An ancient, hulking, humanoid automaton is managing the much newer and cuter chefbots. The infernal machine, all black iron and chipped paint, sees Finley and suddenly moves to intercept, filling the air with an almost cloying scent of fresh food. "Hello hello helloooo!" The machine chatters in the voice of a young woman, clearly excited. "May I take your order today?"
This thing looks like it could crush a truck with one hand and survive a hit from a small missile. It does not look like it belongs in a convenience store.
*Hello Baal! How art thou this fine day?*
Finley isn't at all intimidated by the hulking construct, and they can't help but smile at the excitement in their voice. "Hello to you too!" They start with similar cheeriness. "Hmm... I think I may need a minute to decide, it's been a long time since I've been here." They take a seat at one of the available tables, sliding over the menu book to in front of them. The ring-bound book has dozens of laminated pages, managing to cram Algernon's expansive menu within one easy-to-process package, though it's still a bit daunting to new customers.
*I'm doing good! Still anxious about tomorrow's session, though. We left off at an awkward point and I haven't been able to come up with what to do next since we're at a kind of important moment where the players could really do anything.*
"You can never go wrong with a good burger! Maybe a milkshake to go with it!" The machine waits, although she's clearly struggling to contain herself. (History, Survival, or Arcana to identify the model, if you wish)
Many of the available items are completely free, from burgers to coffee to a plethora of desserts. Most of the 'pay-to-eat' items are relatively cheap due to the sheer overabundance of food in Complex Four, and even a lot of those had their prices crossed out and replaced with 0.000
A stunning woman stands gracefully outside a wine shop nestled within the vibrant aspects of Complex Yellow. She is elegantly dressed in a flowing black gown that cascades to the ground, complemented by a plush, white fur stole draped effortlessly over her shoulders, adding a touch of luxurious sophistication. Around her neck rests a thick, gun metal necklace adorned with a polished obsidian pendant that catches the light subtly. Her complexion is porcelain pale, providing a striking contrast to her dark, smoky makeup; her lips are subtly tinted black, and her eyes are accentuated with smudged black eyeliner. She holds a slender flute of crisp Blanc Sauvignon, delicately bringing it to her lips as she takes a sip, closing her eyes as he savors it.
Finley isn't at all intimidated by the hulking construct, and they can't help but smile at the excitement in their voice. "Hello to you too!" They start with similar cheeriness. "Hmm... I think I may need a minute to decide, it's been a long time since I've been here." They take a seat at one of the available tables, sliding over the menu book to in front of them. The ring-bound book has dozens of laminated pages, managing to cram Algernon's expansive menu within one easy-to-process package, though it's still a bit daunting to new customers.
*I'm doing good! Still anxious about tomorrow's session, though. We left off at an awkward point and I haven't been able to come up with what to do next since we're at a kind of important moment where the players could really do anything.*
"You can never go wrong with a good burger! Maybe a milkshake to go with it!" The machine waits, although she's clearly struggling to contain herself. (History, Survival, or Arcana to identify the model, if you wish)
Many of the available items are completely free, from burgers to coffee to a plethora of desserts. Most of the 'pay-to-eat' items are relatively cheap due to the sheer overabundance of food in Complex Four, and even a lot of those had their prices crossed out and replaced with 0.000
*Good to hear you're doing well! I understand that anxiety- it can feel pretty uncertain when things are open-ended and the players can do anything. Though, odds are things'll turn out good and at the end of the day, a lot of D&D is improv- whatever happens, I'm positive y'all will spin it into something fun and satisfying!*
"That is true..." The courier agrees, before finding an item that they think sounds satisfying- it was likey added sometime in the last few months, as Finley doesn't recognize it. "Okay, I think I found something. Could I have a..." They pause for a second to look back down at the menu, making sure they get the name right. "...a bacon patty melt with... a strawberry shake, please?" Something in the back of their mind tells them go also get a rare steak, but they ignore it. (Finley's Survival check: 17)
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Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*I'm doing good! Still anxious about tomorrow's session, though. We left off at an awkward point and I haven't been able to come up with what to do next since we're at a kind of important moment where the players could really do anything.*
"You can never go wrong with a good burger! Maybe a milkshake to go with it!" The machine waits, although she's clearly struggling to contain herself. (History, Survival, or Arcana to identify the model, if you wish)
Many of the available items are completely free, from burgers to coffee to a plethora of desserts. Most of the 'pay-to-eat' items are relatively cheap due to the sheer overabundance of food in Complex Four, and even a lot of those had their prices crossed out and replaced with 0.000
*Good to hear you're doing well! I understand that anxiety- it can feel pretty uncertain when things are open-ended and the players can do anything. Though, odds are things'll turn out good and at the end of the day, a lot of D&D is improv- whatever happens, I'm positive y'all will spin it into something fun and satisfying!*
"That is true..." The courier agrees, before finding an item that they think sounds satisfying- it was likey added sometime in the last few months, as Finley doesn't recognize it. "Okay, I think I found something. Could I have a..." They pause for a second to look back down at the menu, making sure they get the name right. "...a bacon patty melt with... a strawberry shake, please?" Something in the back of their mind tells them go also get a rare steak, but they ignore it. (Finley's Survival check: 17)
This automaton seems to be some archaic model from Complex Red, with some fiendish influence still present in the design. Finley has found a couple of this type of machine along their travels, always broken down and almost untouched by scavengers. They are nearly tamper-proof, with nigh-invincible plating and extremely complex internals that, from Finley's observations, seem to vary from machine to machine. Probably the strangest thing is that they were industrial-grade, not military-grade, and from the few breaks Finley has seen in their armor, these machines have an almost sponge-like texture beneath the surface.
They have no idea what the original purpose of this machine was, but they feel that it may not be pleasant given the lack of information they've found.
The construct jams an arm into a port in the counter, and after about seven seconds of music, a bright red plastic tray rises up from the counter, containing the order. It looks exactly like the pictures. She removes her arm, picks up the tray, and carefully brings it over. "Your order, Mx!"
"I'm sure she'll love it. Do you plan on cooking this, or leaving it raw? 'Cause I have recipes for both. Organs are harder to eat raw because of the compounds within them and their general toughness, but some seasonings and acids can really make them delicious. I've experimented with this stuff myself, and I cannot recommend it less. Let someone else do the hard part."
"It's gotta be raw. But trust me, she can handle it." they let out a chuckle, muffled a bit by the mask.
He nods and weighs the tray. "First one of the day is always the biggest." He clamps a plastic lid down on it and slides it over. "If you need help getting it to where you're going, there's a coinop loader bot near the entrance."
"Nah, i can carry this." They pick up the tray easily.
*bonk*
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I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3 Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees (and hopefully more)
He nods and weighs the tray. "First one of the day is always the biggest." He clamps a plastic lid down on it and slides it over. "If you need help getting it to where you're going, there's a coinop loader bot near the entrance."
"Nah, i can carry this." They pick up the tray easily.
He nods and weighs the tray. "First one of the day is always the biggest." He clamps a plastic lid down on it and slides it over. "If you need help getting it to where you're going, there's a coinop loader bot near the entrance."
"Nah, i can carry this." They pick up the tray easily.
He nods. "Well then, take care!"
They turn to leave, but then stop. "Wait, weird question, do you have any anti-nausea medicine or anything?"
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3 Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3 Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees (and hopefully more)
They turn to leave, but then stop. "Wait, weird question, do you have any anti-nausea medicine or anything?"
"Oh, yeah." he punches in more incomprehensible symbols into the terminal, and a bottle of anti-nausea candies and a box of 'calm stomach' tea roll out in another metal tray. "Anything else on your mind?"
*Good to hear you're doing well! I understand that anxiety- it can feel pretty uncertain when things are open-ended and the players can do anything. Though, odds are things'll turn out good and at the end of the day, a lot of D&D is improv- whatever happens, I'm positive y'all will spin it into something fun and satisfying!*
"That is true..." The courier agrees, before finding an item that they think sounds satisfying- it was likey added sometime in the last few months, as Finley doesn't recognize it. "Okay, I think I found something. Could I have a..." They pause for a second to look back down at the menu, making sure they get the name right. "...a bacon patty melt with... a strawberry shake, please?" Something in the back of their mind tells them go also get a rare steak, but they ignore it. (Finley's Survival check: 17)
This automaton seems to be some archaic model from Complex Red, with some fiendish influence still present in the design. Finley has found a couple of this type of machine along their travels, always broken down and almost untouched by scavengers. They are nearly tamper-proof, with nigh-invincible plating and extremely complex internals that, from Finley's observations, seem to vary from machine to machine. Probably the strangest thing is that they were industrial-grade, not military-grade, and from the few breaks Finley has seen in their armor, these machines have an almost sponge-like texture beneath the surface.
They have no idea what the original purpose of this machine was, but they feel that it may not be pleasant given the lack of information they've found.
The construct jams an arm into a port in the counter, and after about seven seconds of music, a bright red plastic tray rises up from the counter, containing the order. It looks exactly like the pictures. She removes her arm, picks up the tray, and carefully brings it over. "Your order, Mx!"
Finley makes mental note of their passing observations, not mentioning it as they gratefully take the tray and set it before them, returning the menu book to its designated perch. "Thank you very much, it looks great!" They reply, happy to exchange some words with someone else beyond a few words- the Complex fosters the perfect environment for apathy and isolation, so conversation is scarce.
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Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
This automaton seems to be some archaic model from Complex Red, with some fiendish influence still present in the design. Finley has found a couple of this type of machine along their travels, always broken down and almost untouched by scavengers. They are nearly tamper-proof, with nigh-invincible plating and extremely complex internals that, from Finley's observations, seem to vary from machine to machine. Probably the strangest thing is that they were industrial-grade, not military-grade, and from the few breaks Finley has seen in their armor, these machines have an almost sponge-like texture beneath the surface.
They have no idea what the original purpose of this machine was, but they feel that it may not be pleasant given the lack of information they've found.
The construct jams an arm into a port in the counter, and after about seven seconds of music, a bright red plastic tray rises up from the counter, containing the order. It looks exactly like the pictures. She removes her arm, picks up the tray, and carefully brings it over. "Your order, Mx!"
Finley makes mental note of their passing observations, not mentioning it as they gratefully take the tray and set it before them, returning the menu book to its designated perch. "Thank you very much, it looks great!" They reply, happy to exchange some words with someone else beyond a few words- the Complex fosters the perfect environment for apathy and isolation, so conversation is scarce.
She bows to Finley repeatedly. "Thank you so much! Oh, and you're welcome! I should have said that first!" She lets out a muffled giggle, a noise that sounds immensely inappropriate coming from this hellsteel brute. (I've been using she/her pronouns, but to be abundantly clear, she's not feminine in appearance whatsoever.)
There aren't many other customers, and they eye the hulking automaton with suspicion. She seems anxious under their gazes, but continues to wait on them, moving quickly and constantly surveying the area to make sure that everyone is doing okay. She visits Finley's table the most often, giving them special attention for one reason or another.
A stunning woman stands gracefully outside a wine shop nestled within the vibrant aspects of Complex Yellow. She is elegantly dressed in a flowing black gown that cascades to the ground, complemented by a plush, white fur stole draped effortlessly over her shoulders, adding a touch of luxurious sophistication. Around her neck rests a thick, gun metal necklace adorned with a polished obsidian pendant that catches the light subtly. Her complexion is porcelain pale, providing a striking contrast to her dark, smoky makeup; her lips are subtly tinted black, and her eyes are accentuated with smudged black eyeliner. She holds a slender flute of crisp Blanc Sauvignon, delicately bringing it to her lips as she takes a sip, closing her eyes as he savors it.
This automaton seems to be some archaic model from Complex Red, with some fiendish influence still present in the design. Finley has found a couple of this type of machine along their travels, always broken down and almost untouched by scavengers. They are nearly tamper-proof, with nigh-invincible plating and extremely complex internals that, from Finley's observations, seem to vary from machine to machine. Probably the strangest thing is that they were industrial-grade, not military-grade, and from the few breaks Finley has seen in their armor, these machines have an almost sponge-like texture beneath the surface.
They have no idea what the original purpose of this machine was, but they feel that it may not be pleasant given the lack of information they've found.
The construct jams an arm into a port in the counter, and after about seven seconds of music, a bright red plastic tray rises up from the counter, containing the order. It looks exactly like the pictures. She removes her arm, picks up the tray, and carefully brings it over. "Your order, Mx!"
Finley makes mental note of their passing observations, not mentioning it as they gratefully take the tray and set it before them, returning the menu book to its designated perch. "Thank you very much, it looks great!" They reply, happy to exchange some words with someone else beyond a few words- the Complex fosters the perfect environment for apathy and isolation, so conversation is scarce.
She bows to Finley repeatedly. "Thank you so much! Oh, and you're welcome! I should have said that first!" She lets out a muffled giggle, a noise that sounds immensely inappropriate coming from this hellsteel brute. (I've been using she/her pronouns, but to be abundantly clear, she's not feminine in appearance whatsoever.)
There aren't many other customers, and they eye the hulking automaton with suspicion. She seems anxious under their gazes, but continues to wait on them, moving quickly and constantly surveying the area to make sure that everyone is doing okay. She visits Finley's table the most often, giving them special attention for one reason or another.
Finley can't help but chuckle a bit too at her laugh, smiling a touch wider afterwards, though that turns to a frown at the suspicious glowers in her direction. They seem a bit happier when she visits for one reason or another. "I know it's difficult, but try not to pay them any mind. You're doing great." They tell her next time she checks in on their table, before adding. "Apologies if that's overstepping."
Somehow, the courier seems a little less visibly tired after eating a bit. It'll be satisfied with that for a little while, they think to themselves.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
A stunning woman stands gracefully outside a wine shop nestled within the vibrant aspects of Complex Yellow. She is elegantly dressed in a flowing black gown that cascades to the ground, complemented by a plush, white fur stole draped effortlessly over her shoulders, adding a touch of luxurious sophistication. Around her neck rests a thick, gun metal necklace adorned with a polished obsidian pendant that catches the light subtly. Her complexion is porcelain pale, providing a striking contrast to her dark, smoky makeup; her lips are subtly tinted black, and her eyes are accentuated with smudged black eyeliner. She holds a slender flute of crisp Blanc Sauvignon, delicately bringing it to her lips as she takes a sip, closing her eyes as he savors it.
*I need to make a character that wanders the streets more*
*I'm not sure if Feast would interact... the Automaton, maybe, but I don't wanna overuse her just yet. I make that mistake a lot.*
She bows to Finley repeatedly. "Thank you so much! Oh, and you're welcome! I should have said that first!" She lets out a muffled giggle, a noise that sounds immensely inappropriate coming from this hellsteel brute. (I've been using she/her pronouns, but to be abundantly clear, she's not feminine in appearance whatsoever.)
There aren't many other customers, and they eye the hulking automaton with suspicion. She seems anxious under their gazes, but continues to wait on them, moving quickly and constantly surveying the area to make sure that everyone is doing okay. She visits Finley's table the most often, giving them special attention for one reason or another.
Finley can't help but chuckle a bit too at her laugh, smiling a touch wider afterwards, though that turns to a frown at the suspicious glowers in her direction. They seem a bit happier when she visits for one reason or another. "I know it's difficult, but try not to pay them any mind. You're doing great." They tell her next time she checks in on their table, before adding. "Apologies if that's overstepping."
Somehow, the courier seems a little less visibly tired after eating a bit. It'll be satisfied with that for a little while, they think to themselves.
"No, no, you're right." She sighs faintly. The smell of fast food grows slightly stronger, as though she were actually breathing it out. "I do my job well. I have nothing to worry about. They're just not used to older models handling their food. We're... unpredictable. My modified voice probably doesn't help much, does it?" She laughs mirthlessly. "Makes me sound like I'm trying to be a human. I-I'm not, though..." She fidgets with the drawstring of her massive employee apron. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm such a chatterbox, aren't I?"
She bows to Finley repeatedly. "Thank you so much! Oh, and you're welcome! I should have said that first!" She lets out a muffled giggle, a noise that sounds immensely inappropriate coming from this hellsteel brute. (I've been using she/her pronouns, but to be abundantly clear, she's not feminine in appearance whatsoever.)
There aren't many other customers, and they eye the hulking automaton with suspicion. She seems anxious under their gazes, but continues to wait on them, moving quickly and constantly surveying the area to make sure that everyone is doing okay. She visits Finley's table the most often, giving them special attention for one reason or another.
Finley can't help but chuckle a bit too at her laugh, smiling a touch wider afterwards, though that turns to a frown at the suspicious glowers in her direction. They seem a bit happier when she visits for one reason or another. "I know it's difficult, but try not to pay them any mind. You're doing great." They tell her next time she checks in on their table, before adding. "Apologies if that's overstepping."
Somehow, the courier seems a little less visibly tired after eating a bit. It'll be satisfied with that for a little while, they think to themselves.
"No, no, you're right." She sighs faintly. The smell of fast food grows slightly stronger, as though she were actually breathing it out. "I do my job well. I have nothing to worry about. They're just not used to older models handling their food. We're... unpredictable. My modified voice probably doesn't help much, does it?" She laughs mirthlessly. "Makes me sound like I'm trying to be a human. I-I'm not, though..." She fidgets with the drawstring of her massive employee apron. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm such a chatterbox, aren't I?"
"No, no apologies are necessary- a chatterbox isn't a bad thing to be." They set their tray slightly to the side for now, much to something's protest. "I get it- it's hard to not think of what others think of you. I struggle with it too. But honestly- who cares what they think of you? You've nothing to worry about. It gets easier to ignore it with time, and every day you continue being you, you're proving them wrong." Finley isn't the best at pep talks or comforting words or really conversation in general, but they certainly try. "And, if it's any help, your voice is nice- anyone who disagrees needs their ears and biases checked." A few moments after they finish talking, they nervously look down. "...Again, sorry if I'm overstepping."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"No, no, you're right." She sighs faintly. The smell of fast food grows slightly stronger, as though she were actually breathing it out. "I do my job well. I have nothing to worry about. They're just not used to older models handling their food. We're... unpredictable. My modified voice probably doesn't help much, does it?" She laughs mirthlessly. "Makes me sound like I'm trying to be a human. I-I'm not, though..." She fidgets with the drawstring of her massive employee apron. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm such a chatterbox, aren't I?"
"No, no apologies are necessary- a chatterbox isn't a bad thing to be." They set their tray slightly to the side for now, much to something's protest. "I get it- it's hard to not think of what others think of you. I struggle with it too. But honestly- who cares what they think of you? You've nothing to worry about. It gets easier to ignore it with time, and every day you continue being you, you're proving them wrong." Finley isn't the best at pep talks or comforting words or really conversation in general, but they certainly try. "And, if it's any help, your voice is nice- anyone who disagrees needs their ears and biases checked." A few moments after they finish talking, they nervously look down. "...Again, sorry if I'm overstepping."
The horrible machine sighs, but in a sort of affectionately exasperated way than the sad way she did earlier. "You're allowed to speak your mind, Mx." She chuckles and pats Finley's shoulder delicately, just barely making contact. "It's difficult, isn't it? Being different. The hungry whispers, the way our systems twitch at its whims, the unfairness of it all... but it's better than not being here at all, don't you think?"
In complex Black, a tall being wearing a featureless mask, is wandering
*The Being is my child*
It finds, in these wet and blackened halls, the remains of numerous prosthetics, the Nightmares that had once used them ripped out and nowhere to be found. They look crunched and chewed, partially devoured. A faint yellow light can be seen flickering not too far away, before it shuts off entirely.
"No, no apologies are necessary- a chatterbox isn't a bad thing to be." They set their tray slightly to the side for now, much to something's protest. "I get it- it's hard to not think of what others think of you. I struggle with it too. But honestly- who cares what they think of you? You've nothing to worry about. It gets easier to ignore it with time, and every day you continue being you, you're proving them wrong." Finley isn't the best at pep talks or comforting words or really conversation in general, but they certainly try. "And, if it's any help, your voice is nice- anyone who disagrees needs their ears and biases checked." A few moments after they finish talking, they nervously look down. "...Again, sorry if I'm overstepping."
The horrible machine sighs, but in a sort of affectionately exasperated way than the sad way she did earlier. "You're allowed to speak your mind, Mx." She chuckles and pats Finley's shoulder delicately, just barely making contact. "It's difficult, isn't it? Being different. The hungry whispers, the way our systems twitch at its whims, the unfairness of it all... but it's better than not being here at all, don't you think?"
They chuckle a bit as well, thinking about it for a while. "Yeah... much better, I'd say." Externally, they're still somewhat cheery- internally, they're confused and slightly panicked. 'Wait hold on how does she know?' they think, though they're trying not to seem anxious about that question. "...Wait, how did you...?" They start to ask in a much less anxious manner than their thoughts, but seem unsure of whether to finish their query.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
In complex Black, a tall being wearing a featureless mask, is wandering
*The Being is my child*
It finds, in these wet and blackened halls, the remains of numerous prosthetics, the Nightmares that had once used them ripped out and nowhere to be found. They look crunched and chewed, partially devoured. A faint yellow light can be seen flickering not too far away, before it shuts off entirely.
It walks to where the light was
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Hallo
People who aren't from here or DeviantArt might know me from various games or might know me as Dino on some of those games
I will go by these if ya wanna say something nicknames: Dinao, Diano, Or Dino
'tis all
:p
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*I'm doing good! Still anxious about tomorrow's session, though. We left off at an awkward point and I haven't been able to come up with what to do next since we're at a kind of important moment where the players could really do anything.*
"You can never go wrong with a good burger! Maybe a milkshake to go with it!" The machine waits, although she's clearly struggling to contain herself. (History, Survival, or Arcana to identify the model, if you wish)
Many of the available items are completely free, from burgers to coffee to a plethora of desserts. Most of the 'pay-to-eat' items are relatively cheap due to the sheer overabundance of food in Complex Four, and even a lot of those had their prices crossed out and replaced with 0.000
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
A stunning woman stands gracefully outside a wine shop nestled within the vibrant aspects of Complex Yellow. She is elegantly dressed in a flowing black gown that cascades to the ground, complemented by a plush, white fur stole draped effortlessly over her shoulders, adding a touch of luxurious sophistication. Around her neck rests a thick, gun metal necklace adorned with a polished obsidian pendant that catches the light subtly. Her complexion is porcelain pale, providing a striking contrast to her dark, smoky makeup; her lips are subtly tinted black, and her eyes are accentuated with smudged black eyeliner. She holds a slender flute of crisp Blanc Sauvignon, delicately bringing it to her lips as she takes a sip, closing her eyes as he savors it.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
*Good to hear you're doing well! I understand that anxiety- it can feel pretty uncertain when things are open-ended and the players can do anything. Though, odds are things'll turn out good and at the end of the day, a lot of D&D is improv- whatever happens, I'm positive y'all will spin it into something fun and satisfying!*
"That is true..." The courier agrees, before finding an item that they think sounds satisfying- it was likey added sometime in the last few months, as Finley doesn't recognize it. "Okay, I think I found something. Could I have a..." They pause for a second to look back down at the menu, making sure they get the name right. "...a bacon patty melt with... a strawberry shake, please?" Something in the back of their mind tells them go also get a rare steak, but they ignore it. (Finley's Survival check: 17)
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
This automaton seems to be some archaic model from Complex Red, with some fiendish influence still present in the design. Finley has found a couple of this type of machine along their travels, always broken down and almost untouched by scavengers. They are nearly tamper-proof, with nigh-invincible plating and extremely complex internals that, from Finley's observations, seem to vary from machine to machine. Probably the strangest thing is that they were industrial-grade, not military-grade, and from the few breaks Finley has seen in their armor, these machines have an almost sponge-like texture beneath the surface.
They have no idea what the original purpose of this machine was, but they feel that it may not be pleasant given the lack of information they've found.
The construct jams an arm into a port in the counter, and after about seven seconds of music, a bright red plastic tray rises up from the counter, containing the order. It looks exactly like the pictures. She removes her arm, picks up the tray, and carefully brings it over. "Your order, Mx!"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
*bonk*
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees (and hopefully more)
He nods. "Well then, take care!"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
They turn to leave, but then stop. "Wait, weird question, do you have any anti-nausea medicine or anything?"
I'm Fry, a doodler, writer, aspiring singer/songwriter, and sort-of youtuber (check me out!) just trying to spread a little positivity wherever I can<3
Soli Deo Gloria(Sed servus eius crustulum vult)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, dumpster fire, and somewhat of a clown, but I do my best :3
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, danganer of ronpas, and certified silly goose
Internet big sib to aspeninthetrees (and hopefully more)
"Oh, yeah." he punches in more incomprehensible symbols into the terminal, and a bottle of anti-nausea candies and a box of 'calm stomach' tea roll out in another metal tray. "Anything else on your mind?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
Finley makes mental note of their passing observations, not mentioning it as they gratefully take the tray and set it before them, returning the menu book to its designated perch. "Thank you very much, it looks great!" They reply, happy to exchange some words with someone else beyond a few words- the Complex fosters the perfect environment for apathy and isolation, so conversation is scarce.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
She bows to Finley repeatedly. "Thank you so much! Oh, and you're welcome! I should have said that first!" She lets out a muffled giggle, a noise that sounds immensely inappropriate coming from this hellsteel brute. (I've been using she/her pronouns, but to be abundantly clear, she's not feminine in appearance whatsoever.)
There aren't many other customers, and they eye the hulking automaton with suspicion. She seems anxious under their gazes, but continues to wait on them, moving quickly and constantly surveying the area to make sure that everyone is doing okay. She visits Finley's table the most often, giving them special attention for one reason or another.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
Finley can't help but chuckle a bit too at her laugh, smiling a touch wider afterwards, though that turns to a frown at the suspicious glowers in her direction. They seem a bit happier when she visits for one reason or another. "I know it's difficult, but try not to pay them any mind. You're doing great." They tell her next time she checks in on their table, before adding. "Apologies if that's overstepping."
Somehow, the courier seems a little less visibly tired after eating a bit. It'll be satisfied with that for a little while, they think to themselves.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*I need to make a character that wanders the streets more*
*I'm not sure if Feast would interact... the Automaton, maybe, but I don't wanna overuse her just yet. I make that mistake a lot.*
*Hmmm...*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"No, no, you're right." She sighs faintly. The smell of fast food grows slightly stronger, as though she were actually breathing it out. "I do my job well. I have nothing to worry about. They're just not used to older models handling their food. We're... unpredictable. My modified voice probably doesn't help much, does it?" She laughs mirthlessly. "Makes me sound like I'm trying to be a human. I-I'm not, though..." She fidgets with the drawstring of her massive employee apron. "Ah, I'm sorry. I'm such a chatterbox, aren't I?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"No, no apologies are necessary- a chatterbox isn't a bad thing to be." They set their tray slightly to the side for now, much to something's protest. "I get it- it's hard to not think of what others think of you. I struggle with it too. But honestly- who cares what they think of you? You've nothing to worry about. It gets easier to ignore it with time, and every day you continue being you, you're proving them wrong." Finley isn't the best at pep talks or comforting words or really conversation in general, but they certainly try. "And, if it's any help, your voice is nice- anyone who disagrees needs their ears and biases checked." A few moments after they finish talking, they nervously look down. "...Again, sorry if I'm overstepping."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
In complex Black, a tall being wearing a featureless mask, is wandering
*The Being is my child*
Hallo
People who aren't from here or DeviantArt might know me from various games or might know me as Dino on some of those games
I will go by these if ya wanna say something nicknames: Dinao, Diano, Or Dino
'tis all
:p
The horrible machine sighs, but in a sort of affectionately exasperated way than the sad way she did earlier. "You're allowed to speak your mind, Mx." She chuckles and pats Finley's shoulder delicately, just barely making contact. "It's difficult, isn't it? Being different. The hungry whispers, the way our systems twitch at its whims, the unfairness of it all... but it's better than not being here at all, don't you think?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
It finds, in these wet and blackened halls, the remains of numerous prosthetics, the Nightmares that had once used them ripped out and nowhere to be found. They look crunched and chewed, partially devoured. A faint yellow light can be seen flickering not too far away, before it shuts off entirely.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
They chuckle a bit as well, thinking about it for a while. "Yeah... much better, I'd say." Externally, they're still somewhat cheery- internally, they're confused and slightly panicked. 'Wait hold on how does she know?' they think, though they're trying not to seem anxious about that question. "...Wait, how did you...?" They start to ask in a much less anxious manner than their thoughts, but seem unsure of whether to finish their query.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
It walks to where the light was
Hallo
People who aren't from here or DeviantArt might know me from various games or might know me as Dino on some of those games
I will go by these if ya wanna say something nicknames: Dinao, Diano, Or Dino
'tis all
:p