Anonymously Or Not, SendHow To Care For Instructions For My Muse

Anonymously or not, send “How To Care For” instructions for my muse

Pretzels. Lots and lots of pretzels.

"Hmm, acceptable! I'll take that one!"

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Send “What happened here?” to find my muse after they’ve finished fighting a brutal fight.

Alternatively — send “You shouldn’t be here.” for my muse’s reaction to stumbling upon yours post-fight.

It was Krigg's firm, yet somewhat humble opinion that finding out what kind of violence someone was capable of without being involved in the act was never a pleasant, or recommended experience. Not mixing work life and common, mundane life was easier on the brain for most people she found. It could bring its own sort of comfort to know the abilities of someone you fought alongside of, but not if it was jarringly shoved into your face.

Krigg, for one, didn't particularly enjoy being made actively aware of the fact that Rex was perfectly able to punch something into a fine red mist if he got his back into it. Which he'd very much done, if she considered the ruined surroundings situated about the unfortunate Nypardian. The street level was ground zero for a mean sort of scrap - wrecked building faces, crushed cars that looked like tin toys, smashedand levelled pavement... plus a few smashed water mains, spewing small geisers up into the air from massive cracks. And what she thought were the remains of a battlesuit filled with jellied gunk and no pilot in sight.

And of course, Rex. Looking worse for wear, and decidedly not relaxed about the whole ordeal, if the tension in the arch of his back was any indication. The perturbed look slowly bled out of Krigg's features, replaced by a neutral, somewhat stony expression of calm. Nevermind the fact she felt a part of her twinge uncomfortably at the thought of the usually relaxed, rather sweet-mannered Nypardian being dragged to that kind of extremity. Her own reserves could wait.

"Uhhh... Rex?" A call, somewhat tentative - not too loud, not too harsh on possibly frayed nerves.

"...You wanna' bounce on outta' here?"

make sure that she has plenty of roam to move as she wants to

"Speaking from experience, you lock me into a one-person ship for more than a day, and I'll be bouncing off the fucking walls. The Revenger is spacious enough for me to actually stretch my legs if I feel like it, so... as long as you don't stuff me in a shoebox living space, we'll get along-ish."

the27percent​:

Atieno nods a little bit. “Yeah.. I suppose saying that was completely redundant then. But .. at least you know that I heard you very loud and clear. “ They do feel a tad bit of embarrassment from having spoken when it didn’t seem needed or ..really important in the least.

In the mean time they pay closer attention to the point that Krigg’s point being made about other drifters who claim not to care about whether or not they die. Indeed, Atieno had ran into many of those kinds of individuals with no sense of caring about the way that they would go.

“Seems like you know exactly what you want - the expectations and the drive of other drifters be damned. “ That strange sense of peace that Krigg seemed to have about the cosmos saying ‘fuck your plans’ is something that Atieno finds quite interesting but.. poking at that didn’t seem like a necessary action. Not really.

“I definitely appreciate that kind of perspective, not that my opinion makes a difference.“ A small shrug at the thought before the question about their body piques their interest.

“Oh.. um well to be honest, the first times I took on a smaller form.. it was just really a shadowy vague figure, and that’s something I still do sometimes. This iteration .. is relatively new. But I had seen individuals look similar and liked the appearance, the style of it.. and I figured I’d take it on personally. “

Krigg didn’t appear to feel any sort of way towards Atieno’s repetition of phrases and words, expression remaining unchanging, even as she pricked an antennae the slightest bit upwards towards the “puppet”. Or, whatever she was supposed to call Atieno’s physical body.

He was some form of cosmic entity. There was going to be some sort of difference in brain function. Even if it was just... a lot of repeating things. She shot the voidling something of a mild grimacing grin as the topic of conversation drifted to things such as peer pressure and rather unique opinions. “I jumped into drifter life specifically BECAUSE I didn’t have any interest in peer pressure. Backtracking in that regard kind of defeats the whole point of it.”

She quickly shook off the thought to focus moreso on the fact that, of all the things that a void-made creature could find appealing enough to make a physical life form copying said things, it was to be a rather... alternative style. Sort of - it was teetering on the goth and alternative thread that she herself didn’t know too much about, but was fairly certain was the adequate-ish terminology.

She felt her cheeks puff up, a poorly contained snort of laughter whistling past clenched teeth as amber eyes scrunched up and twinkled with poorly contained mirth. “This feels oddly adequate, in a “so weirdly on brand it loops all the way around unlikely to hit perfectly likely” sort of away.” Krigg puffed out, a huge grin slowly creeping up on her face. “I would not have expected someone to pick up a sense of aesthetics from a millenia-long watch over the world of mortals, but beauty is litterally in the eye of the beholder, so maybe it’s not that out-there. I can find clothes from completely different cultures nice ‘nough as it is.”

“...Though I do fabricator-make all my clothes.”

what does your muse think of mine?

send me in specific detail exactly what your muse thinks of mine. whether it be when they first see them, or when they’re lying in bed in the middle of the night and just can’t fall asleep. I’m genuinely curious.