Sebastian Handsel (thedoctorisodd) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-06-08 16:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2018 [06] june, sebastian handsel |
Who: Dr. Handsel (and open if anyone wants to knock)
Where: His quarters (a converted studio apartment grafted onto his work office)
What: Indoor caretaking; feeding both critters and one's megalomania like a born multitasker!
When: Early Monday afternoon
“Th... ere... there, Theresa, we can...'t – we can -- we can't have too... too many of them hatching. Sustenance... Sus... sustainability is key. You know that.” The bearded dragon didn't so much as move as Sebastian carefully plucked the eggs from the den to place in small tub of substrate. She wasn't protective, having been through this entire process before. He interpreted her lack of protest as a sign of trust more than exhaustion. He provided for her, made sure she was healthy and sustained. To this particular lizard, he was God, and she seemed to understand that on some level. He smiled at her, warmly, although she didn't have the optic arrangement to decipher facial expression, and wouldn't know that he was doing so. “Yes, yes you... do. Yes, you do.”
Three clutches of eggs! A pleasing number, and an excellent sign for both Theresa and her mate's conditions. However, it was far too many eggs to allow to hatch. The offspring couldn't be supported with his resources, and he didn't have the room to set up more bearded dragon habitats than he already had. They were so territorial.
“Yes,” he muttered softly, not really paying attention to any of the words that chose to fall from his mouth as he counted the fertile eggs. It was arguable that he shouldn't have bred her in the first place, really, but he refused to condemn his creatures to a half-life. Breeding was in their nature, so he allowed them to breed. Benevolence was in his nature. “You do.”
Though some might also argue against that, were they there to witness him just then; meticulously selecting which of the eggs would be given a chance to hatch. How many would go into the incubator, and how many would be nobly sacrificed to the insect tanks. His menagerie was a microcosm of the world at large: some destined to be fed, others destined to be food. Luck divided the two, as well as a fair amount of logic, but never forever. Sometimes, not even for long. Theresa's discarded clutches would go towards the insects who, in turn, feed her. Cycle of life. Uncomplicated. Everyone pitches in to help the others.
“You...” Ten seemed reasonable. A nice, round number. Ten bright, white, fertile eggs for the incubator. The rest to be divvied amongst the crickets and roaches and other omnivores. He was careful to keep the eggs in exactly the same position that Theresa laid them, knowing her judgment on that matter was sound. If any of the hatchlings were deformed, they'd be surrendered to the carnivores, but they had at least another two months or more to develop. These were the chosen, the ones who'd be given a chance to live. Embryonic survivors. “Do.”
Sebastian already loved them, although they weren't yet born. His system had its problems, cobbled together as it was, but he tried to keep the incubator temperature at a steady 84° F. Warmer temperatures would produce more females, but take longer. Cooler temperatures took less time to incubate, but produced the more territorial males. Both increased the chance of population loss. Sebastian wasn't willing to risk that for a preferred gender. After thoroughly checking the moisture levels and temperatures of the incubator, Sebastian went back to see to the mother. She was still in her resting state, likely exhausted and dehydrated. After considering, Sebastian decided to cut her light early, let her rest a bit in artificial nightfall (and wasn't time just an artificial construct, anyway?) so she'd have strength enough to replenish herself. He was proud of her, and would see to it she had extra greens later.
Greens. Right. He moved to the overworked filtration system to see if the recent repairs were holding up. God bless Graham Frost for having a knack with machinery. Really, the man was a saint. A marvel of human decency. Sebastian was quite fond of him.
There were others in the remaining population pool of Austin, Texas who weren't quite as helpful. Or reliable. Or decent. He'd gathered that much from the freenet, though he was blessedly free from having to engage with them thus far. If he went through with his plans for the anonymous mailing list or remote hotline, both of which would require some technical assistance on his part, there could be a lot more exposure to all sorts of people. There was a fascination to that. A temptation to reach out beyond his territory and engage with the myriad entities he'd glimpsed on the Freenet. But the system was frail right now. Not just the network concerns that Graham had raised, but the overarching structure of society. Encountering those who needed help didn't guarantee he'd be able to provide it effectively. There was only so much therapy that could be done via remote systems. Only so many hours in the day. And so few authorities to report to, if someone came to him expressing intent to harm themselves or others. He could be biting off far more than even he could chew.
Still, it seemed worthwhile to try. He felt similar to this as he had to letting his pets breed. There was an inherent call to helping others interact with themselves. Providing an outlet for natural, basic human urges... like the one for connection. Well-being. Besides, if it got to be too much, he could always be selective. Pick and choose which ones to respond to.
Just like he had with the eggs.
It was a far sight better than focusing on his own deterioration. No use dwelling on that. He glanced at his watch, checking the time. Five minutes to the hour and he had no idea if that was relevant. If there was a meeting or an appointment or a delivery or anything that he was supposed to be doing instead of staring at S. lycopersicum vines. There was a system in place for that. All of it. One that had him checking h is watch frequently, writing things down, and -- when simple recollection faltered -- checking the schedule he kept in his desk. That was why he did live next to his office. Why he had to.
So that instead of being startled or dismayed by the blankness in his mind, Sebastian could just fall back on routine. He walked quickly past the containers, terrariums, sunlamps, and pump systems, through the door of his living quarters and into his workplace, just in case the hour meant something and he was expected to be there. If not, he'd spend some time on the new project, and that was all right, too. That was responsible. That was fine. He was fine. He'd be fine.
It would just be awfully nice if one of the scavengers could find more of his pills sooner, rather than later.
But there was no use dwelling. No use at all.