Wheeze & sinensys

[sinensys]

onexone between Wheeze and i !
i will pretty this up later c:<

[Wheeze]

wip

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ɠᥱᥒᥱɾᥲꙆ ɩᥒƒo

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𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾: 𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐
𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋: 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾
𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇: 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗌: 𝗄𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾
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ᥲρρᥱᥲɾᥲᥒᥴᥱ

'i can't keep secrets, love'
𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽
𝟧'𝟣𝟣'' / 𝟣𝟪𝟢𝖼𝗆
𝟣𝟩𝟤𝗅𝖻𝗌 / 𝟩𝟪𝗄𝗀
𝟥'/𝟣𝗆 𝖲𝖼𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖳𝖺𝗂𝗅
𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗌
𝖧𝗈𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖥𝖾𝖾𝗍
#4f8b8f
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─── ρᥱɾ⳽oᥒᥲꙆɩtყ
𝖠 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾-𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. 𝖮𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗀𝗈 𝖺𝗐𝗋𝗒, 𝖤𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌- 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗅, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗎𝗇. 𝖠𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝖤𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅. 𝖴𝗇𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖠 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝖺𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌..


─── ƒᥙᥒ-ƒᥲᥴt⳽

• forgetful
• tinkerer
• racer
• can't stay still

• jokester
• rebellious
• argumentative
• stubborn

• needlessly reckless
• sociable
• won't take no for an answer
• can't actually fight despite his talk

─── ᖾɩ⳽toɾყ
𝖤𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖾. 𝖠𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋. '𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍' ; 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖤𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗌𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆, 𝖤𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝗄𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗌𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄- 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝖺𝗂𝗅𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗁𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖴𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗅𝖾- 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾.



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coding credit

[sinensys]

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─ ──────── ──── 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑨𝑻 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻, 𝑨 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑫𝑰𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑬𝑨𝑹:
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ● ● ● ● ● ●

h

001. hadrian tarknassus. 002
. he/him. 003. bi. 004. were
gryphon. 005 . 6'1, bulky fra
me. gryphon form is equally
toned from security work. 0
07. human form looks, well,
human, besides the fact tha
t his hair is technically very

h

thin feathers. 008 . gryphon
form has large body of a pan
therine , the wings and head
of a crow , and cat-like ears.
eyes are orange with vertical
feline pupils that occasionall
y show up in human form, ei
ther as needed for better da

h

rk vision , or when extremely
annoyed. 009. no magic affin
inity whatsoever. the shifting
itself and the fact that his cl
othes shift with him is the ex
tent of his abilities. 010. the
me: peregrine --- mako. 011.
extremely suspicious of inten

───
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ll"𝑾𝑯𝒀
hh'𝑨𝑹𝑬
hh𝒀𝑶𝑼
''𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳
𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬?

── ─────────── ─────hh 𝑹𝑼𝑵 hh𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑮hh 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬hh 𝑵𝑶𝑾!"

↓
↓
↓
↓

tions until his respect is g
ained --- then he's ride or
die . sometimes this happ
𝑰𝑻 '𝑺 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬hh
hh𝑻𝑶 𝑳𝑬𝑻
ens for the wrong people.
012 . headstrong. takes a
lot for others to change h
is mind when he's made it
up already. it's not usually
out of spite though. 013 .
grew up on phobos, one o
f mars' moons. settlement

h

s are mostly underground
tunnels. he left when the
re was nothing left for hi
m, he decided . 014 . has
a minor grudge against hu
𝒀𝑶𝑼hh
hh𝑭𝑳𝒀!
mans. they're just always
weird about nonhumans a
nd hadrian's tired of it. pl
us gryphons have a histor
y of being manipulated b
y them. it's just annoying

h

and makes him wary. 015.
sensitive to smells , but ir
onically can' t really taste
much. 016. never experie
nced real rainfall. 017. "i
don't like that look on you
r face." "...it's the only o
𝑨𝑵𝑫hh
hh𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻
ne i've got." 018. big soft
ie underneath all that def
ensiveness and gruffness .
019. secretly likes being i

h

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𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑲 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫!
n zero gravity. 020. can't fly well. 02
1. exasperated more often than not .

──── ─ ── (𝑭𝑳𝒀 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑮𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑬, 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑨𝑰𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳!)

[Wheeze]

Emile / TW: blood, zombies, / WC: 1,111

The great expanse of space stretched out infinitely, with no rules and an open sky. On his home moon, Ganymede, the roads were always clogged with loud, smelly cars, and the police were quick to pull him over for exceeding the absurdly low speed limits. Sure, space travel had rules, but they weren’t really enforced. Space was massive. If you broke the rules, you just died. Plain and simple.

Space, though—space was beautiful. A vast, stark darkness broken only by distant lights twinkling across the endless void, with the faint outlines of far-off planets and moons.

Emile’s nose caught the faint scent of artificial cherry from the air freshener swaying in his peripheral vision as he flew through the endless expanse. That is, until he spotted it: a massive freighter ship just a few bounds ahead. The ship appeared completely still. Emile slowed his pace, intrigued, to get a better look.

Through the windows of the ship, he could tell it was pitch dark inside. There was no exhaust or whirring of an engine—normally, these ships were loud enough to hear from a distance, long before you saw them. He grinned slyly, watching his own pupils dilate in the rearview mirror. He revved up his bike and sped toward the ship, circling around it in hopes of finding a docking station.

After a few moments, he found a suitable spot and rolled in, his hovering bike thankful for the break. It was so dark inside that he could barely see, except for the faint glow of his headlights. Then he saw it—a button panel. He hoped it still worked. He gently adjusted his bike, carefully tapping the buttons, and soon enough, the garage door behind him closed airtight.

Now, the oxygen issue. Normally, when the garage door closed, vents would activate to pump in oxygen and heat. He’d just have to leave his bike running for a bit. Space was cold, and though the garage wasn’t as freezing as the vacuum of space, it still had the potential to leave someone’s teeth chattering. But it was a gamble. He didn’t see any exterior damage to the ship, meaning it likely still had oxygen trapped inside. But what if there was a leak?

Tapping his chin thoughtfully as his bike warmed up, he sighed. He was already here. Turning off his headlights, he switched to the indoor light and began rifling through the compartment of his bike, grabbing his tools—might as well collect some free scrap, right? After all, a new upgrade wouldn’t hurt. He also grabbed a facemask to protect his nose and lips from the chill, then clicked on his headlamp. He tugged on his blue faux leather jacket and gloves, gave his bike a soft "goodbye" kiss, turned off the engine, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The cold immediately bit into his cheeks and nose, but he pushed on. His light flickered as he searched for the clasp to the door of his chamber. It took some effort, but when he felt the latch give way, he finally opened it with a sigh of relief as he tentatively breathed in, oxygen.

The hallway wasn’t as dark as he expected. Emergency safety lights bathed the path in a dim, eerie glow. Maybe this ship wasn’t as abandoned as he thought. Carefully following the lights, he moved forward. The doors on either side led to different garage rooms, each labeled with a number. Finally, he passed an administrative office—locked, of course. He kicked at the door once, then again, until it gave way with a loud snap. He stared at the broken latch unimpressed. That hadn’t worked.

Just as he was about to rummage through his bag for his lockpicking tools, the door buzzed and unlocked on its own, luckily not requiring the latch to open. Stepping inside felt like entering another dimension. With a better vantage point through the glass, he finally saw something he hadn’t expected—someone sitting in the office. The door clicked shut behind him, locking with a final, definitive sound. He mockingly signed his name on the guest list before stepping through the heavy door. The first thing that hit him was a loud, singular beep followed by a flashing red light— a metal detector. Nothing out of the ordinary. He turned his light toward the woman at the desk, who was… groaning?

That's when he saw the blood on the floor. Was this some kind of sick joke? "Holy crap!" Emile let out an involuntary cry of fear as the woman suddenly lunged at him.

Undead? A zombie? He'd heard his father rant about Necromancy—calling it stupid, condemning it for desecrating the dead, and claiming it was an inherently dangerous practice for both the magician and everyone else involved. And here he was, caught in a bizarre game of ring-around-the-rosie with a dead secretary. Was it wrong to call her a "babe" if she was already dead? He quickly shook the thought away and grabbed a weapon: a metal folding chair, the uncomfortable kind. He swung it at the zombie’s head with all his strength. There was a sickening squelch as blood spilled onto the floor.

His heart raced as he saw the blood pooling at his feet, and the foul stench of it hit him through his mask, making him gag— no, actually, he did gag. The dim light from his headlamp flickered over her twitching body as she convulsed. He had a feeling the damage to her head wouldn't keep her down for long.

Stumbling back, he began searching the office for an escape route. His eyes darted to the door leading deeper into the ship—he wasn’t leaving without finding something useful. There had to be something valuable aboard this ship.

The door was still locked. Was there a button to unlock it, or was it just part of a security system? He wasn't sure, but the office was covered in buttons to press. Carefully stepping around the convulsing zombie, he groped around the desk in the dim light of his headlamp, grabbing a set of keys—none of which were labeled. He hit every button he could, even sending a cheeky "testing" message over the ship's intercom. He also tried to look at the ship’s map, but it was so large that he could barely make sense of it. His last find was something remotely useful: a security baton. A lucky find, he admitted to himself.

Finally, he heard the door click open. Before it could lock again, Emile bolted out of the administrative office, wedging his trusty metal chair in the doorframe to hold it open for his grand escape.

[sinensys]

the job was supposed to be easy.

negotiating with the representative back in the docks of the port city station on io proclaimed it so. the eighteen month contract was mostly security work for a company focused on the 'revival and revitalization of biological or spiritual remains' --- because just saying necromancy felt too tarnishing and reprehensible, and the people orchestrating the operation were too proud. that, or the public relations team had someone with some sense. hadrian wasn't sure which of the two he preferred, but had it been up to him, he would have called it like it was. calling a spade a spade made the most sense to him, but then again, hadrian never was in charge of anything more than a small task force for security purposes. had he been, things certainly wouldn't have come to this.

the harsh klaxon blare seven months into the job had startled him briefly, but he thought nothing of it at first. after all, drills weren't all that rare, even if it was strange that they performed it so suddenly and unannounced. ordinarily, these things were scheduled ahead of times, like everything else was --- the scientists here, or witches as some might hiss, were particular, fickle and punctual. but hadrian had grown used to the constant cycles, defined arbitrarily and out of phase with any moon he knew, and was paid enough to keep his mouth shut and and a close eye on the undead as well as any potential saboteurs on the team. his innate gryphon vision and smell lent themselves well, even if it sometimes bothered him in the long dark of the scheduled 'night' cycle that that side was also happy to be given a task, a directive. he remembered reading an article once about some old earth dog breed that required herding tasks, lest it eat away at itself in nervousness, and felt the bitter insult in his very soul. hadrian often feared it to be true, and could think back to several moments in his life where it was.

no, the klaxon hadn't alarmed him much then --- until the lights dimmed into the extreme emergency settings. some unseen wyrm coiled within him, anxiety awakening, and hadrian could only guess what happened, which was a myriad of things that sent him spiraling. the undead, suddenly moved to disobedience, came to mind first. the next sinister image was of the airlock, where a serpent unsealing that chamber once lied in wait. a faux-prophetic vision of the crew, scattered in the open nothing, came to mind shortly afterwards --- pirates were fairly common out in the far reaches of the system. he'd made it out of his quarters, laden with his standard security gear, and was out in the hallway. although hadrian bore no serpentine ancestry, he felt tensed, coiled, primed to strike.

the doors had slid shut, and all the weregryphon could do was curse at them worthlessly, a pleading disciple before a blind and vacant god, mute.

he paced for hours after he grew tired of beating against the two doors in both forms. the corridor was an intermediary between the passageway containing the crew's quarters and the mess hall, an open space leading to a number of places on the ship, and was confined to a length of only about ten or so meters. hadrian found it easy to cross, the uncertainty in the dim, red glow consuming him. the article of the earther dog mocked him once more, this time twice, the second being that he'd never set foot on a real planet --- only moons, asteroids, and space stations. a fearful little voice in the back of his head bemoaned the fact that he might die without ever rectifying that. he grew up on phobos, then left for io, which had almost become a second home to him with how often he came back looking for jobs. io brought him several good work stints, which built him quite the resume. well, except this one, maybe --- he guessed there was something poetic in the old earther mythology seeping through to give him good fortune and take it away at the end, an uncertain priestess.

hours later, when the weregryphon had long since given up his restlessness to sit against the corner, the lights shifted to a dimmed white instead of deep red: the ship was no longer in extreme emergency mode, just ordinary emergency settings. hadrian thanked a gryphon god he did not know.

the doors were still sealed, but, with vigor renewed by the implications of security systems stabilizing, hadrian pried one open successfully. a gryphon claw had broken, the humanoid fingernail bleeding in its stead, but that wasn't the bloody stench that dominated in the mess hall. there he'd finally understood that it was, in fact, the undead that ran rampant as he dispatched three with the training he'd been given. the training hadn't prepared him for the grime that would come with it. hadrian had always been keenly aware of the smell, but it had never been this bad.

with more doors forcibly unsealed and the odd undead dealt with, the weregryphon felt himself tiring and he was forced to rest briefly. certain spaces, strangely enough, were completely dead, he found --- no lights, no gravity. he rested in a short corridor like this, allowing the loftiness sway him, imagining himself to be one of the plants used for air filtration. his shoulder still ached from his first attempts to ram the corridor doors open. his right hand still bled from the broken claw in gryphon form. his muscles were sore from the hours of pacing followed by excessive door-prying. the glitched gravity system in the hallway at least offered a moment's respite.

a very distant clang reverberated, snapping him out of his trance, and he reoriented himself with what should have been up, floating along until gravity snapped back into play. hadrian stalked towards the sound, hearing more clanging --- the garage. the air grew exponentially cooler as he drew nearer, the space rarely needing heating due to its low population. he quickened his pace when a voice came over the intercom, leading him to the administration office. there he came across the sight of a man wedging a chair in the doorframe. not a human, but one of the reptilian, dragonlike types, he supposes. hadrian wasn't well-versed enough to know for sure --- sue him. but why the other man was here, armed with a steel chair and a looted baton, was a much more important question.

hadrian rushed the other, pinning him against the wall with the intention of disarming him. after squinting a few seconds until his eyes adjusted to the headlamp shining on him, thin feline pupils in gleaming orange briefly appearing to shield him, he got a closer look at the man. this wasn't a pirate. the weregryphon had seen space pirates, amateur and professional, and the nonhuman before him didn't strike him as either. a fraction of his tension repartitioned itself into exasperation coupled with relief: "oh you absolute idiot." he sighed, and looked up, blinking away the headlamp again before addressing the intruder again. "you need to leave- and i'm coming with you. this place- it- this- this is an active disaster zone. i don't think there are any other survivors."

finally, after hours of agony, hadrian had a way off this forsaken ship. he would live to see io again.

[Wheeze]

Emile / TW: None / WC: 663

Sharp elfish ears had picked up the creak of a heavy footstep come towards his, and his head turned. A tall, burly man. Yeah, sure, Emile was a tall guy, he was actually the tallest in his friend group growing up. It was rare that he ran into someone taller than him, even by a few inches. It was something that irked him, ticked him off enough to make his tail flicker at the thought. Though that wasn't the only thing that seemed to tick him off, the man across from his was big, and seemed to have spotted him.

Through the sparse light of his headlamp, he couldn't quite tell whether or not this man was among the dead quite yet. What the Kirinite has been more concerned about was if this man was among the dead, would he be able to take him on? Should he just turn right around again? Maybe whatever was in this place wasn't as important as taking on this guy. It was almost eerie, peering into glinting orbs from so far away, he was almost feeling a little claustrophobic, the smell of the dead lingering within the corridor of the ship, even if there was only this one man.

Just as Emile had steeled himself, and he patted the heavy security baton into his gloved hands, and a cocky grin had crossed his tanned face, the man came rushing at him. And Emile had released a sound he was not proud of from his lungs. A screech turned growl as the man, undead, had his wrist in a vice grip pinned against the wall, his looted baton not being much of use as it loudly clattered to the ground. Amber eyes contracted into slits, as he peered up at the man who then spoke.

Emile had let out a brief sigh of relief, even if the first words out of his opponent's mouth was an insult. "Idiot," the prideful lizard-like man scoffed, Emile only rolled his eyes as he laughed off the insult. He raised his brow, "I need to leave? And what makes you think I would take you after the rude introduction?" Emile scoffed. Wrenching his wrist from the iron grip from the person before him.

Now that there was another (supposedly) living person here, that turned the tables. As far as he could tell, the golden eyed man across from him seemed to be of the living. No obvious injuries, could talk. The secretary seemed to have enough sense to let him inside the administration office (whether convenient timing or not), he became a little worried that other zombies could have the capacity to speak. He wasn't going to show weakness around this- this stupid meathead he just met! Bending down to scoop up the baton from the floor he dusted it off as if that's what it needed.

"I came here for something, and now I'm going to find it," a blunt, noble sounding cause, like he was in a movie. Not that he was just rummaging around for spare parts. Maybe he'd find something magic related? Maybe he could learn a thing or two to show off. He eyes practically sparkled at the thought. It was an adventure, his curiosity was bubbling inside of him, his reptilian tail swaying back and forth with excitement, a notable sound of something grazing against the floor.

Sure, the secretary was scary, but was it really that bad? Well it could be, but he trusted his skills enough to push him past his limits. "Really, I think you might be over reacting! I've dealt with things worse than this," he chuckled almost mockingly as he lied straight through his pointed teeth. No way was he giving in, even if he wanted to do exactly as this stranger was commanding him to do and hightail it back to his ship and fly off as fast as he could. His tail flicked with a bit of irritation.

[sinensys]

hadrian could feel annoyance creeping in, the feeling more serpentine than the lizardlike man before him. it lied in wait until the man had finished speaking, the weregryphon watching darkly as the other slinked out of his loosened grip and very nearly danced away. appalled and incredulous, he could not respond immediately. how could the intruder have dealt with things worse than this? the last eight hours would haunt hadrian, he was sure of this --- his life had been in a near-constant state of harrowing limbo, his fate lying in the palm of a giant whose intentions and whims were beyond his understanding. whenever he felt helpless before, hadrian had always found a way out by simply leaving, just as he did phobos and a few bad jobs from io. but he was trapped here, survival in flux. sure, he had control over some things, but not over the overall direction of his lifepath. the audacity of the man before him, the lofty air of carelessness, would have brought hadrian to delirium if irritation hadn't stepped in as it did.

after several moments, he finally found himself able to answer. the gryphon began once more, "you really have no idea, do you? i'm telling you-"

he was interrupted by a rasping gurgle and whipped around in search of the source. the darkness parted for his gryphon eyes after a few seconds: there, beyond the chair, crawled a lowly figure, gasping, movements erratic yet slow. hadrian crouched down, face scrunched in the dreadful blend of confusion and suspense. before, in his endeavor towards the bridge so he could be at the center of all systems, he'd never taken the time to thoroughly inspect any of the undead, assuming them all to be abominations generated by the mishaps of whatever incident occurred. he never stopped to look them in the eye. the implication of the image before him weighed heavy as he whispered in horror:

"...rosie?"

her hair was matted, body in a state of disrepair, and her face was pale and misshapen, but her worn clothes were vaguely familiar. she made no move to respond to the name, only snarling in attempt to lash out at him. when she reached upwards, the glint of her nametag flickered in the low lighting, and hadrian felt some of his fight dissipate.

"she was living before it happened, why..?"

the question trailed off, the gryphon shocked and in absolute confusion.