Chapter Text
“Hello…? Anybody in heah?” Vibiano’s voice floated through the cavernous godly domain, darkness absorbing the sound. He couldn’t see nobody. Couldn’t see squat, really. But Megapon had confirmed the existence of the elusive weaver god, and his stylish new handler had pointed Vib in the right direction.
The Bizzyboy was about to cut his losses and head back to town where it was equally creepy but at least he could see, when a voice echoed from far away.
“I’ll be with you in just a second!”
Vibiano could only describe the sound that followed as a stampede of the world’s smallest, daintiest horses.
“Back so soon, Godpoke?” asked the god, still obscured by shadow, but now uncomfortably close sounding.
“Uh…”
“Wait, you’re not the Godpoke… Oh! One of Inspekta’s! What’s your name, little fella?”
“Uh, Vib,” he answered, forgetting entirely that he’d just earned his second ‘i’. “Wait, how didja know I’m one of Inspekta’s followers?”
It was still too dark to see more than the vague outline of the god, so unless they had night vision, there’s no way they could have identified his uniform.
“From ya smell!”
“Sorry, my smell?” Vib was pretty damn sure he didn’t smell. He had a meticulous routine to maintain that fact. If anything, he smelled better than his colleagues.
“You Bizzyboys have a certain scent. Not sure if it’s from Inspekta himself, or if all drainfolk have it.”
Was that… racially charged? Guess you couldn’t escape southern conservatism even in the Grove.
“I’m not sure what it’s like here in Milldread, but ah, where I come from, dat’s not the kinda thing you can really say ta someone,” he stammered, nervously fiddling with the end of his measuring tape. What was he thinking?! This was a god! Who cares if they microaggressed him!
“Why would… oh. Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that! It’s not somethin’ you can smell, it’s a chemical thing! Like pheromones!”
They didn’t mean…
Getcha mind outta the gutta, Vib! he internally scolded himself.
During Vibiano’s prolonged silence, the god seemed to realize they were still in the dark, and swiftly rectified this.
“Right, lights! Where are my manners?”
In the warm glow that suddenly enveloped the cavern, one thing quickly became apparent to the mortal.
“You’re a bug,” Vibiano gaped.
“I am the god of bugs.”
“Touché.”
“So, how’d ya find yaself here of all places? Was it that new Godpoke?”
“Tha very one. Said you did some, uh, sewin’, too?” Vib looked up at her hopefully.
Nephilomena seemed to at last see the drainian before her, eyes widening when she noticed the measuring tape slung around his shoulders and the pins sticking from his beret.
“Of course! Of course! Behold: my atelier!” She proudly gestured to the rest of her domain.
On either side there were shelves upon shelves of fabric, dozens of baskets of yarn, and racks containing spools of thread in every color. Tapestries hung from the walls and ceiling, painting the cave with an eclectic mix of scenes and patterns that somehow managed to look cohesive.
Vibiano gazed upon the sea of textile in wonderment.
“So, uh, Nephra-mina…?” he asked, knowing full well he’d gotten her name wrong.
“Nephilomena. But you can call me Philly.”
“Right, uh, Miss Philly, didja make alla these yourself?”
“Not all of ‘em. I’ve got quite a few pieces as gifts from friends and followers, but those are all up in my burrow. So I guess I did make all a these myself!”
Vib’s back began to ache at the thought of all the time that had surely been spent hunched over a sewing table and sat at a loom in order to produce the mind-boggling number of finished pieces displayed all around the god’s domain. With just a preliminary look around the cave, there were more types of textile and fiber arts than he could even name, and Nephilomena showcased mastery in all of them. Vibiano was experiencing an entirely novel combination of sickening jealousy and awe-inspired reverence, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to flip the god off or convert. Instead of committing either flavor of blasphemy, he continued to admire her work, which he was content to do in silence until his eye was caught by the yellowest yellow he’d ever seen in his cob damn life.
“Woah,” he breathed.
On its own, it seemed impossible to miss, but surrounded as it was by equally eye-catching works of art, it had taken Vibiano walking right by it to notice. It was a gorgeously woven tapestry over twice his wingspan and several times as tall, all made of an impossibly vibrant yellow thread. It made use of shadow and variation in texture to create symmetrical yet organic looking patterns that spanned the entire length of cloth. Wherever there was definition, the sunshine yellow turned into a rich golden orange that put every other instance of the color to shame. After several minutes of studying just a few square inches, Vib stepped back to take in the massive scale of the tapestry. He felt lightheaded.
“This is one a my favorites,” Philly said softly, hovering over his shoulder.
“It’s goah-jus…”
He held his breath. Partially to prevent himself from saying something stupid, and partially because he was afraid to even breathe on the tapestry, lest he tarnish its pristine beauty.
“You can touch it,” the god encouraged.
At her approval, Vib did just that. He hesitantly reached out his paw, just barely tracing the edge with his fingertips.
“You don’t gotta be gentle,” she said in a low tone that made Vib’s hair stand on end. Just when he was beginning to think it was intentional, she continued, “Trust me, it’s made a sturdier stuff than anything you’re wearin’.”
He rubbed the cloth between his fingers, feeling the tactile patterns rise and fall and swirl into geometrically perfect spirals. He couldn’t find a single imperfection, and he doubted there were any, even in the meters of cloth he couldn’t reach.
“How long did this take?” Vib asked with a dry mouth.
The god hummed in contemplation. “Mmm… about a decade? Wasn’t workin’ on it full time, but I at least did a little most days.”
Vibiano didn’t know if he wanted to punch her in the face or kiss her. And he didn’t even swing that way!
“Mosta that time was jus’ spinnin’ the silk, though.”
“It’s silk? It don’t feel like silk to me.” Vibiano scrutinized the feeling of the fabric in his paws, trying to discern what it did feel like. True to Philly’s word, it was strong, but it was also light. It felt stretchy, although despite her assurance of its durability, Vib didn’t want to put that to the test and risk warping the weft.
“Well, it’s not normal silk, I made it myself. That’s why it’s yellow. Truth be told, if I’d made it outta regula silk it woulda taken three years, tops.”
That made sense. It must’ve taken ages to dye such a large quantity of silk so evenly. Something in the dyeing process must’ve also made it feel different. In all honesty, it felt a bit sticky. Not the kind of sticky that resulted from spilling a can of soda on something, but almost like static electricity. Like the cloth wanted to cling to all the little hairs on Vib’s paws.
“Why yella?”
“I’m so glad you asked!” The god’s antennae flourished excitedly as she lowered herself to Vib’s level. “You hafta see the whole thing ta really get it. Mind if I pick ya up?”
The Bizzyboy looked at Philly’s brutal, spiked claws and tensed.
“I appreciate da offer, miss, but I’m not lookin’ ta get impaled today.”
Nephilomena’s eyes widened as she glanced down at her extended scythes and sheepishly withdrew them.
“Whoops! Forgot ma hands were folded up!”
Before Vib had time to question just what in Mitternacht’s name that meant, a pair of hands – and the forearms to go with them – unfolded from the ends of her claws. Either they had been there the whole time, or they only manifested when she needed them via weird god magic. Vib wasn’t sure which option was more strange.
Despite his reservations, Vib took a seat on her hand, nervously grasping her pinky finger as he was lifted off the ground.
With his eye level raised to the center of the tapestry, he could see the greater picture that was painted with the tiny embellishments.
Sitting in the center of a web was an enormous spider with a long body and even longer legs. Its abdomen had a mottled pattern that contrasted the smooth transition of shading on its sleek, slender legs. There was an elegance to it that Vib had never thought a spider could possess.
“The golden orb weaver, Trichonephila clavipes. True to their name, they produce this wonderful golden silk. Didja know that spider silk is one a the strongest organic materials on Earth? And this is some of the strongest spider silk out there.”
The weaving was so impressive that Vibiano almost didn’t mind that it was made out of spider webs. Almost.
“So you just… milked a buncha spiders?” He shuddered at the image of hundreds of the spindly arachnids crawling all over the place.
“Oh, Huzz no!” Philly said like there was an obvious alternative method of obtaining spider silk. “That really woulda taken ages. The poor little things wouldn’t be able ta keep up with me. No, I spun it with my own two spinnerets!”
The god looked too pleased with herself.
She’d tricked Vib into touching her weird gross bug goop! Tricked him into appreciating it artistically! Was this some kinda perverted game? The worst part was that he was kinda into it.
His disgust must’ve shown on his face, because Philly was soon lowering him back to the floor and apologizing.
“Sorry, I forgot most folks don’t like this kind a thing. I guess my excitement got the better a me.”
The god of bugs wore a remorseful expression that made Vibiano feel like a complete asshole.
“No, no! You just caught me off guard! I think it’s… cool!”
“…Really?”
“Of course! You made the whole thing yourself, from the very start! Who else can say they’ve done that?”
“Oh, stop, you’re makin’ me blush.”
“It’s true! I don’t even know how to express how impressive your collection is! I could spend a lifetime in here just lookin’ at all of it.”
“Cut it out, you’ve stroked my ego enough,” Philly said playfully, “I’ll let Inspekta know how much you’ve brightened my day. If I can track down the fella, that is. Been a god three whole decades and he’s still workin’ like he’s gonna run outta time.”
“‘Preciate it, ma’am.”
“Just Philly is fine, really. I may be a god, but I’m still just a person.”
“It feels disrespectful.” It wasn’t like he didn’t refer to the gods informally in his day-to-day life, but something about talking to one directly felt different.
“If you’re really set on formality, ‘sir’ is also on the table. I’m a ladies and gentlemen situation.”
Oh. Oh no. He did swing that way.
“Yessir!” Vib replied a little too enthusiastically, and immediately regretted it.
“Ain’t you just the cutest,” Philly cooed.
Vib’s face flushed in what he told himself was purely embarrassment. He would have been beyond mortified if he knew that the god could sense just how untrue that was.
Philly had been around the block enough times to know exactly what the scent of those hormones meant, but was courteous enough to not bring it up. It remained to be seen whether or not he would extend that courtesy if the Bizzyboy were to visit again. It had been quite a while, and this one seemed fun. Hopefully Inspekta wouldn’t mind Philly borrowing one of his followers for a bit. But he was getting ahead of himself.
Just then, as if they had been waiting for a break in conversation to make their entrance, Godpoke sauntered into the godly domain.
“Megapon!” Vib excitedly greeted his favorite mail cannon. The human holding it regarded him silently.
“Goodness, I ain’t had this many visitors in Hauzz knows how long! Now shoo. You’ve got important detectin’ to do.” Philly gently nudged Vib towards the door.
Once the Bizzyboy had passed back into the mortal realm, Godpoke flicked through their inventory.
Philly waited, eagerly anticipating the piece that would make this puzzle make sense. They pulled the trigger and he braced for sonic impact.
“GET A HAIRCUT!!!”
Philly blinked dumbly at the tiny human.
“You talkin’ ‘bout my setae?”