Application for the Elegante
What is truly sad about this movie is that Rob actually planned to return the entire time. The reason they were went through hell and back, literally and metaphorically, is because of Toaster's impatience combined with his determination. He's not the kind of toaster that is just going to wait for things to happen. Toaster is going to do what he needs to do as soon as he can.
Appearance: He's a toaster, simple as that. He's a shiny chrome color with black levers and two slots for your morning toast. His eyes only become visible when he is either alone, or with other appliances. Human passengers will never know that Toaster isn't just the everyday appliance.
Spoken / written languages: Toaster has nubbly fingers on those levers, so he is able to type on the communicator. In my fannon, he can read and speak French, Chinese, and Spanish because they are the three common languages in the instruction manuals.
Abilities: He can make toast.
Items: Nothing but the chrome on his back and the cord in his ass.
Third Person Sample:
Nightmares were never really uncommon for the little toaster. He might seem brave and strong on the outside, but darkness plagues his mind. At least he can be grateful that it wasn't that damn clown dream again, or any rendition of it.
However, that doesn’t mean that it was a ‘good nightmare’, whatever that translates to. The dreams he’d been having at that time all seemed to have a similar theme. They all were compilations of his past, and none of the grisly parts were spared. He’d originally started recording his dreams as a way to cope with them; this was something he’d learned from one of Radio’s morning talk show programs. “Making your dreams tangible will help you realize that they aren’t reality. Only if they stay in your mind will they be able to harm you.” He really took that with a grain of salt because Radio might have just made it up himself. Damn thing can’t ever be trusted to not make everything into a joke.
Toaster could do it; he knew he could do it. It’s just a notebook and paper; he’s not at that waterfall or dodging forks. He’s writing about something his own mind created. He shifted, pushing himself deeper into the comforter. It wasn’t all that dangerous since he was unplugged at the moment. “Maybe…no.” He mused to himself quietly, happy that Lampy was too busy harassing Air Conditioner to make any smart alek jokes about him.
Finished.
He’d actually ended up with a page full of anything but words. It was a drawing, a crayon drawing of a sunset behind a hill. Lampy, Blanky, Radio, Kirby, and Toaster were all there, cord in cord with musical notes emanating from radio. Toaster wasn’t going to live with those horrid memories and he wasn’t going to keep a permanent reminder of his ‘failures.’ His friends made it home safe, Rob didn’t get crushed, and all is the way it should be.
He has nothing to complain about.
First Person Sample:
[The last thing he remembers is that loud siren at the shop. The oven and that lamp that helped his friend, Lampy.
It all seemed like a blur now.
His eyes flick open, his lever hands moving to rub the sleep from his glass like eyes. There was a bed, and a window in his immediate view. The window would most likely offer a better hint as to where exactly he is at this point. He jumps, his flat hands barely grasping the windowsill then he hoisted himself up.
Outside he saw a horror among all horrors.]
W-w-w-wa-w--
[He can't even say the damn word.]
Preferred Quarters: Anywhere's fine
Appearance: He's a toaster, simple as that. He's a shiny chrome color with black levers and two slots for your morning toast. His eyes only become visible when he is either alone, or with other appliances. Human passengers will never know that Toaster isn't just the everyday appliance.
Spoken / written languages: Toaster has nubbly fingers on those levers, so he is able to type on the communicator. In my fannon, he can read and speak French, Chinese, and Spanish because they are the three common languages in the instruction manuals.
Abilities: He can make toast.
Items: Nothing but the chrome on his back and the cord in his ass.
Third Person Sample:
Nightmares were never really uncommon for the little toaster. He might seem brave and strong on the outside, but darkness plagues his mind. At least he can be grateful that it wasn't that damn clown dream again, or any rendition of it.
However, that doesn’t mean that it was a ‘good nightmare’, whatever that translates to. The dreams he’d been having at that time all seemed to have a similar theme. They all were compilations of his past, and none of the grisly parts were spared. He’d originally started recording his dreams as a way to cope with them; this was something he’d learned from one of Radio’s morning talk show programs. “Making your dreams tangible will help you realize that they aren’t reality. Only if they stay in your mind will they be able to harm you.” He really took that with a grain of salt because Radio might have just made it up himself. Damn thing can’t ever be trusted to not make everything into a joke.
Toaster could do it; he knew he could do it. It’s just a notebook and paper; he’s not at that waterfall or dodging forks. He’s writing about something his own mind created. He shifted, pushing himself deeper into the comforter. It wasn’t all that dangerous since he was unplugged at the moment. “Maybe…no.” He mused to himself quietly, happy that Lampy was too busy harassing Air Conditioner to make any smart alek jokes about him.
Finished.
He’d actually ended up with a page full of anything but words. It was a drawing, a crayon drawing of a sunset behind a hill. Lampy, Blanky, Radio, Kirby, and Toaster were all there, cord in cord with musical notes emanating from radio. Toaster wasn’t going to live with those horrid memories and he wasn’t going to keep a permanent reminder of his ‘failures.’ His friends made it home safe, Rob didn’t get crushed, and all is the way it should be.
He has nothing to complain about.
First Person Sample:
[The last thing he remembers is that loud siren at the shop. The oven and that lamp that helped his friend, Lampy.
It all seemed like a blur now.
His eyes flick open, his lever hands moving to rub the sleep from his glass like eyes. There was a bed, and a window in his immediate view. The window would most likely offer a better hint as to where exactly he is at this point. He jumps, his flat hands barely grasping the windowsill then he hoisted himself up.
Outside he saw a horror among all horrors.]
W-w-w-wa-w--
[He can't even say the damn word.]
Preferred Quarters: Anywhere's fine