forum Amygdala's Rag Doll reboot

Started July 03, 2020 by @ElderGodSwimwithGamers group

tune

I wanna do a rp based on this song:

Details to be discussed when someone joins.

Sure! You wanna talk plot?

So, I've got a general idea as to what I think would work with the song, but feel free to add to this!
A wind-up automation rage doll (me) is found in an attic (your's or someone else's). The doll is wound, and it is found that it's 'blood' has healing properties. Because of this, the doll is taken, nails are driven into it to draw the blood. It has strips of cloth tied to its upper arms to keep more blood from flowing into it, and then all the blood is drained from that arm. The doll begs for mercy, and you're character eventually pities it. You steal it away, and everything is hunky-dory. Soon, though, it's doing that the doll's version of the amygdala (a part of the brain that controls emotion) was rotted away, so the doll has massive mood swings

Aah, thank you! Do you want a template? I have one for the ragdoll already

That's okay! I'm used to it, don't worry

Name: Oliver, but most just refer to him as 'the rag doll'
Age: he doesn't really have one, literal is unknown but he looks and acts about twelve
Gender: didn't really have one, but prefers male pronouns. However, he'll take anything over the "it" most call him
Race: Automaton Rag Doll
Looks: About six inches tall, Oliver is made of cotton, grey with age. He has a plain shirt and pants, with one pant leg rolled up. Literal dirty blond hair, white button like eyes, and various patches all over him. Later, once discovered, holes litter his hands, the edges burned to keep his stuffing and "blood' in. Nails stick out of his arms, and a tourniquet is tied on his left arm. A large copper wind-up sticks out of his back.
Personality: Oliver is basically a slave to his emotions, unable to control them or his impulses. He's also pretty traumatized from how humans treat him. He doesn't really mean to at first, but he ends up hurting people.
Background: not much is known, even by him. There are literal holes in his memories- he remembers being made a long time ago, but not much else.
Other:

(Sorry for the late response!)
Name: Iris Esme Andreas
Age: 29
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Race: Human
Looks: Iris is about 5’8”, and 122 pounds. She has a slim build, and ivory skin, with neutral undertones. Her hair ends right below her ear, and is toffee brown in color. Her narrow eyes are dark blue, with the left one having a small tinge of green. It’s hard to notice unless you’re close.
Personality: To strangers, Iris is cold and closed off. If she says anything to strangers, it’s usually sarcastic and snarky. Though cold to strangers, she’s caring and protective to her loved ones, especially if they’re kids. She’s somewhat of a neat freak, as well. When her loved ones are in danger, she’ll become reckless.
Background: to be revealed in the role play.
Other: N/A

The attic was dusty, bits of mold spattered about. There were old, ancient boxes tucked into the corners, abandoned and forgotten. They almost seemed to be apart of the house- just as old, and it was like the two woods of the floor and box had melded together.
Oliver sat in one of these boxes, slumped over. He was dirty, mold nibbling at his fingertips. He hasn't been wound in a long time- his mind trapped in itself, slowly eating at itself.
Please.. please, somebody help me, he wanted to scream. But… He couldn't do a thing. He couldn't cry, couldn't whimper, couldn't… Anything. And he was so, so alone.

Iris had never ventured into her father’s attic. She knew that if her father had trouble sorting his meds into the right containers (despite the containers being labeled for him), then there was no way he’d be able to keep the attic at least a little bit tidy. And she was right. As she climbed up the old, creaky ladder to the attic, she scrunched her nose, the smell of old paper and mold reaching her nostrils. “Is he trying to give me a panic attack…?” She grumbled as her narrow eyes examined the attic. Iris had to cut her old man some slack, though. It’d be better for his back if he didn’t try to climb up into the attic. The wooden boards underneath her sneakers squeaked as she pushed aside a worn cardboard box. “Oh well. I’ll clean this up later. Let’s find that recipe book he was talking about,” Iris stated, running her index finger along a dust covered shelf.

A sound. The was the first new thing Oliver sensed. Footsteps, the creak of wood, a voice. Oliver could have wept over just that. He wanted to beg, to scream. I'm right here! Please, please for the love of god, I'm here… he sent out his silent plea, feeling dust lightly land on him.

Iris rubbed the dust off of her fingertip, turning her gaze towards the boxes. She bent down to read the labels, but the red markers had faded with time. With a sigh, Iris pushed herself up and peered inside the first box, which was filled with pictures of deceased family from long ago. “Hm, now what…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze landed on an ancient, dirty looking doll that was amid the photographs from the late 1900s. “I don’t remember you…” she murmured as she extended her hand towards him. Perhaps it could have been her late younger sister’s doll. Iris shook her head, dismissing the thought. All of Jasmine’s old toys had been given to Iris when she moved out. So where did this doll come from?

Oliver really could weep for joy now. When Iris reached out to him, he was jostled a bit. Just enough for his gears to turn, and he managed to let out a faint gasp. But, sadly, that was all he could manage before he was back to frozen. Limp. He didn't remember this woman either, but that wasn't saying much. He didn't really remember anything at all.

Did this doll just… gasp? It was hard to tell. Maybe the dust and mold from this attic was finally getting to Iris. She narrowed her dark blue eyes, trying to remain gentle with the doll, in fear of breaking it. She flipped him over, tilting her head. “Oh. You’re a wind up toy. I see.” Iris sighed. “I should find a way to get you cleaned up, little guy, but I’m afraid to run you under water…maybe I can find a washcloth or something.” Who was she talking to? Iris shook her head. She must’ve looked crazy, talking to a doll.

Iris flipping Oliver had jolted his system again. He tightened his arms around her hands a moment, but then it was gone again. She was just being so gentle with him, and she spoke so kindly. Getting cleaned up would be nice, yes, but all he truly wanted was to be wound again.

Iris jumped, almost dropping the doll. She caught him with her other hand just in time. Okay, this doll definitely moved. “Maybe that’s from being wound up…” she mumbled, “Let’s be reasonable here, Iris.” Maybe she should make sure… holding Oliver gently in one hand, she used her other to slowly wind him up. “Please don’t break…”

Oliver had been filled with terror when he was dropped, glad to be back safely in this woman's hand. He waited in joyous wonder as he was wound. When Irish was finished, Oliver sat up slowly. He rubbed his eyes, then slowly tested his hands and arms. He looked up at Iris with a grin, on the verge of tears.
"T-thank you," he said quietly.

Iris eyes widened in fear, and she shook like a leaf in the crisp autumn wind. “W-What…?” Toys don’t usually do this! What was happening?! She tried her best not to drop Oliver, but it was hard to keep her hands still. “W… I… I don’t…” Iris struggled to find words. Was she going crazy, or had this doll truly come to life? Finally, Iris inhaled slowly, regaining her composure. “I um… I have to say, this is my first time ever… uh, meeting a doll like you,” she said.

Oliver held onto Iris's hand when she started shaking, terrified of being dropped. What if he actually broke? He bit his lip.
"Really?" He asked when Irish finally got a full sentence out. "I thought dolls like me were common…" he shrugged.
"Well, my name's Oliver! It's nice to meet you! Are… are you my new master?" He asked the question easily enough.

“M-Master? N-No, I don’t think so…” Iris said, tilting her head. “But um… nice to meet you Oliver.” Iris eased herself to the ground, setting the sentient doll on the floorboard. “Now why would you be in father’s attic…?” Of course, Iris knee her father possessed strange trinkets that he believed could change the climate, or magically increase hair growth. Iris lowered her body to the doll’s level, strands of toffee brown hair falling in her face. “I must be going insane…”

Oliver had a disappointed frown. So, she wasn't his new owner.
He walked around a bit when set down, stretching his limbs while sticking close to Iris still. He looked up at her when she lowered herself, grinning.
"So, this is your dad's house? Maybe he is the one who made me!" His grin faltered a bit.
"Insane? I… if anyone is, it's me," Oliver admitted quietly. "It's been s- so long since I've been wound, I-I-" Oliver sniffled a bit, rubbing his eyes to keep from crying.