crankycave | ITP: inappropriate orifices

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ITP: inappropriate orifices

[In the one of the more livable regions of the cave this afternoon (evening? who even knows, in here), Tavros is examining a troll-sized tub of green slime that the fuk dwarves have just finished making for him. It's a deep, pearly pink, and the opening at the top of it looks like...well, let's be polite and say it looks like a Georgia O'Keeffe painting. The fuk dwarves have ideas about what holes in things should look like (nsfw).]

Wow, that's, a lot fancier, than I was expecting, with the decorative folds, and everything....

((pester Tavros about his obscene home furnishings! or pester the fuk dwarves for inappropriate boons of your own. everybody needs more decorative genitals in their lives, right?))

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(what is this. she goes looking for a proper secluded alcove to display a sleeve, maybe get a little combing or something in, peoplewatch, and then there's this...what. really.)

(at least it's a kid. She can talk to those without a screen.)

"We come home to earth," she quotes from an old poem you must totally know, subtly indicating the cavey surroundings with her fan. "does the child wish to return / instead, to the home / he remembers as mother?"

She just made a poem about a vagina. Her father would be so proud.

You are not entirely sure what this human has just asked of you. "Um," you say, because things you're not sure of always make you nervous. "Do you mean, uh, that you think, I have a mother?"

Sei titters delicately behind the fan--oh what a charming joke the little one is playing on her, how forthright children are, "from babes and drunkards", et cetera et cetera.

It's only appropriate to play along, of course. The sly look children get when they think they've fooled you is simply delightful.

"Certainly not, what a thing to say. You must have fallen from a grey rain-cloud." And he's got a vagina bath, but whatever. "Won't you tell me all about it?"

You wonder if this is one of those human pranks that always made Karkat so mad. "A, uh, rain cloud?" Human reproduction is so confusing. "I have never heard of, wigglers coming from one of those."

Cute. The little thing clearly has no manners--and if she ever does meet his mother, she and Lady Whoever are going to have some words. Her eyes narrow and, holding her fan up to hide everything below them, she glances around to see if there's anyone whose overhearing might be problematic for her. No? No.

"Nevermind. What is that thing?"

Oh good! That is a question you can answer. A question you have been answering for all the humans. And you are almost sure this is a human, even though it also looks somewhat like an ambulating pile of drapery. "It is, uh, a recuperacoon, which is, what trolls use, for sleeping in." You remember something important. "But one of the other humans, said that, it was rude to let people see it, so, I am sorry."

Ah, it's a demon! All of this oddness makes more sense now. Some of them in the stories seemed so glamorous and dangerous, but this one is just a child and she'd never really thought about what a little demon would look like. This one looks silly. Still growing into its horns! She really can't help but melt.

Taking a knee, she holds her curtained arms out warmly. "Come here," she coos, secure in her assurance that the little creature will like her. Court children usually did, even the fussy ones. "It's all right. I won't tell anyone."

...won't tell anyone that adorable baby demons sleep in vaginas. No, she won't be telling anyone that. But it's so darling!

You are a little alarmed. When girls try to get that close to you, often it means bad things are about to happen. But maybe with humans it's different? You come closer. "You won't, hurt me, right?"

Out of habit, she starts to recite that old, even hackneyed bit about "the dew touches the sweet flag"...but breaks off halfway through in a way that would be painfully awkward and embarrassing to someone who knew it. Of course the baby demon doesn't, though, that's the point.

The baby demon is also, now that she's kneeling, taller than she is. She could have thought that out a bit better, but she was caught in a wave of sentiment and couldn't help herself.

"Of course I won't," she promises, smiling as gently as she can and hoping her toothblack is still decent. "Come here and tell me your name, little one."

This human has black teeth. You are honestly a little tempted to stare! But right now she says she doesn't want to hurt you, and maybe if you stare she'll change her mind. A lot of the time staring seems to mean you're challenging someone. Which is a thing you don't ever want to do. And who knows what kind of weapons she's hiding under all those piles of cloth?

"My name, is Tavros," you say. "Um, what about you?"

"Tavros." That's an odd name. She turns it over in her mouth and checks it for syllables it might make a good resonance with. It seems auspicious enough.

"I'm called Shonagon," she says. It wouldn't be appropriate to give a demon the name of her family so that his bigger, fiercer parents could follow the name back to their souls. "Little Tavros can be Shonagon's friend and Shonagon will only ever ask one question about the, ah, the re...recooperatu...I'm sorry, that's a very foreign word."

"That's, really nice of you, Shonagon, so, thank you," you say. You have never had so many friends! This is a really nice cave. "And, I don't mind, if you can't say, recuperacoon, so, don't worry, about that. What was, your question?"

Sei walks forward just a little--or knees, rather, it's all the same--and collects him, decorously, into a hug that's mostly sleeves. He feels small, smaller than he looks. She nearly gets a horn in the ear and this seems somehow impossibly charming.

Children. Poor thing, here alone. It's not right.

A bit mistily, she asks: "Can you tell me where to get one in a different shape?"

You may be in danger of being lost in a big pile of fancy cloth. This is far from the worst thing that has happened to you, even if it is a touch alarming. The Shonagon human smells very different from the other ones you have met so far -- there are a lot of smells here to make sense of! You try not to get distracted by that, because she asked you a question.

"You want, a human sleeping platform, right? The kind that is, all flat?" You are proud of your knowledge of human culture. "I think, the dwarves could probably make one, like that also, since, I had to tell them, how a recuperacoon goes."

"I meant a bath, little one. That's what you have. It's a bath."

She lets him go and sits back on her heels, smiling. "Of course, there's nothing wrong with sleeping in your bath. But you mustn't drown, now that we're friends--can you breathe water like a fish, Tavros?"

"Oh, uh, you must be, a very fancy human," you say. You barely know anybody who calls it a bath. "I think, probably, you can get one? I hope so, because, if we are friends, I want you to have, nice things."

--Oh right, she asked you a question. "I can't, breathe actual water, because, I'm not a seadweller, but the slime, in a recuperacoon, is special. I still don't know, if humans could use it, though."

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sei_what - 2012-01-23 04:45 (UTC) - Expand

Having at some point, in his endless travels of the galaxy, explored and become enamoured with a particular group of islands, Drift tilts his head as he recognises that distinctive poetic beat. Not wanting to startle her, he kneels, moving as slowly as he can...

...and snaps his mouth shut as he finds himself lacking in the appropriate metric for conveying his greetings. What a winner.

Long nights sitting up waiting for the right kind of rustle have, perhaps, given Sei a bit of an edge. She hears that snap, oh yes she does. She draws certain conclusions from its abruptness and from the careful silence that follows.

Carefully, she adjusts her posture: modest, good, hems showing off all the layers: good, oh god are her eyebrows, like, COMPLETELY wiped off right now? shitshitshit

Oh hell, just cover it all with the fan...

"Good day," is what she actually says. "The dark falls on us / but nothing can hide the shame / of the unshelled snail."

"Uh," Drift manages with a sheepish smile, "Hello. Please don't be startled. I like your poetry." He cringes and casts a sidelong glance, embarrassed. That was definitely the wrong meter.

"There's beauty to be found... even in things that aren't beautiful."

. . . well, he tried.

Sei turns around to sneak a peek over the fan at her caller, and it nearly slips out of her hand.

oh sweet summer peaches

what IS that

is it flirting

Her mouth works, tentative and dry. She's got to say SOMETHING, she can't very well claim that she's observing an abstinence or something now...

"Yu...your armor," she stammers, the fan brought straight back up as though to protect her from this Serious Wierdness. "...indoors? Though this, ah, may not be indoors?"

it's going to do terrible things any second

army men do that

please please let it be just an army man

... well, it's an army man, for sure, but it's also a very large metal army man. Possibly around ten times her height. But he's sitting, very proper-like, so that's reassuring, right? His giant swords are all respectably tucked away and everything. Totally safe.

"I'm sorry," He offers, bringing up both of his very large metal hands in a placating gesture, "Should I leave? I can leave."

Maybe today should have been a car day, poetry be damned.

and it TOTALLY said she wasn't beautiful

it's the size of a house and she's not beautiful

sure she's old but

stupid grey hair
stupid eyebrows
STUPID

Okay. Okay. Deep breath, suitable proverb. She's got it. Fanning swiftly, she recites the one about two carriages passing, the one with the nice metaphor on "anxious horses". That's a good one. Austere, but not accusing. She recites it in a nice calm voice.

She peeps over the fan again. Any second, seriously, she's just going to throw up or fall over. Both.

it's not that she's not beautiful

maybe? ... what's it to a robot, anyway?

anyway, it was a poem, geez, it means like, wistful longing or ... something. appreciate all things? yes.

Let's go with that. It's a good (?) thing Drift isn't the most perceptive of robots, as he's picked up her discomfort but not quite the particular reason for it. He remains where he is, stiff and awkward, looking rather concerned.

"... Did I say something wrong? It's all right if you want me to go."

"Nnnn-o, no. You can, ah, stay."

Men just didn't get poems sometimes; her husband had been like that too. Well, sometimes. She supposed it was well enough things hadn't worked out.

That thought emboldened her. The army man clearly already thought she was some sort of mountain hag--what was there to lose? She might as well have a hag's crassness.

"...how do you know about my poems? I would have remembered you at court."

He sits in silence for a short while, half in admiration and half because he just doesn't know what to say. Realising that staring is rude and quite possibly extremely unnerving coming from a giant robot, he bows his head.

"I've... read some of them. In a book. I'm not sure I understand them, entirely, but they're very nice. I hope I didn't offend you."

He looks up again, still speaking tentatively, "I think we've both travelled a long way. I apologise again if I startled you; that was not my intention."

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