Open Post 001

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


And don't forget, there's still the ooc discussion post! And nothing needs to be contained to this post! Create new logs to your heart's content! This AU is yours, so have at it!


musebox • rules • character list

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[viced]

He stood rail straight, watching every motion. Pherson, predictably, kind of stank. Like a human who had forgotten what it was to be a human, and why should he be surprised? The guy was practically an animal, likely. Trying to speak to him with his voice, that was a strong indication that he'd forgotten things.

He uncrossed his arms, and then crossed them again. What did he even say? What did he do in this situation?

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'd say you're the one who's lost a bit too much. You look like a hobo," a beat, "and you smell like one too."

[parroted]

He frowns, his mouth twisting. That sort of comment didn't piss him off, it was more of uh "oh please" reaction.

"I am among my children. I don't need the trappings of an urban life, not like you do."

Hundred belonged among the machines, just as Pherson felt he belonged among wildlife. He stared at Mitchell, trying to get used to the new appearance, the new him.

[viced]

The new him was at least more similar to who he'd been than the face he'd worn in recent years. He didn't move, though. He watched. Waited for what he knew was coming.

He still had dreams. He still dreamed about their creators, he didn't know if Pherson ever dreamed. He never really cared enough to ask. He didn't care enough about them at all. Or their mission.

"Obviously, I've broken the mold in more ways than one. What do you want?"

[parroted]

"I wanted to see you."

He paused. Why was he here?

"See what had become of you. I knew you had to be still alive. And here you are. A survivor."

He knew Mitchell was a survivor. All those months of fighting the Great Machine, all those years he had lived without Pherson - even as Pherson wanted to have killed him, he knew Mitchell wouldn't give up, wouldn't give in. He'd always be there.

[viced]

Christ. Mitchell knew the way their powers worked, at least some of it. The way that it was like a storm, drawing everyone in, leaving madness behind in its wake. How many had come out unscathed? He didn't think even he had, not really. He pretended, played that his powers were just that, just powers, but at the end of the day, he knew otherwise. The damage to his brain was so severe, so complete, and it was more apparent now, surrounded by machines everywhere, all their voices, constant.

"Uh huh. So, you're not here to pull your usual bullshit? Somehow, I'm really doubting that," cold, still hard. No matter how bad it got, he kept his mind on one truth, that Pherson was insane, that he didn't know, didn't understand how bad it was, how bad their creators actually were.

But sometimes he wondered why Pherson, and Suzanne, had both seen it as a paradise, and why he'd seen the truth.