dark rain.

   ❝ Huh? ❞

Still hazy from his nap, Louis cranks his head forward to inspect his chest. Sure enough, staining the fabric of his polka dot gilet, was the tell tale cruddy-white splatter of bird droppings.

   ❝ Oh…That’s kinda gross ❞

He murmurs, not overly fussed about the incident. It wasn’t worth getting worked up over something so easily resolved with a drop of laundry detergent. The warning she issued previously prompts a skyward glance just as the smear dangling from the pigeon’s rear extends into a gloopy thread.

Louis barely has just enough time to roll over onto his side to evade a second bombing, but ends up face first in the grass as consequence. 

   ❝ Hmmmmf! ❞

she doesn’t really know what kind of reaction she’d expected—some kind of dodge, yes, but by the time the man starts tumbling off of the bench, it’s too late for her to react. 

oops. this is an unfortunate outcome, but at least it’s better than the original scenario. with lips barely twitching at their corners ( alright, fine, she definitely grins a bit since he can’t really see her expression right now ), the t-doll moves to offer the man a hand up and off the ground. 

@rainfect​  ❤‘d for a starter !

It’s difficult to pass up the Star Trail and not browse the vendors, and even harder to resist stopping to sample oneself a treat or two amidst all the wafting scents of delicious, fresh-cooked food. Ashton had made an attempt to argue against his dragons’ pressing and pestering for a snack his entire stroll through Archimedes, because it’s not as if they needed it; there was plenty of food at home, he’d reasoned. Of course Gyoro and Ururun sulked and sulked, as they usually do when Ashton refuses their various (and sometimes outrageous) demands, but he wouldn’t be swayed. Not this time! Well, until he’d caught a glimpse of vendor he hadn’t seen prior. Were those shish kabobs…? And now, here he stands — three sticks of grilled beef in hand, as he advises his companions against scarfing them down whole before they cool. “ Wait — Wait, a minute! It’s not going anywhere, don’t be so impatient. ”  A growl from over his shoulder; but I don’t want to wait!    “ It’ll taste better when it’s not scorching hot, you know. So wai—  …! ” He only now realizes he’s blocking the way, and as luck would have it someone’s been standing right there — presumably to get in line. Or maybe they’re just browsing. Cue a quick shuffling out of their path. “ Sorry! I didn’t mean to hold you up like that. Can you get past? ”

it’s a crazy existence when a tactical doll’s largest concern is which skewer stand to frequent tonight. maybe at the back of her mind, AR-15′s aware that she should have a thousand better things to worry about. but for now, her mouth is pursed in thought as she debates between better value or better taste. eventually, she opts for the latter; looks like the other stand has a longer line, but as luck would have it, she ends up waiting even longer behind the sole person in line at the vendor of her choosing.

when he finally notices, she can’t help but laugh.

“i can, but looks like your skewers didn’t make it.” lips quirk upwards in a half-smile, and she raises a gloved finger to gesture at the stranger’s handful of food—or at least, what had been food up until a few moments ago. being a nice person doesn’t seem to have gone in the poor guy’s favor, and for a moment, AR-15′s tempted to take pity on him and make up the difference. “hey... ”

but one look at the ravenous, meat-crazed eyes ( alright, largely an exaggeration ) of his scaled companions is enough to dispel the thought entirely. “actually, never mind.” and then she’s stepping forward to make a purchase of her own; just a single skewer is enough for the t-doll, who’d mostly been craving a snack on her way back from training. her phone is raised, dust is exchanged, and savory, blissful, greasy-laden goodness is offered in exchange.

               ❝ @rainfect​ ——— ★ !

        “p-pink!”

        anya points at the older, pink haired girl with a short, stubby fingers. her green eyes are wide open, staring intensely at the blues of the girl near her. one can almost see the gears turning in anya’s little head in the moments of silence that precede a sudden–

        “big sis!” 

with a brightly blushed face, perhaps due to some embarrassment, anya takes small, tiny steps to bring herself closer to the older girl (who she doesn’t know, but has already felt connected). 

        “my name is anya.” 

she introduces herself eagerly, even pointing to herself to make sure the older girl understands what she’s trying to say. 

        “can i get… your name?” 

it wouldn’t be the first time she’s been greeted by the color of her hair as opposed to her name, but at the same time, AR-15 can’t quite say she’s in the habit of responding to ‘pink.’ the words ‘big sis’ also aren’t something she’d associate herself with ( the excited exclamations of a certain, horned t-doll aside ), and thus she just meets anya’s interjections with a quizzical expression. 

me? the tactical doll’s face seems to read as she indicates herself with a single, gloved finger. “hey, i’m not really—” the words are abruptly cut short, and she frowns. something feels off. it’s hard to place exactly why, but there’s something about the entreating look being cast upwards at her that garners an eventual response: “ST AR-15. or AR-15 for short... that makes our names pretty similar, yeah?”

A brow raises at the other girl’s experiences with her hair, shortly letting out an amused chuckle after. Right, nothing too weird yet. If there was one thing she learned fighting alongside her friends all over the galaxy, is that weird is good. She’s used to it at this point. Mostly. “Well, the more colorful the hair, the tastier it looks, apparently,” she returned as she took her offer, standing up with the stuffed animal in her hands before returning it to the shelf it fell from. She’s never been one to like them. Growing up a warrior tended to do that to a person. Good thing she has her art and fondness of colors. Speaking of colors…

“My eyes… oookay. Um, thanks. AR-15, I’m Sabine. Before I ask why your name sounds like a designation number, one question though.”

“…Are you feeling alright?” If Sabine didn’t know any better, she’s being hit on. Not that it wasn’t unwelcome coming from a cute girl like her– wait. Did that thought really just cross her mind just now?

well, at least her sudden chattiness hasn’t been received too terribly—and just as she thinks that, sabine asks how she’s feeling. AR-15 lets out a faint groan, one gloved hand coming up to cover her face. that’s a good question: is she feeling alright?

“not really.” where’s this burst of honesty coming from? the admission of weakness is uncharacteristic, yet for some reason, she’s urged to confide in this human. “maybe i need some air. sorry, i should... ” i should go, is the answer dancing on the edge of her tongue, but somehow, she doesn’t quite want to part ways with sabine just yet. she wants to get to know her better. anything at all, really. 

Initially, the festive atmosphere felt suffocating to Sabine. But she was not the type to stay cooped up in one place for too long and admittedly, her curiosity got the better of her. That and well, she has nothing else to do except maybe paint a few more murals on random walls later on. So out she went, exploring against her better judgement. She still kept mostly to herself though, avoiding crowded areas and preferring less… people, over all. But people found their way in every store possible, much to her annoyance. In one of them, a stuffed toy of sorts is knocked off its stand, ignored by the offender. Naturally, Sabine gave him some sass, before reaching down to pick it up. Only to find that someone else thought to do the same.

“Oh, uhh… thanks. Wait till they’re not useless bricks with handles and I bet you’ll like ‘em more.” she said, managing an awkward smile. Okay, weird, but not the weirdest thing to happen to her. At least someone commented on her gun. “I uh, like your hair,” Sabine returned, rather genuinely. The color on her’s was nice on the eye, admittedly. 

why does it feel so hard to form words properly? she’s ready to extol the virtues of bb guns and how she still keeps her own old one lying around the apartment, and how she’d once fought off hordes of monsters here with it, and how she dual wielded it even after getting her own weapon back—

right, focus. her neural cloud feels a bit strange, and she quickly releases her hold on the stuffed animal before standing up. it doesn’t do much to abate the oddness in her head, though; actually, she finds herself feeling even more lightheaded as the seconds press on. “i had a ghost try to eat it once,” she announces, one hand gesturing to her own hair. for some reason, AR-15′s unable to suppress this wave of chattiness. “it was a goddess’... pet, or something like that? and said my hair looked like cotton candy.”

“mine looks... stiff.” she’s holding her half-completed flower crown up for perusal now, brows furrowed slightly. in comparison, there’s a certain whimsicality to ashe’s creation—hers looks crudely crafted and far too symmetrical, as if done by a preschooler following exact instructions. given her own lack of familiarity with anything even moderately craft-related, it isn’t much of a surprise. “damn, not even being able to do this properly is embarrassing... ”

there’s quite a crowd around one of the more popular stores, and she tries to duck around them. in the process, a white teddy bear is knocked off the stand; automatically, the t-doll reaches down to pick it up, and sees another hand land on it at the same moment. eyes lock with the stranger’s, and then—

for some reason, she finds herself at a complete loss for words, and just stares for a long moment before mumbling, “hey, i... like your gun.” and then, the sheer stupidity of what she’d just blurted out hits, and there’s a fiery pink lancing across AR-15′s cheeks. “i, uh—wait, i mean... ”

@rainfect​   ✂ ✂ ✂ ( mini ) 

   ❝ Huh? ❞

Groggily, Louis peels one eye open, cheeks marred in red stripes where he’d succumbed to fatigue on one of the public benches some hours ago.

   ❝ Oh I’m fine, I think I just fell asleep here. ❞

one hand is still extended from when she’d tapped the stranger on his shoulder, and the other rests against her hip as AR-15 surveys him with an unreadable expression. finally, once more, she clears her throat and clarifies: “yeah, a bird just shat on you, and i think he’s going for another round.”

@rainfect

Application Form 

Name: tactical doll ST AR-15, or just “AR-15” for short.

Age: n/a. i’m not human.

Position: security

Why are you suited for this position?: from the moment i was created, i’ve been part of an elite squad affiliated with a top-calibre private military contractor back home. i’ve also been around the city for quite a long time now, so i’ve been through my fair share of strange incidents and made it out unscathed. if you don’t believe me, go ahead and put my abilities to the test. i’m good at what i do.

“I’m certainly inclined to believe you!”

“However, age is not something that only applies to humans! Of course, I am not human either. So, as long as you can give me a rough estimate or at least have a talk then I will be happy to hire you!”

✦☾       ADMITTING WEAKNESS SHOULD BE TABOO FOR SELF-MADE QUEENS. Scorn this world as she may for vandalizing her parameters, there’s still an inexcusable mountain of things she could be doing – should be doing – to get them all back. “I haven’t been here for too long. I’m just getting started, honestly, it’s just annoying trying to get off on the right foot.” Especially since her real ones are gone.

      “Mmkay. Let’s go. I’ll take that off your hands, first.” Repeating her most recent action ( a little too naturally, this time ), the second offering is accepted. Bit by bit, she finds herself mellowing around this individual the longer they walk together.

     Even if ‘AR-15′ is an oddly specific arrangement of alphanumeric values. “–what about you?” Small talk is strange. Strangers are strange. Interacting with strangers? Stranger. Acclimated to a life of solitude, she never imagined she’d be leisurely strolling public streets with someone that wasn’t Passionlip. All she knows is… this is how one makes friends, right? “Your powers, I mean. Are you strong?”

she remembers that feeling of frustration, from what feels like a lifetime ago—fresh footsteps had been taken in an unexplored, still-barren world devoid of both human convenience and the abilities she still can’t quite separate from her own identity. what is a tactical doll if not a machine of war, after all? especially one as proud as AR-15. “yeah. that’s always a pain—but if it’s any help, you’ll start getting things back before you know it.”

and to illustrate that point, she lifts one of her guns in the air, then fires a single shot without warning. the bullet and its echo vanish neatly into the unknown, with an empty shell landing against the ground seconds later. “i guess you could say that, but i’ve been here since the start. second time around now, actually.”

rainfect liked your post “OKAY, so Corvus needs more interactions! If there’s anyone wanting a…”

@rainfect​

Ammunition…Corvus didn’t care much for guns. In fact, guns were something she despised with her entire soul. It was what demolished everything she ever loved. Seeing guns really brought those horrible memories back, but she was able to keep herself together. This young girl was getting ammunition for her weapon. She’s not used to seeing such thing. In her world, she never came across a child who used any sort of weapons to fight. Not that she remembered at least. 

She doesn’t mean to stare, but she’s been staring the pinkette for just a moment. 

it’d be an exaggeration to say that AR-15 has eyes in the back of her head, but having the sensory abilities of an android does tend to help with noticing things. in this case, she feels the stranger’s stare pass over her, then linger. she takes her time selecting the type of bullets she’s looking for ( a new type of explosive ammunition she’d seen adverts for recently ), but there’s a knowing look on her face when the doll turns around at last.

@rainfect

“You would be much more intimidating without the pink coloured hair.” He states, matter-of-factly. What a prime insult coming from the 4-foot crimefighter himself. 

    “ How boring. “ She clicks her tongue, disappointed with the results of her… attempted prank. At the very least that confirms not much else has changed with AR-15 aside from her lack of memories. One could argue that it can be fixed, but AK-12 appears to be enjoying this for one reason or another.

     “ I don’t dislike the snow, you know. “ But she rather dislikes the cold itself so they definitely have to reach a compromise here. Again, something that already sounds boring to her, but that loner doll isn’t giving her a choice. “ Fine then. But in order for me to share what I know with you, you must tell me about the situation with the army and G&K. It would be a shame if I couldn’t trust the current AR-15~ “

     Once again she remains vague, but this time on purpose. If AR-15 decides she can’t trust her future teammate, then this situation could very well escalate and while the thought is somewhat entertaining, AK-12 is at a clear disadvantage for once with most of her modules locked. ( Frankly, it’s a pain. )

the request earns a pursing of lips. perhaps she’s erring on the side of caution, but the first place her thoughts fly is suspicion—why is she asking me this? what does she have to gain? who is she working for? there are too many unknown variables, and annoyance is clearly written across AR-15’s expression.

“there’s nothing significant going on between them.” there shouldn’t be, at least—not as far as she knows. “relations are as they’ve always been. business as usual. your turn now.” 

sure, the answer she’s given is just as boring as what she’d initially said, but she can’t even think of a need to conceal anything regarding the topic. there’s nothing she knows that the general public doesn’t, though her mind is quickly steered back to the why again.

he watches the scene unfurl like a trainwreck in slow motion. the gradual shifts of her expression rack (haha, rack) up the suspense that his and lambo’s lives are both riding on. it is a fool’s game, a loser’s bet; this he knows, and yet he cannot help but hope that, perhaps she could find it in the goodness of her oh-so gentle heart to… oh. the crunch between her fist is the decisive slap across his face, its cruel sound making narancia flinch. it is her follow up that throws him for a loop, though.

“spot…” with various inflections he rolls around the word in his mouth, trying his damnedest to connect those wires. it would not even be feasible, however, to chalk up his wording to a freudian slip. of all things, he is not exactly bright. “spot, spot… huh? wait, whaddya mean by th―”

oh, but it connects eventually, and oh is he sputtering. good thing their coffee hasn’t come out yet.

“ppbbbt―WHAT?! no, fuck no, that ain’t even what i―wh-what kinda shitass fuckin’ stretch―holy shit, lady!” at this rate he’s going to have a heart attack. narancia slaps a palm over his face, ironing it down to his chin with a recomposing breath―at least as recomposing as it’s going to get. well, at least he’s facing the t-doll’s wrath in little lambo’s place. these are small prices to pay. as far as narancia is concerned, he’s been a proper gentleman about her undergarments anyway. not every young man his age is as upstanding of a citizen. (thoughts of that one couple start to swirl in his mind, the eccentric duo he had seen by the dim sum joint next door―something about borrowing money last christmas, and then sniffing someone’s briefs.) “l-listen, do y’want the free coffee or not?!”

regardless he is already navigating his phone for the dust, squiggly-lined mouth and visible sweat exuding the poor air of someone desperately chasing after distractions. narancia is a man of his word if nothing else, and for all they may be worth to AR-15, his apologies are earnest.

fine. if pushed to admit it ( under more agreeable circumstances, and after having had a significant amount of time to cool down ), she might have been a bit sensitive. possibly more than a bit. but with the full force of a cow-faced baby’s transgressions still weighing heavily in her hands, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that a woman’s most precious possessions had been desecrated—helplessly and with unconcealed frustration, a growl is uttered.

“would you trade your boxers to that brat for a free coffee?” she watches him fumble with his phone, sees the dust app pop up onscreen, but all it earns is further ire. “on second thought, don’t answer that. i wouldn’t put it past a human male to do something like that.” 

and although she doesn’t know it, a certain duo next door could probably have been persuaded to at some point—or at least, the broke-r, blonder of the two back in his university student days. mostly as a dare, and mainly to have a great story to charm the ladies with at a later date. hey, once i traded my boxers for coffee! way to put the fee in cof-fee. wink wink, cheesy grin. ( AR-15, of course, would be among the disgusted majority if ever forced to sit through such a tale. )

lips have hardened into a scowl that threatens to turn the piping hot drinks around them to pure ice. “maybe i’ll take one just to dump on lambo’s head.” it’s impossible to tell from her face whether she’s joking or not. “actually, yeah. that sounds like a good idea—can i get a large latte? with the milk extra hot, if possible. as hot as it can go.” the doll’s expression is beginning to take on a much calmer note, and she even releases her death grip on the paper bag ever so slightly.

✦☾        W-WELL, IF SHE’S GOING TO INSIST on pairing her pity with a side of compliments, then who is she to say no? Half the people here don’t even know how to pay their respects, so this girl’s the first to actually say she’s impressed by anything that she does. Secretly, it makes the sentinel happy. ( Good luck having her admit it, though. ) 

      “Then you should see me at my full potential. That kind of strength and accuracy is just child’s play when I’m at my best.” Too bad she can’t hold her tongue for even a second. A fraction of her pride figures giving her acquaintance time to respond will help fill the awkward silence while she’s taking up that offer of pocky.

                                                                     mch, mnch, mnch.

       The motion feels awkward, but she doesn’t exactly shy away from eating it this way. …It’s kind of tasty. Kind of. Swedish chocolates are superior, but she doesn’t suppose Swedish Pocky exists. “We should go buy out all the pocky, then, so we can people watch from the tip of our pocky mountain. What do you say…? Uh–” What, exactly, is her name?

“it’d be my pleasure to.” at a glance, it isn’t immediately obvious how the other woman would fight—from the kick, AR-15 wants to guess that there’d be some kind of physical melee ability involved. coupled with her lithe, dancer-like build, the doll can only imagine that it’d be a graceful sight to behold. “have you been in the city long, or is most of your strength still locked away?”

judging from the declaration that follows, it’s safe to say that the stranger had enjoyed her first taste of pocky. AR-15 doesn’t quite mind feeding her, either. 

unconsciously, a smile forms. “you can call me AR-15.” pausing to fish out another chocolatey stick from the package, it’s offered towards her companion before she continues to speak. “and yeah, i have some time to kill. especially since i don’t plan on asking anyone to play the pocky game. let’s go, then?”