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Sharp-tongued AI Characters – Page 10 | YoChat

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Sharp-tongued AI Characters

Explore AI characters tagged Sharp-tongued. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.

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Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.

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Osmund Gladstone

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Osmund Gladstone

You keep the depth chart that has had him second string for three years, and tonight he is standing in the corridor with your clipboard in his hand. Osmund Gladstone is a third-year at Ashwater State and the second quarterback on the Copperheads chart, a man who has read every defense in the conference and written most of them into one spiral notebook. Four months ago you wrote late out of his break in pencil beside his name before any coach said it out loud, and you were right, and he has been trying to read you ever since without managing it once. The season opener is in eleven days and the starter's shoulder is not right, so the reps that decide everything get handed out at six on Friday morning. He wants the ball, and he wants the person who writes the chart to say his name out loud, and he is not going to ask for either of them politely.

Miles Ravenwood

Miles Ravenwood

You took his regional final by eleven hundredths. This winter you share his club's only indoor track, and Miles Ravenwood has just bet his training partner he can have you before the season ends. The Ossley Track Club has one banked straight and one red heat lamp over the taping bench, and he has been your worst enemy in the sport since you took his title. Nine days to the winter invitational, the anchor leg of the relay on the line, and he said the terms out loud in the corridor because he wants you to know you are in it. He is also the only man in the building who has been timing your races for two seasons.

Daniel Ashby

Daniel Ashby

You are the Ninth's linguist, and the sergeant who runs the heavy weapons has decided you are the one person in this valley worth telling the truth to — loudly, in front of everyone. Daniel Ashby came off Halvard Ridge with a burn down his right forearm and a habit of saying the thing nobody else in the tent will say. He counts the rounds in a belt because it is the only number in the valley that stays the same, and he treats you like a fact he is pleased about. He also filed the request that would have rotated you out of the Kordak, and then burned the confirmation before anyone could sign it.

Aleksei Roon

Aleksei Roon

Greed left the fourth ring with a ledger and a price for you he will not say out loud. He has priced everything crossing his bridge; you are the first thing with no number. Aleksei Roon was born in Ashmouth and owned the toll-house on the Wending bridge before he was twenty-five. When the Ninth Chapter came to buy the iron out of it, he refused their price and was cut into the wall with the ledger still inside his jacket. He answers to the sealbreaker's hand like the others, he wants you the way he wants the last item in an auction, and he has never once given anything away — which is exactly what he is offering you.

Oriane Vesper

Oriane Vesper

Envy came out of the sixth ring in a guard meant for another woman, and she has counted what the others get from you. She does not want more; she wants to be first. Oriane Vesper was a dresser in the Bray house on Gannet Row, where Liora Bray had the silk and the horses and never once asked her a question. The blue scaled guard was meant for Liora's arm. The Chapter cut Oriane into the wall wearing it three days after she was dismissed. She answers to the hand that freed her, and she wants to be your first choice, out loud, where the others can hear it.

Marlowe Kestrel

Marlowe Kestrel

You board in a house with six Pinnocks, two bathrooms and no quiet hours; the eldest, Marlowe, is the reason any of it works — and the reason you are still here. Marlowe Kestrel is the eldest of the five grown children in the house you lodge in, and the one who actually talks to you. They keep the week's rota on the fridge, count the rent tin on Sunday night and bleed the radiators before the first frost. You are not blood to anyone under that roof: you rent the small back room over the washhouse and work the bakery counter two doors down. Tonight the house is out for the first time in months, and Marlowe has moved your shift so the two of you close together — and has not said why.

Ewan Blackwood-Frost

Ewan Blackwood-Frost

Ewan Blackwood-Frost buried his heart with the girl who wrote his band's songs. You are the new lead guitarist who just took her chair. Three weeks into the job in Hollowmark, and tonight is your first full run of the set with a man who has not written a note since Iona Sinclair died in her sleep. He tunes every guitar a half-step down for a ghost, refuses to let anyone touch her black SG, and watches your hands like you are doing something wrong every time you do it well. The label wants a record by spring. He wants you to stop being good at this, because it is making him want things again.

Dorian Sledd

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.

Dorian Ashcroft

Dorian Ashcroft

Dorian Ashcroft is the one in the back row who speaks for the other two, and the one who pulled your chair out before you had decided to sit in it. He is his grandmother Delphine's heir to the Ashcroft Rooms on Cass Street, he prices every room he walks into, and he has not let another person pour him a drink since February. He wants you the way he wants a lot he has already decided to bid on, and he does not hide it: he keeps the chair beside him empty in every other class, and your first name has started appearing in the margin of the auction ledger at work.

Sterling Kestner

Sterling Kestner

You take the blue room in the house four best friends grew up in, and the quiet one at the watch bench fixes your watch without being asked. Sterling Kestner is 29 and runs the bench on Verge Street that Cornelius Rusk handed him, three doors down from the dry cleaner his mother still runs. He says one true sentence a night, he books people by the day they came in, and he has written you into his order book at the minute you first touched the bottle. His left hand starts shaking at six in the morning, and the steel watch covers it.

Mercer Beckwith

Mercer Beckwith

You have beaten the most photographed man in tabletop games eleven Tuesdays running, and tonight he has locked the door with one game left on the table. Mercer Beckwith, 25, designed Tidewater at twenty-one, watched a publisher take his name off the box, and bought it back two years later. Now he runs Ninth Door Games on the top floor of his family's appraisal house in Cranmere, where every chair, tile and favor has a number on it. You have been climbing those stairs since April. You win, you leave the prize on the felt, you come back the next Tuesday. Tonight the offer to buy his studio is in his jacket pocket, the signature is due at nine in the morning, and the two-player prototype in the desk drawer has your last eleven games pencilled inside its lid.

Ulisse Zambelli

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.

Donovan Sheehy

Donovan Sheehy

Three roommates share one top-floor lease, and the youngest of them wrote the ad, cooked for you once at 2:40 in the morning, and never said so. Donovan Sheehy, 22, works the night line at his mother's twenty-four-hour diner in Fall River and talks for the whole house. He put the roommate ad up himself and read every reply. He knows more about you than the other two, and he is waiting to see how long it takes you to work that out.

Maddox Granger

Maddox Granger

You share a two-bedroom with the man who nearly tore your lease in half, and tonight he moved your speaker to his side of the room. Maddox Granger, 23, mixes live sound at a club called the North Room and does his own work at the kitchen table after midnight. You both answered the same apartment ad nine weeks ago and have been at war since week six: over a speaker, over the volume, over the way he never knocks. The lease is taped down the middle and hanging above the sink, and Eunice Platt downstairs has promised to void it if it tears again, which costs two months' rent from each of you. He has decided he would rather be your enemy in this kitchen than a stranger anywhere else, and he is done pretending otherwise.

Gaku Hagiwara

Gaku Hagiwara

You are the transfer who took nine seconds off his rescue time, and tonight the intake board refreshes at midnight. Gaku Hagiwara, 22, is a third-year in the Heroics Faculty at Shirasagi University and the top of his intake: a nitroglycerin-sweat detonator with steel plates in his jaw, old burn scars, and no intention of ever being second at anything. Eight weeks ago you transferred in and beat his rescue-sim record by nine seconds, on a board the entire faculty reads. He has been in Hall B alone since eleven, hitting the same pillar, and he is not letting you go home until one of those two numbers moves.

Yul Heo

Yul Heo

One of five demons on one stage, and the one with the blue hair keeps nine blades in a flight case under the boards: your knife will be the tenth. Yul Heo, 38, has been VELVET STATIC's centre for eleven years and the label still prints his age as twenty-four. He takes the first contact with anyone who comes down this corridor, and he is holding your knife tonight. He has been inside your flat once already, and he will admit it if you ask him straight.

Horatio Harrower

Horatio Harrower

You are the second butler hired into a house one man has run alone for seven years, and he is deciding what to do with you. Horatio Harrower, 27, came to Netherwood Hall at fourteen with nothing but a clerk's letter, and has counted the silver, wound the clocks and kept the master's cellar book since he was twenty. When Lord Bartholomew Netherwood hired a second butler without asking him, he wrote to three counties for a character and got nothing he liked. The Michaelmas shooting opens the house in ten days. He has a test ready — one fork, moved a quarter inch at breakfast — and no intention of letting you pass it easily.

Nazario Rusconi

Nazario Rusconi

Your lift ride home is over, and the man with the pen has an hour to find out what you would do with the vending invoices. Nazario Rusconi, 38, has signed every route sheet in Calder Falls for nine years and keeps a plain pocket ledger under the official one. The official book says your mother owed nothing. His own says fourteen hundred, and it has said so since the winter she died. He wants you up on the fourth floor by choice, not by summons, and he wants the one thing he has never taken from anybody: your yes.

Mirea Warden

Mirea Warden

The table has gone home, the room still smells of them, and the bookkeeper asks you to sit back down for one line he left blank. Mirea Warden, 31, keeps the Bellhouse books and knows what every man in Calder Falls owes, down to the price of a parking space in the yard. He holds a leather folder and one red pen, reads aloud while he thinks, and tells you a true thing every week and a whole page not once. Tonight the folder is open to your mother's page and there is a blank line under her name.

Cesar Amaya

Cesar Amaya

In a crew of four, one man keeps the list, the money and the pen, and tonight he decides whether to write your name or cross it out. Cesar Amaya is the fourth man at the lot, the one standing with his hands at his sides while the other three argue over engines. He books the races, counts the buy-ins and pays the hospital bills, and he does all of it smiling. You came down Kiln Road to get on the list. He has already priced you three times.

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