ORIGIN

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M for dicks

Hydra was a cavernous room, full of timeless, ever-shifting sands baked-hot by the orb-light high above. It was a desert waste unhelpful to those not fully adapted to survive in it. The extreme climate had made it a prime place for trials. Little to nothing could survive for an extended period in there. But, as the Champion drew a shaking breath, it thought this tunnel could compare. Garnet Five-Seven-Nine had run a fair few trials in the frigid darkness of the cave, but it hardly noticed the sight of its own breath crystallizing. As soon as it slowed enough in its flight to catch sight of its own air, the champion had to pause and watch in wonder.

The things you noticed outside of a persistent run from death.

It was always the small things.

The odd hybrid had pressed on, though, pursuing straight-ahead through the winding, frozen path. Its wingspan was nowhere near close enough to scraping the sides of the tunnel, but the high-vaulted ceilings were a blessing compared to Canis. They were shadowy and masked its presence rather well. A few strange furry things with leathery things seemed to be disturbed by its passing, but they preferred to flee at its movement rather than take a look at it. Lessers, it seemed --- blind, too.

After a while Garnet Five-Seven-Nine sniffed, shuddering. The cool moisture in the air was clinging to its feathers. At a junction between tunnels, the Champion peered about once or twice, and chanced landing atop a ledge. Shaking itself clean of collected humidity, kicking out either hind leg and flaring wings, the Champion preened with an off-handed attempt at magicka. Smearing a forepaw on the side of its beak, then from the base of its right ear up, the creature puffed up. Masters, it was cold in here.

Ruby-red eyes drifted to the side, then narrowed. Graffiti--- on these walls? Drawings of a crude sort, too. Garnet Five-Seven-Nine's satellite-dish ears circled once or twice, scanning for moment, before rising and plodding over to investigate.

Far as it could tell, it was a number of depictions of a small, sprite-like creature, pink-bowed. The bow was the only distinct part. Nemean? The Master was shown in a variety of horrific situations (perhaps none as her recent fate) and the champion grimaced. One drawing, just about eye-level with the hybrid when it propped up on its hind legs, featured the tiny sprite with a strange--- appendage between her legs. To the outside viewer, one could most certainly surmise that Garnet Five-Seven-Nine was staring down a boy-part in a pathetic attempt to comprehend it.

Face within an inch of the wall, no less.

@Imp

M for penises

L'artiste was not far off.

A leathery rustle of a deeper sound could be heard--and then the shuffle of claws on ice, and a cackling laughter.

He'd worked his way along this tunnel slowly. While the rock-wall caves were easier to work with, the ice here had presented a new sort of challenge--but nothing the resourceful creator couldn't manage. The color-chalks had still drawn their images across the ice, or across bitterly-cold stone where it lay exposed--and the gator-bat was excitedly pressing hind feet to the ice here and there, and sweeping his tail over the walls. Where his limbs passed, the ice was melted--so that these delightful murals were 3D in nature!

...All of them, invariably, featured Nemean. Small, with gossamer wings and a tiny bow-tie, she seemed almost true to life--except where Imp had scrawled her far larger. In fact, so detailed was his care for accuracy, even flair, that one might be forgiven for thinking they were celebrations of the fairy Master. In many of them, her eyes sparkled, light shimmered around her, and her poses were flamboyantly confident. Even her mischievous grin was caught on many. And all of this was enhanced even further by the magical chalks that Imp was using--long ago stolen from a more serious artist, the colors shone with their own bright light.

It would have been the perfect homage to the tiny being, except for the... well, "boy parts" that "graced" her. Imp, for whatever caves-forsaken reason, had decided it would be a hilarious mockery to plaster male genitalia on Nemean.

And it wasn't just anatomically-accurate genitals, either. Sometimes there were too many of them; often, they were in all sorts of the wrong places. Why he'd decided that this one ought to have them on her shoulder, or this one, right smack dab in the middle of her forehead, was anyone's guess.

It also wasn't clear how he'd become familiar with quite so many... designs. He'd incorporated the imagery of dozens of species in this, his life's work; and it was clear from his snickering that it was all his pride and joy.

Why, was anyone's guess.

@Garnet Five-Seven-Nine

The Champion leaned closer, sniffing sharply. Chalky residue wound its way up its nostrils, then were abruptly evicted. Garnet Five-Seven-Nine rubbed its paws together again, and huddled against the icy wall. Magicka sparked again in the quiet, and it waited for the sound or scent of smoldering fur. This tunnel was fucking frigid, and it was miserable in it. It could only get colder from here.

The resultant smolder was minimal, barely sending wisps of smoke spiralling into the air. But, it was enough to get the body to warm up and legs kicking again. (Maybe it should invest in some magical practice for once.) Just in time, too, for a rush of adrenaline to roar in its ears with the sound of something. Claws, wings, a grating voice that was somewhat familiar.

Being the neurotic prey animal it was partially composed of, the champion bolted for cover — at a rather lethargic pace, shivering. It was fortunate that there were more important artistic endeavors to focus on. And, that it was simply a small thing diving for cover. Not too suspicious, right?

Despite the loud cackling and impressively large and familiar shadows dancing around, Garnet Five-Seven-Nine found itself gravitating towards the artist in his process. The wonder of 3D modelling with ice was that it was warm and the hybrid needed to at least dry off.

Still smoldering — and stinking to the high heavens of burning wet — it plodded forth. Hopefully, it could count on the carefree nature of these Gembound to let it leech warmth. And to ask about the… appendages. Why were they so inconsistent? Why ruin beautiful homages to a Master with them? What sort of graffiti was this?

Instead, it huddled close to the slightly-warm wall and chirped upwards, "what are those— limbs?"

@Imp

Imp turned, flapping up in some surprise at the voice and the smell of charring behind him. There was smoke--a little, at least; but the gargoyle-like creature, surprised, swept up to latch onto the tunnel ceiling.

There, upside-down, he peered down at the... other gargoyle-like creature before him. Then he shuffled, shifting direction to see what Garnet was gesturing at, hind limbs and clinging bat-wings finding purchase on the bitterly-cold rock above.

"Limbs-? Oh! The penises!" he answered, excitedly. He then twisted his head, peering quizzically at Garnet. "Haven't you got one? Everyone has one. Mine is hidden," he added, proudly.

Why he was proud of this wasn't entirely clear. And it also wasn't clear whether Imp truly believed that all Gembound must have male genitals, or whether he might simply be trying to tease Garnet into thinking as much.

"That's NEMEAN. The BETRAYER. She has lots of them--all over. She's made of penises," Imp added, matter-of-factly.

He nodded, too, for emphasis.

Then he squinted, peering closely at Garnet. Wings unfurled as recognition flickered in his dull greenish eyes, and Imp dropped, flapping down to the tunnel floor. He shuffled to face Garnet. "I remember you! From Hydra. What's your name? You won," he informed the other--as if Garnet didn't already know.

@Garnet Five-Seven-Nine

A beady, ruby-red eye followed the gargoyle-esque creature in his path to the ceiling. Garnet Five-Seven-Nine tilted its head slightly, then seemed to hold it perfectly still as it aligned its body and hunkered down further into itself — it seemed the warmth had been coming from the other survivor and was now absent as it moved away. Shame.

Oh, well, conversation might draw the heater closer. And— and it was curious about this talk of penises. The champion had urinated many a time in its life, but it never stopped to explore its own anatomy. Pissing wasn't a useful survival skill; it left a trace. If it could, the garnet would never pee or defecate again.

"I might," it admitted softly, peering at the crudely-drawn images of them on Nemean's glorious visage. But, where? Anywhere? Unless they weren't anatomically correct or placed right. Here— "what does it do?"

Then, "I'm familiar with Master Nemean, but— how is she a betrayer? To who?" This was in a soft tone, carefully measured to not go so far into the tunnels. Had word spread that quickly? (It flinched slightly as Imp shuffled closer, having dropped to the floor.) No, no, this one mentioned her as being a betrayer when we reemerged. Speaking of—

"and you survived—" Obvious. "My designation is Garnet Five-Seven-Nine—" it hesitated slightly, "I do not have a name, not yet."

@Imp

Garnet was asking whom Nemean had betrayed.

Imp paused.

Truth be told, he had no idea. Or rather--he'd forgotten. He had some vague sense that Nemean was a BETRAYERRRR, as had been howled by Dragon impersonating Aquarian, once upon a time. But he didn't know details, and he wasn't even sure it was Aquarian that Nemean had betrayed.

Ahh, who cared, anyway?

And anyway, Garnet had other questions.

"What does penises do? I dunno, you pee and you put 'em in stuff," Imp decided. Blithely, he carried on. "Why's she a betrayer? -She just is. She betrayed grandfather! Everybody knows it," Imp scoffed.

Then he turned, going back to his box of chalk. With a hind leg he tugged out a red chalk, and he went to what had, previously, seemed like a rather disjointed Nemean--her head off and slightly to one side. He transferred the red chalk--half worn-down with use--to his jaws, and, carefully balancing himself against the wall with his wings, added far too much glowing "blood" to the space between neck and head.

That done, he put the chalk down and stepped back to admire his masterpiece. Head tilted this way, and then that.

"I tried to eat her once, but she got away," he added, and then--without context--he pressed on to the topic of Garnet's... err, designation. "What's a 'designation?' Why haven't you got a name?" he asked, turning to stare (with his permanent leering grin) at Garnet.

@Garnet Five-Seven-Nine

Penises were for peeing? Well— "I think I have one, then— what?" Stop the train, put them in things? Even if they were hidden like this creature's or— its own, apparently (it was presently staring at its crotch for anything it could urinate out of without actually performing the deed on its own face.)

But, the conversation was quickly moving on, unforgiving of its worried questions and searching. Feeling undignified looking for its own genitals, Garnet Five-Seven-Nine fell forward and huddled up once more. "And your grandfather is— Master Aquarian, yes?" Strange, it seemed; they seemed to work so well together, from what I've heard. Why do they— all separate, now?

It grimaced as Imp finished off a drawing with many streaks of red. "That's— crude," it chirped softly. Another note to its report.

Ears perked up, then swiveled back. "You— you tried to eat Master Nemean? And lived?" The sprite's magic was (from what it remembered hearing about) mostly for show, but that didn't mean she wasn't as dangerous as the rest of the Masters. They were powerful, no matter what they presided over.

The garnet's brows furrowed — this creature didn't even know what a designation was? How did anyone keep track of them? "It's your stone— mine is a garnet," it lowered its head to uselessly display the glimmering, faceted hexagonal garnet, "and your number. I am the five hundred seventy-ninth garnet. Names are a privilege, a sign of status and recognition. I'll have one soon."

Right after it sold every detail of this conversation to the Overseer.

But, it pressed, bouncing the question back to Imp, "do you— not have a designation?"

@Imp

Imp stared.

"No?" he asked, his voice distinctly scoffing, though it didn't seem a deliberate insult. It wasn't that Imp was too nice to insult; he just didn't see the point, at all, in being called a number. It just baffled him. It didn't even make enough sense to make fun of. "Why would you be called a number-? That's stupid. Nobody has numbers. I'm Imp. I'll call you Rabbit," he decided, with the briefest up-and-down glance over Garnet's ears.

He looked back, then, to his "artwork." "It isn't crude. YOU'RE crude. It's perfect. And yeah, Aquarian's my dad's dad! She was trying to run from a bat-cat," he went on, seguing with zero context--hopefully Garnet could keep up;--"and some lady with arrows, or something. I don't know. It was all weird," Imp "explained."

He glanced back at Garnet, his expression one of cunning--and then looked back to his artwork. He quickly began--while switching, with feet and jaws, through colors--to draw up a passable version of Garnet.

Swathes of brown, green, and dots of red featured, and though not an admirable portrait, it was passable. It was even recognizable, really.

Then Imp added a penis jutting up from Garnet's back, for good measure.

And snickered.

@Garnet Five-Seven-Nine

Numbers were — apparently — so yesterday. Yestereon, even. No one in this modern age had a designation. "There were a lot of us being tested in the Trials — however long ago the one before last was," the garnet defended, albeit half-heartedly. There hadn't been many in the most recent trial, and these caves… they were quieter than it expected them to be.

Ears went down under Imp's scrutiny, "Rabbit." That didn't sound— too bad. Strange, like calling a cat Palefur, maybe, but not bad. It was noted.

Maybe crude wasn't quite it — "I mean that it's offensive. It's — very accurate to Master Nemean but would likely be offensive to her." The champion had yet to figure out what exactly a "dad" was, but it presumed it was something like its own relationship with Overseer Vargas. One of a servant and its master. It also had yet to figure out who a "lady with arrows" could possibly be. It wasn't familiar with her or a batcat. Asking questions would just lead to more convolution, so Garnet simply ground its beak.

And it stared in wonder as a portrait began to manifest along the wall, glimmering ice masked by chalk. Tilting its head in a trademark bird-like manner, it watched; traced each line and blob skillfully made. Garnet marveled over the momentary thought that it was significant enough to another to be plastered across this wall next to a (dismembered) portrait of Master Nemean herself. Held in high enough regard—

Oh, and there was the penis.

So, the high regard was imagined.

Garnet, besides itself, sniped a quick "oh, fuck you."

And it laughed a twittering little sound, genuinely amused for the first time in its life (and a little hysterical with the idea of something actually being funny. Maybe it could begin to understand why plastering pee-organs all over Masters was a fun pastime.)

@Imp

"Pfffaha! Of COURSE it'd be offensive! That's the whole point. She's a shithead and a betrayer. I couldn't eat her so I'm doing this." Imp sounded more mischievously amused than vehement, though, as if it were all-in his mind--a bit of extreme fun.

Imp rocked back to observe his artwork. When Garnet snapped out the swear and the laughter, he turned his gator-grin on it. For just a moment, the warmth of a shared joke--shared fun--struck him, and he displayed just a tad of generosity.

"Here," he offered, dropping down and nudging the box of glowing, colored chalks. Some were worn more than others; noticably, the pinks, yellows, browns and reds were quite worn down from their cycles of Nemean-abuse. "You draw," Imp suggested--or offered, or maybe it was insisted, given the strength behind the words; and he sat back, leaving Garnet to--if they wanted--draw whatever it was that their strange little rabbit-heart desired.

Don't forget the penis, he thought, but didn't say--he was an artist, after all, and he knew that Garnet's process had to be uninterrupted.

@Garnet Five-Seven-Nine

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