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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Jan 30, 2010 1:44:30 GMT -8
The sudden snap of collapsing wood bounced through the air like the starting note of a spirited song. The sound bounced across the barren world, exploring the gaping interiors of decimated buildings and crumpled car hoods before easing away into the serene void of silence. Another slab of wood fell away, creating the same effect though this time followed by the soft tinkle of splinters as the side of a deteriorating crate gave out to the weather and the seasons. The contents of the crate shifted inside, groaning under the strain of the weakening wooden structure, as a cardboard shoebox located toward the top of the crate was bent and slowly crumpled. Something woke. A small hand surfaced from a crease in the cardboard, fingers composed of copper curling around the box's lid and drawing it sideways as two eyes resembling the build of binoculars peered out from it's dark environment. The little doll clambered out of the box, stumbling unsteadily over the contents of the crate as it clomped toward the newly-formed opening and tumbled out into the harsh white glare of the colorless sky.
For a few moments, the little blue-gray doll sat stunned, glass optics catching the blank light as it scanned the mountains of debris and dark looming silhouettes of structures still struggling to stand. It was evident that something harrowing had happened here. The small creature slowly rose to it's feet, turning the glass gaze downward at its own body - studying the pins lining its front, the stripes that curled around the base of its arms and legs, and the subtle design of each copper and plastic-tipped finger. The optics clicked open and shut as it stood in the open, glancing back at the crate and the bold black letters reading: SUSPECTED ITEMS OF TERRORISM.
"It's so quiet."
The doll almost surprised itself as words leapt from its lips, taking a step back and placing copper hands on either side of its fabric-skinned cranium. The voice... voices... It jerked suddenly as memories flooded back into its mind, voices surrounding him, hands supporting him, the burning of lead deep within his chest, the terror of seeing... seeing... "Remember," it gasped out, pivoting on its heel in a solid 360°. "Remember Sember! Remember... SEMBER! SEMBER!? Are you there? Lydia? Everyone? ... hello? It's me! It's me...." The doll darted forward suddenly, struggling to climb up the side of the closest mound of mixed rubble and unidentifiable rubbish. Its grip slid over almost every obstacle it encountered several times before hauling itself up over the top, head whipping in all directions at once as it searched desperately for a response. As it neared the top of the pile, the dull-colored doll cried out again, the same name - Sember - over and over. It stood carelessly atop the mound, releasing one last shout before falling silent and emitting a wretched gagging sound. It clutched its chest, fingers brushing the pins as it sank to its knees and hung its head, overtaken by a wave of despair yet unable to feel the full effects of such misery. Something was missing, and the doll felt empty and discombobulated. The only thing that felt real about this fabric-skinned body was its voice... everything else was disconnected: artificial.
Hugging its knees to its chest, the small creature buried its face against the light fabric, oblivious to the savage malice of this new realm and whatever terror could be lurking in the multitude of scattered pieces - a puzzle waiting to be put together.
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Post by skuldxx on Jan 30, 2010 9:02:18 GMT -8
((I like the title!! )) The skull-headed beast had it's white dome lowered to the old, poisoned earth, moving it's head through piles of wood and cardboard, the smaller contents shifting around his disrupting presence. The beast's armored neck was seemingly solid and his chest was build the same way. His legs were long and built for speed rather than power. He had not many weapons, only blades for claws, his teeth and the barbs on his long spinal tail. She beast's rummaging silence was broken abruptly by the crash of wood the resounded through these open spaces. His dome jerked from the piles and he looked around where he stood. Nothing. Trauma more often than not found himself alone. Only one other had ever traveled with him, but they had been killed by their own kind, other dolls. Other prey. His maw opened in a hiss as this memory came back and her moved forward, taking himself around the pile. What's this? There was a doll, some prey, sitting right there. Right in the open where he could so easily grab him and allow his oil to run wonderfully through his teeth and to stain his white bone black. Oh how lovely this sounded. He moved behind another pile, however his claws scraped against some metal wire, the result being a twang and a metallic scratch. He froze. His tail was still out in the open, where the doll could see.He wanted to sneak up on his prey, so he remained perfectly still, only cocking his dome a bit so he would be able to see if the doll came to check things out.
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Feb 2, 2010 21:11:20 GMT -8
"Hmm?" The little sack-creature raised its head in response to a sudden noise. The round back pupils in his eyes darted across the landscape, searching for any sign of movement. Had someone heard him? He slowly rose to his feet, turning in a circle and trying to discover which direction the sound had drifted from. Had he been able to see his upper back, he would have notices the two broad letters scribbled there, reading: 26. He found his eyes catching something long and metallic that curled across the earth behind the rubbish pile beside his. He clicked his optics open and shut, tipping his head to the side and focusing on it. Had it been there before?
He made his way back down the pile, stare locked on the strange mechanical part that seemed just a little less rusty than the surrounding rubble and junk. A few times he found himself slipping and tumbling over a few pieces of rubble before regaining his composure and finally reaching the base of the mound. He was oblivious to the true nature of the threat lurking on the other end of the mechanical tail, having come from a world where one was never hunted and chased on a regular basis. Clomping forward, his copper feet shuffled in the dirt as he reached the strange artifact and slowly bent down to prod at it with an extended index finger...
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Post by skuldxx on Feb 3, 2010 10:43:15 GMT -8
The sounds of the small footsteps grew closer and closer with every one. He wasn't sure if he could contain himself any longer. This small doll didn't seem to know the dangers of a machine; this would be easy. The footsteps stopped and the cold feeling of a metal finger agaisnt his own tail send an excitig chill through his metal body. His tail whipped up and his body bent toward the small doll. A scream erupted for his open maw.
The two extra spines, thin and sharp sliced through the air as he aimed for the doll's head, at the same time, his bladed claws digigng into the earth as he pushed his body toward the creature, his white teeth flashing. An excited gleam found its way into his glowing red eyes as he attacked.
"Foolish doll! I'll teach you a lesson on the ways of this world!" Of course the doll wouldn't be able to understand him, it felt nice to say it. Scream it.
Oh, how fun this would be.
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Feb 8, 2010 20:35:15 GMT -8
In the seconds that followed, 26's mind couldn't quite fathom exactly what was happening; nor predict the terror that would follow. It all came in flashes like the steady clicks of pictures in an old-fashioned movie; from the sudden aud-splitting shriek to the sharp slice of pain that bloomed maliciously in the side of his head. His pupils shrank with dread as his voicebox emitted a short gasp of shock and pain, the blow to his head having knocked around the wiring and caused him to collapse in the ash-coated dirt.
The scream. It sent a shiver of horror up his spine as he cracked an optic up at the attacker. Head throbbing, he pressed his hands against the sides of his polyester-coated cranium. He was set splayed across the earth, so helpless - an awaiting meal for the hungry creature that pursued his pain. He glimpsed the flashing teeth, crying out in fear and simply squinting his optics shut. He couldn't wrap his attention around doing anything else. Besides, his legs were trembling far too violently to stand, much less run.
"Wake up... wake up..." He whimpered pathetically, wishing beyond doubt that all this was simply a rather agonizing and painful nightmare; unaware of the lesson he was about to be taught. This wasn't a world for musicians.
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Post by skuldxx on Feb 10, 2010 11:18:50 GMT -8
His jaw bone was pulled into his permanent grin. His red eyes were glowing with the pleasure of the small doll's pain. How much happiness it brought him to tear into the mechanical humanoid's fabric flesh. His metal body turned toward the doll in slow, haunting movements. His gears hummed in his chest and the metal in his legs grazed together making small screams of their own. Not to worry, though. He could grease them with this small one's oil. He would drench himself in it's liquid feel.
He growled as he watched the stitchpunk curl up into a ball, a confused look across his face. Such fright. Such terror. Such helplessness. Such...joy. Joy? Yes.... He would forever see this as joy.
His bladed claws lifted and glided through the air only to land across the earth gain. This motion was followed by another of the same and another and another. He was soon standing over the doll. At least twice the little one's size.
"Stand up and fight!"
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Feb 22, 2010 17:52:16 GMT -8
That mechanical hiss - so full of malice and dark intentions - made the blue-grey polyester feel as if it was shifting and shuddering over 26's iron frame. He bit his lower lip, trembling violently as he slowly cracked open an optic. The monster was standing over him. A silent demand was present in it's dark optics, though 26 saw only death reflected in the cold stare. He released a small whimper, unsure what the terrifying giant expected of him. He felt his copper fingers hot and rigid with fear as he slowly uncurled himself and rose shakily to an ungraceful stance. His pupils were pinpoints of terror in his glass gaze as he glanced upward into the challenging eyes. He swallowed, struggling to speak and emitting a squeak before his lips formed audible words.
"W-w-what d-do you w-want? I'm j-just lost an-and...." He took a hesitant step backward, glancing away for a moment as he searched for the dark, safe shape of the crate he'd been so foolish to have abandoned.
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Post by [ SKULD ] on Feb 22, 2011 21:07:04 GMT -8
Trauma's bright red optics stared unwaveringly down at the small doll. He watched steadily, almost hungrily, as the little doll uncurled and rose shakily to his feet. His jaw bones parted with the help of the small gears attached to the sides of his mouth to open help him move his mandible, a soft, menacing hiss rolled off his mechanical tongue, dropping down toward the gray-blue stitchpunk. He was waiting to see what it would do next.
Then when the sound of the stitchpunk's voice rose up to his audits, his head cocked and he let out another screech, as blood-curdling as the last. He had no idea what the little bit of fabric had just said. He often found it frustrating, knowing they used to speak the same language. A faint tickle in the back of his head told him he KNEW what the doll was saying, but his current consciousness refused to allow him access to that information.
As the little doll marked '26' began to - he could only guess - search for hiding, he let out a sub-conscious grin and opened his toothy maw, diving his head down toward the smaller one, teeth glistening. The armor over his neck creaked together as he lunged at him, his joins where his legs met his shoulders bent to allow him better access to the stitchpunk's current position.
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Feb 28, 2011 14:55:52 GMT -8
♬ The world was a tall gray dome, down from which descended those glistening, callous fangs of iron. Terror was only too real a sentiment, and 26 felt his mind freeze up within the frosts of fear; coldly, numbly.
This... couldn't be real. It couldn't! It was just another nightmare that came in a set (like a deck of gloomy cards). When he awoke, it would be in his bed. Warm... safe... and with a person lying beside him; the covers encasing her shape the way a cloud molds to meet the wind. The shrieking rattle of mechanical gears jolted 26 awake from his fragmented daydream, and he lost his balance in that moment. His sudden collision with the earth saved the majority of his polyester figure from damage. His outstretched arm, however... was not so lucky.
The sensation of teeth sinking into the fabric skin of his forearm was surprisingly painful... for a nightmare.
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Post by [ SKULD ] on Mar 6, 2011 17:51:03 GMT -8
Trauma jerked his head upward, the feeling of the doll's oil dripping down one one of his fangs was exhilerating. It had been a long while since he'd had the pleasure of ripping into one of these little toys. In his past life he'd been such a sweet, caring man. But now, his soul had been twisted into such a manner that killing and bloodshed were the only things his mind could wrap itself around.
Then an idea formed in the beast's small mind. He would play with this prey. He could egg it into running and chase after it. Trauma himself, was not built at all for strength. His legs weren't build for anything but holding his body up and for speed. He was built with a slender, airodynamic body and a plated neck to keep wind resistance down.
The spiked tail at the end of his 'spine' lashed back in forth as an excited shreik erupted from his mouth, the mandable opening wide from the maxilla of the skull, his red lighted eyes turning to focus on his prey.
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Mar 23, 2011 10:38:56 GMT -8
A cry of pain oozed from 26's lips in a like manner as the black, syrupy substance that dripped from the places where sharp bone pierced blue-gray polyester. He arched his back, wailing now, his other hand attempting to push against the fangs that brought about such indescribable agony. Dreams... dreams never hurt this much. They couldn't. Jolts of pain shot through his frame, making his vision fuzzy, making his cries rise in pitch. The thought struck him in only a matter of moments. I'm going to die.
"HNNGG...ma... ohmyGOD!" When the skull creature jerked its head upward, 26 felt the material of his arm rip free of the teeth, resulting in a sudden collision with the ground. He landed hard on his side and lay dazed, twitching every so often, his gaze meeting his arm with a light of terror glinting in his optics. That black liquid... it... it reminded him of something. Blood. His optics shot back up to the creature as it released yet another spine-tingling scream, his mouth gaping with shock. He had never had to struggle to save his own life before. This was the first time; and it was far from the last.
Small gasps and cracked sobs heaved their way from his chest as he jerked forward, flopped on his face, then forced himself up again, stumbling awkwardly away from the creature. His good arm clutched his torn one, his copper fingers damp and stained with dripping oil. He made for the first nook he could spot: a small space between a slab of cement and an overturned car; and he only hoped that he could reach it before he was caught again.
But, then again, hope is a dangerous thing.
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Post by [ SKULD ] on Apr 10, 2011 17:55:06 GMT -8
Trauma raised his head and watched the little stitchpunk stumbling desperately toward somewhere. His small mechanical mind didn't quite have the sense to put two and two together quite yet. It didn't think that maybe he should look ahead to see where his prey was trying to escape to. Instead, he took a few steps forward, rusty, but sharp claws clanging against the ground, making small scraping noises as he moved. His head jerked a bit as he tilted it from side to side. He rarely did this movement, so the bolts and hinges had gotten a bit rusty and stiff.
His red eyes examined his prey, watching it struggle. He'd been so completely turned around from his human ways. As a human he had been very kind and compassionate, albit a tad stubborn. Now, he had cruel ways and had nothing on his mind but to torture and play with his 'food'. The small bit of the stitchpunk's blood that had attached itself to his fangs had run down the length of the bony weapons and dried there, dying them black.
A faint thought of wonder crossed over his tiny mind, and he wondered just where the little rag doll hoped to go, struggling pathetically like that. His mechanical eyes drifted ahead of the little one until they landed on the small hidey-hole made of cement and a car. Two and two finally came together and fury boiled up in his twisted soul. How dare this little rag doll try and end his fun by hiding!
An angry chirp burst from his mouth and he bound forward to try and intercept the doll, his spiked tail thrashing madly around him, angry, metallic barks burst from the inside of his armored chest.
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Apr 29, 2011 12:23:07 GMT -8
The erratic, uncoordinated movement of 26's legs mirrored his mindset. He could only keep moving, moving faster toward the nook, sprinting as he'd never sprinted before on unsteady metal bones that creaked with agony each time he took a step. The shrieking, rasping sounds of the rusted metal of the skull-faced monster sounded like the cries of a siren of death. The earth and sky blended together in a symphony of images; as blurred and nebulous as the interior of a kaleidoscope that kept turning, rearranging its components, then turning again. Which... which was was UP!?
He gasped in alarm when the sharp glint of metal to his right told him the skull creature was coming in for the kill. 26 stopped so suddenly that his legs became tangled and the earth leapt up to catch his form. Scrabbling desperately, he forced himself up, fell when his injured arm buckled beneath himself, then finally managed to find his footing. He was running in a daze now, in the opposite direction of the nook that had been his previous goal. Whether or not he'd been heading for it the entire time - or if the glass bottle had made itself present much in the way a guardian angel would - 26 bumped against the glass, froze for a moment, then squeezed his way inside.
He lay still, catching his breath, cupping his hands over his optics to blot out any nightmarish figure, and hoping that the glass shield surrounding himself would offer safety. Part of him still labeled this unreal world as a nightmare. But how long he could keep deceiving himself was up to the steady, panicked pulsing of his soul. And the oil that dripped rhythmically from his shredded arm, one drop at a time.
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