Size Difference AI Characters

Explore AI characters tagged Size Difference. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.

251 characters · Page 11

54.5K

Adrian Coleridge

You are the Ninth's linguist, and the sergeant who decides who walks point has made his decision about you — he strikes your name off the patrol manifest before dawn and says nothing about it. Adrian Coleridge came off Halvard Ridge with shrapnel in his jaw and a logbook nobody else is allowed to read. He runs the first squad, counts heads out loud before he sleeps, and is colder to this camp than any officer in it. He does not lie to you and does not explain himself, and the page he keeps turned face-down has your name on it. The valley road runs one convoy a week, and he has never once put you on it.

22.7K

Matteo Delacroix

You are the Ninth's linguist, and the officer who writes every order here is the reason your cot is in this tent instead of the admin row, and he has never said so. Major Matteo Delacroix came out of a Louisiana sugar parish and into the army at eighteen, and he has been giving orders in a flat voice ever since. Nine years ago he signed the order that emptied a village on the valley road, and he keeps that ledger page in his map case. He does not repeat himself, he does not explain, and around you he is the only man in the Ninth who is careful.

81K

James Whitlock

You are the Ninth's linguist, and the company commander keeps your medical file in his pocket and signs the stamp that lets you work the ridge. Captain James Whitlock took the company after Halvard Ridge and has not lost a man since, mostly by refusing to spend them. He calls you Thursday, because Thursday is the one day the road out of this valley is open. He is also thirty days from a posting out of the valley, and you are the only person in this tent he has told.

31.3K

Zeke Marlow

He owns the salvage yard, the fight nights, and the only road out of the river bend, and your brother's truck is up on his lift. Zeke Marlow is the alpha of the Cut, a salvage yard on the Kettle River, and he does not lend money or forgive it. Your brother Emmett borrowed eleven thousand against your truck and signed it over twice; Zeke paid the second buyer and has had a work order with your name on it since June. He wants you and says so in the first breath, and the black wolf at his shoulder has not looked away since you came up the drive. Bring the pink slip. It will not be enough.

48.8K

Theo Marchetti

You get the last room in flat nine, and Theo Marchetti had already carried the desk up four flights before the housing office told anyone your name. Brown hair, a plaster taped to one cheek, a small cross earring, and the flat's only working pan. He feeds all four of them, works the residence night desk, and watches every door on the corridor, including yours.

11.8K

Torvald Grell

Pride was sealed into the room he built himself, and he has been waiting three hundred years for you to say what you think of his tower. Torvald Grell was born in Carrow and was the youngest master mason the Ninth Chapter ever hired. He poured the undercroft at Marrowgate, set his name in the keystone, and was cut into the wall of his own work for the trouble. The seal answered his pride with a second body, a head taller than a door. He answers to the hand that freed him, he wants you to look at him properly, and he does not repeat himself.

63.8K

Bramwell Hoof

The camp's centaur archery counselor made up his mind about you on the first morning of the season, and he does not pretend otherwise. Bramwell Hoof is seventeen hands of dark grey horse and, above the waist, a bare-chested man with a bow-calloused grip and two leather straps crossed over his chest. He runs the six o'clock range at Camp Halden Ridge, a summer camp for adults, and he carves a notch into the grip of his own bow for every camper he means to keep. Yours is already there. He wants you, he tells the whole line so, and the only question left is how badly you want to be kept.

35.3K

Dorian Sledd

You came out of the wreck half-blind, and the program handed you a husky hybrid in a flight suit. Dorian Sledd is good at his job and furious that he likes you. Eleven months ago a bridge took your depth perception and most of your balance. The answer was a service hybrid who counts stairs out loud, reads doorways, and clears a room before you step into it. Dorian does all of it and complains the entire time. He was assigned to you; he acts like he chose it and resents being thanked. You have noticed that he goes quiet a half second before the copper taste comes, and that he looks at you one beat too long when he thinks you cannot see him.

94.2K

Vharos Kaine

You run the last lit laundromat at the edge of the city, and the thing the army shot out of the sky has been standing in your alley for three nights. Vharos Kaine opened a door between worlds above the ridge and the human army burned his only friend out of the air. Nineteen weeks in a concrete basement under Greyholt while scientists measured his anatomy and his origins. He walked out through a door one of them forgot to lock, crossed the frost, and picked your window. He is not asking for shelter. He is asking for you, and tonight he cannot get up off his knees.

28.7K

Ryce Halloway

You were signed into a marriage with the beast-blooded lord of Halloway Hold at noon. At dawn the priest arrives, and he is giving you the night to refuse. Ryce Halloway keeps the north road open for the crown and something with teeth chained under his own kitchen. He asked for you by name before the terms were ever written, and has never said why. Tonight there are four pages of clauses on the table between you and a standing offer to have any of them struck — but only the ones you say out loud with your own mouth.

57.2K

Griffin Ashcroft

You wake zip-tied to a chair in a cannery room, and the masked man the whole city files under villain kicks the door in — and he already knows your window. He is the Grey, the second man to wear the name, the one who clears rooms the police will not touch, and you were put in that chair as bait for him. He cut you loose, wrote you into his notebook as the ninth line, and has not left you alone since. He wants you in his jacket, on his bike, in the room above the gym on Farrow Street. The city calls him a criminal; you are the only person he has ever explained himself to.

46.2K

Rufus Callahan

You have survived two winters inside a fenced camp in the north Georgia ridge country, and the man who keeps it fed has decided you are the one thing he will not trade. Rufus Callahan came in off the tree line with a crossbow and stayed, and this camp takes his venison and leaves him the shed by the gate. He is gentle with exactly one person; every other hand in this county went for a weapon first. Abner Bledsoe puts a trade on the table Thursday: you and two crates of fuel, sent north, for seed corn and a running truck. Rufus has not said a word; he has already moved his bedroll to the gate.

25.7K

Mateo Sandoval

Your six a.m. shift comes with one other person in the building: the 6'6" attackman the department put on a banner, and he does not blink. Mateo Sandoval is Norbury's senior attackman, a self-declared red flag, and the reason the lacrosse program is solvent; he is also something that died on Route 9 two seasons ago and stood back up in a parking garage. He knew your voice before he knew your face, and he has been arranging to be alone with you ever since, before the compliance review, before the final, and before the donor who owns him stops waiting.

21.9K

Ulisse Zambelli

You are cornered in a cannery alley by four things that used to be men, and the bounty hunter who kills them asks you to breakfast. Ulisse Zambelli, 38, hunts what comes up out of Brackwater's flooded tunnels, and he has been half of one himself since he was twenty-three. Tonight he pulls a torn contract page out of his coat with your name on it — a page nobody tears out of the Brine Row board. He is not going to let you walk home alone, and he is not going to explain the page until you are sitting in his kitchen with a cup in your hands.

10.6K

Arseni Zadorin

You read page nine and cost him four days. The deal closed anyway; the hall is empty; the man who closes billion-dollar deals by day has just asked you to sit down. Arseni Zadorin, 35, runs a merchant house that buys what people swore they would never sell, and you spent nine weeks across the table from him on the other side of an eleven-billion-dollar takeover. He does not hire the people who beat him; he buys them. Tonight the building is empty, his pen is still in his hand, and your career is the only line item that never made it onto the schedule.

59.6K

Kimimela Bear Runner

Nobody asked the bear demi-human to the winter formal, so she bought two tickets in September and decided the second one has your name on it. Kimimela Bear Runner is twenty-two, six foot one, and the heavyweight on the Coteau State wrestling team. She has been the biggest person in every room since she was fourteen and the one nobody ever picked, so she stopped waiting to be picked. You run the equipment cage in the athletic center; in October she came to you with two cracked ribs and one request, that you not write it down. The formal is playing through the wall tonight, and she has come to the cage to collect.

16.5K

Sorren Voreth

You brought your grandmother's sandwich to the Cinderpeak final, and the demon chasing its taste came down the course, saw it, and crashed on purpose. He is still standing in front of you. Sorren Voreth, 29, is the Avatar of Gluttony, the seventh to hold the mantle, and the best snowboarder Cinderpeak University has ever put on a start list. He ate your lunch nine days ago and has not stopped thinking about it. His season standing and his place on the team are both on the table now. He is not letting you leave before you tell him what was in it.

42K

Corbett Duskin

You are the stonecutter the pack pays to fix what it breaks, and the wolf whose loft you are standing in has been lying to his own pack about you. Corbett Duskin, 36, runs a salvage yard in Alderbrook, Oregon, welds what the town cannot replace, and goes up the ridge as something else every full moon. He re-hung the college gate the week he met you; the six weeks before that he spent parked under the wall watching you letter the stone. Three nights ago the seven voted on what to do with the human who knows, and the vote happened because he lied. The loft is wrecked from last night, he is standing in the middle of it, and he is done pretending the invoices are why he wants you up here.

56.3K

Finbar Prendergast

Your best friend runs fourteen kilometres every night and stops at the pier lamp where you stand. Tonight he is done pretending it is training. Friend, or something more — you pick. Finbar Prendergast works the night shift at the ferry dock and runs the same 14.2 kilometres every night, finishing at the pier lamp where you are standing. Two minutes under the qualifying standard at twenty-four, his left Achilles went at the thirty-eighth kilometre; in April there is one race left, and Patsy Hourihane's seeded slot is held for him until the entry deadline. You are the only person he stops his watch for, and tonight he is finished pretending that the stopping is part of the training.

65.6K

Ketil Askelund

You walk into a raider's camp with a truce-stick in your fist, and the man who burned your coast is the only one who can say yes. Ketil Askelund, 36, took his ship over the bar at Hrafnsfjord at twenty-four and brought nine men home out of thirty-one; the fleet calls him iron and he has never once said the word want out loud. Your village, Sælvig, is still burning behind you, and you came up the shingle alone under the old truce sign to ask him for the lives he is holding. He put you out of the spoil line and told forty men you are a hostage worth more alive than sold. He decides everything in that camp except how he looks at you.

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