Phi
oh baby baby it’s a wild world
Hey there, come in, come in. Take a seat. Get comfy.
I go by Phi, they/them, European time zone. I'm in my early thirties and am about to move to a new city. RP has been a love of mine since Neopets, and it has always been a comfort when I'm feeling a little lonely or bored. So here I am!
I love to OOC, gush over our characters, and just chat / make friends too. As for writing: I tend to go for quality over quantity, both in the writing and in the ideas behind it, but my responses average at least 3-4 paragraphs and can get kinda long if I'm feeling it. My favorite part of writing is character development, exploring a character’s psyche and watching them open up to others. I’m into creating new societies, inventing backdrops and bystanders, and in general plotting like crazy. The only thing I’m not into is historical-political world-building, but may be open to it (maybe!). I just never paid attention in history class…
As for pairings, I loovee a good slow burn, organic-feeling FxF pairing, and strong femme and nb characters in general, but I also like to double and will play dudes on the side if I feel like it. Platonic pairings also interest me, if there's some sort of love (family love, strong friendship, even enemies that go through something that bonds them). I'm not in it for smut and don't write that much or well. My dream partner is someone who’s in it for the long-term, or at least will be consistent and not drop it without chatting about it, who’s maybe also a bit chatty on the side. On site or Discord is fine for me.
Okay, after all that, here are some plot ideas I have. I should say, I LOVE original plots, things I haven’t heard before, things that are not whatever x whatever but story lines with potential, so if you have some, please please please let me know. They probably exceed my own creativity. I have a couple of characters whose stories kind of died before they got going, so I'll share those here as well as some ideas I have (warning, long):
Ideas:
Cute characters who never really got their chance:
Nell (they/them), my favorite little doll. nb/f only with this one, they're super gay. The setting could be a sort of Last of Us dystopia, and I imagine Nell running into your character randomly, and somehow being taken under their wing. Nell is searching for Ailynn, a character you'll learn more about as we go. And they're not doing well. Also some gender themes in this one.
Here's a brother and sister character in a Norwegian seaside town. Something that could be cool here would be if your character were a harpie or a siren. Maybe both siblings would fall in love with her... Or we could go a more realistic route, and imagine some other members of the town, and have them go out in search of some treasure..
Dystopian, two worlds collide, my character from an underground communal society, yours from a nature-based / tribal type of thing maybe?
Or another original idea: Inspired by Becky Chambers books (really good, you should read them) – Outer space consists of different planets/species/cultures as well as spacers who live on ships of all sizes, from moderate 10-person vessels to huge orbiters containing whole societies. Your character somehow ends up on a planet that has not yet been colonized by interstellar law, something of an outpost for those who don’t want to be part of the bureaucracy and law. There, they meet my character, who has been living on the barren, dusty planet for some time and made a little living for themselves there, maybe as a tinkerer, or maybe in a more steampunk, programmer/tech way. We could figure all that out!
Maybe I'll come up with some more and post them here, but please also let me know what you're thinking!
I go by Phi, they/them, European time zone. I'm in my early thirties and am about to move to a new city. RP has been a love of mine since Neopets, and it has always been a comfort when I'm feeling a little lonely or bored. So here I am!
I love to OOC, gush over our characters, and just chat / make friends too. As for writing: I tend to go for quality over quantity, both in the writing and in the ideas behind it, but my responses average at least 3-4 paragraphs and can get kinda long if I'm feeling it. My favorite part of writing is character development, exploring a character’s psyche and watching them open up to others. I’m into creating new societies, inventing backdrops and bystanders, and in general plotting like crazy. The only thing I’m not into is historical-political world-building, but may be open to it (maybe!). I just never paid attention in history class…
As for pairings, I loovee a good slow burn, organic-feeling FxF pairing, and strong femme and nb characters in general, but I also like to double and will play dudes on the side if I feel like it. Platonic pairings also interest me, if there's some sort of love (family love, strong friendship, even enemies that go through something that bonds them). I'm not in it for smut and don't write that much or well. My dream partner is someone who’s in it for the long-term, or at least will be consistent and not drop it without chatting about it, who’s maybe also a bit chatty on the side. On site or Discord is fine for me.
Okay, after all that, here are some plot ideas I have. I should say, I LOVE original plots, things I haven’t heard before, things that are not whatever x whatever but story lines with potential, so if you have some, please please please let me know. They probably exceed my own creativity. I have a couple of characters whose stories kind of died before they got going, so I'll share those here as well as some ideas I have (warning, long):
Ideas:
- Dystopian setting of some sort where my character (Nell, below) is searching for something important and runs into your character on the road
- Mermaid/harpy x human (see seaside vibes below) with some other interesting plot ideas
- Underground society meets up with either like flying or nature-related above-ground society (last idea on my list below)
- Any sort of two worlds colliding type of a thing. I like to play characters who are hard on their luck / struggling / kinda sad mostly
- Up for other things too, and will update this list as I brainstorm more, but try me!
Cute characters who never really got their chance:
Nell (they/them), my favorite little doll. nb/f only with this one, they're super gay. The setting could be a sort of Last of Us dystopia, and I imagine Nell running into your character randomly, and somehow being taken under their wing. Nell is searching for Ailynn, a character you'll learn more about as we go. And they're not doing well. Also some gender themes in this one.
It hadn’t always been this way. There were moments dancing on the edge of their memory in which there had been a warm place to sleep, familiar voices in the next room over, people who knew their entire history, had watched them grow up. Once, they had belonged somewhere. There was one single place to call home, a mentor that would guide them in their craft, there was conversation over a warm bowl of stew. There was a tiny, warm body, a weight that they could carry around on her hip, a little being that loved them unconditionally.
Nowadays, they had little time to reflect on those memories, as their needs were much more pressing. Like now, digging around in the wastebins outside of a bar, looking for something that might be salvageable, whether it be raw materials, a large piece of wood from discarded furniture, or something that still looked safe to eat. Over the past several months (or was it years?), Nell had lost a lot of weight, their dark leather jacket and scuffed but sturdy workpants hanging loosely over their shrinking frame. Dark circles under their grey-blue eyes revealed that they had started to become rather sickly, seemingly picking up every illness they came across and getting sick on the rare occasions they had a thick and greasy meal.
How she looked, or felt for that matter, had become merely a side concern for Nelson, who had been spurred on by adrenaline in what seemed to be a useless search for months now. In their quietest moments, they knew that the search they was on was not only a waste of time but also likely to lead to a quiet, unknown demise on a cold winter night, and maybe that’s exactly why someone had gone through the trouble of tracking them down to deliver the news to her in the first place. Maybe Ailynn was in no danger at all, but Nell knew that they had to try, no matter the cost. There was no alternative.
Finding a slightly stale but otherwise perfectly good roll, Nell let the weight of their body and their oversized canvas pack rest against the cold stone wall on the back side of the bar, slipping carefully down to a seat. It wasn’t until they took the break that she realized that their fingers were trembling. Slowly, they ate, running their spare hand through their white blonde hair, now several inches long after they had unceremoniously chopped it off several months ago, tired of the appraising stares of men everywhere they went. Now, when people stared, their eyes were more full of pity, but Nell could handle that a bit better. And honestly, theyliked the look, the row of metal rings through their eyebrow and upper ears, the cropped off hair, and the desperation in their eyes that had faded to more of a “try me, I dare you”.
Once, life had been easy, warm, and familiar. Now, Nell ran on adrenaline, and stopping too long, thinking too hard, would zap the last bit of strength from them. And that they couldn’t risk. Not now.
Nowadays, they had little time to reflect on those memories, as their needs were much more pressing. Like now, digging around in the wastebins outside of a bar, looking for something that might be salvageable, whether it be raw materials, a large piece of wood from discarded furniture, or something that still looked safe to eat. Over the past several months (or was it years?), Nell had lost a lot of weight, their dark leather jacket and scuffed but sturdy workpants hanging loosely over their shrinking frame. Dark circles under their grey-blue eyes revealed that they had started to become rather sickly, seemingly picking up every illness they came across and getting sick on the rare occasions they had a thick and greasy meal.
How she looked, or felt for that matter, had become merely a side concern for Nelson, who had been spurred on by adrenaline in what seemed to be a useless search for months now. In their quietest moments, they knew that the search they was on was not only a waste of time but also likely to lead to a quiet, unknown demise on a cold winter night, and maybe that’s exactly why someone had gone through the trouble of tracking them down to deliver the news to her in the first place. Maybe Ailynn was in no danger at all, but Nell knew that they had to try, no matter the cost. There was no alternative.
Finding a slightly stale but otherwise perfectly good roll, Nell let the weight of their body and their oversized canvas pack rest against the cold stone wall on the back side of the bar, slipping carefully down to a seat. It wasn’t until they took the break that she realized that their fingers were trembling. Slowly, they ate, running their spare hand through their white blonde hair, now several inches long after they had unceremoniously chopped it off several months ago, tired of the appraising stares of men everywhere they went. Now, when people stared, their eyes were more full of pity, but Nell could handle that a bit better. And honestly, theyliked the look, the row of metal rings through their eyebrow and upper ears, the cropped off hair, and the desperation in their eyes that had faded to more of a “try me, I dare you”.
Once, life had been easy, warm, and familiar. Now, Nell ran on adrenaline, and stopping too long, thinking too hard, would zap the last bit of strength from them. And that they couldn’t risk. Not now.
Here's a brother and sister character in a Norwegian seaside town. Something that could be cool here would be if your character were a harpie or a siren. Maybe both siblings would fall in love with her... Or we could go a more realistic route, and imagine some other members of the town, and have them go out in search of some treasure..
Einar. The name he was given at birth and the destiny he seemed to carry since that very day: one who walks alone. As if it were an honor to be so thoroughly different to those around you that you were doomed to always be either one step ahead or one step behind the others. The weight of this destiny hung heavy around his neck, pulling his shoulders into a rounded hunch as he outgrew his childish body too young, growing taller and more muscular than his peers in a body that felt like a garish costume. His name proved to be a curse Einar could never quite shake and at some point, he stopped trying entirely.
Thrudur, born when Einar was still a small child, took to her name in quite the same way, with quite the opposite effect. Power and strength, daughter of Thor fit her like a glove. The growth spurt passed over her, leaving her delicate in comparison to her brother, but she was all muscle and grit inside and out. Ever since they were kids, she had a history of greatness, competing in swimming races every summer, helping neighbors sew fields and pull in hauls from the sea, and never complaining even when the hours were long or the cold rains rolled in. Even after working from sun-up to sundown, Thrudur could be counted on to drink profusely, be the last to leave a gathering, and generally be the warm-hearted center of attention at feasts.
Einar rather preferred his solitude. He had never been the strongest nor most talented child, and he spent most of his life suffocating under his father’s expectations for his firstborn son. His pure size and the propensity of his body towards strength spared him some of his father’s most scathing critiques, but he never felt comfortable in his life, never feeling as if he was where he belonged or who he was supposed to be. Despite his imposing looks, he stumbled often, dropped or crushed things by accident, and was generally clumsy in his body.
But at least one thing he could do with grace. Any moment he could manage to get away, Einar would walk to the edge of the small sprawl of the coastal village, following a snaking path ground by his own footsteps up into the rocky cliffs that overlooked his hometown. The path was steep and rocky, and it didn’t lead to anywhere anyone wanted to go. There, he knew, no one would disturb him. And it was there he did his best work.
Page after page he had filled with this same scene, the same square miles of coastline, the same swirling depths. Charcoal was his preferred medium, as it was easy to come across; he had learned which twigs to feed to the fire to produce the perfect blend of softness, the darkest darks. Some days, the waters were peaceful, like a never-ending piece of glass. Others, the waves were capped in a heavy foam, resentful and dangerous, throwing themselves against the cliffside. By now, he could draw all these scenes by heart, knew exactly how to wipe at the page with the sleeve of his tunic to portray the thickest froth.
There were probably a few who knew of Einar’s folly, but no one dared mention it, not even his usually fearless little sister. Thrudur would never admit she was worried about her brother but she could acknowledge the swirling shame that blossomed in her stomach when she heard him slip out of the house again, and knew where he was going. Such a selfish folly, when they had to ration candle wax in the long, dark days of winter when the shallows were frozen solid and their neighbors shivered in their beds. Being a fisher was a source of pride to her – it was hard work, and dangerous at that, but it was honest, and everyone in their family as far back as their father could remember had been fishers here, in this town. Almost everyone they knew was the same, the men, women and even the children too, and nearly every home had at least one solid wooden boat pulled up into the garden.
The honor of living on this particular island, following a traditional way of life was passed down to Thrudur from their father. His aging eyes and weak step were a constant reminder to her that someone had to step up. Clearly, it wouldn’t be her brother. Maybe that’s why she decided to say something that morning, sitting in the pre-dawn haze in the kitchen around a skinny candle, eating a piece of coarsely ground brown bread with salted herring, when her brother suddenly pushed in the front door with a gust of icy wind. Or maybe she was just annoyed about her meager hours of sleep she had achieved the night before and the hangover pressing on the sides of her skull.
“Where have you been?”
The question stopped Einar dead, the cold morning wind causing the candle to flicker on the table. It’s a question he’s been waiting for, but also thought would never come, a delicate truce unexpectedly broken. A lie he’d hoped he’d never have to tell.
“Oh god, stop standing there like an idiot. You know I know… And shut the damn door before your father freezes to death in his bed.” Thrudur hardly looked up from her bread.
Sheepishly, Einar let the door close heavily behind him. His arm was pressed tight to his jacket, supporting the bound notebook pressed between his tunic and the wind-breaking leather. When he spoke, his voice sounded much softer and smaller than one would expect from a man who towered over six feet, with a muscled upper body pressing against his tunic in defined bulges, a man with a curly orange beard already streaked with tinges of white.
Thrudur shook her head impatiently, casting a silent shame in her brother’s direction in a way only family can. With the last bite of her breakfast, she wiped crumbs down the sides of her overalls and pushed the chair back loudly across the floor. Destiny was a fickle thing, but why try to skirt the inevitable? Einar came into this world to walk it alone, and he would walk it alone for the rest of his days. Always either a step ahead or a step behind, and often, he wasn’t sure which.
Thrudur, born when Einar was still a small child, took to her name in quite the same way, with quite the opposite effect. Power and strength, daughter of Thor fit her like a glove. The growth spurt passed over her, leaving her delicate in comparison to her brother, but she was all muscle and grit inside and out. Ever since they were kids, she had a history of greatness, competing in swimming races every summer, helping neighbors sew fields and pull in hauls from the sea, and never complaining even when the hours were long or the cold rains rolled in. Even after working from sun-up to sundown, Thrudur could be counted on to drink profusely, be the last to leave a gathering, and generally be the warm-hearted center of attention at feasts.
Einar rather preferred his solitude. He had never been the strongest nor most talented child, and he spent most of his life suffocating under his father’s expectations for his firstborn son. His pure size and the propensity of his body towards strength spared him some of his father’s most scathing critiques, but he never felt comfortable in his life, never feeling as if he was where he belonged or who he was supposed to be. Despite his imposing looks, he stumbled often, dropped or crushed things by accident, and was generally clumsy in his body.
But at least one thing he could do with grace. Any moment he could manage to get away, Einar would walk to the edge of the small sprawl of the coastal village, following a snaking path ground by his own footsteps up into the rocky cliffs that overlooked his hometown. The path was steep and rocky, and it didn’t lead to anywhere anyone wanted to go. There, he knew, no one would disturb him. And it was there he did his best work.
Page after page he had filled with this same scene, the same square miles of coastline, the same swirling depths. Charcoal was his preferred medium, as it was easy to come across; he had learned which twigs to feed to the fire to produce the perfect blend of softness, the darkest darks. Some days, the waters were peaceful, like a never-ending piece of glass. Others, the waves were capped in a heavy foam, resentful and dangerous, throwing themselves against the cliffside. By now, he could draw all these scenes by heart, knew exactly how to wipe at the page with the sleeve of his tunic to portray the thickest froth.
There were probably a few who knew of Einar’s folly, but no one dared mention it, not even his usually fearless little sister. Thrudur would never admit she was worried about her brother but she could acknowledge the swirling shame that blossomed in her stomach when she heard him slip out of the house again, and knew where he was going. Such a selfish folly, when they had to ration candle wax in the long, dark days of winter when the shallows were frozen solid and their neighbors shivered in their beds. Being a fisher was a source of pride to her – it was hard work, and dangerous at that, but it was honest, and everyone in their family as far back as their father could remember had been fishers here, in this town. Almost everyone they knew was the same, the men, women and even the children too, and nearly every home had at least one solid wooden boat pulled up into the garden.
The honor of living on this particular island, following a traditional way of life was passed down to Thrudur from their father. His aging eyes and weak step were a constant reminder to her that someone had to step up. Clearly, it wouldn’t be her brother. Maybe that’s why she decided to say something that morning, sitting in the pre-dawn haze in the kitchen around a skinny candle, eating a piece of coarsely ground brown bread with salted herring, when her brother suddenly pushed in the front door with a gust of icy wind. Or maybe she was just annoyed about her meager hours of sleep she had achieved the night before and the hangover pressing on the sides of her skull.
“Where have you been?”
The question stopped Einar dead, the cold morning wind causing the candle to flicker on the table. It’s a question he’s been waiting for, but also thought would never come, a delicate truce unexpectedly broken. A lie he’d hoped he’d never have to tell.
“Oh god, stop standing there like an idiot. You know I know… And shut the damn door before your father freezes to death in his bed.” Thrudur hardly looked up from her bread.
Sheepishly, Einar let the door close heavily behind him. His arm was pressed tight to his jacket, supporting the bound notebook pressed between his tunic and the wind-breaking leather. When he spoke, his voice sounded much softer and smaller than one would expect from a man who towered over six feet, with a muscled upper body pressing against his tunic in defined bulges, a man with a curly orange beard already streaked with tinges of white.
Thrudur shook her head impatiently, casting a silent shame in her brother’s direction in a way only family can. With the last bite of her breakfast, she wiped crumbs down the sides of her overalls and pushed the chair back loudly across the floor. Destiny was a fickle thing, but why try to skirt the inevitable? Einar came into this world to walk it alone, and he would walk it alone for the rest of his days. Always either a step ahead or a step behind, and often, he wasn’t sure which.
Dystopian, two worlds collide, my character from an underground communal society, yours from a nature-based / tribal type of thing maybe?
Original idea: In this plot, two totally different societies collide, or at least, two individuals do, though their families and friends at home think it’s a horrible idea / would react badly if they ever found out about their secret. My character lives in an underground bunker of sorts, that is huge, spanning hundreds of rooms connected with hallways, all made of metal and stone and built into a huge rocky cliff. Everyone inside this hive lives in the same schedule: bells ring to announce communal meal times, everyone’s workdays start at the same times, lights-out is as predictable as sunrise. My character is a welder in this society, and likes the work, but is slowly growing more and more bored of this caged-in existence – until they get slop duty, and bringing the tash outside, catch a glimpse outside the high walls that surround the enclosure. They see your character, and are immediately fascinated – either your character is a different humanoid species or a different culture or tribe. I could imagine this as like some beautiful, tribal sort of character, who lives totally in touch with nature, a stark contrast to my character’s underground world. Or I could imagine a race of angel-like humans with huge wings flying in the sky. In any case, my character’s community is not going to like seeing them, and might even injure them if they come too close. Again, lots of room for plotting, I have a character in mind that is female/could also be enbie and think fxf would be super cute, but my character could maybe be made male, too.
----
A violent tug on the arm, a sharp push, some indiscriminate shouting… copper-brown skin rubs dark, muddy eyes, blinking into the artificial din of the low-ceilinged room. The woman grunts, but it does little to stop the insistent bothering. “Fuck Jace, easy man, you’re gonna scare a girl half to death”, the thick-built girl mutters, clearly not scared half to death as she pulls the rough wool blanket up to her chin and turns over to face the wall.
“Come on Terris, really, you’ve got to get up, the bell will be ringing any second now”, Jace replies in his high-pitched voice, absolutely dripping with anxiety that matches the over-adrenalinized blue eyes. “You know what Clellan said last time, if you’re late again…” The boy seems to nearly jump from foot to foot with nervous energy.
“…it’s slop duty for three weeks this time, I know, I know,” comes the muttering from the bunk, the girl’s wide and tattooed shoulders sighing visibly. “Go on, I’m coming.” But she doesn’t rise until the skinny boy has scurried out of the room. In fact, she doesn’t rise for quite some time, but rather accidentally drifts back off to sleep, pulled back under by the warmth of the bed and the headache pounding behind her temples from the night that went on just a little too long last night.
It wasn’t until the high-pitched shrill of the warning bell pierced the room that Terris regretted hurrying Jace off. Cursing, she sat straight up, suddenly very awake, and jumped out of bed, pulling one leg into the thick navy jumpsuit hanging over the edge of the bed, and then the other, hopping as she pulled them up, tucking her arms into the sleeves and zipping the long zipper along the front. Hurriedly, she tied heavy black work boots that had seen better days and grabbing a black canvas sack from where it had been discarded at the end of the iron bedframe, half-ran out the door.
From the small cave-like bedroom with space enough for just her and Jace’s beds, she made her way into a main room with a worn sofa and fireplace, from which she could see into the empty rooms of the other bunkies that shared this pod. They were all gone off to work by now, but maybe she’d make it before the second bell still. In any case, she’d have to go without breakfast, and she hated going without breakfast.
Hurrying down the hallways, she narrowly avoided a collision with a full cart of dirty breakfast dishes as she simultaneously tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes and run a hand through her thick dark hair, which was a mix of dreadlocks and braids, adorned will all manner of copper and steel bobbles and rings. The girl had rough features, nothing dainty about her from her nose to the width of her shoulders to the way she lumbered down the hallway on muscular thighs and thick bootsoles, brushing partially against the stone-hewn, narrow hallways of the Hive, or the bunker, as she thought of it.
The second workbell rang as she was only steps from the welding workshop, and she cursed loudly again, prompting a prudish shushing from a child-minder walking around the corner holding the hand of a toddler. She nodded her head apologetically before opening the door to the blast of warm air, the nervous pale face of Jace dressed already in his welding gear, and her very agitated-looking boss, Clellan.
“I know, I know, slop duty for three weeks this time,” she muttered, dropping her bag loudly against her workbench, and slipping on the thick leather glpves and the welding mask that waited where she had left them yesterday. Clellan sighed loudly, and so began another day in this clockwork life.
Terris liked welding, she really did, the impervious coldness of metal taking color and warmth and fluidity, the ability to create new things that were strong, dependable. But mostly, she fused sheet metals, repaired the metallic parts of the Hive that stuck out from the cool stone of the mountain side, and went around fixing furniture for the residents from time to time. There was little art and a lot of monotony, the rhythmic nature of days that repeated themselves without end. No weekends and never an end to the work. No fresh air, no adventure, no beauty, just more of the same wherever she looked. The Hive was supposed to keep them safe, but at what cost? Was it really worth safety for more of the same, moment after moment, for more of the soul-crushing boredom not even a stiff drink could alleviate?
So what if she had slop duty? At least it was something to do when her shift ended, some new level of misery to add something to her life. But no breakfast, that part just sucked.
----
A violent tug on the arm, a sharp push, some indiscriminate shouting… copper-brown skin rubs dark, muddy eyes, blinking into the artificial din of the low-ceilinged room. The woman grunts, but it does little to stop the insistent bothering. “Fuck Jace, easy man, you’re gonna scare a girl half to death”, the thick-built girl mutters, clearly not scared half to death as she pulls the rough wool blanket up to her chin and turns over to face the wall.
“Come on Terris, really, you’ve got to get up, the bell will be ringing any second now”, Jace replies in his high-pitched voice, absolutely dripping with anxiety that matches the over-adrenalinized blue eyes. “You know what Clellan said last time, if you’re late again…” The boy seems to nearly jump from foot to foot with nervous energy.
“…it’s slop duty for three weeks this time, I know, I know,” comes the muttering from the bunk, the girl’s wide and tattooed shoulders sighing visibly. “Go on, I’m coming.” But she doesn’t rise until the skinny boy has scurried out of the room. In fact, she doesn’t rise for quite some time, but rather accidentally drifts back off to sleep, pulled back under by the warmth of the bed and the headache pounding behind her temples from the night that went on just a little too long last night.
It wasn’t until the high-pitched shrill of the warning bell pierced the room that Terris regretted hurrying Jace off. Cursing, she sat straight up, suddenly very awake, and jumped out of bed, pulling one leg into the thick navy jumpsuit hanging over the edge of the bed, and then the other, hopping as she pulled them up, tucking her arms into the sleeves and zipping the long zipper along the front. Hurriedly, she tied heavy black work boots that had seen better days and grabbing a black canvas sack from where it had been discarded at the end of the iron bedframe, half-ran out the door.
From the small cave-like bedroom with space enough for just her and Jace’s beds, she made her way into a main room with a worn sofa and fireplace, from which she could see into the empty rooms of the other bunkies that shared this pod. They were all gone off to work by now, but maybe she’d make it before the second bell still. In any case, she’d have to go without breakfast, and she hated going without breakfast.
Hurrying down the hallways, she narrowly avoided a collision with a full cart of dirty breakfast dishes as she simultaneously tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes and run a hand through her thick dark hair, which was a mix of dreadlocks and braids, adorned will all manner of copper and steel bobbles and rings. The girl had rough features, nothing dainty about her from her nose to the width of her shoulders to the way she lumbered down the hallway on muscular thighs and thick bootsoles, brushing partially against the stone-hewn, narrow hallways of the Hive, or the bunker, as she thought of it.
The second workbell rang as she was only steps from the welding workshop, and she cursed loudly again, prompting a prudish shushing from a child-minder walking around the corner holding the hand of a toddler. She nodded her head apologetically before opening the door to the blast of warm air, the nervous pale face of Jace dressed already in his welding gear, and her very agitated-looking boss, Clellan.
“I know, I know, slop duty for three weeks this time,” she muttered, dropping her bag loudly against her workbench, and slipping on the thick leather glpves and the welding mask that waited where she had left them yesterday. Clellan sighed loudly, and so began another day in this clockwork life.
Terris liked welding, she really did, the impervious coldness of metal taking color and warmth and fluidity, the ability to create new things that were strong, dependable. But mostly, she fused sheet metals, repaired the metallic parts of the Hive that stuck out from the cool stone of the mountain side, and went around fixing furniture for the residents from time to time. There was little art and a lot of monotony, the rhythmic nature of days that repeated themselves without end. No weekends and never an end to the work. No fresh air, no adventure, no beauty, just more of the same wherever she looked. The Hive was supposed to keep them safe, but at what cost? Was it really worth safety for more of the same, moment after moment, for more of the soul-crushing boredom not even a stiff drink could alleviate?
So what if she had slop duty? At least it was something to do when her shift ended, some new level of misery to add something to her life. But no breakfast, that part just sucked.
Or another original idea: Inspired by Becky Chambers books (really good, you should read them) – Outer space consists of different planets/species/cultures as well as spacers who live on ships of all sizes, from moderate 10-person vessels to huge orbiters containing whole societies. Your character somehow ends up on a planet that has not yet been colonized by interstellar law, something of an outpost for those who don’t want to be part of the bureaucracy and law. There, they meet my character, who has been living on the barren, dusty planet for some time and made a little living for themselves there, maybe as a tinkerer, or maybe in a more steampunk, programmer/tech way. We could figure all that out!
Maybe I'll come up with some more and post them here, but please also let me know what you're thinking!
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