Iskra
Follow me when it's dark out
Iskra leaned to the side as he reached for the tequila bottle, simpering as he tilted back another burning sip while Koa asked about worm size. Swallowing quickly so as not to risk choking on any with an abrupt laugh, Iskra nestled it in the crook of some sand between them, the bottle gleaming in the firelight with shared merriment. "Cheese?" Iskra interjected with a mixture of admonishment and confusion. "Isn't that what the moon is supposed to be made of, and the center of the earth is where old beasts and lava live?" It was a question, but he said it with well-practiced confidence, as if Koa was positively mad for thinking otherwise because clearly Iskra's answer was the right one, as everyone learned it in their childhood.With cheese threatening to derail his admittedly wavering thought process, the heat of liquor curling each sentence, Iskra refocused on the rest of what Koa had to say, which was equally thought-provoking. "Are you saying that normal-sized worms can't wear coats and be Doctor Worm?" Iskra pulled at the tips of his beard in thought, gaze drifting heavenward as though he might be able to see the answer drift by in the stars, or inside his thick skull somewhere, as if this kernel of knowledge had also been passed down with his cheese tutoring. "And if you're saying there are worm doctors, then by that logic there have to be other worm careers, like judges and soldiers and kings." Clearly this idea troubled the woodcutter, who actually had not given much thought to the dirt-dwelling creatures before tonight but had simply assumed they thrived in a manner lacking society which was now being called into question. He paused for a moment, cradling his worry with a brief stare into the dancing fire, willing some kind of peace from the destructive element and its endless hunger. For some reason, it was soothing, not unsurprisingly so this time of year most of all. "Naaah," Iskra said, waving his hand dismissively towards Koa as he leaned back into the sand, resting on the angles of his elbows which held him barely upright on his back.
"There's no way they'd have a worm city and worm doctors, or clothes," Iskra pointed out, eyebrows lifting with serious emphasis, "they've got no hands. No established society can be built without hands." Iskra nodded, agreeing with himself. It made sense, after all. "Although, being without bones could be useful. Imagine if a worm was as big as us, it could just absorb the impact from things that'd hurt it. No punch or falling log would hurt again, they'd just hit my boneless body and bounce off." Maybe Worm Soldier wasn't out of the question.
