Post by Tabs on Sept 30, 2017 19:26:59 GMT
((July 7th. Open to anyone who wants to deal with a panicking box?? Takes place during the late evening in a back street in Agrabah.))
To an outsider, it would appear as if the creature had just frozen out of nowhere. A low buzz filled the narrow street. It was unsettling enough when the thing moved, but to have it just stand motionless, with nothing but red static on its screens, was something completely different.
Tabs had been visited by his superior, the Producer. The Producer spoke to him in his head and never left a trace in the real world. To anyone else, this figure might as well have not existed. But to Tabs, the Producer was something real and something to fear.
The drone of static halted as the meeting ended. Tabs’s monitors turned to black. He stumbled into consciousness, his hooves clacking on the earth ground and his arms spreading to balance himself. Screens flickered on to reveal fretting expressions. The Producer clearly had not been appeased. All Tabs felt confident in sharing was a summary of the war as he understood it. But it was a story he so far could not draw a conclusion from. Tabs needed to report something with an ending next time. Sure there was intrigue in mystery, but scalding disappointment at the discovery that answers are evaded.
Next time. Next time he had to turn out a better story.
Claws drew close together as his posture slumped. Red eyes darted. Breath quickened. What could he do? For such a pedestal he put the humans on, he felt too insecure to be worthy of their attention to bring himself to fully utilize them. He knew how he looked.
Tabs could fake confidence: overcompensate on the regular. Now with his mind frazzled, Tabs made it clear what he really was: terrified.
To an outsider, it would appear as if the creature had just frozen out of nowhere. A low buzz filled the narrow street. It was unsettling enough when the thing moved, but to have it just stand motionless, with nothing but red static on its screens, was something completely different.
Tabs had been visited by his superior, the Producer. The Producer spoke to him in his head and never left a trace in the real world. To anyone else, this figure might as well have not existed. But to Tabs, the Producer was something real and something to fear.
The drone of static halted as the meeting ended. Tabs’s monitors turned to black. He stumbled into consciousness, his hooves clacking on the earth ground and his arms spreading to balance himself. Screens flickered on to reveal fretting expressions. The Producer clearly had not been appeased. All Tabs felt confident in sharing was a summary of the war as he understood it. But it was a story he so far could not draw a conclusion from. Tabs needed to report something with an ending next time. Sure there was intrigue in mystery, but scalding disappointment at the discovery that answers are evaded.
Next time. Next time he had to turn out a better story.
Claws drew close together as his posture slumped. Red eyes darted. Breath quickened. What could he do? For such a pedestal he put the humans on, he felt too insecure to be worthy of their attention to bring himself to fully utilize them. He knew how he looked.
Tabs could fake confidence: overcompensate on the regular. Now with his mind frazzled, Tabs made it clear what he really was: terrified.
