2019-10-03 - Lemon Water

Rebecca makes her way to Steelhead after she finishes up at Patisserie Vydal, and turns the borrowed key in the lock. She steps inside and flips on the lights, looking around curiously. She hasn't actually been to Itzhak's business before now. She glides through, heels clicking on the floors, and takes in the place. It's not much, but the tank for the being she's come to visit is rather impressive.

She makes her way over to Lemondrop's enclosure and digs a large bottled water from her bag. She stares at the albino python for a long time, admiring the sheer size and beauty of it. She wasn't sure if she'd be afraid of the snake, and is a little relieved she seems to not have a visceral reaction of panic. She moves to the glass and sets a hand on it, near where the animal is resting, her mind reaching out to try and touch that of the massive reptile.

The tank is built into an entire corner of the garage, full of thick branches, silk plants, fake vines. Lots of things to climb on or over, and to hide under. Lemondrop is huge, easily the diameter of a young tree trunk, a fifteen-foot long rope of muscle and brilliant scales. She's in a coiled heap at the bottom of the huge enclosure, quiescent, until Rebecca approaches the tank. Snakes don't have eyelids. To the untrained observer, it's impossible to tell what exactly she's doing. Itzhak would know she's sleeping. When she senses motion, though, her tongue comes out to go flickyflick and she shifts, lifting her broad flat head.

"Hello there, Lemondrop. My name is Rebecca. I am a friend of Itzhak's." She opens her mind to the snake, sharing some memories of her and Itzhak just being close and quiet together, happy. "He asked me to come check on you, because he is sick and can't come." She shares the sight of him in that hospital bed, her sorrow radiating.

The snake rears up, a good sixteen inches of neck lifting her head. Her tongue flicks in and out rapidly, nonstop. Her mind is not exactly simple--not anywhere near as laden with emotion and thought as a human's, or even a mammal's. But instead of those warm-blood evolutionary branches, her mind is a perfect construct of instinct and impulse. What a mammal needs to be taught, Lemondrop simply knows. Her mind is her metabolism, to an exquisite degree. She is built to accomplish the business of life, in a way that humans have long since forgotten.

She can't exactly feel sorrow or happiness; those structures in her brain are very small. Yet she knows, dimly, that other creatures feel those alien things, and she slinks up a branch to reach Rebecca's eye level. The scratch of her belly scales is soft on the bark. Lemondrop cranes out to nose the glass in front of Rebecca, tongue flicking out to taste her. She can taste her, despite the glass. Her sense of smell is so strong, the glass may as well not be there. She wants to learn Rebecca's taste, can even taste Itzhak on her, and him she knows. Provider of food and warmth and safety. If she can taste Itzhak, she must be safe.

Rebecca watches the magnificent reptile in quiet awe. She keeps her movements very small and relaxed as she lets the snake investigate her through the glass. She tries to sense if Lemondrop has any pain or discomfort for a few moments, then moves to check on the water bowl and find where the terrarium opens up to add more if needed. "He'll be home soon, once the doctors are sure he's all right. I miss him too, Lemondrop," she says quietly.

Lemondrop. Lemka. Baby girl. She knows her names, sort of, as vibrations she's familiar with. She misses Itzhak in a primitive, distant way. The python knows she can rely on him for food and warmth and comfort. He's not here. She doesn't make the direct connection a domesticated animal would--no person, no food--but she misses him because he's usually here and now he is not. His taste in the air is faint. It's different. Different might be dangerous.

The terrarium has doors that swing open, like a china cabinet. There's a heavy ceramic pet bowl in the tank, like a very large dog would use for water. Works for snakes, too. And actually there's plenty of water, it's mostly full. Itzhak is maybe just fretting over his scaly daughters.

In contrast, Rebecca's mind is always moving, and more heavily controlled. It has the same detatchment for many things, as the snake does, but she relies far less on instinct and far more on intellect. She opens the terrarium and tops off the water dish, then offers a hand to the snake to inspect, slowly, carefully. She doesn't want to be mistaken for food.

From Lemondrop's mental sense, there's not much risk of her mistaking an adult human for food. Not even a child, really. Unless the adult or the child has rubbed a dead rodent on themselves, humans aren't food. Wrong size, wrong smell. If she bites, it will be out of fear. But she does not. Her blunt head hovers near Rebecca's hand, tongue busy. Flickflickflickflick. Her deep ruby eyes, behind the perfectly clear gloss of the specialized scales that cover them, tick up at Rebecca, looking at her although a snake's sight is not her best sense.

She's quite familiar with humans and unafraid. One tall human in particular, who smells like a male mammal and coffee and cigarette smoke and engine grease and rosin, Lemondrop trusts will never harm her. This human has that scent on her, so Lemondrop is unconcerned. She lowers her head to investigate the splashy water, sips at it, then slowly slinks down to the bottom of the terrarium. Into one of the big hides she goes. It seems a little impossible a snake that big could fit invisibly into one of the wooden boxes, but she does.

Rebecca smiles at the greeting from the snake, and her comfort with her. She seems somewhat surprised that she isn't phobic of them, as she doesn't have so much as a goldfish for a pet. Maybe it's that they are itzhak's family of sorts. If they trust him, and he trusts them, they deserve as much from her. She closes the terrarium securely and recaps the bottle. "He'll be back soon. Be well, Lemondrop." With that she takes her leave. She still has other errands to do for her hospitalized...friend.