The Spiders All in Tune [closed; complete]
WHO: Miss Spider [gossamerweaver]
WHAT: Doing what she does best.
WHERE: Her decrepit home in the housing district.
WHEN: Day 449; overnight.
As the rest of Rivelata lay asleep, one of the city's more peculiar citizens was alert and busy as ever.
Miss Spider was weaving.
Alone and forlorn, she remained awake, working at an ever-quickening pace. Being primarily nocturnal, she spent her evenings focused on the construction of an illogical labyrinth of webs, spiralling every which way until they reached an epicentre: a small tunnel constructed from the remains of a chimney chute. Each surface was covered with strands upon strands of gossamer thread, transforming the once-abandoned home into a complex system of tripwires, climbing surfaces and superfluous decorations.
Her olive eyes glowed intensely as she laboured, her boots tapping lightly as she bounded across the room, streaming threads from the spool on her back to form the foundation of a new web. Returning to the middle, she formed a small spiral at the centre and moving outwards at a dizzying speed. Once she reached the outer corners, she paused to study her work.
A sigh. Some idle humming. Contemplation. An idea.
She climbed to the centre of her new creation and abruptly tore out a row of threads, snapping them with her gloved hands. In a flurry of motions, her deft hands wove a bold series of letters between columns of silk.
"James"
WHAT: Doing what she does best.
WHERE: Her decrepit home in the housing district.
WHEN: Day 449; overnight.
As the rest of Rivelata lay asleep, one of the city's more peculiar citizens was alert and busy as ever.
Miss Spider was weaving.
Alone and forlorn, she remained awake, working at an ever-quickening pace. Being primarily nocturnal, she spent her evenings focused on the construction of an illogical labyrinth of webs, spiralling every which way until they reached an epicentre: a small tunnel constructed from the remains of a chimney chute. Each surface was covered with strands upon strands of gossamer thread, transforming the once-abandoned home into a complex system of tripwires, climbing surfaces and superfluous decorations.
Her olive eyes glowed intensely as she laboured, her boots tapping lightly as she bounded across the room, streaming threads from the spool on her back to form the foundation of a new web. Returning to the middle, she formed a small spiral at the centre and moving outwards at a dizzying speed. Once she reached the outer corners, she paused to study her work.
A sigh. Some idle humming. Contemplation. An idea.
She climbed to the centre of her new creation and abruptly tore out a row of threads, snapping them with her gloved hands. In a flurry of motions, her deft hands wove a bold series of letters between columns of silk.
"James"