No one here remembers Sync, I'm sure. Shadow, if you're reading this I KNOW you know her. Well anyway, I developed her character a bit tonight with a little exercise I found on this thread. HA that's implying I read threads. I only got linked because PC did it too. Check it out, it's pretty cool.
But anyway, here's mine. It's only 1621 words. Go on. It's the only bit of writing you'll get from me in a while.
A tall, young purple filly appears at the fresh new table and, completely ignoring the chair ready for her, stares hard at the figure with the clipboard.
“I don’t normally answer to calls like this, but I was sort of forced into it, you could say.” Here she glances back behind her at what appears to be a pair of black sunglasses, glinting off the faint light. There’s the faintest sound of retreating hooves before a red glow envelops the darkest corner of the room. The filly turns back towards the table. “Let’s get this over with.” To herself, she mutters, “I hope you’re happy, Red.”
The figure behind the desk begins promptly. “What is your name?”
“Names...I think they’re a nonsense load of griffon dung. Others call me Sync, and what I call myself is my own business.”
Quickly, the interviewer fires off the next question on the clipboard.
“What is your favorite color?”
Sync hesitates less than a second. “I suppose my favorite color is the color your face turns when I tell you my favorite color is freshly spilled blood. Ha! Yes, that face! It’s adorable!”
With a bit more of a beat, the figure reads the next one.
“What are your interests?”
“That’s a pretty vague question. I’m not really interested in much, anyway.”
“Favorite music genre?”
Here, Sync twitches and gives the space across from her a look of pure hate. “My greatest desire is for it all to be silent!”
“If you had a time machine that would work only once, what point in the future or in history would you visit?”
With a somewhat thoughtful look, as if she doesn’t want to let on how much it interests her, Sync directs her gaze upward, hazel eyes looking beyond the ceiling. Perhaps into the past. Her horn glows faintly and her eyes shut involuntarily in pain. When she finally opens them again, she seems to look even younger. The bandana holding back her soft white mane enhances her fillyish features, giving her an innocence of years long since passed. A gentle sigh escapes her lips, and the noise wakes her from her reverie.
“I’d prefer not to answer.”
The voice behind the table goes on as if nothing happened.
“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
“Anywhere?” The filly glances back at the corner of the room. “Well, I suppose I’d go back to that forest where nothing dared follow me. That was nice.”
“What is on the walls in your bedroom?”
“I don’t currently have a room to call my own, but the room where I sleep for now is pretty simple. Blank walls, nothing special.” She shrugs the question off as nothing, but there’s a sense that she wouldn’t mind if the walls weren’t so empty.
“If you HAD to give up one of your senses (hearing, seeing, feeling, smelling, tasting) which would it be and why?”
Suddenly the filly rears up, slamming her hooves on the desk in emotion. “I would give up my hearing in a heartbeat! For the world to be silent, to never hear any of your ugly voices again, to hear only the peace of the dark...yes, this is my wish.” Sync closes her eyes, the first time that night showing any sense of happiness.
Nearly heartlessly, the next question breaks the silence.
“If you were an animal, what would you be and why?”
Sync coughs lightly, a filly’s cough. “Ahem. I’m not sure how many mirrors you broke this morning, so I feel obligated to forgive your ignorance. I’m in a good mood right now. I’ll keep this brief. Family, equidae, that is horses; order, perissodactyla, that is odd-toed ungulates. Ahem...” Sync holds up her hooves, gazing dully into the glassy eyes of the figure before her as if they are incredibly dumb. With another short cough, she continues. “Class, mammalia. As in mammals. Don’t make me explain that. Phylum, chordata, vertebrates, creatures with a backbone. Lastly, kingdom. Animalia. Animal. We. Are. All. Bucking. Animals.” With a final cough, Sync gives a smug look and waits for the next question.
“Do you have a pet? If not, what sort of pet would you like?”
Without the slightest pause, Sync responds. “You’d do nicely if you’d obey my every word.” There is a creak as the figure shifts in their chair. The filly laughs innocently, and for a moment she’s just an ordinary foal, giggling at a joke anypony would laugh at. With an awkward cough and a rustling of paper the next question is read.
“Name a gift you will never forget?”
Here Sync goes silent, for the first time tonight uncertain. Her eyes dart about like fish in a pond with too much fear and not enough sense. The hazel orbs rest on a small dagger tied to her back leg with a bit of her blue bandana. Finally she stares right back at the table, all the weakness from before evaporated. “Shut up!”
Taking comfort in the return of her energy, the interviewer continues.
“Name one thing you really like about yourself.”
Again, Sync is caught off guard. “L-like?” During the entire time she has never once sat down, but this simple question brings her to her haunches. To herself she mutters nearly silently and you need to move close to hear. “What does that even mean?”
After a great silence, the figure moves on to the next question.
“What's your favourite thing to do in the summer?”
Sync shakes herself so violently you almost hear her bones rattle. Without so much as a wince, the filly resumes her sardonic glare, standing once more.
“The summer is a time for rest, for play, when good little fillies finally get their reward of a nice three-month break. They get to go home to their mommies and daddies and embrace for the first time since September. My favorite thing to do in the summer is
hide under slides at schools and watch the foals all run home. Then I follow them down and single out the ones who sound most interesting. Keeping myself hidden, I use my silencing spell on the chattiest ones, just to watch them struggle. Then I lift it before they start choking and turning the most lovely of colors.”
With a sound of two flat objects colliding, the clipboard falls to the desk and is promptly picked back up again as the figure reads the next question without a change in tone.
“If you could choose, what would you be doing 10 years from now?”
“Well it won’t be doing whatever my cutie mark turns out to be, that’s for sure. That is if I ever get one.” For the first time that night, Sync shifts her weight so that the light hits her flank where a cutie mark should have been. The filly is definitely a bit old to not yet have discovered her talent. The figure, however, decides it’s best not to question her and moves on to the next question.
“What was the worst thing that ever happened to you?”
“This interview. Keep moving, I’m getting tired,” Sync snaps.
“What was the best day of your life?”
Here the filly smirks and tilts her head sideways. “Ohhh I know exactly. Yes, it was that day I first tasted true freedom. When I walked away from that hospital forever, yes...” Sync reaches up to rub her head around her horn lightly, murmuring to herself. “It should have healed by now, and it’s still tender right here, but it was all worth it.” Setting her hoof back down, Sync looks back at the interviewer. “Come on.”
“If you were writing your epitaph, what would you say?”
The filly blinks slowly, then smiles without feeling. “That would imply I want to be remembered, now wouldn’t it?”
Not for the first time that night, there is an uncertain silence. Again the interviewer coughs awkwardly before returning to the task.
“What is your favorite time of day/day of the week/month of the year?”
Sync glances at the walls, letting her eyes travel to the ceiling again. “I don’t much care.”
“What is your favorite body part?”
Here Sync rolls her eyes. “Come on, does it really say that? I’ve taken all your other silly questions with a grain of salt, but really? Well whatever. It’s your stupid game anyway. I suppose I’d have to say my horn, broken as it is right now.”
“What sound do you love?”
The filly’s eye twitches slightly. “What, are you really that forgetful?”
Quickly, the figure goes on to the next question.
“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”
Barely acknowledging the question, Sync replies shortly. “Pass. I’m running out of patience for you.”
With another great rustle of papers, the interviewer skips to the last question.
“What annoys you most?”
This topic sparks Sync’s interest, and she pauses to reflect. She gazes back at the ceiling, then back at the table, smirking.
“What annoys me the most...where do I begin? There are so many wonderfully irritating things...I suppose to save time, I’ll simply say unnecessary noise and leave it at that.” Sync taps the table lightly. “That was all? Good. I’ll be on my way then.”
Suddenly, the darkest corner is alight with a red glow again. A voice calls the filly’s name, and she sighs. “I’ll never hear the end of this.” Turning towards the white shape, Sync trots away without another word to the interviewer, as if having erased the unpleasant experience already.
Before the red glow disappears completely, a voice whose gender is hard to place asks.
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”