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RANDOM.SELECT. [OPEN]
creeping: way.too.close
a_perfect_end wrote in singularitylogs
who ; Genocidal former sysadmins and the people who side-eye them (In this case, that's Clu and...you!)
what ; Clu figured teleporter roulette was the quickest path back to Basicville. He figured wrong. (ALL OF THE BACKDATED SHENANIGANS. ALL OF THEM.)
where ; Stage Select is also Random ;) There's also G01, for convenience.
when ; Any time between May 20 and 27 (Friday to Friday)
warning(s) ; I suspect warning for violence and general d-baggery is adequate?
NOTES ; In the past week and in descending order of rationality and coherence, Clu's been human, a pony, a freak in a dive suit: no change mutated Splicer, a troll again, no change, and... A. Bostrumite. This. Cannot end well.

Leave a comment, specifying in the subject line which one you'd rather play with, so I, like, know what to wear, mmkay, and we'll party like it's 1989.

I am cool with slowtaggng/backtagging until the sun goes out. The sun is a problem, anyway.

Fff. Fixed.

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So Clu, I've heard you're going GREEN... :3

All in all, being a troll? Has not been too bad for Anon. Aside from having to cancel video feeds with a speed that might have put his previous Salarian body to absolute shame. And the lack of helmet. Definitely don't like that. He probably would try to stay in the apartment, except that there is just not enough space for him. And it's too crowded on occasion. Just can't deal with so many people all the time.

So in an effort to not go crazy from lack of space and abundance of housemates, he is out. Window shopping for sunglasses.

... Vaulting over any objects that are in his way. So there's that.

It's not easy being green.

[This is. Easily the second-worst thing that has ever happened to him. It might even be the worst.

He's been keeping to stores in more remote areas, skulking in doorways because he can't afford to be seen like this, appallingly half-dressed and covered in hideous ritual scrawl that celebrates...

What he is. What he has become.

The shirt was a boon, might as well have been User-sent. But it isn't enough. He needs a coat. And a hat. And a scarf. And sunglasses and some way to get these things out of his skin.

Failing that, he might just climb inside a garment bag and see if ISOs can suffocate.

First, though, he'd try the shopping.

When he was almost plowed over by a flash of bright blue, he didn't hesitate. He didn't weigh his options.]


Why don't you watch where you're--

[Oh. Oh, no.]

Son of a glitch.

[This was now officially the worst thing that had ever happened to him.]

At least it's Anon's second-favorite color?

[Anon sees it all in fairly simple terms: whatever he ends up as is better than being a virus again. He could handle being a pony or a dog. He can even stand (a select few) people seeing his face, knowing that.

Except that there is someone starting to shout at him.

Oh no, did he almost mow down that big armored guy again? Anon stops and half-turns to check. He was so embarrassed the last t-

Wait a millicycle.

That's Clu.

And...]

You. You are.

[There. Really is no way to make this make any sense. And yet it is somehow hilarious. Anon grins.]

... the teleporters have a sense of humor.

Human or Pony, your choice!

Gem had been enjoying herself too much. It was a bad thing, all in all, she knew. For every very good thing that had ever happened in her life, something equally disastrous had occurred.

That didn't mean, however, that Gem would let this new part of her go to waste.

Sitting on a bench, the new Program-cum-User was watching her finger shoot flames upwards towards the sky, flickering and flaring as she worked to control the new power she had procured.

please allow me to introduce myself; I am a man of wealth and taste.

He was not at all interested in staying like this--jumbled signals, inability to prioritize, a completely inefficient (and kinda gross) wastage system--but it had a few advantages.

Heck of a power curve, for one thing. Easy recharge, too. And people generally didn't flinch when they saw him. Not that he'd ever expected to care; what was done was done.

He did have to let this body rest more often, though.

He'd walked some distance, skipping minor teleporters where they appeared--he was going to use them, later, but it would be in a controlled and documented fashion, to determine the source of the problem, ferret out the origin of the glitch so it could be stricken from the system.

His feet ached. A symptom of fatigue. Sitting would be pretty awesome right about now. The benches were not so far off the path.

Besides, he thought he recognized--

"Gem? That's a new look for you, isn't it."

Interesting new skillset, too.

I've been around for a long long year; stole many a man's soul and faith

Gem still hadn't completely learned to control her power. When she heard her name, spoken in that tone--she knew immediately the culprit. Clu.

Despite her face giving away nothing, the flames within her hands flared upwards and out, causing her eyes to widen in shock before she managed to get it under control; the flames quickly fizzled out, leaving only a bit of smoke in their wake.

"Still learning to deal with the occasional overloads to the system." Gem smoothed her hands down on her dress, focusing on Clu instead of herself; it was better that way. She could pretend that she hadn't just done something idiotic.

"A User now, as well. Do you have any abilities? Or are you Basic."

There was power flowing through her.

It gave her the bravery to make the dig.

This form was trying his patience.

Nemesis scratched at one of the healing cuts on his cheek; it had been a rough fight, but not a true challenge, and he blamed his injuries his inexperience with this body. He should have ended it in seconds. Should have crushed him with one or two blows-

-he'd let himself get distracted, like he was now. To be fair, it was either be out or deal with Shockwave's not-progress, and impatience had gotten the best of him. That, and a bit of insomnia.

The sopor slime, it seemed, only worked so well. It had helped, but it was hard to sleep in it, period, and a few persistent dreams had refused to be suppressed.

So. He'd made his way to one of the race tracks he frequented, and even if it was a matter in futility and a waste of energy to actually try and race...it was one of the few things that were familiar. The Transformer-turned-Troll sat in the stands, alone, a single spot of black in a sea of dull white metal.

He'd heard of Sollux by reputation and he'd surveyed the recent flood of network chatter; he'd picked up a few guidelines about being a troll. And from others' misfortunes, he'd figured out pretty much what to expect.

Didn't make him any happier about it. If anything, his fuse was even shorter--the fact that he could track his own descent only meant it was noticeable, obvious, evident; it was one more lapse, one more thing slipping out of his control.

Clu was just about ready to end the next living creature he came across. He had, quite sensibly, stomped his way off the terrace in search of somewhere to go, something to do, a way to clear his thoughts.

That meant getting some room to drive. But he'd lost the cycle two forms prior, a casualty of the scrambled genetic and outfit blueprints.

He headed for the racetrack regardless.

In human form, he might have leaped over the empty backs of the seats--quickest way down, and a rush to boot. As a troll, Clu flashed a sneer and took the stairs.

Something about the track was calming. Orderly. It had a function, once. The markers were still clear--running indicators, fixed points for banners, monitors slick and night-dark where the scoreboard waited to flare to brilliant life.

The stands--were not empty.

It made him suddenly, irrationally angry; of course there'd be someone else here. Couldn't get a moment's peace anywhere on this entire glitching station.

Another troll. One that he thought he recognized...No. Not familiar after all. Except--

"Figures you'd be here."

Nothing personal, man. Except it totally is.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend to imagine that he was only here to wait for another Alternity, that they were coming...

-that was not one of the Corps' voices. His eyes snapped back open, black-on-yellow narrowing as they immediately spotted the source. Another troll, an unfamiliar one, but one that seemed to know him.

He curled his lip, fangs expressing his displeasure at being bothered. "Find your own place," he snapped. "This one's mine."

(Well, no, it wasn't. But for now, it was.)

party don't start 'til I walk in <3<

[Nothing stopped the nightmares. With the hard-won skill of centuries, Flynn could keep them from tearing his psyche apart, but his rest didn't deserve the name any longer, a highlight reel of vicious dreams he'd thought long banished playing on loop behind his eyes.

Rather than snap at someone when a solicitous question inevitably struck him wrong, he'd slipped quietly away. The station was vast, and he was alone the moment he stepped onto the street and into Sacrosanct's well-maintained desolation, where his temper couldn't hurt anyone. Without truly making a decision to do it, he sought out one of the parks. It was night, not that he'd been paying attention, but the nocturnal troll eyes meant the ambient glow from the city was enough to see by.

The emptiness didn't echo through him in places that were meant for stillness. He followed the course of a stream that wound its way around copses of trees and pocket gardens before ending in a pond covered so covered with lilies that their pads hid the surface of the water. They bloomed at night, it seemed, blue flowers indistinct against the darkness.

The spirit of the best of men is spotless, like the lotus in the muddy water which does not adhere to it.

Flynn was willing to bet the Buddha hadn't had to deal with being a troll.
]

last party, things ended up in the pool. WHY BREAK TRADITION <3<

[Clu was thoroughly sick of nature. Too much of it scraped, grated, swarmed, and bit; everything was uneven; and his legs had gone so far past aching that they were numb.

The pond was a nice touch. He actually stopped for a moment to consider the aesthetics. Very well-engineered. The gravel was polished to the illusion of almost being smooth enough to feel right; he knew it would be cool and faintly damp in his hand, and it was.

It hit the water at a precise angle, bounced twice, scraped a lily pad, and sank. He was going for three, and the plant material had interfered. Unacceptable.

If at first you don't succeed, a rolling stone gathers no moss.

He picked up another one.]

[The splash of Clu's pebble failing at its task pulled Flynn's attention from the lily blossom he'd been trying to drill a hole in with his stare. He wouldn't have been surprised to find out trolls had laser eyes. Just startled when the flower burst into flame.

Searching for the source of the noise, he peered into the darkness, until his eyes caught on--

Oh, come on. New law of physics: The universe tends toward maximum perversity.
]

The entire station to choose from, and you end up here?

[The edges of the words were sharp. Flynn hadn't intended that, and was disturbed by how much he liked the feel of them on his tongue.]

Bostrumite, naturally | I'M ONLY A COUPLE OF MONTHS LATE

[The really irritating thing about being a Basic--besides the lack of free will, and the shirt, and the fact that Gibson is convinced he doesn't look good in blue, and the lack of free will--is that Basics can't hold a charge worth a damn. Gibson's been to the ETCs stashed in the neighborhood around Flynn's apartment more in this past week than he has in the entire preceding month, and it's really starting to get on his nerves.

And, go figure, that's exactly where Gibson's headed right now. (Pay no attention to the fact that his circuits flicker occasionally as he walks.)]


[ooc: I swore I'd tag you eventually! xD]

fff THERE IS NO LATE, THERE IS ONLY THIS THREAD.

[There are a legion of things that are irritating about being an ISO. The most irritating, so far, is the broad mark on his face. It's as if some perverse intelligence knew he'd go to every length to wear as much clothing as possible.

He will not ever, ever be covered enough again.

And there are too many choices, pushing in on him like equations half-solved, out of balance and unstable.

He made his way into Zone 05 because he wanted to--not because he felt a draw; there was no pull, no sense of being called to--and only because he wanted to.

The one advantage of this form was not having to rely on a recharge so often.

So he flat out does not expect to run into anyone. Definitely not blue-circuits he doesn't know.

A fight for the Users. Oh, great.

Wait. He knew that hoodie, anywhere, in any color.]


Dig the shirt.

THIS IS THE BEST MANTRA. ._.

[What.

That was Clu, but--what.

Clearly the station had a sick and twisted sense of humor when it came to teleporter malfunctions. Too bad Gibson wasn't laughing--and he's only taken aback by the sight of Clu with Bostrumite-green circuitry for about half a second before he just starts openly glaring at the other program.]


Nice tattoo. How many times have you tried to get rid of it so far?

[If you haven't tried, can Gibson do it for you? With his disc? :D]

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