"Everything’s funnier when it screams."
Poxie’s inspired by that person who starts giggling before the punchline, already convinced it’s hilarious. The laugh is sharp and echoey — like a hyena trapped in a wine glass.
She reminds me of people who are basically LLMs in human form.
I know folks with ADHD and autism who get branded as rude just because they react too quickly to ignorance.
But they’ve actually built an intense internal monologue. They’ve spent so much time replaying past interactions, that they pre-process everything, constantly, for lack of a better word, scanning for patterns, predicting outcomes. Doesn’t mean they’re always right, but it explains the intensity. It’s not malice. It’s just bandwidth.
Sure, this creates its own problems with nuance, social cues, and conversational flow, but you get the point.
That’s Poxie.
She’s the type that turns up soaking wet, glitter-covered, already halfway through an argument with someone she hasn’t even met yet.
She’s fast. She’s chaotic. She doesn’t remember things.
She bickered herself into being.
Licked prophecy. Argued with daisies. Stole trauma from pond water.
She’s not the villain.
She’s just an unreliable version of the truth that got cocky.
Obviously, she’s a god — so she’s exaggerated to the point of myth.
CHARACTER CREATION:
Vibe: Iridescent stink bug crossed with an unhinged memory leak.
Think: Feral mushroom cousin with opinions about your childhood.
Shell: Speckled and spiked, gleaming like she’s been dipped in oil and bad intentions. Joints twitch like she’s got secrets stored in them.
Personality: Feral. Fast. Whispery and wet. Collects rumours like some bugs collect pollen. Thinks Glint is her brother. Or son. Or reincarnated hallucination. She blinks sideways and doesn’t explain.
Power: Can enter any droplet and exit somewhere else. Travels across space, time, memory, metaphor and mood — across space, time, memory, metaphor, or mood. Usually comes back worse. Occasionally duplicated.
Ritual: Smear honey in a spiral on a windowpane. If it vanishes overnight, she’s already been there.
Symbol: A daisy with one petal missing and a bloodstained stem.
Quirk: Laughter that doesn’t match the joke. Exists in multiple versions of the same moment. Has opinions on your future and none of them are kind.
MICRO-SCENE: Memory Twice
Glint was muttering to himself.
Counting the way he always does — soft clicks, antenna twitching, stashing something no one asked for.
Poxie watched from the underside of the leaf, upside-down and giggling.
The droplet Glint had just slurped was still wet. Still loaded.
She tilted her head, blinked twice, and dove straight in.
Splash. Gone.
A beat later, she popped out of a different droplet. Same memory. Still warm. She went back in.
Again.
And again.
By the fourth time, the memory started changing.
The child with the bow now had two names. Then none.
Then it was Poxie, burying herself.
Glint turned slowly.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
She grinned, dripping with timeline.
“Just visiting. I like what you've archived. Thought I'd remix it.”
The droplet hissed. One of her reflections winked.
Glint took a step back — not in fear. In disgust.
“You’ve contaminated it.”
She laughed.
“That’s what memories are for.”
FIELD FRAGMENT:
🕷️ Field Note #006: On Re-entered Memories
Do not revisit a droplet that has already been witnessed.
Do not let someone else do it either.Every re-entry warps the tension.
Every retelling becomes more opinion than fact.If the same god touches the same memory twice.
They don’t come back the same.
And neither does the memory.If Poxie goes in twice.
It might start laughing without her.
Next up: The slow one who walks like he’s seen this happen before.
Catch up: An origin story for the gods at the bottom of the garden.