AUTHOR OF THE JOURNALS.

behind  the  blue & flimsy  plastic  mask,  the  creature's  jaw  contorts  ---  flexing  a  bit  as  it  takes  in  a  deep  breath,  inhaling  air  and  tasting  the  scent  that  travels  on  the  wind.  

sweaty,  unwashed  ---  young;  with  the  grip  of  modern  paper,  coffee  and  ink  on  their  (his,  it  thinks  ---  humans  and  their  gender  were  a  guessing  game)  skin  ...  common  scents  lingering  on  the  youth  who  go  to  their  tall  brick  buildings  of  study.  though,  this  man  did  not  reek  of  any  mind  altering  substances,  such  as  cannabis  or  alcohol.  this  is  a  slight  oddity,  a  missing  waft  from  the  humans  it  usually  finds  so  wide  awake  at  this  time  of  night.  that  tells  it  this  human  is  well  aware,  frightened  stiff.

it  strains  its  ears.

...  and  can  faintly hear  the  thump,  thump,  thump  of  a  terrified  beating  heart.  this  one  is  healthy,  certainly  in  the  prime  of  his  life.  

after  a  long,  long,  long  moment.  it  shifts  on  large  legs,  moving  the  rest  of  its  body  in  general  direction  of  the  too  curious  human.  though  it  is  not  deftly  accurate,  facing  perhaps  an  inch  or  so  to  the  left  than  where  ford  actually  is  ---  giving  more  concrete  evidence  of  the  creature  lacking  vision  as  empty  sockets  '  stare  '  from  behind  the  mask.  

"  you  should  go  to  bed.   "   the  creature  tells  the  human,  tone  firm  and  unbothered  yet  deep  and terribly  inhumane;  coming  directly  from  its  broad  chest.  it  has  no  interest  in  causing  a  scene  ---  causing  scenes  only  draws  more  humans,  and  more  eyes  on  it  draws  hunters.  it  is  not  scared  of  humans  and  their  flimsy  weapons,  but  it  knows  when  something  is  not  worth  the  effort  ... or  rather  ---  worth  the  energy.

"  believe  this  as  a  bad  dream.  "

eyebrows raise as the creature speaks, chills running up his spine as he's addressed directly. how exquisite ! a rare opportunity, to directly converse with a subject of study. unlike any creature he has studied thus far, such an encounter shows promise.

this was no bad dream to the brilliant young scientist — it was a dream come true. he would no longer be able to catalogue how this being behaves in its natural environment undisturbed, but the situation presented to him is better than he could've ever imagined.

caution is thrown to the wind as fear mixes with excitement. any normal human's fight or flight instinct would have kicked in by now, but stanford's mind took a different approach: follow.

smile brightens his face as he kneels partway, six fingers brushing the cool grass until they find his pen, taking it up. hands shake with adrenaline as he scribbles notes beside his sketches, penmanship a bit unsteady.

the actual words the other was speaking go in one ear and out the other, the only thing of interest was the fact it can speak. he takes a step forward towards the creature.

" you - you can speak ? " his voice is quiet, careful not to draw any attention to themselves.

" can you understand me ? "

more ford and mabel bonding because i said so :)

bonus ford under the cut: