set in chains

The blog’s staying up but I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. So far, Ordis’ indie interactions have been delegated to a sideblog, so that might move over here? Either way, good time to unfollow if that’s your wish.

Besty puts the phone back in his pocket while he waits for a response, continuing to look around the room. The ice sculptures are almost mesmerizing, glittering under the lights. Why hasn’t he come here before?

He makes his way to the side of the room, walking with a stiffness that’s one part his own lingering unsteadiness with legs, and one part just the body itself. He plants a hand on the wall as soon as he can reach it, and props himself against it as he walks further.

Then the phone buzzes again. When he pulls it out, the text is… weird, and pretty useless. But, sure. Maybe this ‘Ordis’ is just rushing because they’ve gotten invested in the play, or something.

from: Cephalon Ordis to: Thebestmaster

[txt] > yeah they’re pretty great! no arms in your way or anything

[txt] > be careful about letting them float too high. people behind me get mad

[txt] > tell me what happens in the play!!

To be fair, it’s kind of tricky to move his hands without letting the crosses float. Sending the intent through the strings is so much trickier when they’re not pulled taut. But hey, that’s someone else’s problem right now.

Besty keeps walking with one hand along the wall until he gets to the doorway, and then it occurs to him that maybe they hadn’t meant something positive about “hands”. No clarifications were sent, after all.

[txt] > you know my gloves arent like your hands right

[txt] > you gotta move the crosses

It’s amazing how expressive this face is compared to his usual one, especially considering his head is made of vegetable. As it is, a look of pure irritation finds the jack-o-lantern maw when Ordis sees the response. The other person doesn’t seem to quite realize the situation he’s in.

...Oh, now he does. Ordis frowns, staying on the floor as he tests the other’s advice. The puppet crosses...move like there should be something attached to him, and trying to think of the physics implications is making him dizzy, especially without his usual processing speed.

But he does start to understand at least how to go about it.

          [text]: gopt ity           [text]:  not  much ijntrrst in theatyr           [text]: goi g to co e find you

          [text]: soon as i camn walk

   “Ohhhh…” Hands run down the evil genius’ face in exasperation at the sight he’s been subjected to. This wasn’t his living room, nor the townhouse he resided in. It doesn’t take a mastermind to put together the pieces he was given. He didn’t even have to look at his hands or reflection to understand it all. “Another switch… Just when I was getting comfy in my own skin again…” Cortex throws up his hands in defeat, evidently frustrated at all this. “The dragon, that Oaf knight, and now-” Falling silent, his hands skim over his face, fingers recoiling at the touch of a strange frame encapsulating his features. Nose wrinkled, he now continues to examine the rest of this new body. King knight was tall, but not this tall! The frustration subsides as he takes in the sensation. “Hmmm… I suppose I can’t be… TOO disappointed.” After piecing together the second puzzle of who he was now, Cortex smirks. “What a predicament. I’m that robot figure who infiltrated my mindscape some months ago.” He proclaims, thoroughly examining his limbs again.

   “Although I find the reoccurring shift between the bodies of others quite tiresome, I suppose I don’t really mind this particular switch.” A Robot, hm? Honestly, the thought of it was highly intriguing, to say the least. “That feline managed to transfer my consciousness into the mainframe of a robot. And while the idea of such a thing is only something N. Gin and I have dabbled in, It wouldn't have crossed my mind in this city. At least not for a while.” While it’s quite obvious the evil genius is enjoying listening to himself speak, he pauses, mind working at what to do now. “What did they call themselves? Or… Orvis. That’s right.” That’s wrong. “Orvis. While I have my time in this body, I can actually see what makes him tick, with a certain level of care of course.”

   Then his mind teeters into something a bit more, frantic. “…Strange.” Back straightening out, Cortex looks around the room, feeling a very unnerving sensation. “I feel like I’m missing something crucial.” That’s unusual. Beginning to pace, he winces, trying to recollect everything that happened up to this point. “Yes… There’s that as well… That atrocious ‘ice age’… Nina.” He ceases his pacing, throwing his hands up again in frustration. “WHAT IS IT THEN?! WHAT COULD I BE MISSING?!” This rage. Anger. He’s not unfamiliar with it in the least bit. It’s an emotion he’s very well acquainted with that he deals with it at least once a day! But this anger? This Rage? It felt… Different. Gripping the sides of his head, Cortex growls in frustration. “AGH! Nevermind all that!! Whatever!! If it’s so important then surely I’ll remember it in due time… I just need to bide my time before I am returned to my body… And figure out how Orvis works, while I’m at it~.”

@cephalone​

Ordis takes a full swallow of coffee before he realizes that several things are wrong with the situation. First of all, and probably most importantly, he cannot drink; eating’s a maybe, but it’s a lot more effort to deal with than it’s really worth, so he tends to do without. Secondly, this is not his condo, and certainly not his own living room.

Third, he’s on a couch, and his feet are dangling above the floor.

Ordis chokes and lets out a rather horrendous noise of alarm that sounds somewhat like he’s trying to unsuccessfully imitate opera, the mug falling out of his hands and spilling onto the floor before he himself spills off of the couch and bangs his forehead against the coffee table, with an alarmingly metallic clang for a head he’s fairly certain is made of flesh.

When the stars clear from his eyes, he’s lying facedown on the floor, groaning loudly in a voice that isn’t his. And then there’s the slowing of his mind from suddenly being organic and not a data construct--yes, it’s happened again. He thought he was through with this!

Almost on instinct, he bangs a fist into the floor in sheer frustration. At least he has limbs this time, he supposes, as he props himself up and runs his hands over his face to try and figure out where he’s ended up now. There is definitely a metal...something on his forehead, and hair on his face. His head is also far larger than he feels like it rightly should be, and he’s not used to being this small.

Really, he’s more grumpy about it than anything.

Laboriously, Ordis drags himself to his feet, ignoring the spreading coffee stain as he staggers over to the bathroom and tries to avoid banging his freakishly large head into anything else. Once he gets there, he has to stand on a stool to see himself in the mirror, and--

Oh. Oh. It’s that scientist, the very suspicious one he’d met during all of that dreamscape nonsense. His heart drops and his stomach flips in a way he’s entirely unused to.

He hadn’t been able to get too much of a hold on the man’s character, but Ordis knows for certain he’s going to need to get back to his body and fast. He fumbles about in the man’s pockets before finding the man’s phone and sending a message to himself.

[ From: N. Cortex ] [ To: Cephalon Ordis ]

@cephalone​

Oh, no. It’s happened again. He knows the instant that he realizes his feet are on the ground, because he doesn’t have feet. At least it’s a little easier to stay standing, between his short periods of practice and the fact that this body feels a little more… what, stable? Solid? Something like that.

He’s surrounded by ice walls and ice sculptures, and a few other folks amidst them, but… not his own body, inconveniently. This isn’t where he was before the swap, anyway.

So, dealing with all of the awkward angles he has to put his arms at (and the stiffness of those joints, which is unique to this body), he pats himself down until, thankfully, getting ahold of a phone in his coat pocket.

from: Cephalon Ordis to: Thebestmaster

[txt] > hey, whoever!!

[txt] > you’re in my body? or at least you should be

[txt] > don’t mess with my hat

Ordis is aware of what’s been going on, of course. He practically got K’horii’s message blasted directly into his optics, and it’s something that’s hard not to hear about. But after spending a bit of fearful time refusing to leave his apartment, Ordis decided that he may be safe after all, being a machine. He could afford to check out some of the holiday festivities, if only to sate his own curiosity.

Of course, as is usual with these things, the moment he lets his guard down is the moment when everything goes to proverbial hell. One second he’s trying to figure out some workaround for his metal body’s joints going stiff in the cold, and the next he’s in a seat that’s much too large for him he isn’t even entirely sure he’s sitting in, watching some stage performance.

“What in the--?!”

It blurts out before he can stop it, but it’s not a voice he knows--and certainly not his own, normal or glitched. Ordis realizes he’s floating a bit above the seat, and abruptly stops floating, falling into the chair like a limp sack of rags, mortified by the amount of noise he’s making.

Ordis was used to being a bodiless entity, and he was also used to the corporeal form the city had given him. But this just feels like a bizarre, logic-defying in-between he can’t comprehend, and when he feels a phone vibrating and tries to reach for it, hands that seemingly aren’t attached to anything fumble uselessly instead because he can’t figure out how to move them properly.

It takes him a couple of minutes to dig out the phone, respect for the theater be damned. Someone’s contacting him--from Ordis’ phone. The other name--is that a screen name of some sort? Doesn’t matter. It takes another while of fumbling before he manages to send a response, and the message itself is rather brusque when he does manage to send it.