The First Benzin

Let Me Think

"Welcome back," Carcass said to himself. With a weary, tired expression, he had entered the lonely crevice inside of the desolate mountain. It had been a good while since he had gotten the opportunity to actually contemplate to himself. Carcass spent too much time thinking about others and their well-being to think about his own life; his own well-being, for that matter.

He had set his first claw against the muddy floor, damp to the touch. Sighing exhaustedly, he started to step inside the house within its entirety, familiarizing himself once again with his refuge. It may have looked dreary, or perhaps disconcerting, but this was his home, a place he had known ever since he had begun to reside inside of this cold, lonely rock. Though, that didn't matter to him. This was home, and that needs nothing more mean what it does.

After looking over the dark area, he let off a content grin and took a seat next to the circular table. It was perfect for parties, he would usually think to himself. Carcass felt at peace as he succumbed to the condescending silence. He had taken this opportunity to clear his head and start thinking about what he should do with himself as well as how to accept his own disposition. He had started to fabricate the questions he needed to answer in order to complete his task. What led up to this point? Why are you acting like this? What are the steps you can take to come to mental acceptance?

Well, he had figured to start at ground zero. What led up to this point? Carcass now considered himself an abomination both physically and mentally. He hated himself for being naive with his ambitions and allowing for himself to be manipulated so effortlessly. His new form reflected his character quite nicely, thinking about it- a monster that would always fail to see ahead, only armed with its overreliance on a single ability. He never bothered to observe why he was this atrocity of all things, had he? With that in mind, he started to analyze his body's form much closer than he ever had before. First, he glanced at his disproportionately long arms. The outside light shined against his dull feathers, giving each strand a reflective, strong tone to their saturation. Next, he started to observe his torso. It reeked of the same dull tone as his arms, however, possessed many dark, sharp feathers that protruded from random areas throughout it. He had always used them as a form of ammunition, which proved convenient, but he had never deciphered the actual meaning of their presence. Carcass imagined them to be reminiscent to the jagged fur he saw on various Solvebonds he used to hunt. Although the main differences were the frequency and sharpness of the feathers in question. Perhaps they served to be organic thorns, in a sense: a natural line of defense against attackers. Last, but not least, he looked at his legs. They bent unnaturally and seemed as if they were only being held by a mere few strands of what appeared to be flesh, particularly due to their unsaturated coloration. Yet, they seemed flexible, as they would typically contort themselves to fit a certain, otherwise strenuous positioning. In addition, his toes, claws, rather, were completely disconnected from his body, being held in their place only by the weak gravitational pull of a single, elusive orb per foot. He hadn't understood the purpose of this, as it offered little to no survival adaptation aside from perching aptitudes-- far from a necessity at the least. Though, he hadn't understood the purpose of any of this: why was he this monster of all things? More specifically, what did it mean?

He began to ponder about everything that led up to this point; the life he had so unexpectedly put to waste. What kind of correlation would it have with his corruption, if any at all? After a good few minutes of thinking, he finally had a faint idea. He had blinked his many eyes several times upon the realization, attempting to look at them. Carcass had known that his eyes meant something, surely. His aim, perhaps, or maybe his ability to read people fairly well? He still hadn't known, but he felt a bit better at least making remote progress.

But... he himself knew that there was a deeper meaning to all of this. Carcass had wanted to come to try and accept himself for who he was, but had perpetually failed time and time again. He let himself come to a consensus with the fact he was a monster, and it would likely stay this way for a very long time, if not for the rest of time; he wouldn't age...

Just as he was starting to give up, he heard, or rather sensed, familiar patterns of footsteps with the plateau just outside of the mountain. They were getting closer. 

He had recognized the presence of footsteps before-- back when they had encountered Nester and the snake. Ever since they've vanished, he had oddly felt less strained by whatever mysterious force had been there before, but he knew it was present, and a voice in his head made note of it.

Carcass's ears instinctively jolted toward the direction of the sound as it became more and more apparent. He could describe there being hundreds of churning voices in his head, all with differing mentalities and approaches. Yet, refusing to listen to any of them but the one skittering uncomfortably in his stomach, he slowly raised himself from his position, and focused all 4 of his eyes toward the impending shadow of what appeared to be a familiarly shaped woman outside...