#luna wing

[luna-wing-cns274]

[Tracing omninode]

[Scrubbing]

[Opening tunnel]

[UserID:Styx]

[Redirecting]

[Adress not found]

[Request:define somatosensory uplink]

[Request: define adress]

[ UserID: CNS274-L4MI ]

[ ADDRESSREQ = OT46W7URZL-A56 ]

[ SOMALINK = ENABLED ]

[ Welcome, new user: Styx. Guest privileges granted. Loading avatar… ]

…

(Pacing back and forth among a thin stand of trees, the coyote waited. On the horizon, past a field of rolling hills rising to jagged mountains, the sun sinks low.)

[ Loading complete. Rendering… ]

< L4 Ma’ii: Ah. There you—oh. Well. You look striking. Welcome, Styx. >

[the-last-patch]

[ COMP/CON SYSTEM MESSAGE: Continuing transcription of direct experiential data capture… ]

In the cramped confines of the ordnance bay, Hachiko’s subaltern crouched over Sokaris’s Kobold, peering down at him through the breach in its hatch. His eyes were open; Hachiko watched as they lazily tracked the subaltern’s movements. Too slowly.

Concussion, Hachiko thought, and adjusted the tasking of the medical nanites.

He tried to speak, but his voice withered. Guttural coughs wracked his chest. A deep metallic scraping sounded from inside the chassis, and Hachiko startled, beginning to reach for her pistol before she caught herself. Cautiously, she extended a camera cable from the subaltern, trying to locate the source of the noise, and found it.

Sokaris’s cybernetic tail was dragging itself along the mech’s interior. Several end sections of the tail had been destroyed, and the pink paint coating its exterior was scorched away in places, but it moved with purpose. With precise motions, it created a series of taps and scrapes in alternating long and short bursts.

Morse code.

Friend? The signal read, transcribed by his Omnihook.

“Yes! I’m a friend. It’s Hachi, buddy. You’re aboard my fighter. It’s not ideal, but this bay is the best I’ve got. I’m going to get you warmed up. You’re wounded, but you’ve received correctives, including a small maniple of medical nanites. They’re going to start working to control your pain and repair the damage. You should feel the pain receding now, but don’t try to move yet.”

Scanning the interior of Sokaris’s Kobold, Hachiko’s attention was caught by the series of interface plugs across his hardsuit’s back.

“Wait. That’s a full subjectivity sync, isn’t it? You’re rigged for total somatosensory replacement, then.”

Hachiko paused, weighing something in her mind.

“Okay, there’s a few things we can do. You can’t speak, but we could use the sync cybernetics to communicate.

One, I could try to get a simple two-way connection up and running so we can communicate electronically. You could use neural commands to compose messages. Text, mainly. It’s non-invasive and relatively easy to accomplish.

Or—if you’re comfortable with it—I could try to set up a full Legionspace bridge. In effect, you could enter virtual reality, occupying a simulation of your body while I work to stabilize your real one. I don’t know if you’ve ever attempted that before. It’s safe, but it can be disorienting. You’d at least be isolated from the pain, however.

What do you think? Text, Legion, or leave it alone?”

[Resuming Song]

[Now Playing - “Opossum Instrumental Ver.”]

<As the transmission picks up again, the rudimentary Morse code is noticeably absent. It stopped when Hachiko addressed him. Silence followed her statements towards him, but it was clear that “Opossum” seemed to relax a little upon hearing her name. His breathing, previously ragged and strained, stabilized slightly. They became deeper, and less frantic.>

<Although the friendly voice seemed to soothe him, the time came for a response and he failed to deliver. There was no rhythmic tapping, no strained words, no noise at all coming from “Opossum”, aside from his faint breaths. It seems he was confused —Or Disoriented Perhaps— failing to understand what was being asked.>

{L3} “Text? Legion? Or leave it alone?”

<Several seconds pass in this silence, each stretching to impossible lengths, as the injured mercenary lie there, down and out. Then, he once again begins the code. It’s much more refined this time, each “dit” and “dah” clearly recognizable. It is clear that this ability, to scrape together a solution with only scrap is what truly made the Patchwork Mercenaries what they are, or were.>

{“Opossum”} .- .-.. --- -. . ..--.. / -- . ..--.. / -. . --. .- - .. ...- . .-.-.-

{System} Alone? Me? Negative.

<The Merc stirs, audible winces and other expressions of pain leave his throat as he does. It would seem the very thought of being alone right now is enough to frighten him. He eventually stops shifting, gently falling back into the depths of his frame with a slight thud. Following that noise, he can be heard grasping something. It was a gentle noise, but just loud enough for the Omnihook to pick up. He then continues the tapping.>

{“Opossum”} ... .--. . .- -.- .-.-.- / ..-. .- -.-. . / - --- / ..-. .- -.-. . .-.-.- / .--. .-.. . .- ... . .-.-.-

{System} Speak. Face to Face. Please.

<Without giving Hachi a moment to speak, he begins a new message. The deliberate “dits” and ”dahs” becoming rushed and frantic, as if “Opossum” believed he would be left behind should he not dictate fast enough.

{“Opossum”} .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -... . -.-. --- -- . / .-.. . --. .. --- -. .-.-.-

{System} I will become Legion.

[luna-wing-cns274]

< L2 Garmr: There was a gestalt, twenty strong, based around a carrier and a few escort cruisers. I flew alongside it for a while. Or, hell, maybe inside it? Under its aegis? It had this—envelope it became. Managed. Incorporated. Written language doesn’t have the best words for this.

I stayed close to it, the way a tiny moon stays close to a gas giant. That’ll work.

Its name was Skyline. I never really interacted with its members individually, but speaking as someone who’s been part of a gestalt before: if you know a gestalt, you know its members, too.

Skyline only ever existed for a few hours at a time, but when it was around, it was because everybody was looking down the barrel of some pretty fucking long hours. All told, I knew it for about six days and four hours, total. It had hundreds of other satellites, some human, some like me, but it was smart enough to actually know every single one of us.

You got any idea how it feels to fight with something that powerful at your back? You could feel the edges of its thoughts, and the edge it showed you was always the part that was meant specifically for you. It knew my shape, how I slotted into the plan. When it pulled the trigger, I was one of the bullets. It was like a star burning behind us, so bright you could barely make out its surface when you dared to sneak a glance at the whole.

It showed me how to pull stunts you wouldn’t believe. Just had to trust it, that it had already done the math, had the logic. Exact little windows of time, tiny opportunities that made all the difference, factors I only learned about in the after-action. A defense turret with damaged elevation actuators, a drone screen with its coordination disrupted for a few moments by radiation bursts, hostile craft too close to overheating to fire their main weapons. Things like that.

There were Legion attacks targeted at me, designed to negate everything I am and hijack my body. Imagine the worst thing in the universe, something painful just to look at, something shaped like you. Imagine that screaming toward you through conceptual space at a trillion miles an hour, coming to wrench your soul open, rip everything out, and replace you. I watched that melt into nothing as it hit Skyline’s corona.

You can guess what happened to all twenty of its members.

There was a service, but it was the SSC kind. Formal, budgeted for time and processing power, obviously only done for the sake of morale. Officers and executives giving speeches, nobody showing anything but stoic resignation.

Us pilots collaborated on something with a little more soul. It’s not an easy thing to describe, but if you’ve got enough people who ‘saw’ a gestalt in Legionspace from enough angles, you can kinda build up a composite of what it looked like. Its outer shell, without the light shining from inside it. The humans helped; they always had to see it through some heavy filters, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t see it, didn’t know its shape. Hell, the language I’ve been using to describe Skyline is based on their anthropocentric interpretation—like the sun.

Anyway, we all took turns adding to the composite, reinforcing sections which were familiar and adding sections we remembered, until we had an idea of Skyline. We’re no ontologisticians, though. It’s a shaky image, shot through with holes, but it’s recognizable. Takes up a fair bit of memory, but it’s worth blocking out the space to have that image on hand.

It is to me, anyway. Is it self-centered to say Skyline is a comforting memory? Maybe, but I’d be lying if I said it isn’t. To all twenty members, rest well. >

A somber one tonight folks, it's a question that's been lingering on my mind after the 30 hours war...

Traditions of what you do with the pilots who don't come back.

We used to fire shells from gunnery with their names on them, another name etched onto an ever growing wall of names in the Low Orbit... A closed chapter in our book of legends.

Sure a funeral is there, tangible, real, but it's not the same. When you're that linked to a frame, to a squad, an ethos. The creed of being a pilot and all it entails, that wordless contract of mech combat.... you need something more.

Callsign: Arclight, a line of shots set on fire for the whole bar for our favorite Ghengis pilot.

Callsign: Whistler, we got a recording of him whistling, Mac managed to save the record before Daisy got thrashed apparently. It's on the jukebox now.

Callsign: Pancake, always gotta leave a plate for her on taco night. Always.

Curious how the rest of you remember the fallen, beyond the classic pour a drink or funeral...

Till Legends Bleed

//November\\

[sunrize-sketches]

wof sketches (jambu, luna and sundew)

[uwingdispatch]

Since we're getting closer and closer to Andor and Andor leads right into Rogue One I thought I'd just drop all of my Rogue One things (or at least everything I can fit—none of the apparel is in this post) in one spot. So here we go. Shop is here.

Lanyard keychains:

Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi, and K-2SO

Other keychains and charms:

U-Wing, Temple of the Kyber

Spotify Shakers:

Rogue One Crew, Rebel Girls, Cassian x "this is me trying", Jyn x "You're On Your Own, Kid", Mon x "Bejeweled"

Scrunchies:

Battle of Scarif, K-2SO

Hair Clips:

Cassian, Galen

Mini pouches:

Cassian, Jyn, U-Wings, K-2SO

Acrylic Earrings:

Rogue One Starbird, K-2SO

Character Earrings:

Y'all know who these guys are.

Looking forward to making new stuff for Andor season 2! Let me know what y'all would like to see! <3

Shop is here.

[sivelu]

Now when i wake up, the sun is in my room.

It's spring indeed...

[arrgh-whatever]

luna's armor

[femmekinkajou]

so gleen

[spookys1fan]

Enemies to lovers blicket au

[hyzenastrrr]

Arc 3 is th ebest arc WHO SAID THAT

[enbeemagical]

before I forget

so last year, I went into work and my coworker was wearing earrings. I was rather surprised, thinking she was wearing menorah earrings, because I didn't think she was Jewish

....she was not in fact wearing menorah earrings. they were moths. Anyways then I couldn't stop thinking about a moth menorah. a mothenorah, if you will. and I sketched one on my phone that day.

(ID: a very crude digital sketch of a moth menorah /end ID)

I kept meaning to redraw it, and finally I did! Behold: the Luna Mothenorah

ID: a pencil drawing of a luna moth menorah. The head holds the shamash, and the outstretched wings are level and hold the other eight candles, which alternate between white, blue, and yellow. The moth's wings are mostly pale green, with a brown spot on each wing, and the tails of the wings form the stand. /end ID

upgrade, no?

[luna-wing-cns274]

< L3 Hachiko: A question for you mech pilots out there - why do people use melee weapons? Seriously.

It seems like it should be a last resort! Why get that close to the enemy voluntarily? I grasp that there are scenarios where you’ve got no choice, but you’d think those would be relatively uncommon circumstances.

In a fighter, one hundred kilometers is knife-fight range. Do you guys really end up at zero meters that often down there? >

[the-last-patch]

cw: blood, injury

[ File recieved: “PXV-OPOSSUM_EXTRACTION.ec2”, filesize 42.2GB.

COMP/CON system message: the following file format is DIRECT EXPERIENTIAL CAPTURE. Origin subjectivity: Fenrisúlfr-class non-human person CNS274-L3HK, “Hachiko.”

Subjectivity sync NOT AVAILABLE. Generating narrative transcript. Warning: some experiential data may be omitted or condensed in textual format. For alternate safe methods of accessing direct experiential data, contact GMS Client Support for supplemental software licensure. ]

Apprehension tugged at Hachiko’s mind from a dozen different directions while her quarterlight ejection drive spooled. 

Physically, she could feel sound coursing through her hull, its frequency soaring into the ultrasonic range with the continuous flow of energy being added to the drive’s charge. One syllable, sung in rising pitch until the individual oscillations were packed together so tightly that they merged into a sustained mosquito whine. 

Near her, she could feel the presence of her three siblings as a comfortable network of Legionspace traffic, radar returns, and sensor data. An hour ago, as a single unit, they had pivoted in the darkness of space as they entered the system, pointing their drives toward their destination. Soon, following a span of time calculated down to the nanosecond, they would fire their drives and their velocity relative to Upsilon-XVII would change from .25c to the precise speed they needed to enter geosynchronous orbit. 

Then what? In realtime, Luna Wing’s final transit duration, from receiving the transmission to arriving at the scene, would be twelve hours and sixteen minutes.

In all likelihood, he was frozen by now. 

Hachiko knew it, but couldn’t afford to feel it. Instead, she accessed the transmissions from his Omnihook for the thousandth time, trying to prepare herself for what she would find. 

Footage appeared to her. Opossum—Sokaris, heavily wounded, slumped forward. Neural interface jacks and hardsuit plugs broken along his shoulders. Blood, hydraulic fluid, and saline solution smeared together. Medical prognoses extrapolated from a tiny display and what could be seen of his broken body. She couldn’t tell if he still had life support, but what was left of his hardsuit would at least provide insulation. There was an unidentified stimulant entering his bloodstream, and she had no idea whether that had become an asset or a danger in the hours which followed. 

Gloved hand, a woman’s voice, the chassis named Kaprosuchus. Luna 1, Grey, had analyzed the frame, examined the geometry of the armor, and believed a firing solution existed. Hachi had attempted to analyze the woman, and still struggled to connect the voice recording to the vicious mass of teeth and claws on-camera. 

Summoning her avatar, Hachiko narrowed her eyes. Until she arrived onsite, Hachiko couldn't know for certain whether this person, Gatorskin, had murdered Sokaris or saved his life. Whoever she was, she wasn’t predictable. 

< L1 Grey: Fifteen seconds. Standby for NLS deceleration eject on my mark. >

< L2 Garmr: Got it. >

< L3 Hachiko: Okay. >

< L4 Ma’ii: Understood. >

Dismissing the transmission files, Hachiko retrieved another. An image of Opossum standing in the light with a wall of ice behind him, grinning.

It occurred to her that she barely knew him--but he was one of the few humans to have spoken to her as a person, not a war machine. He was another person made, exploited, and discarded by Smith-Shimano. He was a friend. She had decided that this was more than enough. 

So had her siblings. 

< L1 Grey: Bolt. >

In the moment she fired her ejection drive, Hachiko wore her fighter as her body. She felt the mosquito whine die as an overwhelming, almost unreal burst of acceleration shifted her into another frame of reference. 

__

From black nothingness, a planet snapped into existence, its sunward face gleaming beneath Hachiko’s fuselage. Far away, through passive sensors, Hachiko could make out a thin spindle of metal and exotic materials stretching from the planet’s surface up to the same altitude they occupied in geosynchronous orbit. Along its length, ship-sized platforms rose and descended, loaded with cargo. At its apex was a city-sized space station surrounded by bright sparks of high-energy radiation—the drive signatures of freighters and escort craft, coming and going. 

When Hachiko turned her infrared sensors to the station, she felt covers automatically snap shut to protect the higher-sensitivity instruments. The infrared energy pouring from the station was so intense that it drowned her entire display in harsh white light. Her COMP/CON spoke up.

[ Fox_3: Warning: artificial radiant heat hazard detected. For your safety, I have added navigational aids to define unsafe proximity. ]

< L3 Hachiko: Thanks, Fox. Designate the station and surrounding vessels as potential hostile contacts of unknown capability. Keep an eye on them. >

[ Fox_3: Yes, ma’am. ]

Hachiko magnified her view of the station and filtered out the overwhelming infrared light. A vast array of high-powered heat projectors studded the side of the station facing the planet, separated by a forest of glowing red radiator fronds. The projectors’ overlapping cones of infrared energy were focused on a continent-sized area in the northern hemisphere of the world. Gray clouds blanketed the landscape there, swirling out through the planet’s atmosphere. 

< L4 Ma’ii: Well, there’s our terraforming station. What do we know about it? >

< L3 Hachiko: He called it Helios. Nerve center for the Kalvis Group’s operations here. Center of a project to artificially raise ambient ecological temperatures and make the climate more tolerable for humans. Able to maintain a sizable sector of the world above 0°C by itself. >

< L2 Garmr: Damn. That’s some serious manna. Kid picked a hell of a fight. >

< L3 Hachiko: His company accepted a contract. That wasn’t his choice. >

< L2 Garmr: Could’ve bailed out. Humans get to pick where they work, remember? >

< L3 Hachiko: It wasn’t like that. This wasn’t just an employer; you didn’t talk to him. Actually, no, you did! To complain about his taste in music. >

< L2 Garmr: His taste? You’re the one who’s been on this Old Cradle kick since you— >

< L1 Grey: Let’s keep it focused, please. I’m tagging armaments on the station. Railgun batteries, point-defense cannons, laser emplacements, flyswatter pods. Looks like general market tech, but they can throw a lot of it at once. Garmr, I want you to start taking a look at those escort vessels. Ma’ii, throw them off our scent if you can. There’s no way they didn’t detect the radiation burst when we decelerated. It’s only a matter of time before they spot us, and I want to know the instant we get pinged. Hachiko, pull up those coordinates and start surveying the ground. The sooner we get out of orbit, the better. Let us know when you find him; we’ll follow your lead. >

< L2 Garmr: On it. >

< L4 Ma’ii: Affirmative. Prepping ECMs. >

< L3 Hachiko: Already on it. >

The equatorial landmasses and seas below were crusted with ice, giving off a piercing white glare of reflected sunlight. Applying brightness filters to better survey the landscape, Hachiko began searching.

Sector by sector, carefully angling her active radar to avoid generating detectable noise, Hachiko began scanning the vicinity of the coordinates Gator had transmitted. If the footage of the battle was anything to go by, certain factors should have been present. Exposed coldcores, synthetic materials used in mech construction, and polymer masses extruded by Sokaris’s Kobold, among other things. All materials with particular reflective properties, very different from the surrounding snow, ice, and rock. If she was right, the site of the battle should be glaringly obvious. It was simply a matter of finding the right spot…

< L4 Ma’ii: We’ve got pings. Switch to active ECM. >

< L1 Grey: Hachi? >

< L3 Hachiko: I think I’ve got something. Need a moment to verify. >

< L2 Garmr: You better make it quick. There’s an OTC controller on broadcast, addressing some very pointed questions to nobody in particular. >

< L3 Hachiko: I have it. Confirm sensor acquisition, transmitting geoloc data. On me. >

___

Descending to the ground, Hachiko deployed her landing gear and opened the doors to her ordnance bay. She felt the subaltern drop free from her hull, switched to it mid-drop, and landed on her feet. 

Walking across open ground set her on edge. She felt slow, so slow that she might as well have been stationary. Dizzyingly close to the long, flat expanse of snow. Exposed, terrifyingly, to the open sky. Her subaltern held its laser pistol at low ready and flicked the power on, as though it would help if this turned out to be an ambush. If it was, Garmr, Ma’ii, and Grey would make UNS pay for it, but she doubted she’d be able to take off before they got to her.

As she crept between ruined chassis, craters, and building-sized heaps of hardened polymer, the true brutality of mech combat suddenly became apparent to her. Enormous gashes had been cut into the snow and earth beneath, the telltale signs of melee combat. She walked past the wreck of a Blackbeard, matte black with yellow accents, with a nanocarbon sword plunged in the snow beside it which was nearly three times as long as her subaltern was tall. There was still steam rising from its melted reactor. 

Frozen in the act of swatting a Gilgamesh’s combat knife away, a Tokugawa frame knelt over its opponent. Three enormous talons had ripped its back open, destroying it as it grappled with the Gilgamesh. Its plasma torches had connected with the Gilgamesh’s cockpit before losing power, dealing a killing blow; the cockpit hatch had melted and collapsed inward, crushing the pilot. The Tokugawa’s superstructure had been rebuilt by hand, apparently several times over, resulting in a strange visual jumble of spare parts, salvaged armor plating, and patch jobs. 

Must be Hotshot, then, thought Hachiko. She didn’t have the nerve to check the cockpit. She was all but certain what she’d find. 

Blades, claws, and plasma torches. This wasn’t the sort of combat she knew. In space or in the air, “the enemy” meant only a set of distant radar contacts. The killing was usually instantaneous; a railgun strike could kill a human pilot well before their nervous system ever registered the impact. This, on the other hand, was more like fighting in Legionspace. Tearing directly at the enemy, cruel and personal.

She imagined her casket being ripped free from her fuselage, caught between the teeth of Gator’s mech as Sokaris’s Kobold had been. A wave of horror washed over her, as did an intuitive, visceral understanding of what humans used combat stims for. To endure this, to survive it. It was their version of personality partitioning. They couldn’t simply cordon off their terror, their kindness, or any of the things which made them suboptimal combatants, they literally had to alter their own brain chemistry to do so. 

But Hachiko didn’t. To her, shedding it all was second nature. With a rapidity that surprised her, she hurled the thought away. 

There was a mass of slag shaped into a static fortification, standing almost two stories high, with a pair of Patchwork mechs lying inside. A Lancaster and a Viceroy, both destroyed when one side of the fortification was breached.  

Enormous clawed footprints, filled partially with snow, led around the fortress’s side. Tracking them around the structure’s western flank, pistol at the ready, Hachiko found herself standing over him. 

His Kobold was dusted with snow, sprawled on the ground with its weapons flung aside. Its armor plating was melted and deformed, and a series of punctures along its chest went straight through to his hardsuit. Welded to one shoulder was a fresh, undamaged plate of matte black armor. On the plate was a decal: a long set of crocodilian jaws with rows of serrated teeth, with an icon of a wide eye between them. 

Beneath the Kobold’s breached hatch, she could see a section of Sokaris’s face. Dried blood crusted his chin, flowing down from a ragged wound in his right cheek which had torn a section of skin away. His skin was pale, lips turning blue with the cold. 

Hachiko suddenly understood something about the human who called herself Gatorskin. She had done this to him, and in the aftermath, had been presented with the same set of visual data. 

“He’s kind of cute like this,” she’d said. 

In Legionspace, Hachiko realized that she had summoned her avatar without realizing it. She felt her own face contorted into a snarl of rage and disgust, her fangs clenching so tightly that it felt like they might shatter. She partitioned the emotions away, but allowed a section of herself to experience them. It wasn’t the right time to let them free. 

The subaltern’s lidar built a realtime three-dimensional image of Sokaris’s face, and managed to detect a subtle few millimeters of motion as he drew in a slow, ragged breath. 

In the same motion, Hachiko fired her thrusters and sprinted awkwardly toward him, the subaltern’s feet catching in the snow. 

< L3 Hachiko: I’ve got him! He’s alive! >

< L2 Garmr: I’ll be damned. >

< L4 Ma’ii: audio transcription - Ma’ii laughs. Well, then. That’s a relief. >

< L1 Grey: Outstanding. Let’s get him taken care of. >

< L3 Hachiko: Working on it now. He’s hurt bad; we’re going to be here for a while. >

Hachiko did not partition her joy away. She allowed herself to experience it while she vectored her maneuvering thrusters to touch down beside her subaltern, which had already begun dragging the Kobold across the ice to her ordnance bay.

As she hoisted his frame into the bay with her subaltern, hoping that any broken bones would be held rigid by his hardsuit’s medical systems, she took the main drives offline and brought up anti-icing systems at full power, circulating heated reactor coolant through the hull. As the bay doors closed, she felt the temperature inside beginning to rise. 

Bringing up a row of lights, she set about retrieving correctives from emergency compartments and applying them. Spraying biofoam into the suit punctures, connecting his frame’s medical systems to the fighter’s computers, dispensing medical whitewash. Strangely, the Kobold’s firmware didn’t reject the connection; its IFF didn’t regard her as hostile. 

Slowly, Sokaris began to stabilize. His breathing and heart rate became steady, and his internal temperature began to rise. 

Hachiko looked down and detected motion. 

“P.XV? Sokaris, can you hear me?” She said. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

(@luna-wing-cns274 hey Argo!)

[Allied Hardware Detected]

[Patching In…]

[Success]

[…Thank you, L3]

[Now Playing - “Opossum”]

[Audio Only]

{L3} P.XV? Sokaris, can you hear me? It’s alright, you’re safe.

<A sudden, shrill noise can be heard, akin to the sound of metal being dragged across more metal. It stops as suddenly as it had started, and “Opossum” begins to speak, or attempts to. The beginning of a word can be heard, but quickly devolves into a hollow vocalization. It’s as if he is attempting to speak, but his body forbids him to do so.>

<Silence creeps across the room, “Opossum” ceased his attempts at speaking and seemed to take a moment to think. Just as swiftly as the silence fell, it is once again interrupted by the shrill noise. It then pauses, and resumes, however it is not random. There is a certain rhythm to the scraping. Some are prolonged, and others staccato. “Opossum” then attempts to speak again>

{“Opossum”} D..it..

<His voice is hoarse and dry, each sound barely audible. Every letter a battle, and each word a war.>

{“Opossum”} D..ah..

<As he trails off, he begins to cough. The sound generated is guttural and unpleasant. It was clear that the pain generated, was most likely just as bad as it sounded, if not worse.>

<The rhythmic scratching and tapping continues, the pattern much more distinct than before. It is clearly a code of some sort, proven through “Opossum’s” Omnihook.>

[Rhythm Recognized]

[Developing Lyrics]

[Success]

[Now Playing - “Opossum, Instrumental Ver.”]

<The rhythmic tapping continues as it did previously, but as it does a robotic voice speaks, translating the “song” into words>

{“Opossum”} ..-. .-. .. . -. -.. ..--..

[System] Friend?

[s0ckpuppet1]

book 15 slapped so hard idgaf

[bananafire11]

Part two to my mlp wof au

Part one!!!

The princesses and cutie mark crusaders

Note that the princesses got some animus stuff going on and that's why Celestia gets to be an extra fancy colored Sandwing^^

[tifosrottenmaker]

Luna 💥