[He's huddled outside his own house, petrified. Not five feet away lies a tiger doubling as a mobile garden, lazily sunning itself, and he flinches every time he catches it looking his way. The weird leafy animal hasn't made a move yet, but it certainly looks as deadly as any tiger. And that's the least of his worries, honestly, because he already appears to be dead. Extremely deceased.
Because he's a skeleton. A flimsy, tottering collection of bones, with only a thin layer of worn out clothing for protection. No skin, no muscle, no fat, no organs. It's hard to keep it together... both his shitty excuse of a body and his sanity. He definitely screamed when he saw his own fleshless fingers for the first time, out here on this islet where no one can hear him. Screamed his nonexistent lungs out, staggered through the open door, getting nowhere before he stumbled and fell, lacking the experience necessary to keep his right leg attached. It's still lying there in the dirt, useless.
Everything aches. Is death supposed to be painful even after it's over? It feels like these porous bones are made of dust. Like they might shatter and crumble away with one wrong move. Cold dust. Emptiness. The feeling something's been forgotten, a thought on the tip of one's tongue, that's what he is now. A memory slipping away, or on the verge of coming back. He'd gone to sleep a perfectly healthy living man--now look at him.
(The tube fox responsible for this is long gone.)
And, like the tigerplant snoozing not far away, something's taken root in him. One innocent little blue blossom is growing out of a crack on his arm...]
lots of little buddies
[Everyone knows the cure by now, even Héctor. He's been told what to do and it's easy enough. He'd love to. He's been doing his best, actually, he's practically told his whole life story by now! It hardly matters that he's telling it to a bunch of strangers, some of whom are obviously not human. It's a good life story, full of happiness and wonderful people. Hour after hour, telling stories about his childhood, full of pranks and mischief and playing guitar with his friend 'Neto'. How what started as a simple desire to make a girl laugh and smile at him turned into love, and then marriage, and then... Coco. He paints a picture of the most beautiful little girl in the whole world, the light of their lives. The way every animal was 'squirrel' when she was starting to talk, her favorite foods, her love of flowers (ha), how he'd sing to her, how they laughed and danced...
Not a single word relevant to the present, none of it what he needs to get out. No, what he needs to confess is all gone, stolen away by a nasty little fox. He never had a chance. Horrible timing, isn't it? One of these things he could deal with, but not both.
Eventually he gives up, lying in his hammock under the blanket. Dry cracking bones, being devoured by blue flowers, crumbling away. He'd felt like they would, and now they are. It's agonizing, pain spiking when he tries to move. So he doesn't. Nothing he says is going to help him. The world has gone mad, none of it makes sense. He's dead and he'll die again, they're telling him. Death by flowers. Absolute insanity.
He just wants it to be over. Let him go home to his girls, please.]
a fun guy
[Of course it will be, though not soon enough. Over for him, not for everyone else. The blue flowers have hardened over his bones, bulking him up as it takes him over. Whoever happens to be sitting with Héctor when the end comes had better beware. It rolls itself out of the hammock, covered by something resembling scales... unnatural armor that won't slow the skeleton-thing down as it lunges at the first sound it hears.
Maybe it can be lured out the door, to wander free and stumble upon some other poor sap. Maybe.]
Héctor | OTA | cw body horror
[He's huddled outside his own house, petrified. Not five feet away lies a tiger doubling as a mobile garden, lazily sunning itself, and he flinches every time he catches it looking his way. The weird leafy animal hasn't made a move yet, but it certainly looks as deadly as any tiger. And that's the least of his worries, honestly, because he already appears to be dead. Extremely deceased.
Because he's a skeleton. A flimsy, tottering collection of bones, with only a thin layer of worn out clothing for protection. No skin, no muscle, no fat, no organs. It's hard to keep it together... both his shitty excuse of a body and his sanity. He definitely screamed when he saw his own fleshless fingers for the first time, out here on this islet where no one can hear him. Screamed his nonexistent lungs out, staggered through the open door, getting nowhere before he stumbled and fell, lacking the experience necessary to keep his right leg attached. It's still lying there in the dirt, useless.
Everything aches. Is death supposed to be painful even after it's over? It feels like these porous bones are made of dust. Like they might shatter and crumble away with one wrong move. Cold dust. Emptiness. The feeling something's been forgotten, a thought on the tip of one's tongue, that's what he is now. A memory slipping away, or on the verge of coming back. He'd gone to sleep a perfectly healthy living man--now look at him.
(The tube fox responsible for this is long gone.)
And, like the tigerplant snoozing not far away, something's taken root in him. One innocent little blue blossom is growing out of a crack on his arm...]
lots of little buddies
[Everyone knows the cure by now, even Héctor. He's been told what to do and it's easy enough. He'd love to. He's been doing his best, actually, he's practically told his whole life story by now! It hardly matters that he's telling it to a bunch of strangers, some of whom are obviously not human. It's a good life story, full of happiness and wonderful people. Hour after hour, telling stories about his childhood, full of pranks and mischief and playing guitar with his friend 'Neto'. How what started as a simple desire to make a girl laugh and smile at him turned into love, and then marriage, and then... Coco. He paints a picture of the most beautiful little girl in the whole world, the light of their lives. The way every animal was 'squirrel' when she was starting to talk, her favorite foods, her love of flowers (ha), how he'd sing to her, how they laughed and danced...
Not a single word relevant to the present, none of it what he needs to get out. No, what he needs to confess is all gone, stolen away by a nasty little fox. He never had a chance. Horrible timing, isn't it? One of these things he could deal with, but not both.
Eventually he gives up, lying in his hammock under the blanket. Dry cracking bones, being devoured by blue flowers, crumbling away. He'd felt like they would, and now they are. It's agonizing, pain spiking when he tries to move. So he doesn't. Nothing he says is going to help him. The world has gone mad, none of it makes sense. He's dead and he'll die again, they're telling him. Death by flowers. Absolute insanity.
He just wants it to be over. Let him go home to his girls, please.]
a fun guy
[Of course it will be, though not soon enough. Over for him, not for everyone else. The blue flowers have hardened over his bones, bulking him up as it takes him over. Whoever happens to be sitting with Héctor when the end comes had better beware. It rolls itself out of the hammock, covered by something resembling scales... unnatural armor that won't slow the skeleton-thing down as it lunges at the first sound it hears.
Maybe it can be lured out the door, to wander free and stumble upon some other poor sap. Maybe.]