#hopefully lifeTM things will calm down a bit so I can get some peace to just write again

[colderdrafts]

8: Preparations and anticipations

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

It's early in the morning back in the living room. You're seated once again on a sheepskin close to the fire, and Dren has spent most of the morning rummaging around his storage and seemingly sorting his items.

He’s been climbing all over the room left and right - a little slower than usual, after your stern reminder to be mindful of his injuries - and pulling out different knickknacks from holes in the ceiling and walls you hadn’t even noticed were there.

"Did you manage to find out what you're going to do with your off-world business?" Dren asks, perfectly content sideways and up high. He’s holding up some sort of tough straw, inspecting them carefully with a frown.

You swallow a mouthful of oats - desperately missing any taste at all - and reiterate to him what the barkeep told you. “Marketplace, early in the morning after half and full moons. Find a red tent, and talk to the harpy.”

Dren’s mandibles click as he exhales in annoyance, picking out several strands.

"I've heard of that harpy," he grimaces. "I was not aware she frequented here. She’s supposedly powerful, but she uses magic just for fun."

"Is that bad?"

"It is if you're too enthusiastic about it. One wrong move and she will destroy the entire marketplace."

You raise a slightly judgmental eyebrow at him, as he did that himself barely a day ago. He catches it and averts his gaze, a little sheepish.

"Granted, I had something more pressing than 'fun' on my mind," he mutters, and climbs down.

"After a half or full moon," you repeat, letting him off the hook. "Do you know when the next one is?"

"A week from now is a full moon," he offers. He folds his legs and sits down, laying out the strands in front of him, sorting them by length. He nods at your breakfast. "In any case, we will need to get more supplies to keep you better sustained if you are to stay here for the time being. You can't live on only that."

"Probably not," you sigh, moving the pitiful porridge around in the cup. "But we're going to run into the same issue as last time. I don't want you to leave the eggs at risk because of me."

He smiles. "I know. And thank you for your concern. This is why we're bringing them this time," he says, nodding at the tough straws he's now rapidly tying together with practiced ease.

You watch him weave for a minute, hands moving so quick you almost can't keep track of which thread is going where. Pretty quickly he's managed to create a starting point for what you assume will become some sort of basket.

Wait.

"Bringing them? How is that in any way safer?" you argue.

“It's not, exactly," he agrees, "but it's the better option in this case. 'Safer' is where-ever the two of us are present.”

You scoot over to sit next to him, slightly mesmerized by the process of his work. “I guess so, but what if something happens out there again? It didn’t exactly go swimmingly yesterday.”

“Yesterday was ill planned. I left in a hurry and did what I could to ensure them here, because I did not know what to expect outside. We have time to rectify that now. If we run into trouble, I will now trust you to protect them while I take care of it,” he says, eyes still on his work.

While the fact he feels he can entrust them to you is moving, you’re still not sure it’s a good idea. "Seriously Dren, if it's only for a week I can-"

"No," he chuckles, gently cutting you off. "Even if you could, we're going to run out in any case. I will not have my guest starving, and I will not leave my young again. This way, I can keep my eyes on all of you at the same time."

He turns the humble beginnings of his work around to carefully inspect it for a moment. "Besides, since there will be two of us, I have an actual opportunity to stock up on some things. I've been having the oddest craving for dried fruits these past few days."

It is true, there's not really any good options here. You do unfortunately need to eat.

Dren probably isn't letting you go get supplies on your own in any case after what has just transpired, and you'd be lying if you said you're entirely comfortable doing it yourself anyway.

Even if it turns out Morgan really is dead.

Something prickles uncomfortably under your skin at the thought, and you forcefully will it away.

"Can we even go back to the marketplace after all of this?" you ask to distract yourself. "We didn't exactly leave it in a good state."

"Yes," Dren says, shrugging. His lower body absentmindedly taps its front legs, claws clicking on the floor. "Who would stop us?"

“Fair point.”

Still, it feels odd to just nonchalantly wander back into the place that was just destroyed because of you. And even odder to force Dren back there after he just got hurt.

You glance over at him, calmly weaving the thread in his hands, the bruises and scrapes littering his body still looking raw and very visible. He’s still partially covered in web for the particularly gnarly ones.

Dren catches you looking, and takes note of your apprehension.

"Ah, don't feel guilty. This isn't the first time a custodian skirmish has ended poorly for that place. There's procedures for that. By now everything will be back in a regular state anyway," he reassures you.

"That's some efficient carpentry," you joke. "The entire plaza was wrecked."

"Magic," he leaves it at, smiling at you.

“And what about you? You’re still injured.”

“I am, but a good nights’ rest always helps,” he says. “And I’ll have another before we go tomorrow morning. I’ll be fine. These little marks are nothing to worry about.”

You cog an eyebrow at him. “Dude, your leg was literally torn open and oozing.”

“That’s why I have eight of them. Come now, I didn’t even have to tear it off to regrow.”

“Tear it-!” you protest, incredulous.

Dren laughs. A leg curls around where you’re sitting, and the movement seemed so natural you’re not entirely sure he’s aware he did it. Regardless, it sort of makes you want to lean further into him.

“Now look who’s a – what was that word you used? A ‘worry-wart?’” he teases.

“Sure, sure, I’m a worrywart too,” you huff, glancing at the clawed, hairy appendage at your side. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

You feel the tough carapace of his leg brushing against your back and freeze. Dren eyes you with a very soft expression, but there’s certainly fondness in the look. He’s completely still for once, just keeping the silence for a bit.

“..you good?” you ask to break it, avoiding the fluster that’s creeping up on you.

Dren hums in thought, still just looking at you. “I’m quite alright.”

He returns his attention to the thread in front of him, resuming his weaving. “We’ll need something to trade when we get to the marketplace. Luckily I have a lot of spare items lying about. There's been an oddly large opportunity to collect the past year."

Collect, you inwardly cringe. That's one word for how he gets his stuff. It’s little whiplash reminders like this that brings you back into the reality that Dren is not only an anxious, protective and sweet arachnid who lives in a cave.

Better not think too hard on it, or you'll just make yourself nauseous.

Speaking of nausea -

"When I met Morgan, I saw them use some sort of blue crystal for payment," you share. "Let's just hope the common-folk don't have that as a preference, then."

"A blue crystal?" Dren asks, bewildered. "I did not realize they had started using those for trading. I may be behind on current trends."

Come to think of it, that crystal Morgan gave the barkeep does seem familiar. "Dren, don't you have an entire room in the cave basically full of those?"

He stares ahead a moment in realization. "Huh. I suppose I do. I just thought they were pleasing to look at when I dug them out."

You remember the inside of one of the cave openings he showed you during the storm, full of the sparkling blue sheen. "I think we're good, wares wise."

"And I think I know why there was a sudden influx of trespassers the past year," he muses.

You spend most of the day preparing for the trip back. Dren carefully weaves a basket large enough to comfortably house his eggs, and spends a lot of time fuzzing about it and webbing up its interior. He makes sure it's structurally sound and very soft internally, so nothing can happen to whatever is nestled inside of it.

He remains seated most of the time he works, most likely saving his strength and resting up from the vicious fight yesterday. He seems chipper, though, all things considered, throwing warm glances, small jokes and pleasantries your way whenever you pass him by as you do your end of the tasks.

Said tasks includes picking out items that you won’t have use for, and sorting them in different piles. You put things back in the places you can reach, and the ones you can't, you leave for Dren to put back later.

Once that's done, you venture to the cave full of blue crystals, using a small pickax you found among the assorted tools Dren has collected, to chip some out. It takes some time and effort, but you manage to collect a small bunch to keep in the satchel at your side.

You pause as you spot your home clothes still inside of it, faintly wondering if anyone back home have started looking for you.

They must have at this point. You wonder how they will feel when they realize you're nowhere to be found, as it would seem those superstitions you heard when you first moved there proved to be correct. And now, you're just fuel for that story to continue. What happens to that story when you get back and reiterate your experience?

If you get back, that is. You can only hope you’ll have a better shot at knowing for sure in a week.

You bring the clothes to your face and breathe in, the smell of your home engulfing your senses. It's odd that you've come to a point where you can actually identify it - usually your own scent isn't too noticeable to you.

But you wont be needing those at the moment. Sentimentality can wait until you’re certain anything is actually lost. You fold them, and leave the blue cave to store them safely in the back of your sleeping pod. Right now, they’ll just weigh you down.

Afterwards you return to the living room, but you don't see Dren anywhere, neither the basket. Perhaps he's gone to check on his eggs.

You pull out a cup to get a drink of water and sit down, muscles sore from today’s work and needing a rest. You lean back and admire the swirly patterns running across the ceiling, closing your eyes to the gentle sound of fire warming the room and filling it with a soft glow.

We’ll need to refuel the lanterns soon, you make a mental note to inform the guy who can walk on the ceiling. You’re lucky he even thought to keep any around, and that he keeps it up for your sake. As he does with a lot of other things.

You understand the motivation better now, though it’s odd to have Dren throw his need to care on you, a random passerby who just happened to stumble upon him. From what you've learned, supposedly you should count yourself lucky he got to you first.

But why does he care so much, if he knows you wont be here for long? He’s content to let you go on your merry way, despite how difficult it seemingly is for him to split from you. He cares so much because that’s what he has been naturally programmed to do. Are you taking advantage of that?

He said it himself. He only shelters you because of what you are.

But the way he engages, talks to and looks at you, god when you’re being stared at by four black eyes at a time in that odd way he does - it’s difficult to look away. Like he doesn’t let you, like he wants you to see just how much he likes to focus on you. How much he wants to connect.

No strings attached.

Then why all of this effort?

Or perhaps you are just overthinking things, and it really isn’t more complicated than he’s a little lonely down here, and likes having a guest to talk to. Who could blame him?

You sit for a while, alone with your thoughts. At one point you start dozing a bit, perhaps this day took more out of you than you realized. You've definitely spent a few hours on all of the preparations, but you're still not sure what time it is, the constant darkness not offering any clue. Perhaps you should get into the habit of checking outside, and let the sun guide you. If anything it will help distract you form your current thoughts.

You grab hold of the webs leading to the tunnel that brings you to the 'window', and start climbing to have a look.

It's already dark outside again, and you smell the cool evening air brushing against your face hidden behind the rocks. You breathe it in for a bit, ignoring the subtle claustrophobia. Staring out from beneath the rocks, it can sort of feel like being trapped underground.

Not trapped, you remind yourself. You can go outside whenever you darn please.

You’re about to turn back, when something out to corner of your eye catches your attention, instantly putting you on alert. Something is moving out there.

Hidden further away in the gloom, in between the rustling trees, something big with gangly limbs ventures quietly. It’s partially obscured by the dark, and you can’t make it out completely. And yet, your breath hitches in your throat.

The dull ache in your chest, that had until now gone unnoticed, suddenly increases tenfold. Your heart starts hammering, struggling as if being forcibly pulled at. The sudden pain makes you audibly gasp.

And the entity outside halts. Its face snaps in your direction, staring straight into you despite how well you’re hidden.

Its eyes are red, and the look sends terror down your spine.

You tumble backwards, almost rolling back down the tunnel before you get a grip on the soft webbing. You haul yourself down and away, feeling cold sweat break out. The further you run, the harder to pull in your heart, like a hook is tearing at it and you're the fish trying to escape.

You stumble out back into the living room, heaving for breath, the heat of the fire doing nothing to alleviate the freezing chill in your bones.

What the fuck was that? It’s couldn’t have been them, could it?

It takes a few minutes before the pull diminishes, and the ache settles. You lean back against the wall, feeling the soil warmed from the fire, running under your fingers over the gentle swirly patterns carved into the floor. Letting the feeling remind you you're still in your body, and your heart is right where it needs to be.

And then it's gone. Everything is quiet again.

Eventually, you gather yourself and stand up, shaking it off. You stoke the fireplace, put some logs on it and chug a cup of water to drown the feeling.

"You've been quiet this evening. Are you worried about tomorrow?" Dren asks.

You’re back at the sleeping pods, settling in to get some rest. Tonight Dren decides to call it quits early as well, given the trip tomorrow will have to be conducted well in advance of dawn.

You lie flat on your back staring up into the patterns running across the ceiling of your pod, illuminated by the faint glow of your lantern. What you should tell him?

You are alright at the moment, just a little tired and sore. While the experience was intimidating, you don't want to make Dren worry over nothing - he worries enough as it is.

On the other hand, if you did see what you’re afraid you saw, he should know about it. Keeping him out of the loop of potential danger seems counterproductive if he’s supposed to be helping keeping you alive. You brace yourself for the interrogation you're about to cause.

"I had a small scare earlier,” you reply. “Spotted something moving outside while I was checking the time.”

You can practically feel Dren snapping to attention in the pod above yours, and you're thankful he can't see your partially amused face at the instant reaction.

To his credit, he tries not to sound alarmed when he speaks in a very alarmed manner. “Oh?”

“At ease,” you chuckle at him. “Nothing happened. I just spotted someone moving about, and they kind of – I guess they reminded me of Morgan.”

“..I see.”

“But I’m not sure. I don’t really see what they would be doing out here.”

You can hear a quiet chitter escape him. "Many things live in these woods. It could have been all manner of beasts and animals. Common-folk venture here as well," he offers. "Was there anything in particular that intimidated you about the thing you saw?"

You sigh through your nose. “The eyes. They were red. And my chest – I don’t know, I think I started panicking a little. It went over pretty quick, though.”

He’s quiet for a beat, contemplating. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“It seemed a little on the nose to bring more worries up than necessary. We’ve got enough to deal with right now. Especially since nothing really happened.”

There’s movement above you, unraveling of limbs and scraping across the surface of the walls. Suddenly Dren’s torso is visible, peeking out upside down and peering down at you through the opening of your pod.

“Whether something ‘happened’ or not is irrelevant. If you are uneasy, I would like you to inform me so I can help you,” he says gently. “This is important. If you are worried about something, I want to know about it.”

The completely honest altruistic way he talks is almost enough to throw you off loop. So worried about you, always on guard and in tune. If it was anyone else, you might have found it suffocating. But he’s so earnest about everything he does, it’s difficult not to lean into it and let him do it.

“I’m worried about a lot of things.”

He hums, pleased. “Enlighten me?”

It’s not exactly easy to bring your troubles to the surface and speak them on command like that. Worries of your home, of your stay here, your odd relationship with him that is so difficult to pinpoint. Worried for your life, your role in this world and this odd slight pressure in the middle of your chest that just. Won’t. Quit.

But Dren is, as always, eager to help your carry your burdens, as he calmly looks at you and waits for you to speak.

You sigh, deciding to take his encouragement for what it is; genuine concern for your well-being. “Are we sure they’re actually gone?” you ask.

“No,” he admits. He thinks for a moment, and then adds with a growl: “But if they come near again, I will not hesitate to ensure that they will be.”

The comment should put you at ease. It should be a reassurance; you know for a fact Dren intends to make good on that promise. But the fact that he's able to do so, and presumably with ease, brings the same subtle nausea back.

Something in the corner of your mind speaks, unbidden and unwelcome; He’s dangerous as well. Why are you putting your faith in a someone you barely know?

Because he’s putting his faith in me, you hiss back internally, strangling the thought.

"Thank you. I think I'll go to sleep now," you say, doing your best to send Dren a reassuring smile.

It doesn't make the worried furrow of his brow vanish, but he doesn't press you. He nods, and retreats back into his own sleeping space. "Get some sleep. We'll have to leave early tomorrow."