Posts Tagged giants

[partim] Mitch.

Previous / First

When I woke again, it was quiet in my head.  I knew I hadn’t imagined it—I could still feel myself listening.  There was just nothing to hear.  Toby’s bed, at least, was empty; I didn’t know where everyone else might be.

I sat up in bed.  Maybe I could find out?

I tried listening harder—

I started hearing what sounded like patches of white noise.  I couldn’t really tell what that meant or how far away they might be.  I figured I’d have to learn a lot about this ability.

Normal demihumans—at least, so I’m told—can generally reach somewhere around a mile’s radius telepathically, though at that distance it’s kind of like shouting and hearing far-off shouts.  The comfortable range is rather smaller; communicating with your neighbors next door wouldn’t be a problem, assuming you were fortunate enough to have neighbors who were demihumans like yourself.

How far was I reaching? I had no reference point, and I could see I was flying blind.  I got out of bed, got dressed, and thought about where to find people—the house seemed empty.

…of course, that was ridiculous, the house was never really empty.  The body of a forty-foot giant was always in the basement.  And I hadn’t reached him when I’d tried, so either I had no decent range or I was doing something wrong.

I ran down to the basement, sneaking in quietly so as not to disturb Toby’s poor body, and I listened.

What I heard was unmistakably the giant’s mind, a mixture of the large body’s dreams—they break my heart, even now—and the link coming in from his projected body.

I listened harder and I could see Toby’s viewpoint, walking through the supermarket with Rouss. But I knew that was his telepathy, not mine.

I focused on the giant’s mind and took a few steps back.  I held the focus, and went upstairs and outside, still hearing it—and I kept going.

[scrap] Toby.

I took up most of the bench in the hallway as I sat studying, waiting for class to start—or at least, for the previous one to end.

Alithia sat next to me, deeper in the chemistry book than I was getting. Nobody else was waiting, though plenty of people were passing back and forth.

Just her being there made it hard enough to study, regardless of how badly the textbook explained valency.

Long brown hair over her shoulders, feet bare—sandals stowed in her satchel—comfortably rather than fashionably dressed—she takes life so naturally, the way she wants, and the world warps to fit her—in a way it never would for me.

I put the book down.

People started pouring out of the classroom.  When the doorway had cleared, I nudged Alithia’s shoulder and got up to squeeze my way into the classroom, into one of the tiny chairs.

[scrap] Toby.

I saw a big guy who kind of reminded me of Toby…

I could be any size I liked, really; I chose to be a head taller than everyone else so they’d have just the smallest amount of understanding.

I’m a giant; I’m proud of it; the only hiding I do is for practical reasons.

So I choose to live in a world too small for me to remind people I live in a world too small for me.

I guess it’s a bit of stubbornness.  Complaining about finding shoes that fit doesn’t really suggest to anyone that I actually have a 40-foot body stored in a basement under the theater.

People are not to know this.

So it’s me venting, really.

“This doesn’t fit me” means “this doesn’t fit me.”

I wish it did—and I’m glad it doesn’t.

[scrap] Toby.

My day starts in the basement of the theater.  It’s a little disconcerting, every time, to experience the room from two perspectives—on the one hand, my projection, which I’d come to think of as my usual body, saw the space as large, if a bit crowded; on the other hand, my real body saw it as a small, enclosed space—like sitting in a closet.

The fans ran nonstop, as body heat tended to make the place stifling, otherwise.

I set the bucket I came in with down and tried to imagine what life would be like if I couldn’t project.  The pallor, the weakness, all inescapably mine, because the world outside was the wrong size for me, and I couldn’t live in it.

Instead I was able to escape the body, somewhat—but I still had to take care of it.

It could indeed have been worse.  It could always be worse.

I tried to keep that in mind as I started washing my poor body down.

No, I don’t hate my body.  I am… well, we all have to hide who we are.  But having another body that can’t really take care of itself gets to be a chore.

And I guess, also, that having high standards doesn’t help.  I wouldn’t leave myself to live in slobbery.

So I was down here every morning.  I’d wash my poor body down, because while I did have to take up space, I didn’t have to make it unpleasant for others.

It wasn’t hard work, but I did have a lot of area to cover—it was like washing four or five cars a day.

When I was done I’d always…well, today I lay on my poor body’s chest, stroking softly as much of it as I could reach, because every body needs touch for the sake of touch, or it starts to break down.

My poor body’s hand would cover me sometimes, because sometimes I felt the need to return the favor.

I might have fallen asleep there, my poor body holding me against its chest; I’d certainly lost track of time enough that it seemed too soon before Mitch was poking at my mind.

Toby! Come on, I’m going to be late!

[scrap] Isaac.

Previous / First

I had most of the planet to myself.  A million Martians, and land to provision themselves with, take up very little in the way of space, even from their perspective, I imagine.

So I travelled.

There’s not much in the way of food on those endless Martian fields, I know you’re thinking.  I do have a bit of help in that regard—my knack is autotrophy, so as far as I can tell all I need to survive is light and air and water, which are a lot easier to come by than more substantial fare.  They say it might be why I was able to grow so big.

[scrap] Isaac.

Rumble, rumble.

Is this what being old feels like?

I tried to find a comfortable place to sit… but everything ached, nothing was comfortable.

Rumble, rumble.

The sound of little things settling as a giant moves around.  A tiny sound in itself, I always thought, but the guys say it makes them worried about avalanches.

Rumble, rumble, they say it sounds like.

Whenever I move, they can tell.

I gave up and took a few steps to the other end of my canyon, where there was room enough to lie down—where I usually slept.

I lay down.

Rumble, rumble.

Don’t feel too bad for me.  I’m just having one of those days.

I don’t have to live like this.  I’m a grown wolf, allowed to make my own decisions now. Heck, I’m already ten—about 18 on the Earth calendar.

Where was I?

Right—I don’t have to live like this.  When it became obvious I was a giant and I was outgrowing my family’s home, everyone offered to help build us a new one.

My parents said yes.

And when it turned out they’d underestimated my final size, they accepted everyone’s help and expanded the house.

And when I turned eight and reached the age of self-determination, they asked me if I wanted to see a specialist.  Because I didn’t have to be a giant if I didn’t want to be.

By this point, I was over forty feet tall.

The house was reinforced for sound but when I went outside I had to tread lightly.

By this time I’d gotten used to hand signs and network messaging in lieu of speaking.

By this point I’d given up any hope of, well, ever being with a girl.

I knew it was always going to be an option to change.

And I believed then, as I do now, that it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

I told my parents that I loved them and I would never change.

I told them they could move back to the old home; they didn’t need to be a dollhouse in my corner anymore.

And I told myself I’m not going to be a small person.  And I don’t have to live like the small people do.

I left the house myself.

It’s still there, but I’m not going back.

I left town and started seeing Mars.  And studying.  And learning to live the best giant’s life I can.

Scrap – Isaac.

This sort of goes with the previous post. It’s also not something I’m entirely happy with (not enough showing, too much “telling”), but it did give me an unexpected idea of the kind of person Isaac is.

December 10, 2494 (old calendar)
Isaac had a bonfire set up on his end of the valley for Huck and Maxim’s birthday. It was an old-style birthday so it wasn’t as big a deal as a proper Martian anniversary, but the giant wolf took any opportunity he could to invite his friends over, since he wasn’t really allowed in town.

He was well taken care of, and he was able to keep in touch over the network, but overall, it’s lonely business being a giant. He was glad to see Mack and his cousin coming down the slope a half hour earlier than expected.

“Evening,” he signed, and they waved back, sitting across the fire from him. He was worried he might have made the fire too big for them — he never was very good at his estimates when he tried to size things for smaller people.

Luckily they didn’t seem to have any complaints, and they warmed themselves for a bit before pulling out their [Rami word] and sparking them up.

Isaac, of course, wasn’t really allowed an instrument either, — the sounds would be too loud (heck, he was only even allowed to talk in emergencies) or the lights too bright, causing distractions in Dunamy.

In his dreams sometimes he imagined rampaging. He couldn’t really see himself hurting people, but every now and then he felt the urge to smash something—not an easy urge to work off, when the only things you own anywhere near your size are your own pants.

And those were a whole set of their own problems.

He shook his head and tried to clear out the dark thoughts.

Mack was swinging his spear, leaving trails of white light in the air around him,