HK-47 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sloshing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-08-15 08:09 pm
sloshing) wrote in thecapitol2014-08-15 08:09 pm
Entry tags:
[open] if my anatomy had a chat with me,
Who| HK-47 and YOU
What| Panem doesn't confuse him, his new equipment does. Manual dexterity fails. Food is weird, taste is weirder. Clothes are constricting. Why are the soles of feet so sensitive and fragile? The complaints could go on forever.
Where| Tribute tower: D10 floor, Training center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Body dysphoria. Will update as necessary.
D10 Floor
His body and mind are not fully synced up yet, present in the very slow crawl out of sleep mode in the morning. He's wrapped in a warm feeling, almost uncomfortably, so and he throws the blanket over him off. The cool air that touches his skin shocks him awake almost immediately. Hands on the bed, he shoves himself upright too quickly for his equilibrium to handle.
Good morning, and welcome to headacheland, HK-47.
Rudely awakened, he tries to blink away the stinging from his eyes (he'd rather have his optical sensors again, but he'd also rather have everything else from head to toe of his former chassis again). He's having a hard time that meatbags actually enjoy their existences so far, because the whole experience has been annoying, inconvenient, and varying forms if discomfort.
He moves to stand up, feet touching the carpet of his room. Feet are lifted off the floor. Nerves. High sensitivity on bottom of feet. He'd worn his socks and shoes all day yesterday, up to the moments before retiring for the evening. He was familiar with the usual concentration of nerve endings to certain areas of the body but he wasn't familiar with how that felt until now. He sets his feet back on the floor again and stands, taking in the small dip in the plushness of the carpet as his center of gravity moves.
With only a basic understanding that clothing is required to appear in public spaces and no sense of fashion, he just grabs whatever from his closet and dresses himself. There a bit of struggle with figuring out what goes where, dexterity rolls are failed, but eventually he's clothed in a manner that he gathers is acceptable and carries himself out to the kitchen. Overcompensating for the fluidity of movement that he's still unaccustomed to, his movements are very rigid.
His feet land on the cold tile and he stops. Completely still, he just stands there, staring at the counter and passing over who else might be there in the kitchen/dining area with little actual acknowledgement of their presence. Cold. He doesn't know how to cook. Cold. He doesn't know what's edible. Cold. He skipped eating last night so by logic he should eat now. Cold.
"Quandary: How am I supposed to live this way? How do meatbags do it?"
1. Comprehensive and literal answer.
2. [Light Side] Comprehensive and well-intentioned advice.
3. [Dark Side] Point and laugh.
4. Ignore and carry on with your own business.
What| Panem doesn't confuse him, his new equipment does. Manual dexterity fails. Food is weird, taste is weirder. Clothes are constricting. Why are the soles of feet so sensitive and fragile? The complaints could go on forever.
Where| Tribute tower: D10 floor, Training center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Body dysphoria. Will update as necessary.
D10 Floor
His body and mind are not fully synced up yet, present in the very slow crawl out of sleep mode in the morning. He's wrapped in a warm feeling, almost uncomfortably, so and he throws the blanket over him off. The cool air that touches his skin shocks him awake almost immediately. Hands on the bed, he shoves himself upright too quickly for his equilibrium to handle.
Good morning, and welcome to headacheland, HK-47.
Rudely awakened, he tries to blink away the stinging from his eyes (he'd rather have his optical sensors again, but he'd also rather have everything else from head to toe of his former chassis again). He's having a hard time that meatbags actually enjoy their existences so far, because the whole experience has been annoying, inconvenient, and varying forms if discomfort.
He moves to stand up, feet touching the carpet of his room. Feet are lifted off the floor. Nerves. High sensitivity on bottom of feet. He'd worn his socks and shoes all day yesterday, up to the moments before retiring for the evening. He was familiar with the usual concentration of nerve endings to certain areas of the body but he wasn't familiar with how that felt until now. He sets his feet back on the floor again and stands, taking in the small dip in the plushness of the carpet as his center of gravity moves.
With only a basic understanding that clothing is required to appear in public spaces and no sense of fashion, he just grabs whatever from his closet and dresses himself. There a bit of struggle with figuring out what goes where, dexterity rolls are failed, but eventually he's clothed in a manner that he gathers is acceptable and carries himself out to the kitchen. Overcompensating for the fluidity of movement that he's still unaccustomed to, his movements are very rigid.
His feet land on the cold tile and he stops. Completely still, he just stands there, staring at the counter and passing over who else might be there in the kitchen/dining area with little actual acknowledgement of their presence. Cold. He doesn't know how to cook. Cold. He doesn't know what's edible. Cold. He skipped eating last night so by logic he should eat now. Cold.
"Quandary: How am I supposed to live this way? How do meatbags do it?"
1. Comprehensive and literal answer.
2. [Light Side] Comprehensive and well-intentioned advice.
3. [Dark Side] Point and laugh.
4. Ignore and carry on with your own business.
no subject
This is, admittedly, largely because a generally quadrupedal stance puts one's shoulders in a somewhat different place than otherwise. True, Iskierka is generally aware of the human habit of using one another to help offer a bit of balance, but even with her being so much smaller than she is usually, it's still a strange thing.
Of course, her shoulders are at a decent height for such things, given that she's stands about as tall as your average horse, at the shoulder, but that doesn't make her any more familiar with the idea. And then there's the fact that her shoulders - and indeed most of her back - are covered with spines. Most don't look terribly sharp, but they're likely enough to prove uncomfortable for any sort of shoulder lending that might end up happening.
no subject
"Statement: I..." Iskeirka was not a Krayt Dragon, that he could tell, but he certainly looked like one, and this didn't help with his rage of his current physical predicament, and envy of those who had kept their unique physical traits.
But for now he was still mostly surprised, and yes, also reconsidering his initial request because of all those spines.
"...would have to agree with you on that," he finishes after some pause. The blood rushing to his head was really starting to get to him.
no subject
"Could you not pull yourself back up?"
It seems the most reasonable way to solve the problem, at any rate. How successful it'll be, she can't say, but then again, she's not the one hanging upside down.
no subject
Maybe he could just... reach some of the rope that is further down on the rope net, he could ease his way down...
Unfortunately, this plan does not work in his favor and he falls to the ground beside Iskierka. It's a learning experience, all the pain stimuli he receives from that, not a pleasant one but he acknowledges the vitality of such experiences.
"Redundancy: Made it," he states, voice strained as he lays there for a minute to gather his bearings.
no subject
"Yes, but it looks as if it has been ever so inconvenient."