#iprit

I lost interest in this block and the Element Cattos fandom itself. At first, I tried to act on the block somehow, decided to redesign all the characters and change their description so that they fit the canon, but now I'm not sure at all that this one will worry. I don't even know if we can now assume that the characters on this block already exist

Good luck to those who have read this, and so far from Hanis Zar

But I liked my design of Heavy Water, and she will remain my OC, only the name will now be Iprit

And here's a mini-comic how it became with a different formula))

Oh, and yes, I do not advise you to look into the translator, I have translated it to you in a very mild form.

unfortunately being Russian i understand the red text perfectly well

/j

to be fair the wiki is still barebones heh, someday it'll be as useful as tag search here though

IPRIT | SILENT AND ROTTEN

[идея оформления описания персонажей как каждую их отдельную речь взята у акк @lythic-felinementals /The idea of describing the characters as each of their individual speeches is taken from acc @lythic-felinementals ]

[decoding the acc name _="MСĪМ"=_ :M— Meitnerium-268 , С—Californium-252, Ī—Iprit, М—maitotoxin/расшифровка названия акк _="MСĪМ"=_ : M— мейтнерияй 268, C — калифорний 252 , Ī— иприт, М— мейтотоксин]

ТАГ ЖЕ АВТОР HANIS ZAR 36 , ТО ЕСТЬ Я ВСЕГДА РАД ПОГОВОРИТЬ И НАРИСОВАТЬ КОМУ-ТО АРТ, И Я ЛЮБЛЮ СВОИХ ПЕРСОНАЖЕЙ :3 / THE TAG IS BY HANIS ZAR 36, MEANING I'M ALWAYS HAPPY TO TALK AND DRAW ART FOR SOMEONE, AND I LOVE MY CHARACTERS. :3

[omnigender/омнигендр ; she/he/xe \ она/он/оно(я хз как эта будет на русском ало , ксе чтоли нене лучше оно. ) ]

А ТЕПЕРЬ МОИ ПЕРСОНАЖИ СКАЖУТ САМИ О СЕБЕ ПАРУ СЛОВ! /AND NOW THE CHARACTERS WILL SAY A FEW WORDS ABOUT THEMSELVES!

HIII!! I AM CALIFORNIA-252 OR IN ANOTHER WAY MORE KIPO, AND I AM QUITE CHEERFUL AND KIND, I WILL ALWAYS BE GLAD TO HELP YOU! I LOVE MY SISTERS AND FRIENDS VERY MUCH./ПРИВЕТИК!!! Я КАЛИФОРНИЙ-252 ИЛИ ПО ДРУГОМУ ЕЩЁ КИПО ,И Я ДОВОЛЬНО ВЕСЁЛЫЙ И ДОБРЫЙ, ВСЕГДА БУДУ РАД КОМУ-ТО ПОМОЧЬ! ЛЮБЛЮ СВОИХ СЕСТРИЧЕК И ДРУЗЕЙ!

[genderfluid + omnigender + androgyne + personal gender ]

hello.I am an Mt-268 and very calm compared to my friends. I can't say that I'm as close to my sisters as Cf-252, but I definitely love them as much as my friends. And by the way, I don't advise you to listen to my eye from above, it often talks nonsense. /здравствуйте. я Mt-268 и по сравнению со своими друзьями я самый спокойный, я не могу сказать что я люблю своих сестёр как Cf-252, но я точно дорожу ими, и своими друзьями тоже! и кстати я не советую вам слушать что говорит мой глаз сверху иногда , он часто сам по себе нечёт всякую чушь...

[male]

ЭЙ НАРОД, Я ИМПРИТ , И Я ТОЧНО НЕ ДОБРАЯ СРЕДИ ВСЕХ, ЕСЛИ Я ЗАХОЧУ , ТО СРАЗУ НАБЬЮ ВАМ РОЖУ, ОСОБЕННО ЕСЛИ ЧТО-ТО УЗНАЮ ЧТО С МОИМИ ДРУЗЬЯМИ ЧТО-ТО ПЛОХОЕ. ХЕ-ХЕ. ну а так.... всё что можете вы от меня получить эта анегдот или приятную типа поддержу. иИИ САМОЕ ГЛАВНОЕ, Я . НЕ. ХАТСУНЕ . МИКУ. ИЛИ КАК ЕЁ ТАМ. [Mustard gas speaks only Russian mostly , or when in the form of ice in German ]

[girl]

I am a maitotoxin, and although I am very neat, I do not like to act in any way or harm someone, although everyone is usually afraid of me. My friends are very dear me , and I'm consider seawater to be my guardian. :3/ Я мейтотоксин, и хоть являюсь очень опасными, обычно я не любим действовать или кому-то как-то вредить лол. нам мы думаем очень важны мои друзья, и мы считаем морскую воду своими опекуном :3 [эта из-за того что мейтотоксин встречается в рыбах которые обитают по логике в мамкой воде. ]

[non-binary]

[seawater is a blog character / морская вода персонаж блога : @canorous-felinementals(Сэди/Саймон)

Some more Character Art! / Немного ещё Артов с персонажами!

How are you on this fine Sunday?

-Mary of @lythic-felinementals

-Oh hi, I'm Cali 252, but you can just address me as Kipo, nice to meet you!

-hihihihihihiiiiiiiiiii ! I'm maitotoxin ¡

-I didn't think anyone would greet us and ask how our day was, ha, well, I'm Mt 268, nice to meet you!

-почему блять чорт тебя побери не кого не волнует что у нас спрашивают про воскресенье, у нас же суббота , или какой там у них часовой пояс?... ладно я Имрит ее, интересно поймут ли меня яж на русском шпарю и...

-Mustard gas, shut up, please...

[таг же лично от автора арт хе-хе]

IPRIT | СОЛНЦЕ НЕ ВЗОЙДЕТ

                “This is perfect,” she says.  And really, I must agree.

                Silvestrus is sitting on a mat in front of me, twitching.  Twitching a lot.  She’s staring at me so haughtily you would think I was the one credited with seducing her out of her safe zone, but she can’t hide her desperate panic from our kind.  It’s in the back of her retinas.  In the magic rolling off her, practically turning itself black.  Her free golem- what did he call himself? I can never be troubled to remember the names of these man-forged little magiken, golems worst of all- is sitting behind her like some kind of ridiculous bear-crow totem, watching us with nary a screw out of place.

                Days like this I badly miss my old hookah, the one from the Old Country.  Still don’t know what I was thinking, giving something so sentimental to a confused sot like Echidna. 

                Silvestrus is talking to me and I pay attention with the very basest portion of myself, logging away whatever she’s saying to look at later if I ever feel a reason to.  I know she’s talking about her husband or maybe their daughter, human stuff, stuff I don’t care about.  I don’t know how Bassem stands this sort of thing, there’s a reason I never started my own cult.  I have to hear Silvestrus out because she’s high and mighty but so often it is hard to care. 

                She wants something, so I make a show of considering.  I straighten up in my seat, looking thoughtful, and run a hand over the sagging, loose flesh that hangs off my abdomen like an apron, like some discreetly modest appendage of the flesh, so I can be naked and upsetting in front of the humans without actually insulting their innocence.  I made that a long, long time ago, since so many of my visitors have been female, biologically or otherwise, and spent too much time looking at or away from my penis.  Now they look at the flesh that covers it just once or twice and can pay attention to me properly.

                Not that I am in the habit of actually manifesting a penis.  Manifestation is very easy, customization is not.  It’s all but effortless to make a limb or an organ or an accessory, a little tricky to shape it specifically, but altogether troublesome to alter its design.  It was such a chore to define pathetic, rattish, cropped ears that actually heard as well as I wished, and to wear watery, pink eyes without sacrificing my vision was even more complex.  On the occasions where I made a penis, it was subject to harden with excitement, to distract me, to remind me that maybe sometimes I should consider giving it a purpose, to piss or fuck through it.

                Silvestrus wants something.  I smile for her.  I like my smile.  My teeth are better than hers.

                “What would a pretty, dark bride like you want with something as fickle as iprit-fire?” I asked her politely. “Doesn’t the king have enough trifles for you to root through?”

                A  birdcatcher laughs, scratches herself under her wrappings.  Silvestrus ignores her.  She answers me with something sensible and powerful.  These people have been fascinating to watch, in hindsight.  Every generation labors to better imitate the musty tomes they make.  No tone, no emotion.  No fear.  In the old days I would caper and bluff at my handlers, and the dark-skinned mages would caper and bluff right back, as if I was but a man from a rival tribe, and we would settle our dispute with a ritual wrestle like the jungle fowl do.  They were relatable.  They didn’t equate strength with stoicism, like this new crop on this cold continent.  They made a spectacle of their bravery, with fanfare and headdresses.  They were much more fun to rely on.

                That only serves to make Silvestrus’ state worse for her.  Look at her, shaking and twitching like and old cannibal wife.  Slurring and speaking from the side of her mouth and raising her limbs to slap at nothing.  She’s terrified of it, more than she must have been of her husband, more than any form of pain or bodily sickness she fears whatever’s eating her mind, whatever’s idly tugging away control of her own self strand by strand.

                I put my fingertips together so the gnarled old nails make the softest of taps, hold them to my lips, purse them and pretend I am considering.  Everything’s theatrics, remember that.  Everything.

                “Very well, my Parasite Queen,” I say, because it will offend her.  Her shoulder jerks and her scared eyes tighten and I smile very happily and that isn’t a theatric.  “You want your little trifle? Then your payment is accepted.”

                She’s so scared, holding herself as still as she can, as her physical form rebels.  I like it.  I like seeing them out of sorts, seeing how much it upsets them.  I’ve been there.  All of us have, at some point or another, as our magic and power waxes or wanes like a climate.  It is not uplifting, to be reminded just how little power you have over your own matter when it comes right down to it, but that’s just the way it is.  It’s just that humans and other animals usually don’t have to know that unless they’ve taken a grievous affliction of the brain.

                I reach behind me, run a hand down my back, down the swatch of dark, soft, oversized feathers I planted there, and pick one, ripping it out like a weed that smuggled itself into my flesh.  My skin twitches, doesn’t like when I do that sort of thing. Without looking, I am aware the hole it leaves is enormous. 

                I hold the blue-black plume up before Silvestrus’ eyes, leaning forward to practically waggle it over her head.  I wave it once, twice, letting the air tug at it, and see how the vulnerability in her eyes clarifies into hope.  Her desire is so pungent the golem and I feel it at the same moment, he lifts his head and looks at me more directly, anticipating a coming order, though she knows enough to keep her lips shut.

                “The fickle fire is yours,” I tell her.  I tell the feather, hold together.  “Provided… you can catch it.” And I tell the feather, you are free.

                Before her very eyes, the shaft darkens, the quill smolders, and from the bottom up her desire crumbles into charcoal and is snatched off by the wind, spattering the air with the briefest after-image of blue and red flames.  “Chase as you will. Now, get out of my tent.”