#moondialdoodles

"Come now, friend! Let us have a toast. A dance, to a new tomorrow!"

Hello dear friend. Your angst is quite delicious, quite so yes. But I would like to add a small cherry on top, if I may. Enjoy this tale, of Molten Metal.

~

Turning gears.

The heat of the boilers.

The creaking of metal pipes, and the hiss of steam.

Drill Knight ducked under more low doorways, venturing deeper and deeper into the heart of the clockworks. His armor, only dented and scratched in few places, seemed almost brand new next to all the machinery littered with patchwork. His helmet was taken off near the entrance, so he could look around more clearly; but that might as well been as useful as wiping a dirty rag over a stained window. Smoke hung heavy in the air, as well as the stench of sweat.

“.... Tink?”

His voice echoed out through the halls, bouncing on the walls as it carried further and deeper into the depths. The few workers that were passing by quickly ducked out the way, trying to avoid him and his armor. His footsteps carried him further in.

“Freya?”

A small noise from behind a door made his head turn. A hand hesitantly made its way towards the wood, nudging it open. There she was, turned around and leaning over a workshop table. His heavy steps brought him closer, hand finally coming into contact with—-

“.... F… Freya??”

Her head turned quickly to meet his, one pupil starring a dagger into two of his. His hand, yanked away, feeling no soft and warm comfort from his past. It felt cold and hard. His hands shook, watching as the old flame turned to face him.

The flames of the engine glowed, illuminating the shining armor and arm. The metal creaked as Freya pulled her mask up, the hinge appearing almost bolted into her skull.

“... What are you doing here, Drill?”

He stepped back. He.. this was what she had become? What…

“Freya! Oh gods, what happened??” A hand went to cup more metal, trying to desperately feel more softness to melt against his calloused and worn hands. Anything that didn’t keep its shape, something that didn’t pull away sharply, the one remaining eye widening. Questioning why.

He questioned too. Why…. why???

“What fight happened that made you this form? Who hurt you, gods come back with me, I can find a—-“

“I’m fine. I’m better this way. Stronger.” She turned around, looking back over the table, one hand splayed across pages. Another replaced with a deformed tool.

“What do you even mean—- do you even hear yourself right now?! Please, tell me this is some demented illusion, don’t tell me this is…”

She turns again. Staring.

“I am. Perfectly. Fine.”

Her voice shook, the metal hands now clenched by her sides. The material clanged as the movement made her limbs hit her waist. Drill reached back, his hand trailing up her shoulder until his hands met a sudden softness. Freya’s breath hitched in her soft throat, one mechanical hand reaching up to lightly grasp at his wrist. Fingers curl, gears tick, and pressure increases as the metal digs into the softness.

“… please. Just… just talk to me.” He knelt down to try to match her height better. “You are not okay, you weren’t in the tower, or even the airship, pl-”

Drill lets out a grunt of pain, metal digging into his skin. Soft flesh parted by sharp blades. A heave of an engine, a motor. Lungs. Bolts wine at the pressure forced out by the joints.

Drew a little Timekeeper on DrawSpace on Roblox :3