#Gonna Be Chillin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aspergerasparagus · 3 months ago

Note

Question: What do you think will be the reaction of the three rabbits to their strange dream

In a dream Lucky was playing with the rabbit's ear before kissing In Frankie mouth

How will each the reaction be?

real frankie cartoon frankie monster frankie

and What did they think of their dream When they wake up from their sleep

This was supposed to be shorter. Woopsie. Tw/ lil suggestive nothing to bad.

Real Frankie:

Of course Frankie had dreamt about his little contestant many times before. Admittedly they were mostly just a prop to them listing off new ideas for the show or there to shower him with money as the viewership went up. You know, normal things. But tonight the man was taking a slightly different role, one Frankie hadn’t seen before.

They were sitting in the rabbit’s office but Lucky had forgoed his usual seating arrangement and was instead perched beside the rabbit on the edge of his desk, looking at him expectantly. Frankie was immediately aware this must be a dream. His money maker never let himself act so lax around him, let alone look at him like that. Smirking he just shrugged and decided to see how this would play out, it could prove to be entertaining at least.

Reaching out Lucky gently cupped Frankie’s cheeks, giving him some small scratches behind the little tufts he had. Frankie just let out a soft purr, he never could resist this type of attention even in a dream.

“You alright there Frankie? You seem quiet.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft as he spoke, nothing like the brash tone he typically used.

“Hmm, just thinking is all. Nothing to worry about Lucky.” The man just nodded before he finally pulled back as he reached up and removed his mask and hood, letting the rabbit see the soft smile that graced his lips. Oh yeah this was definitely a dream.

Frankie was just about to comment on how unlike himself this dream Lucky was acting only to find himself cut off as his contestant lifted his head, the space between them negligible now. He felt them playing with one of his ears as they studied him closely.

“You know I haven’t thanked you properly. For all you’ve done for me that is.”

“Oh?” The rabbit was too intrigued now to see where his processors were going to take this, so he continued to play into the scene.

“Maybe I could think of a way to show you just how grateful I really am~?” The suggestive tone and heavy lidded eyes didn’t escape the rabbit’s attention.

“I’d like to see what you have in mind my little rabbit~” He heard the man giggle softly, a small dusting of blush appearing on their cheeks. Then predictably they leaned forward placing their lips against the rabbit’s, a shy kiss but with promises of more to come.

Frankie couldn’t take it anymore, he suddenly burst into a fit of laughter causing the dream Lucky to pull away. His Lucky would never act anything like this. It was comical just how much this one was acting like a stereotypical love interest, honestly it was kinda cringey. A sudden change came over the dream Lucky, the love struck damsel turning into a grouchy man who shot the rabbit a dirty look.

“Bastard, I try to do something nice and this is the thanks I get? Asshole!” This only made Frankie laugh even harder as he dragged the now kicking man into his arms to nuzzle him. Yep he much preferred this version of Lucky. It was much more fun.

“There’s the lucky contestant I know. Now about showing me just how grateful you are~”

“In your dreams, you oversized rodent!”

Cartoon Frankie:

Of course the rabbit was confused to say the least. No one should be able to enter the strange warped space he called home, unless one of the animators placed them here of course. But there he was, that troublesome man that The Other insisted on keeping around as their personal little human pet. It made the toon’s blood boil just looking at them, especially as when they noticed him he could tell they were smirking.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, puffball.” Frankie felt his eyebrow twitch at the nickname. The bastard had been using it for a while now given how much it riled the rabbit up. It was insulting cute and pissed him off regardless.

“Piss off human! I don’t have the energy to deal with you today. Why don’t you go and play with that reject of yours? How close are you two to starting an OF account by the way?” The remarks were cruel of course, he always was. Anything to get under the man’s skin and piss him off. Alas they only broke out into laughter, obviously more amused than anything with the rabbits' rant.

“Oh someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today! And is that a hint of jealousy I hear?”

“J-Jealousy?! As if I’d have anything to be jealous of from that waste of spare parts! I’m the star here, remember! The only reason he’s even still around is because of that little trick he pulled last season. Ruined my whole fucking game show just save his own hide!” The audacity of this man! Frankie could already feel his fur bristling up, his teeth going sharp as he got more and more furious. He wasn't going to listen to this piece of shit any longer. He had too much dignity and self respect to let him get to him in his own home! Turning on his heel he proceed to storm off, refusing to humour the human any longer

“That is true, can’t argue with you there. But there is still one thing he has that you don’t…”

That got Frankie to stop dead in his tracks, his fur standing on end as a shiver went through him. Swallowing, he slowly looked back over his shoulder, only to see the human towering over him, their mask now gone and a cruel smile plastered across their face. How did they-?

“Do you know what that is, Frankie~?” The sickly sweet tone they were using just made the rabbit nervously swallow. He knew, he knew in the back of his head, but he wouldn’t dare admit it. Not even to himself. The Lucky in front of him just chuckled as he crouched down so they were eye level now. His hands came out to cup the toons’ cheeks, causing him to immediately melt at his touch. He was powerless as the man gently petted him, so desperate for even the slightest physical affection that he’d already started to purr softly, his foot thumping against the floor. He must look like a truly pathetic sight.

He heard Lucky chuckle as he pulled the rabbit closer to him, able to feel their breath now against his lips causing him to whimper softly. This was too much. It was overwhelming. Opening his eyes to finally face the human in front of him, he saw their eyes sparkling with mischievous joy, obviously more than pleased with his reaction. And finally they spoke again.

“M.E. Me~” The teasing tone had gotten to the rabbit as he felt his face beginning to burn as he went completely red. This was not happening. He refused to let this human tease him like this.

He tried to will himself to yank himself free. To tell that human to go and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Hell, tell him to go swim in the slime for all he cares. But he couldn’t. He wanted this too badly, even if he refused to admit it to himself. He wanted this human to tease him, to mock him, to give him attention, to give him affection. He was helpless and wrapped around his little finger now.

“Good boy, Frankie.” That was the final nail in the coffin as Frankie gave in to the dream as he felt the contestant’s lips crash against his. It was a rough kiss and Frankie didn’t hesitate for a second as he wrapped his arms around the man dragging him in further as he shoved his tongue into their mouth as they crashed to the floor. He wasn’t letting them go now. They were his.

Monster Frankie:

Frankie had to admit he didn’t dream particularly often, and if he did then he normally didn’t really recall them the moment he woke up. Just fleeting memories of previous seasons or predictions for future ones. Nothing particularly interesting. That was until he popped up in one for the first time.

The dream had started off as they always did, Frankie barreling after a gaggle of contestants, all of them screaming and trying desperately to escape the rabbit’s clutches. One by one they fell to him. Each torn to pieces more gruesomely than the one before, until only one remained. This one was sat upon a piece of equipment, their head tilted slightly as they observed him. Growling the monster made his way towards them, stalking up to them, getting ready to pounce the moment they made a run for it. But instead they just sat there, watching him, waiting for him. This was unusual to say the least, no one had done this before except…

Realisation dawned on him as his processors finally realised who it was, the figure finally chuckling as if they could read his mind and had been waiting for this moment. Frankie groaned but he couldn’t deny the sudden rush he felt, his favourite play thing was here. Finally getting to their feet the contestant locked eyes with the rabbit before beckoning to him, a teasing look in their eye. Come and get me.

Frankie didn’t need to be told twice, the provocation only getting him more worked up as he let out a sudden roar and barreled towards them. Of course the contestant was off like a bolt, expertly manoeuvring themselves around the obstacles, but Frankie never let them out of his sight. To have prey that didn’t instantly die, cower or just piss themselves was so exhilarating. To finally have something worthy of him, to have someone who was just as invested in the thrill of the hunt, even if they were the one being hunted, was such a refreshing thing that Frankie had found himself almost hoping they were never caught just so he could do it again. And given the way the contestant would taunt him, the excitement in their eyes, the smile he knew was plastered on their face under that mask, he was sure they wanted the same thing.

Of course tho, they couldn’t keep this up forever. One of them was bound to slip up or tire soon enough, it was an inevitability. This time it was the contestant, who stumbled as Frankie launched a surprise swipe at them causing them to crash to the ground in a heap as Frankie pounced on them, their mask being sent scattering to the floor. He easily pinned them down with one hand as they squirmed under him before finally just shrugging and flopping back as they caught their breath. He liked seeing them like this. Out of breath and trapped beneath him. Powerless but accepting of their loss. Of course they typically would lash out, Frankie haven caught a few wild haymakers to the nose and eyes before, but for now they were accepting their defeat graciously. A low rumbling noise escaped him as he leant over them, teeth bared, ready to end this.

That was until the contestant reached out, scratching him behind the ears. Instantly he let out a low purr and flopped down onto their chest. His one weakness. He couldn’t resist the back of his ears being petted and now was no different as he buried his face under their chin, whining for more. This was how things typically played out whenever he caught the little human. He wasn’t allowed to kill them (yet) but he still demanded some sort of reward for being the victor and this was appropriate compensation.

“Okay, okay I’ve got you. Easy now!” He heard them laugh as they moved down to scratch his cheeks, earning another purr. Such a funny little human. He hadn’t met one like that before, well one that had survived long enough for them to prove interesting enough. He felt them push his head off, making his eyes snap open as he let out a low warning growl.

“Oh hush, I just don’t want you crushing me. You’ll still get your reward…” As promised once he was sat up he placed the rabbit’s head in his lap and resumed petting him.

“See, all good. So no more growling at me alright?” Frankie just huffed and rolled his eyes but did settle down, snuggling against his legs.

He wondered if The Other got this type of attention too? He never honestly thought about it too much, given that he mostly just followed their orders to make the show more interesting or to get information on where contestants were. But he knew the contestant and him were close, but given how he saw them interact he was sure the man wouldn’t let that rabbit within touching distance if he could help it. So maybe this type of interaction was reserved only for him. A special thing only for him for being good at his job.

His thoughts were cut off suddenly as he felt the contestant lifting his head so they could face one another. Frankie was about to snap at him again but instead was cut off as the man pushed his lips to his. The rabbit instantly froze before yanking himself away, his fur on end as he just blinked wide eyed at them. That was definitely new. He’d never been kissed before and couldn’t tell if he hated it or liked it. As he was processing what had just occurred he watched as the contestant just smirked before taking off once more.

“Distraction!” Oh that rotten little fucker! Frankie could only snort and grin as he charged after them, choosing to focus on the fleeing little rabbit in front of him rather than the tingling that still played on his lips. He’d process that more when he woke up, if he remembered it.

The following morning:

The 3 Frankies were in the server room, waiting for Lucky to join them. “Real” Frankie seemed the most chipper out of the 3. His grin wider than usual as he eagerly awaited his little money maker's arrival. Meanwhile “Cartoon” Frankie looked exhausted and pissed off, the background of his screen kept glitching, his teeth showing sharp as he chewed on the end of his 3rd cigarette of the morning. “Monster” Frankie on the other hand seemed to be acting like his typical self, keeping himself preoccupied by scribbling on some pages he had found, unaware of the tension that was mounting in the room.

“Where the fuck is that little shit?! How long does he expect to keep us fucking waiting?” The Frankie on the screen was the first to break the silence as he discarded his cigarette only to pull out a fresh one immediately. “Real” Frankie just shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing him.

“It’s only just turned 8. He’s probably just grabbing breakfast and then he’ll be up. You do realise I only asked him to meet us at 8:30 right?” The screen glitched as Frankie growled at the announcer.

“I don’t care, go do your fucking job and get his ass up here before I send him to go drag him up here in pieces!” The rabbit motioned to their companion who now registered them both, eyes flicking between them before raising an eyebrow at his fellow robot, the implication clear.

Leaning back Frankie, regarded the screen properly.

“Are you okay, boss? You seem… ” The Frankie beside him held up a piece of paper, a word scribbled on it. “Frustrated.”

“I am not frustrated! I’m just pissed at being made to wait! Could you two get off my fucking back!” The robot rabbit just looked at one another, something had definitely happened, the toon usually managed to keep his composure a little better than this.

“Is that so? Guess someone just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today…” Bad choice of words as the toon immediately went bright red as they shot the rabbit a death glare.

“Zip. It.” His voice was low, but the shake in it was clear. He was beyond embarrassed after being forced to remember last night. “Monster” Frankie just looked at his digital counterpart with a confused look while his companion just gave them a cruel smile.

“Oh did something happen in dreamland last night, boss~? Want to share it with the group?”

“Eat shit and die you useless hunk of scrap!”

“I’m going to take that as a yes. I’m also going to assume it had something to do with my little contestant~ Having naughty dreams about him are we.” The teasing tone just made Frankie explode, his eyes turning to fire as he began to scream at his counterpart, cursing him out but confirming it was the truth.

“Nothing happened, you waste of metal! As if I would stoop to dreaming about that hunk of meat!”

“Someone’s protesting a little too much, methings. But whatever, we all dream about our little contestant from time to time. I know I do~” The rabbit could only smirk as the cartoon flipped him off. During this time “Monster” Frankie had just watched this all going on silently, really not caring to butt in. That was until The Other’s comment caused something to flicker in his head. Chirping he pointed at himself, catching both the other Frankies’ attention. They both looked confused until the both immediately caught on, yelling at him in unison.

“What the hell do you mean you dreamt about him too?!” It was at this point that the door to the server room suddenly clanged open as Lucky entered, his mask off as he shoved toast into his mouth.

“Sorry I’m late, burnt my hand on the toaster because it ate my brea… um… you guys all right?” He stalled as the three rabbits swivelled to stare him down, each glaring at him. He obviously didn’t know what was going on but he could feel the tension immediately. And knew he was in trouble.

“FRANKIE GET HIM!” Lucky barely had time to yank his mask back down as “Monster” Frankie suddenly bolted for him on his boss’s command. They both careened out the room, the sound of Lucky cursing them all out as the rabbit eagerly bounded after him, crashing into something as they went, leaving just The Other and the digital Frankie in awkward silence. The toon could only bury his face in his hands, steam pouring off him as the robot just regarded him and snickered.

“Bit of an extreme reaction to having a wet dream about someone.”

“Shut up before I order him back up here to get you instead.”

#my writing #finding frankie #real frankie #cartoon frankie #monster frankie #rabbitroyale #shout out to monster he just chillin #gonna be real toons is my fav. honestly just i wrote his the best cos if one did get this it would be him #would i write the whole dream?? maybe if people wanted it

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thegreatyin · 22 days ago

Text

On heartbreak, homunculi, and the small yet very awkward matter of shooting one's girlfriend in the neck over your ex

OR: How The Doomed Scientist has been coping in the aftermath of his ambition (Badly. The answer is very very badly indeed.)

OR: A loosely abridged summary of an RP between myself and @superoffbatter, posted on Tumblr for OC lore purposes.

OR: Major spoilers for the entirety of the Nemesis ambition, as well as minor spoilers for Bag a Legend and a brief spot of blog-typical spoilers for a certain "powerful" ending of Heart's Desire.

OR: What The Plutonian Shadow's deal actually is.

So.

In order to explain this long and complicated tale, we're going to need to set a good bit of groundwork first. For some, this will effectively be a recap. For others, it will be important new lore that will harm us later.

Let's dive right in, shall we?

The Doomed Scientist- also known by his real name, Caeru- has a long and storied history of obsessing over serving others. He's always had this concept in his head that he needs to help, he needs to give himself up for the good of everyone around him, and if he's not doing that then he barely deserves to live at all.

This is the mindset that drove his quest to kill Mr Cups. He wasn't doing it for himself. He was doing it for everyone Cups has hurt, everyone Cups has murdered, every other victim that died so it could fulfill its need for stories of vengeance and misery. During his ambition, he very much saw himself as nothing more than a tool and a weapon to be pointed and used as the dead saw fit.

His own emotions didn't matter. His own grief, all-consuming as it was, didn't matter. Cups needed to die.

Cups- Cups needed to-

Oh, fuck.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He had an obligation towards those that died, towards his lover, towards everyone who ever wanted the beast dead. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't.

No matter how much he desperately, desperately wanted to.

For the first few weeks after his ambition concluded, Caeru was inconsolable. He was wracked with guilt over ""failing"" to save his former paramour, even more than he was already- for god's sake, the man could've been revived! He could've lived again! He deserved to live again!

And Caeru failed him. He failed to serve him. To be useful. To be good. To be worthy of living.

He... lost it, just a little bit. He became obsessed with fixing this perceived flaw in himself. This perceived flaw in everything. He couldn't sleep yet, he couldn't die yet, not when his love deserved to live.

Deserved to come back.

And. I mean. Well.

How hard could it be, really?

Cups was a Master, yes, and the Masters are lying conniving tyrants- but this was a promise it staked its life upon. A promise it gave on its deathbed. It clearly knew that Caeru could kill it, will kill it, and thus it had no reason to lie-

Cups could have brought his lover back. The Scientist knew that, intimately.

What he didn't know was how. But... well, that's alright, isn't it? He's created life before.

Lenses are arranged, corpses are arranged in a circle, their skin parted carefully with a knife. When the lenses are aligned correctly, the flesh will coalesce into the correct shape.

There are some venge-rats that dedicate themselves to a vengeance so thoroughly that there is nothing left of them but this one desire. When they die, their corpses are saturated with this emotion- but nothing else. When the Academic's machinery leaps to life (more slowly then the one at Station VIII, of course) it drains this, and leaves only withered shells in its wake. Perfect vessels.

Soon, the Knot of Tails reappears in the mirror. In its little coils of many paws, shimmering lights rest- memories. Reflections of rays of light long forgotten by the waking world.

And the false-Noman twists.

It turns.

Second by second, it looks more and more like a person.

When it looks up and smiles a shaky smile, its face is human- and two delicate flowers adorn its hair. The snow lacing its body curls like silk, the nails on its hands delicate and precise and perfect

It doesn't move, for a second. Two. Three.

And then the Rosette Yearner opens her eyes.

All he has to do is perfect the process.

The Yearner reaches a trembling hand up to her head, pursuing her lips in thoughtful silence. She blinks, slowly- once, twice. The silence is finally broken when she speaks, a trembling lilt, her words falling like petals from their stem.

"I'm alive.”

It's cold, unfeeling, distant. Like she's only talking about the weather.

Caeru's first attempt at artificial life, The False Yearner- she who would later be dubbed The Vake Yearner- is a complicated figure. Born out of an insanely long RP exchange with @superoffbatter, she is a ghost in all but name. A failed attempt to replicate a certain Scoundrel's past self, all while her makers were unaware that her and the Scoundrel were one in the same.

Except while the Scoundrel pursued ambitions of power, glory, and transformation, the Yearner ultimately took a different path. A darker path.

The Yearner stumbles over the mirror as they both exit through the window of the Royal Bethlehem. She sighs. "Where to go, now?" she whispers. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay like this. I want to... do something."

The Silverer shrugs. "It's up to you. I suppose you could hunt the Vake if all else fails?" It's an offhandedly thrown joke, but the Yearner stops moving.

She considers it in her head. She takes a deep breath.

The Vake, huh. The Vake.

She became an avid hunter of the Neath's most infamous monster.

Her relationship with her creator is strained at best. For the most part, they've refused to acknowledge each other- they've hardly even spoken since the incident of her creation, save for a brief yet notable encounter at the Captivating Princess' last masquerade ball.

Someone steps closer to the Scientist, staring him in the eyes. The atmosphere grows colder.

It's a woman in a large fur-trimmed overcoat, with thick gloves and a staggeringly realistically furred marsh-wolf mask. The cosmogone shade of her eyes reveals her identity- the False Yearner- or, as some have taken to call her, the Vake-Yearner. The mask, now that the Scientist gives it a better look, is very obviously made from a real marsh-wolf, but the expert skill behind it... it's Snuffer-made.

The Yearner got a Snuffer to pull off a wolf's face for her. How curious.

"My other self's fiancé." she says, in a monotone. "And their pet Drownie. How curious. How droll."

The Scientist's face may be hidden behind a mask, but nothing could ever hope to conceal his alarmed blanch, the widening of his eyes, the shift of his stance- distinctly defensive, like a prey animal ready to flee at any moment.

"Yearner." his tone is one of forced detachment. "I never took you as someone who'd.. enjoy this sort of thing."

A glance to the side, where violant eyes (albeit from a distance) still gleam amidst the other invitees. Their mask is smiling, even if their lips are pulled into a wickedly fanged frown.

His mask tips downward. He doesn't retract this statement.

It ended... well. Shall we say. Poorly.

He is allowed in the scene- and witnesses the frozen corpses.

Dead, for sure, though how permanent it will be is yet to be tested. A thin layer of frost clings to their skin, and the scene is obviously filled with signs of struggle. Eight bodies, all trying to leave the room as they were cut down- all trying to escape.

Signs of a blunt instrument. Some of them were smashed against the walls, against the ground- one had both arms torn off. Frozen splatters of blood cover the walls.

The Yearner is nowhere to be seen.

The Yearner, after all, is what can best be described as an immortal and unmelting Noman, sustaining herself off of nothing but sorrow and human hearts. Her very existence is built upon blood and misery. She thrives off it. Needs it to survive, to live, to flourish.

Nobody deserves that kind of existence. Not even the Scoundrel's very own doppelganger.

But she's alive. And she did come back from some sort of death, hellish and ironic and false as it may be. It can be done.

The Scientist has done it before.

He can do it again.

He will do it again.

And so Caeru works. And works. And works.

To serve. To fix. To help. Finally, he's going to rectify his mistake, going to make everything better, going to give his lover the life he knows they deserve. This is a noble service. A noble obligation. The last attempt may have failed, but this- this cannot fail- he will not let himself fail, not again, not ever.

And nothing can stand in his way. Nothing except-

"Caeru?" a voice can be heard, knocking on the door to the Scientist's laboratory. "Are you there?"

Were one to look through the one-way glass window, they would see the Silverer, looking worried. "Where were you?" she says. "I haven't seen you all week. What has got you locked in there?" she taps again, more hurried-

-His current paramour, The Snowswept Silverer.

A loud crash echoes at the Silverer's sixth knock. Someone curses. The door slams open harsh enough to send her flinching back, the Scientist standing in the doorway with a look of pure vitriol- then, far slower than his typical reaction speed, his fury ebbs.

"Louise." his voice is gratingly hoarse, his hair tied in a half-hazard bun via a thoroughly exhausted ribbon struggling to keep the strands together (it would be a cute look, if not for the blue hue in his cheeks and the blood and dirt caking his arms). His laboratory is- cold. Blisteringly cold. He's barely even shivering, but- surely it can't be healthy, staying in there for so long-?

"I'm... working." he stresses the word as though it's an obvious and irrefutable explanation. "Can we talk in-" he looks back, "A month?" he has the audacity to pause thoughtfully. "Two?"

And thus the preamble concludes, and the pieces and players of our play all finally fall into place.

"...Caeru, I’m not stupid." Louise replies, giving him a throughly unimpressed look. "Is this yet another Yearner situation?"

The accompanying dumbfounded expression that her paramour produces would cause her some amount of delight, were this any other situation. As it is, she is simply more worried- and a fair bit annoyed, as well. "Yes, I know you were involved with her creation, somehow. You and the Academic were rather obvious about it. Whatever you've been doing inside this laboratory, Caeru, it's not nearly as discreet as you think it is. You have a budget, and whenever you ask for it to be extended or spend carelessly on a new batch of supplies, people see it happen-”

Her paramour squirms uncomfortably. She continues her rant unabated.

“-The GHR is in fact a major supplier of experimental materials for the University. As long as it's an import from the Hinterlands, I know what comes in here and what comes out. And I know for sure a certain Yearner has also been looking around your laboratory. I would have left you to your devices, but this will lead to a disaster if I don't interfere."

Her hand- which he notices is clawed- is putting quite a lot of pressure on his shoulder. "Tell me, Caeru. What have you been doing?"

He gulps. The look in her eyes is... serpentine in its wrath, even. Like a Knot who's just caught a scout from the Court of Cats intruding into its home. It's a look that demands an account.

His expression twists- regret, guilt, frustration, desperation. "Louise," he says softly, "Please, just- just give me more time. A week or two more, and- and this will all be done and over with. You'll never have to hear about it again. Please."

He tries to shy away from her hand and take a step back- it's not exactly successful, given his strength relative to hers. His hands tremble. His arms are slick and ruby red- weeping scars, never bandaged-

"I don't want to fight you." a rustle, as one hand drifts down to his pocket, so quiet as to be barely noticeable. "Please." he begs again. "Please don't make me fight you. It's not like the Yearner, it's- it's important, I can't just- please don't make me. Please."

Needless to say, things quickly go from bad to worse.

"Go ahead. Fight her." another voice, intensely recognizable, echoes through the corridor. The Scoundrel's voice- but colder. Less shrill. Less amused. "She won't leave you alone, and neither will I."

The Yearner stands there. Her feathery black dress is covered in blood- fresh. Going by the faint gurgling sounds, someone tried to block her way- and she reacted as she often does.

"I could feel something happening down here. I didn't know what it was, but it felt... important. Thank you for the confirmation that it was very important indeed." she steps forward. In her hand is a large spike of ice, the size of a sword. "Will you let me see it, Caeru? Or shall I tell your husband of what you’ve done? Of how I came to be? I still have that to hold over you, at least. I wonder if they would like to know what happened to that cufflink." the word is hissed, and she smiles in delight at the way he flinches.

(It's... so recognizable, Caeru realizes, and yet so twisted. They sound completely identical. If one were to ignore the face made of ice, they would even be able to identify the similarities- and the sharp differences. It's a little bit disquieting, to see her face. The Scoundrel does... does not make this kind of expression, even at their worst. The only kind of person who does is a certain Mr Veils. It's the sort of look only someone who delights in misery shows.)

He has no other options. No other way out.

He will not fail again. He will never let himself fail again.

A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all at once, before he can even so much as blink. The window- no. The door- terrifyingly fragile. The mirrors- if they weren't already swarming with serpents, he'd be shocked. No solution comes without violence, without- he can't lose again, he can't leave again, he-

The Scientist draws fast as a lightning bolt and shoots his paramour square in the chest, flipping the pistol and shooting a second time for good measure. The desperate scream of his apology can barely be heard over the slam of the door, the clicking of several dozen locks, the mad dash to retrieve something before what little safety he has inevitably gives way.

His prize is bundled in rags, apocyan soaking through the white cloth, pieces of shattered diamond and wood clippings scattered half-hazardly all over the floor-

Run. Run.

Thus the infamous girlfriend shooting incident. Don't worry, she gets better. For the most part.

Everyone else, well... they get substantially worse.

The Scientist acts on instinct, cradling his experiment against his chest. Not again. Never again. He turns when the door inevitably gives way and fires again, futile as it may be.

The bullet does not do much- not when the door is promptly kicked off its hinges, the locks snapping and shattering as the sheer force of the Yearner's kick propels it forward. In that moment, Caeru realizes that while the door was very secure, the frame is nothing but a few planks of wood. It wouldn't hold.

On the floor, bleeding profusely through the wound in her neck (though the ambery growths around it show it will be closing soon, whether it wants to or not), is the Silverer- who stares at the Yearner in horror. "This was not our deal." she hisses.

The Yearner shrugs. "I don't care."

And then she lunges for her prize like a woman possessed. Her eyes gleam, staring fixedly at the bundle in the Scientist's arms. "Either you tell me what that bundle is and why I feel so intensely that I need to see it, or I'll make you tell me." she purrs. "Make the choice, my dear creator.”

He desperately curls around the bundle, hugging it close enough for it to nearly bend under his grip- nearly. Whatever it is, it's sturdier than it looks.

"You can't take him." he gasps without thinking. "You can't- you can't take him, you can't hurt him, you can't-" he backs up against the wall and trembles. The weight makes him stagger with every step. When the Yearner approaches, he flinches. "You can't hurt him."

A delirious sob. The room is freezing. His skin is tinted such a vibrant shade of blue. It's a miracle he isn't already dead from hypothermia. Slowly, carefully, still keeping his gun aimed at the Yearner, his other hand pulls back part of the cloth- and the hand that dangles free is clawed and formed almost entirely from lacre.

Just like her.

"He's mine." Caeru whispers, pressing his head to the apocyan stains with equal parts guilt and adoration. "He's mine. And nobody will ever take him again."

The Silverer stumbles into the room, a gun in hand. The Yearner waves dismissively- and fractal spikes of ice erupt from the ground to block her advance. From the mirrors in the room, Fingerkings hiss and spit in fury- the Yearner should probably stay away from Parabola for a few weeks. She turns to look at the Scientist in disdain.

"Bringing back the dead." she spits. "Once again. You should know it gets you nowhere. Look at what you did before. You tried to return me to the world, when I wasn't ever real at all!" she yells. "An illusion. A dream! Delusions of high society and bohemian dreams of a waif that was never anything but a facade!" she roars, coming closer. "Who was it this time?! Tell me! Who was-”

She pauses, before smiling. It is not a nice smile. "Your lover, wasn't it? The seventh victim. Did you realize that killing Mr Cups would never return what you lost!?"

The words sting. They sting, because she doesn't know, how could she know. Her eyes are wild and mad. "Drop it. Let it go. You don't deserve to have them back.”

The Scientist chokes on a sob. He doesn't deny a word. His knees buckle- he slides down to the floor, holding the bundle like a lifeline and a precious piece of treasure, all rolled into one. "I know." his voice is calm, even with the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't deserve him."

He's- the Silverer recognizes the look in his eyes. He's never been more confident about anything else in the world.

"I'm not doing this for myself," the words ring slightly hollow when he's clinging to his creation on the floor, "I'm doing it for him. When Cups died, it-" his tone wavers. Caeru swallows. The despair and guilt in his voice is intoxicating, especially to a Noman standing so very close indeed.

"It begged for its life. It gave me an offer. It could bring him back, if I spared it." he looks beyond the Yearner- staring intently at a shadow on the wall, as though somehow it could stare back. "I couldn't- I couldn't, for everyone else it murdered, I couldn't-" he chokes. "I failed him. I failed him. He deserved to live, he deserved to come back- and I failed, and-"

He kicks at a spare diamond on the floor, watching it twist and freeze into place within moments of making contact with the Yearner. "I'm fixing it. I'm fixing him."

A kiss to his prize. To his magnum opus. His eyes stay fixed on it- nothing matters so long as it is in his arms. "I'm serving him. I'm fixing him."

🐈💙🐺

"No." the Yearner snarls. "No, you're not fixing him. I'll be the one doing that. Give him to me!"

She moves before he can say a word. Only a Licenciate's instincts save his head from being separated from its shoulders by a sharpened spike of ice. He dives out of the way of a furious flurry of stabs, and stumbles to keep hold of his prize- only to see the Yearner tear off her dress in front of him.

He blinks in disbelief before seeing it- connected to her body are numerous pulsating hearts. The blood vessels tear holes in the thin shirt she wore underneath, and wet the fabric in frozen blood. Nourishing her as they draw ever closer to death. How many people have been killed- perhaps permanently- to sustain her existence?

She grins wickedly, cosmogone eyes shining with Parabolan light. "You won't bring him back. Cups wouldn't have done it either, I'm sure. The Masters have experience with bringing the dead back- done it five times now. But it never works, not really, does it?" she spits out the words. "You don't know what it's like. To live knowing you are a failure. A failed attempt to bring someone ELSE back!? Do you want him to live like this, you bastard?! Give him to me. I'll give him life- his own life! He doesn't deserve to be the monument to your vanity!”

🐈💙🐺 🔫⛄

“You barely know how-" the Scientist curses and ducks around another flurry, flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his 'lover' close. He ducks and weaves around the room with expert precision- but his movements are more than slightly hindered by the weight of a corpse larger than he is tall. That... no, that can't be right-

"He won't be a failure." Caeru spits back, pressed against the spikes still binding the Silverer- can't she hear, some part of his mind wonders? What does she think of him? Of what he's done?

He gasps for air that comes stiff and frozen solid. His pistol is long-since discarded- useless, now, but he can't help looking at it and swallowing down his guilt. All the more reason to throw himself down the nearest well, really. At least it's worth it. At least he's worth it. At least it'll all be over soon.

"He's not finished, he's not fixed yet-" he dives away from yet another attempt to spear him in the head. "Do you really think I'd attempt the same experiment twice without learning from my mistakes?! He'll be better. He'll be- he'll be different. He'll be everything." he sounds utterly delirious. "He'll be everything you were meant to be."

The Yearner hisses- and her blade moves for the Scientist's neck with unbelievable speed. There will be no dodging this one. Encumbered as he is, he has to drop the bundle if he wants to dodge- and that he will never do. He closes his eyes-

And only opens them a second later, after the sound of flesh being cleaved resounds. He is- he is not on the slow boat. He sees the Silverer before him, blocking the Yearner's blade with her own arm. A steady trickle of blood is falling from the grievous-looking wound- the cut was such that it exposed the bone.

"Oh, hello. Does it hurt?" the Yearner remarks.

"Not... at all." the Silverer scoffs.

"What if I do this?"

The Noman wriggles her arm and the blade twitches on the spot it's stuck on. The Silverer yelps and wrenches herself free, before falling. There are holes torn all over her legs- even the Shapeling Arts couldn't hold back the blood loss indefinitely. She collapses, overwhelmed by pain. The sound that emerges from the Scientist's throat is one of near-inhuman agony.

For no reason in particular: Did you know Caeru's biggest fear is watching his loved ones die in front of him (especially while he's unable to save them?)

The Yearner laughs. "Guess it's just the two of us again. Now, hand it over. Or I'll tear your arms off.”

Caeru drops the bundle without thinking, kneeling over the Silverer and cradling her in his arms, barely acknowledging the Yearner's presence. Louise's name is all but chanted under his breath- he struggles to breathe. Blood soaks through his coat. Her head is held close against his heart. His hands scramble to stop the bleeding, to fix her, to save her, to- to-

His head darts up as the Yearner takes a step towards the bundle. His eyes are wide. An utterly distraught sob. He doesn't stop her. He only turns back to his (still living) paramour and desperately tries to keep her that way.

"Idiot." he mumbles into the Silverer's hair, still on the verge of delirium. "You didn't need to- you didn't-"

And thus, the Yearner wins this round. But the story isn't over quite yet.

He looks back just long enough to glare up at the Yearner. He spits. "I should've fed you to the Knot of Tails when I had the chance."

"You should have." the Yearner nods. "I agree on that, now."

She kicks the Scientist square in the jaw. Her delicate shoe goes flying off into the distance, and she leaps for the bundle. Before the Scientist can recover from his daze, she rips the cloth around it, and then her arm moves for one of the hearts in her chest- tearing it off in one clean motion. Blood- deathly cold- sprays everywhere. She shoves the heart into the chest of the Scientist's project, and it- horror of horrors- twitches. It opens its eyes, and gasps- before once again falling into utter silence.

"It worked." she grins. "That's what it needs, right? Life. You've been working with mountain-sherds, trying to breathe life into it- but you don't know anything. You don't know what you are doing, you've been getting nowhere. Your love needs life to come back. Life has to come from somewhere."

The many hearts on her body twitch and wriggle as she turns to leave, the body still in her hands, bathing her in apocyan light. "Don't worry. I have a lot of life to give."

She runs off, and Caeru can see-

The body is half-lacre, half-skeletal, and all mannequin. A horror of sable wood casings enveloping the lacre beneath like a shield, virtually impossible to separate without ripping it all apart. His chest is exposed just enough to betray the underlying array of cracked ribs, and inside lays a diamond shining brilliant apocyan. The light floods his body and leaks freely out of an exposed, half-finished eyesocket.

He's sturdier than the Yearner, clearly. Built to last. Built to survive. Not an accident, like she was, but something else entirely. He shudders, white hair flowing in waves down to her feet- his hands dig into her shoulders on instinct.

He meets Caeru’s eyes. He doesn't say a word.

Caeru watches them go, and tries not to scream. He fails spectacularly.

He stumbles to his feet, still cradling his paramour- he takes one step after them, then sobs. The Silverer twitches in his arms. His mind races.

If he leaves her, if he fails again, if he-

He turns tail and shoves coils of hissing Fingerkings aside, ducking into Parabola as the Yearner escapes. He'll regroup, he swears, he'll come back, he'll fix this, he'll fix everything, he'll-

He sets his paramour down and frantically sets about bandaging her wounds. The past can wait. He only has one Louise.

"I love you." he whispers uselessly. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry-"

The Scientist's involvement in this tale ends here- left with many regrets, many things to answer for, and many wounds to try and heal.

Some, he succeeds at. Others, he does not.

But this was never about him in particular.

Far away is the Yearner, retreating to a lair in the swamps. A knock on the door, two knocks- and the Scarred Naturalist looks at her in disbelief. "What on earth is that?"

She enters, and places the body on the dining table without a word, knocking wooden plates and silverware (a strange contrast, indeed) aside. The body twitches, the sole heart connected to its chest pulsating madly as it slowly but surely withers into nothing. Her hand hovers over a cracked rib.

"We'll have to find replacements." she whispers.

The Naturalist shrugs. He doesn't know what this is all about, but he supports her interests, as always. He finds the Yearner is a surprisingly good influence on his master. Why, the master of silks has been startingly cheery since they've started their rivalry. "The swamp will provide," he notes. "Plenty of bodies around.

The Yearner nods. "Tell Veils I'm calling in that favour, too. It can provide far better materials than that fool of a scientist could. Ask it for wood- sturdy. Elder Continent- something that soaks in the light of the Mountain." she pauses. "Keep him safe. The box of hearts is under my bed- feed one to him every hour. I'll be leaving. I believe Fires had a shipment of apocyan lanterns sent over to Varchas? Surely nobody will notice if I take one..”

She takes a heavy coat, and steps out of the shack. She has a mission.

The body does not move for... quite some time. It merely stares up at the ceiling in idle bafflement, digging its claws into the table. It opens its mouth. All that emerges is a sickening click-

He closes his mouth. The heart shudders, and he goes with it. He rolls to his left and spends minutes on end staring at his hands in open fascination- another click.

He twists the joints on his fingers. He lifts his head, and while he may not have proper eyes- the empty stare of his eyesocket and the sickening glow of the apocyan leaking from his face is nothing short of disturbing.

He watches at the Naturalist for a long moment. Another click, as he opens his mouth, and then closes it. A claw unwisely pokes around the heart on his chest, another hand gesturing vaguely to the house around it. Finally, it manages to croak in a low rumble, like an oncoming storm- "Where?"

The Naturalist raises an eyebrow. "Bugsby's Marshes." at the confused look he gets back, he raises it further. "Watchmaker's Hill?" a pause. "The Fifth City, Fallen London? The Neath?" he chuckles. "My my. You're quite uninformed. I suppose it's just fair..."

He walks over to a cabinet, and takes out- is that skin? Human skin. A face. "You've just been born, haven't you?" He offers the face. It's fair-skinned and pudgy. He grins devilishly. "Perhaps a trip to the city would alert your senses."

(The Yearner didn't say he had to stay in the cabin. Just that he had to be kept safe- and that he needed the hearts.)

The Naturalist looks at the homunculus in front of him expectantly, and smiles again. It's not a nice smile.

The body's own face is carved from wood, and thus, cannot blanch- but its face certainly does scrunch up in noticeable revulsion. "No thank you." he says quickly, practically shoving it away. "I'm," he pauses, "Not, hungry?"

He reaches up- the heart beats faster. His finger dips into his eye. He could swallow, if he knew how. He sits up and stares down at his own body in obvious bafflement.

London. He's in London. In... what was it? Bugsby's Hill? This must be a dream.

He slides off the table, trips over his own hair, and falls facefirst onto the ground with a loud thud. A very strange dream indeed.

"...a trip would be appreciated, thank you..." oddly polite, for a newborn homunculus. If a bit laughable.

"My, you're clearly not fine." the Naturalist says. "And you can't go out like this, either way. I'll find you a suit. I have... one." the fact it belonged to someone the Yearner had hunted and killed probably doesn't matter. "Hm. But it's not your size. Maybe..."

He leaves the room to fetch something while the homunculus twitches on the ground. The body practically claws his way up to the wall as he tries once more to get his footing. 'Practically', of course, meaning 'leaves stark grooves in the wallpaper as though he was a particularly rambunctious kitten'.

Finally, the Naturalist returns with a cloak- torn in several places and repaired with careful carelessness. A trophy of war, a legendarily expensive article of clothing torn from the body of a Master and carefully, extensively defaced. Reworked and remade. He offers it.

"Thank you." a stiff sigh as he wraps the cloak around himself, tugging the hood over his head without a second thought. The illusion of anonymity is only slightly marred by the apocyan glow and uncomfortable resemblance to a Master of the Bazaar.

One hesitant step, then another. One more, for good measure. The homunculus looms above the Naturalist, voice rattling like gravel. "Who did you say you were..?" he looks at the door. "You and that- ah. Ice...? Ice. Woman. With the. Eyes." his tone reeks of disbelief.

"Quite tall..." the Scarred Naturalist mutters. "Ah, well. I am a Scarred Naturalist, just a humble scholar living here after my... let us call it an involuntary exile from academia. Unfortunately, prejudice tends to get in the way of scientific advancement... no matter." he coughs. "My associate is the Yearner, a hunter living on the marshes in search of a particularly elusive beast. She brought you here. Given by your state you must have been in quite a situation! Do you remember anything in particular? Have you an address to return to, perhaps?"

The body tilts his head roughly 45 degrees and ponders for a moment. "I run an inn," he looks up, vain as it may be, "Quite far from here. My, ahem, business partner- last I recall, I was bidding him farewell for the morning..."

He trails off and stares into space, not lost in any specific memory, but simply caught in a wave of utter bafflement at the holes in his own mind. "Next I remember, I was carried here by the Yearner. And now I look like-"

He stops, and raises a hand once again. The lacre coats his palms- fresh, vulnerable spots where his mannequin-like casing has not yet been applied. The apocyan dims. "-Like, this." he stands in silence for a long minute. His gaze, though unreadable, is inevitably drawn back to the face- the. Face.

He takes a step back. "Well! Now that I think about it! I really must be going!" he spins on his feet and twists the doorknob with forced cheer, barely able to keep the tremors out of his voice. "It was lovely meeting you, I'm quite grateful for your assistance, tell your associate she's a delight, but if you can just direct me to the nearest path back upwards-?"

He smiles. His mouth is full of uneven, half-formed teeth. "I'd hate to take up too much of your time. I'm sure you're busy doing... busy marsh things."

"Upwards...?" the Naturalist mutters. There's a grudge here. "Never been upwards." he says, too low for the homunculus to hear at all. "Not like they'd take us. The sun hates us more then Stone does. No, no path upwards for me…”

He composes himself, and gives his conversation partner an amused look. "I am loath to inform you, but there is no path upwards. Have you seen yourself, young man? The sun would scour you utterly. To ashes. It does not take kindly to Neathy things- and perhaps you should take a look at yourself? Thoroughly Neathy, that body of yours."

He reveals a mirror, and on it, the cloaked shadow can finally see his face. He tugs down his hood and stares. He's quiet for a time. A trembling hand caresses his cheek (hollow and wooden and false), then scratches at his beard (snow-white and soft as silk), then traces along his scars (carved deliberately and carefully into his face, as though replicating something that was already there).

The Naturalist continues, regardless of his guest's confusion. He sounds quite amused by the whole affair. "Do not worry. I am sure my roommate could not let you go without a shelter for the night- and when you wake up, Penstock's Land Agency will be ready and waiting. We could find you a home here- and perhaps arrange for mail to the Cumaean Canal? I'm sure that ‘business partner’ of yours might have explanations for what happened- and for these apparent gaps in your memory."

A soft sound escapes the body's mouth, indecipherable. He brings a hand up to the apocyan-lit hole in his left eye- and flinches on instinct when his claws dip into it with ease. "Thoroughly..."

There's awe, yes. Horror, most certainly. A hint of amazement. Most of all, complete and utter bafflement.

"But- I have people to get back to, I can't just-" he blinks. "Mail... that. Would be appreciated, yes. Thank you kindly." he looks back at the door. Without speaking, he steps outside- and stops, staring up at the false stars in open awe.

One tentative step, then another. He marvels at the world like a newborn babe.

"What is this?" he doesn't particularly expect an answer. "What... am I?"

The city is alive. Even at this hour, Watchmaker's Hill bustles with activity.

The Starved Embassy's ambered glow and the visitors from the Roof who walk the streets, the Clay Men who pass in stoic silence- the hawkers, the conmen offering rostygold for whoever beats them at arm-wrestling (hiding brass tacks between their fingers as they brag about their prowess), the marksmanship competitions for prizes of jade! The scholars debating the nature of the stars, taking blind steps towards the observatories. The criers announce Feducci's fighting rings, the chittering of surprisingly articulate insects and the growling of the marsh-beasts.

Fallen London stands before the Shadow in all its glory, this strange and wild city of a thousand stories. It gazes at him with mirth.

The Shadow gazes back.

He tugs up his hood and strolls along in absolute wonder- his hand dwarfs a wrestler's own as he pins their arm with ease, barely noticing tacks against wooden 'skin'. His voice is eager and enthralled as astronomers entertain each and every one of his questions about the 'stars' in the 'sky'. A sorrow spider creeps up his elbow- he plucks it by the leg and dangles it in front of his eyes. A half-hearted smile. It disappears into his cloak, and does not return.

Everyone gives him a wide berth, but if this bothers him, he doesn't voice it. This must be a dream- it is a dream, surely, but even so, there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.

He'll wake up eventually. He'll see his partner eventually.

Anxiety dies as he stops on the edge of a hill and gazes up at the firmament. London's invitation is easy to accept- after all, in a city of a thousand stories, surely an explanation lies within one.

Barely glancing at the Naturalist behind him, he wanders off into London's heart. Lacre trails in his wake.

It's a beautiful day to be alive.