Machine or Mannequin? // [Orville Day 1 Oneshot]

Orville had fled the Cornucopia by slinking along the shadow of the Great One, careful to avoid any corrosive oil spills. He didn’t want to end up on his back in the midst of the Bloodbath; those with strong necks should not make for such easy prey. He skittered forward, then stopped at the hulking, armored rib cage. He wanted to slip between the metal rods, to bend them with his hands. He would burrow between the robotic lungs and heart and when he chewed through a vein with his teeth, the fresh oil would nourish him.

His stomach rumbled.

Having escaped the main cacophony, Orville slowed. He turned, wheezing, pivoting over the bruised rib. It sent little bits of lightning zapping out from his lungs. Each bolt hurt, sure, but it also electrified him. He clamped down, hard, against a groan of pain and leaned a little further into the sensation.

Lights flickered at the edges of his vision. Just like, he was sure, how the robot would see, were he not so pitifully fallen.

He yearned for the machinery, for the wonder of him and also the cold steel. But the Wealth had been hard won. Out of the corner of his eye, swimming between shadow and little electric lights, Orville could see a body. He did not want to join the fallen, even though the tribute lay as the Great One did. So he kept his distance. Wheezing. Waiting. He smiled toothlessly as another tribute scampered.

And then something else followed, quick and bouncy and looking even more pathetic than he was sure he did.

Orville licked his upper lip.

And pounced.

[WIP based on roll]