Part 9 - A Collar

they01/20/2020

The bandaged man is rummaging around in the main room; all around, there are a bunch of wooden mannequins set up on high poles, containing a variety of partial clothes colonies set up on each. The mannequins are set a fair distance apart (no need to risk them conglomerating), and the bandaged man is stepping between them, looking up at them. After conducting his business getting a possible trip to the Surface in order, he hasn't had time to properly count out his clothes colony collection; certainly, he was bemused. . .okay, holding onto their sides in hilarity after seeing the "gift" Able left Charlemagne (which he found flung far off into the corner), but there was also the very real worry about it becoming incorporated and becoming alive on it's own. Best to double check, and make sure that no extra guests came in. No need for a Polythreme infestation, after all. The bandaged man is walking around on the floor, holding their capped pen up and gesturing at the raised clothing as they count.

The Bandaged: Five pairs of gloves. . .five scarves. . .a brooch, fifteen lapel pins. . .

A hat on a high, rosewood mannequin curls its brim.

Charlemagne: PUT ME DOWN. UNNECCESARY ELEVATION. The Bandaged: One bored hat. . .no; it's census day, and everyone needs to be accounted for. . .fifteen boots, shoes, and the like. . .you could learn from your fellow clothes; they're all so polite.

There's a tittering of screechy voices above, giving general chimes of thanks.

Charlemagne: THEY ARE UNCULTURED.

The main room suddenly swells in screeching, with half of the voices deferring to Charlemagne with apologies and the other half raising their voice in outrage; the bandaged man covers their ears, screaming.

The Bandaged: Enough, ENOUGH! God, I'm almost done; you all will be put down soon, just be patient. . .

The bandaged man walks around the room, counting the last mannequins. . .

The Bandaged: . . .five suits, two lenses. . .hm. We're short four.

[

2:22 AM

]

The bandaged man holds a hand to their chin, tutting.

The Bandaged: . . .yes, there should be six pairs of gloves, six scarves, two brooches. . .and a choker. . .why do I have a choker, actually? . .where on earth. . .

This was a confusing situation; it was ordinary for there to be another five or six pieces of clothing (in which case, they would have to be separated and left alone until they lose their quality of life and return to being an ordinary suit, pantaloons, etc.), but less? That rarely happens. The bandaged man muses, before moving to the gas valve at the corner of the room; they turn the valve, dimming the lights (the clothing tittering for a moment as the room dims; the bandaged man makes no acknowledgement of their chattering).

The Bandaged: -Low.- . . .pah, maybe they squirreled away; perhaps they're in the storage room. . ?

The hatch in the center of the room opens, and they move to the center, heading down the stairs; they enter the bedrooms, and raise a hand to their mouth as a poor attempt to amplify themselves.

The Bandaged: Oy! Able, have you seen some stray pieces of clothing laying about!?.

The boy01/20/2020

There's no response from Able. Instead theres a scuffling sound from under one of the beds. One of the weasels run by, the albino one, an unmistakable choker around its neck as it dives under the bed, the sounds of more rustling can be heard, along with the usual screechy noises of the weasels.

they01/20/2020

The bandaged man screeches, scurrying down the stairs.

The Bandaged: Ach! Well, there's the choker; get off of him! Her! Whatever it decides it is!

***

The boy01/20/2020

The weasel refuses to come out from under the bed. Sounds of squealing and faux fighting can be heard from underneath.

they01/20/2020

The bandaged man scurries to the floor, moving to crawl.

The Bandaged: Oh, for goodness. . .

The bandaged man crawls to the edge of the bed, leaning down and trying to look under the bed.

The Bandaged: I'm not playing games, you choker; get back upstairs, I need to count all of you. . .

The boy01/20/2020

The underside of the bed is like a little play space the four weasels have made, having dragged toys under here a long while ago. They seem to all be playing with most of the missing clothing, and then stop. The albino weasel turns to face bandaged and the chokers voice gurgles, almost mimicking the weasels sound.

A choker: Ñ̷̡O̸̹͆.̵̍̇

The weasel runs off, and so do the rest of them, scattering throughout the room.

they01/20/2020

The Bandaged: Ack!

The bandaged man screeches, lifting their head sharply and hitting the lip of the wooden frame; they curse, holding their head in pain as they quickly stand up, stumbling around for a moment and laying their head on the bed mattress.

The Bandaged: Ow! Blast it! . .what the Hell was that? Did they chew on your mouth or something. . ?

The bandaged man lifts their head, trying to look for the choker-wearing weasel. Suddenly, they shriek, jumping up onto the bed; something brushed by their ankles? Underneath, the gloves, scarf, and brooch skitter away, trailing with the weasels; they've formed a curious shape, with the two gloves linked together at the thumbs with the fingers forming cloth legs, and the scarf trails behind, curling up into a loop at the very end fastened by two brooches. The creature thus formed shares an odd resemblance to a spider (the gloves) with the brilliant tail feather of a peacock (the scarf and brooches). The miniature clothes colony scatters, following a sweatered weasel.

The Bandaged: Ack! . .oh God, they're incorporating. What have you done, you blasted weasels!?

The boy01/20/2020

The sweater weasel chitters happily, very excited to playing chase. The brown weasel is following suit, a scrap rag in their mouth. The albino weasel dashes for the stairs, sliding across the floor to a sudden halt. The black weasel is merely running, not sure exactly where they're going.

A choker: M̴̘͘I̶̲̔Ǹ̷͑Ḛ̷͑ ̶̘̓Ń̶̡O̷̽̄W̸̡̋.̶̓̕

The choker gurgles, happily.

they01/20/2020

The bandaged man winces, still holding onto their head where they hit it.

The Bandaged: Good God, what happened to you? What happened to your voice?

The false-spider colony continues skittering around, catching up to the weasel and lightly curling the thumbs on the gloves around the weasel's leg for a moment before skittering away, the false-feather tail trailing behind.

The boy01/20/2020

The sweatered weasel turns sharply, and moves to chase the clothes colony, pretending to bat at its "legs" as she does. She bounds with so much energy, though the brown weasel seems to lag behind a bit, they also look as if they are having fun. The albino weasel turns towards the bandaged again, raising its head so they can get a good look at the choker.

A choker: W̸̏̀E̴̦͘A̵͎̿S̸͙͋E̶̐͒L̴̑͜S̴̾̌ ̴̋̃C̵̺͛Ḧ̴̓Ị̷̋T̶̀͝T̴͋͒É̸͘R̷̖̿.̴͒͌.

they01/20/2020

The Bandaged: Wh. . .you sound dreadful! Are you. . .are you trying _to sound like a weasel? 'Cause that's a piss poor effort, that is!

The bandaged man walks towards the albino weasel, leaning forward and down to try and grab at them.

The Bandaged: Let's just. . .get you off this weasel, right? Then you'll start feeling normal in no time. . !

The bandaged man suddenly falls forward; the false-spider colony has skittered in-between their legs, and the scarf caught on their legs for a moment. The bandaged man falls forward, landing on their chin as the false-spider colony lets go, skittering away.

The Bandaged: Ah, fuck! God, that hurt!

After a moment, the false-spider colony sharply turns around, facing the sweatered weasel; it "stands" on its pinky, wriggling its scarf tail upwards for a moment before lunging, skittering towards the weasel and lightly grabbing at their legs again before sharply retreating and readying itself again.

.

The boy01/20/2020

The albino weasel dashes up stairs, having to make extra big leaps to do so. The sweatered weasel jumps off of the bandaged's back, continuing the chase. The black and brown weasels have started to fight over the old rag now, playing a only half serious game of keepaway.

January 21, 2020

they01/21/2020

The bandaged man scowls, pulling themselves up off the ground.

The Bandaged: Alright, get back here!

The bandaged man stumbles, kicking themselves upward as they hurry up the stairs; they attempt to grab the albino weasel, awkwardly hurrying up the stairs with their torso low as they do so.

The Bandaged: . . .aaaand. . .gotcha!

The bandaged reaches out, lightly grabbing the albino's rear half, their thumb cradling over her tail and palming their legs. Meanwhile, the false-spider colony starts hopping around, skittering towards and away from the sweatered weasel in cycles; occasionally, the colony tumbles over, rolling over in its scarf false-tail before righting itself quickly and scurrying away.

.

The boy01/21/2020

----

Able was heading up the stairs. Slowly. Carefully. Thomas had sent him a calling card asking him over, and wanted to get rid of some old stock. "His standards can't be so high as to refuse grape wine." Thomas said. Able wasn't sure. If it was close to spoiling it might already be bad.

----

The weasels down stairs seemed to be having a blast, the sweatered one springs forward in a burst of energy and grabs the small clothes colony in her mouth, before dropping it again. She looks at them, and then sprints off in the other direction. The albino weasel... did not enjoy being grabbed. She promptly bit the bandaged, whilst the choker screamed.

A choker: L̴͎̑E̶̅̄T̷̲̂ ̴̀͝G̴̈́͊O̴̱͑!̷̗͊ ̸̅̀L̶̏̇E̴̋̆T̵̉̊ ̴̿̂G̶͔͋O̴̥͋!̵͆̀.

they01/21/2020

The bandaged man screeches, letting go of the albino weasel.

The Bandaged: Agh! My hand!

The bandaged man scowls, before moving up the stairs, stumbling slightly but otherwise keeping good pace behind the albino weasel and the choker.

The Bandaged: Get back here!

Meanwhile, the clothes colony skitters, righting itself on the ground before chasing after the sweatered weasel; the gloves bend down low, and the feather tail curls tightly, keeping the colony low and close together as it skitters forward. Moving lower, it lunges forward, but not far enough; the thumbs only manage to graze one of the weasels leg before her simple skittering kicks their grip off.

The boy01/21/2020

The albino weasel climbs up into the study, and runs up to one of the mannequins, standing behind it, staring at the bandaged.

A choker: Y̸̌͘O̵̱̓U̸̪͑ ̴͆͛D̷̜̓O̵̬͂N̵̈̚'̷̀̊T̵̑͊ ̴́͐É̴̇V̷͑͛Ȅ̷̠N̷̋̚ ̸̜̊W̸̾̔E̶̎̔A̷͇͋R̸̾̄ ̶͖͑M̷̑̈E̶̓̑!̸̗̋

The choker screeches, wrapping around the weasel a bit more snugly. She doesn't seem bothered.

they01/21/2020

The bandaged man steps upstairs into the main room, stumbling over themselves.

The Bandaged: So!? That's not the point! What if I end up needing an audience with the Captivating Princess? What if I need to visit the Duchess? I might have to wear you, then!

Above, high on the mannequins, the clothing are tittering, their mannequins creaking as they peer downwards.

A Suit: WHAT IS GOING ON DOWN THERE? WHAT VOICE IS THAT? A Hat: THERE'S ONE OF THOSE WEASELS! IT'S THE SCARRED ONE! A Lapel Pin: SCARED? SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE'S HAVING FUN. A Feather in the Hat: NO, NO, SCARRED! BUT WHEN DID WEASELS TALK?

The hat hoisted on the rosewood mannequin curls its brim, the chattering of the other clothes ceasing.

Charlemagne: WHAT CALAMITY IS GOING ON DOWN THERE!? GET THAT CREATURE OUT OF HERE! The Bandaged: I'm trying, but they're so damned fast. . !

The bandaged man is on all fours, moving closer to the albino weasel and trying to stay ahead of them in case they run off to the side.

The Bandaged: C'mon, you weaselly, er, weasel. . .just stay still. . !

The bandaged man lunges forward, trying to grab at the weasel again; however, they lunge forward too far, and they slam their face against the pole holding the mannequin up. They reel back, clutching their face.

The Bandaged: Agh! Gods, my face!

The mannequin above starts tilting, and the clothing hoisted on it titters, expectantly trying to move into one of its neighbors; below, however, the bandaged man quickly grabs the pole with one hand, trying to pull the heavy weight back.

The Bandaged: No, no no no, let's keep some. . .agh. . .distance, now. . ..

The boy01/21/2020

The weasel jumps back and lunges at the bandaged, the whole while the choker is screeching. The weasel doesn't bite or claw, but she does jump off of the bandaged's head in an attempt to escape.

---

Able was really tired, and his arms were sore, but he was almost there. Soon. All for some nasty wine.

---

they01/21/2020

The bandaged man screeches, flailing their arms, one arm trying to grab at the weasel while the other is trying to swat them off; both arms are unsuccessful.

The Bandaged: Ach! Get off of me, you blasted weasel!

Above, without any support, the mannequin the bandaged man was holding onto starts falling, the clothing on it tittering as they near their neighbor.

A Clothes-Colony: FRIENDS! JOIN US!

The mannequin above slams into its neighbor, sending a resounding slam.

Charlemagne: INDECENT! CEASE YOUR MINGLING!

The clothes on the mannequins ignore the hat; the clothing are writhing on the toppling mannequins, moving to join with one another with a maniacally gleeful sound; the mannequins start toppling one after another with loud wooden thwacks, and, while most of them stay upright, those that haven't fallen have clothing stretching their arms, fingers, or fabric out towards that have fallen, desperately trying to pull themselves along with the the falling mannequins. Meanwhile, the original clothes colony starts reaching out.

A Clothes-Colony: JOIN US! WE SHALL COMPLETE EACH OTHER! The Bandaged: -Flailing.- No! No, no, don't do that!

The boy01/21/2020

The weasel runs downstairs, and out of sight, not keen to stick around.

---

Able nearly made it to the top of the stairs, when he hears a crash, and then a scream. He sprints the last few paces and vaults over the window with the crate. He then just stands there. Staring.

Able: . . .Ah. .

they01/21/2020

The bandaged man sits themselves up.

The Bandaged: Ah! Good evening, Able! Could you get your weasel? She won't listen to me, and I think she's corrupting one of my clothing; it won't let go of her neck!

The collapsed mannequins are writhing; the clothing on them are conglomerating into a pile of suits, hats, pants, and gloves; soon, many false-arms are rising out of the pile of fabric, gloved hand at the end trying to grab at the poles of the still standing mannequins.

A Growing Clothes-Colony: JOIN US! REVEL IN US!

The hat on the rosewood mannequin screeches loudly when their mannequin shakes.

Charlemagne: I WILL NOT! DON'T TOUCH ME!

The boy01/21/2020

Able: WhAT?? WHY IS ONE OF YOUR CLOTHES STRANGLING HER?

He almost drops the crate onto the floor, but only one bottle breaks, leaking out a purple wine as Able runs downstairs. He reaches the bottom of the stairs, and the brown and black weasels come up right away. The sweatered one walks up triumphantly with the small clothes colony in her mouth(gently as to not hurt it) and drops it at Able's feet.

Able: ok there's Elle and winter.... swees.... Where's Magenta?

they01/21/2020

The false-spider clothes colony wriggles, curling around the sweatered weasel's face but not so tightly as to cause pain; it seems to be a generally affectionate clinging. Meanwhile, the bandaged man is screeching upstairs; Able can hear the sound of fabric ripping and straining.

The Bandaged: No! I command you to stop! Cease! Charlemagne: CEASE! DESIST! STOP THIS!

The boy01/21/2020

Able looks horrified, kneeling down to Swees to try and pry off the colony, but she swats at him and runs away with them.

Able: Swees! Cmon! That's not safe!

Able watches her run away, along with the other weasels, and the albino one shows her face, the choker snug around her neck. He felt like the gem on the choker was watching him, that was odd.

Able: Magenta... dear... We have to give back the clothes.. A choker: N̶̆̈́O̸̓̿.̷̓̄ ̶̜̿Ẅ̴̀E̵̾͗ ̶̉̎S̴͆̈́T̵̓͝Ă̵̛Y̸̊̂.̶̒̃ ̷̀͑M̵̑̄Ȉ̴̌N̴͐̐E̷͆̈́.̵̉̿

Able blinks. That was a sound alright.

they01/21/2020

The noises of stretching fabric upstairs ceases suddenly as Able hears the bandaged man give a furious screech, and a sudden blast of wind blowing down the stairwell.

The Bandaged: _Enough! I have spent a decade keeping you apart, I am not spending another more dealing with your reckless incorporation of things! No! Let go of the books! Charlemagne: CEASE! DESIST! DESI-

Upstairs, there's a creaking noise, and then a harsh slamming onto the ground; after that, a multitude of tittering voices, scattered about.

A Clothes-Colony: NO! KEEP HIM AWAY! The Bandaged: What? Another Clothes-Colony: SNOBBERY! ARROGANT! Charlemagne: -Screeching louder.- INSOLENT! LOWLY! The Bandaged: Oh. Oh! . .oooooh, they're gonna be a part of you! Oh, lets incorporate everyone together! Clothes-Colonies: NO! GO AWAY!

There's the sound of pattering and the noises of ripping seams and fabric emanating from downstairs. Meanwhile, the clothes-colony around Swees curls around, settling itself on her head and neck and touching the sweater; from a distance, it looks like the sweatered weasel is wearing a strange hood attached to their sweater, connected to a long, colorful feather swirling in the air with a ruby brooch at the tip.

.

The boy01/21/2020

Swees looks around, and starts spinning in circles, trying to "Chase" the colony. She looked happy. Magenta sat, and looked at Able, and then at Swees.

Able: Ah... Oh...

He stands, sighing, feeling like the choker was watching him still. He sits in front of the weasels, all of them except magenta climbing into his lap almost right away. They were all trying to get under his hands, either to be pet or to play fight with. He looked at magenta, the choker seemed to relax, and she soon joins them all with Able. This seemed fine, right?