and filter into a quarter of the jar before he pulls back. It drops with a dull klink against the glass to his side, massaging his stinging fingers.

“Ow, ow ow,” he whispers, tucking his hands beneath his arms with a simmering grunt.

Sitting there, waiting for the pain to dissipate, Warren looks over to the arboriform. Nothing has changed; of course nothing has changed, he muses. A hand digs through his hair in exasperation, still choking on the earlier panic attack as he forces himself to sit and breathe.

It’s a few hours until T’viska gets back.

 Fingers skate across the glass-bound display as the bulkhead slides open far behind him, listening back as a heavy weight begins to clamber down the short steps that connect the two landings around the raised platform. It eases to behind where he’s sitting, keeping his focus sat before him as he troves through the older documents recovered from the null cephalon. A hand perusing through the directory, another fiddling with the wrapping arboriform coil, his emotions sit flat, sight flickering to the muddled reflection behind him.

Halved curses speak in the backdrop as he tries to look through files he’s already poured through, trying to pick one more time for any semblance of things he’s missed, that there’s a reason he still holds a marginal interest in them. Or, a thought pulsates in the back of his mind, desperation, overthinking, thoughts that ache as a box is chucked away, collapsing in on itself as he looks back.

T’viska’s back is turned to him, wrestling with an unfurling bed as the blankets that once made it sit on the cushions at the side. Crenshaw tries her steps on it as the loki shoves it into the resigned corner between the wall and the cushion – a pawed foot shoving a crate out of the way with a grunt.

“Cren,” the warframe growls, picking up the feline before dropping her off to the side – where she only rounds back and jumps onto the bed.

Warren pulls his hand back from the glass, his other hand unwrapping from the arboriform coil.

Pulling away the plastics, rummaging them up into a ball, T’viska turns over to Warren. “Thought you could use a real bed,” he stems a smile; before he turns back and has to pull the kavat off the bed. “Crenshaw seems happy about it,” he grunts, dropping her off on the walkway before turning to continue replacing the covers.

Warren remains in place as he watches the warframe’s reflection in the glass, uncertainty digging through his thoughts as he looks back to the endless directory sitting in front of him. His hand hovers above the glass, fingers pulling back as anxious thoughts drip into self-doubt. And he holds the arboriform coil once more, at ease as static slips against the internal disapproval. To work, work, work, find a solution to the problem sitting at his side.

Cover over cover, he can hear the warframe make the bed and leave. Silence, he thinks, thoughts of being judged dig against his perception as he peels through the documents set in front of him. He huffs, anchoring to at least find something of importance – even as his tired sight drifts over to the reflection of the now made bed – watching it moment after moment as he goes over another document.

Behind him, he can hear the loki drop another parcel, keeping his attention before him.

“Hey,” the warframe whispers, crouching beside him.

Warren remains silent.

Golden claws nudge off the blanket that houses over the teenager, freeing his hair to furl freely from the static. “I’ve got you a new clothes – since your other ones are wet.” T’viska offers the tenno a jacket, its arms embroidered with golden trims, a firm black and grey tone with internal padding to retain heat.

Between his palms, he looks over it with half-lid eyes, straining back the trembling anxious thoughts. “Thanks…” is all he can muster out; he hadn’t taken care of the spira blade – worry painting over his nerves.

“Since you liked the boots, I got an exact pair just like them, and some food if you want to try them out?” He keeps his words hushed, tender as Warren stares at the jacket on his lap. “I’ve gotten some stuff for the kavats too,” he sighs, looking over to where the pair of packages sit beside the bed.

Warren remains null; a stunned and nervous silence.

T’viska pats him on the back, a slight sigh, “get some rest, okay? When you have, we can go down to Mars for a bit, if you want.” He remains in his crouch, hand dropping down to mirror his other hand. “If you need anything, call for me. Suuir needs me to do some repairs.”

‘I’m waiting,’ the cephalon makes himself known across the screen before them – Warren flinches.

T’viska scowls.

With one more affirmative pat, the warframe stands. “Crenshaw will keep it warm for you,” he tempts to laugh, “the archives will be there when you wake up,” the warframe pauses, “when you can… get some sleep, alright?”

Warren says nothing, hands wringing in the jacket.

Silence persists as the warframe walks away, rounding back out of the residential quarters and leaving Warren to sit before the glass.

And cry.

[primedrogue]

Hive in the Rings

The Silent Kai zipped along the celestial road, her aquatic frame swimming in the void’s silence for the Saturn-based mining colony separate from the Grineer powers that still hold the claim for its diminished powers. Nestled within one of the many asteroids trapped in the gas giant's thousand rings, easily hidden from all but Tenno and the pirates that hid within. 

Converting with a slow deceleration and fit into a secondary dock after a quick exchange of codes, the orbiter made lock-contact. “We have arrived, Operator. Most of the summoned are already waiting on your appearance.” Amissa alarmed while the Warframe-lock twisted to allow the Excalibur Wulfrik to step off. A creature with wolfish steps and half-developed chitinous skin of metal and hardened flesh, the Mordred frame had a hefty ponytail of beaded braids and walked on clawed paws that made little but necessary sounds. Twin black blades crossed his lower back, the only visible weapons besides his powerful hands ending with natural knives.

Normally, Sariel had a penchant for his loftier elder frames but Wulfrik insisted. His clan leader couldn’t deny him the honour. The operator resting his aether within the flesh and mind of the Excalibur as the wolf-knight strode towards the dock’s entry where a couple guards of Corpus-handling approached.

“Afternoon, Tenno.” One of the guards greeted, keying in to allow him passed this point. Despite the precautions, it amused Sariel to no end that it was necessary. The boundless evidence that spacing out a Tenno and their warframe was rarely a successful idea, these facilities need some kind of reassurance or place of power against anyone coming aboard their turf. 

One colony tasted that false-hope this year already. Nevertheless, Sariel paid little mind and patiently waited before stepping on through. The colony was one of his more welcome spots, seeking information and trade with the pirates that were practically a personal asset to his operations around Jupiter.A symbiotic relationship that kept both and this place a functioning cycle. It was well-populated with the huffs and roll of gases in the dim-litted hive of life. Humans, grineer-clones, and refurnished Corpus tech with mrawling animals crossing here and there.

All of it easily represented by appearance of Captain Rebekk, a traitor-grineer.

His malformed face a twist of smile and metallic sneer with replacement arms wide from his rotten greatcoat. “Ah! My friend, it is good to see you aboard the colonial bay. Here to do business, yes? I’ve seen to it that our guests were given the best seats in my personally-favorite club. Good drinks, you know the Squirming Wyrm, hoho!” 

Wulfrik sneered with a low growl at the loud meatbag, tongue licking his iron teeth at the thought of chewing out his throat. Remaining calm by Sariel’s touch and his voice echoed through the warframe, “Oh Rebekk. You are too kind and bombastic as per usual. What could I do without you?” 

The pirate captain planted his fists to his waist, happily showing off his chest in pride. “Oh, you could handle yourself, my friend. With your shooters and frames, yes! Please, please - let us walk and talk. Things to say.” He insisted. Of course, he never approached Sariel so openingly and shower him so without something at the end of the praises.