reality_crossroads | (no subject)

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The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet! The rocks and stones are like old bones, all bare of meat! *Here he pauses: the possible options he's come up with, over the years, for continuing require that he either rhyme 'feet' with itself or use the word 'fish' for two lines in a row. Despite his (admittedly small) ambitions Smeagol is not an especially good poet, nor does he have a wide range of topics to choose from.

*Thus he's going with his usual non-solution to problems he can't deal with, which is to splash at the water while hissing and muttering to himself. Happily he's discovered swim trunks; his old clothes were a nightmare and have been relegated to the rag pile.*

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Ooh, shellses it is then! Smeagol likes the shells.

Awesome! Let's see. . . [He doubts he can dive as deep or hold his breath as long as Smeagol can, but he can at least take a quick plunge and grab a handful of sand, rocks, and shells from the bottom before coming back up with a gasp to sort it all]

*Smeagol's ability to swim is downright uncanny, but he appreciates the attempt.* Ooh, thisss kind is new! Nice Man it isss for trying.

[Marty's just doing his best!] Great! I was hoping I'd get something good. Don't think I see as well underwater as you do.

Don't think many can. We couldn't either, in the long-ago before the Preciousss . . . *He picks up the new shell and slips it into a pocket.* Jussst us and the fish can see properly in dark waterses. Good skill for Smeagolses, not so much for other peoples.

I suppose -- though some humans like to explore the deep sea too. Curious about what's down there. They have to use artificial light, though, to see what they're doing.

Sssuch curiosity sounds dangerous, Men can't breathe water.

What kind of light? Can't ussse fire down there, after all.

It can be, but people want to know things. And we've got ways of getting air down there -- holding it in tanks, for instance.

It's -- well, you know what lightning is, right? We've figured out a way to harness that sort of thing and make it light things up for us. [Probably not the best explanation of electricity, but he thinks it'll do for Smeagol.]

*He seems dubious.* Bad things happen when lightning hitses water . . .

Yeah, but this is lightning contained in something where it can't get out. Something waterproof.

We sssuppose that workses. Wouldn't trust it ourselveses, but if they care that much . . . *He clearly doesn't understand why, though.*

Want to come sssee our, our collection? *Another word he's proud of remembering.*

Yeah, it does. I'll have to try and show you an example sometime. [shrugs] Humans are always sticking our noses into stuff -- even if it doesn't always work out. [yeah, thinking about a time when he should have been more careful about sticking his nose into something too good to be true. . .]

Sure! Just lead the way!

*Smeagol will just be leading the way to his little house on the beach, then.* We has a bed now! And a kitchen and things.

*In one corner is a little table with seashells and interesting rocks and the general detritus of someone both curious and dexterous enough to collect whatever catches his eye.*

[Marty will take a sec to grab his clothes along the way -- though, uh, given all that splashing around in the water before, he might stay in his underwear for a little bit yet to dry out some more. Doesn't look like there's anyone around to judge! He looks around the house as they enter] I can see that! Nice place.

[he looks over the table with a nod] Got lots of cool stuff, huh?

*Smeagol is used to wearing rags, he couldn't care less what anyone else is wearing.* Yesss. It isss.

I do my best. No more Precious, we find other things that ssshine.

Nothing like having a real house of your own, huh? I remember when we first moved into our place. That was a big day.

[he nods] Yeah. . .well, you've got a great collection going here. Those shells are really neat.

Never had our own houssse before, jussst a cave. Lived with his grandmother before the Precious came did Smeagol.

Man likeses them?

Did you? Hey, nothing wrong with that -- I'm living with my family. No grandmothers, but I do have an uncle. . . But it really is nice to have a place all your own too.

Yeah, I do! You've got something cool going on here.

Yesss, but she threw poor Smeagol out once the Precious started having bad effectsss. Better to have no one that can throw you out, yesss.

Thank you. *He smiles slightly.*

[that gets a wince] Oh jeez. . .yeah, that sucks. If I'd been tossed out on my ear by my family, I'd probably be happier on my own too.

[he smiles back] You're welcome!

Didn't have a choice did Smeagol. We wonder what might have happened had we ssstayed . . . but considering what the Precious wasss doing to our poor head already, praps it's bessst not to find out. Poor Deagol, poor Smeagol . . .

*He belatedly remembers about hospitality and shuffles his feet.* Sssit? We has chairs now. We likes them.

[Marty worries his lower lip for a minute] Yeah. . .that was -- well, I don't need to tell you it was bad. You know. Still sucks, though.

[Marty nods and finds a chair] Yeah, chairs are good. I spent a lot of time on my feet in Arcadia, and -- yeah. Chairs good.

Yesss, yesss we do. Thanks for sssaying so.

Ought to have gotten a chair, nice Man. Not fair that you didn't.

Uh, you're welcome. . .guess it's just nice to have it acknowledged it was bad?

[with a scowl] There was a lot that wasn't fair in Arcadia. Bastards there tried to warp my big dream into a nightmare. Pretty much succeeded too. . .didn't take my love of the guitar from me, though. I didn't let them get that.

*He nods.*

Making happy thingses bad? Mean of them. *He thinks a moment.* Guitar?