eightlazylegs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eightlazylegs) wrote2012-11-15 06:13 pm
eightlazylegs) wrote2012-11-15 06:13 pm
Puzzle 1
[ACTION]
[There is an octopus sitting in the town fountain. He's white as the inside of a clamshell, curled up in the smallest corner he can find. It takes him a few minutes to trust the world enough to cautiously slip up to the surface and crawl out of the water. His new wings flick away droplets of water, causing him to shuffle around to get a glimpse of what's attached itself to him.]
What?
[It's bone and muscle and feathers, and it's none of the things an octopus should have. A delicate tug indicates they can't just be yanked off. Hermes spits out a jet of water and turns back to see where he is.]
...what.
[This is not Chicago. It's not even the parkish bits of Chicago that he's seen out of car windows. This is all wrong. Hermes switches from nervous white to irritated yellow, his tentacles curling.] What. Where? What? What?! [Where is his apartment? What put him here? What is with the wings? What what what what.]
[VIDEO]
[Hermes has chilled out and returned to a comfortable woodsy brown. He's sitting on the rim of a filled bathtub, with the screen propped up on the lid of the toilet.]
Have apartment, but apartment insufficient for octopus. Furniture and movers required. First requirement: tank. [He moves his tentacles to indicate a rectangle shape.] Large fishtank. Also hose and pump for emptying and refilling. Bathtub leaks out drain, is located inconveniently.
[Hermes gestures to himself. If one compares him to the tub for a sense of scale, it's obvious that he's only a foot high.] Cannot carry by myself. Food, toys, also need in future, but tank is largest. Will trade goods or services for tank and tank-moving. Make offer.
[There is an octopus sitting in the town fountain. He's white as the inside of a clamshell, curled up in the smallest corner he can find. It takes him a few minutes to trust the world enough to cautiously slip up to the surface and crawl out of the water. His new wings flick away droplets of water, causing him to shuffle around to get a glimpse of what's attached itself to him.]
What?
[It's bone and muscle and feathers, and it's none of the things an octopus should have. A delicate tug indicates they can't just be yanked off. Hermes spits out a jet of water and turns back to see where he is.]
...what.
[This is not Chicago. It's not even the parkish bits of Chicago that he's seen out of car windows. This is all wrong. Hermes switches from nervous white to irritated yellow, his tentacles curling.] What. Where? What? What?! [Where is his apartment? What put him here? What is with the wings? What what what what.]
[VIDEO]
[Hermes has chilled out and returned to a comfortable woodsy brown. He's sitting on the rim of a filled bathtub, with the screen propped up on the lid of the toilet.]
Have apartment, but apartment insufficient for octopus. Furniture and movers required. First requirement: tank. [He moves his tentacles to indicate a rectangle shape.] Large fishtank. Also hose and pump for emptying and refilling. Bathtub leaks out drain, is located inconveniently.
[Hermes gestures to himself. If one compares him to the tub for a sense of scale, it's obvious that he's only a foot high.] Cannot carry by myself. Food, toys, also need in future, but tank is largest. Will trade goods or services for tank and tank-moving. Make offer.
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[STILL NOT GIVING TOY, HERMES.]
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Ink. Dark black, stains badly. Will put on your shoes.
[He doesn't want to deploy it and get the house messy just yet.] Toy, then oath. Do not care about talking.
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The pirate hands over the potato head.]
Very well. She's yours, lad -- conditionally. That condition bein' you helping me to swipe shiny things from the unsuspecting, savvy?
no subject
[Whatever. POTATO HEAD OMG. Hermes' skin ripples in shifting dull rainbows as he pulls the face-pieces from their holes and removes the back so he can snuggle half of himself inside it.]
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Would a larger potato suit....?
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Oi -- don't squish 'em, Octy. Trust me on this: you don't want your feathers to become defeathered. That way lies pain and agony and death.
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[Tentacles grow back. When he's been really bored he's even chewed the tips off and those come back eventually.]
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We don't go looking for points, here. Sorry to say that, if that's what you were wantin', lad.