TNT has officially deformed my coding. Thanks. Thanks a lot.
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....Get Me Out of This Place....
By all accounts, I should be dead right now. Fate should have had its way, Nature should have run its course. But it didn't. I am an act against Nature, against all that is sane and eternal and right I am defiant.
As it is plain to see, I am a cyborg. A poorly assembled cyborg, it is true, but a working, mechanical component all the same. It is by chance and chance alone that I lived where I did, be consumed by the tinkering hobby that still entices me, and that my heart should still have beat even after my flesh blistered and pelt my singed to the roots.
Although you haven't any idea what I must be getting on about, I forget the despairing littleness the story held to the newspaper.
It was but three summers ago when the blasted affair went down (and no that pun was not intentional.) As life would have it I've been a devoted mechanic, engineer, and inventor since my puppyhood, a marvel and a prodigy. My parents delighted in carting me about to parties, not content to let me frolic with the other pups present, they would take devastating care to dismantle any hodgepodge gadget of the hosts' and place the ruined mass before me, one severe glare from my father telling me all I'd need to know. With a heavy heart I set about repairing the mountains of damaged remotes, toybots, VCR's, racecars, television sets, microwaves, everything and anything destroyed by my parents' all too willing paws.
Don't let this perspective taint your view of my mother and father, they were not entirely unkind. While I was made into a circus act whenever company was around I was never without supplies at home. My father, a talented architect, had remodeled our humble abode to add on an extensive workshop, paneled with massive sheets of aluminum and titanium, keenly dusted with chrome. Buckets upon buckets of every nail and bolt imaginable lined the walls to the ceiling, three industrial desks stood grandly alongside the gleaming walls, fans and hanging lamps spun and dangled genially, saws and welding equipment all was given to me, and my collection grew larger as birthdays and holidays went past.
Because of my isolation from others my age and the appealing mass of creative outlets I pretty much confined myself to my quarters, emerging only for the necessities. I grew solitary to the point where I resented the parties even more, knowing that only a hale of questions would await me once the all-too-easily-repaired appliances lay completed, and knowing that it was expected of me to be tolerant and polite, to rub off as the perfect little prodigy child.
Impressions aren't everlasting, as I'm sure many others know as well as I do. All this is essential, however it is not the main point.
Given as I am to solitude I grew up in estrangement, it was a self-induced estrangement of course and was even desirable to me. Growing old and tired and evermore intolerant of one another my parents eventually split up, leaving me the house and my workshop as each went off in search of astronomically different holes of retirement. Even their parting didn't much inspire sorrow in me; even though we were a family, our lives together were not ones of love so much as commitment, and as the commitment waned and there were no bonds of amity to tie us further we all drifted our separate ways in all contentedness, I, the barnacle that I am, joyed to be finally left entirely alone to be with my electronics.
Not a week after I was granted this freedom did my disaster finally occur. I was pioneering an entirely new science, self-destructing animatronics, ones with artificial intelligence, problem solving skills and a microchip enabling no independant thought. I was ecstatic, consumed, inspired, I worked hours into the night, til my eyeballs felt like raisins wrinkling beneath the glare of the florescent white-green overhead. The sun was beginning to rise, so late into the night and now morning I had worked, the indigo caving to the encroaching yellow, when I made my mistake.
I yawned. One stupid yawn. One idiotic, careless, mindless, fatigue-induced and ultimately life-altering yawn. My paw slipped. The scalpel strayed about a quarter of an inch off balance as I attached the final wire to the bombing mechanism. And it was Fire's reign. Great, blooming flowers of it, scorching white, encrusted with wrathful plumes of gold and blue, ballooning from everywhere. At first I was simply blinded, numbed by my bottomless terror, my scream lost in the rushing roar of the flames mushrooming from every corner of the room (why for Krebb's sakes had I ever thought it wise to store 1200 Cc's of nitro glycerin in an airhanger I'll never know.)
Later, many many months later in truth, I would be told of the way the cobblestone of our house lay scattered in cornfields over fifty miles away, later I would hear how two of my industrial desks, warhead guaranteed, would be found lodged in the second floor loft of the barn in a neighboring county, but in that present all conscious calculation was gone.
I lay, surely twisted, the ichorous tang of my own blood and sizzling flesh gnarling in my nostrils, as the last flickers of awareness stole through my mind, then thinking they were to be my last.
There was a single line and dot of light, like a television first clicking to life, and then a surgical whiteness overloaded my brain. I was aware, awake, confused, and yet entirely unperturbed by all of it. I was aware of my left eye being open, normal, round, vulnerable, flicking with a mild interest around the seamlessly white space around me. But I was also aware of it's roving independence, and this further confused me some. I was aware of the other eyelid, resolutely shut, and made to blink it back when a wavery chuckle took me quite aback.
Oho, you won't find anything under that!
Again, with only a detached sort of amusement I craned my head back around to look upside down at a small and portly man with clown-like feet, garbed neck to buffered brogan in a thick canvas coat, again in that now somewhat irksome shade of white. I regarded him with my single eye, the previous numbness beginning to fade as I became aware of how truly and inexplicably difficult it was to open my other eye.
Come now, come, I don't expect you to understand this all at once; especially so as I haven't really finished your brain yet!" the portly scientist ho-hoed indulgently, smiling beneath a whiskery mustache. He waited, still with a mad sort of grin, for me to reply, and again I found myself quite incapable. I just stared at him in complete disbelief, and as the seconds ticked by I saw, to my vague, grim satisfaction, the look slide off his face.
Oh, oh but of course, how could I have forgotten!"
He puttered off around my iron prison, hoisting himself up onto another gleaming counter and started rummaging through countless cabinets, tossing out bandages and spare wires and broken outlets and any other assortment of things. Then with a jovial "Aha!" he withdrew himself from the depths of the very last cupboard, a computer chip about the exact size and shape as a cornflake. I remained, entirely bound, as he plopped off the island and moved around to the back of my head, shoving the piece rudely into my skull.
All at once my mind was boggled; thesauruses, atlases, encyclopedias, dictionaries, in every conceivable language, all were whirling behind my eyes like my eyelids had been turned into screens. After a few more disorienting minutes my mind and sight cleared, revealing that squat little man, beaming down at me like I'd just pronounced him supreme ruler of the scientific community.
Congratulations my boy! You're the first host of BioElectrics!"
Occupation: Inventor, mechanic, a scientific experiment
Age: Young Adult
Mate/Crush: definitely not interested
Markings/Patterns: teal base, tan socks, underbelly, face mask, and under the tail, black tips on everything tan, line of black spots on face, black patch around both eyes
General Personality: grouchy, absorbed, reserved, quiet, tempermental, can be friendly (depends on how you approach him), stubborn; alt: reclusive, polite, passive, shy (most of his personality depends on his current mood and the current company)
Special Abilities/Skills: Almost entirely made of machinery; any part of his body can form into any tool, can connect to the internet through a series of wires and plugs located along his abdominal region, suceptible to viruses, infrared vision due to a single robotic left eye
Koten fits the bill to nearly all of these listed, and though I must say the girl is not without her curiosities, she has the most vicious temper of anyone I've ever met. By the mechanical gods, I swear she'll sooner skin you alive than admit that she's wrong, and heaven help you if you contradict her obsession for the moon. I still haven't worked out much about her, but I'm not reserving judgement until that time.
Koten roleplay has ended unconcluded. Tarmute is now open for roleplay.
[x] Open [ ] Closed
[x] Single [ ] Taken
Requests- OPEN TO FRIENDS ONLY; TRADES WILL COME FIRST ON THE PENDING LIST
Trades: OPEN :) I reserve the right to refuse a trade, however.
Count: 9 (thanks so much!)
nuffink here neither xD
I'll need to design a link later
Eventually... ly.... ly.... ly...
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