12-28-2019, 03:27 AM
Although it was fucking midnight in this bitch, Abathur was awake, a restlessness keeping him awake - he found himself unable to go to sleep these days... and all days, actually, because he never really slept, in the literal sense of the word, taking a few 'naps' throughout the day, in a dormant sort of consciousness that allowed him easy control of his faculties as soon as he woke up. Frankly, he found the mammalian sleep cycles rather crude, what with the minutes it took them to fully wake up.
But anyways.
It was midnight, and the moon hung high in the sky, a gentle quiet pervading the world, interrupted only by an unfortunate swear, one that shook Abathur to attention immediately. Admittedly, he had been going into dormancy, but there was no time for that - some form of fuckening was afoot, and he had to go make sure nobody was hurt.
The scene his acute senses led him to was one of a cuboid avalanche, a vomitous pile of cardboard neatly blocking off access to a house, access that the dog before it no doubt sought. Perhaps the house had some treasure? Besides the boxes, of course, which were no doubt valuable. The spider crawled forth, intrigued, wondering why all this was happening. Why so many boxes? Were they all full? Why was Leroy (the dog in question, it turned out) trying to open up this boxy house at midnight? And why did the door open outwards?
All questions that would have to wait, it turned out, for first, Abathur would have to engage in some small talk, or something. Or ask to help first - that would be good. Then he could make inquiries while he labored. "Greetings," the spider grumbled, shifting over to sit on some of the boxes, his lithe form not unbalancing the precarious nature of this chaotic modern art installation. "Does subject need... help?" Regardless, Leroy would have to talk to him to get him to move off the boxes, thus ensuring a dialogue would be opened. Truly, he was a genius.
But anyways.
It was midnight, and the moon hung high in the sky, a gentle quiet pervading the world, interrupted only by an unfortunate swear, one that shook Abathur to attention immediately. Admittedly, he had been going into dormancy, but there was no time for that - some form of fuckening was afoot, and he had to go make sure nobody was hurt.
The scene his acute senses led him to was one of a cuboid avalanche, a vomitous pile of cardboard neatly blocking off access to a house, access that the dog before it no doubt sought. Perhaps the house had some treasure? Besides the boxes, of course, which were no doubt valuable. The spider crawled forth, intrigued, wondering why all this was happening. Why so many boxes? Were they all full? Why was Leroy (the dog in question, it turned out) trying to open up this boxy house at midnight? And why did the door open outwards?
All questions that would have to wait, it turned out, for first, Abathur would have to engage in some small talk, or something. Or ask to help first - that would be good. Then he could make inquiries while he labored. "Greetings," the spider grumbled, shifting over to sit on some of the boxes, his lithe form not unbalancing the precarious nature of this chaotic modern art installation. "Does subject need... help?" Regardless, Leroy would have to talk to him to get him to move off the boxes, thus ensuring a dialogue would be opened. Truly, he was a genius.
tags - "speech"