Heya guys, it's me, Jesspikapal, but you probably already knew that~!
So anyhow, I'm here with a random piece of crap and I actually have no idea what I'm writing. Wonders of Human Contact, I think. I think so. My mind just won't come up with words today. But hey, hopefully it will be an update in some way or form. As you can probably tell, I'm now way in a good mood today, so decided to use my mood to upload something kinda more direct, etc.
Please review.
~Jess~
X x
"Nowhere left for you to run. What a shame... you were fun to chase if I'm being quite honest," Maxwell mocked as Whimsy attempted to back further into the dark, shadowy corner. The panic in her gut couldn't be matched as she scrabbled desperately, trying to find some way through the shadows as she had until that fateful moment. Meanwhile, Maxwell advanced towards her, slow and purposeful, all the while giving her a sickly sweet smile. She knew it was a joke, knew it was sarcasm, but it still turned her stomach. He was going to get her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
"L-Leave me...," she whispered as she felt him step near her. He was quite close now, if she concentrated hard, she could feel a tiny portion of his body warmth; not wanting to seem weak, she did not edge away, nor did she try to retreat any more. This made the puppeteer smirk a devilish smirk.
"Oh... you're not running any more? Come now, Whimsy, play the game. Run," he ordered. She looked behind her slightly, only to find nowhere to go; was that the whole point of telling her to in the first place? So that the crushing reality could constrict her like a wire around her neck? She felt a sudden lack of air enter her lungs as she began gasping for breath; it was only then that she felt something holding her back. A hand. A dark hand. And now it was wrapping around her neck, pushing tighter and tighter, until her pale face was drained of any colour at all. Her lower body slowly stopped struggling and fell limp, her vision swimming dangerously.
"Let... go...!" she choked out, and the grip loosened briefly, allowing some air to get into her lungs. Whimsy was terrified as Maxwell actually touched her, his long fingers skimming the side of her face ominously. Anybody else, and it would be such a sweet, genuine gesture, but this was a notion full of terror, full of heartache and above all, full of lies. She flinched away, and he paused, his fingers still where her face would have been if she hadn't have moved.
"See what happens when you don't cooperate with me?" he asked her, basking in triumph as she let out a frightened groan of resistance, too weak to say anything else. As her breathing pattern steadied once more, she peered up at him and did her best to force out a chuckle. He responded as promised: in confusion.
"All this... over one, tiny key," she stated, a sweet overtone to her sentence as she looked up at him. She watched as his face turned darker, a deep, angry frown beginning to form on his face. "And yet look at you. You're still empty handed. Still no key. See how great I am? The otherwise great Maxwell can't have the one thing he wants. How tragic," she spat sarcastically, struggling against the shadow hands' grips as they began to wrap around her arms and legs, holding her completely trapped, forced into instilment. Maxwell was angry, no doubt, in fact, perhaps enraged would have been a better word... and yet a bitter laugh still forced it's way past his lips.
"Yes, well," he paused, smirking a disgustingly evil smirk. "We'll see how great you are when I am through with you."
And that was when she felt the choking sensation all over again, the lack of breath, she couldn't fight through it, she was losing consciousness. All the while, several cackles of cruel mockery could be heard, and she couldn't tell if she had gone insane, or if Maxwell and his shadow cronies were all heaving with laughter. Either way, she was passing out... there was no doubt she'd be dead soon... no doubt..
Shooting awake, Whimsy panicked. There was a certain race in her heart that she had never felt before, and it was all out of fear. A couple of weeks had passed since she had last seen Maxwell and it was certainly playing on her mind; he could have been plotting anything whilst she worried about his next appearance. The ultimately awful thing was that she couldn't stop herself from worrying; she felt as if she was obligated to worry. Slowly, she rolled onto her side and looked at Wilson, who was still sound asleep. He pertained an air of peacefulness whenever he slept. The bags under his eyes didn't look so dark and the soft intakes of breath that made his chest rise and fall in a smooth, soothing rhythm made her relax. Because he was relaxed.
Softly, Whimsy exhaled and smiled slightly. She'd never tell, but she shifted slightly closer to the Gentleman Scientist, feeling much safer as she did so. But she couldn't find it in her to sleep. It felt off trying to and so she slowly got up and scratched her head, waking up promptly. Was Maxwell "visiting" her by night? It seemed to be the only explanation to having such vivid, violent and frankly, odd, dreams. She was disturbed regarding what her mind could come up with, and so decided it was not even her mind in the first place and the crook Maxwell had something or other to do with it.
Now stood up, she took a look at the dying fire. There were no worries though, it'd be day soon. Since the last week of so, the days had settled back to normal, just with less time, so at least they now had some kind of schedule. Whimsy took a second to look proud as she eyed their oncoming 'home' with glee: the tent, standing tall and proud in the bitter breeze, the crock pots that bubbled with low activity and the homely floorboards that restored some kind of home-like vibe. Chester lay in the corner, soft grass padding him as Whimsy had pitied him with nothing but his fur coat to keep him warm. She could only guess Winter was coming, it certainly felt a lot colder than it did when they had first met. What a day. And the time that had passed was marvellous; she found herself growing closer to him. Getting fonder of him. And it made her extremely happy to think he was feeling the same way, as he seemed to brighten up whenever she returned from a task or to come in for the night.
New day full of promise (and hardship, no doubt), she stuck a foot out into the open, only to retract it quickly.
"That's odd...," she murmured, testing her foot against the frozen ground once more. And then she recoiled in horror. Winter. Cold... but it wasn't supposed to be there yet! Though the breeze had been bitter the day before, it had still been sunny and a delight to walk through the forest; now trees looked barren and little supply seemed to be around, all the bushes frozen over and the saplings iced over with frost. The layer of snow was not thick by any means, but perhaps that was the worst part: it was slippy and dangerous as well as being lethally cold.
She heard some disturbance behind her and turned her head to see Wilson sitting up from his position in the tent, his hair frazzled with sleep as he combed his hands through it with a tired sigh.
"Oh, good morning, Whimsy. I didn't think you'd be awake already," he said bashfully, his voice still slick with sleepiness. He forced himself to stand up, but no sooner had he done so did he retract his foot, similarly to how she had previously.
He frowned. "Oh dear."
The worried expression that coated his face didn't seem too positive and so she saw it as fit to look worried herself. He seemed to turn to Chester, then back again, as if there was something he had stored, but then realised it was no longer there. Then, as if refuting her previous thought, he went over to him, opened his gaping mouth and pulled out a spear. The tip of it gleamed in the light as it bounced off of the snow and towards them.
"What are you doing with that?" she questioned, beginning to feel the cold get to her arms as she began to rub them in the hopes of warming up once more.
"We are going to have to hunt some Beefalo." he told her matter-o-factly. She frowned; she'd heard about those from Wilson earlier on and they did not sound friendly when charging, especially with their legs of steel and their large groups that could chase for days and days without tiring out. Though their fur was thick and would certainly make decent winter-wear, she didn't think she could personally outrun a stampede of blubbering, angry creatures charging her way. Wilson seemed to chuckle at her face as she thought through the current situation, an air of terror about her. "Don't worry so much," he commented, smirking somewhat cockily. "It's not so difficult. The key is to get them from a hoard, to a singular attacker. Then, because they are so big, it is easy to be quicker and take them down."
He looked so confident, and yet it couldn't wager for her insecurities. She picked up her pick-axe gingerly and clenched the handle until her knuckles were white.
"Okay...," she mumbled, following his shadow across the snow as they began to search for some unfortunate creatures to poach.
X x
"I told you they were rather easy to track. We have two down and enough of their fur to make some kind of warm clothing. But I'd like another batch, for something else."
"What is that 'something else'...?" Whimsy quizzed, looking up at him. At her query, Wilson's face turned the slightest bit sheepish.
"I was hoping you would... maybe... make some kind of blanket out of the fur. You can do it better than I ever could – stronger, and more durable, and you seem to need less material as well – so I was hoping you could make these, actually. The clothing too, if that's not too much trouble..." he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward and slightly misplaced. He felt odd asking Whimsy for any kind of favour, particularly as he was out of his element of usefulness. But she could make something decent, something patch-work-perfect. If she could make a beautiful bracelet out of a couple of flowers, no doubt she could make a few articles of clothing out of a large quantity of fur, rope, twigs and grass. Meanwhile, he would scavenge; gather food for Winter.
"Well," she smiled. "That's no issue. In fact, I could do that in my sleep." she boasted confidently, a proud expression smearing across her face. Seemingly enjoying the confidence, Wilson allowed a complacent smile to grace his face, nodding to himself secretively. He wouldn't breathe a word of it for now, but seeing her so in-tune with challenges and tasks made him feel better.
"Very well then. I'm glad it's no issue." and with that, the scientist picked up his spear and pointed to a lone Beefalo discreetly; Whimsy, following the direction of it, nodded and clutched her axe tightly in recognition. Honestly, she felt quite awful slaughtering the poor things, and the only thing that actually made her go through with it was the fact that they were Maxwell's and it was likely to have some kind of impact on him, no matter how small. She wanted him in pain, to experience torture such as they were as they pulled through day after day after day of struggle. By seeing his creations die, she felt satisfied, knowing a tiny fraction of him had died as well, and so she kept strong, held her head high and finished the job with a gluttonous swing of her axe, whilst Wilson harvested the 'winnings' together like prized possessions.
Stealthily, they charged along, keeping close to the tall, yet frozen-over grass, the powdery snow doing a good job at keeping them hidden. Without another word, Whimsy dashed ahead and, swallowing her minute hesitation, struck the monster hard enough to leave a sharp-looking wound in its leg. It would not be able to run efficiently if she could do sufficient damage to at least its two back legs, and as she stabbed the second back leg, a feeling of relief washed over her. There was no way at all it could run to it's comrades for help now, it was beyond any kind of aid. It just lay there, whining and moaning in pain. Part of her wished she could simply "shave" it, without having to make any indents on the creature at all, but she knew that wasn't possible.
Wilson came out of the bushes and made quick work of the pained 'animal', a cascade of meat, fur and tusks falling to the ground. It almost felt like looting, and looting was so wrong... but it kept them alive, and it wasn't a case of being ashamed or not, but surviving. Surely the world made an exception for the desperate.
"You did very well," Wilson praised, breathing somewhat heavily. It seemed he liked killing things as little as she did. She always noticed his face go paler after muggings and technical-murders (aside from spiders, then there was only glee) as a sickly sensation seemed to wash over his entire being. He would slouch, he would lower his weapon and he would stare at the ground, as if apologising for a sin. "And now we have more than enough for the things we need. I'm glad it was quick work, actually. It's very cold out here now." he shivered and then caught sight of Whimsy. She hadn't noticed, but her arms, frigid and stiff, were slowly turning a pale shade of blue. There were dottings of snow in her hair, her shoe soles encrusted with snowflakes that shone like diamonds even from beneath her feet. She was the picture of frozen. Swiftly, and without thinking, he yanked his vest off and eased it over her head. The air was bitter, but it was nothing compared to the cold horror that had settled in his gut. Whimsy looked terrible... in the sense that she was not going to make it. He wished the blanket was already constructed, but it had yet to be made. "Let's hurry back...," he trailed, an icy feeling brushing his conscience dubiously.
X x
Back at the camp, Wilson had set her straight to construction. She had complied with no complaint, hadn't even commented on how cold she looked (he presumed she felt cold even if she wasn't admitting it – how could she not?) and had even tried to offer him his vest back as he shivered semi-violently in the snow. Meanwhile, he set up a fire and sat near it, allowing the flames to lick at his hands and Chester to sit on his knee, his personal patch of warmth. The wooden floorboards beneath his feet made him feel more secure, though he couldn't help but worry about the fire sitting on top of it. He surely hoped their place would not be ruined by something as petty as a 'house-fire', particularly not now when wood was scarce as the trees had all shrivelled into nothing but pine-cone-generating posses.
He watched her work dutifully. There was something about the way she crafted without fail that lured him in to continue watching, even though he felt he had stared quite enough. Her lightning-quick reflexes as she stuck and tied and wove enthralled him; not even his Science Machine could produce work so beautiful, and that was saying something! Her hands, he decided, were magical little things. Something to be treasured. And how blue they had looked earlier had frightened him to no end.
Suddenly, he was pulled out of his stupor to the feeling of something fuzzy on his knee. His head turned down to look at it: a fluffy coat. Unlike the usual fuzzy vest that he could make, she had added sleeves with no extra materials. It was a wonder how she did this.
"Very nice...," he breathed, though in reality, he had so much more to say. "Where did you learn such a fine talent? Would you perhaps share it with me? Teach me how to do it as well as you? Oh, please, if it's not too much trouble... I like when you craft things, you look happy, and that in turn makes me happy." and the list went on and on. "Thank you very much." he added, shrugging the material over his shoulders. A perfect fit. And extremely warm and cosy too.
"Ah, ah, ah," she tutted, handing him his vest and looking at him expectantly.
"Oh," he chuckled. "Of course." and as he took the coat off, she giggled playfully and put the clothing back over his head. He took it from her and eased it on properly, quickly putting the coat back on over the top of it. She tapped his shoulders.
"Looking good," she joked, nudging him.
"Hilarious." he smirked. "Let's see yours then."
Her face brightened momentarily as she ran back to the small stump (they had temporarily place a tree stump in their "base", which served as some kind of table – this however, was only until they had the means to make a better one.) and came back to him minutes later. She was wearing a fluffy coat, much like his, but a tad longer, so that it covered the backs of her legs. The edges were fluffed with fur and there was a small hood at the back that hung there dutifully, waiting to be pulled up. He stood up in awe, inspecting her handiwork.
"H-How...?" he mumbled, touching the fabric. Surely enough, it was thick and warm. She was a mystery, a well and true mystery.
"And don't worry, the blanket is made already. This was all excess fur... I hope you don't mind," she trailed, a small blush making it's way onto her face as she fiddled with a strand of hair. She didn't want to feel as if she was wasting materials, but the fur-coated edges on her coat was just too good to pass up. She then seemed to remember something as she exclaimed "Oh!" in excitement, darting back yet again. She returned with some leathery-looking boots. His shock was uncanny.
"Explain...," he muttered, barely audible as he took in the sight of her production. He knew he was getting all worked up for nothing, really; after all, they were just clothes, and he could have made something himself, just not nearly as good. But still, it would have kept him alive, which was the main intention.
"Well, remember the leather I kept from the frog I killed back when you told me to go fishing? There was enough to craft the soles for some boots, as well as some left over fur and sticks after I made the coats, so I thought it'd be a good idea, especially with all the uneven turf an-" but before she could finish, Wilson had spontaneously lurched forwards and grabbed her, hugging her in glee. She stiffened, a real set of colour resting on her cheeks as she softly returned his grip.
"What you've produced is amazing," he breathed, positive notion hanging on his every word. He was so bewildered and yet, so amazed, and for once, it wasn't because of Science. "And I can't thank you enough, Whimsy. But thank you. I first thought sculpting was so one-dimensional, but now I see it covers a wide range of construction, and said construction has been very useful. I doubt you realise how much so." he finished. He was truthfully questioning his motives to even make contact with her in the first place, but steadied his train of thought to innocence as he continued to grip her. He wasn't quite ready to let go of her. Not quite yet. There was some kind of rush he was gaining through being so close to her, and it made him feel happy and as if everything was going to be fine.
"Th-That's okay. Really." she grinned, as she slowly felt his arms come away from her. Inwardly, she couldn't help but fight off disappointment; his grip had been so warm, so comfortable, and felt so cosy, she could have positively stayed there a while longer. Without another word, he took the boots from her and slipped out of his common shoes (they were stood in their base, so his feet made contact with the wood and not the snow) and into his boots. He already felt better.
"They seem strong." he stated as he tested them out, walking around a little bit. There was a certain scratchy feeling at the back of his heels, but he didn't pay it much heed. It had to be positively painful to get the twigs to form the right shapes to build around (he presumed that's how she did it, though honestly, he wasn't sure). He turned to see Whimsy heading towards the tent once more.
"I hate to bail on you, Wilson, but sculpting really takes the life out of me. I'm pretty tired now..." she stretched to emphasise her point, only for him to nod in understanding as a smile slowly sneaking onto his face. She nodded to him, before asking: "Are you sure we have enough firewood?"
He nodded. "Not an issue. Are you sure you don't want to stay for something to eat before you rest?"
"No, thanks. I'm good, just sleepy." and with that, she disappeared into the tent. He found himself feeling slightly disappointed due to the fact that he'd be dining alone, but it wasn't such a big deal. She had worked hard and it was only natural that she would be wanting some sleep by now, or even a lay down would suffice. He sighed outwardly, a warm feeling coursing throughout his veins and chest. And it felt good. Really good. His smile did not fade as he fondly fiddled with his coat sleeve.
"Just what are you doing to me...?"
X x
And done!
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. I know this chapter was a little Whimsy-showcase, but honestly, I haven't given her talents much of a role yet except for the humourous scene with the bracelet with the dark petals. I was hoping to show it off a bit more, without giving you guys some kind of bad idea about her being "over-skilled" or anything, so I picked something USEFUL for her to craft, such as Winter things to survive the harsh conditions.
Also, yes, in case you're wondering, in my OC development for Whimsy (I have art of her and notes and everything), one of her perks is that she can create the same things as any of the DS characters, but she needs less materials to do so.
Anyways, please review~!
~Jess~
