02-20-2020, 01:06 PM
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.
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"