FIC: "Spiders in the Bin"
Aug. 5th, 2002 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321The continuation of the "Arthropod" series! *g*
Title: Spiders in the Bin
Series: Third in the Arthropods series; follows "Ants on the Counter".
Part: 1/1
Author: Lobelia <lobelia321@aol.com>
Website: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan / Karl Urban
Rating: G
Summary: "Does that feel nice and cool?" says Karl and blows again. "No," says Dominic. "That feels sort of warm."
Feedback: Yes, please, I would love feedback! Anything, even if it's only one line, one word!
Content/Warnings: RPS. Creepy-crawlies.
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Archive Rights: Beyond the Fellowship. My niche. Anyone else, please just ask.
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen.
Author's Notes: An experiment with style. Thanks to Belinda whose writing inspired this (but who does it so much better).
------------------
Where is Dominic?
Karl can't see him. Dominic is not here. The lounge room is here. The kitchen is here. The counter, separating lounge room from kitchen, is here. Sunshine is here, a cactus is here, the sound of a plane chugging past at cruising altitude far away over the roof of the house is here. But Dominic?
Karl goes round the outside of the house, and there is Dominic. He's standing wedged into a corner between the shed, the house and the fence, peering at the garbage bin.
Karl looks at Dominic but Dominic doesn't turn around. Maybe Dominic doesn't know that Karl has come. Maybe Dominic is so absorbed in the garbage bin that he hasn't heard Karl's footsteps.
"Hi," says Dominic without turning around. "Look at this, Karl."
Karl frowns. "Is this about more of those creepy-crawly critters?" he asks.
"Look," says Dominic. "There are hundreds of them."
"There always are hundreds of them," says Karl. "They come in hundreds."
They are on the concrete path next to the house. The path is narrow, cast in shadow, flanked by wall-of-house and neighbour's fence. It's not fantastically congenial here. There's a carbonic puddle on the concrete: laundry overflow. There's also a smell of garbage and decay.
Karl cranes his neck. There is no space to get any closer to the garbage can.
What does Karl see over Dominic's shoulder? He sees the charcoal-grey lid of the garbage can, held up by Dominic and poised on its hinges. He sees lumpy plastic bags. He sees a squashed milk carton, two brown banana peels and a mouldy washing-up sponge. He sees garbage.
But that's not what Dominic is looking at. Dominic is looking at the spiders.
The spiders are tiny. They are clustered in a cottony cloud on the underside of the garbage-can lid. They seem to be attached to the plastic of the lid by some sort of sticky substance. The spiders are small, white and yellow, and yes, there are hundreds.
"Do you do it on purpose?" says Karl. "Do you see me coming at the end of the road and run to find some creepy-crawlies? Or do you spend all day doing this?"
"Don't you like animals?" asks Dominic.
"I do like animals," says Karl. "I just like 'em a bit bigger. I like 'em with spines."
"Spines," says Dominic. "Why be spinist?"
Karl takes his left index and middle fingers, and places them on the topmost vertebra of Dominic's backbone, the one at the base of his neck. He then moves his fingers all the way down, one finger along each side of the spinal column, until he reaches Dominic's coccyx. Dominic squirms in an S-shape.
"Spines," says Karl. "I like spines."
"I like them, too," says Dominic. "I like them in mammals. And in birds and fish. And in people. But these aren't people."
"You're a bit weird, you know," says Karl.
Dominic leans down and blows on the cluster of spiderlings. They all sway like mad and start creepy-crawling around in a crazy bustle.
"Is this a nest?" asks Karl.
"These are the babies. But there's a big one, too. Look. On the shed wall."
Karl jumps back a step.
"They're not poisonous," says Dominic. "Are they?"
Dominic keeps a hold of the lid with one hand and moves his other hand slowly towards the shed wall. Slowly, slowly, stealthily creeping. He pounces. Thwap! The spider's in Dominic's fist.
"Hoo," says Karl.
Dominic turns around. The garbage-can lid bangs open. Dominic puts his hand on Karl's shoulder and uncurls his fist.
"Get off!" shouts Karl and hops about, shaking his shoulders and swiping at his neck.
"Hold still," says Dominic. Karl holds still.
Dominic makes a grab at Karl's neck and shows him the waggling legs of the spider, poking out between his fingers.
"See? Not poisonous," says Dominic.
Karl makes poisoned gurgling noises and clutches his throat.
Dominic opens his fist and squints at the spider inside. He blows into his fist. He opens his hand and hurls the spider at the shed. It lands on the wall with surprising adroitness. It clings onto the vertical surface for a bare nano-second, then scurries away underneath the eaves.
Karl rubs his neck.
Dominic is not looking at Karl again. He is looking at the garbage can. The jolt of the lid has dislodged most of the spider cluster. The babies are now swarming out everywhere. They are flying through the air along filament-thin, shiny threads. They are a flying, swaying sail of spiders.
"You're not going to eat them?" Karl asks.
"No," says Dominic.
"Would you eat me if I were a spider?"
"I don't eat spiders," says Dominic.
"What?" says Karl and laughs. "Why be spiderist?"
Dominic laughs, too. But he still doesn't take his eyes off the garbage-can lid.
"You could feed the ants to them," suggests Karl. "Once they're grown up."
"Hm," says Dominic. "Good idea. You got one on you?"
"One what?"
"One ant. You happen to have an ant on you?"
Karl puts his fingers on Dominic's neck and makes creepy-crawly movements but Dominic neither flinches nor hops.
"What brings you here, anyway?" says Dominic.
"I need to borrow something," says Karl and stops creepy-crawling.
"What?"
"Tell you in a minute."
Dominic blows on the spiders again. Karl interposes his own hand so that Dominic blows on Karl's skin. Some of the spider babies fly onto Karl's hand. He shakes it but Dominic holds his wrist still and says, "Don't."
They watch the spiders scuttle and lurch around Karl's hand. Dominic blows on the hand again. This time, most of the spiders blow off and drift into the evening air. Karl blows on Dominic's nape.
"You're a bit sunburnt here," says Karl.
"Yes," says Dominic. "Forgot to put suncream on myself."
"Does that feel nice and cool?" says Karl and blows again.
"No," says Dominic. "That feels sort of warm."
"That's because I'm a mammal," says Karl, "and not some strange little cold-blooded thing."
"I know", says Dominic. They're both silent, pondering the mammalness of Karl.
Under the shed eaves sits the adult spider and observes the two mammals impassively. Minute Dominics and Karls are reflected in her eight tiny beady motionless eyes. They mean absolutely nothing to the spider.
"Are we going to stand here forever?" says Karl. "It's a bit pongy."
"You can go in," says Dominic. "Make us some coffee."
But Karl doesn't. He stays next to Dominic and watches with Dominic until the last baby spider has disappeared and the very last ray of sun has set.
------------------
The End.
23 July / 5 August 2002
Title: Spiders in the Bin
Series: Third in the Arthropods series; follows "Ants on the Counter".
Part: 1/1
Author: Lobelia <lobelia321@aol.com>
Website: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan / Karl Urban
Rating: G
Summary: "Does that feel nice and cool?" says Karl and blows again. "No," says Dominic. "That feels sort of warm."
Feedback: Yes, please, I would love feedback! Anything, even if it's only one line, one word!
Content/Warnings: RPS. Creepy-crawlies.
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Archive Rights: Beyond the Fellowship. My niche. Anyone else, please just ask.
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen.
Author's Notes: An experiment with style. Thanks to Belinda whose writing inspired this (but who does it so much better).
------------------
Where is Dominic?
Karl can't see him. Dominic is not here. The lounge room is here. The kitchen is here. The counter, separating lounge room from kitchen, is here. Sunshine is here, a cactus is here, the sound of a plane chugging past at cruising altitude far away over the roof of the house is here. But Dominic?
Karl goes round the outside of the house, and there is Dominic. He's standing wedged into a corner between the shed, the house and the fence, peering at the garbage bin.
Karl looks at Dominic but Dominic doesn't turn around. Maybe Dominic doesn't know that Karl has come. Maybe Dominic is so absorbed in the garbage bin that he hasn't heard Karl's footsteps.
"Hi," says Dominic without turning around. "Look at this, Karl."
Karl frowns. "Is this about more of those creepy-crawly critters?" he asks.
"Look," says Dominic. "There are hundreds of them."
"There always are hundreds of them," says Karl. "They come in hundreds."
They are on the concrete path next to the house. The path is narrow, cast in shadow, flanked by wall-of-house and neighbour's fence. It's not fantastically congenial here. There's a carbonic puddle on the concrete: laundry overflow. There's also a smell of garbage and decay.
Karl cranes his neck. There is no space to get any closer to the garbage can.
What does Karl see over Dominic's shoulder? He sees the charcoal-grey lid of the garbage can, held up by Dominic and poised on its hinges. He sees lumpy plastic bags. He sees a squashed milk carton, two brown banana peels and a mouldy washing-up sponge. He sees garbage.
But that's not what Dominic is looking at. Dominic is looking at the spiders.
The spiders are tiny. They are clustered in a cottony cloud on the underside of the garbage-can lid. They seem to be attached to the plastic of the lid by some sort of sticky substance. The spiders are small, white and yellow, and yes, there are hundreds.
"Do you do it on purpose?" says Karl. "Do you see me coming at the end of the road and run to find some creepy-crawlies? Or do you spend all day doing this?"
"Don't you like animals?" asks Dominic.
"I do like animals," says Karl. "I just like 'em a bit bigger. I like 'em with spines."
"Spines," says Dominic. "Why be spinist?"
Karl takes his left index and middle fingers, and places them on the topmost vertebra of Dominic's backbone, the one at the base of his neck. He then moves his fingers all the way down, one finger along each side of the spinal column, until he reaches Dominic's coccyx. Dominic squirms in an S-shape.
"Spines," says Karl. "I like spines."
"I like them, too," says Dominic. "I like them in mammals. And in birds and fish. And in people. But these aren't people."
"You're a bit weird, you know," says Karl.
Dominic leans down and blows on the cluster of spiderlings. They all sway like mad and start creepy-crawling around in a crazy bustle.
"Is this a nest?" asks Karl.
"These are the babies. But there's a big one, too. Look. On the shed wall."
Karl jumps back a step.
"They're not poisonous," says Dominic. "Are they?"
Dominic keeps a hold of the lid with one hand and moves his other hand slowly towards the shed wall. Slowly, slowly, stealthily creeping. He pounces. Thwap! The spider's in Dominic's fist.
"Hoo," says Karl.
Dominic turns around. The garbage-can lid bangs open. Dominic puts his hand on Karl's shoulder and uncurls his fist.
"Get off!" shouts Karl and hops about, shaking his shoulders and swiping at his neck.
"Hold still," says Dominic. Karl holds still.
Dominic makes a grab at Karl's neck and shows him the waggling legs of the spider, poking out between his fingers.
"See? Not poisonous," says Dominic.
Karl makes poisoned gurgling noises and clutches his throat.
Dominic opens his fist and squints at the spider inside. He blows into his fist. He opens his hand and hurls the spider at the shed. It lands on the wall with surprising adroitness. It clings onto the vertical surface for a bare nano-second, then scurries away underneath the eaves.
Karl rubs his neck.
Dominic is not looking at Karl again. He is looking at the garbage can. The jolt of the lid has dislodged most of the spider cluster. The babies are now swarming out everywhere. They are flying through the air along filament-thin, shiny threads. They are a flying, swaying sail of spiders.
"You're not going to eat them?" Karl asks.
"No," says Dominic.
"Would you eat me if I were a spider?"
"I don't eat spiders," says Dominic.
"What?" says Karl and laughs. "Why be spiderist?"
Dominic laughs, too. But he still doesn't take his eyes off the garbage-can lid.
"You could feed the ants to them," suggests Karl. "Once they're grown up."
"Hm," says Dominic. "Good idea. You got one on you?"
"One what?"
"One ant. You happen to have an ant on you?"
Karl puts his fingers on Dominic's neck and makes creepy-crawly movements but Dominic neither flinches nor hops.
"What brings you here, anyway?" says Dominic.
"I need to borrow something," says Karl and stops creepy-crawling.
"What?"
"Tell you in a minute."
Dominic blows on the spiders again. Karl interposes his own hand so that Dominic blows on Karl's skin. Some of the spider babies fly onto Karl's hand. He shakes it but Dominic holds his wrist still and says, "Don't."
They watch the spiders scuttle and lurch around Karl's hand. Dominic blows on the hand again. This time, most of the spiders blow off and drift into the evening air. Karl blows on Dominic's nape.
"You're a bit sunburnt here," says Karl.
"Yes," says Dominic. "Forgot to put suncream on myself."
"Does that feel nice and cool?" says Karl and blows again.
"No," says Dominic. "That feels sort of warm."
"That's because I'm a mammal," says Karl, "and not some strange little cold-blooded thing."
"I know", says Dominic. They're both silent, pondering the mammalness of Karl.
Under the shed eaves sits the adult spider and observes the two mammals impassively. Minute Dominics and Karls are reflected in her eight tiny beady motionless eyes. They mean absolutely nothing to the spider.
"Are we going to stand here forever?" says Karl. "It's a bit pongy."
"You can go in," says Dominic. "Make us some coffee."
But Karl doesn't. He stays next to Dominic and watches with Dominic until the last baby spider has disappeared and the very last ray of sun has set.
------------------
The End.
23 July / 5 August 2002
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Excellent!
Date: 2002-08-05 03:35 pm (UTC)Dom playing with eight-legged friend!
oooooooo
Date: 2002-08-05 04:35 pm (UTC)whee!
*wanders off singing the Happy Spider Song*
*meep*
Date: 2002-08-06 01:46 am (UTC)But I love this! But what does Karl have to borrow from Dom? Or is it merely a ruse? You know, I love all those dark, brooding Karlfics, but somehow your sweet, slightly wacky Karl is so charming.... a diversion away from mean and moody. You've been unfanoning again, eh?
Under the shed eaves sits the adult spider and observes the two mammals impassively. Minute Dominics and Karls are reflected in her eight tiny beady motionless eyes. They mean absolutely nothing to the spider.
*giggle* That's so wonderfully refractory!
Oh! Let me bow down and worship you! I Have already pledged myself to the cult of Glorianity, but I now feel that I should offer myself up to Lobeliality! Call me easy...
(no subject)
Date: 2002-08-06 07:00 am (UTC)but this: Dominic leans down and blows on the cluster of spiderlings. They all sway like mad and start creepy-crawling around in a crazy bustle. That's why I love your writing, because no one else would have written that sentence, written in that way, transformed 'creepy-crawly' into a verb.
And considering our discussion of implicit and explicit meaning, I was particularly taken by the fact that Karl and Dom mean absolutely nothing to mother-spider.
Thank you for continually making me think!