First Impressions (Tock)

[Syel]

"Oy, knock it off!" The woman ordered him, and when the pain proved to be far too great for him to stop she simply ripped yet another piece of flesh from Syel's remaining arm and shoved it in his mouth roughly, effectively silencing him. For long moments afterward Syel was still fighting against the seemingly endless waves of pain that were lancing through his body, and when he finally regained his self-control, the Pycon realized that she was once again speaking, "Ya done gotta learn what 'ow ta be'ave, aye?" She shouted, and he inwardly cringed at the thought of having to do anything this monster told him to do. She was cutting him and destroying his body, but he was the one out of line? Where was the justice in that? Though he was traumatized and still in great pain, Syel still had the presence of mind to realize that if he did not do something--and quickly--he would be subject to even more of this woman's brutality. Thinking swiftly, he decided to try something fairly new. Syel began forming another mouth, this time in the center of his chest. Annoyingly, the pain made it very hard to focus and his true form began to show through, the gentleman's suit and facial features returning, except in places where the woman had cut into him. Those places would remain formless until he could take the time to repair the damage. His arm, too, was left unformed, though it began very slowly growing outward from his chest while the extra flesh in his head area drained into his chest to replace it at a steady rate. Throughout all of this, the mouth was trying to form on Syel's chest. He simply couldn't make it work properly with all that was going on in his now-chaotic body, and when he tried to speak, all that came out was mangled, slurred attempts at speech. Syel could think of nothing else that would communicate to this woman that he dearly wished to avoid any more of her punishment for whatever he must have done wrong. What god had he displeased enough for this to happen to him? Hopelessly, he gave up his attempts and let the de-facto mouth dissolve in the roiling mass of flesh that was his chest.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock grinned and cackled again when she saw her clay man start forming a new face in his chest! Just what else was the little guy capable of? She rapidly took notes, doing quick sketches of his altered form, wanting to record everything. This was unbelievably amazing, and she felt like this was the discovery of a lifetime. Who knew there were little clay men in the world? Maybe if she studied him enough, she could figure out how to build one! She frowned at the gibberish that came out of the clay man's new mouth. He mustn't have been really intelligent, after all. Maybe his creator had only programmed him with a few words, and he couldn't really understand the language, but just mimic it. Like a parrot. She took note of this, with a question mark on the side of the page denoting that this needed curbed experimentation. She'd have to figure out what kinds of responses she could prompt from him. She noted that he seemed to be returning to his original form, albeit slowly. This warranted further experimentation. She waited until his body was close to reformed, then grabbed his arms and stretched the clay out as far as she could to either side without breaking it off. She then told Handy, "Tap yer finger fer Mommy..." As he tapped, she counted, ticking away the seconds in her mind to test how long it would take the clay man to reform. She continued taking notes as she watched the process, curious to see if both arms would reform at the same speed. Meanwhile to test his intelligence, she asked the clay man, "Can ya say 'Mommy'?"

[Syel]

Fortunately for Syel, he was growing more accustomed to the constant pain which was assailing him. This allowed him to keep his wits as the woman stretched his newly-formed arms, causing yet another spasm of pain to rip violently through his body. As his arms slowly returned to their normal shape, taking all of twenty seconds, he began speeding up the regeneration of his face. He was already thoroughly exhausted and the pain didn't help matters at all, so he had to settle for assisting his true form in reasserting itself so he could speak. Thankfully, the woman had given him time by waiting for a response and he determined to use the time to the best of his ability. Upon finishing the formation of his face, the process taking twice as long as it usually did, Syel immediately blurted out in a pained voice, "You aren't my petching mum!" He desperately wanted to show this beast that he wasn't some kind of toy to be used however she wanted. The little Pycon wanted it so much that he failed to consider what she might do to him if he failed to show compliance to her wished until the words were out of his mouth. He cursed himself inwardly as he realized that he had a very high likelyhood of being punished with even more torture than he had already endured. 'Too late now,' Syel mused to himself momentarily, 'She'd probably have done it anyway.'

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock recorded the time it had taken the clay man to regenerate, wishing for the first time that she had built herself a clock. She would have liked a more accurate estimation of the time. Oh well, she thought. What she had would have to do. Once the clay man had finished reforming, he apparently decided to get snippish and curse at her. Now, Tock had quite the sailor's mouth on her, and it was rare for her to get through a full conversation without dropping quite a few swears into it, even in just casual conversation. However, getting that kind of language from a little clay man who was supposed to treat his new owner with respect, well... That just pissed her off. "Oy!" she shouted, smacking him in the head, and noting the fingerprints she left behind. "Don'tcha done talks ta me like 'at, mister! 'Ere I is, takin' ya in outta the dirty nasty streets, givin' ya a 'ome, an' learnin' what fer 'ow ta make ya little clay brothers and sisters, an' ya done go talk ta me like 'at!?" She was so irritated that she didn't stop to consider whether her earlier assessment of his intelligence was inaccurate or not. She just shoved a finger in his mouth and smooshed it, so that he wouldn't be able to talk back to her again. "Now," she said, waving a finger at him and staring him down, "ya can does 'as yer mouth back when ya done learns 'ow ta talk wit' respect, aye? Aye. I's in charge 'ere. I done found ya, an' I's done keepin' ya! Ya didn't seem like ya 'ad no owner out 'ere lookin' fer ya anyways, so's as I figure, I's doin' ya a favor, puttin' a roof over yer 'ead, aye? Now, be'ave!" As far as she was concerned, the little clay man was a stray. If you took a stray dog into your house and fed it, you didn't expect it to bite you in exchange. This was no different. She recorded a few more notes, then thought of what to test next. She thought about the possible benefits of having her own clay man. The first thing that came to mind was the chance he could squeeze through tiny spaces. So she pulled out some wood and crudely nailed a few pieces together with a small gap in between them. She then grabbed the clay man and squished him flat onto the table, slamming the wood overtop. His only way to reform should be to either ooze out the sides, or squeeze up through the slot in between the wood above him. It was just big enough for his head (and unknown to her, the core piece inside it), but his body shouldn't be able to fit through without some sort of morphing. "Oy, can ya done still 'ear me when I done squished yer ears?" she asked him. "Come on up through the slot. I wanna see 'ow good ya do! If'n ya does good, maybe I'll give ya a reward!" Maybe a little positive motivation would improve the little guy's attitude.

[Syel]

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the Pycon had known he was in for it, so he was not surprised at all when she struck him squarely in the head, sending his head backwards onto the table with a jarring thud. While he was still reeling from the blow, the woman shoved her finger yet again into his mouth, crushing it and sending a thrill of pain through him. This barely affected him however, as he'd felt much worse at her hands. It only served to anger him further and reinforce his desire to escape with all due haste. "Oy!" She roared in Syel's face angrily, looming over him, "ya can does 'as yer mouth back when ya done learns 'ow ta talk wit' respect, aye? Aye. I's in charge 'ere. I done found ya, an' I's done keepin' ya! Ya didn't seem like ya 'ad no owner out 'ere lookin' fer ya anyways, so's as I figure, I's doin' ya a favor, puttin' a roof over yer 'ead, aye? Now, be'ave!" Syel, being a reasonable Pycon, was very intimidated by this creature's ranting and raving. After all, she'd nearly crushed him several times and seemed more than willing to do so again. Thus, Syel did the most logical thing he could have done in that situation; he nodded vigorously, eyes wide with fear. His anger was unabated and raged within him still, though his fear of death easily outweighed that ten to one. The Pycon had no clue what he could possibly do to keep her from causing him more pain, as he was certain her "tests" were just excuses to hurt him and make his life miserable. The woman turned to scribble something down in a notebook, apparently satisfied for the moment that he wouldn't do anything too offensive. Syel did not resist his mouth's reformation as it began reconstructing itself on his face. Not that he could have if he had wanted to, anyway. After all the pinching, prodding, ripping, cutting, and beating he had suffered, he doubted that he could walk far on his own without collapsing in an exhausted heap in the middle of a street somewhere. His inability to defend himself against the monstrosity that had captured him was blatant even to himself, and Syel resigned himself to it for the moment. When the mad redhead began nailing a wooden contraption of some sort together, Syel began to grow a bit worried. What he had already endured had been terrible beyond words, and the woman had used little more than simplistic tools to do the deed. What kind of horrors could she perform with a large thing like she was constructing? His question was answered soon enough when she slammed him down hard against the table and forced the wood onto him, crushing his body flat, save for a small section down his middle. He breathed a very humanlike sigh of relief as it missed his head by a tiny fraction of an inch, still crushing his ears. "Oy, can ya done still 'ear me when I done squished yer ears?" she asked him. "Come on up through the slot. I wanna see 'ow good ya do! If'n ya does good, maybe I'll give ya a reward!" The woman ordered, offering him a treat as if he were a common dog. Through the pain of being crushed, he still felt a sting of resentment ring through him. 'I'll show her..' he thought petulantly to himself as he obediently--if slowly--began forcing his substance above the slot in the wood in obedience to her command. Truth be told, his fear of punishment had as great a hand in his obedience as the pain of being in such a position did, though Syel would never admit this to himself. After great difficulty, the exhausted and overabused Pycon managed to free himself from the wood and stand upright, free of bonds for the first time in what seemed to him like an eternity. He thought briefly of making an attack on the woman, but almost instantly dismissed the idea as foolish. He was far too weak and could not risk provoking her ire once more. Another bout of testing was like to kill him if he weren't careful. He opened his mouth and said in a weak voice, "There...happy?" before immediately collapsing to the hard wood from which he had just escaped in weariness.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock grinned as her little clay man reformed himself, jotting notes the whole time, recording how long it took and which parts of his body reformed first. When he was fully reformed she petted him gently, then kissed the top of his head and said, "Good boy! I's proud o' ya! Now, I's gonna..." He collapsed. Tock's eyes went wide. "Oh no!" she cried out. "I done broked 'im!!!" She started to turn frantic, unsure what to do. It wasn't like she could go out and get another one! She didn't know how to fix him. Maybe if she put him in her Animation circles... She started poking him. "Little clay man?" she asked in a worried tone. She hadn't expected clay could break! "Little clay man, is ya okay? I's fix ya, I promise! I didn't done means ta be so rough, 'onest!" She had gotten carried away. She should have tested his limits more carefully first. Some scientist she was... She whimpered and wrung her hands, trying to think what to do. She didn't normally work with clay, so she didn't know what was best. She started pulling out tools, and told him, "It's okay, aye? I's gonna fix ya..."

[Syel]

Syel did not feel the woman's odd kiss on the top of his head, nor did he hear her words of praise as she congratulated him on a simple, if still painful task. He existed in a dull ghost of reality, drifting to and fro between being aware and blissful sleep. On one hand he knew that if he fell asleep, Harameus only knew where he would be when he woke up. On the other...the wooden boards really weren't that uncomfortable. He wondered where they had come from, what sort of trees grew where they came from. What kind of flowers did they have? How old was the tr-- He was snapped out of his incoherent thoughts by a series of sharp jabs across his body. The woman was poking him, he suddenly became aware. "Little clay man?" she asked him, sounding extremely worried. Why would she be worried for him? She was the one who did this! "Little clay man, is ya okay? I's fix ya, I promise! I didn't done means ta be so rough, 'onest!" The beast seemed almost apologetic, like she really wasn't just trying to hurt him... But no, she had to have been. You didn't do all the things she did to someone without intentionally trying to cause them pain. Then again, the woman was wringing her hands and acting very unhappy. Maybe she really didn't understand anything about Pycons, after all. This did not fully abate his dislike--no, hatred--of her, but it made him understand that she wasn't testing him out of mere cruelty, after all. The madwoman began readying several sets of tools that were clearly intended for him, and Syel began rousing from his stupor, moving about slightly to indicate that he wasn't fully unconscious. Exhaustion was a powerful thing, but pain was even more so. He was growing too tired to move no matter what the reason, and the Pycon knew it. Syel had to move quickly, for he knew that if he were to faint while she was working on him, she might accidentally dig into his mental center and do some irreversible damage. "No..." He croaked in a slurred voice, his fine motor control skills weakened from his exhaustion, "Sleep..."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock's eyes widened and her heart raced when she saw signs of life in the clay man once more. Maybe he wasn't broken after all! She grinned, but hesitated to touch him with her tools, uncertain now if she would break him worse if she kept messing with him. The thought that he was in pain never once crossed her mind. Clay couldn't feel pain; everyone knew that, it was just common sense. When he said 'sleep," she frowned in confusion. Clay didn't sleep, either. Just like her Automatons didn't sleep. ...except for Cutty, because of his malfunction. "Ya IS broken..." Tock whined, pouting. She leaned against the table, propping her chin in her fists, still holding her tools. What was she supposed to do now? She could just let him sleep, but that wouldn't do any good. Animations didn't actually get tired; the need for sleep was a programmed response, and the creation only slept because it had been made to do so. It didn't restore their energy. It was just a mimickery of the human behavior. Just like she could make an Automaton with a mouth to chew with and a stomach to store food, but it wouldn't actually need to eat, nor would it gain anything from the food. She needed more information. She needed to do some research. She gently scooped the clay man up and laid him down in her chest, then shut and locked the lid. Then she piled some rocks on top, just in case he thought he could ooze out the cracks and escape. She'd let him sleep for now, while she figured out what was going on. She headed to the library, intent on getting some books about... about... Well, she'd just ask the librarian if they had any books about little clay men.

[Syel]

After a few words that Syel did not properly hear or understand, the woman picked him up gently and laid him down in some dark place. He was not fully aware of what exactly was going on even as he heard the woman weigh the top of the chest he was within down to prevent his escape. Almost as soon as it grew silent he was enveloped in peaceful, dreamless oblivion. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Pycon woke up hours later from a remarkably refreshing sleep, though he could not say exactly when he had awakened. He came to slowly, dreams merging with recent memories and reality to create a confusing tapestry of sensation and idea that was altogether unfamiliar to Syel. One second he was sitting in his old home in the Pyve, reading a few Pycon-sized books on Py-ken and the next he was being brutally tortured by a grinning madwoman with a wooden hand. After that, he felt bugs crawling over and inside of him as they nibbled at his insides with small pliars attached to their faces. They morphed into wooden blocks that flew from his body and assembled around him, encasing him in a large wooden room with no light. No light... Where was he? All too suddenly his real situation crashed in around him. The woman. The tools. The claw. The...where was he? He really had to focus more clearly, as he knew he was apt to be lost in trains of thought even in vital times. Why, once he had... No. He had to focus. Syel looked around and recalled that the woman had placed him in someplace dark before he had gone to sleep. Apparently this was it. He had no idea where he was right now, and could see no way to properly get out. All he could do was wait, so he did one of the things he always did when he needed to pass the time. He thought. He thought and thought and thought. Syel pondered every second he could recall from the moment of his capture up until the moment he had fainted from exhaustion. What had he done to get himself caught? He recalled the whirring of the claw as it launched towards him, giving him a mere moment's warning. Even the fastest Pycon would have been caught in that trap. What about when he had been tested? He thought he could have spoken more instead of simply fighting. The woman might have taken the time to just speak with him instead of immediately settling for torture. Nothing he could have done would have allowed him to escape, he surmised in the darkness. Still lacking nothing to do, he laid back and began pondering more unanswerable questions. Why was he here? Was his body made of clay, or did it just feel like clay? Everyone knew clay couldn't move on its own, but a Pycon could, and Pycon were made of clay.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock made her way to the library, and walked straight up to the librarian. She decided to just ask a direct question, despite the fact that she knew the woman would look at her like she was crazy. "Ya got any books on little clay men?" "Pycons?" the librarian replied. "Of course. Section four, under Alchemy. Rows five through seven, shelves twenty three to thirty eight." Tock blinked. She stared at the woman for a long moment, while the librarian gave her a patient look, wondering if there was something else Tock needed. Finally, Tock said, "Uhhh... Thanks..." She wandered off towards the stacks of books, seeking out the rather extensive collection on 'Pycons' that the woman had directed her to. * * * Not long after the clay man awoke, Tock lifted the lid of the chest and peered down at him. "Ya know 'ere's done been a 'ole race o' ya?" she asked him, still not quite sure how intelligent he was. She had a book open in her left hand, a second in her right hand, and a third being held by Handy. Several more lay open on her table. "Says 'ere you's is called 'Pycons.' Didja knew 'at?" She was curious now about more than just his physical capabilities. Now she wanted to know where he came from. The books said Pycons were self-replicating, something none of her Automatons could accomplish. Maybe she could get this one to make her another?