Posts by ROBIN, RED.

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  • DON'T GIVE UP ON ME / OPEN, JOINING

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]Okay, so, Red knows his mind isn't the soundest, but he's almost 99% certain that deer don't normally look like that. Still, he's seen plenty of strange things, and frankly, Obituary's almost normal in comparison to some of the wonderful specimens he's been faced to face with in the recent past, and though that mouth is really something special, it's not so bad. "Nice to meet you, Obituary." cheery name. He keeps his mouth shut, though, determined not to fuck up any more than he will naturally. He alone can do that — he doesn't need his words to help.


    Annoyed at the presence. Sans was protective.. over red. Or— well, Red. A name. A colour. Now, if it had been an entirely unique name, Red'd be able to understand, but.. Red? One of the most popular colours on the planet? Odd. "What a coincidence. I'd call myself Blue, but Blue Robin doesn't really work as well." there's an awkward pause. "My full name— it's Red Robin. That's two words, by the way. Pleasure, Sans." his voice slips into a monotone, an autopilot, shielding himself from any further slip-ups in an attempt to ground himself. His tongue presses down, impaling itself on his teeth. He looks away.


    It's a blur after that, Lucien making his way over, speaking in third person. "Hi, Lucien." he greets, nodding his head. The other male looks saddened, at least in the eyes — Red doesn't understand, but he gets it. It's a mutual sort of thing, though his sadness is always angrier. He likes twisting it into something funnier, most of the time. What a mess. Still, he's not quite got it in him to shrug off the next to approach — she's a child, and he's a good person, regardless of everything. He doesn't know who he is any more, nor where he's headed, but he likes to think he's got a grasp on what he is. Good. Working towards something better, hopefully. "Hey, Orbkit." he greets, forcing his lips to quirk into a plastic smile. "A tour? Sure, I'll take a tour. Do you want to show me around?"


    Falling into such an act is.. oddly easy. He's used to plastering false expressions to his features, glazing his eyes — perhaps it's why he wears the domino mask, the film over his gaze changing blue into white and rendering the gloominess invisible. It removes everything, in fact, leaving his lips and body to do the talking — and he's gotten good at that, though he can't seem to shake the tension that clings to his spine as he turns to face Joisha. "Homie?" his voice is something amused, and he widens his smile a little. "Thanks, Joisha. Nice to meet you."
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • CURSE IN REVERSE | PRIVATE

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]ShadowClan's not much of a novelty to him in the way it works, but there are things that are distinctly different. In WindClan, he wasn't likely to trip over roots and rocks, but here, it seems as if he has to watch his step. Not that he minds — he can hop from boulder to boulder or leap over vines if need be, and he's only tripped over once, which is a success, in his eyes. Though this place is strange, and though it doesn't click, he's adjusting. Slowly. It's going to be a long process, but if he can stand to stay here long enough, he reckons he'll be able to do it.


    He's not tired. Or— he is, but he can't sleep, and that's nothing new. He's accustomed to staying up well past what counts as a normal time to hit the hay, and so he heads out for a walk. Walking clears his head, though he's been doing it a lot lately — his mind's a cluttered one, hectic and as unhealthy as his eating habits (dogs aren't meant to survive two weeks on nothing more than discarded pizza, but look at him now — he did it, and he's as.. skinny as he's ever been. Okay, so no, he isn't the greatest when it comes to taking care of himself physically, but hey — he got to eat pizza for two solid weeks. Who's the loser here, really?), and though in WindClan, he never felt like he was allowed to take strolls simply for his own benefit, as a newcomer in ShadowClan, he feels as if maybe he ought to try.


    It's by chance that he happens upon Bellona, who, at a glance, looks like she's mulling over something. "Uh, hey." he stops nearby, looking over at her with whited-out eyes. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • DON'T GIVE UP ON ME / OPEN, JOINING

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]Ah, another one. He doesn't excel at dealing with children much younger than him, but Paintedkit seems to be of a pretty similar age — even so, their mentalities appear to be miles apart. He blames that on recent events, and hopes, vaguely, that she doesn't lose that cheeriness so quickly. "Hey, Paintedkit. The, uh, the more the merrier, right? I'm going to need all the help I can get." he doesn't mind having two of them show him around, he supposes — and they appear to be friends. The hopefully-constant nattering of the duo should easily push his own thoughts to the back of his mind, and whilst that's selfish motivation, it is, nonetheless, motivation. That's better than nothing, is it not?


    He turns his head as Gordon speaks — Robin? He loathes using his full title as it is, for some reason, but hearing her ask to omit the colour just because another male seems to want to claim it all for himself is ridiculous. He's not paid enough to deal with such trivialities, he swears, but he can't be bothered to argue his case. "I never go by Robin — but I guess it's better than not having a name," it's the lousiest attempt at a joke he's ever made, and he knows it. ".. That was terrible. I don't mind being called Robin, though. It's.. it's fine." he nods. "Nice to meet you, Gordon."
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • THE NEW NEW NEW SHADOWCLAN SHIPPING/CHAT THREAD

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]hello!
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • THE NEW NEW NEW SHADOWCLAN SHIPPING/CHAT THREAD

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]/gently pats goochi
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • AFRAID OF HEIGHTS / OPEN, MEET AND GREET

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]It's come to his attention that he doesn't know anybody in ShadowClan, really. It's a group of strangers — and that's unhealthy for someone like him. It isn't that he's not used to working alone, but he does so much better when he has someone to look to. He's a hollow shell of a creature, really, gaping maws-worth of empty spaces opening up within his core, and he suffers a constant feeling of incompleteness; he needs people to fill up the holes that have appeared within his heart, sealing the voids so that he may feel normal and steady again. For someone only just crawling into apprentice-hood, he feels awfully aged. It seems like years ago that he was a kid kid. Even by WindClan, he carried an odd, haunted look in his eyes. That "I'm fine" stare he'd perfected even back then, something he still blames on that determination. Does he still have that now, though? Will he get back up if someone knocks him down, no matter how persistent they are? Will he continue to struggle to his feet, even when his limbs are barely able to support his weight?


    He's fuelled by love, as messed up as that is. Love and the belief that he can get better, somehow. There's something still beating within him, a small flame that won't be put out, not yet. It's why he's still moving, even as the plates in his spine click and ache when he shifts his weight and forces himself to walk, forces himself out of bed even when he doesn't want that. He hurts. He hurts all over, and dragging himself to his feet is horrific, but he does it all the same. It's what he's been doing for weeks, and though his paws feel bruised for some reason, and though his back's not feeling up to it, he traipses through camp to a semi-secluded area, sucking on his tongue as he settles himself down with a quiet huff of effort. "Meet and greet?" the collie calls, twisting his ankles absentmindedly and glancing about.
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • CRITICALLY COLD [✧] TESTING + STORAGE

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]I need to update this guy's tags a little. And finish the preparations for the Stage 2 tags. Seeing as 2 is bitter but far less unstable, it should be.. okay to transition into it? He can get comfortable in ShadowClan and just. Idk. Reaffirm himself and how he feels, and then brush over into 2. That's how it happened in the SI, anyway.
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • CRITICALLY COLD [✧] TESTING + STORAGE

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]minor changes??
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/27
    ✧ — updated 09/27

  • CURSE IN REVERSE | PRIVATE

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]That's something they both have in common, that ability to hurriedly adapt to any new situation, though his isn't a survival mechanism so much as a lack of real knowledge of who he is. He has no real structure to his form, amorphous and ever-changing, malleable and able to fit himself into which ever mould is desired — even so, he retains a melancholic air about him, though one wrapped in layers and layers of something else, so that it's warped, indistinguishable, vague. Being someone who lived in WindClan for half his life — God, really? It felt like aeons, but the evidence is etched into the time line, and it- Jesus. He winces — he's used to the open moors, yes, but that doesn't mean he can't settle into the undergrowth. It just means that he's harder to spot. That's.. not a bad thing, in his mind, truly.


    As someone who can't remember the old habits of anywhere other then the clans, Red feels as if he's nobody. He has no traditions to speak of, really, and as much as he hates to say it, the memories of his family — his real, biological family — are fading. He sits here, a pretender who can't remember his mother's laugh. His father's voice. The way they moved, or the way his old home smelled, or, or— little things like that. Things he thought he'd never forget, things he can hardly recall, now. But if those memories are disappearing, then what does he have left? Who even is he? What if, say, he starts forgetting WindClan? What if he forgets the things that have happened to him? Will he return to normal, or will he become nothing more than a walking corpse, the living dead, a mindless zombie with nothing to call his own? At this point, he thinks, can he even say?


    Don't think about it. Leave those thoughts behind. Focus on what's important.


    Like, for example, the kid staring at him, responding in the sort of way he'd probably respond to a question like his own, and then getting a good look at him, focusing on his eyes and returning an inquiry of her own. Are his eyes always like that? His expression shifts to something thoughtful, and then he shrugs. "Only if the mask's on." they're blue underneath, but she hasn't asked to see, and the mask grants him a strange sense of security. "I'm Red, though apparently, there's another Red in town, so people have taking to calling me Robin." he shifts, offers a winningly plastic smile. "What's your name?"
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/27
    ✧ — updated 09/27

  • CRITICALLY COLD [✧] TESTING + STORAGE

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]wip stage 2 tags. i'm having difficulty summing up his traits lmao.
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/25
    ✧ — updated 09/25

  • AFRAID OF HEIGHTS / OPEN, MEET AND GREET

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]It's emotional exhaustion as much as physical pain, but Red won't say that aloud — he's a silent sufferer until it comes to people he trusts, and even then, it's only at breaking point that he'll open his mouth and make even the vaguest of hints at how ridiculously low he feels, both in body and in spirit. He has no inner god lurking and pushing him to do things, nothing more than his splintered conscience and that fire, though it's more a tea light than a raging inferno, now. The defiant blue of his eyes has been masked by the white film, the set of his jaw softer and far less determined — in fact, he's worn, old at six months old. How many people can say that? Not many, he assumes — most people are usually given a period of rest before the world comes falling down around them, though that's not to say he has it worst. He knows he's technically supposed to be grateful that he had hope in the first place, or.. whatever. But slaves that are born into slavery are the luckiest, for they know nothing of freedom, and so know not what they have lost. He's no slave to any person, but to himself, his body, he often feels like a prisoner.


    The collie clears his throat, heart thudding once with vigour as Omorose approaches, and he wonders what it's all about, given only a split-second to ponder before the strange canine is speaking. "Red.. Robin." adding the latter part still feels weird, but on recalling Sans' features and the way they twisted at just Red, he figures it's better to just play the part of someone who doesn't care, even if Robin was given to him by people whose faces, even in memory, make him squirm. It is who he is — he can't hope to change that, not now, and besides, he can deal with it. What's in a name? He could quote Juliet to give him self-confidence, but he'd rather just brush off his own sensitivities. That's simpler. "It's.. different to WindClan, but I like it. A little tangled, though." he smiles wryly, leaves it at that.


    Obituary's a familiar face — how can he not be? He's an iconic figure, and Red's certain he'll never forget the imposing creature, not now, nor ever. It's a sight that'll be forever ingrained on his mind, that of the strange mutant — though not in a bad way. "Hey, Obituary." he greets, the informality sticking to his tongue, but he spits it out anyway, managing a brief nod. His back throbs in response, and he tries to work out how a brief tip of the head could be connected to metal plates at the bottom of his spine, but decides that it's a waste of brain power. There are more important things to focus on — like keeping his composure. Luckily, the arrival of the two kids (kids. Paintedkit's a month younger than him, nothing more) is enough to distract him, and he turns towards the both of them — they seem genuinely happy to see him, and that's.. weird. He could get used to it, but still, it's.. odd.


    "Hey, Paintedkit, Orbkit. I remember you both." this time, the informality comes a little easier, and he nods. "Are you both okay?"
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/27
    ✧ — updated 09/27

  • LOSE YOUR SOUL / OPEN, JOINING

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]Nervous. If there was ever a word to fit Red's inner state, it would have to be that one. Perhaps messy would suit just as well, but he's so often on the edge that messiness seems positive, at this stage. To the outsider, somebody who hasn't known him since the beginning, it's easy to pass that off as something regular, something normal, considering how many people are damaged, pieces of them broken off and crushed underfoot — but Red's nervousness doesn't stem from abuse alone, not entirely. Maybe it's because he's not had a single friend, really, since the death of his parents. Maybe it's because the only person he considered getting close to was Dark, and then Dark was swallowed up by Win, who is the universally-accepted better version of a kid he actually appreciated.


    ShadowClan's the sort of place he can get lost in, snagging on roots, and he's thought, more than once, that it resembles his brain — whenever he gets like this, his inner monologue is particularly sharp and snarky, a dry breeze that leaves him feeling empty. Still, he gets a kick out of that sort of thing, making ridiculous jokes that aren't actually jokes if just for the sake of his own, masochistic amusement. After all, when his options are reduced to self-deprecating comments and screaming until his lungs are stripped of their layers, there isn't much he can do to retain an outward appearance of sanity other than twist his lips into a bitter smile and deal with what's thrown at him in the only way he knows how. When he's alone, he's dangerous, and most often to himself. A lack of friends has broken him.


    But a familiar voice carries more hope than he'd expected, one that halts him, changes his path, pushes him in a nigh-blind stumble to where a group of his new clan-mates have gathered around a familiar face, whited-out eyes widening behind the crimson mask, and for a while, he just stares, because if this is coincidence, it's awfully.. coincidental. ".. Dark?" It's the kid who somehow drew a grin without actually doing anything, the kid who disappeared but then reappeared, different but the same, the same but different, and— "Fancy seeing you here. Following me?" there's a half-smile in that, lips lifting tiredly against his will, his tone light with dimmed mirth, because he genuinely doesn't know. He's just glad to see him.
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/27
    ✧ — updated 09/27

  • CRITICALLY COLD [✧] TESTING + STORAGE

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px;text-align:center;font-family:impact;line-height:15pt;letter-spacing:0px;font-size:17pt;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #fff;][b]YOUR FRIENDS WILL ALWAYS JUST BE IN YOUR WAY
    TRUST ME, THEY'LL DIE OR LEAVE YOU, EITHER WAY[/fancypost]


    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px;text-align:center;font-family:impact;line-height:15pt;letter-spacing:1px;font-size:17pt;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #fff;][b]YOU ALL SAY I'VE CROSSED A LINE —–—
    BUT THE SAD FACT IS I'VE LOST MY MIND[/fancypost]


    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px;text-align:center;font-family:impact;line-height:15pt;letter-spacing:0px;font-size:20pt;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #fff;]LEAVE ME, MY HEART IS DEAD FOR ALL TO SEE[/fancypost]


    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px;text-align:center;font-family:impact;line-height:15pt;letter-spacing:0px;font-size:17pt;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #fff;]ALL I WANT IS TO BE LEFT ALONE ——–——
    TACT FROM ME IS LIKE BLOOD FROM A STON[color=#F80A0A]E    [/fancypost]

  • LOSE YOUR SOUL / OPEN, JOINING

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]That's the one thing that Red perhaps has over Darkpaw — the knowledge that he's not going to disappear into someone else, though then again, he can't guarantee that he's not going to disappear, because he doesn't know where they are, and he doesn't know if this is real. Aside from the pain — a pain he's felt both in dreams and in what he believes is the waking world, so can't rely on to distinguish reality from his own delusions — he's had unusually.. mediocre fortune since finding his own footing and chasing after freedom, a fortune littered with the occasional burst of good luck, small instances in which he feels almost loved by circumstance. Red doesn't believe in a god, nor does he believe in fate, not really, but chance is a part of life, and some of these opportunities have ended in unusual positivity. He's waiting for this unnatural bliss to come to a halt, the pain to cripple him or for the one person he cares about to die. He keeps cropping up, anyway, and Red's afraid it's going to lead to something worse. He's alone, yes, but Dark makes that less so. He fears the solitude'll swallow him whole if he loses him, too. He can't take that.


    Dark isn't Win. Dark will never be Win, for their experiences will be different, and they'll never meet in the middle, never find a point of identicalness. For him, that's only a good thing. Win's something that Red doesn't want to think about on a daily; he was.. there, but he wasn't enough, never was enough, preoccupied with other people, and Red, being Red, was too hesitant, unable to drag himself out of his habits of wallowing in silence, suffering without speaking. He's still like that, to an extent, but there are moments of weakness, lapsing into open rifts, and he doesn't resent that like he used to. He's the very definition of a forced loner; he could talk to people if he wanted, but he's been distanced because of circumstance, and he doesn't like that — he wants to change that, but damn it, he isn't sure how he's meant to make that work. Magic, perhaps. An innate ability to juggle love and loss, compartmentalising when necessary but opening up when he can, the sort of ability he has yet to discover, but must have, because all takable paths in his life lead to ends that require him to possess this skill. He has to practice his balancing act.


    He says nothing as Dark focuses his energy on a point just above his head, but perks half-folded ears, waiting for a reply that doesn't look as if it's about to come, not at first, and when it does, it's a mess. "No. Maybe?" It had been a joke, the quip concerning Dark essentially stalking him, and he hadn't expected a reply to hold any sort of seriousness, but this one does, in a way, and it's awkward enough to see him clear his throat nervously, an uncomfortable sort of itching settling itself in his chest. "Yeah." that banishes it, oddly enough, and the collie shrugs one shoulder, maintaining that smile, though it softens a touch, losing its manufactured edge. "You're following me? I'll make sure I don't go anywhere too dangerous." only partly hearing Raspbel, he nods at Dark's explanation, expression still somewhat relaxed; it's easy for him, pressing up against the flimsy glass, so long as the glass is still there — he fumbles when it's removed, and he's still working on smashing it himself, because one day, he vows, he'll participate in the act of not standing on the opposite side of a barrier; he can do that, can he not? He can have a friend that isn't untouchable. He can do that. He can.
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/27
    ✧ — updated 09/27

  • plots + threads with red?

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]this is kinda rushed, so heads up I've missed playing Red regularly, so I need to get him out and about, hence this thread. Most of the information I have on him is in his tags below, I think?? So there's that, if you wanna know anything. I just need him to make connections with people, whether in open or private threads. He's open to most things except death/torture/rape/capture/etc, and love/litters, but I'm fine with anything else! He does need some friends/people to cuddle, though, because he feels pretty down at the moment and needs to start trusting people so that I can push him into the next phase of his personality, which is far healthier than this one.


    I'm happy for open threads, semi-open threads, private threads, uh. Short, long, AUs,, anything, really? I honestly don't mind. I can do anything, really. + if you're starved for ideas, here's a prompt generator?? The results are always fun. ^^,
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/27
    ✧ — updated 09/27

  • CRITICALLY COLD [✧] TESTING + STORAGE

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4]a quick check,,
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/29
    ✧ — updated 09/29

  • We take over the night (open joining) and we dance

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10.5px;line-height:1.4][this is. a terrible post. i'm sorry]


    "Who's this?" he asks, but even as he says it, he's glancing at the letters scratched into the ground. Silentsteel — an apt name, considering the male doesn't seem capable of speaking. "Silentsteel? Welcome; I'm Red Robin. Just.." he can't ask him to call him anything, but expecting him to write the entire moniker is.. ridiculous. ".. write RR instead of the full thing, or something."
    [hr]

    ✧ — updated 09/29
    ✧ — updated 09/29