08-06-2018, 07:32 PM
The air tonight was thick, he thought to himself.
There were many things air should be when doing a dissection - clear, sterile, slightly cold, emulating a morgue or operating room - and the Tanglewood environment met no such standards. In fact, it was basically the opposite of a healthy surgical environment, with high humidity and temperatures and an atmosphere of general unease stemming from the radioactivity which lurked in every step of muck that you took, or seemed to at the very least, although for him the sensation was fading. It felt haunted, yes, like something very bad had happened here, but he was no longer so cautious about living here. It certainly didn't feel like a home yet, but he didn't have any irrationalities about it.
As the arachnid laid the corpse of the small dog that was his prey down on the ground of his little den, shifting the paws so as to give him more space to work, he couldn't help but be annoyed at the air which he had been considering very heavily these past few moments, even in such a moment of concentration as one would assume a surgical procedure would take. He supposed he had just done this so much, performed an autopsy, even with just domestic dogs, that the challenge of cutting open a body while preserving it had faded as much as the rudimentary sort of toned down paranoia he had towards the fallout zone of Tanglewood had, that over the years as he did it more and more to extract whatever he needed it had just stopped being a problem and started being more second nature. He didn't think he'd ever be rid of it, either, as he dragged one of his fangs down the center of the canine, having to improvise since his claws weren't thick enough to be of any use in this small body. He couldn't quite feel the blood as much as usual, couldn't feel it welling up and pushing past his hairs in such detail that it almost felt pleasurable in a non-sexual way, in how it sent a chill across his entire body. It was such a weird feeling, too, having your limb partially buried in someone just to get one thing, but, again, it was part of him, and though he preached evolution and change, there were some things that were just innate.
It didn't take long for him to get what he was looking for, to extract the essence, the soul, the foundation of what someone was. It was green, gelatinous, solid enough to maintain its shape but excreting an odd slime, with a strange odor about it - not one of meat like what a corpse usually provided, but more crisp, sort of metallic. It felt alien in an environment that was so familiar, that being biology.
Shame he couldn't smell it.
There were many things air should be when doing a dissection - clear, sterile, slightly cold, emulating a morgue or operating room - and the Tanglewood environment met no such standards. In fact, it was basically the opposite of a healthy surgical environment, with high humidity and temperatures and an atmosphere of general unease stemming from the radioactivity which lurked in every step of muck that you took, or seemed to at the very least, although for him the sensation was fading. It felt haunted, yes, like something very bad had happened here, but he was no longer so cautious about living here. It certainly didn't feel like a home yet, but he didn't have any irrationalities about it.
As the arachnid laid the corpse of the small dog that was his prey down on the ground of his little den, shifting the paws so as to give him more space to work, he couldn't help but be annoyed at the air which he had been considering very heavily these past few moments, even in such a moment of concentration as one would assume a surgical procedure would take. He supposed he had just done this so much, performed an autopsy, even with just domestic dogs, that the challenge of cutting open a body while preserving it had faded as much as the rudimentary sort of toned down paranoia he had towards the fallout zone of Tanglewood had, that over the years as he did it more and more to extract whatever he needed it had just stopped being a problem and started being more second nature. He didn't think he'd ever be rid of it, either, as he dragged one of his fangs down the center of the canine, having to improvise since his claws weren't thick enough to be of any use in this small body. He couldn't quite feel the blood as much as usual, couldn't feel it welling up and pushing past his hairs in such detail that it almost felt pleasurable in a non-sexual way, in how it sent a chill across his entire body. It was such a weird feeling, too, having your limb partially buried in someone just to get one thing, but, again, it was part of him, and though he preached evolution and change, there were some things that were just innate.
It didn't take long for him to get what he was looking for, to extract the essence, the soul, the foundation of what someone was. It was green, gelatinous, solid enough to maintain its shape but excreting an odd slime, with a strange odor about it - not one of meat like what a corpse usually provided, but more crisp, sort of metallic. It felt alien in an environment that was so familiar, that being biology.
Shame he couldn't smell it.
tags - "speech"