Hey everybody, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!
Anyhow, I'm here today with another chapter of The Wonders of Human Contact – no worries, I have been studying properly for my exams, but I understand more about the work that will be in the test more than I thought I did and so not as much work has to go into it for me to achieve a great grade. So yeah, I thought I'd use a little of my time to try and update again! Wish me luck for tomorrow though.
So, please, enjoy, and whether you enjoyed or not, please review; I'd love to hear your opinions. Also, my reply to Gravity Warrior is: Thank you so much for reviewing my story, and it's a pleasure that my story is an exception for you; my aim is to create great work for people to enjoy, and so it does my heart good to hear from people like you who don't normally enjoy such and such, but still gave it a chance and found you like it. Thanks again, and I hope you continue to enjoy my story!
Thank you to EVERYBODY who reviewed, and I hope you enjoy the rest of my story! :)
~Jess~
X x
"Being thrown out of your comfort zone is being thrown into adventure. If you don't like it, make the best of it, if you like it, strive to do it again, but better the next time."
X x
Despite having slept a lot yesterday when on the road to recovery, Whimsy slept like a log as soon as her head touched the make-shift pillow for the night; Wilson had most definitely kept watch, but even he couldn't take being awake all night, only to travel on foot the very next day, all day. He was still dozing now, his eyes shut peacefully, almost giving him an innocent look. As if he didn't know any better. As if he didn't understand just how cruel this world was. Oh, so wrong.
In turn for his hospitality, she had wanted to make something for him, breakfast-wise... but it felt wrong going through his back-pack in order to get supplies and so she had to pass on the idea, feeling guilty and slightly embarrassed. There must have been something she could do. Anything! But so far, nothing was coming to mind. She was normally so creative, so carefree and so illogical to the point that she was creating mad, yet beautiful things, and yet, nothing was coming... it was so frustrating! If she could sculpt a prized monument out of grass and twigs, why couldn't she think of anything? That being said, it still was a little early, only the first day in fact... she was just searching for a way to express her gratitude that there were any days together at all.
Wilson shifted and she looked his way dutifully.
"Good morning," she greeted brightly. She didn't feel completely safe with him – not yet – but that was no excuse for no manners. She then stood and offered him a hand in order to get up himself. The scientist stretched and scratched the back of his head, yawning, before accepting her hand and mumbling a groggy "Good morning." in return. Looking at him now stood up, despite slouching briefly out of fatigue and drowsiness, he was so tall and lanky. Had he always been that way, or had his natural body frame somehow bent it's way to suit his current lifestyle with little food?
The young man was now shovelling through his back-pack intently, getting out some food and handing a small portion of it to Whimsy, who accepted it graciously. He then took a little for himself and muttered: "Hmm, getting low..."
The sentence was masked with ambiguity, but there was a fearful flicker in his eyes. He knew just how dangerous it was to be without sufficient supplies, particularly around here as this was no ordinary wilderness.
"Right," he began, gaining her attention instantly. "Since there are two of us, we can cover more ground. But we will have to gain more... if we work effectively, we should have plenty of food and supply to share between us. Since the days are considerably shorter here, we should be heading off at the crack of dawn... we had a little of a lie in today...," he finished his sentence sheepishly, an emotion that, though almost vacant in him, suited him well. He cleared his throat, somewhat bashfully, and picked up his bag once more, slinging it over his shoulders. "And so we're already behind. We best get moving. But stay close – there's no telling when the sun will start setting, and I don't want you on one side of this place and me on the other when it does," and with that being said, he strode past her, beginning to trek into the trees. She squeaked slightly in surprise at how fast he could move, before running to catch up with him. Once back by his side, she began to feel awkward; it seemed Wilson wasn't much of a talker.
"Nice... weather?" she attempted, and shockingly enough, she earned a glance from him; he quirked his brow at her, and then chuckled knowingly, a calculating glint in his coal-black eyes.
"You common folk, with your generic conversation starters," he responded, smirking. Whimsy immediately pouted; she wasn't common! Though deep inside, she knew she was nothing special. She couldn't seem to do even the most simple of tasks right, couldn't even show gratitude to a gentleman who had offered her his company out of greatness and kindness. She wasn't an artist, nor was she a writer or a scientist; she wasn't a historian or a mathematician, nor a lawyer or somebody who defended people like police men and fire-fighters. She didn't do anything (apart from sculpt), not necessarily because she couldn't, but because she felt that the former fact was true. She was just... there, and sometimes just being there felt like a complete waste of time.
The small girl decided to walk on ahead, leaving Wilson to collect flint and rocks. She briefly caught him crafting an axe and a pick-axe in order to mine for rocks and obtain wood through cutting the trees down. If she could make something, that would have been great; despite knowing she was at least welcome in Wilson's company, she still felt a little odd asking him for things, such as equipment. Certainly, it would gain them more supplies, but it would also cost him supplies to make them too, and there was something about that that just felt too greedy of her, for whatever reason.
She suddenly felt a light weight on her back.
"What's this?" she blurted out, before she could stop herself.
"It's a back-pack. It's not so durable – it's only made out of grass and a couple of twigs, but it holds together nicely for a few light items. In it, you'll find an axe and a pick-axe," ah, so that's what he'd been crafting them for... "and space for the things you find." he finished, explaining thoroughly. Thinking about it now, she probably could have guessed it was a bag, with the straps over her shoulders and the balanced feel it had over her spine.
With the somewhat demanding usher of Wilson's hands, she scuttled off ahead once more, finding a few pieces of stray meat and a collection of seeds. Then she saw something odd: the ground just before her was silky and white, like... well, silk. It was alien to her though, she hadn't seen it before. Was it common? Was it normal? This was Maxwell's world after all, anything could be possible, she found herself musing. She kneeled down and touched it, the material soft between her thin fingers. And then she was pulled back quickly.
"Don't touch that!" Wilson hissed. She jumped at his tone, not used to his partially harsh ways.
"S-Sorry," she murmured, an embarrassed blush spreading across her face. "But what is it?"
The Gentleman Scientist began to explain. "It's spider silk, great hoards of them live here. If you must pass it, go around it." he then shivered slightly, his face clearly expressing his sudden sense of discomfort. "I hate spiders."
She suppressed the urge to laugh. A man of knowledge stood in front of her, and the only thing he seemed disturbed by were the spiders. Not Maxwell's laborious ways, not the lack of food or the shortage of water, not the very little sleep there was to gain (on a normal night anyway), not even the monsters or the evil versions of flowers, trees and ground... but the spiders.
He noticed her face as she struggled not to laugh.
"Those things are vicious monsters!" he exclaimed, his voice surprisingly heightening in pitch as he did so, as if the idea was obvious, it was ludicrous.
"Oh of course. Terrible beasts they are," she chimed, throwing a fastidious glance at the pod-shape in the middle of the web, where the silk was the thickest. She would not go against Wilson's advice – she would not touch it. It was just fun making him believe she could be stupid enough to do so.
Now, Wilson was a man of introversion; he liked his peace and his quiet back at home, and he liked the silence. Well, he liked the silence without (most) people; if there was to be complete and utter quiet, he would have most definitely been completely mad by now. It was the gentle whirs of his machines and the abrupt explosions from their funnels or engines that really made life good for him. Even if an experiment was to fail, it would fail because he had put the effort into it, just in the wrong way, and that enough was satisfactory. He felt powerful, knowing that a machine could not succeed without his brilliance and could not fail without his misplaced intelligence.
"I hate spiders," he repeated, firmer this time, before walking past her and around the silk, seemingly on the tip of his toes with his axe trained towards where she presumed the spiders would emerge if they decided to come out. She mimicked his movements comically, only lacking an axe to be his shadow. Once on the other side of the mass, they both heaved a sigh of relief.
And then the sound of growling and hissing sounded.
The pair of them stiffened; the day was drawing to a close already. Had they really slept in that late?! It couldn't have even been possible! But sadly enough, this was Maxwell's world – he could have easily sped things up and slowed things down at his will; it seemed unlikely, of course, and they probably had slept in way too late, but it was always a possibility. A possibility in which loomed in their minds like a negative thought on a bad day.
"I'm guessing we shouldn't move an inch...," Whimsy murmured as quietly as possible, in which Wilson nodded stiffly in response to, the pair of them incredibly uptight and nervous. The male turned his head to see a group of five spiders sat on their silk-woven wonderland, each baring teeth and angry, narrowed eyes. They weren't moving, or striking – they were waiting for the pair to start running. The chase probably enthralled them. Or entertained them. Or both.
The worst of the matter? They needed to make their way around the silk in order to get back to the camp, having crossed before. Slowly, Wilson pulled his axe up.
"We have no choice, I'm afraid. We need to get past," he said, gesturing to her bag with his eyes; she slowly pulled the pick-axe that had been crafted for her out of the grassy bag. If she was being honest, she felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins; despite not having encountered spiders before (shocking really, as they were probably some of the most common things there), she had definitely encountered hounds and tallbirds and frogs, which, in her humble opinion, were way worse than a few spiders. Still, Wilson's air of grim discomposure was not doing anything to lift her spirits up, though the natural instinct to fight was settling into her veins slowly. She was slightly abrasive by nature, and that often showed through when she fought for something she felt passionate about; she was passionate about living, even if at times, it seemed there wasn't much to live for.
"We go on three...?" asked Whimsy and Wilson shook his head.
"They won't wait for three."
Without another word, the two charged into combat, axes raised high and eyes narrowed competitively. As soon as their feet moved forward, the spiders leapt into action, gnashing at whatever they could get their drooling mouths on. Whimsy slapped one of them hard on the centre of the head just as it came charging towards Wilson and it immediately turned to a pile of mush on the ground, spilling silk and a gooey looking appendage; looking now, Wilson was sweating like crazy. He really didn't like these things...
He stabbed a couple with ease to spare, but then got bitten on the leg. His response was minute, though noticeable as pain flickered in those usually stoic eyes. Feeling a sudden rage, Whimsy swung hard at a lone spider and knocked one of its legs off, sending it madly off balance. She was not normally this successful when it came to fighting – she knew how to fight, but didn't always do so with precision and accuracy. But now... it felt as if she could take on just about anything, and kill it. Maxwell was clever to stay away at this moment in time!
After the gruelling attacks, they both halted in their motions, breathing heavily. It shouldn't have taken so much out of them... not at all. She was tired and flinching with fatigue and pain, but she felt triumphant. Wilson looked about ready to drop to his knees – probably the work of the venom working through his body. Cautiously, she went towards him, wiping the edge of her axe on the grass below and touched her hand to his shoulder; he stiffened in response.
"A-Are you okay?" she questioned worriedly. Wilson looked her way and gave her what she supposed was meant to be an assuring grin.
"Ahah... of course. It's just a scratch." he laughed nervously. She knew he wasn't okay – he always, in the short time she had known him, looked so brave, so cool, like he constantly had a grip on what he was doing. In this case, he simply looked lost and confused. Slowly, she looked down at where the spider had caught him with its sharp teeth – the teeth had easily ripped through his pants and had gone quite deep into the skin. "You should pick up those spider glands there. They make good... healing salves..." he winced.
Despite their gross exterior, she did so without complaint. Slowly, with no more spiders in sight, they cautiously edged around the webs once more, knowing they would be more prone to attack at night, and wandered back to the camp. As the setting sun did its business and disappeared, Whimsy was the one to throw the logs onto the fire as Wilson seated himself near it. It had been quite an eventful day. And an incredibly short one at that.
After careful guidance from the Gentleman Scientist, she managed to put together some kind of medical substance and eagerly handed it to him, letting him do whatever it is he would do with it after he insisted he no longer needed her assistance. She pulled meat out of her back-pack and began to cook it thoroughly. As she cooked it, Wilson raised his head and watched.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his words hitting the bitter cold of the night. The days were getting colder and they progressed... perhaps Winter was coming soon?
"It was nothing." she smiled meekly, actually feeling shy under his praise. It did her heart good to do something nice for him – it was the least she could do. She fiddled with the meat as it hung limply over the fire on a stick; if she had any other means of getting it cooked, then she definitely would have taken it. This method was tedious and boring. The young man noticed the way her fingers curled around the stick as she twisted it contemplatively.
"Painter?" he asked, gesturing to her fingers. They did indeed look as if she had held a drawing utensil for a long time and simply applied it to everything she did in some way or form. However, the great Wilson was wrong. Slowly, she shook her head, giving him a somewhat smug grin.
"Sculptor." she replied. He raised his eyebrows in what appeared to be surprise.
"Not a common trade as far as I'm concerned. I haven't seen much of it, truthfully. Most intriguing. I can imagine your parents were impressed."
"My parents don't agree with it," she said, perhaps a little too quickly. A silence fell over them. It was true – her family were nothing bad, and they both loved her very dearly. She was a lucky girl who still had both of her parents and problems were not plentiful – that, and she also had the liberty of being the only child. But the one thing she couldn't stand about them was their lack of acceptance; for years, her mother had wanted Whimsy to partake in the fashion department of things and express herself beautifully. Whimsy didn't care for prestigious clothes and mannerisms and detested the base of it intensely. Her father on the other hand, who was a passionate photographer, wanted his daughter to follow him in the photography business and take over his shop in the little town she lived in. It was in no way famous, but it did well enough. Photography was the lesser of two evils, as she actually enjoyed photography. However, her passion was not there – and besides, she couldn't take pictures almost as well as her father could; her frames always seemed blurry and too angular, while her father's were pretty and pristine with natural textures and beauty. She could never pull off the talent her father seemed to host naturally. He took the best family portraits too – she had one by her bedside table with her and her mother cuddled together on the couch, Whimsy's toy lion (back from when she was younger – she hadn't had the heart to get rid of it yet) sitting in between them, snug as a bug. It was one of her most treasured possessions, but she never took it with her anywhere – she was too afraid she would lose it.
She had discovered sculpting in the presence of a broken vase back when she had knocked it over and had wanted to fix it before her father came home to save him being cross with her. She had put it back together perfectly, piece for piece, and felt upmost joy when doing so. She began to break things on purpose – plates, drinking glasses, anything that could shatter – in order to fix them back together. While her family were quite impressed with her skill, they didn't take too kindly to their things being broken; even still, they enrolled her in an art school while she was a young child, in which she expanded on her sculpting nicely. When it came to college and University, however, she had wanted to expand on these talents, and her mother and father had gone completely against it.
It wasn't fair, but what exactly could she do? Even so, she was transported here before she could make her choice: whether to simply put up with the course, or to not go to college or University and simply begin a sculpture business of some sorts on her own.
"I'm sorry for that." Wilson finally broke the silence once more. "I could say I found myself in the same predicament with my parents regarding Science."
The girl felt sad on his behalf. It was so terrible, not having any kind of support. Judging by Wilson's expression, the disagreement between his parents and himself was much stronger than anything Whimsy's parents could ever match up to. As the meat sizzled, the pair took a piece of it and ate, their stomachs feeling much better as they did so.
"And now you're a first class scientist. Fancy that." she grinned. He graced her with a smile, combing through his thick black hair and then looked back at her somewhat sadly.
"Hardly. I was a total failure..." he sighed, the smile still on his face anyway. He cleared his throat and rubbed his knee self consciously. "But I know enough to survive, Whimsy. I am good at Science." he finished, before standing up and walking to his bag, taking out two straw rolls.
"What are they?" she asked.
"We sleep in them. The good thing is, they disintegrate when the daylight comes, so our bodies will detect when it disappears and wake us up at the crack of dawn. We must move faster tomorrow – I was hoping to move camp. I was comfortable here, but those blasted spiders are too near..." as he explained himself, he handed her a straw roll and climbed into his own. "Goodnight." he bid her, before throwing a few more logs onto the fire to ensure it wouldn't go out whilst they were sleeping.
"Night...," she whispered as she curled up in her straw roll and pondered a while. Thinking she needed to sleep, she closed her eyes dutifully and forced the black sea of numbness to wash over her, all the while thinking about Wilson's unfortunate predicament.
X x
Done, finally!
I'm sorry this took a while to update. A) It was kind of a pain to write, I wasn't happy with it several times and kept changing it. First, it was hounds, but then I thought it was too early in, then I decided on spiders, but just retreating, then decided I wanted combat, then wrote out the combat so detailed that it dragged on and then finally came up with this, and B) because UI had exam prep and finals to worry about.
But please, review, and tell me what you thought!
The next update will probably – hopefully – be soon. I may try to update again tomorrow night if I have any ideas. :)
~Jess~
