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Be the Exoskeletal Ones (open)

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Post by tlo Fri Jan 06, 2017 8:01 pm

You are the PRAGMATIC DISSIDENT. You find yourself once again in an utter wasteland of sand and shattered steel, gazing at the blazing red sun through your wide, almost innocent eyes. The eyes are offset, though, by a disconcertingly vacant oral estuary. As the sun sets, you turn back into the large, mostly empty room and wonder if you'll ever build up the nerve to get out of here. Your immaculately-kept dersite garb has serviced you well over the years as a simple cover, but there are many who would hold it against you for keeping its semi-patriotic umbra about you.
The screen is stuck on the picture of a bloody mess, but it isn't anything new to you. Been that way for ages. You flick a finger at the lamp next to a makeshift bed you've slapped together, and it flickers to life at the touch of your sinister, shadow-based magic. Although heretical to use this type of thing to illuminate your sleeping area, magic is fake bullshit anyhow so it doesn't matter. You probably shouldn't even technically be able to do that.

> Bemoan the loss of your beloved chapeau

You haven't ever worn a hat, actually. Not even when it was part of the dress code. You're too cool for hats.
Not too cool to hide in corners from the various authority regulators who would enforce such a thing, but that isn't the point.
Old thoughts.

Your unnerving eyes wander to the walky-talky that hasn't picked up a signal in ages. You wished that dersites would stick to their old form of communication when company was so scarce out here.
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Post by V.M.P. Fri Jan 06, 2017 9:24 pm

Another Dersite enters the room, one of short stature with an overly long and tattered shirt missing all but the top two buttons with sleeves that bellow heroically as he dashes. It is obviously too large for him, and logic would dictate that it is oversized due to an error on part of him for using metric measurements rather than imperial when telling the obviously puppet democratic republic dersian tailor his sizes, you can tell with all the imp claw marks and human blood stains it is from a high quality tailor too, as only high quality tailors exist in the new puppet democratic republic derse and that he acquired it in a completely legitimate way, along with the wallet that dangles in the front pocket, for he is quite the orthadox derelict.

He bumps into PD and reaches into their pocket nonchalantly, and fondles about for an object of worth at one point. they then apologize with a quite sincere look in his beady little eyes.
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Post by tlo Fri Jan 06, 2017 9:44 pm

You back away from the figure, slightly flustered. you ask what their name is, and how long they've been traveling. You figure they're thirsty, so you go to the odd slab of bubbled material in the wall and knock on it a couple times.
Then it hits you that the newcomer just fondled your rear and you trip over your own feet as you back away from the swinging apparatus.
You aren't entirely sure if he was attempting to reach into your trouser pockets for valuables or was actually just handling your posterior. Lacking skin, you cannot blush, but suffice it to say that your blood has condensed quite irritatingly behind your facial features.
You are still not sure about it and you realize you are sitting on the floor and the beverage machine is expelling too many beverages.
You stand up and remain unsure, so you figure it is best just to politely ask, and do so in a moderately awkward way, your words quiet and a bit unsteady.
The beverages, yes. You are making a mess of this, aren't you. You shut the lid and lean against it to make sure it doesn't pop open, and pick up one of the strings of semi-conical, semi-cylindrical, semi-translucent waxy beverages. You wiggle half of them off and hold it out to the newcomer, the only polite thing to do.
This is awkward as all hell.
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Post by V.M.P. Fri Jan 06, 2017 11:11 pm

He first apologizes for the bump that was completely accidental and um, states that his name is, well, that he's from derse and that he is one who is quite stuffy and conventional, and is again sorry for dodging the question um he means bumping into you. His hand digs into the offered consumables, and then retracts with no such objects in hand, as he realizes his manners and strict diet, and explains as such that he is obligated to not accept until he can repay you kind other dersite, for the pleasure of meeting you, heh. he shuffles behind PD and leans under the dispenser, and discreetly opens his shirt pocket under the vent and bangs on the machine in a demand for infinite candies, stealthily.
YES. ALL OF THEM. THESE WILL BE THE NEW CURRENCY OF THE NEW WORLD OF RUINS AND HE WILL BE RICH. YES. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES. IT IS I, OD, THAT WILL BE THE NEW GANG KING OF THE PUPPET DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF DERSE. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
he asks for the name of the dersite across from him.
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Post by tlo Fri Jan 06, 2017 11:25 pm

Well, you suppose you're just a sort of pragmatic dissident. You explain that you weren't exactly active in the dersite kingdom, and spent a while in that horrid jail for simply being too much of a pacifistic denier. You then walk over to him while he bangs oh the opening, patiently staring at the antics of your fellow. You wonder if he"/ quite done, but don't speak. It would be best if you weren't rude to your guests, of course. Instead, you question as to weather he still has his conscripted dersite speech relay device, or walky-talky. It has been quite a while since yours has picked up a signal, and it gets just so damn lonely all by yourself in the desert. Everyone seems to have somewhere to go, and you're just too scared stiff of how violent everyone else can get to wander after them.
You sit down and pick up some of the stray beverages and toss them into your mouth, your naturally sharp teeth puncturing the wax shell and freeing the sickly-sweet juices into your maw. You would generally feel odd to eat-drink while the guest is not seated, but since you were both at least on the floor in some way now you suppose it's fine.
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Post by V.M.P. Fri Jan 06, 2017 11:40 pm

He is now buried to the chin in waxy candy beverage things, and he accepts this, and enjoys it with glee and satisfaction only possessed by those overcome by an almost attained goal in their quest for power.
He agrees that the jails are pretty swanky, purple, dark, with your average musclebound meat head to murder in their sleep and eat the meat from their head, in an almost reminiscent way, which is odd, for someone who would then divulge that this is what they have heard, as they have never been given enough attention by the corrupt police force to be arrested for living his completely mundane ordinary life as an ordinary denizen of old derse.
He believes that he is the smoothest operator ever at this point and highfives himself openly for his clever deception.
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Post by tlo Fri Jan 06, 2017 11:49 pm

You laugh nervously, again suddenly aware of how painfully awkward this situation is. You try to divert the conversation by asking how long he has been traveling, but you sort of mostly just want your room back to yourself. This character was messing up your house and acting very strange, and it just seems to you that a good solution here would be their swift exit.
Of course, that is an absurd notion. You are much to polite to even think such thoughts. The guest would be allowed to stay as long as the guest needed to stay, and that, you tell yourself, is final. You realize you spoke this last bit out loud, and clamp a hand to your mouth. Speaking through it, you ask if he has gathered enough beverages, assuring him he may take as many as he needs or would like.
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Post by V.M.P. Fri Jan 06, 2017 11:58 pm

he turns white as a DIRTY DIRTY INFERIOR IN EVERY WAY ESPECIALLY IN TERMS OF ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN SKILLS PROPSITIAN when he sees that he has been caught red handed in his sly attempt at candy theft. He thanks him for such generosity, and explains that he has been traveling long enough to the rampant lack of structure of live in the oppressed and rabid bottoms of to tear away at a repressed mind. so. about 20 hours, not counting time trying to mug cough hug the fire hydrants before he realized that these are inanimate objects rather than red rear openings and that they possess lots of water, but not money.

He then holds a string of candy bottles of beverage up as a weapon and initiates strife, and threateningly states that you have not seen anything, understand?
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Post by tlo Sat Jan 07, 2017 12:06 am

You nod understandingly as he explains, only moderately confused at his exposition on fire hydrants.

STRIFE!!!

You are suddenly standing, legs bowed and arms readied to deflect a blow from the delectable beverages. Beverages of which you have some of your own in your mouth, which you hastily swallow before they lose you the upper hand. This fellow is still a guest in your abode.
You decide it easiest to just flick your fingers, putting out the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.
You sidle over to the door and stand in front of it. There is only the faint glow from the mostly blank monitor screens to illuminate the room. You ask why your guest has suddenly decided to pick a fight, and tell him that you aren't much of a threat.
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Post by V.M.P. Sat Jan 07, 2017 12:15 am

it is because there can not be witnesses, only cooperators and suckers, and you clearly, are no sucker. Now what is it going to be, will you admit to not seeing anything, and help me out of this pile of candies, or do you need to be silenced before you rat me out to the nonexistent law enforcement officer? he asks this all, trying to put on a tough face even in the dark, while wiggling his arms now to get free. he is failing.
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Post by DistantRed Sat Jan 07, 2017 12:32 am

The sweltering sun is devastating you as you walk through the ruins of what seems to be an old classical palace even though your white, but dirtied, carapace should help against the sun as should your bright grey tattered attire.

The now-setting sun is a relief to your sweating insides, but the soon-to-come night-time darkness will make trying to find things to add to your satchel more difficult.

> Bemoan the loss of your beloved chapeau

You grieve for your lost hat. Not that gaudy hat, but your proper hat. A proper gentleman's hat, for proper gentlemen that only gentlemen would wear. Ah, those were the days.
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Post by tlo Sat Jan 07, 2017 12:42 am

You certainly have to admit that you can't see anything right now, you assure him, but you stay near the door. You assure him also that you will not be contacting the fake imaginary authorities that do not exist on account of them not existing, as it is hard to contact things that do not exist. You also say that you would likely deal with a problem yourself rather than call the cops anyhow, even if there had been someone to call. You stare at the hazy outline of the pile of foodstuffs and wonder if there is no limit to how many it can make. You had always figured it would run out eventually and you would move on, but it seemed from this that it had a lot more in store than you had previously thought. Although, with transportalization technology, there could well be a warehouse full of these somewhere if you were lucky.

> Get a sudden premonition

You can't get a sudden premonition because that isn't how sinister shadow-based magic works.
You can, however, topple ass-backwards out of your building because you never properly latched the door shut. A loud clang resounds across the evening landscape.

You stare at the night sky.
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Post by V.M.P. Sat Jan 07, 2017 1:11 am

He slams the string of bottles against the pile of strings of bottles, his weapon breaks into individual bottles upon impact and does proportional damage, and he merely picks up another string, and continues his ASSAULT, until he could escape. He goes over to the open hatch lead by the blue light of a nearby starlight powered florescent lighting system set dim in a power conversion function, dotting the stratosphere in far away bars.
==>OD: DESCEND
he throws down arm fulls of bottle candies at a time over the hatch, until there is a cushion over PD, and he jumps down, scattering bottles and becoming more tasty. he licks PD to taste the inside, as he never realized there was an inside.
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Post by DistantRed Sun Jan 08, 2017 10:17 am

Now that it isn't day-time, the sun isn't as dreadful as it has gone down and the moon has come up. Well, it would've come up if it wasn't always down due to it being solidly buried into the ground. Which moon is it?

Was it Prospit with its bright, sun-shiny people who were always friendly and buildings of such grandeur that one couldn't hold back tears of joy by just standing in the presence of such wonder?

Or was it Derse with its dark, dingy alleyways and dark, grimy streets and probably even dark lights further de-illuminating the darkness?

It's hard to really tell due to its lack of color, but you do like to think it's Prospit, so in your mind at least, it is still Prospit. Either way, dear, old Prospit(?) is in a rather decrepit state now. Once it used to house kings, and queens, and other carapacian commoners, and the such, but, now, the population of dusty corpses far outnumbers the amount of survivors there by a... pretty large amount. Now it functions as little more than a simple landmark.

> Mourn the loss of Prospit(?)

You sob a little at the loss of what was once probably a great place. You also mourn the loss of what was probably a great people. You mourn for your king (possibly) and queen (maybe) and your fellow Prospitian (I guess).

You can't mourn for long however regardless of who it may perhaps be or may not perhaps be or what they may have perhaps probably done, so it's time to carry on.

[EDIT]

You continue walking through the dark ruins of this long lost palace desperately looking for something, or someone, so that you may achieve salvation, company, and/or happiness. Not long after remembering this being the purpose of your wandering aimlessly, you find all three in a single place. Well... except perhaps company. You have found two of the three things you seek in what looks to be a glint of shiny glint of something in the distance on the second story of the palace.

> Do a wall-run up the facade, butt-spin so that you face the northernmost oriel, jump from balustrade to balustrade, then burst through the grille onto the ogee arch, being careful of the muntins, do the HMS skip, listen to grandma's stories until it's the third day, then dance until it's night time, back-walk past the guard, do a gainer into the clocktower, loudly proclaim "FUCK" because you forgot to gain magical powers, wait 5 minutes until you die, resurrect, remember next time to get the magic you need YOU DUMBASS! Play on your tooty toot GRAZIOSO, YOU BARBARIAN! But of course, you'll fail on the 3rd note, then play klangfarbenmelodie pizzicato to a rococo rhythm, commit time shenanigans, rip your face off, slash the owl, then slap your self silly because you got distracted, then teleport magically to the shiny object, collect the object, break apart and fall to pieces... better yet, invent a brand new method of ascension, get chainsawed in half by a very pissed off rainbow drinker, and die.

Sounds fun, but impossible and potentially completely made-up, but even if it was possible and an actual thing you could do, no.

The STAIRS are probably a better option. Even though they look a little fallen apart, they still look easily scale-able.

> Spin so quickly that you hover quickly up then 360,000,000,000 no-scope the shiny object into your hand.

WOW! You did EXACTLY that. Totally. That thing happened. Oh, the stairs looking a little worn? Just ignore that. That's just a minuscule detail. You definitely helicoptered up there, then sniped a ceramic object into your hand. That's probably also what that loud clanging sound was too!

You look at the ceramic object in your hand and you ESPECIALLY can identify exactly what this thing is.

It's clearly a key-chain. CLEARLY.

You then hear a growling. It must be a pack of wild wolves! Except... there are no wolves. You've actually never seen a wolf so you wouldn't know, but you know that that sound is not a wolf or wolves, but instead, that sound is your stomach. Your stomach is extremely upset.

You walk forward in the distance with your newfound treasure and your legs are dreadfully tired and you just want some relief of tiredness and hunger.

You eventually find a building, traipsing towards the door. You fall to your knees almost there, crawling closer and closer to the door. Clutching your hand to your special treasure, you pound loudly on the door then collapse, still fully awake though.
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Post by tlo Tue Jan 10, 2017 9:46 am

You stare dazedly at the sky, your hands clutching your hurt midsection. You were lucky that your assailant was obviously diminuative, since anyone larger could have dealt serious damage to your internal organs. As it was, anything of any size larger than a bread box is going to hurt a lot falling on you, even when protected by waxy juice drinks. You ignore your fellow dersite for now, even as he applies his tongue to your carapace. That was likely only because you had the innards of the beverages thrown about yourself. You wished there were suitable tailors and drycleaners at the end of the world.
There is a harsh clanging on the disused back door. Who could that be?

> Get up and investigate.

You decide to get up and investigate, but the decision itself isn't enough to lift the beverages from your torso.

> Captchalogue them in your sylladex.

You haven't the foggiest as to what a sylladex is, but you're pretty sure you should fill one of your item slots with the beverages.
The item slot fills, and you bemoan your constrained inventory system. You neve did have a weapons slot, which could be used to hold more items.
You stand snappily, bowing nervously for your guest, apologising and mumbling something about the back door being rusted in. You turn around the large cube to the next side, and then round the corner again to find what looked like a prospitian fellow banging on the door.
You gently walk over, suddenly conscious of your umbric garb, but not for its waxy stains. You call quietly, not wanting to startle your guest.
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Post by DistantRed Wed Jan 18, 2017 10:52 pm

You stand up —dusting your clothes off as you stand, though it doesn't matter much as your grey apparel is more dust than clothing at this point anyways— and you smile and wave, though with your mouth being covered, the only friendly thing was your happy eyes and your happy hand waving.

You tell them your name.

> Impose

No. You do not wish to impose upon this Dersite. The worst thing a half-mannerable person, such as yourself, could do is impose upon somebody. The most important thing for an almost dead species on a dead planet is civility.

You tell your potential host that you do not want to impose. Before they even get a chance to show any doubt whatsoever about this, you double-down and let them know that imposition is the very last thing you want to do.

You reach into your inventory space and pull out a sack full of colorful orbs that you've found while traveling around and you reach out your hand to give the sack to PD. While the colored spheres may be of zero use to them, they are rather nice to look at and grasp.
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Post by tlo Wed Jan 18, 2017 11:07 pm

You smile at your guest, the facial arrangement sadly foreign to your set features. You assure them that they would be no trouble, none at all, and that any company is good company in these dusty and lonely times. You inquire upon their state, asking at weather they were hungry or in need of a drink, although you could technically not fulfill either of those needs properly, since your dispenser cleverly chose an in-between for drinks and foodstuffs. You stop rambling, your gaze drifting out into the darkening landscape. You suggest that you move things inside, but through the front door, since this postern door was rusted in.
But wait, your guest offers a gift! You were obviously talking too long, and your gesticulations were too awkward. Curse your stubby limbs and inability to stay on topic. You accept the bag graciously, opening its mouth to reveal several orbs of multicoloured, prismatic and generally just rainbowed beauty. They were breathtaking, and thus took your breath away. You didn't have any idea what cost these had come to your new companion at, but they were obviously rich is precious items to give you this so freely.
You stammer a moment, unsure what to do. You don't have any sort of things to give. Just an obviously useless handgun that you could store in one of your item slots and your packet of jawbreakers faded ID.
You could. . .
No. You apologize with a bow, regretfully informing that you cannot return the favor in any way outside your hospitality. You gesture to the front, hoping they would come along.
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Post by DistantRed Mon Jan 23, 2017 5:46 pm

You agree with the dusty statement, as well as the lonely statement.

You tell your host that their humble abode and their presence is enough of a gift.

You are personally hungry. You haven't eaten for quite a bit, but you doubt that your host has much to spare, so you decide to take the safe-route and inform them that you COULD eat and that you "guess" you're feeling a "bit peckish". Thankfully, your stomach does not betray you with a loud rumbling in retaliation. You say that you don't eat much and you're not picky, so you're alright with whatever they can spare.
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