my chud selfship rp blog

Do your little scientists even know I can speak? The Old Man speaks with a raspy, gurgling tone. You can see his decayed chest rising, his rusted dogtag resting on his slimy form. His breathing is a foul, terrible "death rattle" of sorts.

His distaste for The Foundation is clear. Yet he doesn't attack. He simply stares, like he always does, with his white, glowing eyeballs focused onto wherever Dr. █████ is standing. He seems passive, almost curious even.

-theoldmansprey 🖤

A curious eyebrow is raised towards the old man. The anomalous doctor slowly materialized in front of him, coming out from the shadows and into the light. A small smile stretched across his own lips.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corporal. I don't believe we've been properly introduced yet. You may call me ████ █████ , or Doctor.█████ if you fancy something simpler."

He took a seat next to him, taking out a small pen and notepad out of his labcoat pocket, writing something down before stuffing it back into it's place.

"To answer your question though. I don't believe the others are aware of your 'speech' capabilities, If I myself was surprised."

He paused, taking a quick glance at the other chair opposite of him.

Just passing through. He says, physically coming out of the wall. He seemed to have a sense of humor, despite his age.

Lawrence didn't sit down. He knew he'd destroy whatever chair was there.

My prey.. He paused, as if racking his vile brain. Enjoys your prey. Thought I'd visit, be a nice bastard for once. There's an unmistakable accent when he says "bastard." His British tone barely comes out these days, as his voice has been damaged by either age or the same mucus that coats his entire being.

But its not like you'd care. I know you Foundation lot. Making up stories about an old man, stressing out my poor boy.

He says the last part with an odd adoration. Despite his sharp words, he makes no move to attack. He simply stares, as usual.

█████ smiled at him, leaning back against his chair. He found amusement in the old man's sense of humor, not expecting him to have any in the first place. Then again, the old man never spoke before this encounter.

"I'm delighted that you're not taking their stories to heart. You know how humans can be, so eager to attach a story to everything they don't understand."

His musings were followed with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He eyed the old man once more, curiously asking.

Oh, I don't care about the musings of some worthless fodder. He clarified.

It's not like they can do much to me, anyway. I'm just an old man, after all. The corpse let out another wet chuckle, similar to before. He was more than "just an old man", and he knew very well his own sadistic capabilities. Yet he feigned innocence, finding it ironic to do so.

Having no pockets, he'd placed his putrid hands on his hips, leaning forward as he continued staring at Dr. █████. His dogtag swung in the air, hitting his chest before it eventually just dangled in the air.

As for my absence... He deliberately trailed off. They both knew The Foundation wouldn't willingly let something as dangerous as SCP-106 roam freely.

His hands idly messed with the wine bottle placed atop the table before him, popping the already opened bottle effortlessly before pouring a small amount into a nearby glass.

I'd hope you'd be different from the rest of these buggers. He admitted.

Then, he took a step forward. Not close enough to touch the table, but a little closer than before.

You seem like a good man, Doctor. You entertain my favorite prey. And so does that red-haired lad. He sounded almost fond, like he was genuinely happy.

The wine glistened beneath the light, the liquid swirled along the glass the further he spun it.

"Tell me, Lawrence.."

He trailed off, pausing the movements of his glass abruptly. The red liquid splashing violently before eventually settling down at the bottom. Through the liquid, a clearer picture of Lawrence could be seen.

They will not lay a finger on a single whisker on his little head. He practically growled it. It was jarring, to say the least. But he calmed himself down, continuing to make that disgusting breathing noise he did.

He thought about the question for a second. It didn't anger him, not like █████'s previous comment. Instead, it almost saddened him. Knowing that the same ones who captured him had hurt his favorite prey once before, and would probably continue to do it again if it wasn't for him lashing out on Raptor's behalf.

They call me things I'm not. It doesn't hurt me. But it hurts Him. And he cries, and cries, and it tears him up inside. He explained.

So I suppose the hatred runs deep. They trapped me in a box, with nothing besides that femur breaker. And when my little tiger came along, they took him from me.

The Corporal straightened his posture, staring down at █████. He was still smiling, as he always did, but there was a disappointed look in his eyes, like a parent.

He suddenly felt the presence of █████ behind him. He didn't like it. He never liked not being in control. Lawrence's god complex was too big for that. So he sunk into the ground, shortly reappearing in the wall behind █████.

Don't fucking do that. He scolded, much like a disappointed grandparent.

Do your little scientists even know I can speak? The Old Man speaks with a raspy, gurgling tone. You can see his decayed chest rising, his rusted dogtag resting on his slimy form. His breathing is a foul, terrible "death rattle" of sorts.

His distaste for The Foundation is clear. Yet he doesn't attack. He simply stares, like he always does, with his white, glowing eyeballs focused onto wherever Dr. █████ is standing. He seems passive, almost curious even.

-theoldmansprey 🖤

A curious eyebrow is raised towards the old man. The anomalous doctor slowly materialized in front of him, coming out from the shadows and into the light. A small smile stretched across his own lips.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corporal. I don't believe we've been properly introduced yet. You may call me ████ █████ , or Doctor.█████ if you fancy something simpler."

He took a seat next to him, taking out a small pen and notepad out of his labcoat pocket, writing something down before stuffing it back into it's place.

"To answer your question though. I don't believe the others are aware of your 'speech' capabilities, If I myself was surprised."

He paused, taking a quick glance at the other chair opposite of him.

Just passing through. He says, physically coming out of the wall. He seemed to have a sense of humor, despite his age.

Lawrence didn't sit down. He knew he'd destroy whatever chair was there.

My prey.. He paused, as if racking his vile brain. Enjoys your prey. Thought I'd visit, be a nice bastard for once. There's an unmistakable accent when he says "bastard." His British tone barely comes out these days, as his voice has been damaged by either age or the same mucus that coats his entire being.

But its not like you'd care. I know you Foundation lot. Making up stories about an old man, stressing out my poor boy.

He says the last part with an odd adoration. Despite his sharp words, he makes no move to attack. He simply stares, as usual.

█████ smiled at him, leaning back against his chair. He found amusement in the old man's sense of humor, not expecting him to have any in the first place. Then again, the old man never spoke before this encounter.

"I'm delighted that you're not taking their stories to heart. You know how humans can be, so eager to attach a story to everything they don't understand."

His musings were followed with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He eyed the old man once more, curiously asking.

Oh, I don't care about the musings of some worthless fodder. He clarified.

It's not like they can do much to me, anyway. I'm just an old man, after all. The corpse let out another wet chuckle, similar to before. He was more than "just an old man", and he knew very well his own sadistic capabilities. Yet he feigned innocence, finding it ironic to do so.

Having no pockets, he'd placed his putrid hands on his hips, leaning forward as he continued staring at Dr. █████. His dogtag swung in the air, hitting his chest before it eventually just dangled in the air.

As for my absence... He deliberately trailed off. They both knew The Foundation wouldn't willingly let something as dangerous as SCP-106 roam freely.

His hands idly messed with the wine bottle placed atop the table before him, popping the already opened bottle effortlessly before pouring a small amount into a nearby glass.

I'd hope you'd be different from the rest of these buggers. He admitted.

Then, he took a step forward. Not close enough to touch the table, but a little closer than before.

You seem like a good man, Doctor. You entertain my favorite prey. And so does that red-haired lad. He sounded almost fond, like he was genuinely happy.

The wine glistened beneath the light, the liquid swirled along the glass the further he spun it.

"Tell me, Lawrence.."

He trailed off, pausing the movements of his glass abruptly. The red liquid splashing violently before eventually settling down at the bottom. Through the liquid, a clearer picture of Lawrence could be seen.

They will not lay a finger on a single whisker on his little head. He practically growled it. It was jarring, to say the least. But he calmed himself down, continuing to make that disgusting breathing noise he did.

He thought about the question for a second. It didn't anger him, not like █████'s previous comment. Instead, it almost saddened him. Knowing that the same ones who captured him had hurt his favorite prey once before, and would probably continue to do it again if it wasn't for him lashing out on Raptor's behalf.

They call me things I'm not. It doesn't hurt me. But it hurts Him. And he cries, and cries, and it tears him up inside. He explained.

So I suppose the hatred runs deep. They trapped me in a box, with nothing besides that femur breaker. And when my little tiger came along, they took him from me.

The Corporal straightened his posture, staring down at █████. He was still smiling, as he always did, but there was a disappointed look in his eyes, like a parent.

Do your little scientists even know I can speak? The Old Man speaks with a raspy, gurgling tone. You can see his decayed chest rising, his rusted dogtag resting on his slimy form. His breathing is a foul, terrible "death rattle" of sorts.

His distaste for The Foundation is clear. Yet he doesn't attack. He simply stares, like he always does, with his white, glowing eyeballs focused onto wherever Dr. █████ is standing. He seems passive, almost curious even.

-theoldmansprey 🖤

A curious eyebrow is raised towards the old man. The anomalous doctor slowly materialized in front of him, coming out from the shadows and into the light. A small smile stretched across his own lips.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corporal. I don't believe we've been properly introduced yet. You may call me ████ █████ , or Doctor.█████ if you fancy something simpler."

He took a seat next to him, taking out a small pen and notepad out of his labcoat pocket, writing something down before stuffing it back into it's place.

"To answer your question though. I don't believe the others are aware of your 'speech' capabilities, If I myself was surprised."

He paused, taking a quick glance at the other chair opposite of him.

Just passing through. He says, physically coming out of the wall. He seemed to have a sense of humor, despite his age.

Lawrence didn't sit down. He knew he'd destroy whatever chair was there.

My prey.. He paused, as if racking his vile brain. Enjoys your prey. Thought I'd visit, be a nice bastard for once. There's an unmistakable accent when he says "bastard." His British tone barely comes out these days, as his voice has been damaged by either age or the same mucus that coats his entire being.

But its not like you'd care. I know you Foundation lot. Making up stories about an old man, stressing out my poor boy.

He says the last part with an odd adoration. Despite his sharp words, he makes no move to attack. He simply stares, as usual.

█████ smiled at him, leaning back against his chair. He found amusement in the old man's sense of humor, not expecting him to have any in the first place. Then again, the old man never spoke before this encounter.

"I'm delighted that you're not taking their stories to heart. You know how humans can be, so eager to attach a story to everything they don't understand."

His musings were followed with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He eyed the old man once more, curiously asking.

Oh, I don't care about the musings of some worthless fodder. He clarified.

It's not like they can do much to me, anyway. I'm just an old man, after all. The corpse let out another wet chuckle, similar to before. He was more than "just an old man", and he knew very well his own sadistic capabilities. Yet he feigned innocence, finding it ironic to do so.

Having no pockets, he'd placed his putrid hands on his hips, leaning forward as he continued staring at Dr. █████. His dogtag swung in the air, hitting his chest before it eventually just dangled in the air.

As for my absence... He deliberately trailed off. They both knew The Foundation wouldn't willingly let something as dangerous as SCP-106 roam freely.

His hands idly messed with the wine bottle placed atop the table before him, popping the already opened bottle effortlessly before pouring a small amount into a nearby glass.

I'd hope you'd be different from the rest of these buggers. He admitted.

Then, he took a step forward. Not close enough to touch the table, but a little closer than before.

You seem like a good man, Doctor. You entertain my favorite prey. And so does that red-haired lad. He sounded almost fond, like he was genuinely happy.

Do your little scientists even know I can speak? The Old Man speaks with a raspy, gurgling tone. You can see his decayed chest rising, his rusted dogtag resting on his slimy form. His breathing is a foul, terrible "death rattle" of sorts.

His distaste for The Foundation is clear. Yet he doesn't attack. He simply stares, like he always does, with his white, glowing eyeballs focused onto wherever Dr. █████ is standing. He seems passive, almost curious even.

-theoldmansprey 🖤

A curious eyebrow is raised towards the old man. The anomalous doctor slowly materialized in front of him, coming out from the shadows and into the light. A small smile stretched across his own lips.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corporal. I don't believe we've been properly introduced yet. You may call me ████ █████ , or Doctor.█████ if you fancy something simpler."

He took a seat next to him, taking out a small pen and notepad out of his labcoat pocket, writing something down before stuffing it back into it's place.

"To answer your question though. I don't believe the others are aware of your 'speech' capabilities, If I myself was surprised."

He paused, taking a quick glance at the other chair opposite of him.

Just passing through. He says, physically coming out of the wall. He seemed to have a sense of humor, despite his age.

Lawrence didn't sit down. He knew he'd destroy whatever chair was there.

My prey.. He paused, as if racking his vile brain. Enjoys your prey. Thought I'd visit, be a nice bastard for once. There's an unmistakable accent when he says "bastard." His British tone barely comes out these days, as his voice has been damaged by either age or the same mucus that coats his entire being.

But its not like you'd care. I know you Foundation lot. Making up stories about an old man, stressing out my poor boy.

He says the last part with an odd adoration. Despite his sharp words, he makes no move to attack. He simply stares, as usual.

█████ smiled at him, leaning back against his chair. He found amusement in the old man's sense of humor, not expecting him to have any in the first place. Then again, the old man never spoke before this encounter.

"I'm delighted that you're not taking their stories to heart. You know how humans can be, so eager to attach a story to everything they don't understand."

His musings were followed with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He eyed the old man once more, curiously asking.

Oh, I don't care about the musings of some worthless fodder. He clarified.

It's not like they can do much to me, anyway. I'm just an old man, after all. The corpse let out another wet chuckle, similar to before. He was more than "just an old man", and he knew very well his own sadistic capabilities. Yet he feigned innocence, finding it ironic to do so.

Having no pockets, he'd placed his putrid hands on his hips, leaning forward as he continued staring at Dr. █████. His dogtag swung in the air, hitting his chest before it eventually just dangled in the air.

As for my absence... He deliberately trailed off. They both knew The Foundation wouldn't willingly let something as dangerous as SCP-106 roam freely.

Do your little scientists even know I can speak? The Old Man speaks with a raspy, gurgling tone. You can see his decayed chest rising, his rusted dogtag resting on his slimy form. His breathing is a foul, terrible "death rattle" of sorts.

His distaste for The Foundation is clear. Yet he doesn't attack. He simply stares, like he always does, with his white, glowing eyeballs focused onto wherever Dr. █████ is standing. He seems passive, almost curious even.

-theoldmansprey 🖤

A curious eyebrow is raised towards the old man. The anomalous doctor slowly materialized in front of him, coming out from the shadows and into the light. A small smile stretched across his own lips.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corporal. I don't believe we've been properly introduced yet. You may call me ████ █████ , or Doctor.█████ if you fancy something simpler."

He took a seat next to him, taking out a small pen and notepad out of his labcoat pocket, writing something down before stuffing it back into it's place.

"To answer your question though. I don't believe the others are aware of your 'speech' capabilities, If I myself was surprised."

He paused, taking a quick glance at the other chair opposite of him.

Just passing through. He says, physically coming out of the wall. He seemed to have a sense of humor, despite his age.

Lawrence didn't sit down. He knew he'd destroy whatever chair was there.

My prey.. He paused, as if racking his vile brain. Enjoys your prey. Thought I'd visit, be a nice bastard for once. There's an unmistakable accent when he says "bastard." His British tone barely comes out these days, as his voice has been damaged by either age or the same mucus that coats his entire being.

But its not like you'd care. I know you Foundation lot. Making up stories about an old man, stressing out my poor boy.

He says the last part with an odd adoration. Despite his sharp words, he makes no move to attack. He simply stares, as usual.

Saber tooth tiger

Hey non, thanks for the request! Hope these are okay, lmk if you want anything added/changed.

Palm Pals Saber Tooth Tiger