OceanicVoid

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

“Thank you.” he says.

Ilian leaned up, peering over the top tier of the cart and beginning to prepare needle and thread to suture the cut on his creation’s leg. Another gurgle catches his attention, and though no words were spoken the way their eyes darted about then to him gave him enough to guess.

“This is…” he pauses, looking around the room himself.

For the first time the chaos of the room is made apparent to him. Small shards of glass lay at the base of the crowded machinery. Sketches of his creation’s design and notes are plastered along the walls, what was once a dining table shoved to the side and piled high with books, journals, and vials. Shelves were lined with jars of preserved past trials, both failed and successful, their dead eyes clouded and staring out into nothing. Floating around a few rodents left open was the same murky grey fluid that seeped from his creation’s wound.

It was an unpleasant sight, he realized. The slow build up of the mess and the months he had spent alone within the room had blinded him to how others may see it. It would be enough to drive most away or drag law enforcement to his doorstep. To have awoken in a place like this…

He lightly cups his creation’s jaw, shifting their attention back to their leg, feeling a faint tinge of shame. “This was the dining room at one point. Now it’s my workspace.”

“It…” Moving their hand aside, he discards the now grey rag, wiping away the rest of the murky liquid with disinfectant and spreading a dollop of a pale green gel on the surrounding areas. “It will not be like this forever. I did have plans of cleaning it up once you had awoken, maybe even reverting it back to how it was before.”

Looking at the wound he notes that while it isn’t that long an inch is still far too deep for his liking. His creation’s previous prodding and unintentional damage of the deeper layers hadn’t helped either, prying the cut further and exposing the fascial layer. Needle in driver and forceps holding down the skin, he looks back up at his creation.

“I’ve administered a numbing agent, just to be safe. I am going to close up the wound now. Please refrain from touching it.” he says.

He waits for his hands to steady before proceeding, trying to keep the creeping fatigue at bay. He had made sure to rest before his creation’s awakening, paced himself throughout the day, and yet it came once more. He sighs, adjusting his position and resets the placement of his hands. After a few moments, finally, he could begin.

Needle bites into the fascia, working in a zigzag pattern. He finds himself continuing to talk, his manner a little less stilted and awkward as he explains the process to his creation, wanting to indulge their previous curiosity. While it had been unexpected, he took it as a good sign

“The layer I have closed up is called the fascia,” he points to the shiny pale purple layer pulled together with thread, “It is made up of connective tissue and is what separates the top layers of your skin from your muscle.”

Above it he points to the surrounding wall of soft, spongey grey mush, needle beginning to dig into that, continuing to lecture as he goes. “That is the subcutaneous layer or fat. It’s what provides protection for your entrails and structure for your skin. The top most layer is called the epidermis.”

Layer by layer he sews it shut, occasionally glancing up to gauge their reactions before finally closing off the last stitch along the top layer. How long it would take to heal without further intervention was the next question he had in mind.

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

I finally did ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Thank you for the patience, and again, hoping y'all are good!

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

I'm so sorry, I just saw this. I hope you're doing alright right now. I subscribed to the thread so hopefully I get notifications next time.

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

He had turned away for a moment, scanning the contents of the lower tier of the cart before he heard the vial drop alongside another tinny clatter, prompting him to turn back towards them. Suddenly a hand was a few inches away from his face, the grey goo smelling acrid and sterile, another gurgle coming from his creation. He looks down at the discarded knife beside their leg and the grey liquid seeping out of the cut, slightly pried open from their creation’s prodding. He had heard no cry of pain, only the tinny clatter of the knife and the faint plop of what he assumes was his creation poking into the wound.

The hand moves closer again, another gurgle, before gloved hands gently grasp theirs, holding it still.

“That is part of you, yes.” he says slowly, grabbing a small cloth from the cart, keeping an eye on them. “You may have scraped a bit of fat.”

He grabs another vial, pouring a blend of diluted disinfectant onto the cloth, and wiping away the mixture of grey goo and liquid from their hand. He showcases the soft grey chunks smeared into the cloth, trying to indulge his creation’s curiosity. “See?”

After a few moments he sets it down on the upper tier of the cart, grabbing another cloth, dousing it in disinfectant and wiping away the liquid seeping from the cut.

He looks up, guiding their hand to their leg and pressing it over the cloth. “Could you please press down on this for me?”

Office Fantasy

Seb enters the break room, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, giving a half hearted salute to his co-worker. The smell of coffee brewing in the machine perks him up a bit, shoulders untensing as he makes his way to the fridge to rummage through the various sized lunches. One of the containers (Araneae's he guessed, if the spiny little critters inside trying to pry their way out was any indication) jostled as several sharp, bony legs clawed at his sleeves through the cracks in the lid. He gives it a large smack, evoking shrill hissing in response. He gives it a few more until the legs retreat back into the container, finally grasping his lunch bag at the back of the fridge and slamming the door shut.

Maybe eating out would be more convenient at this point.

The beeping of the coffee maker was absolutely melodic, drawing him to the counter and pouring out a tall paper cup. He holds it out to Soul Destroyer. "You're first in line, right?"

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

For sure, take your time! Have a good rest!

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

Ilian remained frozen in place as he watched their hand twitch. Then their eyes fluttered open, cognac eyes locking with dark steel grey for a moment before they explored the tank they resided in. His earlier train of thought repeats. How could anyone turn and flee? When he looks at them, fully awake and alive it’s not terror that grips him but a muffled mixture of pride and awe.

It’s only when they reach out, gurgling, attempting to speak, that he realizes they had gotten out of their tank.

Instinctively Ilian rushes forward as they collapse, broken from his stupor, before pausing abruptly a half a foot away, too late and too weak to catch them anyhow. He leans his cane against the side of the tank, kneeling down beside his creation, examining them for any injury.

“I apologize,” he says, attempting to help them sit back up with some effort, “I didn’t expect you would attempt to walk so soon.”

He glances about the room, looking for the cart he had prepared beforehand with supplies for after they had awoken. He places his hand on their shoulder briefly before grabbing hold of the side of the tank to ease himself up, making his way over to the cart settled on the wall opposite of his creation’s resting place.

Rolling it over, he grabs a vial of water, kneeling down beside his creation once more and offering it to them.

BunniesOfDoom + OceanicVoid

The manuscript lets out a dull thud as it drops to the table. Ilian sighs as he reaches for the bottle to pour another glass before thinking better of it. He pushes it aside, head in hands. This was the first piece of text that required a certain level of inebriation to get through, and if the concepts expressed in it weren’t as intriguing as they were he would have tossed it into the bin. Still, it was an unexpected piece to find within the old study. How it had come into the possession of his family he was still unsure, but nevertheless he was glad that he had for all the aches and pains he went through following its contents’ protagonist.

To do more than to just revive dead flesh, but to create a fully formed individual from it…

Absently his hands reach for paper and pen, beginning to jot down a mixture of ‘what if’s?’, diagrams memorized from textbooks, shaky sketches of humanoid designs, and guesses as to how far the boundaries of the form could be stretched. Was the large size of the creation strictly to match the creator’s ego or to leave a sizable margin of error? Or part of the aesthetic choices rather than practical? What about the potential complications that could arise…

New questions and potential solutions popped up one after the other, all of them poured out into the pages of his journal, coming in faster than his hand could keep up with at points. Inspiration and annoyance settling him on the wall between sobriety and drunkenness. His thoughts became more disjointed as the hours passed but in a way he felt as though an outline was actually beginning to form, slowly being chipped away and carved into a coherent vision, writing until there was nothing left to write.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

While the relative seclusion of the grounds worked in his favor to a degree, it also made getting the much needed resources a hassle to be delivered or moved in. As he began to amass the necessities and begin drafting up plans for the machinery he moved to the dining room on the ground floor where it provided both ample room for his designs and a safer exit than the second story (not to mention easier on the knees.) It was also now lined with all manner of small animals (courtesy of the resident stray) in jars of preservatives with a few pinned open for temporary study, which were not particularly suitable for general company.

Months of testing and scouring the libraries of the surrounding cities enabled him to revive dead tissue within a certain amount of time after death. It took a few weeks more to keep them from reverting back to their previous state and when he had finally managed to revive the body of a rat he felt what he realized was a flicker of excitement.

Except it was only the body. The shell. The organs, while no longer in a state of decay, refused to perform. When he got past that obstacle, created instruments that would allow the innards to function, he was left with a body that was technically alive, but not a true living being.

The brain he focused on next, because surely that was where the gaps in his knowledge lied. He often wishes his predecessor had left more detailed notes about his process and the trigger for the actual ‘awakening.’ But while the search is tedious, he finds comfort in the familiarity of research, confidence growing as he refreshes his memory, beginning to consume all he could find in reference to the organ and updating his internal library with the newest studies. It reminds him of his university days, when he was younger and more passionate, filled with an insatiable desire to do more and know more.

He’s finding that again, he thinks, and idly wonders when the spark had begun to dim.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Perhaps it was a mixture of pride and ego, but as Ilian looks upon his finished creation he can’t understand how someone could turn and flee. Maybe his feelings would change when they awoke, and he would feel the same sense of dread and terror after the fact, crushed under the weight of what he has done. But for now all that he feels is a growing sense of anticipation as his hand hovers above the button. He takes a breath, steeling himself, and presses.

Machinery begins to whir to life, his jaw clenching as the lights flicker briefly. He had done all he could to ensure the fuses wouldn’t burst or cut out mid-sequence, but he has lived long enough to know that oftentimes plans go awry in irritating and unpredictable ways. Quietly he mutters a prayer for the first time since childhood as he monitors the readings, asking for the life being drawn into the vessel safe passage as opposed to forgiveness he knew would not be given. The lights flicker for a minute more before they finally settle alongside the hiss and clank of gears and valves.

Power surges and dips periodically, causing a few of the bulbs to burst and the metal to heat but so long as the core components remained, Ilian kept his focus on his creation’s inert form, gripping tight to the head of his cane. He listens to the thrum of the current within the cables and wires that run along the baseboards of the dining room, traces the waves upon the paper that prints, glances back up at the figure.

Gradually the whiring begins to slow, quieting. The static clinging to the air begins to fade, the door to the tank popping open with a hiss. He waits until all the lights dim and the room goes quiet before approaching. Gently he pops out the tubes connected to various points of his creation’s body, taking a few steps back, and waits.

Hello Hello!

@Letter Bee (´・ω・)ﾉ

Hello Hello!

@RoadkilBanana

(,, ･∀･)ﾉ゛