I’ll be retreating to Dyster for a time while I ride out some more extreme physical transformations. Would you mind tending to my cat while I’m away? (I do have a backup pet-sitter if you are unavailable.)
You are welcome to anything in the fridge. The milk should be within date. Bread and jerky are in the pantry.
(He proceeds to leave complicated instructions for finding his spare key- he’s not just leaving it under the mat, for anyone to find.)
(Inside, there is a parcel addressed to Abigail on the kitchen table. Inside of that is a white rabbit fur, along with a note specifying that he would like to take her to a tailor at some point in the future to get her measurements, and a rough sketch of a fur lined, multi-pocketed vest.)
Thank you. I appreciate your assistance and concern.
[Mouse, the kitten Tarkin took in a month ago has certainly grown since Abigail last saw her curled up in his pocket. She’s energetic, playful, but her eyesight is poor and Abigail by now has seen her bump into table legs multiple times, squeaking softly with each collision.]
xxx
[On the fourth day the apartment door opens, not to the hallway it leads to, but to a drab grey room, stained with dry blood. Tarkin enters hurriedly, shutting the door behind him, once he’s maneuvered his lower body inside.
[He no longer feels that same queasy rush when he looks down at himself but he finds movement- or thinking about movement, observing himself, to be thoroughly surreal. He can feel his lower body drag against the floor as his new legs propell him forward in waves of motion.]
[He did his best to clean himself of blood, not wanting to track it through his space, but a portion has dried onto his skin and chiton.]
[When he sees Abigail his first instinct is to preserve his modesty- he is carrying his pants under his arm after all and his shirt is torn. Logically he knows there isn’t anything to see- he examined himself as best he could without a mirror- but it hardly keeps him from feeling exposed, and as his body curls, spirals on itself defensively he tries to retain his composure.]
[ Abigail had been taking advantage of the fact that she could come over here while he was gone - it was a lot nicer than her own basic, tiny apartment. She springs to her feet when she sees Tarkin, the cat jumping out of her lap, and she stares at him in a mix of shock and concern. She didn't know what she'd been expecting in regard to his changes, but it was difficult to see the humanity there now. ]
(It looks very bad so this is probably not as reassuring as he intends.)
[There’s a distressed hissing noise coming from...somewhere, from him, he realizes. Not from his mouth, clearly. From his...lower body? He holds his breath for a moment, it stops. He exhales, it starts again, fainter...]
[He looks down, runs his palm over his side and feels it, faint puffs of air, like he’s a machine with vents. Spiracles. The hissing fades off as he calms down, and begins to unfurl from the tight spiral he wrapped himself in.]
“My lungs now occupy my lower body.” [He takes note of this with a soft dry voice, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a private observation or is also meant for Abigail’s benefit by way of explanation. Grounding himself, he turns his attention back to her with a thin, shaky smile.]
“The pain stopped some time ago, it’s just all rather disorienting…” [He gestures with a casual wave of his hand and trails off. Mouse is squinting at him nervously.]
“I’ll just tiddy myself up a bit and put the kettle on, half a moment…”
[ She takes a few tentative steps toward him, though she doesn't close the entire distance between them in case he refuses her help - and, she has to admit, because she's a little unnerved as she tries to get used to his new form. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
< wilhuff >
Abigail,
I’ll be retreating to Dyster for a time while I ride out some more extreme physical transformations. Would you mind tending to my cat while I’m away? (I do have a backup pet-sitter if you are unavailable.)
You are welcome to anything in the fridge. The milk should be within date. Bread and jerky are in the pantry.
(He proceeds to leave complicated instructions for finding his spare key- he’s not just leaving it under the mat, for anyone to find.)
(Inside, there is a parcel addressed to Abigail on the kitchen table. Inside of that is a white rabbit fur, along with a note specifying that he would like to take her to a tailor at some point in the future to get her measurements, and a rough sketch of a fur lined, multi-pocketed vest.)
<antlered>
[ It feels good that he's asked her, but she's also glad to have somewhere to hang out other than her own dilapidated apartment for a few days. ]
I hope you'll be okay.
[ She's even more touched by the fur, and wants to repay him somehow for his kindness and for looking out for her. ]
no subject
Thank you. I appreciate your assistance and concern.
[Mouse, the kitten Tarkin took in a month ago has certainly grown since Abigail last saw her curled up in his pocket. She’s energetic, playful, but her eyesight is poor and Abigail by now has seen her bump into table legs multiple times, squeaking softly with each collision.]xxx
[On the fourth day the apartment door opens, not to the hallway it leads to, but to a drab grey room, stained with dry blood. Tarkin enters hurriedly, shutting the door behind him, once he’s maneuvered his lower body inside.
[He no longer feels that same queasy rush when he looks down at himself but he finds movement- or thinking about movement, observing himself, to be thoroughly surreal. He can feel his lower body drag against the floor as his new legs propell him forward in waves of motion.]
[He did his best to clean himself of blood, not wanting to track it through his space, but a portion has dried onto his skin and chiton.]
[When he sees Abigail his first instinct is to preserve his modesty- he is carrying his pants under his arm after all and his shirt is torn. Logically he knows there isn’t anything to see- he examined himself as best he could without a mirror- but it hardly keeps him from feeling exposed, and as his body curls, spirals on itself defensively he tries to retain his composure.]
“Ah, Abigail. Good afternoon.”
no subject
Oh, my God. Are you all right?
no subject
(It looks very bad so this is probably not as reassuring as he intends.)
[There’s a distressed hissing noise coming from...somewhere, from him, he realizes. Not from his mouth, clearly. From his...lower body? He holds his breath for a moment, it stops. He exhales, it starts again, fainter...]
[He looks down, runs his palm over his side and feels it, faint puffs of air, like he’s a machine with vents. Spiracles. The hissing fades off as he calms down, and begins to unfurl from the tight spiral he wrapped himself in.]
“My lungs now occupy my lower body.” [He takes note of this with a soft dry voice, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a private observation or is also meant for Abigail’s benefit by way of explanation. Grounding himself, he turns his attention back to her with a thin, shaky smile.]
“The pain stopped some time ago, it’s just all rather disorienting…” [He gestures with a casual wave of his hand and trails off. Mouse is squinting at him nervously.]
“I’ll just tiddy myself up a bit and put the kettle on, half a moment…”
no subject
I think you ought to sit down.