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Meeting the Jerktopus: Dee and Billy

Begin RP.

Over the river and through the woods…

…was certainly NOT where Dee was headed on this fine day. Today she was going to play it safe. It had been nearly a day and a half since her encounter with Victor…the first ‘changed’ islander she had met since her arrival. Ever since that smooth-talking (but CLEVER, damn him) weasel Duvert had given her her ‘vaccination’, she’d been battling feverish symptoms, aches, and a bumpy g.i. tract. Luckily, these attacks wouldn’t last for long, and let her get up to date on her reading and journals. She was still far from coming to grips with her situation, but she couldn’t deny that there was a great deal of wonder about this place…however horrific it may be.

On her way back to the village the other day, she had noticed a lovely little lake. Today, she decided, she would camp out there for a bit and see what there was to see. Perhaps she would finally get some good wildlife observations in her log, or perhaps her stomach would finally let her enjoy a much-needed drink.

With her satchel (containing a bottle of wine, a notebook, and a field guide or two) and her binoculars, Dee pokes her head out the front door of her duplex. Confident that the coast was clear, she shuffled her way to and around the lake until she found a comfortable looking seat. She sets her bag down on one rock and leans against another, drawing in a deep breath while she attempts to relax in this seemingly-private spot.

It was easy to keep your mind off of more important, pressing matters when one had to concentrate on catching a meal. He had started to gain some weight back finally from the incident with the collar still clasped tightly around his neck, although it had taken a lot of fish. His minifridge had definatly helped, as did Maryke's tasty presents. He had attempted to brave the salt water in search of clams for a change in course, but unfortunately the salt water burned his genetically adapted, fresh-water loving skin. It was a difficult matter to catch the little slippery critters, but months of practice had made it a bit easier.

With three good sized fish still wriggling to try to free themselves from his suckers coiled in his limbs, he crawled across the shallows towards his rock. He still thought of it as his rock, even with the duplex. It was his territory, he supposed. Something like that. Nothing he needed to get into. His head poked up over the water's edge for just a moment before he spotted someone- a NORMIE on the bank near HIS rock! His fins flared and he quickly dipped back down again, colors shifting in a blossom of rock and mud like colors as he crept forward to get a better look and stay out of sight.

The intruder was now busy rummaging in her satchel. Dee paused as a small gray bird a ways down the shore was flushed from its concealed foraging spot. Her hands shot immediately to her binoculars, and almost as quickly as she brought them up to her eyes, she had an identification. “Mangrove cuckoo!?” she exclaims, still watching as the bird angled back over itself and ducked into another copse of trees. “Wow…in this forest type. I’m impressed!”


Feeling better already, she let the binocs down and reached over for a small bag of trail mix. Maybe all that talk about genetic experimentation and human guinea pigs was all just a product of her fevered past few days. Dee scribbled the sighting in her journal and leaned back against the rock, listening to the natural sounds of the lovely riparian setting.

Stupid normie. Bloody STUPID normie, sitting there like she owned the place! Like that was HER rock that she was monopolizing! He hadn’t' seen a normie in a real long time- granted he hadn't seen very many people, trapped in the water and attached bodies. Finally, he couldn't keep himself still any longer. His limbs wormed themselves up over the shallow water around the rocks, pushing him up towards the air. He had to cough up the water in the remnants of his lungs before drawing in a strained, wheezing breath.

Dee’s eyes sank closed as she listened to the sounds of the lake. Then, strangely, the immediate insect and frog calls around her were interrupted by something that sounded almost like… “Ugh,” she muttered with a little grin, hugging her arms around herself. “Asthmatic Uncle Norm is trying to play his moldy old set of bagpipes again…”

His voice was oily and short of breath when he talked, the product of his shrunken lungs, "Wha' th'hell'r'ye.... blatherin' aboo'... bagpipes?" He dragged himself up over the bank, clicking his beak irritably. The fins across his head and back were fanned, spines outstretched threateningly.

“Aaagh!” An explosive yelp escapes the hapless woman when she hears the wheezing breath, and she scrambles to her feet. It is soon followed by another when she finally sees who is speaking to her. “AAAAAAAAAAAGH!!” Dee reels backwards, trips on a root, and lands on her posterior with a resounding thud.

Her vision blurs for a moment, and she has to blink until it clears. “N-no…s-s-sorry…” the woman chatters, quite surprised (to say the least) and staring unabashedly. “You’re not Uncle Norm.”

Oh, but how she wished he was…

"Ach, no, I ain'," He growled with a defensive hiss, limbs snaking and coiling to push him along towards her. He had gotten better at keeping his torso upright, but he still needed to use his arm-tentacles as well as the leg tentacles for support. "Now gerroff... me rock... y'go'damn ...normie!"

“Hogod...” Dee mumbles under her breath, scrabbling to her knees and reaching out to grab at her bag. “I’m about to be eaten by talking British octopi…” She manages to loop her fingers around shoulder strap, yanking the satchel to her chest.

And scramble off his rock she does! With gusto, even. The tell-tale Clink! of a glass bottle sounds inside Dee’s bag as she scurries back, still facing the lake creature. When her brain manages to kick back into semi-rational mode, she realizes that this is, of course, another one of the eighty-or-so islanders Victor had mentioned. Unfortunately, this does not make her feel any better. Her jaw works, trying to form a coherent sentence in an attempt to appease the be-tentacled, slimy beast. All she can manage to utter is a single word, accented in the form of a startled question.

“Normie!?”

His fins flared at the sound of glass, and he scurried and crawled and squirmed quicker towards her, a curious tentacle stretching out to poke and prod towards the backpack, "Aye, I call 'em... as I see 'em..." He gurgled, tiny chintacles wrything in his discomfort around the human. Who did she think she was? Just because she was one species, that made her think she was better than him? Walk all over what was clearly his!

Aforementioned human was still on all fours in stunned silence. “I’m sorry…ah, s-s-sir? for intruding. I…I meant no disrespect!” She watched nervously as the cephalopod limb inched its way towards her satchel. “It was an honest ah-accident, I assure you! I’m qua-quite new here, you see…”

The wine bottle is becoming unbalanced by being jerked around. It shifts and rolls out of the bag, landing on the bank next to the flat rock. Dee bites her lip, eyes flicking from the changed islander to the bottle and then back again.

Billy's attention was immediately diverted by the sight of the bottle, his head cocking to the side with a curious coo deep in his throat before he was crawling towards the spotted prey to snatch it up in eager tentacles and give it a curious n** with his beak-like teeth.

With her ‘assailant’s’ attention elsewhere, Dee swallowed in a dry throat and mustered enough courage to move. She pushed herself up off the ground and to her feet, leaving the backpack and bottle where it was.

“Oh? You…y-you like wine?” she stuttered in a hopeful tone. “Th-that’s a red… Pio Cesare 2002, a very good year. Specially imported from P-piedmont, Italy…” Before she can catch herself, one of her hands drifts down into a pocket of her khaki shorts, fingers curling and holding steady around the Swiss army knife therein.

He grunted, mumbling quietly to himself as he fidgeted with the bottle from one limb to the next, each trying to fiddle with the cork before he finally simply took advantage of his sharp toothy protrusion to work on tugging it free. "Italian, eh?" He seemed appeased somewhat, keeping his distance as the creature played with the bottle.

Dee nodded, never taking her eyes off the purple being before her. “Y-yeah! It’s a Ba-barolo. Y-you should be able to taste, uh, violets, blackb-berry, licorice and c-cloves. Lovely and subtle…” She smiles hopefully as he starts to work on the cork and thinks back to the rest of the description she had read before ordering the bottle. “You’ll n-notice a dry and sophisticated palate w-with an..uh.. almondy finish!”

Please don’t let him eat me.

He spat the cork to the side, lifting it up to tip a swig back into his gullet as he leaned against the closest rock. "Really, now?" It was difficult to stay angry at someone who brought him an intoxicant. The lake creature sloshed the liquid about in his palette as though considering what she said and gave the label a critical look. Truthfully, he knew piss-all about wine, but he knew how to drink it and that was enough for him.

Dee, meanwhile, nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah! G-good stuff…” Her fingers relax enough to thwart the knuckles that were threatening to pop clear out of her skin. “I’m sure you notice that ethereal bouquet…” she continues, realizing too late that he lacks a nose. “Ah, m-my name is Diane, by the way. D-diane Creedwater. And I really d-didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to find s-someplace quiet.”

"How long.... y'been here fer now?" The cephalopodan man gurgled, his fins settling back down as he relaxed. She was afraid of him. Funnily enough, with all his smart talking and fist flinging when he had still had them, he was never particularly feared by anyone. He supposed this new face was a gift in that respect. intimidation was a sort of power, same as sweet talking. He gave the rim of the bottle an experimental n** and lick, as though trying to smell it with his grey pointed tongue.

“Almost three days…” Dee responds, gradually coming down from the ‘flight-mode’ response surge of adrenaline. The part of her brain dominated by scientific detachment clawed at her, demanding some ‘air time.’ After taking few deep breaths, she further calms herself and watches the octopus closely. Despite his fearsome introduction, the intricacies of his human/animal hybridization are as fascinating as Victor’s were.

“I was hired on to be a freelance researcher of ‘rare and unique species,’” she adds, sounding bitter. “And I learned awfully qu-quick that it was a load of bull.”

His remnant lips twitched up at the corners into a crooked, mutated-toothed smile before he gave a low breathy chuckle, "Rare... an' unique species....? Tha' wha' they.... pitchin' now? " He shifted his grip on the bottle around so he could crawl towards her again, looking her over. It was funny, seeing another human besides Aubrey these days. Everyone had something. "So wha'... y'a bloody... tourist? O' are y'one... o' us?"

Dee visibly stiffens at the utterance of the ‘t-word.’ “No…” she answers, almost growling. “I’m not a ‘tourist.’ They contacted me at a symposium and invited me. Said I had come ‘highly recommended.” Her expression is suddenly cold, and her left hand wanders up out of her pocket and grips her right shoulder. “And I’ve reason to believe that I’ll be ‘one o’ you’ one o’ these days. They stuck me with a so-called ‘vaccination.’”

"Ah! So.... I 'aint... th'fers' y'met, then? Or ha' they finally... stopped playin' wit' our heads?" He chuckled, pausing periodically to catch his breath in his gasping way. He seemed to recall the fish still clutched in three of his tentacles. His front left tentacle was still a sore nub, although it had begun to creep back after his run-in with Richard's fishing line, and twitched and wriggled uselessly as he lifted a bit of meat to take a greedy bite. What did he care about how the girl might feel speaking to someone with fish entrails on his chin? He was hungry.

Gore doesn’t seem to bother ‘the girl.’ She watches him without flinching. “Nature red in tooth and claw,” she says softly. “You know, they usually recommend seafood to be eaten with white wine,” Dee adds with a wee grin. “You’re my second… my second ‘changed’ fellow, that is. I had my crash course the day after I landed with a very helpful herp-man by the name of Victor.”

"So I s'pect... y't'ink y'know... e'eryting?" He huffed, prodding at the wine again. "Talk'd t'one person'.... tha' makes y'th'expert. Yer a normie. Y'aint go'... nothin' that'll... stop a tiger from... shreaden yer o' a wolf come t'eatcha' up in the ....middle o' the night, chipless an' feral."

That response deflates her a tad and confuses her a lot. She’s slow to come down from what she perceives as an insult, but she shakes her head in defeat nonetheless. “I’m no expert around these parts, that’s for sure.”

‘Normie?’ ‘Chipless?’ This is vastly more than she had bargained for.

“What…what’s that you keep calling me? And just who the heck *are* you? Did you lose your name along with your legs?” Dee regrets the latter comment almost as soon as she utters it, but her patience has suddenly taken a nosedive.

He chuckled at her jibe, though, spiny fins twitching as he swallowed down the rest of his fish with a wet noise. "Been hearin' people... callin' me th'Lake Monster," He chuckled, giving his limbs a good squirm if only to try to unsettle, but his expression softened, his temper drowned with wine for the moment, "Me normie name... were William."

Dee quirks a dark eyebrow and smirks despite herself. “William L. Monster, huh? That’s got a certain ring to it.” She folds her arms and takes a few moments to study him as her analytical side gains more ground. “Nice to meet you, Willy. Hope you enjoyed the wine…I take it that you could use a good drink. You talk as if you’ve been here a while.”

"Boo' a year, I s'pose..." He murmured, chuckling at the name before correcting. "Go by Billy mostly. An' tha'... sounds a sigh' better'n... Woodrow. Don' much loo' li' ...a Woodrow anymore. No' so.... sure aboo' Billy neither. Bu's'been..... wha' they've called me... so long as I can remember, so whatchergonnado, eh?" Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, the bottle was already half gone.

Dee wasn’t surprised at the rate of alcohol consumption, but she wasn’t dismayed either… she was rarely ever hesitant to share her good fortune or good beverages. “Not much I guess, eh Mr. Woodrow?” Resolved that ‘Billy’ isn’t going to rend her asunder, she reassumes her seat…this time off his rock. The woman ‘hugs’ her legs and rests her chin on her knees. “What else could you tell me about this place?”

He laughed again, settling back in his coils while giving his collar a nervous rub, a muscle under his eye that used to control his nostrils twitching in his nervous gesture. He had been twitching a lot less frequently with Maryke around, but still it came back on occasions. "I coul' tell y'enough'... t'make y'wanna'... t'row yerself off one o'... them cliffs up tha'ways." He poked with an odd limb in the direction of the mountain range in question.

“Oh, Billy…” Dee breathed, sounding mortified. “I’m sure you could. But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” (She was only partially-humoring him…she’d spent more time around drunk folks in her life than she’d like to admit.) “But, how about we start with something that’d make day-to-day life a tad easier? Or just indulging my curiosity? Like…how come they have you in that contraption?” She gestures towards his collar.

"Cause I di' somethin' bad. Di' a lo' o' bad t'ings," He frowned, staring off into a spot a foot above Dee's head and a bit to the right. "Shite happens, though... righ'?" He laughed as though he had made a joke about something coherent.

Dee purses her lips and chooses not to drill him. “Right. Lots of shite seems to be happenin’ lately.” She manages to do a fair impression of his accent. “And in awfully-quick succession, I might add.” The woman watches him, curious at how the alcohol affects his altered system. “You doing okay, there?”

One eye blinked, followed by the other before he bleerily glanced around for the discarded cork. It seemed as the alcohol caught up with him, his control of his various limbs began to slip, and they jerked and flailed about.

“Oooh…that can’t be good,” Dee shuffled forward a foot or two, craning her neck as she watched him. “Can I help you with that?” she asks, offering a hand to retrieve the bottle and the remainder of its contents. Meanwhile her brain keeps ticking over, noting the reactions and effects on her newest acquaintance.

Billy glanced up at her before coiling it back against his chest protectively, "S'mine now...." He said pointedly.

Dee leans back, hand raised. “Okay, big guy! Whatever you say. I just don’t want to be responsible for what could be a reeeeally wicked hangover...”

He shook his head, frowning before relenting ever so slightly, "Well... if yer drinkin'... wit' me, I s'pose... if y'jes' give me what e'er's left o'er... y'can have it back."

“Of course!” Dee leans down and fishes an almost-empty bottle of water out of her bag. She finishes the last of it and wiggles it in Billy’s direction. “I’ll just pour a little into this and you can have the rest.” That’s right, woman… keep the purple tentacle man happy.

He nodded. That seemed good enough for him, "Payment.... fer usin' me rock," He chuckled, wobbling a bit as his mouth twisted into his strange, sharp toothed grin.

“Tch, well thanks! Sounds fair.” Dee smiles back, a little disconcerted by Billy’s unique grin. “You know, that’s really quite gentlemanly of you,” she adds, watching him as she re-takes her seat. Dee, still quite far from relaxing, waits for Bill to make the next move with the wine.

His limbs shifting and slid over themselves as he leaned forward, scooting along the ground to push the bottle towards her in a wobbling tentacle arm. He passed it down to a longer tentacle leg, though, for that extra reach to lift it up towards her hands. His smile widened at the compliment and his fins fanned out proudly. He was perfectly capable of being a gentleman, see? Perfectly capable.

Oh, so the ceph’ likes a little flattery, eh? Dee’s perfectly able to oblige. “Very good, sir!” With as much daintiness that she can muster, and meanwhile taking the opportunity to make mental notes on details of the proffered tentacle, she takes the bottle from him. She pours a glass or two worth into her water bottle, and returns the rest.

Dee raises the bottle. “Cheers, William.”

He gave a chuckle, lifting the bottle as well, "Cheers.... Dee th'normie."

‘Th’normie’ chuckles too, and takes a drink. “We’ll see how long the ‘normie’ bit lasts. Makes me wonder what they have in store for me.”

"Loosin' bones.... aint a lo' a fun. Nor is... goin' from hairy t'ing... to a no' hairy t'ing. Th'bloods all different," He offered conversationally. As he settled back again with the bottle, he kept his eyes on her, twitching across the hairless skin. The next time he saw her, after all, she could look completely different.

She wasn’t bad looking…but she wasn’t any sort of model, either. Almost everything about Dee was utilitarian, but her travels had kept her in decent shape with a fair figure. Right now she was watching him back. Her expression bordered on distant and detached as she weighed his reply. “I can’t imagine it was easy by any stretch of the imagination,” she said quietly, sipping her drink. “Are you still changing? There must be a limit to what a body can withstand…no matter how advanced the procedure.”

Of course the octopus's perception was so skewed by this point, he wasn't in a position to gauge her attractiveness, but she was definatly still human. "No... I t'ink... I'm done... fer now anyway..." His appendages wriggled as he shifted to take another drink. That twitching muscle under his eye throbbed, "'less they come up... wit' more madness t'do t'me."

To think that this creature was once human, and what he must’ve been through. Poor guy.

“’Madness’ is right,” she said, coughing a bit as a trickle of wine went down the wrong pipe. Her stomach seemed to be taking the drink fairly well, and her body aches were declining. “How’d they talk you into coming here, anyway?”

He thought about it for a moment, debating once again whether it was worth making up a story or not. What the hell? The wine encouraged honesty. "It was this o' prison. O' a bullet in th'back o 'me head. Though' I coul' stop runnin'. Guess I was righ'." He chuckled bitterly at that before the bottle once once again tipping back into the creature’s gullet.

Dee pauses in mid-sip, eyes widening. “I’m sorry…” she mumbles, lowering her bottle. “I shouldn’t have asked.” Way to go, dumbass, she cusses at herself. Why don’t you just stick with what you’re good at? Being a professional Pretend-professional.

"It were me own fault fer'.... bein' too tweaked off... me rocker t'see it was... a blatently shady business."

“Still…” Dee replies after taking a heady swig. “I don’t think anyone deserves a bullet in the head…or this, really.” She gestures at him. “Unless you’re enjoying yourself. Either way, I didn’t mean any offense.”

He continued to smile at her, his breathing becoming quicker and deeper as though he were out of breath. He ignored it, though, turning his panting into a chuckle, "Aye, I believe.... I'm th'victem ...o' circumstance, really.... really... really piss awful circumstance.”

Dee is quick to take note of his change in breathing pattern. “If you say so, Mr. Monster,” she replies sympathetically. While she doubts she has any horror stories that could relate to his, she’s suffered at her share of ‘piss-awful’ circumstances. “Are you all right? Your breathing sounds labored.”

"Aye... aye... m'fine..." He murmured, glancing around bleerily with an uneven blink. He was obviously drunk at this point, but was doing a fine job of behaving himself, "Jes'... can't breath... too well... er..." He very carefully (because his aim wasn't very good with so many limbs and so much inebriation,) set the bottle down on the bank before crawling back towards the water, "One... moment..."

The woman’s own breath was held captive as she watched him. Of course… she thought. “You’ve got to recharge… “ Her voice again takes on that detached, analytical inflection. “Do you have a defined pallial cavity? Uh…” she tops herself. “That is, a sort of gill? Or do you still have to take water in through your mouth?”

He blinked at her, hairless brows as he tried to make sense of her. After a moment he understood, "Ach, oh!... Tha'... er... well, these... aint ears." He lifted a tentacle to point to the hole in the side of his enlarged, squishy head.

Dee nods, still watching. She takes a drink and grins as a familiar and warm feeling blooms in her midsection. “Yeah, okay…that’d be where they are on the… real thing? Yeah. Good that you retained your vocal chords—oh…” She stops in mid-sentence and hiccups, vision blurring. “That’s weird…” she muttered. “Booze doesn’t ever hit me this quick. Probably doesn’t help that I’ve hardly anything to eat the past day.”

Billy didn't hear the end of her sentence, having pushed himself from the bank to plunge face-first into the lake, indeed "catching his breath" as he so frequently needed. It took him a few minutes before he finally resurfaced, water spilling down from his mouth and "ears". Lungs cleared, he coughed twice before dragging himself back towards his bottle.

“Whoa,” says the young woman. “At the risk of sounding utterly unprofessional, ‘that was far out.’” Dee takes a drink, unable to pull her eyes away. The alcohol is beginning to loosen her tongue and soften the shock. “And what happened there?” she gestures towards his ‘stump.’

"Hrmm?" He frowned down at it as he leaned back in a nest of his own limbs, wriggling the scabbing, useless thing with an unsettled look, "Don'... know, ezactly. Was ou' swimmin'... fish-hook caugh' me an... while I were strugglin'... it jes' popped off. Real pain in th'arse."

Dee clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “Fisherman was probably confused when he reeled that back in. It just popped right off, huh?” She gestures a bit, fanning her fingers. “Don’t worry, it should grow back.”

"They've grown back... b'fer, bu' usually... it had a change t'... speed it up."

“Yeah, I’m sure..” her eyebrows arch. “But you’re, uh, crossed with Octopus vulgaris? Something like that? You should regenerate that limb, too… may just take longer.” She raises her drink again. “And if you ever need help forgetting about it, I have more along the lines of this stuff. It’s no fun drinking alone, so I figure I may as well share.”

"Really, now?" He licked the line of his beak, rubbing a cheek with the back of a tentacle, "S'awfully kind.. t'offer tha'... t'a monster y'only jes'... met."

“Well, if what Victor said is true, I’ll be here a long, long while. I may as well be neighbourly, eh? And a ‘Lake Monster’s a good a friend as any.” Dee smiles and finishes off her plastic bottle.



He chuckled, mumbling something under his breath, "Lake monster... righ'." Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his head, or the twisting, sick feeling of a stomach filled with wine and fish. Maybe it was the sexual frustration- or at least frustration with the sexual and the cephalopodan and his fragmented brain. Maybe it was the fact that someone had actually shown an interest in him- not necessarily like Maryke who cared about him in the physical sense, but the him in a... a more... personal sense. "I... weren't always a ba' guy, y'know?" He huffed, mouth contorting into a grimace, "Jes' came on ....hard times, hard times, ...y'know? Gets rough.... when y'aint go' a pot t'piss in!"

Dee gives a short little gasp, struck by Billy’s outpouring and vulnerability. “I never said you were a bad guy,” she says, just loud enough for him to hear. “We’ll do bad things.. people will… but we’re not perfect. And you’re still a person, I can see it.” She feels light-headed but is unsure if it’s the booze or emotion. Once again, Billy’s struck a nerve.

"No I aint... no I aint, I'm a pet... s'wha' I am, her bloody pet... keep me in a bloody fishtank... they're all whores, th'lot o' them!" His fins fanned, face contorting with drunken anger.

“They’re bastards for what they did to you, bastards for using their talents the way they did…” Dee says, slurring her words ever so slightly as her empathy mirrors his agitation. “I don’t care how long you’ve been here ‘er how long *I* haven’t, but I’ve seen a lot of creatures… and you’re nothing like them. You’re wearing a different skin, but you’re still William Woodrow.”

“And, I think, unless you want to give up…sure, you could be a pet. If that’s what you *really* wanted.” The tone of her voice has changed, and she looks down at her satchel as if remembering something. There’s a slight bulge in the front pocket.

Her fingers drift over and undo the buckle, then produce a tiny flask small enough to conceal in her palm.

"I mean... I come a long way! I come a long... long bloody way... I'm all cleaned up now... go' meself a business started... bu' it aint enough fer her!" He huffed, spiny fins and tentacles flapping un a drunken gesticulation. At the sight of her movement, though, he paused, "Wossa' there, then...?"

Dee’s hand closes around the flask. “Something I’m not sure either of us need right now. I forgot I had it with.” With a sigh, she unscrews the cap and takes a small drink. “20-year, I think. Scotch. Not much left, but it’s yours if you want it.”





There was a curious sort of gurgling noise in the back of his throat as he scurried forward clumsily and bonelessly across the grass to plop down beside her, snatching it up in a few suckers. "Wish I... 'ad a feckin' nose," That said, he guzzled it down in a quick shot. Hangovers be damned.

“Attaboy,” Dee says, watching. “Use it or lose it, huh? Speaking of which…” She rummages through the main pocket of her bag until she finds a small blank journal and a pencil. Moments later she’s scribbling a series of notes in her messy handwriting, then begins to do a loose sketch of one of Billy’s closer tentacles. She’s not terribly artistic, but it’s fair enough.

He cocked his head like a strange, tentacled, curious bird and tried to peer over her shoulder, "Wossat? Why y'drawin'... me er... wossname?"

The pencil pauses and her face flushes bright red. “Your…wossname? Uh…” she taps the lead lightly on the paper. “I…wanted something for the journal…that’s…just another one of your arms, right?”

"Aye... sure..." He kept his face neutral, but his mouth twitched into a soft sort of smile. It was fun to keep her guessing, though.

With her face still red, she watches him out of the corner of her eye and gives him a pointed ‘Look.’ “Okay…maybe you ARE a bit of a b*****d after all. Just for that…” Dee continues to draw, shading the doodle with loose hatch marks, like a *very* sketchy version of something you’d see in a scientific journal.

"Tha's pretty... pretty good," He drawled, wobbling a bit before he slumped and reached to use her balance with a worming, loop of an arm.

Dee twitched involuntarily as the tentacle looped against her, but didn’t jerk away. “Thank you, William.” For some reason, this all reminded of her last string of dates… minus the tentacles and plus on the alcohol. She began doing another sketchy study of the sucker-bottoms, making little notes here and there detailing the differences of his anatomy and a wild octopus. “That hit you kind of hard, the booze, didn’t it?”

"Yer... yer pretty... pretty pretty goo' a' tha'... go' a friend... who draws too... " He slurred, hanging from her shoulder as he bumped his stump against her back and twisted a third and forth tentacle up over her lap and around her stomach to keep himself from flopping over. "Th'wha...? Oh... I drank mor'n... tha' b'fer..."*

“I’m not that good…it’s jus’ copying what I see. I can’t make stuff up or anything…” she answers, watching the tentacles writhe around her. The constant motion was almost hypnotic, and her vision blurred as another warm sensation in her gut blossomed. It was a different sort of detachment… and certainly more alien.


Biting her lip, Dee tentatively nudges the tentacle she was drawing, trying to get a better look at the underside and hoping that Billy doesn’t mind.

He twitched it up, holding it accordingly to watch her sketch with drunken fascination. "I can't... bearly write words... le' alone draw nothin'," He pushed his head forward over her shoulder, chintacles wriggling against her arm, "S'pecially since... I aint go' no hands."

Dee shivered despite herself, and the sketching became more erratic. “I think…you do have hands…Mr. W. Just, more of ‘em.” She drew a shuddering little breath, apprehensive but hellishly curious. “You seem to be capable with them, too..” Her face felt hot, but where Billy’s skin touched hers it was refreshing--if completely alien.

"I can play th'squeezebox." He gloated pointedly. And he could still, now. Somewhat. A bit difficult with the missing limb, though. Like he was missing a finger.

“C-can you now?” she grinned, glancing sideways at him. “I’d like to see that some time.” She raised her drawing hand and tapped the eraser end of the pencil lightly on his beak. Way down inside her, a long-forgotten and dusty old part of her wondered What else can he do with those? Dee gave a little cough and returned to her journal, a queer smile on her face.

"M'startin'... a theater, y'know..." He brought up suddenly, as though suddenly filling the urge to impress his new friend, "Y'seen... th'construction? Got me boys... buildin' it up."

“I might’ve seen it…” Dee said, cheeks still hot. “I’ve been pretty out of it since I got here. You’ll have to show me one of these days.” Another glance. “I used to play the dulcimer as a kid. Long forgotten, though… “

"Dulcimer...? Wha' th'hell'sa ... Dulcimer look li'?" He frowned, trying to recall it. With his head this close, she could hear him suck for air from those siphons on either side of his head.

“They’re a… three or four stringed fret board attached to a resonating box. Like a weird slide guitar, but a’lot easier to play.” She replies, erasing some loose lines on the sketch. “That’s what I used…but there’s another version that you play with little ‘hammers,’ too…like a percussion instrument.”

"Sounds faggoty," He chuckled, trying to imagine it. His breathing was beginning to get a bit more labored again, already, but he ignored it. He had learned how to stretch out his time, and ignore his body's near constant plea for water.

Dee snorted, and whapped the arm that was wrapped around her waist. “It’s not ‘faggoty’… they sound really nice if you know what you’re doing!” She grinned again and wrote ‘From the Jerk-topus’ under her sketch.

He didn't seem to notice the writing, or at least didn't comment. "I'll ha' ...t'take yer... word fer it." He wobbled still, limbs fidgeting as he shifted his grip on her. His skin was beginning to feel drier, more rubbery and cold.

“Mmmhmm,” Dee muttered, lightly fingering the tentacle-tip she had been drawing and noting the change in texture. “Time for another dip, Bill? You seem a little dry…as ironic as that sounds.”

"Bloody... hate tha'..." He grunted between wheezing breaths and his limbs wormed free. He fell down onto his stomach, and was quick to crawl and a wobbling line back towards the water, grumbling profanities under his breath.*

“I don’t blame you,” Dee observes, closing her journal and placing it in her lap. “How come you’re not blowing up like a balloon in that fresh water? Shouldn’t you be in the ocean?”

"I've tried... it stings... somet'in' awefull. Which is a pisser... since I been cravin'... clams an' shellfish lately. Sick o' fish." He replied before pushing off into the lake with a relieved sigh.

Dee makes a note of this; maybe she can find something for him if she goes snorkeling… “’Sokay,” she answers. “I’ll definitely see what I can do to help.” Something about the ‘lake monster’ continues to bring out Dee’s softer side—after the initial shock and fear has wound down, of course.

Once again, he remained submerged for several minutes, moving about in the waist deep water before he crawled out again, looking nice and rewettened. "Sorry... did y'say somet'in?”

“Naw,” Dee said, smiling. “Just maybe one of these days I can figure out how to get a clam bake going.” Her eyes were half-lidded, a clear sign that the liquor was taking effect. “What do ‘ya say?”

"Mmmm... save some o' them.... unbaked an' I'll ha' t'wheel by."

“Issa deal.” Dee picks up a pebble and skips it along the lake, then returns her attention to the octoman with a less-than-amused face. “You were saying…eh, before, about things that’d make me want to jump off the cliffs. What sort of things?”

"T'ings they done...." He murmured, " t'me... t'other people. Ye'll wanna' jump jes'... t'spare yerself from all this." His voice was low and gruff as he settled back against the good leaning rock, looking sleepy from the wine but apparently appeased enough to somewhat answer her.

Her stomach turns over. “Let me decide that for myself...” Dee swallows. “If it’s as bad as you say, what’s the difference? I may as well learn something.”

He regarded her for a moment, thinking it over before finally answering, "When I fers' go' here... I was a bi' o' a mess, y'have t'understand.”

“I understand.” She tapped his nearest tentacle lightly with an index finger. “And how does it compare to now? How much of William is left? Messed up or not?...and how do they control the…’not?’ ”

He was quiet at that, thinking through how to answer, exactly. He was a different person... a different thing. He wasn't exactly the violent, angry, hyperactive, paranoid villain he had once been... but he still was violent, angry and paranoid. He was on his best behavior to keep the cameras off of him. He was building a theater. He was an able part of their happy little society. An ideas man, now that his head was somewhat clear. It was odd. Well, he was a William Woodrow, even if he wasn't the same William Woodrow he had been before. But maybe he was the same. Or maybe he was drunk. Either way, he make a funny little sound in the back of his throat and gave a four-shouldered shrug, "I aint go' any idea. I jes' try t'... avoid bits bein' cut off... when I can." He giggled at that, a quiet, humored little mad sound.

Dee did a double-take, taken aback by the giggle. “Yeh, that’s some place to start,”she replied with a half-hearted chuckle. “But, why the collar? Is that how they keep tabs on you?”

"No..." He glanced across the lake, eyes sweeping up to the trees, searching for any cameras or anything hidden that he probably wouldn't have been able to see anyway. "No... how much d'y'know? Aboo'... chips, an' security? How much tha'... Victor tell you?"

She shakes her head, ashamed of herself—as she is in any situation where she feels as helpless and clueless as she does about this place. “Chips? Uh, no…Nothing much, if at all. He was just trying to keep me from turning into a shuddering wreck.”

He glanced around again before motioning for her to lean in close to him, a tentacle sliding around her shoulders as his voice dropped low and quiet, "They put these... chips in their necks, righ'? Righ' when we arrive... they're li'... real... real wee li'..." He could remember it, glinting through the gore of the tiger's neck, things exposed to the dark of the cave that shouldn't be exposed. The muscle in his cheek twitched again, "They use 'em... t'control us. Keep us... under their control.”

“’Chips in their necks’?” Dee blinked, unconscious that one of her hands had raised to her neck as Billy spoke. “Everybody? H-how could a chip control you? A way to monitor or catalogue maybe, but…”



"I don' know... I don' know how t'... work a computer e'en. I jes' know... when they wantcha'... out, they take y'out. Y'go t'sleep when they wancha to... li' a wee electric jolt," He explained. He could remember the not-so wee electric jolt the thing was capable of if it was tampered with. "They can tell where y'are... they can do loads o' t'ings."

“Big brother’s ultimate dream, huh?” Dee growled. “I guess there’s no use in asking if it’s possible to remove, eh?”

He "fingered" his collar with a tentacle tip, chuckling quietly to himself. "Oh, it's possible, alrigh'."

“Well, what happens?” she presses, getting more agitated. “You did it, din’t you? That’s what the collar’s for? They couldn’t bear to let you have your privacy, even after what they did? Goddamn…”

"No, I still go'... my chip," He chuckled, "Bu' it's... who's I cu' out, tha' was th'bad t'ing I did."

Dee seems to deflate a bit. “And who’s that? Did they escape?”

"Wha's th'ol' sayin'?" He giggled further, groping for the bottle he had set aside with a free limb, "Tyger Tyger... burnin' bright an' all tha'?"

She jerks her head around, eyes wide. “A tiger? Is he… uh, has he…? Hurt anyone?” Well, s**t, that would explain the armed guards… “An, is he a friend of yours?”

"I don' rightly t'ink... he's a friend o' anyone..." He laughed again, grinning widely as the bottle was pulled back over. Perhaps he had had enough already, but he didn't seem ready to stop. "Bu' s'been a real... pisser fer th'labs... aint it? Heard he... been up t'all kinds o' no good.... since I set 'im free."

Billy was free to help himself… Dee’s stomach suddenly felt awfully inhospitable at the moment. Her throat feels as if it’s coated in sandpaper and, when she does speak, it’s in a tiny voice. “Is he the only one free?”

"No... no... there's... also this... wolf gel apparently. Wicked,,, stinkin' woman gone mad in th'head.... ripped th't'ing out herself! Don' know how ...she managed- I had trouble enough... cuttin' his ou'." He grinned at her, almost proudly, "S'how I go' t'is though."

Dee manages a flimsy smile, her face nearly as pale as Billy’s eyes. “That’s…that’s just great, Bill. And what does that neat contraption do? Besides just lookin’ simply stunning…”

"Kept me a... droolin' retard... fer well o'er a month." His muscle twitched and he took a fresh swig.

With another ill-sounding sigh, Dee slumps and taps her fingers joylessly on the cover of her little journal. “Again, I’m sorry.” It was alien, this feeling as if she’s learned more than enough in one sitting…

"Don' know why... he finally turned it off... bu' I aint a fan... o' sedatives, tha's fer sure. S'pecially now. Y'jes' best make sure y'behave yerself... if y'wanna' get away... wit' anyt'in. They don' watch ye'... if yer well behaved."

She nods, but doesn’t exactly appear to be paying much attention. “Get away, right.” He eyes seem glazed over as she stares across the lake.

He grunted, giving her a prod with a tentacle against the cheek, "Wha' I give y'more'n y'want t'know? I aint... scratchin' th'surface e'en... yet!"

“It’s not more than I want to know… just a bigger helping than I expected,” she replies, glancing down at his tentacles and batting at one in return.

"Then I won' say more... t'ill y'digest tha'... and bring me some clams, then," He huffed, pushing the cork backinto the bottle as though packing up to leave.

“Oh, but don’t you go on any big trips until I get back,” Dee smirked, watching him tiredly. “Or else you get bupkus.”

He chuckled again, wobbling as he dragged the bottle behind him towards the water, "I live... in tha' duplex... across th'lake tha' way..." He pointed with a tentacle tip towards the row of aquatic duplexes that had been built along the lake's shore. "Th't'ird one fromt h'side there... tha' one. Wit' th'fish bones hangin'... from th'window sill there. If y'e'er... care t'stop by."

She follows his tentacle until she catches sight of the home. “Will do, Bill. I’m in ’29. There will probably be some bird feeders out front as soon as I can get to making them.” Dee looks back down at her hands, still smirking. “Thanks for giving this bloody ‘normie’ the time o’ day.”

"Y'brough' me... a drink... leas' I coul'do," He grinned over his shoulder, dorsal and head fins flaring once before he pushed himself off the bank and into the water with a splash, the wine bottle in tow.

“Whew…” Dee chuffed through the tight-lipped smirk. “A talking octopus. Next thing I know it, there’ll be flying pigs.” She gathers her things and stuffs them in the bag, then gets to her feet with a boozy grunt. “Still a great find, Dee.” Creedwater slings the bag over her shoulder and heads into the forest, following a game trail up the hill. “Let’s see what they throw at us next.”

END RP

Richard and Dee RP, Feb 28, 2007

Epilogue below.

It was coming.... it had to be coming.... Despite how much Dee would have liked to delude herself that she was different. That the changes wouldn't hit her.... somewhere she knew that that wasn't true. That it was only a matter of time.

It starts just with a tingling on her injection mark. She could swear that it was as raw and achy as the first day she received it. Likewise, she feels feverish again. Achy. Sensitive to the bright lights as the worst hangover.

If she glances in the mirror... something seems off. Her lips seem particularly vivid red - as if she was wearing a bright lipstick. But more than that. Her eyes seem... yellowish - almost jaundiced.

It slowly grows subtly worse over much of the afternoon. It's almost impereceptable to anyoen watching it happens so gradually. Dark stripe-marks appear over parts of her skin, spreading and darkening. Her lips become more red, with tinges of yellow, And a starburst pattern of yellow around her eyes. Her eye color also shifts. Becoming... inhuman. The yellow spreads - her irises taking up the entirety of her eyes. Her pupils flatten and become horizontal rectangles - not unlike a goat... or a cuttlefish.

Her nails darken and lengthen, becoming blunt claws... Then.... there is no way to avoid the sensation. Her teeth ache - like after a particularly bad dentist visit as her canines begin to grow. Followed by her ears as they take on drastic points. Her hairline extends all the way down her neck, as thick, stiff hair fills in in a short mane.

And finally, grotesquely... her lips begin to split into distinct parts - almost ribbed - especially her bottom lip. The lip portions are independantly mobile - the precise muscles in her lips allowing her to move them separately.

And finally.... a thin flap of brightly colored skin begins to loosen along her outer arms - like an incredibly thin webbing. And two swollen bumps protrude on each shoulder.

The naturalist's spirits, on the other hand, were greatly in need of a boost. As the hammering frog calls sounded outside, the pounding in Dee's head began anew. She slouched in front of her bathroom mirror, one hand clutching at her forehead. "Unnnngh..."

Everything hurt. Everything itched. Everything hurt when she scratched those itches. That ol' injection site bothered her the worst of all. A brand new irritated welt had formed overnight, and Dee was terrified at the ramifications.

Dee grit her teeth and grimaced as she glanced over to her bed stand where there stood an empty bottle of wine. This is worse than a hangover... Her mouth was dry and her lips were swollen and bright red. She looked back at her reflection and prodded them with a fingertip. Dee winced as the tender flesh protested and her eyes, now tinged with a strange wash of yellow, watered in response.

Her head spun and stars danced in front of her eyes as the croaks outside continued. "Newt? Newt! Of course it's Newt..." she mumbled to herself. No other frog on the island could croak that loud. He hasn't been to the village in ages, has he? I better go see him...this is probably just bad sunburn and dehydration after-all. Maybe I got stung when I was snorkeling...

Dee turned away and staggered through her duplex towards the front door, always keeping a hand on the wall or a piece of furniture as she went. With a tired, nauseous sigh, she cracked open the door and managed a weak grin as she peered out. "Newt...hey..."

Dee grunts as Newt's nose butts into her stomach, but she stays on her feet. "Hey! Good to see y-you too..." She cradles his snout in her hands and kneels down, slowly, then nuzzles him back. The frog's smooth skin feels deliciously cool against her feverish cheek, and for a brief second she feels relieved.

"I missed you, buddy," she says quietly, her voice weak. "What've you been up to?"

Dee flinches, sore, and gently moves his snout away. "Heh, okay hon! Okay! What's so exciting?" She studies him, squinting. Her eyes hurt and it's hard to keep him focus through the bright morning light and the headaches. "You're looking real good..." Dee trails off, tilting her head a bit. "Do you...have something in your mouth?"

Dee gasped. "A nest! But where did you...?" Astonished and touched, she slowly reaches down and picks it up off his tongue. "It's beautiful. Where did you find this?" she asks gently, sitting down on the porch and cradling the nest in her lap.

Dee lifts the nest, studying the structure and trying to determine what type of bird could have built it. "I can't believe you brought it all this way." She licks her tender lips and lowers the prize back into her lap. "You can tell me where you got it. Did it look abandoned?"