#rotreign

                        he works quickly, claws know exactly what they are doing as they move, piecing machine together, adjusting, moving connecting.  ( it is as close to muscle memory as they are capable of experiencing . )  while his hands work on the more delicate matters. distraction in obsession, he has been drowning in it, weeks of work stuffed within a few days. 

                        he doesn’t process the sound, the soft tap of something against old wooden dock, but the articulators do, recognize it as something too light to be them. red ocular lens shifts to look at it, a moment longer before the image reaches his own brain and he turs to look at the small copper explosive, white lights around detonator flash and the arms respond before he does, fleeing, scuttering up through the ceiling, wrapping around him as the explosion shakes foundation,   ( PROTECT DOCTOR OCTAVIUS / YOU MUST PROTECT HIM / HE’S THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN FINISH THE WORK / FUFILL THEIR PURPOSE. )    shoulder jerks forward, four minds drowning out his own as they lash out, metal digging into glider just before it is out of reach, yanking it back, another articulated claw curls as best it can at rigid angles around throat.  the goblin.  

                        “ WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ? ”    otto roars, no care for his own safety, his work, all of his work sinking to the bottom of the river, and for what ?

                        ( IT WOULD BE EASY / ONE FLEX OF METAL AND SPIKE WILL SPLIT OCCULAR LENSE / THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. )   NO.    their simulated emotion is outweighed by his own, logic pulling him to the forefront of his own mind, least he slip back under in his fury. if he were to harm the goblin, he would harm norman, and no matter how easy killing the goblin might be human mind would certainly regret such a move.    ( we could block it out / make it go away. )   they ease in attempt to get him to see, to calculate the benefits that might come with it. 

Gaze flickers up from the alcohol-costed cotton swab she bass gently on his knuckles to his features, a brow quirking just at the same time the gesture is obtained. Reaction of brow only slightly increasing its height is given, deep breath escaping her chest as cotton is removed with liquid bandages, cautious in it’s application on the damaged skin.

“Well, you seem to be listening to me pretty well.” Gaze lowers back to grant full focus to treatment, a small twitch of a smirk revealing itself on porcelain features.

closed starter for @rotreign​ !

❝ it only LOOKS real  —  as precisely detailed and indistinguishable from reality as i can possibly design it to be, anyway. ❞   which he is very, very good at doing.

beck is showing off his illusion tech, as he loves to do for anyone who’s willing to take a look.   ( the excitement of impressing another person with his achievements never dulls. )   the render he selects is a simple one, one he had created as a sort of practice warm-up.   the miniature drone, which hovers at his side, fires up its projection camera, and a kaleidoscope of BUTTERFLIES appears.   each insect flutters softly on a pre-programmed path, and together they form a calming, swirling cloud of color, with max in their midst.

“Sure. Sure...” The executive agrees, giving it HIS BEST shot at looking solemn. Hell, it isn’t easy. He isn’t solemn at funerals. 

Trager leans forwards, elbows propped on his desk and hands steepled together... he’s in DEEP thought. Right? What could he possibly say next? What words of Ricky wisdom could come tumbling out of his mouth now?

 “...but is he goated with the sauce?” 

     “ - So, it’s been a while.”

Hands shift in her lap as though it’s some aid to keep her nerves settled, gaze flickering over him curiously. Last time she had seen Norman, it had been the falling out between Otto and himself; & now here he is; perhaps to talk to Otto? She’s not entirely sure, but something seems a bit. . .off about him.

Status: Accepting

@rotreign said:  ♫ to playfully slap my muse’s ass  

𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏    𝙄𝙉    𝘼    𝙈𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏    𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙆    :       he’s   holed   himself   away   in   the   zen   room  ,     olive   coat   discarded   in   frustrated   heap   ‘pon   floor  ,     wallowing   as   smeared   mascara   runs   dry  ,      small    &    dainty   where   he’s   tucked   ‘pon   couch   with   quarter  -  drank   transylvanian   wine   in   tow  .           passing   shadow   of   handyman   summoned  ,     with   hours   since   lab’s   spat   between   them  ,     the   desire   for   company   consuming    &   outweighing   previous   emotion  .            ❛❛       𝚁𝙸𝙵𝙵    𝚁𝙰𝙵𝙵     ––––––       ❜❜             only   a   pitiful    whine  ,     big    jade   eyes   turned   ever   upwards  ,     vaguely   directed   at   the   doorway’s   arch  .            cushion    space   next   to   prince   patted   with   insistence        [       never   a   choice    presented       ]    ;            once    riff   settles  ,     however   reluctantly  ,      bottle    is   passed    with    unspoken   demand   to   join   in   his   stupor  .             ❛❛        𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   ,     𝐒'𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃   𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅  .       ––––––     oh  ,     you’re   not   still   upset   with   me  ,      are   you  ,     riffy   ?        ❜❜           palms   begin   soft   caress   over   hunched   shoulders   the   moment   hands   are   free   ,          question    mewling    &   slurred   as   frank   curls   into   his   subordinate  .             ❛❛       .  .  .    i   don’t   think   my   poor   heart   could   take   it   if   you   were  .         i   didn’t   mean   it   ,     not   really       ––––––       you   know   that  ,     don’t   you   ?           ❜❜