Logs:Further Manifestations of Hubris

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Content Warning

Arachnophobia, body horror, social awkwardness

Cast

Jane Murphy, Little Fox, and Spider as Weaver and Charleville

Setting

The Lodge of the Children of the Tree

Log

Jane made her way to the lodge, still dressed in jeans and leather, "Yeah, much better place than mine." she jokingly mused to herself idly as she got a look at it. "I'm a long way from Camden.."

Fox holds the door here, too, rolling her shoulders lazily. "I mean, it's nicer than any place I've ever owned, for sure." Owned, not lived in. "But also, it's hundreds of years old and owned by a bunch of reality-shapers, you know?"

There are people coming and going within the Lodge at all hours, and this is no different -- all of the kids are asleep at this hour, but there's plenty of evidence of their existence. Bookbags by the door, toys scattered across one corner. Fox wiggles her fingers at a young Black man in a kigurumi who shuffles past, carrying a laptop and a travel mug open and steaming. "Hey, Charleville. Have you seen Weaver?"

The young man tips his chin up toward the kitchen and rolls his eyes. "He's in there, working on a spice grinder attachment."

She thanks him by bumping her head against his shoulder as she passes like a cat bumping into someone's leg. "Thanks, C. This is Jane. She's gonna stay here sometimes while we sort some stuff out for her, and work with us." (edited)

She follows Fox on in and her enhanced eyes studied the architecture. With Charleville's arrival, she looked to him and smiled, and with the introduction she greets him with a "Hey, nice meeting you." She continues on with Fox and resumes studying the place.

Charleville chucks his chin up toward Jane, too. "Yeah, same, don't let this jawn overwhelm you too much," he offers, bumping his shoulder back against Fox before continuing on up the hallway with his mug and his laptop to do whatever it is that Free Council Acanthus do in their downtime. Perhaps it is better not to ask.

Fox pads on, her bare feet going pap pap pap across the floor, and leads the way into an industrial kitchen that somehow manages to still be warm and homey. This place could feed hundreds, easily. The multiple refrigerators and freezers have labels on their doors: KOSHER - DAIRY, KOSHER - MEAT, HALAL, VEGAN, GLUTEN-FREE, and one marked UNHOLY CONTAMINATED FOOD OF FLESH AND DOOM (MISC), and the cabinets are marked with what each one contains.

By one of the center tables stands... a ... man? Woman?

A bipedal individual. That's probably the most definitive thing that can be said about Weaver. A bipedal individual wearing a loose sweatshirt with its sleeves cut off at the elbows, pajama pants, and a patient expression which is somewhat marred by the fact that it has eight glittering arachnid eyes, and the left side of its mouth is fully human but the right side has a pedipalp at its corner, glistening with escaped saliva. The backs of their forearms have chitinous bristles and spines on them, and at the moment, they've got a small screwdriver in their right hand which they are using to adjust something on the spice grinder which is... attached... to... their... wrist. In place of their hand.

Like you do.

In any case, Fox spots the human/arachnid individual, squeals something that sounds more like an excited fox than a human being, and picks up speed, running across the kitchen to fling herself bodily and joyfully at the big spider/man. (edited)

Jane nods along at the kitchen supplies, everything seems normal so far, yup. Just walking along, probably going to bump into the chef any minute now. Must be them there now. And when she spotted Weaver, it was as though someone had installed Windows ME onto her Implanted Interface as her brain experienced the closest thing to a blue screen of death she had.

Once she was able to process what she was seeing, she gasped and then... disappeared. Almost. The act of holding her breath triggered her cloaking device and she was nearly invisible-- but still visible under scrutiny. The long moment passed and she exhaled to come back into view, then looked to Fox and Weaver. "I.. uhh.. hmm." She was at a rare loss for words. (edited)

Fox flings herself at Weaver, nosing against the cheek of the much larger Thyrsus, and chitters something that sounds -- well -- very arachnid as a form of greeting. She's busy enough hugging the other Child of the Tree that she totally misses the disappearance.

Weaver? Not so much. "Your friend," they hiss through their bisected mouth, "has disappeared. It appears she is also a clever spider." They wrap their arms around Fox for a moment, the spines on the back of their hand used to card through her messy black hair. The affection is a little awkward but no less genuine for it.

"What?" Fox asks, blinking wide-eyed, and lets go, turning back around. "Oh! Oh. Well." A pause. "Jane Murphy, this is Weaver. Weaver, this is Jane Murphy. Weaver is the Warmaker of the Children of the Tree, the formal name for one of the groups of Very Good Wizards." A little rattling sound from Weaver, and she sticks her tongue out at them. "Awakened, then. But we are very good. Usually." She takes a step back, and Weaver reaches to remove the spice grinder from their left hand, which returns to being a relatively normal-looking hand.

"S-sorry, just wasn't expecting.." What composure she'd shown before was showing its cracks, leaving her struggling to find a polite way to phrase things. "..someone so unique." Deep breaths, just take those deep breaths. "It's good to meet you, friends of friends make good friends." She was nervous, but doing her best to keep focused and friendly.

It should become apparent in this moment, perhaps more so than any so far, that Fox can be a little thoughtless sometimes. Not in a malicious way, just that she doesn't necessarily think. Her golden eyes grow wide, and she looks between Weaver and Jane, her cheeks flushing bright red. She's apparently so used to Weaver that it didn't occur to her that other people aren't. Hubris doesn't always manifest as fireballs. Sometimes it manifests as horribly embarrassing someone you adore because you just don't think.

Her mouth flies open and she makes a tiny little croaking noise in the back of her throat. Weaver's eyes glitter momentarily, and their inscrutable expression goes very, very still for a moment. In the literal blink of an eye, the bipedal individual folds up like cellular origami. There's a tiny scurrying shape, and Fox presses her hands over her open mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She watches this interaction, stunned, "I... uhhh... I'm very confused?" She looks to Fox, seeking some explanation and looking lost.

"It's my fault," Fox explains quietly. "I should have thought. They can be a little sensitive about being ... reacted to... by people who aren't used to them. It's my fault, it's not yours." She clears her throat. "Anyway. I'll get you settled, and then I can make you a dose, and we can talk about the finer points after you've had some rest."