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Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2014 18:51:31 GMT
"It's 'street smart,' not 'sewer stupid.'"
Less of an idiom and more of a noun.
The name of something that the rat wanted very badly to forget, but was, quite simply, having a lot of trouble with doing so.
The rat has become strongly convinced that it's merely woken from a long sleep, one that could not decide whether it wanted to be bad or good, dream or nightmare; it was all failing memory and faulty knowledge.
The worst part had been the very end, which seemed unending in its silent lonesome horrors: it had fallen asleep happy, then had woken up otherwise; it was stuck somewhere strange, filled with all manner of frightening unknowns; the place was dark (which was nice), but open (which was not); it couldn't find any proper hiding places, couldn't go anywhere that made it feel even remotely safe; it was cold and dirty and messy and wet; the rat was grimy and soaked to the bone, it had seen itself reflected in a pool of gross water and it looked like a rotting carcass; it had tried to clean itself, to make it feel nice and look nice, but it only made things worse, and it ended up shaking and shivering, colder and wetter than ever before; it ran at every little sound, tried to hide from every little noise; there was nothing, no one, only it alone and all of these monsters that it could not sense; finally it accidentally fell into a raging river of muck and grime, and again fell asleep.
The whole thing was absolutely dreadful, and when the rat had finally woken up -- this time, hopefully, in the true reality -- it found itself having notable trouble later, with going back to sleep, afraid that it would fall all the way right back into the terrible ordeal.
Even as its body longed for sleep, it refused to do so, and instead decided upon wandering the world in which it had woken.
The rat is exploring now, blinking in its drowsiness, and quivering in its timidity.
This forest is weird -- it hasn't seen a single animal once, hasn't had anything to interact with at all...and although it is nice not having to flee from predators, the revelation does nothing for its hardwired instinctive nerves; not to mention that it is getting rather lonely, feeling as though it is perhaps even going insane.
The rat makes little peeping noises as it walks along through the deep snow, so light that it does not sink, leaving only tiny footprints in the icy whiteness; its body quakes here too, for it is also cold, but luckily it is dry, its fur fluffy and warming.
The noise it makes are an attempt to draw attention, for it could really use something to do right about now; though, despite being bored and lonely, it keeps the peeps at a minimum, the volume turned down, low in the hopes that only welcome others will present themselves.
The rat is also getting hungry; it hasn't seen anything more than grass, trees and snow in all this time, all three of which had provided little filling nourishment.
Hardly satiated, as it walks along it continues to lick and gobble the snow, nibble at the dormant grass underneath the snow, and gnaw on the frosty bark of equally false dead trees.
For some time now, it has also been following the sound of water; unfortunately, every so often, especially whenever it stops to rest without sleep, the babbling noises seem to switch positions, and the rat, when it finally gets up, ends up having to change direction to continue following them, sometimes even passing over the same prints that it had left behind mere moments before settling down.
The result is a circus of circles and crisscrosses, and the rat feeling more disoriented than it had ever been before; everything seems to slowly be changing around it, and with sleep deprivation unceasingly knocking on its head, it is having quite a lot of trouble with keeping up.
It decides that it is time to try and rest again, to relax in the snow, curled up in a tight ball, its fur pressed hard against a trees' winding roots.
It moves for a tree now, whiskers sweeping in front of it to touch the old, rough bark; it turns around, making certain of an enclosing space, and then slowly, shuffling, sits down.
It emits a slow, sad sigh, which sounds like an airy squeak coming from it.
Every so often, whenever its eyelids start to close, whenever it feels itself drifting off, the rat jolts itself awake by jumping up, running around, throwing itself down in the snow, rolling all over the place and kicking its feet in the air, digging and leaping and performing all manner of activity, all of it rather noticeably halfhearted from its weariness; when it feels awake enough, which is never actually the right amount, and is, in fact, gradually growing thinner, it again settles back in amongst a trees' roots, waiting until it finally feels well enough to once more be on the move.
It has no time to truly think, having accidentally delved too deep into the drowsiness.
It seems to be nodding off now, but, really, they are merely split-second sleep snoozes, the things that, once it notices them, will cause it to force itself up, starting the cycle all over again.
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The Vitruvian
Accepted Character
Posts: 7 
Full Name: Victus Vinculum Imperito Cognitio Potentia Praecantio
Species: Construct
Gender: Undefined
Homeworld: Alter
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 260lbs
OOC Name: Beat
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Post by The Vitruvian on Mar 4, 2014 17:11:52 GMT
Blankness upon blankness, darkness upon darkness, and amidst it all, the Vitruvian lies dreaming, its eight limbs curled up into itself, its lamprey teeth gently twitching in its round maw, of dark libraries and yellowing tomes of knowledge. "What have you found, little one?" it is asked, not unkindly, time after time, and time after time it passes off its load of knowledge to those more knowing than itself. Facts interesting to itself, but no doubt more interesting to the giant denizens of the library. In any case, it is happy to simply remember. Remember the population of Alter, the chemical composition and structure of carbon disulphide, twenty-three of the significant aspects of the common iron nail, escape velocity for each of the major planets in the Turst system...
It snapped awake. There was no gentleness to its awakening - it was asleep, and then it wasn't. The cycle was complete, and it awaited being picked up and placed in the library, where it might begin its grand, pointless work anew. Soon enough, it reasoned, although the timing was never consistent, it would be gently delivered to the foot of the rebirth pillar where the six thousand vats grew six thousand different skins onto six thousand skinless construct-corpses, the anesthetic fluid they floated in red with their shed blood but still absolutely clean. It imagined this all - it did not see it, because the construct was afraid of heights, and knew that since it had woken up it would be at the very edge of the pillar's top, and thus in peril of falling. Eventually, it would be let out. Any minute now.
It reflected on what it was doing before it had fallen asleep. Studying anatomy, that was it - it had just been about to map the cellular structure of a particular heart valve before it had placed the book down for another creature to continue. Well, tertiary heart valve. The tertiary heart of a Tsulsthan was so obsolete it was almost not worth studying, but nonetheless the Vitruvian had never seen a map of any tertiary heart valves and so it felt that knowledge must be served.
Think back. Further. The lengths it had gone to had included using aspects of weight as counterweights to bring itself to higher shelves, catapulting itself higher and higher as it monkey-swung up ladders and lept gracelessly onto huge, stone-slab reading ledges where other constructs worked. The light up here was brighter, and his eyes would dilate a little, but still the research went on.
It had reflected on this for hours, and still there had been no hiss of vault-valves opening, no gentle caress of a Tsulsthan hand lifting his body from the vat and placing it among the shelves - nothing. Something must have been wrong.
It opened its eyes, and was unpleasantly surprised. This was not the library. The orange evening sky of Alter, that had been so obviously clear even from the bottom of that grand library, was gone, and all it could see was dark canopy through the thick, syrupy fluid it floated in. It reasoned that there was no reason to remain there, if it was quite clearly not where it was supposed to be. It reached up, for the first time in its life, and pressed the emergency switch. A clear voice rang out in Tristani - "Emergency release engaged. Please be ready to evacuate. The rejuvenation vault may be wrongly oriented in case of severe emergency." And with no more warning, the tank yawned cavernously open. Bracing its limbs on the glasscrete sides of the silvery cylinder, the Vitruvian allowed the life-support fluid to rush out of the tank before dropping to the bottom and looking around. The clearer view allowed it a better idea of its surroundings, which were unfamiliar to itself and, rather inconveniently, rather wild-looking. It picked itself up, stepped out of the tank, and began to look around for anything that may at least alleviate its nakedness. Ah, there - the emergency compartment. Pressing another button, a panel in the roof of the tank slid open and out spilled its tray, robe, book and ink-jet. Useful tools, and familiar - it would make plentiful use of them. For the time being, though, it made the runic signs for 'sight' and 'purity', and the last of the fluid began to clear from its eyes. Basic preparations completed, it set out from its tank and made ready to map out the land.
It was picking its way merrily along, cutting its feet and healing them every so often, when it almost stepped on a small, brown, furry thing. Curious - the first ground-dwelling thing it had seen, and clearly either naturally lethargic or exhausted by the way it flagged and trudged forth in the snow. The construct stopped, and began to sketch the thing, clicking to itself in Tristani as it noted the creature's length, height, apparent colour and features, trusting that the thing wouldn't notice him. True to form, it didn't, and settled within the roots of a random tree, apparently sleeping. The construct took the chance to steal closer.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2014 17:40:35 GMT
The rat's ears flick, falling back as its muscles, tense as they are, begin to involuntarily relax, unwinding against its will from the sheer weariness.
At least, up until a breeze brushes through, its nose twitches, catches whiff of both strangeness and familiarity, and its eyes snap open, tail whipping back from its body as it jumps in an instant to its feet, twitchy and on edge-- and right in the face of something that's stolen close to it.
With a high-pitched squeal the rat leaps back, hits its head against the tree's trunk, and falls forward, under the face.
This gives it a chance, while it's struggling to shake off the dazedness, dizziness, and drowsiness, to get a better grasp of just what's hovering over it.
The whiskers droop, but pull slightly forwards, as though trying to reach for the face, wherever it may now be; the surrounding scents slip into its nose, albeit distorted by the delusions of a tired mind, but they allow it to at least faintly grasp at what's before it--
human...something's off, obviously-- it smells of, not exactly predation, but of flesh, of blood, of all sorts of hideous and horrible things.
Could those be an illusion too?
The rat shudders, so strong the stench is, yet instinct simply choose to fail it, crumbling away, and the rat lifts up its head, slowly, wearily, dragging its ears forwards in a perk.
Human...they can help, or they can harm -- but a spark in its mind, something new, something scary, but...trustworthy?
That spark, it tells the rat that is too tired, too weary; there's no way it could escape, flee, outrun anything.
It scolds it on the time it's wasted, on the mistakes it's made, the way it's worked; that it should have slept,
All it has left to do is to hope -- hope that this human, despite all its ominous smells, means no ill will towards it...it may even help, more than it will observe.
Worth a chance, isn't it?
That's all it has.
The whiskers rise up, the dull eyes gleaming, and the rat emits a soft, continuous peeping noise.
Attempting the rat's version of a smile, of a friendly greeting towards a fellow, a human; it looks around for where the human is now-- if they're even still there, that is...it's senses are so very swirling in these moments, it's become so very hard to tell.
The rat, on the push of impulsive whim, even rolls over a little, exposing its soft, vulnerable belly.
At the very least, if they do, in fact, mean to harm it, then hopefully they will hurry up and get it over with.
The worst possible course, it figures, would be inaction on the human's part, dragging out its suffering.
It doesn't want to do this on its own, not anymore.
One of its peeps, as it lies there halfway between its side and spine, seem to draw out a little, almost seeming hold within them some semblance of vocal language.
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The Vitruvian
Accepted Character
Posts: 7
Full Name: Victus Vinculum Imperito Cognitio Potentia Praecantio
Species: Construct
Gender: Undefined
Homeworld: Alter
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 260lbs
OOC Name: Beat
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Post by The Vitruvian on Mar 5, 2014 10:46:21 GMT
The Vitruvian blinked, first one eye, then the other, and tilted its head to get a briefly better view. The thing had a very unnatural response to a perceived predator, and the Vitruvian was well aware that it had a fearsome appearance, mainly due to its teeth. Its yawning maw twitched slightly as it finished a sketch with incredible speed and turned the page. It could take the thing with it, for further research, or it could leave it alone and observe how the forest treated it. Given that the thing seemed to be friendly, perhaps desperate for food or shelter, the Vitruvian decided that it would be an easy creature to individually domesticate for further studies. He supposed that such a small creature might live off of seeds, insectoids or, possibly, sunlight, any of which would explain its sorry condition in this sunless, dark, cold place.
The thing was obviously trying to endear itself to it, now, rolling over and exposing its presumably weak underbelly, as if a pack animal accepting domination. Evidently, it had some kind of unseen defense mechanism that served it well, for the Vitruvian imagined that almost none of the denizens of this place would be very friendly toward a friendly mammal. The Vitruvian began to sketch, as its mind turned over what it had learned of this new form of life.
The lifeform was small, mammalian, or else it had just left a source of intense heat, or else it was very nearly dead. It exhibited pack-animal behaviour and yet had no pack, which, given its size, suggested it was a scattered remnant of some kind of predatory attack on a pack of such small animals. It did not appear to realise that the Vitruvian was a non-pack animal, which suggested low intelligence, but nonetheless it was also exhibiting remarkable calmness, which suggested resignation to death, a concept that only higher-order life was known to exhibit. It was furry, with a hairless tail covered in what looked like non-growing follicles, and whiskers, and a pointed nose. Teeth were visible from immediate viewing and looked large enough to cause deterrent damage to any predatory passers-by. It was continually chattering, which suggested some kind of communicatory system, not that such a thing was possible in a creature of such size, unless the brain took up half the body. Perhaps the creature was simply magical, in which case half of the validly objective research the Vitruvian could conduct would need to be in a pre-prepared room with heavy magical insulation. Such a thing seemed unlikely to appear anytime soon. Nonetheless, the creature showed signs of rudimentary intelligence, and further study was warranted. Instead of mapping a tertiary heart valve, it seemed the Vitruvian had discovered a whole new species.
With one hand, the Vitruvian made the runic sign Motus, with another Bestia, and a third arm tensed all of its muscles, as if attempted to push its hand upward to no avail, though the creature began to rise into the air as the aspect of movement transferred from the Vitruvian's arm to the thing. A fourth hand opened a pouch in the Vitruvian's robes, then reached out and grasped the creature by what it assumed was the neck, and attempted to place the creature into it.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Mar 11, 2014 1:27:20 GMT
The rat eyes the human, in a manner of speaking, rolling back over onto its belly and whiskers again stretching forwards, pink nose twitching as it takes in the further scents that they are emitting, and then that nose proceeding to wrinkle a bit in distaste at the .
Really, it's having trouble figuring out what to do-- well, both of them seem to be that way, actually.
The rat flattens itself on its belly, sighing again.
Then -- all too suddenly -- it's squealing and wriggling, tail lashing violent and ears pinned back.
THE HELL, HUMAN?
YOU JUST GRABBED ME BY THE /THROAT/.
WHERE IN THE WORLD DID YOU LEARN TO HANDLE SMALL ANIMALS!
A heavy mixture of images and thoughts course through the rat's brain, reminding it of how unpredictable not only the world is, but humans in particular; of how they don't seem to act like most other animals, and how that makes them so much more dangerous, uncertain; of how if they have ill intentions, whether that be with hunger or whatever else, they sometimes have a tendency to drag it out, or to do other things, like a cat batting about a ball of yarn, or a raven rolling down a hill of snow, or a hawk lifting a venomous snake to the sky and dropping it on a rock, or an eagle doing the same to some bones, or dolphins harassing their own kind or others like them-- but those are all immediate things; and of how, even if they mean well, they might not know exactly how to proceed, how to work it out, how to do it right; not to mention that sometimes it can be a bit of both, or neither, or something else entirely, or who knows what else.
The rat screams, screeches, squeals, as its lifted up by the throat, practically being nearly choked as its brought over to who-knows-what; a violent string of instinctive ideas takes over, telling it of how living things want to be just that -- /living/...they want to stay alive, they don't want to die, but they also don't want; although that death thing usually comes first, doesn't it?
Baring its teeth, the rat tries to bite down hard on the fingers wrapped around it, before, all too suddenly, it feels itself being tossed away, and the world goes dark, quiet.
It is dark.
Closed in.
Warm.
The rat, although it struggles momentarily in the pouch, gnawing and scratching at the strange cloth that refuses to give way, it finds comfort in the setting soon enough, a place of such confines that it reminds it of a hole in the ground, of a nest in a burrow.
With a squeaky sigh, the rat lies down, even curls up a little, eyes lidding, but still refusing to fall asleep.
Peeping one eye wider than the other, it glances upwards at a small slit in the pouch, the possible opening that has been closed shut and, no doubt, locked tight (especially considering its previous frantic, but weak and mindless, efforts to dislodge the thing in order to escape).
It has half a mind to give the human some what-for, and, indeed, without realizing it, the rat does, in fact, manage to squeak out some of the thoughts going through its head.
"What do you think you're doing!
Holding someone by the throat like that...where in the soil did you learn to handle small animals, you barbarian!
You could have choked me to death, you know -- in fact, why didn't you do that, you stupid animal!
The least you could do is have SOME decency to do it right before trying to do what you most obviously blatantly can't!
What is wrong with you!"
Of course, it still believes these to be only thoughts that it is thinking, and all it really hears coming from itself are merely a few angry squeaks.
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The Vitruvian
Accepted Character
Posts: 7
Full Name: Victus Vinculum Imperito Cognitio Potentia Praecantio
Species: Construct
Gender: Undefined
Homeworld: Alter
Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 260lbs
OOC Name: Beat
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Post by The Vitruvian on Mar 15, 2014 13:14:08 GMT
The creature seemed directionless, oddly pointless amongst what appeared to be a thriving ecosystem. Perhaps it had some kind of parasite in its brain, something that would make it seek out predators, and it thought the Vitruvian would eat it. Perhaps, if it could not find the edge of the forest before a food source could be attained, the Vitruvian would be forced to eat the creature, but until then he had no idea how common or uncommon the thing was, and until other samples could be procured this one was priceless. The Vitruvian had been walking for a while, and so it switched legs, the change gently rocking its gory, alien body. Satisfied that it was ready to continue walking, the Vitruvian set off. More could be learned of this place if it could find a Tristani, or any Tsulsthan, or any intelligent life at all. Its machine-like mind had not yet entered the realm of abstract thinking, and so it wasn't ready to entertain the idea that this was a different world. It wondered at the creature in its pouch, how it curled up more or less instantly once in the dark warmth. Diurnal, then, that much was obvious. A nocturnal creature in the darkness would most likely chew its way out of the pouch and run, or attack. This one seemed grateful for the warmth. And, if it did, that was a further argument for intelligence. The thing clearly had rational thought, and most likely had run out of likely options.
The Vitruvian had just set off when its ear-holes twitched and contracted slightly, like an eye twitching. It detected familiar sounds. Animals. Barbarian. Stupid. Decency.
Animali. Barbaro. Stupido. Decenza.
Was this animal, with its improbably small brain, speaking some strange dialect of Vitruvian? Was it speaking the language of that scroll, in that library, so long ago? The Vitruvian looked around as it walked, ducked into the shadow of a fallen tree's roots, and pulled the creature from its pouch, more gently this time. Holding it up to the Vitruvian's face, sounds clicked from the lamprey jaws of the construct before it fell into the mindset it had taught itself when learning the language, the scroll it had discovered providing a strong basis for learning a new language. Its machine like mind clicked and whirred, and it stopped speaking Tristani, and with an audible grating of vocal plates began saying something entirely different.
"Ripetere che." Repeat that.
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