JewelSerket

Archaic Circuitry: Old Code, Young Blood

BzzZzZzZZz

Germ sat up with a start and nearly banging his head on the low hanging pipework. Rokk had been kind in letting the rat sleep in his basement, sure, but it was tightly packed. It was only the blessing of Germ’s rat anatomy that made a place like this comfortable. Unfortunately for him, it was also plenty comfortable for rust-gnats. Germ managed to dodge the metal pipe, but he still got a proper lung-full of gnats.

The poor rat coughed up that nasty little swarm and scrambled out of his pile of blankets. Germ slipped on his pollution mask and ear plugs, then bundled his blankets into a ball. They ended up in a haphazard ball on top of his suitcase. He was far too excited to get to work.

Ha! Work! Germ could not remember the last time he went to an actual job. Granted, that was not new. His tail whipped back and forth as he dashed through the streets. Germ’s nimble feet dodged trash and strangers with ease. His little hands clutched at the straps of his bag. Between his teeth, he chewed the remains of a whisker. Once he arrived outside of the V.E.T. building, Germ skidded to a stop. He stared up at the creaking metal structure. His heart roared in his ears. This was it. This was Germ’s new life!

bzzzzZzZzz

A new life looked a lot like sitting in a lobby, anxiously squirming around in a chair that did not compliment Germ’s anatomy. He pulled his feet up onto the chair with him. Germ’s nose twitched and he ran his tail between his fingertips. All the while, he counted the rings on his tail. One. Two. Three. He counted to… fifteen? Had there been that few last time? Germ’s gaze darted across the others in the room. New people. Lots of new people. Germ wanted so dearly to talk to them. It would end the painful silence. He opened and shut his mouth several times but nothing escaped. These people were scary and would probably kill him if he spoke wrong.

Just as Germ was about to speak, footsteps caught his attention. He looked up at the Captain, his ears perking up. Germ listened with an excitement that made his chair tremble. The Captain’s offer to sit on her lap instantly caught the rat’s attention. She would be such a warm lap to sit in! Big and muscular and warm and cozy. Besides, such a prospect would line up with Germ’s goals.

Germ yelped at the thunderous screech. He leapt to his feet in the chair. His hand flew instinctively to the dagger tucked into his belt, but he went still when he realized the Captain was still talking. More offers of physical touch. Germ wiggled, his tail lashing out of his fingers. He leapt from his seat, looking over at that manila folder. A small, excited squeak escaped him. With that, he scampered out of the door.

BzzZzz— CRASH

Germ slowed as he approached the scene of the rampaging beast. It was instantly apparent to Germ that his dagger would be about as helpful as a wet spaghetti noodle. Mmm… spaghetti would be good right now. Maybe garnished with this little beasty’s meat? Is garnished the right word for that?—

The crashing of metal and thunks of useless spears brought Germ back to reality. He dashed over to a pile of rubble created by the beast. His fingers worked quickly, guiding chunks of shrapnel from the remains. Once freed, Germ made a grand, sweeping gesture. All of the shrapnel lifted into the air. It was a flurry of metal blades hoisted by well-practiced magic. What was combat if not a form of art?

Germ pointed toward the beast. The blur of metal shot toward the stone-horn. Even with as little training as Germ had, he knew the metal would be useless against that stone-guarded hide. That was why Germ was not aiming for that. He was aiming to gouge the beast’s eyes.

Archaic Circuitry: Old Code, Young Blood

Name: Gregor (Germ) Alabaster
Age: 23
Species: Wasteman (Ratfolk)
Height/Weight: 4’9” (but hunches over to 4’7”), 78 lbs (not including metal attachments)
Sex/Gender: AFAB, Male (He/Him, It/Its)
Appearance:
Germ is a hunched over little fellow with big, black eyes and a crooked smile. He only has three to five whiskers at a time, as he tends to chew or pull on them when anxious. Germ has big, round, floppy rat ears covered in nicks and cuts. They lay backwards on his head, similar to a dumbo rat. His fur is short and fluffy, but soft when groomed properly. It rarely is, though, which means it tends to stick up in all different directions. His fur on the front is white, but it fades into a tan, with a soft gray stripe down his back. There is a dark brown splotch on his nose/snout. His nose is black and twitches regularly, as he primarily uses scent to take in the world. Germ’s tail used to be quite long, but a mixture of his illness and anxious tugging has caused sections to fall off, meaning it is now barely long enough to be pulled around to his front to play with. This, plus his missing foot, means that Germ has a flawed sense of balance. He lost his foot a while ago, and replaced it with a slip of metal that causes Germ to limp due to his uneven legs. That same leg with the missing foot is relatively quickly falling apart, which has caused him to make a metal brace to hold it together. His back, neck, and shoulders are covered in nasty bite marks. He has a thick Junker accent (a sort of mix between southern US and Irish.)
Personality:
Germ is a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow: the embodiment of “Ignorance is Bliss”. It’s rare to see him without a smile… in public. That happiness is often a mask to hide the roaring anxiety built up from his memory issues, constant body pain, and fear of rejection. He’s very sociable, as he was raised in a very tight knit community of other rats. However, he struggles to understand the difference between normal social hierarchies and the, often violent, hierarchical structure of his people. When he lived with them, he was at the bottom of the totem pole and often received harsh treatment due to his weak body. As a result, he is a Yes Man! To an extreme fault, going out of his way to please others for fear of retribution. As he is now, Germ does not see these flaws as abnormal and thinks that anyone as socially low as him should be treated in such a way. His greatest love language is physical touch. This is in great part due to his upbringing, where his large family slept together in piles and groomed each other regularly. Due to how he left the family, and how alone he’s been for the past six months, he has resorted to any form of physical touch he can get. This is anything from awkwardly long handshakes to several instances with prostitutes that he really couldn’t afford. He has a love for junk, which he repurposes into art and metal sculptures he calls his “garden”.

What Are You Looking For?: Research and to follow the “holy scripture”! He wants to delve more into the mysteries of an “ancient God” named R4T_G0D. He found a hard drive in his youth full of the “holy scripture” being posted by the mystery god. It read of beautiful places for rats to live in safety and warmth, and he desires to go there. It also spoke of poetry and art, which inspires his own work.

Capabilities: Starving Artist (Metal Sculpture), Systema Spetsnaz (Handmade Knife), Junk Magic

Magic Forms

• Basic Kinesis ability: Scrapokinesis: Minor rotting and rusting
  
  • Magic Stain: Look Ma! No Hands!
    Germ’s body has begun to experience a sort of magic leprosy, causing him to have lost parts of his tail and a full foot. He has a limp and improper balance as a result.

• First Spell: Moderate Metal and Stone Manipulation
  
  
  • Magic Stain: Hit Yer Head Hard ‘Nuf and Yer Brains Fall Out
    Germ struggles to maintain memories due to his brain being damaged by his magic leprosy. This includes forgetting names, places, and even whole people if he did not know them for long enough. He will often forget to eat and groom himself. Once, near the beginning, he forgot where his home was and spent two days trying to find it again.

Archaic Circuitry: Old Code, Young Blood

Name: Gregor (Germ) Alabaster
Age: 23
Species: Wasteman (Ratfolk)
Height/Weight: 4’9” (but hunches over to 4’7”), 78 lbs (not including metal attachments)
Sex/Gender: AFAB, Male (He/Him, It/Its)
Appearance:
Germ is a hunched over little fellow with big, black eyes and a crooked smile. He only has three to five whiskers at a time, as he tends to chew or pull on them when anxious. Germ has big, round, floppy rat ears covered in nicks and cuts. They lay backwards on his head, similar to a dumbo rat. His fur is short and fluffy, but soft when groomed properly. It rarely is, though, which means it tends to stick up in all different directions. His fur on the front is white, but it fades into a tan, with a soft gray stripe down his back. There is a dark brown splotch on his nose/snout. His nose is black and twitches regularly, as he primarily uses scent to take in the world. Germ’s tail used to be quite long, but a mixture of his illness and anxious tugging has caused sections to fall off, meaning it is now barely long enough to be pulled around to his front to play with. This, plus his missing foot, means that Germ has a flawed sense of balance. He lost his foot a while ago, and replaced it with a slip of metal that causes Germ to limp due to his uneven legs. That same leg with the missing foot is relatively quickly falling apart, which has caused him to make a metal brace to hold it together. His back, neck, and shoulders are covered in nasty bite marks. He has a thick Junker accent (a sort of mix between southern US and Irish.)
Personality:
Germ is a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow: the embodiment of “Ignorance is Bliss”. It’s rare to see him without a smile… in public. That happiness is often a mask to hide the roaring anxiety built up from his memory issues, constant body pain, and fear of rejection. He’s very sociable, as he was raised in a very tight knit community of other rats. However, he struggles to understand the difference between normal social hierarchies and the, often violent, hierarchical structure of his people. When he lived with them, he was at the bottom of the totem pole and often received harsh treatment due to his weak body. As a result, he is a Yes Man! To an extreme fault, going out of his way to please others for fear of retribution. As he is now, Germ does not see these flaws as abnormal and thinks that anyone as socially low as him should be treated in such a way. His greatest love language is physical touch. This is in great part due to his upbringing, where his large family slept together in piles and groomed each other regularly. Due to how he left the family, and how alone he’s been for the past six months, he has resorted to any form of physical touch he can get. This is anything from awkwardly long handshakes to several instances with prostitutes that he really couldn’t afford. He has a love for junk, which he repurposes into art and metal sculptures he calls his “garden”.

What Are You Looking For?: Research and to follow the “holy scripture”! He wants to delve more into the mysteries of an “ancient God” named R4T_G0D. He found a hard drive in his youth full of the “holy scripture” being posted by the mystery god. It read of beautiful places for rats to live in safety and warmth, and he desires to go there. It also spoke of poetry and art, which inspires his own work.

Capabilities: Starving Artist (Metal Sculpture), Systema Spetsnaz (Handmade Knife), Junk Magic

Magic Forms

• Basic Kinesis ability: Scrapokinesis: Minor rotting and rusting
  
  • Magic Stain: Look Ma! No Hands!
    Germ’s body has begun to experience a sort of magic leprosy, causing him to have lost parts of his tail and a full foot. He has a limp and improper balance as a result.

• First Spell: Moderate Metal and Stone Manipulation
  
  
  • Magic Stain: Hit Yer Head Hard ‘Nuf and Yer Brains Fall Out
    Germ struggles to maintain memories due to his brain being damaged by his magic leprosy. This includes forgetting names, places, and even whole people if he did not know them for long enough. He will often forget to eat and groom himself. Once, near the beginning, he forgot where his home was and spent two days trying to find it again.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

5 AM: Wake up and– Check my notifications?

Eli groaned and pushed himself out of bed. Moving his arms burned. Moving in general burned. He wished he could go right back to sleep. Instead, he looked at his phone. He had not considered turning off his alarm last night, something he was quickly regretting. Eli picked up his phone and checked his messages. A small smile crossed his face.

’1 sounds good to me! Funny. I got into a work accident too. I wouldn’t be able to run or climb or anything either, haha! See u then.’

Eli pressed the send button, then dragged himself out of bed. Normally, he would be prepping for his workout. Instead, he took a long, careful shower, hating that he had to avoid getting the wound wet. His medical skills meant he knew how to skillfully replace his bandages, which helped him feel a little more normal.

Then Eli was in his closet. There was not much inside but workout clothes, sweatshirts, and the like. Big, comfy clothes that were loose and did not touch his skin much. He fished out a nice dress shirt and shorts, regretting that they were wrinkled. Eli tossed them on and stared at himself in the mirror. The brown pants made his ass look great, which was nice, but the tight, blue shirt emphasized the underlying bandages. There was one other issue with the outfit. He’s going to know you’re not a real man. He’s going to know you’re not good enough.

Elijah scrapped the outfit. Clearly, the bandages were too clear. Besides! He did not want to dress to fancy. What if this was not a romantic thing?? Sorrel would think he was a weirdo. Instead, he grabbed the nicest, cleanest grey sweatshirt he had and tossed on some jeans that were a bit too large. He considered packing… would that be disingenuous? Probably. He felt weird. Self conscious. Eventually, he decided against it.

Eli grabbed his gym bag, tossed his laptop into it, as well as the yarn and tools needed for his knitting project. Then he headed out for a leisurely walk to the park. The doctor said to be easy on his body! What is a few miles walk if it is slow and leisurely? He was fine and NOT a workaholic, thank you very much. Off he went to the park, arriving… only a few hours early.

𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

The Doctor acknowledged Harper’s entrance with a wave. She had fallen quiet for the most part. It was easier to let the Hounds fill the silence for her. It also meant less attention was drawn to Dr. Gate, which she much preferred. Especially with the state she was in, poorly groomed and all.

Roy’s mention of disappearance did little more than spark the Doctor’s interest. He had been gone for a while, which left Dr. Gate curious of his whereabouts. Now was, of course, not the time to ask such questions. Information like that was valuable and Dr. Gate doubted Roy would share it here and now. The Doctor’s gaze shot to Harper, the person who might more likely know about Roy’s actions. That would be a question for later.

Sabriel’s words were an icepick to the skull. Dr. Gate froze, though her gaze darted to the white haired man. She knew that bastard was calling her out specifically. Her hand shifted over her mouth as she pulled away from the couch. Dr. Gate leaned against the wall. It took a lot of energy to keep herself focused on Roy. To not seem anxious or even phased by the comments. To not show the growing queasiness that pooled in her stomach and threatened to spill over. Why did they keep bringing it up!? They didn’t have to! It was over. She should have run while she had the chance and left these ass holes behind.

But she didn’t.

Dr. Gate didn’t run. What a stupid decision to make. She broke eye contact with Roy when he mentioned her new restrictions. Realistically, Dr. Gate should have been in a much worse situation. If it were not for Dr. Cahyo’s assistance, she probably would be. Without realizing, she had begun to pick at the arms of her coat. It was a good thing she had a coat. It covered the scabs that she so desperately wanted to pick at and hid them from prying eyes.

It was not her fault that the DNCC had, predictably, wanted to pretend such destruction had not happened. After what she had done, it would be disastrous for anyone to find out the consequences of her actions. That did not change the fresh wave of guilt and queasiness that hit her when Casey spoke. Ne of all people was the person she wanted the least mad at her. Look at how that had gone.

The Doctor was grateful when Sabriel changed the subject back to the meeting at hand. Civilian clothing. Civilian items. That had Dr. Gate listening. It was not much, but those were something she could make actual use out of. More resources for her inventions. Hopefully, she could even get something she could write in without fear of stalking. Ever since she had found out about the journals, she had kept writing… though it was almost entirely more poetry. Dr. Gate had considered planting a dummy text for Dr. Cahyo to present, something that would throw people off the trail of Traveler language. She had not made herself do it, though. That would require confronting the journal problem head on.

Getting paid was even more promising. That suggested being able to buy things, which would expand her horizons further. She may be able to make more than just scrap objects. Sabriel’s question made the Doctor roll her eyes. Of course they were not getting paid. Prison, without even considering their special circumstances, was already a thinly veiled excuse for slavery. Hell, in some dimensions, it was not even veiled. Dr. Gate looked to Pine. A smirk crossed her face. It was, admittedly, fun to spur the drama. “It will probably be some special little store where we can buy moon pies and candy with the two quarters they give us per villain captured. Gods forbid we want something that might make us semi-comfortable.”

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

If nothing else, the DNCC was good for one particular thing: Insurance. With all his sort of medical experience, Elijah was able to plug his shoulder wounds. It wasn’t easy and it had burned like hell, but it worked to get Elijah to the hospital. Once there, flashing his DNCC insurance card meant he got extra privacy and all of his expenses paid. It did mean some time painfully transforming in and out of his King Stag form so they could help with the carapace damage. Not to mention the looks the doctors gave him when he confessed that he had failed in his capture.

By the time Elijah managed to drag himself home, the doctors had patched him up and told him to be gentle on his body, or it wouldn’t heal. Ha. Gentle on his body. That was a joke. Sleep had not come easily. He spent his night squirming in pain and the thoughts of the battle that day. It was going to be awkward to explain this tomorrow…

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Elijah knew that scream would be stuck in his head for a long time. He told himself it was fine. It was worth it. That this was for the sake of self defense. To his credit, it was. It was his job to capture this bastard. Elijah turned to face Gamma Burn and…

“Shit!” He yelped, then dashed after Gamma Burn.

Elijah tried his damnedest to follow Gamma Burn but running shifted his damaged Carapace around and he was already slower. He pressed a hand to his chest. He absolutely did not want to get seen like this. Once Elijah lost sight of Gamma Burn, he spent some time looking around for Lilian, or his corpse if necessary. Luckily… or maybe unluckily? Elijah found neither. He slipped out of food forest and transformed back when he was certain nobody saw him.

Blood rapidly stained Elijah’s shirt. He rushed home to go bandage himself up. Tomorrow’s date was going to be so fucking awkward when it was going to be difficult holding a fork in either of his hands.

Invaders Grimm: Taking Urth (Invader Zim spin-off)

Yessiree bob. Sign me up.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

King Stag stormed towards Gamma Burn. Unfortunately, the villain had landed somewhat gracefully from that last blow. Broiling pain made King Stag’s vision blur. His flesh was scorched and his carapace was rendered useless as those brutal claws dug into the skin underneath. Stubbornness did not allow King Stag to falter. Not yet, at least. He grabbed the wrist of his attacker. The heat alone made his hand burn. That did not stop the little arthropods from scrambling down his fingers for a feast of Gamma flesh.

With his enemy unable to escape, King Stag swung his horn and drove it into Gamma Burn’s shoulder. The blood that slicked his makeshift weapon burned just as hot as Gamma Burn’s claws. King Stag wrenched his horn upwards, sending the villain flying away from him.

From the Egg - A Dragon Training Rp

This will be the last time we talk. I am but a ghost of my former self. A fragment left in the sands of time. Once this is over, I will pour my spirit and energy into that of my child. It will give her the strength to hatch. So please, ask your questions. I will answer for what I can remember. Though, my memory now fails me in many ways.

The dragon stretched itself out. Its body was impossibly long, as if it stretched into the distant horizon. When the sun hit the blurry scales just right, it created a rainbow effect in the water. It seemed content to just rest and listen.

---

Mother Dula narrowed her eyes when Trevor spoke his name. Perhaps she expected him to continue with some title or family name. Perhaps she was unsatisfied that he would present himself with such little care for authority. She chose not to speak on whatever negative thought danced through her head at that moment. He was ultimately more tolerable than the brat she had just dealt with. Though, he seemed just as hot headed.

The monks looked to Mother Dula for approval when Trevor made his request. She paid little attention to them, more focused on watching Trevor test the weapon. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the gall of this man to question her authority. Not to mention the bravery, or perhaps stupidity, he showed to offer to fight one of his peers. Those that had been called to the island were the best of the best in their fields. A fight among their peers was surely going to be a struggle. That said, with any luck, he would lose. It would be one less brat she may have to deal with.

”Very well. It will save us all some time. Number Nine, please step forward. Present yourself.”

The elf who stepped forward was shocked when she knew who to call for. She was a tall woman, even among the elves. Muscles rippled as she moved. A trained warrior if ever there was one. Her hair was black and tied out of her face. She wore chain armor on her limbs and a well crafted metal chestplate. Her eyes were a cutting silver. She stepped forward and bowed respectfully to Mother Dula. ”High Priestess Dula, I am Cova Reinard of the Queens Guard.

Mother Dula nodded and Cova stepped forward to the table. The monks dispersed at her approach. Without hesitation, she snatched up a long sword. Cova tested its weight and scanned its edge. Then she turned to face Trevor. Her face twisted into a smirk. ”A pity I will have to fight human scum.”

”At the sound of the drum, you will begin.” Mother Dula’s voice filled the room. She lifted her hand. A moment of tension… then:

Clong!!!