synanthrope | (no subject)

(no subject)

[The camera is expertly handled this time, and it shows the Garage. Saya is currently dressed to nines in expensive couture, as usual, despite the fact that she's working on cars. She has her head under the hood of a car, her hands inside doing something unseen. The camera pans away from her for a moment.]

The Garage is an immaculate place; despite being home to constant repairs, everything is in it's place, much like the owner, who works every day no matter the condition or the holiday.

She attributes this to the work ethic instilled by-

[The narration is cut off by a sudden loud thump, and the camera pans back to Saya just in time to see her, holding the back of her head, stumble back a couple of steps, and then there's a snap as she falls at precisely the same moment, like a marionette with cut strings, not fainting as much as simply collapsing, her limbs tucked under her in odd ways]

Sy-

[Her voice stops and she looks, confused, at the heel of her shoe, which is no longer attached to the rest. The heel snapped off.]

That's never happened before.

[She looks up at the camera for a moment, and then it shuts off.]

[ooc: Action for Garage employees, audio for everyone else. She'll be going to the hospital eventually! Italics are the documentary narration.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The fifth floor of the warehouse is much larger than Saya's sylie, but even then, her sylie is enormous - large enough for something the size of an SUV to move around comfortably in, a nest half the size of a football field, filled with webs that look like they're made with steel cables, only white, almost translucent.

There are, with meticulous care, cocoons hanging from webbing, large enough to hold grown men. If Nigel inspects them, he might be able to make out features, blurred and unspecific, like the suggestion of people. There is no dust, no blood anywhere.]

[ His first reaction is to stop and hold perfectly still, as if unwilling to disturb what it is he's just found (and what he's just found is, without a doubt, Saya's secret). A thought occurs to him, sluggish and deeply buried in the thick mud that is his slowly-returning memories of this place: a scar that runs down the length of a woman's spine, a brown recluse. The violin spider. ] Oh Saya, [ he says, his voice a hushed whisper. ] What an utter monster you are.

[ (Nigel's second reaction is to smile.)

He makes it a point not to touch anything at first, looking first for signs of human artifact. Furniture, clothing, personal items -- nevermind the shadows of men strung up in the rafters. ]

[There is nothing that suggests a human might ever come here, not at first - no furniture, no clothing. But closer inspection shows, in the corner of the vast room, a small tidy box, almost the exact color of the wall.

The box has an open lid, and inside are clothes, carefully folded, clothes that do not belong to Saya and never would.

There is an eerie stillness to the room as well, and a soft smell, almost stale but not quite. It's the smell of her webbing, the protein strands of the old webbing shedding a little in the parts she has to break down still.]

[ Nigel is fond of things in boxes; things in jars as well. But where a jar might imply sterility or preservation (the smell of formaldehyde, the satisfaction that comes when looking at thing meant to be inside so cleanly taken out), a box implies something more personal, something meant to kept tidy and private. Back at home, he has a crawlspace full of boxes, each containing a different sacred thing: the rubbings of tombstones, very old decks of cards. Polaroids of his mother.

Kneeling in front of the box, Nigel reaches inside to pull the clothes out, one article at a time, taking note of the way the thing is folded so as to do the same once he's finished. He presses some of the fabric to his nose, searching for the smell of bleach or detergent or human skin. ]

[It's clear they belong to different people, once he begins to look through them - a large shirt that could only belong to an overweight man, a dress that belongs to an average woman, shirts and trousers and even some underwear, although not much of that.

The clothing smells. It smells of detergent and wear, certainly, but there is another smell - acrid and sharp, sweat soaked in fear. There are tiny stains on some of clothes, bloodspots, but they are small, nothing larger than the fingernail on a woman's thumb.

There are shadows, too, large shadows, in the corner opposite the box, hard to see between the webbing, but clearly something put away there is casting a shadow the size of a car.]

[ Nigel bides his time, reluctant to rush but with enough sense to at least occasionally check his watch. Saya is working and Rosella is out, and even if she weren't Nigel suspects she wouldn't come looking for him. Unlike him and unlike Saya, she understands the boundaries of privacy. A closed door is a declaration to her. Stay out or go away or (perhaps in her mind) no, thank you. He goes through every article of clothing, unfolding each only to fold them all again, tucking them back in the order they'd been in before pushing himself back up onto his feet.

The corner that houses the large shadow he approaches with more caution. Reluctant to place a hand on that webbing to push it away, he touches a cord of it experimentally with the very end of one of his fingers. ]

[The shadows begin to define, enormous but still, and the shape of what's casting them starts to show as he gets closer; a segmented body, eight radiating legs, but they, whatever they are, are not alive, one slightly smaller than the other. They are too still, and parts look almost broken.

The webbing is smooth and slick to the touch; the unworn guidewires that Saya uses to walk on, not the sticky catchwires that make up a majority of the webbing that's closer to the front of the sylie. They are cold and respond to his touch by moving slightly, but it's clear that unlike thinner, smaller spiderweb, this would not be easily torn apart by errant fingers. This is designed to hold something enormous.]

What else are you hiding? [ Nigel murmurs to himself, his hand testing the strength of the webbing with more surety this time. He's not looking to get caught, nor is he looking to break it; instead, he's trying to find a way between the sheets of webbing, between the cable-thick strands into that back corner. Even though Nigel knows he's more than capable of guessing based on what's implied by that specific arrangement of shadows, his curiosity demands that he see what it is with his own eyes.

He'd found this place for a reason, after all. So make no mistake, he would do everything in his power to make this reason known. ]

[The webbing opens a little, enough space for a person to pass through if they're not afraid of getting stuck, but none of the web will catch.

Beyond it, tucked in the corner, are her moltings; massive, the size of an SUV, the carapace thick and brown, but translucent, see through and strange. They almost have a quality of clarity, like a fingernail. There are the places were it opened, the belly and the legs, but the heads are peculiar and intact. They don't smell like anything at all, just like Saya doesn't smell like anything at all. There are three in total, clustered up against a wall.]

[ Nigel doesn't hesitate, once he manages to pull open a space large enough to squeeze through. Some destinies required sacrifices to fulfill (a mother's love, a bullet to the brain), so he risks getting caught and hopes that, if something's to be snagged, it's merely his jacket and not himself. He almost laughs out of relief when he finds himself on the other side, but the sound is caught in his throat and transformed into something more closely resembling surprise.

He approaches the moltings carefully, recognizing them for what they are, and with fascination burning in his belly he extends a hand to touch one. ] What do you like on the inside, I wonder? [ he wonders aloud, his mind attempting to reconcile what he knows of Saya's body and what he's found now. The permutations are varied and entertaining and all of them, enthralling.

Nigel wonders, if he were to ask Saya politely, if she would show him. ]

[The molting is oddly cool, and at his touch, it moves slightly, even under that slight touch. It's clearly delicate and crisp, just a little thicker than the leftover carapace of a cicada. But it stands despite that, remarkably sturdy despite being so delicate.

There is another door, that is visible from this angle, one that leads to something that isn't the hallway that opened up to the sylie.]

[ Never one for propriety and being as selfish and self-centered as he is, Nigel is tempted to try and take part of the molting with him. He's always been endlessly clever, his hands twice so, and there is a fair share of knives among his things that could be up to the task. But, in the end, clipping a memento from one of her abandon husks isn't near as thrilling a prospect as taking one from her living breathing body, so Nigel abandons that train of thought, leaving it in a small coiled pile at one of the empty carapaces' feet.

When Nigel reaches this new door, he rests his hand lightly on the door handle, an ear pressed against the door itself. Listening, first. ]

[There is a faint buzz, like that emitted by a freezer, but otherwise there is silence from the other side of the door. The handle, once turned, will open without a sound.

On the other side of the door is her gallery, in a manner of speaking; a softly lit room filled with specimens - fingers, or eyes, breasts or lips, a braid of hair so red it's almost unnatural, hands and toes and feet, knees, all dismembered and kept in crystalline cases, preserved with fluid that's as clear as water.]

[ If Nigel were properly capable of an emotion like love (he's much too selfish for it, missing the point of the sentiment completely) he would possibly feel it in a moment like this, surrounded by the chill of Saya's trophy room and the spectacle of all that she's capable of. These things, Nigel knows better than to touch; he simply walks among them, taking the time to observe and admire each one. He is mindful to note certain details; the color of an eye, the texture to a lock of hair. It's remembering these sorts of things that will make it easier for him to bring her more fitting presents in the future.

It makes Nigel think of the kings that knelt at the feet of knights and knights who in turn did great deeds for the glory of God. Nigel knows that Saya is nowhere near godlike and is not of any Holy Order, but he does know that they've been brought together through the workings of destiny and that there are few things he can consider more beautiful than her floor full of secrets. ]

Maraclea, [ he says, studying a particularly lovely eye. Nigel straightens and tips his head towards the ceiling, smiling to himself in a distant way. ] What I wouldn't do for your head.

[Saya's head is hard to get a hold of, Nigel.

There is a slight whirring noise now, like something mechanical moving, and if Nigel looks just over, he'll notice a camera blinking at him, cataloguing this. Saya doesn't leave her domain unprotected - there are worse things to set off in these rooms than simply the camera - but because Saya knew about a boy's curiosity, she left the worse of it off, for now. She wondered if he would ever find his way into this set of rooms, what his reaction would be.]

[ It takes Nigel a moment to realize the sound at all, underneath the hum of the refrigerated room around him and the symphony of his own thoughts inside his head. When he locates the camera, its dark mechanical eye staring at him, he offers it the same exact smile he'd offered the ceiling.

He hopes the camera can hear him, as he leans in closer, his face filling the frame. ]

You're much lovelier than I could have ever hoped.

[There's a whirrr-click as the camera continues to follow him. The next obvious thing is the final door, the one that leads into another room.]

[ He almost takes the mechanical response as a retort in conversation. Nigel's attention continues onto the next door, amused and bemused in turns, fascinated and enraptured and endlessly curious. He smiles again at the camera, asking it if it were Saya herself. ] More surprises. Though I'm not sure how easily the ones you've already left me can be matched.

[That door just leads to her bedroom, where it's not a door, but rather a panel in the wall that opens from the inside and from a catch behind her bed]

[ Despite living in the same house, Nigel has never been in Saya's bedroom before -- a stark contrast to Rosella, whose bedroom he has been several times in the past (both in his retained memory and that which has been lost). He imagines her slipping through her secret panel at night, a thought which pleases him. Then he imagines the men she must bring here with her, which does quite the opposite.

He touches the edge of her bed with his hand. There is a distinct lack of smell to the sheets; not even that sort of musty scent that comes with sleep. ]

[Her bedroom is immaculate; no dust, clean and neat, tidy. There is a walk in closet full of couture, shoes, dresses, bags, skirts and shirts and trousers. Nothing smells like anything, except for a bottle of perfume on the nightstand. There is a box of condoms on the same nightstand.

Otherwise it might be a room out of a magazine, it's so immaculately arranged.]

[ His reaction is completely juvenile but that box of condoms makes Nigel very angry to see. It's rare for him to feel an emotion so pointedly, but he's able to recognize it as jealousy. He'd felt the same way, sitting in that church a pew behind Alex Forbes; it was something in the way he'd looked at Susan that convinced Nigel that yes she'd do nicely with her insides untidied for everyone to see.

Nigel snatches the box from its perch with intentions of burning the damned thing later. He wouldn't put it past her to have plenty more, stored elsewhere, but the camera in her trophy room had seen her; there'd be no question as to who'd taken the box and she's more than capable of putting two and two together.

Besides, Nigel suspects she enjoys his jealousy. Perhaps he should send her one of her lover's heads. It puts a damper on another otherwise pleasantly surprising afternoon.

Now. Find to Saya. ]

[She'll be waiting]

[ It takes him a while to realize that Saya is not at the garage, nor are her employees; when he returns home again and she is not at the warehouse either, he makes it a point to contact Rosella in the hopes that she knows better. Eventually, this earns him directions to the hospital as well as some help in trying to pick out a new pair of shoes to bring Saya.

Both Nigel and Saya's shoes (black, heeled, made by a man named 'Jimmy' apparently) eventually find themselves at the hospital. It's not hard too find the room (private, which makes Nigel wonder how someone without the faintest touch of bedside manner can manage to earn herself one). He knocks once, politely, before opening the door -- not bothering to wait for a response. ]

[Saya managed to get something to eat (a bag of A+, courtesy of Doctor Cooper) and now is much better, but still under monitoring. When she looks up, she almost looks entirely herself, her eyes only taking a moment to focus.]

Hello, Nigel. Close the door.

(no subject)

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ strange new creatures to scavenge your pores

➝ while you were building your empires i was still sleeping

➝ while you were building your empires i was still sleeping

➝ while you were building your empires i was still sleeping

➝ while you were building your empires i was still sleeping

➝ while you were building your empires i was still sleeping

➝ while you were building your empires i was still sleeping