pseudostandards

Hello. Mandatory OOC introduction to the page.

🪱 is Aen's OOC signoff.

💫 is Timtufoli's OOC signoff.

This post will outlay some of the rules for asks, and the characters you can ask things to and about.

RULES

Please don't make suggestive or otherwise NSFW asks. This blog is strictly SFW.

Please be kind.

Do not steal, repost or trace any art.

If anything isn't specified (or needs further specification) in the rules, please kindly ask us and we will respond when we can.

OTHER INFO

This is an in-character ask blog but not necessarily an RP ask blog [to 🪱's knowledge].

All characters contained in the ask blog are OCs and are not from any currently released media.

Small lore tid-bits will be gradually released in order for you to understand their world better.

CHARACTER LIST

Alexei, Isaak, Anya, Max (Volkov), 45, 06, 23

Thank you for reading,

“Twenty-three, it’s like, impossible to burn water. I still don’t know how you did it,” said a person in a black and grey guard uniform to his friend. A helmet and scarf covered his face from sight. His scarf didn’t cover him as much as his colleague’s, did, however. His colleague’s scarf took up the space of half of his visor—something any other captain than their own would have told them off for. Going against the uniform rules could put a team in jeopardy.

“Six, I’ve told you so many times. I don’t know how it happened, it just did.” KOD-23, a person in a similar uniform, save for a different scarf and design on the shoulder guards, replied. He was walking with the other guard at the same pace. They were assigned to patrol the basement hallways. Nothing ever happened in them—they were dark, musty, and nobody went down there, yet patrolling was for some reason still required despite the security cameras picking up on everything. It was the least maintained part of the entire Ecclesia Solis. Some staff had offices that were still in use, but if they didn’t, the lights would have been shut off by now to conserve energy. “I don’t think it was even my fault. Blame M—141 for it.”

The basement of the Ecclesia Solis was filled with maintenance tunnels for plumbing, and abandoned-looking empty rooms. For a place that had the most care of all of Sneg, it was odd how they didn’t maintain any parts the public wouldn’t see. Most guards despised being assigned to patrol the basement, but KOD-23 and KOD-06 didn’t mind it too much. If they were assigned to it for the whole day they might have cared a little more, but they only had to walk around for three hours before they had their break and were rostered to stand around in the lobby. Compared to most jobs in Neuzhas, theirs was a relaxing one. KOD-23 shined his flashlight into a room they were walking past. He was to see the wooden panel door and for the flashlight to glare back at him. Nothing looked back except dust.

“Hey, Six? This door isn’t usually open, is it?” 23 asked, looking at the crumbling wallpaper and the settled dust on the desks. It looked like it was an office room that had been unused for a long time. The wallpaper was an old design, older than the building itself. It was a strong blue colour with thick, blood-red stripes—an eyesore. KOD-23 didn’t go in, but he stood enthralled by the room they’d stumbled upon for a short while.

“I don’t think so. You want me to ask over the radio? I can check for you.” KOD-06 answered. His colleague's radio was broken and on the waitlist to be fixed, as it had been for a while. Knowing Twenty-three, he could have paid for it to be fixed faster. Six wasn’t too sure himself of if the door was meant to be open. It didn’t look like it was, especially because of the footprints on where the dust was disturbed.

Twenty-three thought about if he really wanted Six to ask for him. He shook his head to decline Six’s offer. “Nah, it’s fine. Cap would be mad if we didn't just go in if we sensed a disturbance, yeah?”

“I think Forty-five would be more concerned than angry. This place is usually the same. We were here yesterday and this wasn’t open.” Sure, Six could just go ahead and call the captain, but there could be more reasons for 23’s reluctance that he was keeping private. “You sure you don’t want me to call him?”

Six looked into the decaying room. The pair were lucky that little to none of the dust would irritate them through their protective layers of metal and fabric. 

Twenty-three didn’t respond to his teammate, instead wandering into the room. His steps kicked up thick layers of dust that covered his visor. If Twenty-three wiped it with his gloves, it could obscure his vision even more. “Twenty-three, I really don’t think you should go in just yet. Someone unauthorized could be in there. We don’t know what’s going on.” Six argued.

“Fine.” KOD-23 relinquished. “But I want to—no, we need to go in.”

KOD-06 spoke over the radio and asked for his captain. Though C-45 was on break and was reasonably annoyed, he agreed it was enough to make him come down. If something went wrong, nobody would be down with them for six minutes. Six minutes was enough time to be injured. Six minutes was enough time for anything that could go wrong to go wrong. 

Six was a very unlucky number in Sneg, and had gained superstition around it since researchers first settled there.

Having an unlucky person like Six in what could turn into a very unlucky situation would turn out badly without the guidance of a superior.

Twenty-three looked at the carpet. The only things he could see between the carpet fibers were dust and fallen pieces of wallpaper. There was nothing suspicious about the room other than the open door and imprinted footsteps. It could have been a maintenance worker at last night’s Dusk Service, but the two didn’t know what the other door led to, and their captain wasn’t yet sure of the room they were in. There was no physical map of the Ecclesia Solis’ basement or floors—other than the ground floor and the second-floor library area to prevent citizens from getting lost. Six looked down the hallway at the sound of footsteps. They were quiet, but still were there. Six waved to their captain as he arrived.

Only seeing Six outside of the room, the captain questioned him. The winding, dark hallways were far easier to navigate when you’d been stationed at and patrolled the Ecclesia for years like he did. “Where'd Rookie go?”

“He went in.” Six shrugged, looking into the dark room. Twenty-three’s flashlight was the only thing giving off any light in the room.

Twenty-three stepped through the door to greet their captain. “Don’t rat me out like that!” he joked, handing their captain his flashlight.

“How would not saying where you are prevent you from being found? Forty-five isn’t stupid.” sighed Six, crossing his arms.

“No signs of anything except these footsteps, right?” he asked, walking into the room. The wallpaper was odd in comparison to the rest of the Ecclesia’s buildings, which were either plain greyish-blue, wooden or some variant of tile. Nowhere in the Ecclesia had red-striped wallpaper—he didn’t know who would have used an office room like this. It couldn’t have been any of the actual Ecclesia staff. Perhaps a third-party like the guards or the meteorology company that owned an Ecclesia-attached building used it. “Do you know if the door with the window down there is unlocked?”

“Didn’t try the door.” Twenty-three responded, walking in behind him. Six walked in last. It felt like the door would close behind them, but the wind was still in the darkness. If it was windy, it would be even more concerning—someone could have blown a hole in the basement from outside it.

Any basements in Neuzhas went into the underground. When the Ecclesia was built, there wasn’t as much of a worry that it could pose a safety risk. It wasn’t impossible that despite the Ecclesia’s walls being fortified, windowless and guarded to prevent anyone underground from getting in, someone had gone right under their noses and entered the building using destructive means. The underground was known for housing some of the more destructive people—and most of the non-believers that would want to desecrate the Ecclesia Solis like that. People downstairs were seen as violent. People that couldn’t be trusted.

They were underground to keep the above-ground clean. They lived and died in the dark so the snow-dwellers upstairs could live in the light.

Forty-five went up ahead and looked through the window. It was dark, and the flashlight didn’t do anything against it. The door had to be opened—that way the light would stop reflecting back into their visors. They were luckily polarised, but it was still a nuisance to their vision, especially Twenty-three’s limited field of which was obstructed by his scarf. Forty-five tried the handle.

“It’s locked.” he said, looking through the window more as if that would change something about their situation. The first door being open was strange, but the second being locked was stranger.

“Nobody would have the key, right?” Twenty-three asked. Having worked there for the least amount of time, it made sense for him to ask questions about the operations of the staff in the Ecclesia Solis. This was Twenty-three’s local branch of the Ecclesia Solis both in-uniform and out of it, yet for the public, the operations were kept more private.

“Only the Custodians would.” Six informed him. “They need to access all the rooms.”

“Would anyone else?” questioned Twenty-three.

Six answered his second inquiry, looking at a dusty bookshelf. It looked like a box on there had recently moved. He decided to keep quiet about it, though. There was no sign of danger indicating to him that he needed to tell Fourty-five or Twenty-three. It was only the open door that was nerve-wracking—not the room itself. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe a higher-up would…? That’s the only possibility I can think of.”

“I really doubt they’d come down here.” Forty-five informed his juniors, exiting back into the hallway. Though he did want to check, there was nothing he could do. He knew he didn’t have the key to the locked basement doors. His clearance rank was far too low for that. He was only a Rank III. The only privilege Forty-five had was to look through the database pages and edit what he might need to, the sort of managerial stuff you’d need to be someone's boss. It was difficult for him to pinpoint exactly what was going on, but he came to a conclusion. “Probably just someone doing maintenance. Stupid thing to get worked up about, honestly. Get back to patrolling.”

“You told us to worry about it!” Twenty-three responded. “I wouldn’t have even called you down, that was Si—”

“Shush, rookie.” Six covered Twenty-three’s visor as if covering his mouth. It somehow worked, though, and he didn’t continue. Maybe that sort of direct signal worked well. Six noted down to try it next time he wanted Twenty-three to be quiet. “We’re sorry for wasting your break time, cap.”

“Next time, assess the situation properly,” huffed Forty-five, stepping towards the exit door to take his leave.

“...Is it okay if I investigate more?” the slightly shorter one asked in a quiet voice.

“Go ahead. Just don’t break the door, Rookie.”

Volkov: “A kiss…?”

Volkov: “...you act like Katya did.”

Volkov: “Do I know you? That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger.”

What looked like a body stood under an apprentice. He was fresh to this sort of science and its consequences. He looked over the blood-stains on the floor. The apprentice, Pyotr, scrambled to turn off his audio recording, simultaneously trying to ask—no, beg—the more experienced workers nearby for help. He didn’t manage to turn it off—he was too shaky, too panicked. His breathing was loud as people rushed into the room, removing the trembling staff members. Pyotr was sitting in the hallway outside as the flashing of blue sirens disrupted his senses, the people talking to him not being able to get a word from him that wasn’t masked by hysterical sobbing. He covered his eyes and tried to cover his ears, but he could hear the heavy metal doors in the room. The doctor, his trainer, died in being opened and closed, sometimes smelling the fresh blood. Each time the revolving lights flashed blue into his eyes, Pyotr saw Dr. ███████’s body in his mind again. It was hard to determine how much of the human body was water and blood until you had the opportunity to see it in person. 

The mess Dr. ███████’s body was in kept spinning around in the apprentice’s mind. ███ died horrified. He was in unrelenting pain, yet he did not have time to save himself. 

Pyotr had seen Dr. ███████ happy just five minutes before his death, following the Senior Researcher down the hallway while he attended to work he claimed he needed to do. Pyotr had seen him with a smile on his face, upbeat, excited. He had walked over to Pyotr, greeted him, and asked him to sit down before his pager flashed red and he rushed down the hallway and didn’t come back. Dr. ███ ███████ would never go back to his office again. 

That day the doctor’s cat was without food, the only food it could have reached being locked behind a heavy wooden door. It would escape the house after a while. The melancholy feelings floated around, the wind from a slightly ajar window messing up anything light on the doctor’s desk. The house was solemn, as was the department the doctor worked in. None of them expected it to happen, of course. It was a tragedy nobody was prepared for. Not Pyotr, not the doctor’s manager, and not his colleagues. It was all the company ███ worked for needed to realise they had a fatal flaw in how things worked, and a hole in their safety measures. This type of tragedy would not be allowed to happen again.

Of flesh, and snow; of blood, and ice, the stories of the doctor roamed in oddly-hushed whispers. The company he worked for refused to speak to the press about the tragedy that occurred in their walls, and an obituary was made for the man who sacrificed it all. A kind and loving man, who cared for his colleagues to the utmost. A dedicated Senior Researcher who’s research had helped make the island of Sneg into pioneers in nuclear power and energy, and a bustling hub for scientists from around the world to go to and network with others. Of your questions, many could be answered there. There were a few things Sneg could not tell you, of course. The people who knew of these untold things would band together in solidarity for this information to never come out of the country's mouth.

Dr. S██████ died a martyr was what they told the press. In a way, it was very, awfully true. He died as and always would be a martyr. To give yourself to the religion of Solenste like Dr. ███████ did was an act of selflessness, an act to progress what they knew about Solis’ will, to learn what hrixe truly was. The people’s meals must be fed into their mouths, it must be put into their very soul, so much so that it is normal, and there is no wrong done. The people will not question what goes on in the Ecclesia’s walls, in fact, they will praise it even if the information was placed on a paper right in front of them.. They will not question the moral pseudostandards that go on—can standards even be a sham if they’re the norm?

Everyone is quiet because they accept what has been given to them. They are grateful for being able to exist peacefully.

Another day at the Ecclesia Solis meant another day of a similar routine. Sure, the people rostered to take part in the aforementioned routine could—and would—change from time-to-time as people got moved to and from different Branches of the Ecclesia, but these Priests and Attendants specialised in their craft. Many of them had studied the religion since they were born. It was difficult to substitute people for something like that. Even with their many years of experience, Ecclesia Staff still often made mistakes in their routine, despite practicing the very same one in almost all Ecclesia Solis locations around Sneg.

“Volkov, that J.A. forgot to light the crap in the candle-rooms again.” a girl with wavy chocolate-colored hair sighed about one of her fellow attendants. Though she usually wouldn’t snitch on this particular attendant—a junior, who was far less experienced—to a priest, Volkov was the only person she knew would have a lighter that was in close proximity to her. The storage room was all the way upstairs, and there was no way she would be walking up the stairs, all that way. She would faint if she had to. “Do you have your lighter on you? I’ve gotta use it. She’s wandered off to Solis-knows-where.”

“I always have it on me. You know this.” the priest sighed. He was about to hand her the lighter when he realised that he would have to walk down there afterwards anyway.

The lighter she was about to use wasn’t free of hrixe. That is, ‘sin’—wrongdoings. Because of the nature the lighter was used in (which broke the rules of the church), it would have to be cleansed either before she lit the candles, or when the candles were already lit, both of which would require Volkov or another priest to cleanse them. The lighter was not meant to be in the middle of the church grounds, however. Anya only knew about it because she caught him smoking on the job a couple times—and anyone with a brain could smell the tobacco lingering on his veil and cotton clothes. It was a wonder she’d been the only one to notice over the years, too. The air was cleaner above-ground, and living in the underground for most of her life, she’d be less likely to actually notice the smell was different to the normal ashy scent of Neuzhas’ Central Ecclesia.

“Solis’ sake, just give me the lighter.” She held her hand out closer to it, even touching it before he put his arm down beside him, and with it, the lighter. Anya looked annoyed at him, and this time, understandably so. A lack of communication always prevailed between the two. “What are you doing?”

“I need to go with you to the candle-room,” Volkov stated. The beads on his hat moved as he did, beckoning Anya to follow him.

“You people don’t tell me anything!”

Anya followed the priest along the marble-tiled floors of the aisles. They had started their walk from the lower chamber of the church, meaning it would take a while at Anya’s normal walking pace. Volkov walked much faster than Anya. She tried to keep up, risking the fact she would likely become light-headed—Priest Volkov undoubtedly knew she might, but wouldn’t slow down for her anyhow. The poor attendant didn’t even have time to admire the candlelit rows of seats overlooking the main stage of the church like she usually did when she took her leisurely walk to the offerings table.

“Max Volkov, for salvation’s sake, slow down.” The attendant sounded increasingly more irritated as she walked over to him, her paces needing to be quicker every step she took.

Anya could feel his gaze piercing her even behind the veil that obscured his face as he slowed to a complete stop and turned towards hers. Though she had managed to talk him into letting her catch up, it was for all the wrong reasons. “Eh? Attendant Anya, what’d you call me?

“I said ‘Priest Volkov’.” Though the priest had stopped, Anya kept walking. There wasn’t much time to waste before the sun came up, after all. Both of them had worked there for ages, and both had to have known this, all things considered. “What did you think I said?”

He didn’t have the means to prove she’d said something different, anyway—at her pace, he again started walking, lagging behind her. The candlelight flickered as they walked through the empty hallway—save for the table spanning the aisle on their left and the set of decorated pillars on their right. The pair's black boots clashed against the tiles, often adding to the tally of scratches the church had collected. Some tiles were more polished than others. In those free of scuffs, you could see their reflection. Two people, both in full black. One's face veiled from hrixe, and one's face clear of obstruction, other than from a fringe that slightly shaded her face. Their reflections moved as they did, not missing a step. It would be strange if either of them looked down and didn’t recognise who they’d become over the years. Once you embraced Solis, you tended to focus on the future—what things will become instead of what things were and are. Though the past drove them forward, it would never be what they reminisced on when the sun goes down.

Priest Volkov opened the curtains to the candle-room. They were sheer and allowed for people to see the light from inside, though none of the public were allowed in—just in case they knocked over the candles there. It was just one of many rituals.

“Attendant Anya, wait outside. Don’t interrupt me.” he ordered. Anya nodded, taking her place on the outside wall as the room slowly lit up, revealing the birch-plank walls. The priest had decided to do the less practical of two options—to cleanse the entirety of candles after lighting them. The attendant waited against the cold wall outside the room for what felt like forever as the priest clasped his hands, put them in front of his heart, and asked Solis for forgiveness for using the wrong lighter. Each of the 32 candles in the room had their own individual mention in the prayer. If he had cleansed the lighter, it would only have taken one.

The priest stepped out of the room. At this point, Anya was tired and wanted to go to her station for Dawn Service, where she got to sit down. She could only look at the designs on the pillars for so long. Though they were interesting, after a while, they would bore her to the point she’d start hearing echoes in the church, and maybe even start seeing Solis rising behind the mosaic windows near the stage before They actually did. Volkov was putting his gloves back on. “Why did I even have to go with you?” Anya sighed, in the same tone of her many complaints.

“You didn’t have to come with me, Attendant. Did anyone ask you to?” Volkov answered. It was a question that she hadn’t asked herself. The priest put his lighter away. If he didn’t have his face covered—and he let it happen—Anya’s eyes might have pierced through his own.

“You said you wanted to go with me—!”

“You’re no priest, Anya,” he sneered. “I would need to be there anyway.” 

“This whole thing was a waste of time,” muttered Anya, shifting her weight off the wall and to her feet. She, this entire time, could have been preparing—or even better, relaxing—at her station. All before the sun she praised rose above her to watch her every move.

“Hey, Mikhailova?” Volkov paused, preparing to criticize her. Though she’d lost her vermin title as a mole when she’d moved upstairs, the distasteful shadow that followed people like her still remained. She had to hear the truth from someone. From anyone. And if nobody else would tell her, Volkov would. “You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

Isaak: “My favourite animal is probably the Pallas’ Cat, to be honest. It’s pretty cute.”

Alexei: “I honestly can’t decide… I like shrews. And birds, too. Like that one bird… the nighthawk, isn’t it?”

Isaak: “About that other question, I don’t think either of us have played FNaF? The games are pretty old. You have to play them on an emulator nowadays.”

Alexei: “Would your friend with the green hair know what’s up with that?”

Isaak: “Zakharov? Lachie?”

Alexei: “Yeah, he would know, right? You’ll have to ask him.”

Isaak: I remember him complaining that the latest release was banned here on one of his streams once… they kinda stopped releasing them after 2032. I know that much. It would’ve been banned because of heresy.

Alexei: “I like burritos. I used to get them from the market as a kid with my brother. There was this really nice stall that used to give us free stuff every so often—”

Isaak: “What’s a burrito?”

Alexei: “Isaak, man… you don’t know what burritos are?”

Isaak: “Never heard of it.”

Alexei: “...”

Neuzhas, Krasnaluna, Sneg. The capital city of what used to be a large, snowy island used purely for research on the changing climate. From its humble origins, it turned into a country known for its calm atmosphere and cleanliness. The snow there was white, clean, and it sparkled in the sunshine.

Of course, to a grand city like Neuzhas, there were always downsides. One of which was that to maintain this clean and tranquil atmosphere upstairs, they put all the dirty trash underground. In 2075, engineering had progressed so far that the people in the cold country of Sneg could safely live in a ‘city under a city’. Though it had a proper name, it was most commonly referred to as the underground. And the people there, as moles.

The calm, cleanliness and cold wasn’t all Sneg was known for, however. Around the world, it was recognised as the place that the Religion of Solenste originated from. The place where their God, Solis, first showed Their face again after thousands upon thousands of years. This eventually morphed into Sneg enforcing mandatory religious practices and holidays upon their people, apart from tourists (though they are heavily encouraged to participate, and advised to not speak about their own personal religious beliefs). Many people disagree with the religion that has been enforced for over 50 years, but speaking out about their dislike of it would surely have them silenced in one way or another.

“Silence is for the weak, Isaak.” Alexei complained in a humorous tone of voice. Alexei was one of the few that accidentally was vocal about his dislike. At least, according to his (unfortunately restricting) government record of being a non-believer.

“Yeah, but do you think if you stayed silent, it wouldn’t have ended up like this?” Isaak said, staring up at the painting of a night sky that was blue-tacked Alexei’s apartment ceiling. Isaak was lying on the hardwood floor that extended everywhere but the bathroom. His tone was a little more somber, like he was contemplating it heavily.

“Maybe. But y’know, Isaak, if I had stayed silent, I probably never would’ve met you. And that would suck.” Alexei rolled over in his bed to look at Isaak. His chin-length auburn hair covered the one eye he could look at Isaak with, so it was one of the rare times that Alexei moved his hair back. Alexei changed the topic. “Like the painting?”

Isaak looked at Alexei, then over the painting a little more. It had an illusion of detail, though the moon had the most intricacies. In a city all about the sun, the moon being the focus of the painting was poetic, in a way. The stars in the painting were only dim. In Neuzhas, they believed after you died, your soul would become some sort of celestial object in the sky. Within a world full of stars, Alexei always joked that Isaak would be a planet after he met his end. Isaak would probably say the same to Alexei, but death was more of a sensitive topic when it went that way.

“Yeah. It’s nice.” Isaak replied to Alexei.

“Happy you like it.” Alexei smiled. “Probably better than seeing a bare white ceiling when you sleep there.”

“I always like your paintings.” Isaak looked up at the watermark. It was just Alexei’s initials, A.B.A.. Usually Alexei didn’t sign his paintings—let alone display them—so he must’ve been particularly proud of this one.

Alexei only got the resources to paint every-so-often, due to the expense of them. He did work at an Arts Centre (though Alexei himself didn’t actually work in the creative bit he wanted to work in—he intended to be an Art Curator, but in Neuzhas, there aren’t many jobs like that), where he got supplies to paint every so often if there were leftovers from workshops they held, or school excursions. The trick was to get to the leftover canvas and paint first, before the other employees did. Depending on his haul, he could really make a lot of things. He preferred to paint scenery, sometimes painting portraits and the sort, though. 

Isaak, however, worked freelance. Graphic design, to be specific. He had shown Alexei his portfolio a few times over the years, and Alexei thought he was good at it. For a Neuzhas-based freelancer, Isaak had some pretty high wages, and some well-paid clients, at that. He had made a few posters for Alexei & Isaak’s favourite bakery before—a few times, actually.

“Hey, Alexei? It’s getting kinda late.” Isaak yawned, taking his eyes off of the painting and standing himself up. He tied up his chestnut-colored hair. It was shoulder length, so he did usually have it in a ponytail, but lying on his back with it up made him uncomfortable. After a pause, he continued. “I’m gonna get the mattress out.”

“Fair enough.” Alexei said, getting off of his bed to close the curtains. The light on the poles outside was near-blinding, though all the light in the Neuzhas Underground was artificial. He wondered if one day they would finally replace the lights with ones that dim automatically when it was meant to be night. Growing up underground he had grown used to it, but Isaak was more used to sleeping with only the light of the natural moon. “Don’t have any nightmares tonight, mo chuisle.”