drippiesfm

[drippiesfm]

"not selling anything," skeeter's rat-like voice enters the fray, hands in pockets, baggy jorts that match the purple bags under his eyes. he's been crying, obviously. "and i'm in no clubs - " that he was aware of, aside from the owning a dead girlfriend club. first his mom, now gabs, what was he supposed to do? just hang out with his dad for the rest of his life? ( he'd get tired of sharing his weed the the old man, honestly )

"you're not busy, you're just going to go home and play with your dolls, and i need you jo." he would be as annoying as he could. "i know it's been awhile, but I don't like any other scavengers and it's part of your job to look for things anyway."

he sweetens the deal, "i'm sure giovanni ryu would offer a reward for finding his granddaughter's soul." there's a whimper, somewhere in there- a soft sob for gabs worldly departure.

Jolene & Open Starter for Anyone!

Jolene's raincoat sleeves were sewn for taller people, longer limbed people. She was petite, which made her the first-choice to send into tight crawl spaces for Scavenging. Black fabric, with its cuffs of faux fur, draped limply over her hand. It hid the bandages, crusted reddish-brown from a Scavenging accident that morning. "I don't want to join your club," she said, through clenched teeth. "I don't want to join your cause. And I don't need whatever the fuck it is that you're selling."

Jolene glanced back, her jaw set sternly and brows furrowed.

"I'm too busy for that shit," she said.

That was, of course, a lie. Jolene's afternoon plans consisted of gluing a model robot in the same bedroom she'd slept in since she was nine years old. Those plans were shot, however, until the nerves in her dominant hand could regrow. So technically, her afternoon schedule was cleared.

[drippiesfm]

being the ✨ bestie - for lack of better terms✨ of a con artist wasn’t without its challenges ⸺ especially when said con artist was as devilishly charming and mischievous as gil. handsome, dastardly, and always up to something, sometimes inviting han in the action and other times forgetting about him.

even when han tries to stay mad at the grocery goblin, a smile inevitably breaks through. “maybe,” he teases, pointing a finger at gil, “you shouldn’t have skipped out on our weekly golden bachelorette watch party. then maybe you’d have a clue what i’ve been up to.” their sacred tradition 💖 watching joan’s journey to find love 💖 was a ritual not to be trifled with. it was law that they’d only talk during commercials, their commentary reserved for joan’s highs, lows, and those outrageously dramatic rose ceremonies.

Gilbert & Open Starter for Anyone!

It could've been a trick of the light. Like a chivalrous devil offering a pact, he stepped out from the shadows. Gilbert's clothes are ironed, his smile friendly, and his hands are clasped casually behind his back. "You are a very difficult person to contact," he said. "Or do you just not like me? Just so you know, ghosting hurts my feefees."

[drippiesfm]

"bryan..." a very long, impatient and enervated sigh leaves his lungs. no coffee could remove the tired exhaustion from this constant disagreement between the cousins. and though he isn't bryan's editor, he continues on as if he had a freckle of a say in what is put out by the publishers.

"if you continue this course of action, you're going to isolate your readers from a charming character that is far more than the two dimensional caricatures that you depict." bryan had heard this already a thousand times. in fact, han is quite certain that bryan has these words memorized, or perhaps has ignored them once again as he takes his sips from the precious bean water.

"you're limiting the character to tropes."

Bryan stares through sleep-darkened eyes at his cousin as he flourishes about and tries to lecture him about his sleeping habits, he didn't mean to fall asleep, he was just working to a strict dealine for his publisher and hadn't been getting enough rest at home. When the cup is finally placed in his hand he grunts in thanks and presses it to his lips, chugging it down as if it weren't scalding hot and were infact the elixir of immortality itself. He sighs in contentment and sits back in his chair, dropping the cup onto his desk and raising his arms up into a stretch, cracking his neck from side to side with audible pops as he acclimatises himself with the awakened world. "Hmm" he focuses on the edition in Hanjae's hand and smiles vaguely, he had a character in that particular novel that was inspired by his cousin and went by the name Jaehan, who in a personal joke, easter-egg kind of notion was drawn with a different nose in every volume (a la Flynn Ryder in Tangled), it was a little thing that gave him great joy but vexed the man opposite him greatly (which was all the more encouragement for him to continue). "I found this for inspiration" he rummages around in some papers in his drawer before plucking a piece of paper and holding it up for Han to see the image scribbled upon it. "I couldn't resist." There's a cheeky pull to the edge of his lips as he stares at his cousin, waiting for the reaction.

[drippiesfm]

“so, you’re a musician?” he tilts his head with genuine curiosity. artistic pursuits—whether musical, visual, or poetic—had never been his strong suit. creativity like that wasn’t exactly in his genes ( it went directly to bryan, of course ) despite his appreciation for the elegance of ancient lines from homer, miletus, or other classical poets. “or just fond of music?”

unfortunately for those around him, he’s earned the playful monikder professor penicillin, courtesy of at least one ( if not several ) friends. it’s a nickname well-deserved, given his habit of explaining things as though delivering a lecture. try as he might, that instinct is something he can’t quite turn off—particularly not when simon, his former professor, had been part of the equation. ( but he thinks simon is fond of those parts now ) when they inquire about the samples, it’s as though they’ve, how do you say, asked for it ( more lecturing ) “some old, some new,” he begins, “one should always keep a vial and scalpel handy, just in case they stumble across something noteworthy.” his collection of spores was more than a hobby—it was an ever-growing wilderness of fungal specimens. cultivated with care, “i’m especially fond of microscopic organisms. a whole world exists where we can’t see it... unless we look closer.”

The guy talks like he's giving a lecture to students—and Victor feels the mask of vapidity settle against his skin as an armor against whatever this conversation might be. A pill to eat. What a nightmare. The thought of it makes him wrinkle his nose at the fact. Taste and texture gone for nutrition and calories. He thinks he'd eat mutated meat first before trying it. At least he could season the damn things. A flare of annoyance has nearby lights flicker in response, before he remembers to tamp down against his emotions. Save it for the shows. "I just brought guitars, recorders—you know. Music stuff," he admits, though he omits the copious amounts of booze that he'd smuggled back into a suitcase. He needed something to do down there, after all. "What... samples? Samples for what?"

[drippiesfm]

“lick it,” he teases, his grin sharp with dubious intent. “i dare you.” the surgeon, of all people, really shouldn’t be handing out such reckless advice. but with his hands buried casually in his pockets, he takes a few deliberate steps closer to both them and the questionable slime. “you can see the sporangia,” he notes, crouching down for a closer look, his tone shifting to something almost clinical. “it’s terrestrial—free-living, but usually found in damp habitats: caves, rotting wood, that sort of thing.” without hesitation, he dips the tip of his finger into the yellow muck, the texture clinging to his skin in faint, gelatinous strings. holding it out toward wade with a devious smirk, he says, “you first.”

closed starter for @drippiesfm ft. han

⸻ wade popped a squat by a busted vent near the edge of the workers' district, carefully examining a very suspicious puddle of sludge with a look that could only be described as morbid curiosity. " huh," he muttered, jabbing the toe of his boot into the goop. "is this some kinda fungal science experiment gone wrong or is the city cryin' again?"

straightening up, he turned to the first person he spotted—unlucky for them. "hey, uh...professor weirdo, you wanna check this out or what? i got ten creds that say this slime's either sentient or radioactive, and i'm real close to licking it just to find out."

he paused, giving the other man a once-over. "wait, don't tell me, you're the guy who made this, aren't ya?"

[drippiesfm]

“oye, renato de niro,” he mutters through his teeth, the nickname laced with a teasing bite. what follows is a burst of draconian laughter that cracks through the air like lightning, sharp and electric. it fizzles out just as quickly, his breath settling into soft, smoky exhales that drift lazily from his snout. “of course i’m talking to you,” his tone teeters between amusement and teasing. did he have the right to feel offended? ( probably not. ) but he did anyway. “i’ve been looking for you. and your ma.” his words hang in the air, maybe—just maybe—this whole interaction would go smoother if he shifted. plus he could finally give the kid a hug after a decade or so.

It wasn't every day that Ren came across a dragon, especially not one who not only spoke to him, but recognized him. At first, Ren continues walking ( Who was he to know such a large dragon, after all? ). Only when the dragon continues calling after him does he finally stop ( He knows better than to not listen to a beast that much larger than him ). "Uh...sorry? Are you talking to me?"

[drippiesfm]

food motivation was his game, plain and simple. though, if he were being honest, he’d always thought of himself as a 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐲. not entirely broken in, but smart enough to carry someone on his back in an emergency. of course, they’d have to hold on tight and let him handle the steering—he was a free horse, not one of those racing types! horse!kyle greedily snatches the carrot, his tongue sweeping over the base of their palm in a decidedly horse-like gesture of gratitude. the deal is sealed.

“like a bee sting? or an—” his sentence breaks into a startled squeal as an unexpected goop begins to slide up his snout. he jerks his nose side to side, the sensation morphing from a sting to a faint prickling, then into an almost unbearable tickle. “what in the…” he mutters, eyes crossing momentarily to try and track the substance. the feeling spreads upward to his ears, then trails down along the back of his mane, leaving him twitching and shaking, bewildered by the bizarre transformation.

"price?" ezra laughs, but he does hand over another carrot. "i'm doing you a favor! this is top notch treatment, this is. 'course... it's not permanent—i don't know how to do that, yet—but it lasts a good while. so if you don't like it... tough! but it'll pass." some people might wonder why he didn't start with a warning, but... truthfully, kyle is lucky to get one at all. he's doing this experimentally. not exactly as top-notch as he's selling it. "oh, and—" he's already got his hand on their nose, darkness crawling down his arm and into their face; "—this might sting a little."

[drippiesfm]

unfortunately for the other, dario’s gaze remains unwavering, fixed intently on them. his eyes trace a path from the collar to their averted gaze, then to the space ( or lack thereof ) around the meniscus of the accessory. the amateur blacksmith can’t help but scrutinize the craftsmanship: rushed, clumsy, and ( honestly / embarrasingly ) terribly made. “that welding is…” he begins, pausing to choose his words carefully, not wanting to come off as rude. “...interesting.” the tone, however, betrays the diplomacy of his word choice.

on closer inspection, it’s clear the collar doesn’t fit properly. it looks uncomfortable, like it might pinch or snag if caught on something, and it certainly wasn’t designed for ✨ embellishments ✨

“i could fix it for you,” he offers, his voice softer now, tinged with sincerity. “if that’s something you’re interested in.”

"Hm?" he's so distracted by the sheer bulk of the stranger that it takes him a moment to even process what he's saying. Morrigan had noticed the man, but pointedly looked anywhere else but him out of sheer embarrassment. As though he could read his mind. (It's always a possibility! Anyone could be a mind reader nowadays!) Only when sees the man's intense gaze on his neck does it click. "Oh." Morrigan looks down, cheeks flushed as he fumbles with his shirt. The collar sits in a thin line at the base of his neck, usually hidden if he's careful. He's awkward as hell and he keeps missing the buttonhole. Fucking idiot, he thinks, only finding it more difficult as he tries harder. "I-Yeah I know."

[drippiesfm]

“time?” he echoes, the draconian accent curling around the word like smoke billowing towards the clouds. “plenty of time. all the time in the world, actually.” his tone is casual —days off were flexible, dictated by the number of motorcycles in need of customization. and, as always, there was only so much chrome to go around. “i could keep a lookout while you do your thing?” he offers, the scales along his spine quaking with a barely-contained enthusiasm his face refuses to betray. ( he's got a rep to protect ) “how long? minutes? hours? days?”

How many dragons was Scout really going to trust in one lifetime? But, at the same time, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't morbidly curious, as per usual. A birds eye view of the wastes would be hard to pass up. Even a flyover would be so compelling to see. So few people really got a chance to see things from above like that anymore. "I think it just depends on how big you need the mountain to be, and how much time you've got. Growing a Mountain was going to take longer than her usual dunes and hills.

[drippiesfm]

“well, why’s that?” he asked, scrunching his nose at simon as though trying to sniff out bad habits like they might somehow be visible.“you a bad guy or something?” simon didn’t exactly look the part, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. “besides,” he added with a casual shrug, “it’s just sweet and salty. like peanut butter chocolate pretzels.” the comparison was simple but effective, but not exactly accurate.

"I wouldn't say I'm overly fond of myself. But I know enough that tater tots do not mix. Even imagining the smell makes me nauseous."

[drippiesfm]

“it is kind of important, fins,” he says, his tone firm but not confrontational. he’s not trying to argue, nor does he want to come across as a bother, but this needs to be said. anyone who dared to call his friend dumb was crossing a line, plain and simple—an enemy, as far as he was concerned, and enemies needed to be dealt with. skeeter? sure, they could call him a dumbass all day long. but fins? never. “you have no idea how often i hear it,” he continues, his voice dipping into something softer, more vulnerable. “sometimes... sometimes it’s easy to believe them, you know?”

"not important," he answers, shaking his head. it's not. he's heard it a lot more times than he cares to remember. "but... thank you. for saying that." except, now he's a little confused... "...do people call you dumb, too? you're really smart to me."

[drippiesfm]

his lungs expand, then deflate in a long, heavy sigh as his mind turns the idea over. truth be told, he’d rather go with scout than let her curiosity get the better of her and risk her venturing off without him. he was the more durable one ⸺ given his regenerative healing factor... “okay. you’ve got a point,” he concedes, rubbing his hands together in mock resignation. after a brief pause, he gives her a single, decisive nod. “fine, fine, fine,” he repeats, the words tumbling out as if to convince himself. “let’s go before you change my mind.”

"Fun for me, at least." Clearly it was not a sentiment that he could match, but she certainly found the fun in adventures like this. More so lately with feeling so trapped. This is not the first naysayer she's met. She's used to these arguments at this point. "Yes, but some secrets can change life as we know it for the better. I don't know, I'm always up for some discoveries."

[drippiesfm]

a shade of shyness colors his face as he fumbles to explain. he wasn’t used to someone being this interested in his abilities—or in him, for that matter. typically his routine consisted of work, jaguars thievery, a comic book read before bed and wake and repeat. “it just... kind of comes naturally,” he begins, though the words feel clumsy even to him. “or, well, as naturally as it can be. it’s like... like a limb growing, but with a mind of its own. except it’s got its own limbs. and its own... thing.” he trails off, realizing how absurd he sounds.

clearing his throat, he tries again. “we can communicate verbally, of course, but it’s more than that. we can also... read each other’s minds sometimes. ” he hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “though, really, it’s kind of the same mind, if that makes sense.” he takes a tiny pause, hoping the reference lands, "you know the movie alien? how the xenomorphs have like the hive mind." his brow furrows as he continues. “kind of like that. sometimes i can catch tiny thoughts and steer them in the right direction, but other times, i have to focus completely. and if i don’t, well...” his voice fades, the unspoken consequences hanging in the air in the form of chris.

glancing over at boy, he shakes his head firmly. “no guards. no police. right, buddy?” he assumes that a kid like chris, left to fend for himself, has learned the hard way who can and can’t be trusted. police, when he was younger and without grown ups to watch after him were always bad news.

turning back to ren, he offers a tentative solution, trying to appeal to both of them. “we could take him back with me. like a slumber party. that’d be fun, right?” he can tell the kid isn’t sold. but he grins, attempting to win them over. “we could watch my favorite movie,” he suggests, pausing dramatically. “you know, the one about an ogre and a talking donkey?” his grin widens. “and in the morning? we can make waffles.”

Ren considers Kyle’s offer, though he finds himself lost in his own gaze. Kyle actually…wanted his help? He’d offered such to others before, but many took offense to it. Why did they want some strange kid much younger than them organizing their lives? Ren had learned to not offer anymore, or only to joke about it. He’d expected Kyle to nod along, laugh that it was a good idea, but then not utilize any of his ideas. 

Kyle’s trembling lip tells Ren that he’s being fully serious. 

“I think…I’d need to learn a little more, first,” He ultimately decides. “You know? How your…um…duplicated work, how you communicate with them, how you learn…” Within his chest, his heart skips a beat. In order to help Kyle out, he’ll have to start spending a lot more time with him…But maybe, perhaps, that wasn’t such a bad thing. He didn’t have many people in Sol City just yet…and so far, he’d enjoyed all the time he had hung out with Kyle.

For instance, he has no idea what he means when he says his duplicates are offline. He wants to ask what that means. Are they reabsorbed? How are Kyle’s duplicates even made? Are either of those questions offensive to ask? “You have to…take notes about your duplicates?” No, Kyle’s explanation doesn’t exactly make sense, but Ren’s sure it’s like most experiences in life: you won’t fully understand the depth of it until its been experienced itself. When Kyle crouches down, Ren remembers the very real, much more pressing problem in front of them: the little boy from seemingly nowhere. The little boy shakes his head. No, he doesn’t know where his parents are. Ren looks to Kyle. “What should we do?” He asks. “Should we bring him to like…the local guard? Or…” Ren didn’t like his first idea, but was unsure what other options there were. His question remains unformed, hanging hopelessly in the air between them.

[drippiesfm]

feed him more carrots, and honestly, kyle would be up for just about anything. it was the only vegetable he could tolerate. cucumbers? they tasted like stale pickles. lettuce? nothing more than crunchy water. celery? assy grass. and beets? dirt—just dirt. as a horse, cooking wasn’t exactly part of his daily routine, so his dietary preferences stayed simple and unrefined. carrots, sugar cubes, maybe an apple here or there, but the fact remained, he didn't have to feed himself. “price? more carrots,” he declared, though the words likely emerged as a throaty whinny, his tone unmistakably horse-like given the equine filter.

starter for @drippiesfm !! ( for kyle )

"you've got a good thing going here," bit odd, talking to a horse... but that's how it goes sometimes! "but i think there's some room for improvement, don't you? what do you say, big guy? i could have you in twice the condition you're in now." what's the price? well, um... they'll see.

[drippiesfm]

"you have no idea how much you're depriving your taste buds, like just say you hate yourself."

"There is no amount of money in the world that could make me try that."

[drippiesfm]

kyle wasn’t fully aware of the dangerous proposition he’d just placed himself in. unseen forces—whispers of caution—murmured warnings into the void, unheard by the ever-oblivious horseboy. yet he pressed on, undeterred, ���yeah, like... a pound of coffee for, i don’t know, a get-out-of-jail-free card?” he suggested, his tone as nonchalant as if he were bartering for a pack of gum. he paused for a beat, letting the idea linger. “not that i ever get in trouble,” he added with a self-assured smirk. “it’s kinda hard to get locked up when you don’t get caught. but, you know, like... for collateral damage or whatever.”

"An alliance?" Adonis considers it, as if a parent considering the babblings of their toddler—adorable but incoherent. He doesn't want to form an alliance with him, but the thought of Adonis interacting with the Jaguars? Well, as a mostly-human faction with a couple of mutants under their thumb, there's simply no telling what things they could dig up. Illicit drugs, less-than legal items. The offer of a trade, however? Sticks with Adonis. Just as well—if he can't find coffee beneath the rock, he'd go mad. "Sure," he purrs, "Tell me what the terms of the trade is."

[drippiesfm]

it meant a lot—honestly. but he didn’t let it get to him anymore, not like he used to. back when he was younger, it had been a constant struggle, scanning crowds and feeling the green sting of envy at those father-son relationships he could never quite relate to. at least he’d always had friends to lean on, and that was something. “thanks,” he said softly, his voice laced with a sincerity he quickly deflected with a chuckle, cracking the vulnerability just enough to keep things light. “you’re not too bad yourself, you know. as far as baking partners go, you’re solid.”

he smirked, letting the pun roll off his tongue with shameless ease. “at yeast we have each other.”

"seriously?" it's a little surprising to him that kyle hasn't told every single joke that's ever come to mind already. how many jokes can one person have, anyway? but more important than any joke is the vulnerability of kyle's honesty. it softens adrian somewhat—he knows what it's like to go without a parent. not the same situation, of course ( his father was very present ) but what kind of person would he be if he couldn't sympathize?" hey, man. that's his loss. i may give you a hard time, but you're probably the best person to be out here with. if i wasn't groaning at your jokes, we'd just be sitting here baking."