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taxonomites2013-02-12 06:29 am
skinandbone) wrote in taxonomites2013-02-12 06:29 am
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Metody has reached a breaking point.
This delusion is not fading. If anything, it is becoming stronger and more elaborate. There are more people now, not just the disturbingly hordes of empty people that Metody can write off as the repetition of a hallucinating mind, but real people. They have histories and motivations and they interact in strange ways, and they are so intricately real that he cannot explain them as echoes in his mind.
And there is detail. Every rock, every tree, every dried autumn leaf he can find - they're all different. Even things that are manufactured to be similar, like bricks, even those have tiny variations. A flick of lighter brick here, a different pattern of sooty inclusions, a little scrawl of dirt there - all different. And it all leads him to conclusions that make him feel overwhelmed and reckless, and massively self destructive. In another person, this might translate to wandering through traffic or climbing on ledges, but Metody has a more indirect form of risky behavior:
Somewhere in the city, there is a quiet flurry of clicks. Something scrapes at the mouth of a storm drain, and then a waving spine extends to quiver on the air. A moment later, the creature pours out after, tapping along on a multitude of skittering rib-legs, bold and open in the sunlight.
There are other creatures, elsewhere. In the library, a delicate mouse-thing darts along the tops of the shelves, peeking down at people with a multitude of eyes it doesn't have. In the forest, octopus-like things made of ringed pelvises and far too many spines writhe over rocks and trees. And in the sewers, the heavy dog-like skulls splash down the tunnels, lurching on their too-many legs. All of them spread out, dragging or darting, ranging through Taxon in a dizzied search for the repeated patterns or hidden symbols that would prove it's all just a crazy dream.
This delusion is not fading. If anything, it is becoming stronger and more elaborate. There are more people now, not just the disturbingly hordes of empty people that Metody can write off as the repetition of a hallucinating mind, but real people. They have histories and motivations and they interact in strange ways, and they are so intricately real that he cannot explain them as echoes in his mind.
And there is detail. Every rock, every tree, every dried autumn leaf he can find - they're all different. Even things that are manufactured to be similar, like bricks, even those have tiny variations. A flick of lighter brick here, a different pattern of sooty inclusions, a little scrawl of dirt there - all different. And it all leads him to conclusions that make him feel overwhelmed and reckless, and massively self destructive. In another person, this might translate to wandering through traffic or climbing on ledges, but Metody has a more indirect form of risky behavior:
Somewhere in the city, there is a quiet flurry of clicks. Something scrapes at the mouth of a storm drain, and then a waving spine extends to quiver on the air. A moment later, the creature pours out after, tapping along on a multitude of skittering rib-legs, bold and open in the sunlight.
There are other creatures, elsewhere. In the library, a delicate mouse-thing darts along the tops of the shelves, peeking down at people with a multitude of eyes it doesn't have. In the forest, octopus-like things made of ringed pelvises and far too many spines writhe over rocks and trees. And in the sewers, the heavy dog-like skulls splash down the tunnels, lurching on their too-many legs. All of them spread out, dragging or darting, ranging through Taxon in a dizzied search for the repeated patterns or hidden symbols that would prove it's all just a crazy dream.
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"Not like any dog I've ever seen." But then people here were from all over everywhere so that doesn't mean much. Still, if it follows commands:
"Hey!" Emma calls to the...Lost Dog? Sure. "You gonna bring that back?"
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That is not actually a question. Well. The lack of knowledge makes this simultaneously easier to spin and harder to sell.
"They're dogs who lost their masters, either through abandonment or something bad happened. The most important thing in the world is gone, but they're too loyal to just lay down and die, so they just...keep going. And in time, they fade away to just bones, and then they tend to join up with each other. That's why they look so strange."
"It happens to cats and horses, too. Or any domestic animal."
Does....does he have to? She's scary. But he slinks back, low to the ground, and offers up the stick again.
lalala all the backtags /weeps gently
Because who the hell knows what manner of beasts lurk in Fairy Tale Land (she needs to come up with a better name for it).
Hey, she's trying to be less scary here, she just needs to steel herself for it. As the Lost Dog approaches she stays still, then reaches for the stick with one hand and goes to pat it on the...okay she's not sure what it's analogous to but it looks like ribs curving away from a spine. Nice doggie?
"Sorry I...scared. You."
Oh brain, why won't you cooperate?
Metody's voice tightens a little when she reaches towards the 'dog' part of himself. He coughs a few times, turning his flesh part away from the camera while the dog part shows the party. After a moment, it lifts it's fore portion to gently bump against her hand.
"They're all ultimately the same creature, kind of like a beehive, but people usually name the individuals to save confusion."
Or, Metody did, to make things more organized in his head. Humans just had a left hand and a right hand, but he had fifteen or so of them, and they didn't just stay on the right or left, and sometimes they merged. It was so much easier to think of Barry and Daisybelle and Sunshine than this one and that one and the other.