OOC: Bump :o

OOC: 

OBJICTION chair falls over!

xD Nah, man, it's cool. But I haven't even really thought all that hard about the comics thing. I mean my sense of scale on Photoshop just get warped whenever I do something from scratch - especially for humans (or humanoid forms eheheh).

And when Guildy comes out I suspect you'll be the one waiting ;D

wow Shade you're really hungry

OOC: 'Nother bump. xD

OoC: kay so yeah butts to the comic thing ha all i can seem to get is like two panels before i get frustrated and i don't even like the second panel much as it is
but i guess i can probably still use the first one to jump into a post.....
also pretend the kitchen's too far away to hear vash shriek about having lucy and asinth fall over on him. :Y it'd be pretty pointless to have woofwood get all up in arms for half a second over basically nothing.



Wolfwood stood in the doorway and watched the catgirl for a second, all scroungin' around on the floor makin' a mess. What was she, five? Hmph. She sure sounded like it. With a voice as high as hers she could probably talk to friggin' sandworms. Have a nice little conversation between 'em. Oh hey, how 'bout that weather we're havin'? Wait that's right. You wouldn't know about the weather because you spend all your time lurking around underground. So sorry.

He peered over at her... friend. Winged freak. Wolfwood was sick of wings. It was like whoever came up with all the monsters in the world thought wings were the coolest goddamn thing since the semi-automatic. And not even just two wings, either. It had to be six, twenty, fifty of the things. They were like a buncha fake angels running around pretending to do God's work. Not like Wolfwood could point any fingers though. Sure, he was technically a priest, but the church that ordained him sure as hell wasn't a respectable one. He was just some corrupt Plant-worshiping cult's experiment. Buncha sons of-

Suddenly he realised he was staring off into space. Wolfwood shook his head and grumbled a little to himself as he shoved his hands in his pockets and strode into the room. He was getting too caught up in everything. Wasting time. Well a guy like him didn't exactly have a lot of time to waste, especially when those two knuckleheads in the other room were involved. Every second they were near each other was a second at the risk of being blown to pieces. He kicked a couple cans to the side, stopped not far from Catgirl, and pulled a random cabinet open.

A tan box with some meat on the front caught his eye. He snatched it from the shelf. "What's this? 'Shake n Bake'?" He ripped it open without reading the instructions and looked inside. "It's just... a bag fulla crumbs. What a useless thing to keep around." Wolfwood tossed the box over his shoulder and kept rummaging. Not much he recognised. "C'mon," he growled. "Isn't there any normal food in here? I doubt the whiniest gunman this side of the great sand sea's gonna want Dalek-O's for dinner. Whatever the hell those are. I just..."

Wolfwood looked around him a bit, then settled on miss kitty cat. "Hey, you seen anything decent around here? Any donuts maybe? Booze? I donno when the last time was that stupid cactus-brain ate, but either one'll work. Donuts or hooch. Or just somethin' that isn't weird space food. Maybe those beans down there'd be okay."

You sure talk a lot, don't cha. 

Shade wasn't certain whether Wolfwood was genuinely a whiner, or just trying to assert some sense of normality into the kichen. Huh. Normality. The only normal things she could make any sense of were the tins and cans and bottles and cartons of Earthen foodstuffs making a gradual migration out of the cupboards and fridges across the floor, the counters. Everyday things - a lot of it she recognized - that heightened the weirdness of the alien room. What was she actually doing? Making a nest on the floor, surrounding herself with a steady larder for an upcoming disaster? What the hell was the Doctor going to make of the mess?

Oh well. He was already helping to clean up another messy scene in the control room. A little more disorder wasn't going to make a massive difference. Hopefully. 

Shade reached out and rubbed her thumb against the label of the tin Wolfwood had indicated to her. Her ear gave a twitch at the familiarity of the logo. Then she stood, wandered through the clutter towards a stove - or what seemed to be one - and used one slim claw to tear off the lid and tip its contents into a pan. She shook it determinedly several times then set the empty tin to one side. She watched her creation for several seconds.

Then, hesitantly: "What now?"

OOC: Okay, Doctor post it is.

There were more thuds below until a long metal rod began to rise out of the gap in the flooring, then noisily pushed onto the ledge. It rattled over, positioned over a support laden with four wheels. The Time Lord quickly followed and heaved himself up, to lean on his hands and swing his head towards the ceiling, his hair hanging wayward into his eyes like antennae.

"Is this what being old feels like?" he panted. When he noticed that Vash hadn't moved, his eyes shadowed sympathetically, grasping that the Plant was still probably stunned by the events that had befallen his twin. Events he damn well had coming but were still... utterly inconvenient, in terms of timing. So he flipped himself over and began to fasten the bags wired into Knives' arm to the top of the drip-carrier. 

Tutting softly, the Doctor pulled at his shirt, injecting his tone with a strange tenderness. "Ah, and there I was, thinking I could get away with it," he murmured, watching his fingertips come away reddened. "But what's the use of a spaceship if it can't get you a new shirt here and then?" He looked Vash up and down very grimly in a mindful, contemplative silence. "Or a new coat. You can help yourself to whatever you find in there, by the way. The wardrobe. That's not to say we'll be ditching that red thing of yours, we can always hold onto that, but... well, the wardrobe's always available, that's what I'm saying.

"Now... get going. I can take things from here." The Doctor gave a gentle twitch of his head in the direction the Fera had taken, not once glancing at Knives, as if he was already beyond help.

OOC: Bump.

OoC: oh!!!! no, you're not being annoying at all, darling. this is still alive, i've just been in an awful writing slump lately so i guess i've inadvertently put us on a hiatus. unu i feel awful for it, but i'm trying to finally claw my way back out right now!!!!! and i've got a few paragraphs sittin' here in a word document and yeah, heh
it's nice to see you after so long c:

It took a minute for Vash to notice the Doctor standing next to him. He was too dead to the world to notice. Damn was it noisy in here, couldn't a guy stop for just a few seconds? He lifted his head from his hands and bl[injection]inked up at the Doctor tiredly... and then jumped to his feet all of a sudden because crap that was definitely more than a few seconds, he was supposed to be helping this was his mess and he was making the Doctor deal with it and wow actually getting up that fast was not a good idea. Vash's hand latched onto the back of the couch as he staggered on his feet a little and sputtered to say something.

"Now wait just a second Doc, I can't let- you don't have to- really-" Looked like his tongue was stumbling even worse than his legs. Vash hissed through his teeth and then looked back up at the Doctor, suddenly all half-hearted smiles and as warm a facade as he could manage. "You're way too nice to me, Doc. I- I'm sorry to put you through this, I really am, I don't know how to thank you or-" He shook his head and laughed. Or tried to, at least. A cactus could probably laugh better. "I guess... thanks for understanding, and thanks for- for putting up with us." He eyed his brother wearily. And warily. Even like this Knives was terrifying. But...

Vash sighed quietly and pushed off the couch, ambling off toward the door like a stray kitten. He stopped at the doorway, rested a hand on it, and shot a grin as generic as they come over his shoulder. "I don't think there's anything to worry about." His voice was maybe a little too loud. A little too boisterous. He started to hurry off but hesitated first, adding in almost a mumble, "And th... thank you."



Wolfwood cast around the room, looking kind of lost. "Well hell if I know what to do, kid. This place is so damn weird-lookin', I can hardly tell what's supposed to be what..." Everything was twisty rods and shimmery metal and it was a miracle he hadn't got lost on his way in here in the first place. Nothin' made any sense; it was probably almost as bad as Knives' stupid ship fortress thing and its maze of endless dark hallways. Friggin' seriously, didn't any of the people who built ships think of how anyone inside them was gonna get around?

He leaned against one of the less cluttered countertops and gestured at Shade. "Besides, kitty-cat, do I look like I know how to work an actual kitchen? Most of the time all I get's a dinky little fire out in the middle of the desert to cook over." As a kind of grumbled afterthought he added, "Closest thing I've ever got was prob'ly the orphanage's kitchen. And that sure as hell wasn't no fancy-schmancy getup like this." More like nothin' but a dirty sink and a stone oven and nowhere near enough dishes for everybody.

Suddenly a dull splash of red passed by the doorway. Wolfwood pushed off the counter and perked up for a second. But just for a second. That poor soft-hearted bastard. Vash was obviously down. Really down. He only got to skulking like this when he was blamin' himself for whatever crap had flown his way. It didn't seem worth it to pipe up and call him in here though. Prob'ly better to let him go clean up. Besides, Wolfwood had some cookin' to do, and damn it all if he wasn't gonna at least try to figure out these shiny alien versions of rich people's kitchen stuff.

Unfortunately for the stove Shade had set the pan on, a few minutes and a burn to the hand later he ripped off half its knobs and put his foot through the oven door.

OOC: Good lord this is why I don't write blogs. I keep CHANGIN' stuff. I don't stop goddamn thinking and coming up with new races and new characters and new silly little details in their lives. So there I go. I stop thinking about plotlines for the roleplay, and instead concentrate on adapting Theslern itself. I mean, surely that's not gonna change how things turn out here? Right? It's not gonna make me want to introduce or mention new elements here?

 

bahahahah

so here i go. celly oakenshield. never been this wrong before. completely reforming stuff. enough with these silly gun-wielding harans and this silly storyline that was never all that good in the first place and let's UPTURN IT ALL

you guys don't mind if i go ahead and delete all the most recently theslern-posts? xD they're completely out-of-place with... the new things I have in mind. Oh man. I am so sorry omg. I can't stay with one thing anymore. And Theslern won't stop changing xD

OOC: That's fine, take it easy. And I can't say how glad I am you're eating decent again. :D

THE LIZARD IS BACK. 

And hey milo! I forgot to say hi D:

Also

I just had the best visualisation ever of Wolfwood wrecking that stove

superb touch my lovely lizard, it got a giggle out of me.

ooc: flops on the floor i feel like writing and i don't wanna see this die so yeah heh i'm gonna do some rambles and try and get things goin' uwu

Vash stayed in the shower for quite a while. Probably longer than he needed to. It wasn't often he got to wash up like this, especially not with actual hot water; only the fanciest hotels he'd ever been to could afford water heaters. And well, he had to face it, his pockets weren't deep enough for those hotels. So he indulged a little for once. He'd have to remember to apologise to the Doctor later though. That leftover trail of blood and dirt leading to the drain looked almost as bad as his tattered mess of a torso did in the mirror. Damn, Knives sure did a job on him with that slice earlier. Not that Vash minded. Better him than Ces.

He grimaced at his reflection, turned away, and pushed open the bathroom door. Off to the wardrobe he guessed; nothing else to do in the meantime. He scowled at the floor passing under his bare feet. They should be gone by now, they should be chasing after Ces. And yet here he was, most dangerous man on the planet by reputation, wasting time wandering the halls of a ship with nothing but a towel around his waist. Useless! He may as well just take Knives and leave, with how completely helpful he was being right now. Yep, delaying takeoff by accidentally shooting his brother. Real fine work there mister stampede. Yeah.

Good thing there wasn't anybody else around. Nothin' in the wardobe but quiet and clothes and a big loser grumbling aloud. It probably would have been eerie if he stopped berating himself for a second. Not like that was gonna happen anytime soon. If there was a biggest screwup award he'd win it in a heartbeat. They might as well call him the Humanoid Idiot.

Eventually he sighed and settled on a white shirt and some jeans. No need to get too fancy as long as his coat was out of commission. Besides, he really just..... needed to sleep. When was even the last time he slept? Too long ago, whenever it was.

When he passed by the kitchen again Wolfwood yelled something about needlenoggin and kind of burned beans and some alcohol he and catgirl found, but Vash just kept going. It was a nice thought but he wasn't all that hungry anyway and those couches in the control room sounded really comfy and whatever, he'd sleep on the floor if he had to. He hardly even noticed the Doctor in there. His only concern was those lovely empty cushions on the other side of the room. Which he promptly collapsed on and mumbled a goodnight into.

OOC: Thank you for posting, ahh... I would've done this sooner, but

I'm still kinda stuck for what to do with the Harans too, ehe. But no matter. New dudes are slowly sort of coming together....

The Doctor just waved his hand limply at the Plant. Just go already, please. You've done enough. Go and take care of yourself.

Maybe... torn was the word right now. Torn between his incentive to go after the Haran, or to stay put and watch over the one who'd helped get rid of her. And his body felt tested, too. Weary. Spent. And that almost never happened to him. 

Physically, right now, he felt sucked of all his energy, all his spunk; a crumby, ancient old loaf of bread with the inside eaten out. Or a smashed-out window. Or a candle that had burned for too long and was seeping everywhere, crude and lumpy, its core of string almost drowning in its self-made bowl of watery wax. All thanks to this blonde brat with the tubes, sucking up all the Time Lord's care and bounce and smile. There was nothing left anymore. No incentive to care, or bounce, or smile anymore.

Except the low ebb, the ever-gentle ebb, of his ship. His old girl. He crawled further away from Knives, sat on the flooring, and rested his head against a couch with a heavy sigh. He lay there, still, for a few more seconds, drinking in the brassy-blue image of the Tardis' domed ceiling. Then he let himself close his eyes, just this once...

A smash. The strangled garble of an angry man in pain. A peal of Shade's laughter. Further bangs and clangs. More howling. Bedlam. Screaming. 

Oh, he'd have a look at it in the morning. Besides, if the worst happened and they did turn tribal and did light a bonfire in there, the smoke alarms would kick in. Did he get round to installing that sprinkler system into the ceiling, for such an occasion? Yes, he think he had.

But he was still bothered by something, until he realised he stank, and the congealed blood was already setting on his shirt. He couldn't believe he'd actually forgotten about that, even for a few minutes. Perhaps he was so used to seeing it on other people. Blood, wounds, hurts. They'd come in abundance these past few days.

The Time Lord glanced emptily at Knives; the utter imbecile who'd bled all over his shirt. It had actually kept rather intact all this time, a noteworthy achievement, compared to the attire of his companions. Like a mole, he retreated deeper into his ship, taking care not to look into the kitchen - although he did roll a fire extinguisher through the door on his way past - and slipped into the wardrobe, where he fished out something fresh and white. Somewhere, he heard the gushing of the shower. So he simply found a smaller bathroom, and quickly washed the scarlet spray off his face, turning the flannel a nasty yellow, until he wrung it. 

Feeling somewhat himself again, he wandered back to the main room, to lay out mattresses and blankets and pillows across the circle of the floor. Just in case the hunters in the kitchen should consider abandoning their banquet and alternate for wandering back to their cave, to sleep. Then he waited, until the Plant emerged again - no longer gaudy and red and filthy, but white and blue, soft as petals, albeit still black-haired. Nevertheless, the parts of him that had changed were at once a relief, but the Time Lord said nothing. Nothing at all.  

That was, until Vash settled down at last, where he murmured: "We'll find her." But the Plant may have already fallen asleep by then.

Wolfwood jerked up from his pile of hoarded blankets and pillows on the floor at precisely the asscrack of dawn. He groaned into his hands and glanced around him to find a clock and holy crap, who in the hell was banging around like a wild tomas at five in the friggin' morning? Well. Shade was still there, curled up on bare floor. Wolfwood eyed his own spot. He may or may not have stolen her bedthings in the night. But what would she care, she was a cat. Cats slept on weirder things than floors, right? Knives was still there too, looking less like a threat to all of humanity and more like a baby quail with a broken wing or something. Looked like Vash was missing. 'Course he was.

When she lifted her hand to her forehead she felt the tiny knots of stitches on one cheek. Then she realised that she was in a bed and jolted slightly. Alive. Okay.

"Oh Christ," she murmured. "Christ, Christ, Christ almighty."

She knew exactly where she was; Earth didn't have sezhirs. The bed was so close to the window that she could see their proud, horned heads bobbing by in the street. The roads were long and thick, with trees em-bedded in the pale stone pavements. She more she looked, the more she could see how pristine and... perfectly homely the city was. Not a single building was unsightly or decrepit - they were old, certainly, but loved, preserved. No gum stamped into the street. No gaudy litter (although a fair amount of dirt and mud scraping the road). Lamp-posts, but beautiful, sculpted ones that would hold candles in their little class cases. It was a world untouched by electricity. Still growing. Still changing. Still alive. 

Stiffly she began to back her way upright. Her hands stung when she pressed down on them. But when she looked, they were freshly bandaged. She had more stitches on her arms. And... she didn't smell so bad.

Oh god no. Had someone bathed her?

She raised the bedsheets, then pulled them down again sharply.

They'd changed her too. 

She was dressed in an ankle-length bedrobe, sleeved and white, and really very snug. Setting aside her mortification, Ces slowly unfurled and touched the floor with her toes. Her head suddenly misted over. She stopped. Then both feet. Slowly, slowly, she arose, and carefully padded on the tips of her feet to the door. When she placed her ear against it, she heard voices, a level below.

Some stressed exchange that sounded like it might swell into an outright conflict. One of them, the most defensive-sounding, she thought could have been the black-haired magician who carried her. A softer voice suggested something - the silver bird, the younger brother - and then, she could make out, very distinctly, the others rounding on him in a vicious snarl: "Shut up!"

A tremor began to manifest itself in her hands, but she still made a move to turn the doorknob, which rattled oh so softly under her quivering hold. She opened it.

"You had the damn thing here! Why did you give it to him?"

"Like I told you, to give us an excuse to go and search for him. Toldora has the sense not to leave anything that precious here, not to mention in my particular care. Then that night he had the vision. Woke up sweating like a pig and panting like a run-down dog, nearly smashed my door down, frightened the pants off me, and said... started gabbling away about a flying blue box and angry shades coming to avenge her. So he grabbed his sodding monkey and the tome and rode off."

Sorygis growled something.

"Oh, learn when to button it, or do I have to punch you in the eye again?"

There was the scraping of a chair and soft, purposeful thuds nearing the door. Ces, by now on the landing, stilled, her breath caught. The third Haran started making his way up the steps. In a flaring panic she stepped hastily away from the banister (if only to prevent him from glancing up her skirt) and, regardless of the bubbles in her stomach, raised her chin a little, hanging onto every creak, every rustle of the oncomer's clothing. 

OOC: Ahh, I'll try and come up with something for the Doctor in a bit.... So consider this a bump. :o

He never wanted to even think of going in there again. But he knew he had to someday. Perhaps, once they landed somewhere, and he could kick everybody out of the ship, he might venture into his kitchen to assess the situation. 

It had probably been a mistake to let the cat and the wolf and the other circus animals in there unsupervised. Yet again, what choice did he really have? Just hours ago, however long it had been since the hour Knives was shot, Vash's twin had been thrown on death's door - and was still probably fighting for his life in the control room - and the Doctor's main concern, right now, was the state of his kitchen. He hadn't had time to think of the Tardis' poor welfare while that intolerable Plant was on his hands. But now he did. And what was terrible was that he couldn't think which was worse to lose.

Vash's drunken songs reached him even here, in some secluded space of metal and soft light that the Time Lord had retreated to, if only to give his companions some more space to sleep in the control room. There were a few ominous clangs, and then, Wolfwood's stressed, angry voice.

The Doctor put down the piece of alien machinery he'd been twiddling with and listened. Finally, he heard steps again, receding towards the control room. Then quiet, except for Vash's singing, reduced to a muffle in the workings of the Tardis.

With a heavy sigh, the Doctor set down his puzzle and began to follow the dreaded sound. He tried being discreet, perhaps even playful, poking his head around the doorway first. But the sight was so much worse than he'd been expecting his whole body came through the opening. His mouth even popped open.

"Well... you've certainly given the Rexillons a run for their money," he stammered. "Terrible pillagers. They'll fly through forests, grasslands, whole cities in their swarms, consuming whatever they can get their pincers on. Entire planets are eaten up. But they don't sing as much, they can't really sing, on account of their... mouths."

He waded through the mess, closer to Vash, dodging the food and the rubbish and the god-knows-what with unpracticed precision. 

"So, let me guess," he growled. "You got hungry."