Post by Talbot Grimes on Oct 21, 2021 20:32:16 GMT -6
Talbot’s whole life in the fog had begun to revolve around it, those few short days where the Pustulas bloomed so extensively that from afar, some patches of land appeared pure orange. From the moment he had awoken, he was hit by the cloyingly sweet scent that was trapped in the hovel that he resigned himself to, only increased by the even greater smell from outside. He knew in an instant what it was, and within minutes, was bolting out the door, barely clinging onto a satchel overflowing with vials, syringes and notebooks.
After that, trying to keep track of time in any capacity was futile, mind purely dedicated to harvesting as much as possible from each flower, pushing admiration to the side to work as quickly and properly as he could manage. Time was undoubtedly limited, and yet even though the flood of vibrant orange extended further than he could see, the worry remained that it wouldn’t be enough. He could never get enough of it for his research, not alone.
Only when someone else arrived was he fully snapped back into reality, finding himself knelt amongst many picked over flowers, half-a-dozen petals resting in his open palm, hands stained from the potent nectar. For a few seconds, Talbot just stared at the stranger, contemplating his course of actions, until ultimately calling out.
To understand the human condition, one must rise above it.
Travis didn't have any particular reason to pick the flowers, but the sickly sweet smell of them and their sudden appearance stirred his curiosity. They were seemingly everywhere and in dizzying amounts- often times he had assumed that he had finally turned back to the campfire, only to be met with a patch of bright. Orange flame. Travis was not here for the previous blight, and thus he was marvelling at the fact that the entity's realm could even change at all, in the nature that it had today.
Grabbing a handful of them off the ground, he pockets them- he almost decided not to, because the subsequent mess they made of his shoes and jeans was repulsive enough that he didn't want the hassle of cleaning out his pockets later, but eventually concluded that worrying over it was redundant- he had all the time in the world here, whether its to clean or to stand around worrying, and so Travis has haphazardly filled his pockets to the brim.
Stopping in his tracks, Travis turns to swivel his head to look at the direction he'd been called in. He didn't recognize the voice (was it even a voice to begin with?) But he starts in that direction anyways. Careful not to trip over the forest's flora, he eventually happens upon the blight in the middle of his research.
Oh. This is kind of funny, He thought. Both of them were covered in the same bright, neon sap- he felt like two kids playing in the mud bank, waiting for their respective parents to yell at them for making such a mess. Looking back and forth, He seemingly pays no mind to the Killers state, only shrugging his shoulders absently before he responds. "A bit messy, I think."
Post by Talbot Grimes on Nov 16, 2021 21:19:35 GMT -6
From beneath his robes, Talbot draws a handkerchief, raggedy and a wash-out orange, with little specks displaying the last remains of its original white colour. He placed the lone flower back onto the ground and cleaned his hand of the vibrant plant’s blood. He would be back for it later. The blight closed the distance just enough that his signs would be clear, but far enough away to not scare the other off. He was a survivor - or at the very least, dressed like one - and the smart survivors were skittish… so this man was either an idiot, overly-confident, or careless. The difference didn’t matter.
“What here isn’t? The slight mess is well worth what they have to offer, though. Nowhere on earth is there such a powerful chemical.” He pointed to the flowers stuffed haphazardly in his pocket “Careful not to prick yourself on the thorns, the toxin in them is quite painful.”
He stared at the man’s face for a few long moments, trying to force some recollection. Nothing came.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Talbot Grimes.”
To understand the human condition, one must rise above it.