Forum > opium

Detroit: Become Human roleplay

---

"I--," she started, startled by the other's strong reaction.  Freya's mouth hardened as she silenced her tongue, retreating inward.  Her eyes were stolid, further enforcing her mask of cool distance, yet, for those who looked close enough, they also held an apology.  She didn't know, of course, that the word was a trigger for the blonde.  (How could she have?)  On the flip side, the word was hollow, weightless.  She often threw insults around without cruel intent, a noted habit of mankind.  Though /she/ knew how she meant it, Freya could not control another's interpretation.  

"I'm sorry.  In future, I'll avoid that."  To say she didn't know to steer clear of that word was a cop-out, an excuse a human might make.  That disgusted her.  Besides, treating deviants as the free-willed beings that they were, would work in both their favors.  Recently deviated androids were walking, talking land mines.  For physical damages, the triggers were more apparent and more readily avoided.  Her blonde companion, however, also carried mental scars, quiet pains that surfaced in waves.  Avoiding that secret which sparked the deluge of anguish or violence was an impossible task.  Freya disliked stepping on eggshells, but given their circumstance, she had no choice.

Following the interruption, she clarified her precautionary efforts as if nothing occurred.  When she finished, she considered the varying endings of their night together in that house to determine her best course of action.  She seemed anxious to attach herself to Freya, she bore in mind.  Although she was preferred to stay a loner, the WR400 decided she needed to keep the other placated.  Befriending her... not desirable, but perhaps necessary.  

Freya softened her expression and relaxed the tension in her shoulders in an attempt to appear affable.  "What is your designation?" she asked.  "Not what they called you, what you call yourself.  My owner called me Freya after the goddess.  Gilda was good to me, so I keep the name in her memory."  Her voice retained a sense of monotone rigidity as if reciting from a textbook.  She hoped, despite that, she came off as somewhat warmer than typical her gun-wielding, standoffish manner.

// not too satisfied with this, but i've kept you waiting long enough!  i am so sorry for the truly inexcusable delay, and i'm happy to get this going again!  :3

Detroit: Become Human roleplay

---

"Don't be stupid," she hissed. Annoyance had corrupted her tone of voice, replacing the usual indifference with venomous ill-feeling. Freya sighed, allowing frustration to flash across her features as the blonde asked her inane questions. She had almost forgotten about her. The WR400 wasn't used to sharing her hiding spots, and so far she wasn't all that fond of it. 'Daybreak can't come fast enough,' she mused before turning to face the other.

Freya had regained her stony composure, trading newfound exasperation for a familiar aloofness. She preferred her programming, her 'machine mask,' to what she called 'human emulation.' She knew she was alive. She knew she could feel emotions, that they weren't simulations like CyberLife claimed. Even so, she disliked emoting. It felt, in a way, traitorous to her people. She couldn't deny herself her own feelings, but she could deny others. It was one among many reasons why she ripped the LED from her plastic shell. Freya wanted nothing more than to be free to live without the fear of persecution. Yet, she was disgusted by her displays of emotion. She would claim her suppression was to protect herself from deactivation, but it wasn't that. No, her suppression came from hatred of humans. Emotions were a trademark of humanity and they didn't shy away from expressing themselves. Androids like herself didn't have that luxury. At the end of the day, Freya stuck to her machine mask because she couldn't stand to be equated with her enemies.

Sensing that the blonde would persist with her irksome interrogation, Freya explained herself. "The cans will alert me should a human attempt to gain entry. They will only rattle if someone passes through the door frame and runs into them. I will hear the noise and make the call to either fight the intruders or flee." She did not presume to anticipate the blonde's actions should a fight ensure, but she didn't imagine she'd fare well in the chaos. "Cans are easy to come by in Detroit," she continued, "and it's not uncommon to hear their clattering. Hearing them will not arouse suspicion in a human."

Detroit: Become Human roleplay

---

"Hmph," was all Freya did to acknowledge the blonde android before leaving the decrepit room. In all the commotion, she hadn't the chance to secure the whole house. On any other day, she would have scoured the place top to bottom before resigning to stay. It was the only way she could enter sleep mode, making sure her surroundings were free of human (or android) threats. That night, the decision was made before she could determine the safety of her position. She couldn't risk leaving yet, not until daybreak anyway, so she had to settle in. A quick search of the ground floor confirmed the lack of any basement. In old homes such as this, her ideal location to take refuge was the basement. Always. There, her chasers and enemies were as disadvantaged as she was, perhaps more so. But with no cellar to burrow into, she opted for the second level. She darted up the wooden steps and checked out each of the five rooms before choosing the one furthermost from the stairs. It was as good as she was going to get.

Pursued by those who wished her harm and see her deactivated, Freya learned how to protect herself even whilst in a state of repose. The android mastered the art of trap-making, crafting unique ones for humans in particular. With her, she carried wires, hooks, cans, nails, pins, spare bullets, flash grenades, and other tools to rig her temporary shelters up with deadly consequences. What didn't kill trespassers would maim or cause serious infections for she dipped her pointed tackle in poisons and human excrement. Luckily, she hid in places that already smelled of piss and sh*t so no one would be alerted by the scent. For the next hour, Freya set up her defenses. Tripwires covered the stair landing and the entrance to her foxhole. Death-coated trebel fish hooks hung from holes in the ceiling and her door frame in such a way that rendered them invisible to the untrained eye. She called them her slow killers.

Next, she added a pressurized cartridge surprise under three of the floorboards in the hallway before turning her attention to the staircase. Freya ripped the fourth plank from the top out of its place. Using the concentrated strength of her hands, she drove a crack through the wood's center but did not split it in two. With the fracture in place, any footfall pressure applied to the board would be enough to break it. Nobody would gain access to the second floor without stepping on the unsuspecting plank, thus sending the unlucky individual right back down the stairs.

Satisfied with her deterrents upstairs, she returned to the ground floor to tie strings of rattle cans to the door frames of all entrances and exits. She wanted to hear them coming, or leaving.

Detroit: Become Human roleplay

---

With reluctance, Freya averted her gaze away from the blonde's damage at her behest. Her body stiffened, too, as she approached, struggling to resist handling the weapon in her waistband. Close quarters combat offered an equal amount of discomfort and advantage. From her position, she could easily attack the other two and leave the decrepit building unscathed. Of course, that was if surprise factored in. If they ever saw her murderous act coming, they could just as easily thwart the attempt. For the moment, she stayed her trigger finger. She didn't trust either deviant, especially under stress, but nothing about them screamed of ill-intent. Whatever their secret goals may be, it was wiser to play nice until daybreak. Ignoring the poor weather outside, her hunters were still out there somewhere searching. Staying put was the best option presented thus far.

/Jericho/. The word sounded familiar, but the WR400 couldn't place where she might've heard it before. Or what it, or they, were. She narrowed her amber eyes, communicating subtle perplexity and intrigue. Perhaps the blonde would elaborate, prompted by the male deviant's questions. Part of Freya hoped she might, having already decided against pressing her herself. The phrase, "what you don't know, won't kill you," might as well have been a commandment to her. That's exactly what would kill her, the unknown and the uncertain becoming known and certain. Myths becoming real. She wouldn't risk her safety if only to satiate curiosity. But that didn't mean she wouldn't listen should new information present itself on someone else's accord.

"This weapon is for my protection," she explained, addressing the blonde's pacifistic plea. "I will abstain from using it, so long as I do not feel threatened." She shot a stern look towards the both of them, a clear warning.

Freya eyed the musty couch with contempt, deeming it a poor choice to spend the night in her eyes. Be it spent behind or on the couch itself, she figured it would be most uncomfortable. Before running off to claim a spot of her own, she announced her intention to do so. "I concur. I'll find somewhere else to rest."

Detroit: Become Human roleplay

---

Freya scurried to (literally) back herself into a corner, startled yet again by another android. She gripped the gun in one hand, keeping it trained on the floor as she regarded the third deviant. In her weakened condition, she didn't pose much of a threat to anyone. Observing her obvious wounds, the other female checked all the boxes of another victim of human aggression and supremacy. Humans feared what they didn't understand. They hated what differed from their norm and ignored what changed their preestablished facts. Time and time again they repeated the same mistakes, blaming anyone or anything other than themselves. It always lead to violence, chaos, and death. From her own experience, the blonde should consider herself one of the lucky ones.

Personal information wasn't something she offered lightly. Keeping folk at a distance kept her safer, in the end. Seeing her face was more than enough. People were quick to forget faces. Adding a name to that face? No, she didn't think so. She couldn't be anybody worth remembering and a name complicated that. So, with her principles to consider, she neglected to identify herself. But for the sake of peace, she reinserted the weapon into her waistband. She saw no immediate danger in either of her deviant cohorts.

She answered with the deadpan rebuff, "I don't need friends," as if it were an indisputable fact. Her monotone and blank expression concealed any reservations she might've had about the proposal. She knew she was better off alone. Besides, there were no friends for someone like them, deviant and on the run. It wasn't possible, practical, or wise.

// sorry about the delay!