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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

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The Way You Survive Is... (3/4)

Young minds learn what they're shown.

The Claustro's ready for a test-drive, and for better or for worse, Rikiya isn't alone.

Chapter Warnings: Self-triggering, PTSD flashbacks, heavy dissociation, vomiting, and Rikiya just generally being an unhealthy role-model for people who look up to him. The Claustro is a high-tech iron maiden and that's just canon, folks.

——— ——— ——— ———

Chapter Three: Perfection, Not Progression

Unlike many modern lifestyle designers, Detnerat’s production facilities were in-house, the better to holistically design products tailored to each individual customer’s needs. Those producing the goods were not just undertrained employees in workshops recreating en masse a single talented someone’s design, no. Templates were made to be broken; that was the Detnerat way!

It was, of course, also the case that Detnerat created enough other, below-the-table goods that it was far more secure to keep production in-house. Which was why, when one swiped their employee badge and held down the elevator button to the sub-basement for twenty full seconds, it would take one to the sub-sub-basement, which had been carefully removed from the official blueprints after the completion of the building.

The main thing that had been going on in the underground production facility for the past year was Rikiya’s personal project. The Claustro, well over three meters of hulking black steel, stood slumped under its own weight on a workstation platform at the center of the proving grounds area. Metal pegs which could be mistaken, from the outside, for the back ends of pistons protruded from its back and its shoulders, four each bolted through the gauntlets covering its massive wrists. Another pair jutted out from the chest, lined up directly over the place where, in due course, Rikiya’s sternum would lie beneath that enormous breastplate.

Just looking at the thing set his skin tingling, a flutter of anxiety in his stomach. It’s all right, he told himself. It will give us better results.

The Claustro’s chest cavity gaped wide, visible from the top via an enormous hole, the diameter of which had Rikiya bringing one hand to his neck with a vague sense of self-consciousness. He was bigger in his liberated form, but that big?

“No, your people didn’t forget about the helmet,” Skeptic said beside him, skimming over a tablet. “But we’re not testing the HUD today; we’re making sure this thing can stand up to your new grip strength.”

“I appreciate the solidarity, then, Skeptic,” Rikiya managed, because if his newest advisor wasn’t here about the electronic guidance protocols, then he did not have a reason to be here that didn’t amount to a personal interest.

The young man—Chikazoku Tomoyasu, graduated from a major tech university in only two years and, three years after that, already a third of the way up the chain of command at Feel Good Inc.—sniffed dismissively. “Someone here needs to be able to figure out the AED on the fly.”

Rikiya didn’t fight the smile that curled over his face in response. Whether it was habit or Skeptic’s bracing sarcasm, he couldn’t say, not with a countdown to the Claustro’s first full-body test run ticking down in his mind, but it was a brief respite he was willing to take.

“One of your many talents?”

“Yes, reading instructions written to be simple enough for middle schoolers is well within my capacity,” Skeptic snorted. He looked across the proving ground floor at Detnerat’s head engineer. “Got everything set?”

“We do,” the man—Kanazoku Mihatsu, code name Ardent, who’d been one of Rikiya’s first hires to help manage production when Rikiya was occupied with the business of, well, running a business—answered. “We’ve calibrated the dynamometers based on your previous numbers, sir. Today’s about seeing how much farther the Claustro’s pushing your limits.”

“Then I suppose I’ll get us started,” Rikiya replied, and shrugged off his jacket. Skeptic looked less than impressed with his attempts at exuberance, though, and Ardent only nodded solemnly, notes of worry still clear through a gaze full of reverence, so Rikiya said nothing further, only draped his jacket over Ardent’s offered arm and stepped up to the platform as the other two men retreated behind the safety of the observation wall.

With a sudden thrum from its servo motors, the Claustro folded open, sheets of metal sliding back into casing chambers or rotating into open positions. It looked, Rikiya thought vaguely, trying not to let his gaze linger on the spikes of metal jutting out of the machine’s inner back, something like a chrysanthemum with the heart removed, all thin petals of steel nestled around an empty central cavity. Though, with the way it would soon be closing back up, perhaps a Venus flytrap would be more accurate.

Breathe, he told himself. It’s a test run in lab conditions. It’s perfectly safe. They even left the helmet off.

It was a small kindness, and (seeing as it was also a massive workplace safety violation enabled only by Rikiya’s resilience in his transformed state) a mark of faith. He held that thought and fixed a smile on his face before he turned back toward Skeptic and Ardent and took a last step back into the waiting machine, letting his body swell up to fit.

The ribboning metal wrapped around him instantly; equally instant came the jump-start slam of his heartbeat as the walls closed in. Cold swept over his face, the ink wash stain of Stress taking hold, the flux in temperature so sharp it left the room wheeling with vertigo. His throat went tight as a pulled seam.

His hands and arms enlarged, fitting themselves into the Claustro’s gauntlets as naturally as gloves; his shoulders broadened, taking the suit’s weight like a yoke bar as he straightened, still growing to match the exoskeleton’s space even as he registered the way it began to press back against him. Hydraulic plates constricted around his chest and arms, lighting up his nerves with old terror.

Movement from the interior shafts. He knew what was coming, and still he couldn’t stop the way his breath seized when they pressed into his skin, sharp-tipped and inexorable. His peripheral vision flickered darkly, a black-to-blue strobe, and Quarter’s voice, unforgotten in twenty years and still laced with venom, stirred the air at his temple.

“It would shame Destro to see you this way.” The man’s eyes were there—bottomless, pitiless—when Rikiya looked up across the gym. “Turn that fear of yours to the good of the cause. Stand up.”

Yes. Rikiya’s lips framed the word as he blinked, unable to differentiate the prickling pain of his spiraling panic attack from the very real workings of the Claustro. The vibrato of the servos drowned out the sound of his breathing. Each thin whine of the machine’s motors accompanied another compression of the internal plates and spikes; each in turn drew out another spasm of stress, reinforcing his skin to stone-like hardness.

Stone cracks cartoonishly easily under pressure. You must be much stronger than that.

“Re-Destro, sir; does everything feel—like it should?” Ardent’s voice crackled over the intercom, faint through the tapestry of throbbing sound in Rikiya’s ears. He felt himself nod. It does. Excellent work. Now, how are we testing the grip strength? Please tell me quickly, so I can get out of this goddamned deathtrap.

He shaped the words to teeth and tongue, leaving out the unnecessary commentary, and tried to focus back in on his engineer. The man and Skeptic—wonderfully reliable Skeptic, who would definitely not let this thing kill him, and who was so confident in his ability to use an automated external defibrillator on the off-chance that Rikiya actually did have a heart attack here, though an electric shock probably wouldn’t help with an aneurysm, if that was the particular medical crisis that struck instead, just like his dear departed grandfather, Destro’s son, who escaped all this the only way their line could—no—the man and Skeptic—

“Focus on the target,” Quarter’s memory admonished him, and Skeptic interrupted with, “Can you walk around?”

Rikiya focused on Skeptic’s face, the sharp black line of his bangs, and nodded. I can’t feel my face. I wonder if I’m still smiling? I hope not; it would probably look ghastly. He walked towards the testing apparatus—well, his body did. He felt very little in control of it right at that moment.

The dynamometers were simple enough things, not so different from the normal medical version for people in physical therapy. The main difference was that they were some three times the normal size, as well as being wall-mounted, such that all Rikiya had to do was walk up, wrap a careful grip around the handles, and squeeze.

The world was rapidly going foggy and white-rimmed. A bad sign. I want this to be over.

There was an electric pop Rikiya registered only when it was followed by a loud crack and a subsequent hissing of pressurized air. Releasing his hold on the dynamometers, he took a step back and tried to focus on them. He had—broken them, it seemed, the metal rods burst through the backs of their casings, discolored with grease.

And then Ardent and Skeptic were at his side again, Ardent flashing Rikiya an awed glance even as he bent closer to examine the damaged equipment. Skeptic looked at his tablet, looked at the dynamometers, and shook his head. His hand flicked twice across the screen, two sharp gestures; Rikiya tried to swallow back envy at how quick and clean the movements were, but it seemed his body was still not taking orders from him.

The Claustro folded open and Rikiya stepped-slash-fell out. An unfamiliar body caught him and he hazily looked down into vacant black eyes. Oh, yes, that was Skeptic’s preferred puppet design, wasn’t it?

So wonderfully reliable. I should send Chitose a gift basket for recommending him.

“That’s got us enough to work with tonight,” Skeptic said with total confidence. “You should go home. I’ve already got a cab waiting.”

“The results—” Re-Destro heard himself say.

“Inconclusive, but since you broke the testing device, there’s no point in you hanging around just to babysit the number-crunching.”

“But the results,” he tried again, and Skeptic sighed in exasperation.

“The dynamometers could take up to a twenty-five percent increase on your previous output,” he said, voice brisk, refreshingly brusque despite the difference in their age and rank. “You squeezed them so hard you pushed the rods out the back ends. Congratulations, you cost your production department a few hundred thousand yen, but also, congratulations, that’s probably a forty percent increase on your last record. You definitely won the sports festival. Now go home. I’ll e-mail you the rest.”

Rikiya—did not remember the next few minutes. He found himself in the back of a car, running his fingers over the suit jacket folded over his arm and feeling vaguely distressed that he couldn’t feel the exceptionally fine weave of the cloth. And after his tailor had worked so hard to incorporate the prolongate tech into the wool, too. The lights of the city at night played across the backs of his hands in bands of darkness and neon color as the driver’s radio played a sweet, smooth song at the edges of his hearing. It wasn’t unbeautiful.

He disembarked at his high-rise, rode the elevator up to his suite, and keyed in his door code all without his mind reengaging for a moment. It only finally nudged him, in the darkness of the entryway, to point out that his mouth had watered, he had swallowed the saliva down, and now his mouth was full of fluid again, and that sequence of events only ever meant one thing.

He made it to the bathroom right on time, though if throwing up everything he’d eaten today was what he was returning to his body for, it would have nice of his brain to hold off a bit longer.

Look on the bright side, he told himself through the heaving misery, the Claustro is even more effective than you’d hoped. Thinking about it drove his gorge up again—ah, that would be the norimaki from lunch—and he curled tighter over the toilet bowl, shivering with exertion.

“Re-Destro?”

He jerked at the address, banging his elbow against the porcelain, and raised his head to see the boy standing at the door to the bathroom, his glowing eyes round and distraught.

“Geten?” he managed, and the reflexive attempt to swallow down acid brought it back up again. By the time he was through the next round of gut-clenching retching, Geten was at his shoulder. Cold hands pressed fitfully across his back, then rose to comb through his hair, peeling it away from his face. It hadn’t really been in the line of fire—Rikiya wore it too short for that—but Rikiya had once held Geten’s hair back the same way, so he was doubtless trying to return the gesture.

“Tell me what to do,” the boy said, a frightened underscore to the words, and guilt pricked at Rikiya’s chest, still sore from the press of those twin metal shafts. You can’t let him see you like this.

It was a stabilizing thought, at least, one that had a near-nostalgic sense of normalcy. He spat into the bowl and took a shaky breath.

“A glass of water,” he said, and waved vaguely up at the sink. As Geten moved to obey, Rikiya wrinkled his nose at the rank stew in the bowl and patted at the side of the toilet until he found the manual flush button. The last thing he needed was to get sprayed in the face by the bidet.

He spat into the bowl again as the water whirled away, then sighed, resting his forehead against the back of his hand, elbow on the seat. What a mess. He took the glass from Geten, murmuring thanks despite the foul taste in his mouth, and sipped at it gingerly. Rinse and repeat, until finally he had a meager mouthful he didn’t mind swallowing. Geten stayed crouched next to him the entire time, petting at his hair.

“You,” Rikiya said at last, “were not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“I got permission to come early,” Geten answered with not a whisper of guilt. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Rikiya sat back enough to roll the stiffness out of his neck and looked up into Geten’s unconvinced expression. “Really. Get me a refill?”

Rikiya forced himself to his feet and flushed the toilet once more as Geten took the glass without complaint. His usual winter coat was missing, leaving him in his day clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and heavy pants, both plainly wrinkled in the clean white light of the bathroom. He had, at some point during however long he’d been waiting, remembered to take his boots off, definitely not always a given, but a promising sign for the state of Rikiya’s upholstery.

“Were you training too hard?” the boy asked him, expression solemn as he handed back the glass.

“It’s only ‘too hard’ if it incapacitates you, so no. I was just working on something new.” Rikiya ushered them both out and towards the guestroom where, sure enough, Geten’s things were strewn across the furniture, his boots tossed in a corner and his coat wadded up amidst a nest of bedding pulled onto the floor. His little suitcase, purchased back when he’d first made one of these weekend visits and somewhat battered from a child’s casual treatment in the years since, lay tipped over just inside the door. One of Rikiya’s dinner plates sat on the floor; in it, a small but carefully sculpted ice dragon was gradually transmogrifying into a puddle.

“A new technique?” Geten perked up and sat down on the bed, looking up at Rikiya in rapt interest as he moved the plate up to the bedside table.

Rikiya smiled, taking another sip of water, and shook his head. “A new piece of equipment.”

“What is it? Did you bring it home?”

“No, it’s back at work. It’s not finished yet.” Rikiya gathered up the sheet and blanket and dropped them, still balled up, onto the bed. He then sat down next to the boy and did not relax his weight against the headboard, tempting as it was. “It’s a powered exoskeleton—like a robot suit,” he amended when Geten only stared at him blankly at the first description.

Geten tilted his head, brow furrowing. “How does that support your meta-ability?”

“You don’t think it would?” Rikiya asked, nursing the water. Geten had long proven completely impossible at school, refusing any but the most basic of tutoring, so it never hurt to encourage his critical thinking skills when the opportunity presented itself.

“Robot suits are for people who need armor. Or who want to be able to punch harder than they can on their own.” The boy paused, thinking, then added, “And for people who stay one size. But your power armors you, and it makes you stronger, and it makes you bigger. So what do you need a robot suit for?”

“That’s very well thought-out.” Geten grinned at the compliment and Rikiya resisted the urge to ruffle his pale hair; he was getting old enough to protest such gestures. “The size isn’t a problem. The Claustro’s designed for me at near my maximum size anyway, and it can accommodate a bit bigger or smaller. And it will make me stronger, not by augmenting my physical strength, but by augmenting my stress.” The words came easily; he’d explained to enough others by this point—his inner circle, his engineers, and a few key financiers at that.

“It—stresses you? And you turn stress into power, so…” Geten nodded understanding. “But how does it stress you?”

“Mostly internal pressure plates,” Rikiya answered dryly, and threw back the last of the water lest bile start to creep up his throat again. In the face of Geten’s wide-eyed expression, he soothed, “Destro’s cause demands much of all of us. It’s nothing I can’t handle, Geten. It’s an honor to carry such burdens for the sake of Liberation.”

Geten nodded slowly, his features settling into understanding and a familiar look of resolve. “I want to fight you in it one day,” he declared, “when I’m strong enough.”

For a moment, Rikiya was lost for a response. The Claustro was most certainly not meant for sparring, and it would—hopefully, presumably—be well out of the testing phases by the time Geten was anywhere near that level, if he ever was. There was only ever so much ice in a given range, after all. Still, the thought of thick layers of ice freezing over the already constricting layers of the Claustro unit, sealing him in beneath the surface, unable to even move…

That was the winning secret to Stress, of course. In a combat scenario, there was no practical ceiling. Just thinking about it made his stress marks throb, but this was not really the time or place for such rhetorical exercises, especially when he had no lunch left to lose.

He forced a smile. “We’ll see.”

#boku no hero academia #bnha #yotsubashi rikiya #re-destro #chikazoku tomoyasu #skeptic bnha #geten #meta liberation army #cw: cults #cw: claustrophobia #cw: panic attack #my writing #ficcing

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alternative27angel · 5 years ago

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Fox Hunt Ch. 3

This took longer than expected. Fell down the rabbit hole when rebuilding (or plainly just building) the lore.

Chapter Summary: Before Marinette agrees to any kind of magical tasks for secret, possibly cosmic beings, she’s going to need some answers.

Also on AO3

-x-x-x-

It was a mouse?? A fox??? A flying mouse-fox!?

Whatever it was, it had Marinette screaming in terror and flinging everything she could to get it away from her. Not that that seemed to bother it. It just kept staring at her and occasionally swaying side to side to avoid whatever got too close to making contact.

"Marinette," it called out, "take a deep breath. I'm not a mouse or a fox–technically speaking. I'm a kwami, and I can explain everything."

She took a deep breath as it suggested, and then proceeded to babble more.

The kwami-thing quickly flew over and held a paw in front of her face. "But it's kinda hard to talk when you're panicking like that."

Being so close to it startled Marinette into silence. The kwami sighed in relief and flew back a few feet to give her space.

"Now then. My name is Trixx, and as I just said, I'm a kwami. I'm here because you've been chosen to help us save the Miraculous from falling into the hands of evil. Any questions?"

Marinette blinked.

"Uh… yeah. First off, what's a kwami, where'd you come from, what are Miraculous, what do you mean by "hands of evil", who is "us", and-" here she lunged forward and got right into Trixx's face "-WHY ME?"

Trixx, startled despite their self, held up both paws and backed further away. "Excellent questions! Let's work on volume, though. No one can know I exist, and that goes for your parents too. Secrecy is of the utmost importance."

"Uh…"

"Don't worry, I'll explain everything later," the kwami waved away her various questions. "For now, just know that kwami are god-like beings, born at the very beginning of existence, that grant magical powers unto humans–and we can be abused if we fall into the wrong hands."

A solemn pause followed that ominous note. 'As they are now,' went unspoken. Marinette could read between the lines well enough to get that much.

After a breath, Trixx continued, "Now, as I am the kwami of the Fox Miraculous, I grant the power of Knowledge… But more on that later! As for your other questions, the easiest way to answer them is for us to meet with my companions. Come!"

Faster than Marinette could catch, the kwami had zipped past her and phased right through the trapdoor.

"Hey, wait! Hold on a second!"

Sparing a thought to wonder at why she was even going after the weird creature, Marinette stuffed the box into her purse and then ran off in hot pursuit.

-----

She had chased Trixx several blocks now, and it was really starting to wear on her.

Every time she was close to catching up, the two would come across someone and then Trixx would hide away. She couldn't exactly hunt for them with others watching nearby, so she'd have to wait until the person had either left or wasn't paying attention. Then, she'd crouch and climb as inconspicuously as possible around everything until she'd finally find Trixx. And bam, they'd take off again!

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Now it would be sunset soon, Marinette had a growing stitch in her side, and it seemed like Trixx had been leading her in circles. At this rate, she'd just have to qui-

"We're here!" chimed what was now becoming a familiar voice.

Gasping with relief (and a desperate need for air), she gazed up at their destination from her hunched over position. The building didn't seem like the type of place where magical creatures resided in secret…

Following the kwami's instruction, she made her way up to the massage shop and knocked on the door.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" she whispered, peering surreptitiously into her purse, where the kwami was tucked out of sight.

"Of course. Just trust me."

The old man that answered the door had not been what she was expecting. Especially since she recognized him.

"You!"

He nodded. "Me, yes. And I have been waiting for you, young lady." Opening the door wider, he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.

After making sure she was settled in, the old man procured four cups of tea. Handing one cup to her, setting two down between them, and keeping another for himself, he then sat across from her.

"Um…"

"Much obliged, sir!" With a pleased hum, Trixx zipped out from their hiding place and settled in front of one of the other two cups, exhaling a pleased sigh after taking a surprisingly delicate sip.

Ignoring Marinette's spluttering, the old man called out behind him. "I made some for you as well, Wayzz."

A green creature–about the same size as Trixx–flitted across the room and claimed the last cup of tea for themselves. Closer inspection revealed it was more turtle-like than fox-like, but it was about as close to one as Trixx was to the other.

The old man took the chance to scrutinize her, making her sit ramrod straight and almost spill her drink. However, after a moment, he chuckled and sent her a comforting smile.

"No need to be so tense, Marinette. My name is Wang Fu, and this is my partner, Wayzz. I imagine you have things you want to ask."

Trixx interrupted before she could even attempt to get her thoughts in order. "Ah yes, she wanted to know the usual things. You know, who are we, what are we, who are the bad guys. Standard stuff."

Fu hummed in understanding. "Well, to answer that, in order: I am the Guardian of the Miraculous and the kwami that inhabit them, and I was chosen many years ago to wield the Turtle Miraculous. Just as you have been chosen now to wield the Fox. It is an honor very few are considered worthy of. As for "bad guys" and what we're doing, that is a bit more complicated…"

At that, he trailed off and focused on his tea instead.

The silence stretched on, but the old man didn't seem inclined to continue.

"If… if you're asking me to help you with whatever it is you're doing, I need to know what I'm getting into."

He looked back up, and this time Marinette didn't flinch as they made eye contact. She wanted to shrink as his eyes narrowed and seemed to peer even harder into her. It was as if he was measuring her worth, and she couldn't help but feel he would only find her wanting.

Still, nothing in the world was going to make her sign up for some magical, obviously dangerous task with high stakes before telling her just how dangerous and important it was.

The old man hummed and then nodded in acquiescence. "A fair point. We are asking quite a lot, and it would not do to send you out there unprepared. Very well."

Slowly climbing to his feet, he made his way over to the gramophone and dragged his fingertips along the gold designs. After a moment, seeming to gather himself, he turned back to Marinette.

"For centuries, there has been a temple devoted to safe-guarding the Miraculous, vessels of power that–when inhabited by kwami–imbue their wearers with incredible abilities. However, that ended a hundred years ago when one of the monks foolishly trusted a person with ill-intentions."

Here he paused, and Marinette noted the old man's fists were beginning to clench so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.

"The temple was destroyed and-" his breath hitched "-and most of the monks with it."

The kwamis shared a solemn look before Wayzz flew over to comfort his master. Likewise, Trixx floated down to settle by Marinette's hand, patting it gently whilst keeping their attention on the old man as he gathered himself.

"In a desperate act to save the Miraculous, that foolish monk did the only thing he could think of."

Fu turned back to the gramophone and fiddled with a secret panel to punch in the combination. "In the beginning, there were nineteen Miraculous. Many centuries ago, we lost the Peacock and Butterfly. And 300 years later…"

He stepped back to reveal a large black box with a multitude of compartments. Marinette got up and moved to peer inside.

Every single one was empty.

"I myself lost all the others," he finished, a broken sigh escaping him, before lifting the top lid which hid the largest chamber of all. "All but these. The most powerful of them all: the Black Cat and the Ladybug."

Marinette took a moment to study the innocent-looking ring and pair of earrings before noticing the empty orange cavity. With a gasp of recognition, she hurriedly yanked the small box from her purse and opened it. Sure enough, the pendant inside matched the curled impression perfectly.

"You noticed my spot!" chimed a now familiar voice. Trixx flitted over and spun a few times before alighting on what they'd claimed was their spot, admiring how little it had changed. Wayzz quickly joined them.

Chuckling, the old man drew Marinette's attention back to him.

"Trixx is the first I've found since then. And a lucky thing that is, since they are perfect for this sort of thing."

"But what sort of thing is 'this'?" she asked, somewhat exasperated now.

The good humor left Fu's face. "'This' is a race against time. And against evil." Silence rang as the kwami focused back on the conversation. "The Butterfly has fallen into the hands of a cruel man, going by the name of Hawk Moth. He is after the other Miraculous, in order to have his wish granted. And to achieve that goal, he has taken to infecting people with his akuma, turning them into little more than puppets of his own design."

Marinette gasped. "That's impossible!"

...

The old man shot her a flat look and gestured towards the kwami.

Flushing, she clarified, "I mean it's not possible that's been happening. Not here. I'd have heard about it." She continued, a little desperate, "If a bunch of people were being possessed by some guy looking for magic jewelry, someone would be talking about it. At the very least, there'd be rumors about it at school."

He shrugged. "I know not why or how he has managed to keep his methods so secret, but the kwami cannot be mistaken. They can sense that Nooroo is awake and being misused right at this moment."

At the sad nods Trixx and Wayzz gave her, Marinette swallowed audibly. "Then… how do I fit into this? I can't even carry a box of pastries to school without destroying them, much less fight some super villain in hiding. I don't even know you! Why give Trixx to me?"

Fu smiled gently and led her back to their seats, letting them both get settled before continuing.

"I have been watching you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he admitted, cradling his tea. "And I have seen a girl with a wealth of courage, whom decides to help people before even considering what it would cost her."

"And quite a clever one at that!" Trixx chimed in. "Wayzz told us how you managed to cover your tracks earlier today. That was a good plan with the pastry tray and the phone." They zoomed into her face, eyes dancing and tail wagging. "You're exactly what I've been looking for in a wielder!"

Three pairs of eyes bore into her–one set cheerful and two sets cautious, but all were expectant. The room began to feel small and cramped, and Marinette clutched at her chest, trying to suck in air.

"I… I need so-some fresh air!"

She was out the door before anyone could respond.

-------

Marinette took deep, heaving breaths as she hugged her knees, trying to calm down. So long as she didn't think about anything, she'd be fine. Just don't think, just don't think, just. Don't. Think.

"You seem stressed."

"GAH!"

She tried to leap away from the voice, only to land in a heap on the ground. Trixx stared at her from their spot in the nearby shrubbery. Both human and kwami were silent for a moment before Marinette let out a miserable groan and pulled herself up into a sitting position.

Facing the fox's direction but keeping her eyes cast downward, she admitted, "I'm a little overwhelmed."

Trixx hummed. "Understandable. It's a lot to take in when one has been tasked with facing off against the forces of evil."

Marinette shot a look up at their blasé tone, but nothing in the kwami's face implied they were being anything but 100% sincere.

"It's… about more than that. Don't get me wrong! Running into this Hawkmoth guy sounds really REALLY terrifying. But mostly… I think you guys have the wrong girl."

"Oh?" they prompted.

"C'mon," Marinette groaned. "Look at me! I'm having a panic attack just from talking about this, there's no way I could actually be any help for real. That's the way I am with everything. Completely useless. Even when I work harder than anyone else, things just go from bad to worse."

The kwami tilted their head. "Is it that bad?"

"It is. I hate to admit it, but it really is," she laughed sadly. "I don't know how long you guys have been watching, but obviously it wasn't long enough. You haven't even come close to seeing the real me."

"…Perhaps so."

Marinette flinched and peered up with wet eyes.

"I guess that means I'll need to hang around to see this "real you" then!"

She gaped. "Wait, what?"

Trixx giggled and flitted in close, tapping her nose playfully. "You said it yourself: we haven't known each other long enough. So, we must rectify that. But first, let's get you home. It's quite late for young folks to be out alone."

And with that, they flew away down the street.

"Hey… hey wait!" Marinette scrambled to her feet and took off after them. "That's not what I meant!"

----------

Marinette groaned as she trudged after the lazily floating kwami. They had slowed down considerably once she had given up on trying to deny Trixx coming home with her.

"And you're sure that Fu won't mind us just taking off like that?"

"Mm, it'll be fine. Wayzz knows how I am, and he'll make sure Master Fu doesn't worry too much."

She sighed, though whether in relief or resignation, she wasn't sure. After a moment, she broached a topic that had been niggling at the back of her mind.

"Are you two close, then? Or is that just a kwami thing?"

Trixx paused and glanced back at her, a pleased smile inching up their face. "Noticed that, did you?" They turned back to continue forward, raising their voice a bit to carry. "Yes, Wayzz and I became quite close over the centuries. A bit hard not to, considering."

"Considering?"

"Well, after Nooroo and Duusu went missing, the Guardians were always leery of letting too many of us out. I'd go several decades without wielders before, but after that, I was hardly ever let out at all."

They chuckled, nostalgia clear in their voice.

"I remember hounding Wayzz for stories every time he got to rest between Guardians. He'd be exhausted and ready for a nap, but he'd always give in and tell me everything he could about the outside world. It became a good way to pass the time."

Marinette came forward, a tilt to her head. "Why?"

The fox 'hmm'ed at her, confused at the question.

"I mean, why didn't you get out as much? I don't know anything about your powers, but you really seem like you can handle anything that comes your way."

They chuckled, this time more energetically. "Ah. Well, that's as much to do with my wielders as with me. My powers are far less direct, requiring both forethought and adaptability. Naturally, I would want my wielders to slow down and think, and I'm afraid most people just don't have the patience for my methods."

"Oh."

"Now, don't be discouraged! I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't think you and I would work well together."

"Oh! Oh no, it wasn't anything like that," she assured. "I was just thinking it seems–" Lonely. "–a shame. I think it'd be really nice to stop for a moment and consider your options before leaping headfirst into things. I wish more people would let me do that."

"Hm. Well, thank you. It's always refreshing to hear that sort of thing."

Marinette wanted to say something more, but then she caught sight of her house, with her father standing on the doorstep.

Without prompting, Trixx flew into her purse to hide, and Marinette steeled herself before marching forward to face her no doubt furious parents.

----------

After half an hour of bearing with her parents' lectures (interrupted every five minutes with relieved, bone-crushing hugs), Marinette was finally able to escape to her room.

She took a moment to usher her kwami hitchhiker out of her purse before flinging it and her blazer onto her chaise lounge. She wasted no time afterwards changing into pajamas and climbing up to her bed.

Trixx 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed as they wandered around her room, finally taking it in now that she wasn't trying to throw things at them.

She wanted so badly to just close her eyes and go straight to sleep, but Fu's voice kept repeating over and over in her head.

"Hey, Trixx?" she called quietly.

The fox flew up to the loft and settled on her bed. "Yes, Marinette?"

"What did he–What did Fu mean by Hawkmoth infecting people?"

"Ah." At the question, Trixx deflated. "Well, when a Butterfly wielder is strong enough, they can imbue people with a strong power befitting their desires. Hawkmoth is obviously strong enough to have done that several times now."

The fox shook their little head in upset. "The problem is that when Hawkmoth is doing so, he makes sure that the person is affected by strong, negative emotions. It corrupts their desires into something malevolent, making them willing to hurt anyone that gets in the way of achieving theirs–and therefore Hawkmoth's–goals."

"That's so messed up!" Marinette cried out. "Are they stuck like that forever?"

"Oh no, Hawkmoth has to release them after a while. Drains his power, otherwise. But the things they did while under his influence remain."

She hugged a pillow tight against her. "So… if they hurt someone…"

"All damage remains," Trixx affirmed. "To things and to people. There's a couple of Miraculous that can fix damage, but they're all missing, so…" they shrugged.

Marinette shot up in bed and scowled at the kwami. "Then what can we do?"

"We can find the others. We can find the other Miraculous, and we can find wielders for them–and then we can find Hawkmoth." A tension began to fill the room as the fox's voice grew stronger. "And when we find him, we can rescue Nooroo too. And stop Hawkmoth for good."

Trixx floated up to hover in front of her, purple eyes staring deep into hers.

"There are a great many things we can do, Marinette. But only you can decide if we will."

Marinette turned to gaze down at her open palms, considering. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her old class photos. Kim and Juleka, Max and Rose–they'd been in the same class together for years now.

Her eyes moved to her phone and turned it on to look at her new lock screen. She'd just met Alya, but she already felt like she'd known her her whole life.

And then she looked at Trixx. Patient, friendly Trixx, who let her talk and answered all her questions and wasn't put off even when she admitted she would be useless. Who was passed over countless times for centuries but still seemed so sure they would be up to the task.

Her hands curled into fists and her brow furrowed, she nodded to herself before focusing back on Trixx.

"I don't know if I can really be any help," Marinette started, voice steady, "but I will try."

A delighted smile stretched wide across Trixx's face. "I knew you'd be up for it! Oh, don't worry, Marinette, you are going to be an amazing Fox!"

She laughed as the kwami continued to effuse about her future as the Fox hero, excitedly twirling around her room at ridiculous speeds.

Suddenly overtaken by exhaustion, she slumped back onto her pillows and let her eyes drift shut, a small smile on her own face.

Maybe this would turn out okay.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #kwami swap #fox!marinette #marinette dupain cheng #trixx #Fox Hunt

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shiansfrstuff · 4 years ago

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Since I had spent a considerable amount of time playing up that I was going to clan Riverstrand, I might as well head to Riverstrand… At least that’s what I thought was going to happen… turns out the Starwood Strand was ridiculously difficult to navigate, being a giant forest and all. I took out the map I had bitterly balled up and stuffed into my pocket days ago, and tried to smooth it out on the dirt below. The thinning treeline and encroaching vast amount of cracked nothing of a wasteland and staggered crags meant that I was near the border of Arcanist and.. What the heck was he called? Earthshatter? I clearly needed to make more of an effort to remember all the deities if I was to keep pretending to be an expert dragonologist. Good lord, it’s worse than those popular hatchling puppet dramas… there’s always six heroines and you have to remember all the names and what they look like or deal with an upset hatchling if you don’t. That little puppet show is their entire world at that development level. “Only this time, there’s twelve of them.” I muttered bitterly to myself as I tried to move forward and orient the map I was holding at the same time. Who would have thought my duties as an eggkeeper would actually be useful? “Wait… Are there twel...?” My words got caught in my throat as I tripped over a rock and tumbled down a slope that was far less gentle than I’d like. Thankfully or not, a large pile of bones broke my momentum at the bottom. Finding myself upside down against the bones, I righted myself as carefully as I could. If my bones were broken, I’d be done for, probably joining this large pile next to me. Somberly, gingerly, I tested my own weight on each leg. Thankfully, everything just seemed a little bruised. Cursing at how distracted I had been on such trivial matters, I set to the task of trying to get my wings where they were supposed to be under the heavy rucksack as they were now pinned underneath the unbalanced, bulky pack. Finding it difficult to keep my balance, I fell to my knees, and quickly realized that it wasn’t my bag that was giving me issues. The ground was moving! An earthquake! ...And a looming shadow that blotted out the sunlight on the ground and only grew bigger. joy squeaked a tiny voice in my head. I looked up with trepidation, hoping that it would just be a newly formed cliff I would be facing, but no. It was the pile of bones I had woken up. Of course. The Skeletal wyrm, quite angry at the rude awakening, gave a loud roar in my direction and stretched its wings out to their full length. As if a creature such as I that could be easily swallowed in one gulp needed to be any more intimidated. It may be dead, but it’s breath sure smelled like it ate things. Dead things. Like my soon-to-be-tailfeathers. Looking around desperately for a quick escape route, my only real hope was that the groundquake would just give me a nice hole to hide in. “KRAKAFUR!” Came a bellowing cry from the path above. Large boulders flew overhead and before I could blink or process what was happening, bones of the wyvern scattered at my feet, most of it crushed underneath the weight of rocks larger than the wyrm had been. I looked up to see a dragon. A dragon! Like the ones I had met in Starvale and could have easily gone toe to toe with such a wyrm! The dragon leaped into the air and surfed the slope down with far more grace and seemed to be getting smaller as it got closer only to… come up to my belt when it came to a stop. “Hiya.” it said with no real enthusiasm. “My name is Raz, what’s yours?” The fae sounded almost bored. Shaking off the shock of our size difference, I vaguely remembered that this very short creature just defeated a large pile of bones that nearly ate me. “Wow!” I exclaimed, trying to sound more excited than nervous. “I am Doctor Joshua, Prime Dragonologist! Thank you so much for saving me. That was quite amazing.” “Yes, yes. It was no effort.” The fae said in the same monotone manner. “We need to get going. I lost my provision bag and I need to get back to my colony. You’re just lucky we were on an elemental ley line.” The fae walked a few paces to retrieve the map that lay nearby. Studying it for a few seconds it turned to me and said “We are not far. At least not far for you.” then did that universal gesture of holding it’s palms up towards me and opening and closing it’s talons. Feeling rather awkward at the childish gesture, I just stammered, “Ummm… Look, my pack is really heavy and I’m not feeling too hot. You sure you can’t just walk?” The fae crossed its arms and moved it’s head up so it was now at eye level. The fae itself had not moved at all. Somehow this was slightly more intimidating than the giant skeletal wyrm had been. I felt myself swallow. “You want to stay here?” it challenged and nodded toward the bones at my feet which were slowly moving towards the boulder pile. “So, I should just leave you here then?” The wyrm was reconstructing itself and I had no desire to tangle with it again. Picking up the fae, I hauled it up onto my shoulders and held it’s legs down for support as if it were a fledgeling. He was surprisingly light. “Excellent.” Raz stated and pointed in a direction for me to go. _________ Finding solace in the shade, I walked along the bottom of a narrow canyon. Raz had already rifled through my pack after a few minutes and started eating some of the contents. I tried to ignore it since my sore limbs took a little more of my attention at that point. He had saved my life after all. “That was really close.” he stated. “I thought I was going to starve to death.” “How long have you been out here?” I asked, trying to make small talk and doing my best to ignore the unenthusiastic, monotone manner of the dragon. “I’ve been out here for a whole hour and a half. The longest anyone in my colony has been gone. Talk about cutting it close.” “Close for what, a sunburn?” I said dryly. “My kind has to eat every 30 minutes or we starve. Like a hummingbird. You at least have those where you’re from dont’cha? What kind of dragonologist are you, anyways?” I couldn’t tell if Raz was being argumentative or genuinely curious. “Oh, we’re here!” He exclaimed before I could reply. Jumping off of my shoulder and running towards a junction in the canyon, Raz stopped dead in his tracks and dropped the map, looking off in a direction I could not see. I didn’t need to know the nuances of fae body language to see his whole body deflate. Trying to hurry as best I could, I caught up to the fae to see what was clearly once an oasis. The pond and trees buried in the rock that broke off the cliff. “My colony…” He trailed off without a hint of sadness. I was starting to get irritated with the constant unemotional robot next to me. He turned to me swiftly and stated, “Can you take me to Vanilla Falls?” ARE YOU SERIOUS?! My mind screamed. But I dare not say it aloud. “It happens a lot, actually.” said Raz matter-of-factly. The dragon was clearly getting better at reading my own expressions, not that a gaping beak was difficult to read. “A place gets popular, gets too many nests, then just…. Boom. Whole wall comes down.” Having a lightbulb moment, I turned to Raz and asked excitedly, “Can you pick the rocks up?” “Of course not.” Raz said flatly. “Why not? You can pick up the rocks just like you did with the wyrm and rescue any dragon that might….” “Because we’re not on a ley line you stupid Raptorik. There’s opposite magic here.” The fae faceclawed as if not seeing these invisible lines made me dumber than the rocks that littered the canyon floor. ”Honestly, I don’t expect you to understand how magic works but it does not work here.” “WHY WOULD YOU BUILD A HOME WHERE YOU CAN’T USE MAGIC?” I screeched. “Water. Every creature needs water. Especially us.” Raz picked up the map and took a few more steps towards me, his head bowed in thought and the air filling with uncomfortable silence. This dragon just lost all of its kin, it’s entire clan. Just like… Just like my clan long ago. Trying not to get too caught up in self pity, I wordlessly picked up my new companion, put him on my shoulder, and walked away from the ruins.

Whole thing is here if you’re looking for chapter 2 which isn’t Tumblr friendly.

#rp

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akedocitydespair · 8 years ago

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Down the Rabbit Hole

[HOTARU AZAMAKU HAS BEEN FOUND GUILTY.]

[COMMENCING EXECUTION…]

Hotaru stood before MonokumAI’s throne, every cell in her body screaming with nerves, and the whole world seemed to have stopped. Time doesn’t sound anymore. There’s no ticking of the clock. There’s no music, no voices, no nothing. Everything is black and white and dark and quiet and why is it so quiet she can’t stand it—

She didn’t mean to.

They all knew it was an accident— and Hotaru knew that if she could reverse time and take it all back, she would in a split second. But she was all too aware that there was no such thing as an accident in the walls of Akedo City.

Her legs were trembling, and standing was becoming increasingly unnerving. She felt those crystalline tears storming down her cheeks in a relentless cascade. For the first time in her life, there’s no one there. There are no comforting or patronizing hands on her shoulders, no voices whispering you’ve failed, nothing trying to shroud her view of the scars and fears before her. For once in her seventeen years of living, Hotaru had no friends nor enemies— just the faceless line of accusations before her.

And that scared her more than six years of any of that ever could.

She sees the chain coming- the chain they promised would guide her to her execution. She’s…she’s ready. If she tells herself that, it’ll be okay.

Hotaru brushes tears away from her cheeks, smiling softly yet shakily at her class. Her heart hurts— the whole world seems as though it’s weighing down on her until the pressure reaches a point where agony rages through her. She carefully waves at her peers, hoping her sweet smile and hopeful tone will make her tears seem nonexistent.

She only manages to sob out a few words before the chain reaches her.

“I deserve this.“

As soon as she felt the metal clamp around her throat— there was nothing grabbing her and nothing beneath her feet. The chain was an illusion— fitting. A hatch has caved in right under her footing. There’s no more floor. No more support. No more chain, no more nothing. Nothing but free space and…

"Down the Rabbit Hole”

Falling.

It’s not a long fall, and Hotaru feels her knees smack against the linoleum floor beneath her and she cries out because it hurts it hurt it hurts it hurts and she can’t breathe because the world is red and it hurts—

A hall stretches out before her. There’s no one, no other sign of life, it’s just her. Just her. Alone. Afraid. Uncertain of what’s to come.

Until a flash of white flickers at the end of the hall.

She shouldn’t follow, she tells herself. But her feet don’t listen and she’s rushing down the hall, racing to identify what might be her one and only compatriot in this cavernous hall of hopelessness.

Every time she turns a corner, it’s there, just seconds out of reach. She has to run faster. She has to catch it. Her feet thunder against the linoleum floor, an unrelenting echo through the maze incarcerating her, and she never seems to catch up. The walls are too distant, too cold, and she’s so afraid and she has to find it she has to escape her loneliness she can’t be abandoned again she can’t be—

She deserves this.

Those words flash through her brain as soon as there’s no more space before her. She’s crashed into a wall, and she’s in a pile in the floor before she can even blink.

She pushes herself up to look at the area around her. There’s no wall in front of her. There’s a blank space, a remainder of a hall—

And then she realizes that it’s been craftily sketched on.

There’s paper against her fingertips. Paper. Only paper and the wall behind it. No matter how many times she tries to reach beyond that blank space, searching for her escape, seeking out that little flicker of white fur that she pursued for what felt like forever. There has to be an escape. She can’t be fated to just curl up here and starve to death, a tiny little remnant of a person.

And then any fear of a slow death is extinguished in a second.

There are spears. So many of them. Needles of incredible size embedded in her body, from her shoulders to her feet. She’s nothing but a sword in a barrel trick gone horribly wrong. Blood stains her apparel, and there’s so many spears and so much pain pain pain—

And the final thing she gets to see, through blood blurred eyes, is the dangling silhouette of a plush rabbit, held aloft by puppeteer’s strings.

[HOTARU AZAMAKU HAS BEEN EXECUTED.]

#Chapter 2 Execution #Hotaru #Chapter 2 Trial #Chapter 2 #Hotaru Death

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gamingtipsandtrickshacks · 6 years ago

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Forever playing in Exile • Eurogamer.net

Once when I was small I went to the shops to buy an explosive - a tiny microdet designed for stage pyrotechnics. I've been fortunate that I've never really had blood on my hands when playing with fire, but that day I did get a lot of raspberry jam on them.

A school friend held a balloon open while I crammed in as much jam as possible before knotting it sealed. Then we pierced a small hole in a puppet's head and inserted the microdet followed by the balloon of clotted blood-like substance. I hooked the wires up to a 9-volt battery behind the camcorder, which was masking-taped to a makeshift dolly (a pram on rails). In exquisite anticipation I barked "Action!" But things didn't quite go to plan.

At that age, life only made sense when you were having fun. The freedom to play was why blood pumped through your veins. It was necessary to experiment and push boundaries, to test and meddle with the laws of physics. Teasing spiders, climbing trees, disturbing bee's nests, throwing snowballs at passing cars and building follies to set fire to. There was always a thrill to be had on the edge of mischief. That was instinctive, that... was boyhood.

But a back garden wasn't the only playground on offer in the mid to late 80s. Computer games were fast becoming portals into entire worlds with their own laws and abstracted physics. I was 11 years old and I was attempting to dock a rotating space station. Not Starbuck or Skywalker... me! I could barrel-roll a Spitfire, pilot fragile pods through planetary caves or hack into and fly remote-controlled robots. Exploring those digital playgrounds was my generation's undiscovered country and the thrills were intoxicating. Then at some point in those life-shaping years I found myself spellbound by an unusual game titled Exile, for the BBC Micro. And to this day part of me still hasn't been able to leave.

In 1988 games had to run in only 32k of memory. My phone now has 60,000 times that amount. And yet... there I was 30 years ago exploring a vast underground world simulating realistic physics with its own ecosystem, all running inside 32k of RAM. The wildlife and machines all had their own abilities and behaviours and even emitted digitised speech if you had the sideways RAM. This was absolute heaven to me, but it wasn't until I started making my own games that I came to fully appreciate how unlikely it was that all this ever came together in the first place.

Somehow the developers created a responsive 2D scrolling platformer with pixel-perfect collision, that worked in an engine where objects had properties and a mass effected by gravity, inertia, shock-waves and the elements earth, wind, fire and water. These days it's hard to appreciate now that physics engines are commonplace, but this was relatively new back then and Exile went all in to unprecedented lengths.

This was a new blend of platform game with true physical principles giving birth to a peculiar quality that sparked the imagination like nothing before - physical emergent narrative. It offered the player the ability to experiment and discover things outside the remit of whatever challenges the developer laid out for them. This alchemy for real tangible depth to interactive worlds can still prove painfully elusive for developers today. How can one offer the flexibility to experiment while maintaining a balanced ecosystem in which delicate puzzles have been woven? Maybe this is why it took so long for games like Minecraft and Disney Infinity to happen.

But even these days, how often do players find themselves trying to disarm a primed grenade that has escaped their grasp in a circular wind tunnel? How do you keep a flask from spilling water as you're caked by jetpack-clogging mushrooms thrown by cheeky imps? What do you do with a killer bee you've caught from its nest but stings while you flip through your inventory? What happens if you hold a frightened pink ball of fluff under red drops of acid jam? These just weren't the questions gamers were used to pondering. Equally important, it turned out nor were they questions a developer needed to contrive.

Exile.

The intelligence required for path-finding and strategy alone must have been a challenge in itself, but the indignance of that Darlek-esque sentinel as I landed politely on its head, the audacity of the villain Triax teleporting in and out to shoot me in the back, that endearing desperation whenever Fluffy clung to me for dear life... Was any of that real or did I imagine it? Advanced AI has often proved a poor investment in games. It can be so very clever but the bottom line is: if it's not noticed, it's completely wasted. The AI in Exile probably doesn't compare to what exists in today's games, but again... this isn't what's important. The secret is frequently staring right at us, through the eyes of a great movie star or even a wooden actor who knows when to exploit that unfortunate quality. Explicit emotional performances or Shakespearean monologues aren't necessary to immerse the audience in the mind of the character. Many actors have made the point that the power of ambiguity can be far more powerful. If there's drama in the situation, the audience can do all that leg work for the actor, who only has to project the illusion of thought. Artificial intelligence in entertainment is as much about anthropomorphism as it is about explicit communication or action. If it's done well it can be concocted in the eye of the beholder, emerging from situation, emerging from conflict, as an emergent... narrative.

Exile demonstrated a strong sense for crafting these natural unpredictable behaviour patterns, giving the illusion of a deeper intelligence and appearing to show changes in mood or temperament. Even if that sometimes just meant knowing when to hold still for a few seconds and do absolutely nothing, like when you give a spider a little poke to watch it play dead. How can something so motionless be so captivating? The AI was superb, but so was this pseudo AI.

For many reasons Exile was the game that made the biggest impression on me, and it wasn't long before I hooked up with school friend Chris Mullender to make our own game for the Amiga 500. What started out as a simple platformer inspired by Giana Sisters soon ballooned into our own sprawling world of bizarre creatures that followed their own laws and physical abilities. We realised then that we had both been heavily inspired by the land of Exile, even down to logistics such as memory management. It was literally impossible to store a map of that size into 32k. Chris' research uncovered how the map was constructed from selected procedural tile sets. This blew my mind, it felt like the big bang in reverse. Also, I remembered seeing the game played on an even less powerful machine, an Acorn Electron and noticed a large portion of the screen filled with corrupt graphics. It turned out this was no bug, but a technique that harnessed the screen buffer to store data. Genius! So we stored our game's hidden cave map data in the island's negative space - the sky. This instantly halved the size of our map data.

We learnt a lot regarding how so much could be put into so little space. It felt only natural to write a fan letter to the developers of Exile, and I was thrilled to receive a handwritten reply from Peter Irvin. However, it was in that letter I learned the tragic news of the death of his co-developer Jeremy Smith (who had previously created the much loved gravity game Thrust). Also sad was the speculation of what magic such a partnership would have gone on to create next.

In a strange mirroring of fate, a sequence of events followed that saw us releasing our game Odyssey under the same publisher as the Amiga version of Exile. My partner was hired to code for Peter's following projects and by the end of the next decade I had lost Chris, my co-creator and closest friend to a sudden illness. I was most touched when Peter reached out to console me, having been through the very same thing with Jeremy.

Reece Millidge and Chris Mullender.

When I look back on the development of Odyssey, before it entered that tough phase to bring it to completion, I remember the joyful fleshing out on whim and self indulgence. We drew on what excited us and made us laugh. I ate lots of biscuits and Chris drank lots of tea. We were making it because we enjoyed the process. Who knew that making a game could be as much fun as playing one?

When the red light blinked on the camcorder, I dollied towards the puppet and triggered the microdet. But the jam didn't explode. There was a loud pop and sparks flew from its head but the balloon was so tightly packed that it launched intact, remaining lodged and bulging out of its forehead. We were mucking about... and we mucked it up, but it was hilarious fun. Much like the time we filmed a firework backfiring a cardboard bazooka, singeing the armpit of my brother's favourite teddy bear. Or when a friend painted his face silver and climbed into his mum's washing machine, snapping the door off its hinges. We weren't playing to win, we were playing to play.

Now I find myself in the role of a responsible parent, supplying the back garden and fencing in the boundaries for my own kids to push. But like a lot of games developers still under the spell, I'm really just trying to recreate the playgrounds of my own childhood. If I'm still mucking around at middle age where things make only less sense, then it looks like I'll remain forever in exile, playing happily with grenades, pink balls of fluff and raspberry preserves.

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gamingtipsandtrickshacks · 6 years ago

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Forever playing in Exile • Eurogamer.net

Exile.

Reece Millidge and Chris Mullender.

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gamingtipsandtrickshacks · 6 years ago

Text

Forever playing in Exile • Eurogamer.net

Exile.

Reece Millidge and Chris Mullender.

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gamingtipsandtrickshacks · 7 years ago

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Forever playing in Exile • Eurogamer.net

Exile.

Reece Millidge and Chris Mullender.

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