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 Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 11:05 pm
After several trips of moving boxes, Moure was finally down to the last of his possessions. The patchwork runner had been moving boxes into his new dorm for quite some time, and oddly enough hadn't run into anyone yet. He was almost done moving in. He was holding his last oversized box, a box labeled "FRAGILE / PRECIOUS CARGO" on the sides.
If one looked inside, they would discover the entire box was full of Scario Kart stuff. Models of the karts, games, a few posters, and even the real games and consoles. The box was definitely important in the Patchwork boil's eyes.
A Boogeyman was settled on Moure's right shoulder, watching over the box carefully from his perch.
There hadn't even been an accident yet, either. His arm had even stayed attached the entire time. None of the boxes had fallen, and the runner was going great.
And then suddenly, there was a sound Moure was familiar with.
The sound of stitches ripping.
"OH SHOOT..!" Anyone around could probably hear the Patchwork's yell as he managed to force the box onto one arm, the other (the left arm) ripping from the boil's torso and falling to the ground. Well, that's what he got for quick stitching.
Looking between his arm and the box he had somehow managed NOT to drop, Moure was attempting not to curse under his breath. After a moment, he called to his boogeymon and nodded at his arm. "Ralt, watch my arm until I get back, alright?"
Gibralter the boogeymon looked at the arm and then at his owner. Finally, the minipet jumped down and sat down possessively near the arm.
"Good. I'll be right back. Don't lose my arm, alright?" With that last set of instructions, Moure took off toward his room. After a few moments, he was out of sight.
Down the path, now there was only Gibralter sitting next to an athletic-looking, patched up arm.
...What could possibly go wrong?
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 11:27 pm
It wasn't very long at all, unfortunately, before another stitched figure made its way down the hallway of the undead dorms, heavy boots stopping just before the abandoned appendage and small creature guarding it. The owner of said feet made a thoughtful noise, glancing this way and that in curiosity.
It... LOOKED like a Good Part, really. A very good part. Maybe not the best, but certainly good enough to not warrant being abandoned like that. He cocked his head, staring down at the creature with a scowl. Was it planning on eating it? Not if he had anything to say about it. He had enough trouble keeping Firth away from his Collection.
A swift, sharp kick to it's guardian and the arm was his, triumphantly tucked under his own monstrous elbow before marching off towards his own dorm with his prize.
Maybe today was looking up? He almost hadn't come back to the undead dorms today. Lately the Demon Dorms had been a lot more... practical. Well, Barth had left things to him to take care of while he was away, what better way than to dorm-sit? Besides, he could be more productive that way. Just needed a few things, first...
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 11:45 pm
Gibralter had been sitting guard over his master's arm when he spotted a figure coming toward him. The boogeymon had given a growl and leaned over the arm protectively as the large person came closer. With a slight surprised bark, the minipet realized that it was onther patchwork, just like master! A bit flabbergasted, the boogeymon was in such shock that he barely had time to give an angry snarm as a large foot suddenly came towards him.
And then the boogeymon was airborn with a loud yip. The boogeymon landed roughly in a bush, and had to scrabble his way out. From there, he saw that the patchwork was running away with master's arm! NOOOOOOO Master had placed that arm in his care!
The boogeymon charged after the patchwork, determined to save his master's arm or die trying.
Moure was just coming out of his room when he heard the sound of his very angry minipet. Gritting his teeth, the patchwork runner took off toward the sound. As such, he took a different hallway out of the dorm, and ended up near the bush, but found his minipet nowhere in sight. Frowning, he quickly followed the pawprints. Ralt was supposed to be GUARDING his arm. But where was the minipet, and where was his ARM?
He quickly found his minipet scratching at the door in the Undead dorm, actually not very far at all from Moure's own room. The runner had just missed both his arm thief and minipet by taking the other hallway, apparently.
"Ralt..." He started, looking at the door quickly and then at his minipet. With a sigh, Moure looked at the door again. Well, this was going to be awkward.
The runner lifted his still-intact right arm and knocked on the door.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 12:30 am
An odd sight in the undead dorms was the horrible scorch marks on said door, and the complete absence of doorknob- had it been... torn away? The plate hanging from it at eye level read "Christof" with only a handful of personal messages on the dry erase board below it. It seemed the door was kept shut with just something propped against it from the inside, and the simple knock sent it swinging open with a carefully-fine-tuned ominous creak. The moment air was able to rush through, the heavy stink of Patchwork Preservatives- an intense amount usually only filling laboratories, and the stink of Death.
The hunchbacked figure pulling on the white coat inside glanced up at the sound, eyes wide in shock as he stopped mid-button.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 12:48 am
As the door swung open, Gibralter started growling. He could smell the thief. SMELL THE THIEF. The thief was here. Meaning....the ARM was here! With that thought, the minipet nudged his master several times with his head and tossed it in the hunchback's direction with a snarl and whimper mix.
Moure had been a little concerned by the outer appearance of the room(scorch marks IN the UNDEAD DORM? WHAT?), and felt his eyebrows raise as the door practically fell in.
And then the smell. Moure was slightly shocked as he caught the strong scent of patchwork preservatives, a smell that brought back flashbacks of Dr. Cphira grinning at him and the labratory he had been created in. But that smell meant there must be another patchwork here, right? Moure didn't ignore the smell of Death either, and recognized the smell of potentially decaying any/everything.
And then he saw the hunchbacked figure, clad in what looked like a labratory coat. There was the patchwork, who he assumed was the "Christof" from the door plate. Gibralter was pawing and nudging his head into Moure's leg, apparently trying to tell him that his missing arm was here.
There was some extremely awkward silence, one patchwork in the room, the other in the doorway.
Moure also noticed that the Igor seemed to be somewhat...well, made from the bottom-of-the-barrel Parts. In comparison, the runner had been made from extremely good Parts. (Dr. Cphira had made sure about that. (Who knew how many runner's graves had been pillaged to make the Runner?))
And that INCLUDED his arm. And Moure wanted his arm back.
But the silence was so AWKWARD...Moure didn't know if he could break it.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 11:38 am
There was... another patchwork? Christof's eyes widened as he suddenly scrambled to undo the buttons of the coat. What had he been thinking, trying it on HERE where anyone could stumble in? It wasn't as secure as Barth's room and... oh hell's bells! He didn't know who this new patchwork was, but he certainly didn't look like any Igor- he was far too handsome, the bitter thought sent shivers down his hunch. Even so, it had taken enough courage to accept the coat from Master Barth to begin with followed by another burst of courage to refit it to his awkward form. If other people KNEW about his unigorly activities? His courage stopped there.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 5:03 pm
What Moure hadn't been expecting when he'd seen the patchwork Igor was the fact that it was in a labratory coat.
A Labratory Coat. Like, what the Doctors wear...
Not that patchworks wore. At least, not 'servant'-types. Never 'servant'-types.
Not Runners or General patchworks.
And especially not Igors.
While Moure was still staring at the other patchwork, Gibralter took it to be his fate-driven duty to redeem himself for losing Master's arm. (And, you know, getting kicked, but that was second on the list of reasons why he didn't like this Thief! But Master's arm was the first reason!)
And how the boogeymon decided to redeem himself was to charge into the room, and launch himself toward the Thief with teeth bared and claws raised. REDEMPTION WOULD BE HIS!
Moure barely managed to react in time as his minipet charged into the room. "Ralt! Down!" He snapped at his boogeymon, chasing after Gibralter. The patchwork managed to grab the creature by his furry scruff right after he had jumped toward the Igor. Moure also managed to keep his balance, even with only one arm at this moment. (Thank goodness Dr. Cphira had built him of very Good Parts. Balanced legs came in handy for times like this.) He looked slightly irritated as he stared down at his minipet, who just kept waving and clawing in the other patchwork's direction.
Well, this was plenty awkward now, especially after what Moure had just seen.
Moure looked back at the Igor and finally spoke, rather blunt about it really. "Judging by Ralt's reaction...I'm going to guess that you took my arm." He paused looking around to see if he could spot it anywhere before continuing. "...I'd like it back." Ooh, this "Christof" Igor better not have lost it already. There was no way he'd be able to get a replacement arm from Dr. Cphira this early into his enrolled life at the school...
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 5:21 pm
The small room, it would seem, was entirely filled with... Parts. It looked as though the entire school year had been spent systematically and carefully raiding every local graveyard the Igor could find for the best Parts to add to his collection- most were male of varying sizes but all about the right size for the Igor, but there was also a substantial amount of dark-skinned female parts laying about as well, all carefully tagged and hung on the walls, dripping with conductive preservative and who knew what was in the coolers under the workbench. Wherever Moure's arm was... it would take some digging for him to find it on his own.
The furniture was sparse, and what you would expect of a patchwork of his nature to look like- bare wooden-framed bed, desk and a nice workbench and stool that must have come from a different source, as well as a third, heavier wooden chair with a high back and buckled straps at various strategic points, mostly covered by dirty laundry in that strewn-about way that effects teenagers across all realities and dimensions. It wasn't just body parts, though, but half-finished contraptions and a large burlap something-or-other leaned up in the corner. Judging by the large plastic box filled with more something-or-others and rolls of paper, this Christof had been about to step out again.
Between the intrusion and the attack, the hunchback had quickly grabbed a nearby shovel, leaning handily against the workbench, a frustrated snarl in his throat as he made to swing- but the attacking pet had stopped short, thanks to the other Patchwork's quick hands.
Christof hesitantly lowered the shovel- but not by much. An arm? If he had just thrown it away, he deserved to lose it. Served him right for not taking care of his Parts. The hunchback gave another grunt before gesturing to the piles, face flushing as he clumsily tried to shrug out of the jacket.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 6:01 pm
(EDITTING STARTS HERE, YO. :'D;;; )
As Moure looked around, he had several slight flashbacks of being in Dr. Cphira's labratory, watching her take parts and pieces from her patchworks and put new ones on them. Luckily for the Runner, she never had tried taking any of his limbs to upgrade another patchwork, but that was probably because he was her only Runner and she needed him for Errands. In any case, As Moure noticed the Parts all around him, he realized it was going to take forever to try and find his arm in this collection. (At least he would only have to look in the male-looking section, not in the darker female-like Parts.)
Thanks a lot, Gibralter.
Moure took in the rest of the room (including the strapped chair, which also gave him shivers and reminded him of Dr. Cphira) with a bit of a frown. THIS is what the room next to his own looked like? And Moure didn't fail to notice the many creations over in the corner. What his patched brain didn't compute was the fact that this Igor was building things, and it seemed to be without Orders. Igors didn't CREATE things on their own...did they?
Of course, what Moure noticed the most is that the hunchbacked figure had a large shovel and seemed prepared to bat Gibralter out of the room with it when Moure had managed to stop his own pet. That was a close one and, even though sometimes Ralt went a bit overboard, Moure didn't want to see the boogeymon get hurt. (Good thing he hadn't seen Christof kick the creature eariler, otherwise things would have gone downhill in a matter of about two seconds.)
At least it seemed Moure had something on the Igor, leverage to get his arm back if it came to that. It was clear the other patchwork hadn't been prepared to have anyone spot him in the Labratory Coat. As this 'Christof' character grunted, Moure noticed the other's mouth had been stitched up and cringed a bit inside. What had the boil done to be punished like that? Or, maybe, was that just something that Doctors did to their Igors now? In any case, Moure wasn't exactly sure how to react to that kind of 'punishment'. Talking was probably impossible for the Igor, at least when his mouth was stitched up, so Moure found himself wondering how 'Christof' communicated with others.
Gibralter gave another snarl at the Thief, and then started sniffing the air. Maybe, just maybe he'd be able to smell the scent of Master's arm under all of the other stenches. Maybe...
Moure looked from his minipet back to the rather alert looking Igor. Well, shoot, this was not turning out well for the Runner. It didn't help that the Igor didn't seem very up for helping him get his arm back either. Maybe he would just have to let Gibralter try to sniff it out... Moure, with a slightly vexed/hopeless look on his face, looked at the piles again. With a frustrated sigh, he asked the Igor a question. "Is there any way I could convince you to give me back my arm?" Maybe he just needed to explain the situation to the Igor. Yeah, maybe... He'd explain after the Igor responded.
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Posted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 2:53 am
The hunchback paled slightly at the question... did he know sign? Was it a trap? Was this other patchwork testing him? Not supposed to speak meant not supposed to speak. Take orders, never- never... oh Fear Alive, had he been sent to spy on him? To keep track? His eyes narrowed far too calculatingly for an Igor. No... he wouldn't have come from The Doctor.
Slowly, carefully, he set down the shovel and signed, 'Small.'
What was he talking about? Guarding.... oh. He sagged a bit, nostrils curling as he regarded the other patchwork before crossing the room, digging into a pile of arms and retrieving the one in question. It was a left arm, anyway. Useless. He offered it back to the other patchwork with a look of distaste. What sort of patchwork would leave their parts around willy nilly? Obviously one who was very irresponsible.
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Posted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 12:39 pm
(To be editted in after Bili responds. :'D; )
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Posted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 1:05 pm
Shrugging the rest of the way out of the patchworked labcoat to stuff it into his traveling tool box, the Igor gave an anxious nod.
Moure... the runner? What was a runner? Ah... he supposed a patchwork that was built for running. A glorified Igor without the intensive training, no doubt. Jealousy bubbled up in his chest, but he swallowed it back down. So this... Moure... was not only handsome and fast and useful and polite but knew Sign Language and could tend to errands and Tasks faster than he could. Probably more efficiently too, and not just by speed. He gave a disgruntled snort through his nostrils.
Dr. Cphira... the name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. Perhaps they knew Dr. Fell? He didn't dare ask. He wasn't supposed to ask. That was part of the problem.
Well, if this... "Runner" intended on shouldering in on his territory, well... the next time he found Bits and Pieces laying around, he intended on playing a bit more stupid. He better as hell keep away from his Mistress. At least he had no worry about him pushing his way into Barth's business- the sloth abhorred even Christof's slow and meticulous attempts at Getting Things Done. Speed? Not something the Sloth would find merit in. Even so, it worried him. It was bad enough Mistress spent more time and relied more on that Dragon, but another... psudo-Igor? With good looking, proportionate parts and long hair that the ghouls all seemed to love so, and could speak freely and.... he pushed the thoughts away, instead giving the Runner an expectant look, as though waiting for an order, or anything else this Moure-character might need of him.
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Posted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 2:12 pm
(TO BE EDITTED IN LATER. :'D. )
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Posted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 6:08 pm
With a grunt, the hunchback poked his way to the cluttered desk, opening the drawer for a thick spool of black thread, needle poked in ready to go, holding it out to him obediently. Task Completed. Would the other patchwork be appeased yet?
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Posted: Mon Jun 13, 2011 9:23 pm
(TO BE EDITTED IN LATER. )
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