The feeling of dirt beneath his claws, against his hairs, simultaneously irritated and pleased him. The soft malleability of it, for one, was pleasant - it was cold, but not freezing, not unpleasant like the air outside. It was like clay, but sans the pressure of actually making something great, as he was just digging a small hole, not trying to form a work of art or anything so grandiose. He wasn't the artistic type, anyways. He was cold, logical, scientific - even if he was beginning to observe how people worked more closely, he wasn't a very emotional being, despite how his current hobby might seem.

The downside of the dirt was that it got everywhere, and it was rather... well, dirty. His hairs did not enjoy the extended exposure at all, if you'll pardon that temporary personification - it was a very unpleasant feeling when, after about the second hole, he realised that all this dirt wasn't coming off very easily. Still, he continued, dropping more seeds into the little plot of land outside his house, which - conveniently - was built for a garden.

At some point after removing it from his house, the spider had dumped all the furniture from the humans into the junkyard, and as such he was left with a very empty house (he couldn't attest to the visual presentation of it, but he'd have to imagine it wasn't too great). Much like most, he wasn't a fan of the emptiness. It felt too much like a tactile version of blindness for his liking, frankly, and as such, he decided to start decorating with the first thing that came to mind: flowers. He'd start on the outside (which he was working on) and tend to a garden while scavenging flower pots or adjacent containers from the scrapyard - after having a collection and being confident with his abilities, he'd start on decorating the inside. A foolproof plan, frankly - not that there were any fools to mess such a plan up.

If he were to be totally honest with himself, though, this was something of a coping mechanism for him. Busywork was as likely to keep his mind off of the existential despair that set in after losing his vision, after losing the ability to read - a difficult thing to lose for him, an academic. He still didn't really know what he was going to do with his life - he was considering investigating sapient psychology, but that wasn't a surefire thing, especially with his blindness-induced self doubt - for how would he record his findings without being able to see? He didn't know what to do, but he did know what he was doing right now. All that he had to focus on was the task ahead, and after that, all he could focus on was doing it again, but better. Do something, do it better, move on after you reached the peak of your skill, and repeat with something else - that was the cycle of life, in his eyes.

He dropped in a few seeds, and then covered them up, pausing for a moment to contemplate his next course of action, before moving on to dig up another small plot.

tags - "speech"

    Dirt may as well been the only consistency surrounding him, a halo of filth fit for a creature birthed in the field and raised in the slums. He could never fully clean the dirt under his nails when he was alive, no matter how hard he scrubbed in river water or smuggled soap out of town. Even his very bones now existed under layers and layers of soil, bones now likely eroded into dust twice over. What can one do? If he couldn't escape the sty of his lost life, he may as well get over it. Although, Beck still found himself splashing water onto mud-splotched freckles and fur every now and then. He supposed now he didn't mind the dirt all too much; it gave him some amount of character beyond scars or birthmarks.

    The little ghost sighed quietly to himself, dark fur still drenched from privately wading into a thawing stream. It wasn't exactly a tub, but he could do without lavish privileges. When he returned to the ash remnants of his home, perhaps he could scavenge through the exposed basement for a towel or just air dry in the sun -- his thoughts scattered as a tossed clawful of soil splattered his side, reversing the effects of his backwoods bath in seconds.

    An expression of dismay opened his mouth into a stunned frown, looking to the direction of thrown dirt and slumping upon discerning the black blur of Abathur, soon joined by another oversized spider and the always omnipresent Aurum. Curiosity encouraged him forward rather than spite for his dirtied pelt. A huff fell from chewed lips. Anyone could tell that the arachnid was planting something, assured to him by glancing at prior holes with little white flecks and overturned earth. Both crowding Abathur's work had to have been blinder than the cataract-afflicted spider himself.

    So the poltergeist shook mud from his frame and rolled onto his haunches, mouth twitching as he waited to speak. The others tossed their offers without hesitation -- they would probably benefit from gardening with Abathur, either gaining his trust through kindness or boosting their reputation of a generous saint. Beck studied the whisker-like fibers decorating Abathur's legs and how they trembled with every movement even while caked in dirt. He hummed in thought, a stump of a tail wagging idly. "Hey, Ab," he raspily chimed, "I have some seeds from all over the world if you want to use 'em. They've... kinda been sitting around, so..." Better to be put to use than be stored within a soot-covered cardboard box for eternity.

Of course people would have come by. Frankly, he should've expected that - people seemed to hound him at every turn he took, to use phrasing harsher than his feelings. It was a miracle that he had managed to avoid them for those few weeks he was absent, considering his track record. They even managed to somehow find him when he first found this house, even though he hadn't been doing much to attract attention. Maybe put a few chairs and tables outside, but. Well.

Besides the point.

Abathur did not stop when he felt Itsy approach, nor when she knocked on the ground kindly, alerting him to her presence (he had already known she was there, though; her walking pattern was quite distinct, after all), nor when she waved her limb in the air. Not even when she asked her question did he stop performing his action. There was no indication that he was about to respond at all, really, up until he grumbled out, "Gardening," simply, smoothly, as calm as could be. He is oblivious to whatever feelings she may have, of course - he could only sense things like heartbeats and shuffling of limbs, after all, and Itsy's heartbeat was usually the same whenever he saw her, so to speak. He did decide to indulge her a little more, however, taking it as a natural curiosity, not the pursuits of a hopeless romantic, but even as he spoke he dropped in a seed (only one this time; he decided to experiment with varying the numbers, seeing what that would produce). "Needed to... what is expression? 'Spruce up the place'? Add something to home - was told it looked lonely." The depth of his voice and the flatness of delivery allowed him very little flexibility with tone, but regardless, he seemed pleasant enough. Even his mention of the 'lonely' comment wasn't dropped with any spite.

Aurum was next, which he almost completely passed over in his mind, except there was something different in his tone when he spoke this time. The lion hadn't really intrigued the spider much since after the latter had joined, but this wasn't a bad thing, necessarily - it just meant that Abathur wasn't much inclined to seek out Aurum's company. Sure, there were things that were interesting about him; the wings, the attitude, his omnipresence, but Abathur was content to let those questions go unanswered, and just be nice to him instead. Keep a friendly rapport, yes? Aurum was certainly nice in return. Cordial to the last straw, only changing his tune one time that Abathur had seen, on the border of the Pitt, but that seemed... uncharacteristic of him. The exception, not the standard. His basic pattern recognition told him that as an outlier, it should not affect his judgement of the male's person. Not that he was one to judge regardless. He pushed dirt to cover the seed, just a little bit, and left it to be, speaking up after that small action was completed. "No. Harder to grow, improve, with outside assistance. Prefer to do hobbies alone." He rolled around an addition to that statement in his head, wondering if it would sound weird, before deciding to just go with it. "Additionally, do not want to waste any subject's time, if they have more important tasks." Another pause, this time with him tapping the ground with his palps a few times, in thought, before finally saying, "Though, can subject let self know if any dirt gets... outside area?"

The last person to approach would be the only one to successfully get him to turn around. Beck was surprisingly present in his life after that whole house fire thing. Perhaps he had just made a strong impression then? A black spider on a night background, the raging fires of Beck's old home reflected in his pale green (at the time) eyes. This marked the second occasion the ghost had opened up conversation with him, and he certainly was a polite little thing, wasn't he? Even with that odd tenseness in his muscles, the one that screamed discomfort at him, he had been perfectly pleasant. Not a change of pace, exactly, but it still shocked the spider every time another person repeated the pattern of treating him recently. His offer, though, was nice on a new level. The spider immediately turned upon hearing his words, pedipalps beginning to work their magic, rubbing dirt from his forward limbs, while he looked at but didn't see the dead child. "Yes," was his immediate response, the silky quality of his voice an interesting contrast to Beck's small rasp. "Please. Would be extremely appreciated - could use for indoor planting." As one unaccustomed to kindness, he was similarly unaccustomed to gifts, and this definitely threw him off his rhythm. Perhaps he was reading to much into it - that thought did occur to him - but regardless of Beck's intentions, Abathur was wowed, to put it simply. "...Thank you." Was his final statement before someone else began to speak, the words alien on his metaphorical tongue, yet genuine all the same.

Although it seemed a strange expression to him, he could already tell that he liked it - certainly something to save for a more genuine feeling, though, to add to the emotional weight of it.

tags - "speech"

    "Cool," he sighed, letting out a rattling breath he didn't realize he was holding. Muscles refused to unwind, however. Not with Aurum around. But the motherly disposition of Itsy helped slightly. Who would've guessed that two giant spiders could ease his short-circuiting nerves? He glanced over the both of them, humming lightly in thought. Maybe... they would mate. Eventually. Like on those nature documentaries he blankly watched into the morning hours, eyes ringed with shadows and stinging from blue light.

    But didn't the females cannibalize the males once their business was done? His stomach turned at the thought of his newest and eight-legged friend being eaten, his guts liquidized and slurped out by that unseen spidery mouth of his lover in a cruel example of Mother Nature's dark side. If that was the case, he didn't want to see any spider egg sac around following the disappearance of Abathur. Even if the babies were cute.

    Sucking in a sharp breath, the boy shifted his attention back to seeds and gardening, although he couldn't chase away the nagging idea of spider sex even as he asked, "What types of seeds do you want? Like herbs, flowers, fruit, veggies... or do you just want random ones?" Both he could follow through, although his arbitrary selection favored the more eye-catching and aromatic of blooms along with practical herbs.

© LEXASPERATED