By the hands of the Gods, you have been plucked from your time and from your world, dropped into the box.
Only the box is a world of its own.
We are a mass crossover based on the concept of Pandora's Box. Characters from nearly any fandom can be played here. Because of the endless character possibilities, we are canon only here at Pandora. Take a peek at our rules and plot information before starting your new life in Pandora.
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Private It's not a Play Date, Son!

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Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral

@Max Reed, @One-One
Date: September 6th, 110
Time: 1130



"Gadzooks, could they have made this cab any smaller? It's like it was built for ants!"

Or, y'know, cockroaches.
Hey, might as well keep the running gag skittering (something something, low-hanging fruit).

An awful cacophony of mechanical -- crrreeeaks! -- and motorized -- whiiiiirrrs!! -- rattled from out of the elevator as Scaramouche labored forward, the android feeling as painfully cramped and stiff as he looked. Turns out, being an 8' tall monolith in a world that catered predominantly to the human race wasn't all that and a bag of chips. Who could've guessed? "Ugh, I'm gettin' way too old for this..." he groaned, cracking his aching back with a sharp wince. "Anyway, you still with me, peanut?" Ever mindful of his littlest companion, Scaramouche waited until One-One rolled safely into view before letting go of the elevator door, his processors -- and his robo-arthritis -- grateful to once again be out in the spacious open. The brief respite gave him ample time to survey their new surroundings -- as well as suss out any potential threats lurking just beyond view. Wait, was this art deco...? "Hm! Not a bad lookin' joint. Kinda thought Blackhaven was a decrepit shithole, but I guess it depends on who's writin' the script?"

For the most part, the modestly named Harbet Row Lofts was living up to its ho-hum description. The building was clean, it was inhabited, and it was relatively free of urban blight; which was, again, surprising given Blackhaven's reputation, but it's not like the android had any complaints. One less dope fiend they encountered was one less headache to contend with. Ditto for any would-be aspiring thieves. Ahh, but he was stalling.

The colorful buffoon finished rocking on his heels and lead the charge, Scaramouche keeping his gait nice and slow for One-One to toddle faithfully after.

Clik-a-clak...! Clik-a-clak...!
Tik-a-tik-a-tik-a-tik-a-tik-a-tik!


It was a comforting, if not odd cadence that challenged the hallway's deafening silence.

"D'ya think he's home...?" he asked, sounding hopeful. Nervous too, if judging by the near-imperceptible wobble in his otherwise perfect gait -- but Scaramouche was fairly confident that anything short of another robot would be unable to catch it. Organic peepers were notoriously faulty things, as were their ears. "I mean, he's gotta be, right?" the android continued, glancing down at his lil' black n' white roly-poly for reassurances. "He's a workaholic -- damn near glued to his laptop and files! You saw him durin' that... well, you-know." Scaramouche dared not utter its name lest the entire building be suddenly swarmed with slimy, bulbous-eyed pests of the amphibian kind.

He shuddered just thinking about it, the tiny instruments in his fingers seizing. "Bleugh!! I just gave myself the freakin' heebie-jeebies..." Scaramouche grumbled unhappily. "Anyway, what room did we say he was livin' in? Room 200, right? Should be comin' up soon..." Room 228... Room 227... Room 226... His optics began to lose focus after Room 223. "Huh, all the doors look the same..."

Seeing they still had a ways to go, it was time for a bit of fun.

Scaramouche hopped three paces ahead and landed daintily on a tile, wiggling his tush. "Hey, don't step on a crack, One-One, or you'll break your mother's back~!" the charlatan laughed.

Squeals of despair in three... two...​
 

One-One

Infinity Train
The Ball of Mixed Emotions
Posts
160
Location
Definitely somewhere strange!
Pronouns
He/Him
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Robot
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None Whatsoever!
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Neutral Good
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Alas, poor daddy! For he was a giant, in a world of tiny ants. And One-One? He was but a mere ball, dwarfed by this tiny ant world! The two of them were rather size impaired indeed! "I'm still here, daddy!" As soon as he was able, the little robot rolled forward, body giving the slightest bounce as he shifted from elevator to building floor. "Oof!" Behind them, the door did close, and the two robots were alone in the hallway. He turned about in place, spinning like a little globe, as he took in the interesting details of the walls. "Very quaint!"

"I bet there's a catch. Maybe the place is haunted by the souls of the previous owners." Ever the pessimist, Sad-One was a lot more suspicious of this seemingly nice complex. Did it look cozy? Absolutely? Were there probably sinister intentions behind it? Without a doubt! "Still, I bet that lady and her kids might like this dump more than her own place if she still needs a better home..." The inner mechanisms behind this different districts were beyond Sad-One. He was liable to agree with pops, it all depended on who was writing the 'script', as it were!

While daddy stepped forward with his harmonious tapping heels, One-One rolled behind him at a comfortable pace. He peered up at his father, the upper optic shifting to a tear drop as Sad-One spoke. "Oh yeah, that man doesn't have much of a social life. So... I bet he's still home. Probably tapping away and smoking like a chimney."

"And if he's not, we could always slip inside his home and wait for him like we're throwing him a surprise birthday party!" And return of the happy squinting optics! Perhaps one day, the happy bugger would learn that breaking and entering into homes was not socially acceptable, but that was not this day!

"Deep breaths, pops. And whatever you do, don't think of amphibians." Geez, the wagons really did a number on Scaramouche! Of course, the guy also had a break from reality that One-One had never seen before, nor since. Message received; no saying the 'w' word. "Yeah, 200, I think...?" He wasn't the best with numbers, so he was just going to go along with what daddy figured it to be.

"Hey, don't step on a crack, One-One, or you'll break your mother's back~!"


"Wot?" Away daddy hopped, wiggling his tush, and it took a moment for the other robot's jeering to process. And boy, did it process! "EEEEEEEEE...! I don't want to break mummy's back, I don't want to break her back!!" In a sheer panic, he rolled back to the center of the tile he had stepped onto, keeping away from the edges. Whimpering anxiously, he popped out one single nub and balance upon it as best he could! ...Which wasn't very much.

"Whoa, whoa, whoooa..." Their journey was quickly turning into the world's silliest game of 'the floor is lava' as he continued to keep only on nub touching the floor, haphazardly skittering around to catch up to his father without somehow touching a crack! He looked very much like a spider who'd had seven legs removed in some horrific accident! "Pops, heeeelp...!" He didn't have the balance or coordination for this!
 
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Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral
"I bet there's a catch. Maybe the place is haunted by the souls of the previous owners."


Pfft! Scaramouche couldn't help but crack a grin. "Ch'yeah, more like a certain someone-one needs a lil' less TV before bedtime. Seriously, kid! That dough-lovin' dame spoils you like you a lil' rotten egg." But hey, the android wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Putting a rambunctious tyke to bed was tough!!

A tinny chuckle escaped his vocalizer and the android gestured lazily for One-One to follow. "Now c'mon, squirt~!" he winked. "Let's go buzz around in Reed's bonnet and tickle the caterpillar on his face."

And try very, very hard not to think about Mrs. Loveit and her wee babes.

Poor Mrs. Loveit...

Thankfully, One-One's high-pitched caterwauling was just the ticket to keep matters nice and rosy. "Aw, c'mon, pumpkin -- don't cry~!" Scaramouche laughed. He definitely looked pleased as punch with himself, the naughty boy. "That's just an old wive's tale," the android explained, pursing his lips with a dismissive flick of the wrists. "You wouldn't really break your mother's back~! Here, I'll show ya." To prove his point further (and to be an even bigger pill), Scaramouche leaped ahead with a gleeful titter and bounced upon the tippity-tips of his toes on the very first crack he saw. "Break her back, break her back~!" the ruffian shamelessly trilled.



Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a dough-loving dame looks up with scrutinizing eyes, her nimble fingers halfway finished with pleating tomorrow's pork dumplings. "I sense dark magics upon me..." she hisses.



"See?" he smiled. "Nothin'~! Mommy dearest is gonna be A-OK." Would your loving Pops lie to you, son?

Trick question: don't answer.

The Master of Disaster cranked his head 180° backwards to better see his fussy babe, crybaby tears and all. Let's see what the lil' stinker was -- whoa...!! His optics nearly bugged out of their damn motorized sockets from what he saw. Talk about a fan-frickity-tastic balancing act! Sure, One-One looked like some deformed arthropod with only one leg to its name, but the sight wasn't without mad props! "Cool moves, kid~! You're a regular chip off the old block, hon hon~!"

But even the smallest pebbles needed help sometimes, and Scaramouche wasted no time in scooping baby 'bot into his large, doting ham hands. "I gotcha, I gotcha~!" the android cooed like a mama bird to her chick.

Gave a whole new meaning to stool pigeon.

"Anyway, Room Two-Oh-Oh, ya said?" That shouldn't be too far. In fact, if the android positioned himself juuuuust so, and bent at the knees liiiiiiiike this...!

FWOOSH!!

With a great burst of force, Scaramouche catapulted himself down the hall as if Beelzebot himself was hot on those fabulous burgundy heels, the grinning buffoon cackling all the while. "Nyrrrroooooom!! Next stop, Cockroach Central! Population: us~!" And yes, he was shouting, because the android knew nothing about having an indoor voice.

At last, they were here (if there was any doubt, the overwhelming cigarette smoke was a dead giveaway), and Scaramouche felt positively giddy in all his parts.

All his parts. Reed, you were a lucky ducky.

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I wonder if he's just as bug-ugly as I remember?" he muttered aloud, hopping on the balls of his feet. All this antici... pation!! -- was killing him! The android glanced down at his lil' doot-doot-dooter and prepared his mighty knucks. "Ya ready, pumpkin? Let's see if you and I are still operatin' on the same wavelength~!"

Knock~♪!
Knock-knock~♫!
Knock~♪!
Knock~♪!
 
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One-One

Infinity Train
The Ball of Mixed Emotions
Posts
160
Location
Definitely somewhere strange!
Pronouns
He/Him
Species
Robot
Occupation
None Whatsoever!
Alignment
Neutral Good
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Organizer
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"Ch'yeah, more like a certain someone-one needs a lil' less TV before bedtime."


"Watching TV before bed helps me sleep..." Sad-One protested with a little whine in his voice. "Besides, I kinda do look like an egg." Round, white, pretty much all you need to be an egg. They could even 'crack' open! So in the end, it was very fitting that Miss Millie spoil him rotten~!

"I do like his little fuzzy caterpillar...! Could you grow one, daddy? I think it'd be very handsome!" Maybe a bit weird too... but he certainly liked the idea! And all of Scaramouche's little bug puns sent Glad-One into a burst of giggles! Of course, those gleeful giggles came to a screeching stop once daddy brought up the possibility of breaking mummy's back. He whimpered, his little optics shifting to wavery around the edges pitifully. "I-it's not real...? I won't actually break my mummy's back?" He desperately hoped his father was telling the truth. Just imagine all the cracks that he had thoughtlessly tread upon in the past! How many times had he broken both his real mum's and his new mum's backs?! The guilt! The sorrow...!

Each little tap-tap of the other robot's boots caused the little 'bot to cringe as if expecting to hear shattering bones! The singing was a bit much, catchy as it was. True to Scaramouche's word though, there didn't seem to be any harm caused by the larger robot's little tootsies! "R-really? S-she is? That's good!" Despite his lack of a nose, Glad-One still managed to produce a sniffling sound as he spoke, cheering up thanks to his dad's efforts. Despite them, though, he still didn't pop out anymore nubs. Just in case, you understand right daddy?

Sheepish at his father's praise, Sad-One averted his gaze. "Aw shucks, pops... you really think so?" Being compared to his daddy was a rather big compliment! Sad-One certainly felt clumsy as he balanced on the very tip of his little limb! Whereas Scaramouche with those long legs of his was graceful as a gazelle! Leaping and dashing and just far more capable! His own far clumsier form made it a relief when daddy's big ol' grippers scooped him up into a protective hold.

"Thank you...!" Glad-One was quick to coo in return, far too comfortable in his father's grasp. No more worries about cracks now! And, honestly... Just give the guy a little bit and he'd forget about the whole thing completely. "Yes, that's what I--" NYOOM! Before you could say 'gotta go fast', dear old dadbot bent his knees and took off like a hopped up speed demon! Grasping tightly to his father's jacket with his nubs, Glad-One nevertheless squealed his excitement as the duo hit mach five to reach their destination!

At the door, he giggled and guffawed as his processors seemed to spin in an attempt to catch up with himself. "Again, again...!" Optics spinning around the black band of his body, they came to a stop to peer up at daddy curiously. "Oh?" He rapped a tune against the door, one that seemed familiar... It tickled at something in the back of his mind. Leaning forward, Glad-One raised his nub and...

Knock~♪!
Knock~♪!


"Two bits~!"
 

Max Reed

The Guyver
Posts
281
Species
Zoanoid
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Investigator
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Lawful Good
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The arms and legs were amputated on each of the five bodies and replaced by parts belonging to mannequins. Authorities traced serial numbers inside the limbs to a fashion shop named Gladrags & Handbags in Midcourt, Pandopolis. All twenty-seven staff members were extensively-

What sounded like a herd of elephants, no, make that freaking dinosaurs, came pounding and clattering down the hallway. Reed was jerked out of the grim, red world of the police report and back into the grim, gray one of his apartment.

He was hunched over his desk, every available surface covered in bloated folders and stacks of paperwork, most of ‘em relating to the Gladrags & Handbags case. The floor, too, was coated in a thin carpet of ‘em, which was broken up from time to time by open crates and cardboard boxes overflowing with files.

Reed leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to listen to the crashes and bangs. Jeez, what the heck were they doing now? The neighbors never gave him a moment of fricking peace, though usually there was more screaming about “that filthy sonuvabitch” sleeping with such-and-such’s wife, sister or mom, which was then followed by the shriek of shattering glass.

He rubbed at his sore eyes, before leaning forward to resume squinting and frowning at his desktop computer. All twenty-seven staff members were extensively questioned by authorities, but each one had an alibi on the night of the murders. None of the fingerprints of the employees matched the ones that were discovered on the mannequin limbs. Authorities requested details on-

Demented shouts and cackles rang down the hallway and yanked his mind back into the apartment. He recognized those voices, but they weren’t the ones of his neighbors. They belonged to…

Aww, crap. Not them.

A series of repressed green memories began to hop croaking and ribbiting into the forefront of his mind. Certain that it would drive him crazy, he’d tried desperately not to dwell on what’d happened to him a couple weeks ago in the Dread Wastes. He’d never been surrounded by so much random strangeness. Even dealing with a rapping Gremlin Binks back home and a young woman who spoke like she was a cardboard standee didn’t come anywhere close to upstaging living frog wagons, frog faced dragons and Scaramouche pretending he was a scorpion eating frog.

Jeez, he sure hoped they weren’t here to see him. They might flood his apartment with more of that random strangeness, but most importantly, they would keep him from his work.

Authorities requested details on all purchases made in Gladrags & Handbags during the week of the murders, which led them to a Mrs Anthea Holden of River Town. According to store records, she had brought a lemon chaffinch blouse with silk neck ties on the fifth of-

The musical knocking on his door made him jump and he hit his knee against a desk leg. The jolt to the desk caused a leaning tower of paperwork to crash to the ground.

Damn!” he yelled, smacking the top of the desk.

Though truthfully, he didn’t know whether he was more annoyed about the mess on the floor or the fact that Scaramouche and the Jekyll and Hyde of robots had come to see him. Reed entertained the idea of ignoring the knocks and pretending he wasn’t in his apartment, but being a massive freaking genius, he’d already given away his presence with that loud curse.

Well, that left only one option…

Reed picked a half smoked cigarette off the rim of his full and filthy ashtray, took a deep drag, then rose to his feet. He crept over to a large double window, opened it and stepped out on to the narrow balcony. If he angled it right, he could fall the two storeys and land unharmed in one of the trashcans. He was sure he could run half way to Silverpool before the robots broke in and found his apartment empty.

But if he got it wrong, he’d land on the hard asphalt and break a leg or two. They’d come with him to the hospital, where they’d torment him mercilessly while he lay bandaged up like an Egyptian mummy to his bed. He’d never get away from the robots and their craziness then.

He scowled and flicked his cigarette out over the balcony, then tramped back inside the apartment. Either way, jumping out of the window was a fricking stupid idea. The robots weren’t so bad really. Sad-One had looked after him that time a bowling ball had crashed down on his head, right? And Glad-One had sort of cheered him up with those texts. And Scaramouche had… Scaramouche had… Well…

Reed yanked open the door and was taken aback by the size of the more humanoid of the two robots. Sheesh, had the guy always been that tall?

“I didn’t order takeout today,” Reed grumbled at them.
 

Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral
Knock~♪!
Knock~♪!

"Two bits~!"


Scaramouche immediately squealed like a not-so-little piggly-wiggly. "Ohh, my widdle bambino!! You finished the tune, I'm so happy~! Oh, it's time for kisses. So, sooooo many kisses~!" Mwah, mwah, mwah~! Truly, the Pied Piper of Ruination was a simple machine. Obnoxious as hell, but simple.

No dice on getting him to grow a mustache anytime soon, though. Not only would it look terrible, it was terrible! One of these days, he didn't know when (but hopefully soon), Scaramouche was going to sneak into the man's apartment and shave the wretched thing off in his sleep. Then again, Reed might be mistaken for another, much younger version of himself. Possible win-win...?

Meh! Either way, the dubious honor of sporting a gross mustache was for crankly lil' bugaboos by the name of Max Reed. Speaking of which, here the pest of the hour comes now, all huffin' and puffin' because he probably had the Black Lung. Cough, cough...!

“I didn’t order takeout today."


Hear that? That was the sound of undying adoration.

Not really, but the android liked to pretend! He blew the humdrum himbo a kiss and tossed in a wink, free of charge. The playful finger wiggle was going to cost extra. "Missed ya too, baby~!" Sheesh, had the guy always been that short?

Short temper.
Short stature.
Short, well... everything!!

It would certainly explain a lot.

"Aw, don't be such a square bear~!" the hitman-turned-delivery-boy teased. "We're just here to check up on ya, y'know? See what you've been up do since we last, ah...~!" Hm, how to word this... Should he employ tact? Should he go in like a wrecking ball? Scaramouche flipped a random coin generator in his head and absolutely ignored the results, because FUCK RNG!! "Since we last went coocoo for cocoa puffs in the desert and wasted a month of our time for an utterly pointless endeavor~!" Shameless is as shameless does. Still! Nobody can say the smack-talking robot wasn't without manners.

He tipped his paddy hat, a smile on his face and a song in his PSU, and politely implored their soon-to-be irritable host for an invitation inside. "May we come iiiiin~?" Scaramouche asked sweetly, batting his optics. Yes, there were cartoony eyelashes. No, they weren't there a second later. Scaramouche was, however~! And the jazzy android wasn't going to disappear anytime soon. Same with the giggly/mopey One-One nestled in the crook of his spindly arm.

"Say 'hi, Max Reed'~!!" Daddy 'Bot cooed.

It was going to be a very, very long day. If Reed had any painkillers at his disposal, now was as good a time as ever.​
 

One-One

Infinity Train
The Ball of Mixed Emotions
Posts
160
Location
Definitely somewhere strange!
Pronouns
He/Him
Species
Robot
Occupation
None Whatsoever!
Alignment
Neutral Good
Profile
link
Organizer
link
Directory
link
"Ohh, my widdle bambino!! You finished the tune, I'm so happy~! Oh, it's time for kisses. So, sooooo many kisses~!"


Right on cue, just like a little piglet, Glad-One erupted in elated squeals. He did the thing!! He did the thing and made daddy so proud! Metal lips peppered his shell and the little 'bot giggled. "Daddy kisses are the best! Let's knock on more doors so I can get more kisses!" So sue him, the little bugger just couldn't get enough of daddy!

One-One's jubilant cooing paused when he heard a yell of some kind from behind the door. Oh, a curse! Was that Mr. Max? Never figured him for a potty mouth! His optics focused upon the door with baited breath, and soon found that the door had opened to reveal the man of the hour himself! The cream of the crop! The big cheese! "Hello!"

"Duh. I mean, we don't even have any food with us." Sad-One of course was far sassier as he fixed the man with a flat stare. Hm... Their host didn't seem like he was in the best of moods. He let Scaramouche handle the hammy greetings, a monotone chuckle sounding from the 'bot as the other robot blew a kiss. "Hey, speak for yourself, pops. I didn't go cuckoo for cocoa puffs." He sniffed, then stole a peek at the man. "But, uh, yeah. What he said. We're checking up on you."

"It's what friends do!" Glad-One cheered from his father's protective grip. You hear that, Reed? You've got two (maybe three?) whole friends? Don't you feel accomplished? As their father made his request, very respectfully and batting his optics, Glad-One wiggled his nub in a wave. "Hi, Max Reed!"

"Hi, Max Reed. Please let us in before we let in a pathogen from this decrepit hallway. You wouldn't want that, right...?" Wasn't he just a charmer? Maybe you should down a double dose of those painkillers...
 

Max Reed

The Guyver
Posts
281
Species
Zoanoid
Occupation
Investigator
Alignment
Lawful Good
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Organizer
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Reed mimed catching Scaramouche’s kiss, then throwing it down and grinding it into the floor with the heel of his shoe as though it’d been a cigarette stub.

“Next time bring food,” he fired back at Sad-One, matching his flat stare.

But Reed couldn’t keep it up or the grumpiness when the robots revealed they were here to check up on him. Gee, really? Nobody’d ever bothered to check up on him before.

Reed was touched, and a little guilty that he’d responded so abrasively towards ‘em. He blamed his bad, short tempered mood on poor sleep and too much work. Jeez, he had quite the freaking backlog after that crappy "vacation" with these two in the Dread Wastes.

Did he feel guilty and sorry enough to want to welcome them in with wide open arms? Well… He was still half tempted to slam the door in their metal faces, but Scaramouche was fricking ginormous. Reed didn’t wanna make him angry ‘cos he looked big and strong enough to smash through his door, which he sure couldn’t afford to repair or replace right now.

“Do I have any choice?" he asked them with a dry, bitter smile.

Reed stepped away from the door so they could gain access to the apartment without wrecking anything. He bent down and began to gather up his spilt papers before those could get stepped on or kicked across the open loft style room.

Ruff! Ruff! A Golden Retriever with a wavy, russet colored fur coat skittered over his other work files and skidded to a stop in front of the newcomers. Ruff! Ruff! The dog greeted them, her floppy ears flapping with each deep bark. She wore a permanent doggy grin, her bushy tail wagging so hard that it rippled the corners of some of his loose papers. Ruff! Ruff!

She’d left some dusty pawprints on some of his documents, but Reed found that he couldn’t get mad at his new pet. Heck, he’d even forgotten she was here. She’d been quietly napping and twitching away in her wicker basket by his work chair. He’d taken on a couple extra work cases so he could afford her adoption fee, vet boosters, food, treats, plus everything else that came with being a responsible and loving dog owner.

“Hey, you guys haven’t met my new dog,” he said, sounding infinitely more bright and cheerful. “This is Natasha Reed, but you can call her Tasha.”

Ruff! Ruff! Tasha agreed, watching them with soft brown button eyes and tilting her head.
 

Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral
Know the best way to Scaramouche's aching PSU?

"Oof, baby, you know just how I like iiiiiit~!!" You take his love, crumple it up into a misshapen wad, and then proceed to absolutely body it into the floor, John Cena-style, because the robot was a damn dumpster fire just waiting to happen. 10/10, would be your trash again, Reed!

With a vivacious -- rrrrrRRRRR~! -- the charlatan revved up his motors and fanned himself frantically with his own eccentric headwear. Say, were those wisps of steam wafting up from out of his coat collar...? "Oh babe...~" Scaramouche sighed, as wistful as any star-crossed maiden in the passionate throes of forbidden love. He even made a game of peeking bashfully over the brim of his paddy hat, the flirtatious ham! "In another time and place, you would've had me at 'next time bring food' in that mean, gruff maaaan voice, ooh-la-la...~ But alas! I don't fall for men who have the bad habit of buggin' out on the first date. On the second one, however...~!" Hey, gotta keep those options open.

“Do I have any choice?"


Pffft!

Scaramouche just laughed that nasally laugh and drew a liiiiiil' bit closer to the man who foolishly thought about slamming the door in their metal faces. Intimidation? Noooo, perish the thought! He was just getting 'friendly'. You know, as good friends do.

"I think the better question is, babe," the android smiled, making certain that Reed had a very clear view of all his shiny, 'I-will-grind-your-bones-to-make-my-bread' teeth -- again, as good friends do, "can you handle the consequences of that choice~?" ...Okay, so maybe it was slight intimidation. But only slight, because he honestly did like Reed! After all, they had went insane together, and that was something no sour 'tude or bristly mustache would ever ruin. Sorry, Reed, but you had made a friend for life. (Wasn't too late to jump out that window, FYI).

"Hi, Max Reed. Please let us in before we let in a pathogen from this decrepit hallway. You wouldn't want that, right...?"


Snort! Daddy Dearest rolled his optics and nudged his morbid, wet blanket of a child with a persuasive knuckle. "Tch~! Be nice, Stinker Bell," he kindly urged. "You, out of all people, should know how hard it is to kill a roach. Give the fella a break~! Aku knows life didn't."

Ruff! Ruff!

Oh whoa, was that a -- !?

A gigantic, cyan '?' flashed on the android's LED display -- bloop! -- and he immediately erupted into a melodious peal of giggles. "Awww, I didn't know you had a four-legged friend, baby!" Scaramouche cried. "If I had known, babe, I woulda brought a lil' treat with your meal!! Ohhhhh, I just hate comin' unprepared...!" If Reed was expecting his fabulously obnoxious guest to elaborate further, the man would be sorely disappointed because there was no greater distraction than throwing an adorable, fuzzy animal at a pair (trio?) of excitable robots.

"Bisou, bisou, bisou~!!" And, like clockwork, Scaramouche made all manners of saccharine, cutesy noises as soon as Tasha pawed her way onto the stage, his circuits tickled pink at her lil' doggy floppy ears, her lil' doggy bushy tail, and her oh-so-darling lil' doggy grin. "Is this your first dog~?" he asked brightly, turning to Reed. His optics twinkled like sapphires, all mischievousness seemingly gone in two shakes of a puppy dog's tail. The infamous Crooner of Carnage, tamed by a fluffy face... Who knew? "If so, you made a doggone terrific choice, baby!" Here it comes, the diarrhea of the mouth. Prepare yourself, man!! "Golden Retrievers are one of the most highly-rated breeds for first-time dog owners, and their friendly, well-mannered dispositions make them an excellent choice for -- a-ah, what am I sayin', baby...~? Of course you, like, a-already know this. You picked the dog, you did your research. I'm j-just, um, tellin' ya what you already -- ahem~!! Right."

Embarrassed, Scaramouche glanced away and coughed into his hand. "S-Sorry~!" he murmured. If his rosy cheeks could've gotten any darker, they surely would have. "I'm, ah, an a-asthmatic." Cough, cough!

Nice save.

Don't feel too hopeful just yet, though. It didn't take very long for the Assassin with the Sassin' to recover from his social faux pas, and he was soon yammering away as if having never skipped a beat -- or a breath. "Aaaaaand this place is like a damn ashtray~!" he grinned. To add further insult to injury, the android went out of his way to pinch his nose, his optics flickering into large X's. Yes sir, Scaramouche was back in tiptop shape, already firing away with the smart aleck comments left and right.

"Seriously, though, babe," the android frowned, looking Reed right in those beady, bug-like eyes. Those serial killer eyes. "I know you hate bein' a man-bug and all -- who doesn't, baby? -- but fumigation's a rough way to go. I recommend death by designer heel, instead~!"

Metal toesies wiggled in their leather bootsies as the robot chuckled at his own stupid joke, because he would. "Hon hon~! A-Anyway, you wanna say 'hi' to Tasha, kiddo? I bet the three of you munchkins will get along adorkably well!" Scaramouche didn't wait for an answer before setting One-One down on the ground, nubs first. Eh! The lil' tyke was nigh indestructible, so... "But let her come to you first, though, huh?" It was mindful suggestion, simple and quick. Unlike a certain somebody. "I bet she's already sniffed out our pooch back home, so let Tasha get used to his filthy butt-stink first~!"

"Also," he whispered to the smaller machine, all hush hush, "don't tell your mother I said her dog smells like butt, 'kay? I'll pay for your golden silence in ice cream later~!"

And the Father of the Year award goes toooo...!!



((Sorry for the post length; don't feel compelled to match it! Scaramouche is a chatterbox. He just loves to talk, and talk, and -- *deep breath* -- talk. Pick it apart and have fun!))
 
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One-One

Infinity Train
The Ball of Mixed Emotions
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160
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Definitely somewhere strange!
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Wow. Wow. Max Reed had himself something of a one-two punch! First, he 'caught' a kiss from daddy only to throw it on the ground and grind it beneath a heel! Then, he fired a zinger back at Sad-One! Things were getting a little spicy for the pepper! The pessimistic half blinked back at the man, obviously taken aback by the snide remark. "Alright, fine... Be a shame if you were to choke or something..." So rude... Like they were just supposed to bring the guy free food? Ugh! And there was daddy, eating it up for some reason... Was he steaming up? He watched his father titter and giggle like a teenager, gaze flatter than day old soda. "Your taste in men is concerning." Not saying your son is judging but... he's judging ya, pops.

"Of course you have a choice!" Glad-One was quick to reassure the man, optics squinting up at the man. "For instance, you could choose to let us in so we can see how you're doing, talk, become better friends...~!" Well, it was better than his father's sly attempt at a threat, but still not the best response. Still, Max Reed knew when he was dealing with a couple of clingy morons, and thus admitted defeat by allowing them into his home. "Wow, you sure have a lot of papers, Mr. Max! Are they important?" He asked, watching as the man bent down to pick them up off of the floor.

"Mrrgh..." Was that a knuckle? Rap-tap-tapping at his shell? By Jove, it was! "Stinker bell?" Sheesh. Between that and his father's puzzling comment, Sad-One could do little else but stare back at his father and eventually sigh to himself. "Alright... I'll be 'nice'." As if he hadn't been nice up to this point... puh!

No sooner had they stepped into the humble abode, did they find themselves greeted by a far more friendly occupant of the apartment! The lovely Tasha Reed, who possessed a coat that looked positively luscious! She was ever so friendly, vocal as she greeted them, and her excitement was very contagious for the optimistic half of the robot. "Oh! Oh, you got a doggy! She's so beautiful, Mr. Max!" And listen to that change in Max Reed! Having a furry roommate would do wonders for that man's mood!

Even Sad-One found himself impressed. He had been figuring that the man was all alone here, sulking and upset for all eternity. That sulky attitude was still there, but obviously his fuzzy companion had done him some good. It was... nice, to see. Misery may love company, but after their little chat over Pinder, he rather hoped that Max would find himself in better spirits. From daddy death issues to a major case of workaholic, it was clear the man had issues. And that wasn't even getting into his filthier habits, though daddy did a perfectly fine job of delving into that one. Smooth move, ex-lax. "Careful, pops. Say much more, and your 'asthma' might start acting up." He couldn't help teasing his motor mouth father, squinting like a turd nugget up at his dad.

"I'd love to say hi!" As soon as his nubs touched the floor, the excited sphere had himself a happy jiggy jog in place. Only his father's suggestion kept the robot from charging at the canine and deeming it his new best friend! Let her come to him first...? It'd be hard to reign himself in, but he really wanted for Tasha to like him! He paced in place, letting out a fitful little groan, but in the end did not divebomb into that wavy fur. The addition of a bribe certainly helped to keep his mind on the prize too! "Ice cream!"

"Say no more, pops. You've got us in your pocket now." He was definitely gonna milk his father's wallet, perhaps deliberate over something expensive and filled with far too much sugar before at last settling on a more modest cone. Just something to make the 'bot sweat a little! With a devious chuckle, he set his gaze back onto the pooch and languidly held up a nub for her to sniff, should she come closer.
 

Max Reed

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The spilt papers gave Reed the excuse he needed to back away slowly from Scaramouche without being too obvious. Was that steam? Did he smell burning wires and leaking computer chips? Either Scaramouche had a problem, or Reed’s new laptop was struggling under the demand of his case files.

“Wow, you sure have a lot of papers, Mr. Max!” Glad-One pointed out the frickin’ obvious. “Are they important?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

Does a bear poop in the frickin’ woods?

Reed straightened back up and placed the papers on his cluttered desk. Scaramouche had shifted most of his attention from him to Tasha, which had Reed letting out a discreet sigh of relief. Did Scaramouche seriously have a crush on him? If not him, on men in general? But he was a freaking robot! (A romosexual?) That was freaking crazy!

Crazy, eh? So what was new here?

“I had a golden in California,” Reed replied. “But she died when she was only three years old. I used to take her to work with me. She was well loved by the CIA Everybody felt her loss. I guess you could say she was killed in action.

“We had these string of murders take place at a chocolate factory. I took my golden along with me, as normal, but she got loose and wandered off on her own. She wound up eating a child’s weight in chocolate.

“Forklift truck. That’s what killed her. A worker was backing up in one and didn’t see her. She had her head crammed in a box of Hershey bars, so she didn’t see him either. Jeez, you should’ve seen the mess all over the factory floor. Like melted chocolate raspberry.”

Reed winced at the memory, although his low mood couldn’t last long with the way Tasha reacted to Glad-One. She snuffled at the offered crablike limb, then at the ones resting on the ground, plus his round metal shell, before she moved on to licking him frantically as though he was a gravy flavored lollipop.

He smiled lopsidedly under his mustache. She really did give his spirits a boost. He was even feeling more welcoming to Scaramouche, despite all those bug jokes and insults about his apartment. If he didn’t like it so much, he could just leave, or better yet, clean it up on his behalf. But Tasha’s wildly wagging tail and bright button eyes helped Reed to squash down these grumpy, uncharitable thoughts.

Reed turned to Scaramouche with a patient smile. “Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?”
 

Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral

We don't make mistakes just happy little accidents said:
"Your taste in men is concerning."

...Unbelievable.

Simply unbe-freakin'-lievable.

Scaramouche just stared down at his sweet n' sassy tyke at a brief loss for words, hands resting squarely upon his hips. His own kid was doin' him dirtier than Dirty Dan, and that guy was downright filthy!!

"...Sigh, I shoulda worn that condom," the android muttered, forlorn, with a gentle shake of his head.

Oh well. Too late to cry about spilled milk now. Scaramouche's glass of misery half-and-half can go perfectly with Reed's chocolate raspberry puppy dog jam on burnt buggy toast.

Now with hearty chunks of frog for a limited time, mm-mm-mm!!

The android didn't mean to laugh -- really, he didn't -- but the peculiar way their host narrated his Tail of Woe, with its plethora of unexpected twists and turns (it was the spirit of Old Man Hershey at the chocolate factory with the forklift!!), hit Scaramouche's left funny actuator like something fierce. "Wowza, talk about a ruff way to go~!" The mechanical ding-dong tittered like a chipmunk and did so behind the comfort of his own hand. "Hon hon hon~!! Guess you can now say she's restin' in pup-peroni, eh, Reedster~?" ...Not that it did very much to suppress the awful ruckus tumbling out of his gaping mouth.

Asthma? What asthma?

He didn't even know her; the same was doubly true for her more well-to-do cousin, Madame Sensitivity. "Ahh... if only I had my spare sax," the android sighed, his shoulders still rocked by the minute tremblors of laughter quaking in his throat. A fond, wistful note slipped through the cracks -- and not just the ones between his many uncanny teeth. "The melancholic tone in your voice... The oppressive stink of death sticks waftin' throughout the air... The way my spirits plummet whenever I take one ill-advised peep at this dreary, cluttered mess of a dump..." Oops! Another robo-boner for the pile. He again chortled, shameless always, but Scaramouche at least had the decency to look Reed in the eye while brazenly insulting the man's living quarters. It was a tic that seemed to run in the family...

"I mean, hey, this place is an anxiety pit and has Type-A Personality written aaaaaall over it," the android grinned, finally working his way to the gist of what was assuredly one long, overly-drawn out backhanded compliment, "but that's just part of its quirky charm! ...And also, ehe, coronary heart disease, but who gives a Dixie toot about that, huh~?" Pumping blood organs were overrated, anyway. Cnidarians were all the latest rage. "Noir, baby, noir," the android purred. "And you, Reed, got that style down to a jazzy 'T'."

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?”

...Oh.

Oh, that was, ah, v... v-very nice...?

At first, the chatterbox didn't know how to respond, let alone react to Reed's sudden hospitality. A drink? Gentlemen? Had the man suddenly bruised his melon when none of them were looking...? Scaramouche tilted his head to the side, much like a curious bird with a new shiny, and eyeballed their gracious host with those wide, childlike peepers. "W-Well, I mean, i... i-if you're, um, o-o-off-f-feriiiiiiiiin'...?" he croaked. Ugh! That frog in his vocalizer was quickly growing old...

In lieu of using Reed's plunger, Scaramouche cleared it with a gruff -- Ahem!! -- and no longer grappled with the fact that over twenty rules of robo-organic conduct had just been violated, existential dread melting away into a warm, meek smile.

A real one.

"That is to say, sure, baby! I'd absolutely love a drink, please and thank you," the android nodded, trying very, very hard not to come off strong. Please don't let history repeat... Please, please don't let it repeat... ! "Whatever you got, we're not picky! Ain't that right, One-One~!? What do we say?"

Wow, a drink...

And from Max-fuckin'-Reed.

If anyone heard a low, mechanical thrumming, it was most definitely not emanating from yours truly.


(( Not gonna lie, I thought more about what happened to Reed's first Golden in a film noir setting than I should have. I'll never look at Hershey bars the same way ever again!! :eek:))
 
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One-One

Infinity Train
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160
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"...Sigh, I shoulda worn that condom,"

"A wot?"

"Heeey... Don't be mean to me." Two very different reactions to the same joke; confusion and sadness. Sad-One briefly flirted with the idea of shooting back a retort. Likely something involving 'tattling to mommy'! But even the sassy half of One-One knew when he had been beat. He huffed and turned away to mumble to himself. "Didn't even give birth to me or anything... chuh... so rude..."

"Ooh! How important are they? Is it 'job' stuff?" One-One crept closer, tilting as if attempting to read the papers in Max's hands. What was it the man did again? Computer stuff? Something involving the alphabet for some reason? He wasn't entirely sure, but he questioned the need for so many slips of paper! Alas, they had been laid to rest on Max's desk, and he knew better than to snoop.

"She died?! Oh no!" Briefly distressed by this news, One-One's front nubs came to 'grab' at himself as if grasping cheeks he didn't possess! And the optimistic half's horror only increased as Max Reed further explained the story behind his first pooch! Oh, the twists, the turns! The drama! The suspense! Just when he thought he knew what had happened to the poor doggo, Max threw in another banger of a detail! To think, that poor dog absent mindedly eating chocolate only to be crushed by a forklift! His metaphorical heart went to the man. "I'm so sorry to hear about that, Mr. Max! Her three years may not have been much, but I believe they were the best she could have asked for!"

"Nyehehee..." Meanwhile, Sad-One joined his father in chuckling at the macabre tale. The switch from sympathy to dry chuckling was a dizzying one! And his father's terrible pun only added to the dark humor! Yes sir, these two were the robotic Beavis and Butt-Head, chortling and guffawing like a couple of morons! And the fun wasn't over yet, goodness no! "Yeah, that was a real sweet death. She went out with a bang. She came to a... sticky end." It wasn't often that his funny bone was tickled, but Reed's doggy tale managed to do the trick!

"Are you about done?!" His other half chimed in with an admonishing tone.

"No, I've got a few more..."

"Honestly... I can't believe you two!" With a sniff, Glad-One turned to face his father with narrowed optics. "Making fun of his poor dead poochie and now you're joking about his messy home? That's rude. You're being mean daddy. As are, er... me? Y-you...?" He tentatively pointed at himself, confused about how to address...well, himself! The sphere abruptly popped into two equal parts, and Glad-One shifted to appropriately pointing at his other half.

"Calm down, calm down... we're not laughing at Reed and his dog, right pops?" He briefly glanced at his father for confirmation before turning to address their host. "Your story was just unexpected. It was dark, cruel, and ironic. And that happens to be my sense of humor. Pops' too, by the sounds of it." Upon being given a nudge by Glad-One, the depressed half momentarily grumbled before shifting on his nubs like a chastened child. "But, uh... sorry."

"That's better!" The optimistic half brightened up immediately, his optic quirking upward. His good mood only brightened at the attention lavished upon him by Tasha, who sniffed and licked at him eagerly. The bugger let out a small squeal of a laugh, giggling as she went to town! "Ehehehee...~! I like you too! Are you a good girl? Are you a good girl? Yeah~! Yeah you are~!" He cooed and giggled to her, reaching up with a nub to rub at her fuzzy neck.

While Glad-One was busy having fun with Tasha, Sad-One toddled over to his father like a lethargic crab. Scaramouche's reaction to the rather simple offer of a drink didn't go unnoticed, though he gracefully decided not to comment. Nor did he say anything about the gentle vibrations or the soft delicate noises emanating from the other robot. No matter how much he teased him about his tastes, he couldn't deny that seeing his father happy was... nice. Looks like Tasha wasn't the only one who was easy to please! "Yeah, I could go for anything. And uh, I guess we say... pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"And thank you kindly~!"
 
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Max Reed

The Guyver
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He performed a mental double take. What kind of freaking doormat was he offering to play host after two of the robots had chuckled at the tragic story of his beloved first dog’s death? Scaramouche’s terrible dog puns and apartment insults cut especially deep. His apartment wouldn’t look so good either if he spent twenty-five hours a day working on cases.

Reed considered telling ‘em that he was sick of their rudeness and wanted all three of ‘em to leave, but Scaramouche was so tall... And broad... And he had many, many teeth… Maybe Reed could lie to 'em instead? Claim he’d just remembered he was all out of refreshments? Would they like to try the apartment down the hallway?

But Scaramouche and Sad-One’s gratitude disarmed him, and he found himself blinking at them in slow confusion. Seriously? They were that thrilled over a drink? They acted as though he’d offered to replace their metal compartments with twenty-four karat gold. He didn't have the heart to try and get rid of them now.

Reed huffed out a sigh, then stumped over to the kitchen portion of the room. He caught a hint of a faint, industrial thrumming sound, which he figured was from the construction work down the street. They were setting up a new garbage dump or sewage treatment plant or public toilet. Something that smelt way worse than his apartment, anyway.

He glanced through his stark, half empty cupboards to check what he had left. “I got coffee and tea. Milk. Orange juice, store brand cola and, ooh, tap water. Name your poison, gentlemen.”

Jeez, he could really use a beer to help him deal with these three, but alcohol was a luxury he could not afford at the moment. He just scraped by purchasing his five packets of cigarettes a day week.

Reed rolled open a drawer next to the sink and discovered an open bag of plain tortilla chips and a sticky jar of salsa dip. He wondered if the robots’ heads would explode if he offered ‘em snacks on top of the drinks. Kill ‘em with kindness, right?

He pulled out the chips and salsa dip, which revealed the heavily muscled, cat sized rat crouched behind them. A thin white scar spiked down its face like a stylized lightning bolt, closing one eye and winding down its long snout. Patches of leathery flesh peeked out among its thinning wiry black pelt. It gripped the base of the drawer with yellowed talons and left little gouge marks in the wood.

The rat bared its toothpick-like teeth, let out a hissing shriek and flung itself at one of his knees.

Crap!” Reed cried, stumbling back from the hurtling mass of muscle and disease.
 

Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral

"Didn't even give birth to me or anything... chuh... so rude..."

Well someone thought himself a sweet sassy molassy.

"Hey!! Don't back-sass your old man," Scaramouche warned in that oh-so-stern fatherly tone, "or else I'm gonna make ya walk fifteen miles to the lil' robo-orphanage barefoot, uphill, both ways!" Builds character! He wiggled his finger 'menacingly' and stuck it all up in Sad-One's crotchety grill, digging around for Fool's Gold. "And I'm not bein' mean to you," the taller machine defended himself, huffing and puffing like a certain chimney stack with a bristly mustache. "I'm just bein' a dad! That's just what dads do, right, Reedster?" For reasons bordering dangerously on the obvious, neither of Reed's esteemed (haha!) guests understood the finer intricacies of organic family structure. Scaramouche, for instance, simply parroted what he saw on T.V. and took shows like 'Leave it to Beaver' and 'Malcolm in the Middle' as the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. As for that adorable little pain in the ass known as One-One?

"Whoa...! Lookit all these mums!"

"[...] bouncing mums, aren't they wonderful?"

...It was, uh, painfully clear the scatterbrained dodo 'bot came from a single-parent household.

Yeah, back to Reed.

At least he wasn't rocking an Oedipus Complex.

“I got coffee and tea. Milk. Orange juice..."

Aw... This guy must've been the nicest, most thoughtful human companion they've ever --

" -- store brand cola -- "

Trash. He was TRASH!!

Back to One-One.

"Yeah! I'm not laughin' at Reed's dead dog. What d'ya take me for, pumpkin, a soulless psychopath!?" Glad-One might as well have forklift-mashed Scaramouche's Scarapooche, because that android's clockwork derriere was tyrannosaurus rekt and he was going to make damn certain the whole world knew it. "And if I was bein' a mean daddy to Reed," Scaramouche cried, rattling his sabre, "then I'd at least hope he has the common decency to pay me for it!!" Oh ho ho...

Christmas came early and he gave Reed a sheepish lil' grin, all pretty and wrapped up nicely with a silk bow, before wisely switching conversational gears. "A-Anyway, your other half's right on the trolley. That story had so many twists and turns, kid, I thought I was listenin' to M. Night Shama-llama-ding-d -- !"


Scaramouche had heard of 'saved by the bell', but he had never heard of 'saved by the 'rat'.

A horrid scuffle came from Reed's kitchen -- a clash of the Blackhaven Titans! -- and wherever there was mayhem of epic proportions...

"Quick, One-One!" the android heroically thundered, rattling his sabre yet again. "Our human is in danger! We must come to his aid, as dutiful stewards of the human race! ALLONS-Y!!" While there was nothing noble about his impish grin, or in the way he cackled at Reed's perilous expense, Scaramouche nonetheless galloped across the man's living room -- whimsically, as expected -- and hopped heels-first into the thick of the fray.

And by that, he stopped just short of being of any actual assistance, choosing instead to linger/stoop beneath the kitchen doorway.

"En garde, you craven fie -- oh, sweet jumpin' Jehoshaphat, baby, that's a really big critter!!" Scaramouche nearly banged his head against the doorframe from pure shock alone. But no, he must hold fast! For Reed! For justice! For not getting kicked out of Reed's heart apartment!! Emboldened by the power of friendship (and fear), the mechanical nimrod whipped the pointy business end of his blade at their chittering foe and snapped into a proper battle stance. "Harbinger of Filth!" he shouted, "You have gnawed your last wire, spilled your last piddles and poopers! One-One, my affable bugaboo!! Activate First Law protocols, GO!"

...
...
...

But... nothing had happened.

"Aww..." A crestfallen Scaramouche lowered his fanciful weapon and looked as if the wind had been forcibly wrenched from his gallant sails. "You too, huh...?" He glanced down at One-One, frown as deep as the sky was blue. "I must've binned that worthless junk while makin' room for my Gossip Girl marathon!" It was a trade he'd make in a nanosecond, if given another chance. "Oh well~!" the robot happily chirped. "It was fun while it lasted, and I just remembered that I have a few episodes left!"

His optics then drifted to Reed, as if recalling that, yes, the man was in danger. "Now, call me crazy, babe," Scaramouche grinned, smacking his lips, "but I think you have a rat problem."

And that was no good.

"Alas! If only I had a weapon..." he sighed, resting his obviously-not-a-sabre-sabre back between his shoulder frames. Why, that a cheeky sonuva -- !! "In lieu of being unarmed, however...~" -- the stupid buffoon even laughed at his own joke -- "I'm gonna use the next best thing~!" And it was then, without warning, that Scaramouche kicked up his own son like the rumbly-grumbly football he was and pulled back his arm with a raspy crank.

"One-One!" he yelled. "I choose you!! Tail Whip that ugly squeaker!"

The rat didn't know what hit it as a shrieking white ball of death clocked its face at 160kph.

THWACK!!
 
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One-One

Infinity Train
The Ball of Mixed Emotions
Posts
160
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Definitely somewhere strange!
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He/Him
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"Hey!! Don't back-sass your old man, or else I'm gonna make ya walk fifteen miles to the lil' robo-orphanage barefoot, uphill, both ways!"


Optic narrowing at that long and slender digit, Sad-One huffed and nudged at it with a nub. "Pops, I have to back-sass, it's how I live my life. If you make me march to an orphanage, I'll come back to you, singing 'It's a hard-knock life from dusk 'til dawn. Think you can survive, old man?" Just imagine it, Scaramouche; the dull and monotonous voice of Sad-One singing songs from Annie for the rest of your life. Now that would build some character!

"If you say so, I'll take your word for it!" The optimistic half of One-One puffed up, as if smug about this level of trust he was giving to his father. See, he was being a good boy whereas his twin was being a naughty naughty Mcnaughterson! "Aside from you, I don't exactly have any 'dad' experience..."

"Mm, I dunno pops, you did threaten me. That's kinda mean. Innit, Mr. Reed?" Hey, if daddy could pull that poor man into this little squabble, than surely Sad-One could do the same! The small robot turned in place like a globe, his dour gaze now settling upon the man. Who's side were you gonna take, eh?

Wowie, listen to those drink selections! A veritable gourmet service, this was! Both halves hemmed and hawed, Sad-One eventually shrugging as his twin called out. "I want the OJ, gimme the OJ, pretty pretty please~!" He giggled briefly and turned to the taller robot. "Are you going to have an OJ too, daddy?" Scaramouche's one track mind had kicked in, not even answering back about a drinky-poo as he instead laser focused on his son and sought to correct him. The optimistic ding dong blinked before he let out a drawn out gasp. "Oh! You, a psychopath?! Never!" Nubs wriggling anxiously, his optic turned downward. "Oh daddy, I'm sorry. I just want to make sure we have a lovely visit with our friend! You're not a baddie. You're a goodie. ...And definitely not Mr. Max's daddy." That last part came out in something of a huff. The very thought! And why would the man pay daddy for that...? He switched gears rather quickly as well, giving an excited little bounce! "Oh, I love M Night Shacka-lacka-dingle-dongle movies!"

Alas! M Night Shassle-frassle-lack-a-smack-a-ding-a-lingle would have to wait! Chaos in the kitchen, perhaps a burgular had stormed in through the man's kitchen window, now holding him at knife point! How lucky for Max that his best pals in the world were here to save him! While daddy's long legs carried him like a graceful antelope across the Serengeti of Max's living room, both halves of One-One toddled over as fast as their crablike legs could carry them after snapping back into one sphere! By the time they had reached the doorframe, daddy had already spotted the culprit! And oof-da, what a specimen he was. "Oh, Mr. Max! I didn't know you had another doggy! Oh, what a good boy he is! Rather... scruffy, though! He must have been half price!"

While daddy was armed with his oversized letter opener, One-One was armed with his... arms. "My wot? First law who?" Both optics blinked up at their father questioningly. That phrase drew an utter blank, not even a hint of recollection in his blank gaze. He tapped the bottom of his shell with a nub, turning thoughtful. "Iiiis the first law... do unto others, as you would do to their brothers?" Yet another one of those times where daddy was acting very strange... He even put away his big ol' butterknife! "Oh, but daddy...!" Alley-oop! With the moves of a soccer player, daddy balanced him upon a toe and kicked him up into the air! Letting out a soft whee, his nubs wriggled as he was sent barreling through the air like a baseball special! "Thundershock, ho!"

THWACK!!

Despite the speed at which he had flown, and the force with which One-One slammed into that rat, the little robot seemed no worse for wear! Durable little bugaboo, he was! Nubs popping back out of his body with a soft click, One-One gave his opponent a nudge. The ugly doggy had been rendered unconscious by the blow, yet another victim of the ever powerful thundershock! He could almost envision the anime spiral eyes and the big ol' throbbing bump on his fuzzy cranium! "Now let that be a lesson to you, my friend. Mr. Max is not to be harmed! He's a good man, and you're not his doggy!" Funny, their little fuzzy friend was certainly having himself quite the powernap! And goodness, was that a bit of jam dribbling from an ear? "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" He nudged the furry critter again.

"...I think he's dead."
 

Max Reed

The Guyver
Posts
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Zoanoid
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Investigator
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Reed lurched out of the way of the scarred, steroidal rat, which crashed into the base of the fridge and left behind a big dent. The collision failed to slow it down and it came lunging back at him, its spindly peg-teeth gleaming in the light.

Damn! Reed wished he had his gun on him, but he always left it in his bedside table when he was in his apartment. It’d never occurred to him that he would one day get attacked in his own freaking kitchen.

Tasha skittered up to him and barked at the rat, her lips drawn back to reveal sharp, meat tearing teeth. The rat skidded to a stop three feet from the weathered toes of his shoes.

Relief and gratitude welled up inside him, warm and bright like sunshine after a storm. Tasha had saved him! He was more grateful than ever that he’d adopted dog. First thing tomorrow, he was gonna head down to the nearest pet shop and buy every squeaky bone in-

The rat reared up on its muscular hind legs and let out a shrill hissing shriek, which sent Tasha yelping and wailing and diving under the kitchen table. She screwed herself up into a tiny gold ball, cowering and trembling like a leaf in the renewed attack of the storm.

Well… Crap.

Scaramouche crouched in the doorway, but was as much fricking use as racing stripes on a snail shell. He frolicked and wisecracked and screwed around as Reed dashed back and forth, chased by the screeching and snapping rat.

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering who the heck had programmed Scaramouche this way. Convicted murderers on death row? Criminally insane patients in a mental hospital? Aliens from an alternative galaxy? That last one was nowhere near as unbelievable as it had been before that whole crazy Guyver case.

Or maybe an intelligent, respectable person had made him, and his craziness was the result of melted wires or corroded computer chips.

Reed was forced to retract some of those unkind speculations when Scaramouche reverse-punted One-One and he smashed into the rat’s gaunt, marred face. There was a wet crunch of impact, then the rat jerked still.

Phew,” Reed gasped, slumping down into a wobbly wooden chair at the table. “Um, One-One. That wasn’t a dog. That was a freaking rat and the biggest one I’ve ever seen in here.” His eyes widened and he added in a low, sheepish voice. “The first one I’ve seen in here, I mean.”

Close one. Heh, heh, heh…

Tasha crept out of her hiding spot and unfurled her bushy tail from between her legs. She padded over to One-One, who she attempted to pick up in her mouth and carry over to Scaramouche to drop at his feet. Now that was what you called a Retriever.

Reed would’ve smiled at the display, except he was internally scowling and groaning at the prospect of having to dispose of a dead rat. The thought of coming into physical contact with it turned his stomach. Irrationally, he imagined that was enough to get him infected with its diseases. Then again, he guessed that was kinda hypocritical and unfair of him, since he was half cockroach.

He huffed out a sigh, pinched up the limp rat by its fat wormlike tail and stumped over to the nearest window. Reed hauled it open and flung out the stubby corpse.

With that out of the way, he turned back to the two (sometimes three) robots. “I guess I owe you guys a thanks, so, uh, th-”

A heavy crash thundered up to the open window, which was followed by the shrill shriek of brakes, the nasally blare of a horn and more crashes. Somebody let out a piercing scream.

Reed flinched away from the window and hurried back to the kitchen. “So how about those OJs, gentlemen! You want salsa dip and tortilla chips, too?”

He was just gonna pretend that didn’t happen. Heck, could he pretend his whole life hadn’t happened?
 

Scaramouche

Samurai Jack
The Assassin with the Sassin'
Posts
135
Location
anywhere the wind blows
Species
Android
Height
8'
Occupation
"Problem" Solver
Alignment
Chaotic Neutral
"Hey!! Who're ya callin' old?"

Not even ten minutes ago... said:
"Hey!! Don't back-sass your old man."

Irrelevant!! The young bytes of today needed to show proper respect to their wizened, slightly-cheaper-and-more-fussy predecessors.

Juvenile insolence was met with an elderly palm to the optic (haha, One-One's face go 'brrrrr'!), but Scaramouche surprisingly let Sad-One off the hook without the patented melodramatic bluster. It was probably because there was now a dead rodent of unusual size smackdab in Reed's cozy rat's nest cocina; the longer the android acknowledged its horrible existence, the more he felt his wires curl into hangman's knots.

Unlike a certain man-bug who may or may not have felt right at home in filth and squalor -- roaches and rats were practically roommates, right? -- Scaramouche liked to think he had a lil' thing called standards.

His taste in others didn't count.

“Um, One-One. That wasn’t a dog. That was a freaking rat and the biggest one I’ve ever seen in here.”

Dot.
Dot.
Dot.

“The first one I’ve seen in here, I mean.”

Ladies and vermin, the robot rests his case.

He took one quick look at Reed's fraidy cat dog, his ancient processors a'whirring, and blasély rested his cyan peepers onto the man himself. If ever there was a more damning pause, it was this one. "...Uh-huh. Sure, babe. Whateeeeeeever you say," the android remarked, his teensy-weensy smile trying not to die right there on the vine. (What, forced? Nooooo. Why would you think that?)

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"

Splik!

...Oh, his mother was so gonna have his turkey neck for this.

"O-One-One! One-One, peanut!" Scaramouche called out to his darling PITA, the taller machine now sounding legitimately concerned (it was tough running on yesteryear's hardware, you know?). "Don't - Don't touch him anymore, 'kay~?" he urged with a shaky grin. "J-Just come back over here to Daddy and let Señor Rattito enjoy his siesta, hm~? Look!! Reed's gettin' that OJ you wanted!" Thank the stars Tasha came to the rescue and already knew what to do; of the four, sometimes five persons in the room, the genial pooch easily had her head screwed on the straightest. (Suppose the android could invest in a good wrench, but...)

For her efforts, the very good girl earned more than a lion's share of affectionate head pats and chin rubs, and Scaramouche himself wasted no expense trilling her name to the highest of heavens. "Why thank you, Tashaaaa~! Was that a meeeean ol' rat? Huh, was it~?" he sweetly lilted. "Whatever Reed is payin' ya, it is clearly not enough." ...Say, was that a messy eighteen car pileup he heard, or had Reed actually expressed a little gratitude for once?

"Gasp!! A drink and a snack~?" The jazzy nuisance feigned shock, even hammed up the performance by pressing an aghast hand to his mouth, but ultimately couldn't refrain from blowing the grouchy part-time roach a delicate -- mwah~! -- kiss the moment he caught Reed's eye. "Ooh-la-la, you're really rollin' out the red carpet for us, baby~!" he teased and he tittered. Regret, thy name was Max Reed!

Scaramouche took mercy upon the poor guy, though, cutting his silly act short.

"Yeah, babe! A glass of OJ and some chip n' dip sounds fabulous, please and thank you!" he smiled. No dazzling pearly whites this time, you lucky duck! "The kid needs to dip his feet into different cuisine, anyway."

...Ah! That's what the mechanical buffoon had forgotten.

No sooner had Scaramouche accepted Reed's hospitality, he just as quickly gestured to the man's sink and implored for a pinch more kindness. He was pushing his luck, he knew, and the petite frown on the android's face said as much. Still, he had to try!! "I, ah, hate to trouble you some more, babe, especially since you're given us the royal treatment, but..." Perhaps this was a favor best explained with more of an... illustrative flair.

The robot scooped an unsuspecting One-One into his monstrously large hands and presented the giggling black-and-white sphere before Reed to better inspect, squirming nubs and all. (Kind of like the larva of some grotesque insect, honestly...)

There, on the lovable goober's butt-butt, was a noticeably bright and gigantic patch of ratberry jam.

And the unhygienic culprit of why Scaramouche appeared mildly distraught.

"But," he winced, trying his best not to sound hopeful, "wouldja mind terribly, babe, if I washed my lil' tater tot in your sink? I'll be done in a jiff, promise! It's just, y'know..." Scaramouche gestured to his hot n' cold brat and gave a light shrug, his demeanor woefully void of the usual braggadocio. Nevertheless, he still managed a modest, if not uncertain, smile. "If he goes home to his mother like this," the robot explained, "she'll chop me up into soda cans and use my head as a tacky planter." Scaramouche rolled his optics at that last bit; as much as pixels and a glass display could feasibly allow. "I wish I was jokin'..." he sighed. "Dame really loves horticulture, but she can't grow anythin' worth a damn besides a nasty thorn in my butt! Hmph... I'm allergic to pollen, anyway."

He'll let Reed figure out whether or not the statement was true -- or if spending the processing power was even worth the bother.​
 
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One-One

Infinity Train
The Ball of Mixed Emotions
Posts
160
Location
Definitely somewhere strange!
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He/Him
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Robot
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None Whatsoever!
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Neutral Good
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"Mm, old rusty bucket says 'what'?' Sad-One managed to squeak out, teardrop shaped optic peeking between two of Scaramouche's fingers as he waited to see if the other robot would take the bait. How could he possibly resist?! The allure, it beckons thee...!

“Um, One-One. That wasn’t a dog. That was a freaking rat and the biggest one I’ve ever seen in here. The first one I’ve seen in here, I mean.”

"Mhm." Came the doubtful hum of a cynic.

"Oh, I see! He must have been trying to fix us a meal in the kitchen! How nice of you to offer, Mr. Rat-Pa-Tootie, but you must ask first!" Came the gleeful imagination of a childish goober. He would have given the squeaker a little patty-pat-pat, but the combined efforts of daddy and Tasha kept One-One from touching the rodent carcass any further. He giggled from between the dog's jaws, his form no worse for wear despite Tasha's slobber and sharp teeth. "You've got it, daddy!" He saluted to his father, stern as could be despite a stray giggle here or there. "I will let our rat friend take a fiesta!"

As his father showered Tasha with affection, One-One joined in by rolling into her fluff and rubbing his nubs into every itchy spot he could find! "Good girl, Tasha! Good giiiirl~! You saved us, yes you did!" Of course, she didn't actually do anything to help with the rat, but hey. Who could deny that sweet, slobbery face love and attention?! It also provided the perfect distraction from Reed's, ahem, disposal of their little friend. One-One was none the wiser, only turning to face the man when addressed. "Ooh, Mr. Max! OJ and chips and dip?! Why, you're practically spoiling us~!" Much like his father, the sphere shaped robot tittered and wiggled about as if their friend had bestowed upon him a great gift! It was quite clear that these goobers weren't used to receiving things from others.

"Chips and dip? Hm...Could be worth trying, I guess." Sad-One had no rebuttals to the treat. He just hoped the dip wasn't, like, tobacco dip... "Whoop..." He let out a soft sound of deadpan alarm as daddy scooped One-One up oh-so-easily. Captured between those large hands, he could do little else but squirm and wriggle his nubs about in his best impersonation of a centipede.

"Bath time already, daddy? Ooh, but we don't have Mr. Squeaker with us!" Oblivious to the reason behind this bath, his optics instead focused up at Scaramouche's face. "I can take a bath without him, I'll just have to talk to him when we get home and explain it is nothing personal!" The rubber ducky would, ultimately, understand!

"If I'm the tater tot, does that make you julienne fries?" The depressed half was a little quicker on the draw, however, blinking his optics as he began to ponder why daddy suddenly needed to give him a bath... and why mommy would have such a cow about it? "Oh, did I roll into a Tasha tootsie roll? Figures, the perfect metaphor for my life." Yep yep yep, good ole mum would definitely turn daddy into a 12 pack case of sodie pop if'n her munchkin came home a dirty boy! His optics rolled along the black band of his body to center perfectly (almost uncannily) on Max's face. "The stench of failure can't be scrubbed from my body, but I'd be grateful if you would let us borrow your sink. Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top."
 

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