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+--- Thread: Wheeling Gull Isle derrida (/showthread.php?tid=52793)
derrida - Innominate - October 01, 2022
they left the body in the lion's den, to rot and bloat to size.
now, engorged so that vaster mass engulfed bone, on wings of countless flies, it was carried past the stone lips and out into light.
the body frowned, to not be scorched to ash by the sun.
near enough for stilted gait to carry, there was a hole. it gaped, drinking deep of recent rainfall, which collected in the back of its throat. standing at its precipice, toes curling around slick edge, lifeless eyes watched the drop of water.
it called to the dead, an open grave.
RE: derrida - Perdition - October 01, 2022
tell me if I need to change that Perdition thinks she smells like death
Perdition could smell something from far off, something rotten. Something dead. Grimacing--with pain, but also from the smell--he set off to find the source and get rid of it somehow. Despite himself, he was beginning to like this island and did not enjoy the idea that something old and rotten was marring its features.
He followed the scent for a time, walking stiffly from pain, doing his best to ignore the fire that occasionally trailed the scars along his body, and eventually stumbled upon... the strangest canid he'd ever seen. And it wasn't dead. Disturbed, and now unsure what to do, he simply stared at it, his face a mask of confusion and disgust.
RE: derrida - Innominate - October 01, 2022
is a-perfect <3
the vertigo pulled. the body resisted.
and why?
every action, that it would ever take, had been determined at the birth of consciousness. to step away or in, would be of equal value. equal pointlessness.
so why think?
that was the subject still hotly debated by the dying sparks of electricity compromising its thoughts. the dogbody sat down on its straightened haunches, and contemplated the hole.
RE: derrida - Perdition - October 01, 2022
Perdition didn't think it had noticed him, and he wasn't sure whether to feel concerned or relieved... He continued to grimace, his face screwed up into something ugly, and he tried to think of what to do. He had half a mind to turn and walk away, to let mother nature deal with this creature who seemed so close to death. But... But it--she--also smelled like Bartholomew.
He sighed--and regretted having to breathe, for in breathing, took in the smell of her yet again. And then he cleared his throat, still unwilling to speak, half hoping she wouldn't hear. What if he spoke and the woman collapsed into decay at the sound of his voice? What if he spoke and she asked something of him? He was hardly better off than she was, and anything she might need would be better given by someone other than him.
RE: derrida - Innominate - October 01, 2022
the sound was heard.
the corpse spent another prolonged moment reviewing its last thought, muttering along with it.
"theillusionofcasualtyremainsintactcapablefromownperspectiveofmakinganychoicedespitedirectcontradictionblessingandcurseandyet-"
it was still before, but now not even dying breath moved its form.
the dead head turned to the other.
"hail." said in deep rumble, sound drowned by own timbre.
RE: derrida - Perdition - October 01, 2022
Perdition blinked several times very quickly, alarm replacing any disgust he had been feeling before. This woman needed help. She was clearly out of her mind. He had tried to follow her flow of gibberish, and caught individual words here and there, but her constant stream, plus his own hearing loss, made that impossible. Now he stepped closer to her, opening his mouth, wondering what to say or do--
'Hail,' she said, and though it was garbled, he did understand it.
"H-Hello," he said, cautiously, glancing around as if praying for someone else to come along and save him from this situation. "D-Do you... need assistance?" He took another step toward her, and then hesitated. What if she attacked him? What if she had some kind of catching disease? He was already disabled, and injured from his time spent tumbling around in the ocean; he did not need anymore trouble put upon his body.
RE: derrida - Innominate - October 03, 2022
a wolf. scarred in a manner that invoked the crack of lighting, their eyes the color of a distant sky.
wearing the opposite of a theater mask, twisted now in ebony expression of discomfort.
a single wrinkle near the lips deepened.
"none." its gaze was round-edged and heavy as a stone. "why, i am contemplating the hole."
the dark body leaned back by the slightest noticeable bit. it was amused by own idea.
"won't you join me?"
RE: derrida - Perdition - October 03, 2022
short post is short
Still extremely uncomfortable with this situation, Perdition's gaze flicked between the strange canid and the giant hole in the earth she was asking him to come contemplate. Who contemplated a hole? What purpose could that possibly have? It seemed a waste of time and brain cells to him.
"Why?" he asked, without elaborating why what?
RE: derrida - Innominate - October 03, 2022
is that a challenge?
the corpse shrugged.
"because there is no hole."
RE: derrida - Perdition - October 03, 2022
Perdition went from uncomfortable to confused to angry in the blink of an eye. Well, maybe angry was too strong a word, but he was certainly annoyed. “What do you mean there is no hole?” he demanded, stepping forward and staring directly into said hole. “It’s right there!”
This woman really did need help…
RE: derrida - Innominate - October 19, 2022
a strong exhale from the nostrils, repeated twice in quick succession.
"first mistake. how can you prove there is a hole?"