Local Man Ruins Everything

Independent roleplay/ask blog for a speculative characterization of Robert Wagstaff developed prior to his official implementation in Don't Starve. I've been doing this since 2015 dammit I'm grandfathered into this muse. * Muse and Mun are +18 * Event: Beastly Blight * M!A: None(accepting)

[impsflute]

Those unnatural golden eyes tightened into an ill-timed smile, the light shake of their shoulders indicating a silent laugh shuddering out from them in lieu of visible exhales of air.

"Surely, that little morsel couldn't have filled you to the brim." Wortox reasons, making their way back to their items. "You look famished."

They scoop their bag off the ground, tying the chains around their body loosely.

"Well… You look a lot of ways at the moment." They stage-whisper. But before he can react, they pipe up again quickly - "Catch! Hyuyu!" - and toss their clean warm blanket at his ugly little face.

[tinkering-survivor]

"Oh."

Wagstaff visibly relaxed at the clarification. He was embarrassed at himself for overthinking Wortox's inquiry; he'd thought they meant if he could feel himself getting worse. In his defense, though, they didn't have to word it so… dramatically.

Though now that they mentioned it, though, he was still feeling a little light-headed - again, still more "there" than he'd been before the spider, but definitely light-headed.

"Now that you mention it-" a mighty growl not originating from his toothy maw sounded, cutting off the turned man's confession. The obnoxious noise covered up any muttering he might have overheard, and anything he might have said in response was muffled by the fresh blanket flung into his face. He flailed around a bit, which caused the blanket he was already wearing to fall away, causing the return of that horrible burning. He struggled even harder to cover himself again, desperate to stop the burning.

"Why the Hell did'ja go and do that for?!" he accused - wrapping himself up tight - in a tone that sounded more frantic than angry.

[tinkering-survivor]

🔗 lalalala

[creature that looks as miserable as it feels]

[impsflute]

That was as much a confirmation as any.

For a moment, they wonder what it was like, developing their curse for the first time. The desperation, the confusion, the guilt. They remember the guilt. Sometimes, it's still fresh. But… what they don't remember…

"I know." They hum. A recent development, they take it, but that had hardly mattered right now. Wortox glances over their shoulder, looking Wagstaff in the eye. "Does it still itch at your soul?"

If they were to get anywhere, that would need to be sorted first of all.

[tinkering-survivor]

However unintentional, their gaze seemed to bore into Wagstaff's very being. Something about the question made him pull his blanket even tighter around himself.

"I'm not sure I follow," he admitted.

[tinkering-survivor]

Send a 🔗 & I'll Draw a Fusion of Our Muses

[if you're multimuse, please specify which muse!]

[impsflute]

They hadn't anticipated needing earplugs today. D'oh, they should have snatched some while they were gone just now! He probably wouldnt have even noticed they were gone. Maybe there's still time.

Oops, nevermind, they made eye contact. Probably too late now.

"Of course; I was getting hungry myself. Hyuyu." The words fall from their tongue in cacophany, their teeth snapping shut into a smile, pulled thin and tense. Then they turn to the fire once more, brows furrowing in contempt.

When they speak again, hands crossed in front of their turned back, their tone has lost some of its melody.

"That hunger. You feel it too, don't you?"

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff didn't really respond, finding himself suddenly unable to meet the other's gaze; something about their tone made him feel guilty? Ashamed?

He hated this whole situation; he hated this most recent violation of his personhood; he hated how much of a nuisance and a burden he was to this Wortox fellow; most of all, he hated losing control of himself - of both his body and his faculties. Despite the cold his face burned hot and his eyes began to sting. At least he could be thankful for the small mercy that he was still able to withhold his tears of frustration despite his twisted anatomy.

The question pulled Wagstaff out of his pity spiral. He looked back over to his traveling companion, then back down at the ground.

"I… I don't… This isn't normal for me."

That's all he could bring himself to say. It seemed as if he was trying to avoid mentioning the specifics of what they were implying.

[impsflute]

They hop back a short distance - they consider it best to keep eachother at arm's length it would seem, for both their sakes - quick to supply his demand; Wortox holds out a carcass on the end of their shadowed sword.

(It was a spider. The legs still twitch erratically, even without a soul to give it life.)

"Why of course - I've no need for it." Their ears pin back, fur standing on end in anticipation; they've picked up on the pattern, they've braced themself for what comes.

It still runs warm.

[tinkering-survivor]

The blood-hungry man-thing lunges forward to snatch the corpse off the blade, and just as fast he pulls his prize under the blanket.

It's perhaps not quite as bad as Wortox had likely anticipated. Yes, the feeding was… quite squelchy at first, but this soon diminished into a more subtle suckling noise. After a short while the now-desiccated remains of the spider were ejected from under the furry cover. Shortly after Wagstaff himself finally reemerged. He was looking more "there" than he had before his meal despite the reddish-purple running down his chin - honestly, he probably looked better than he had even since the start of the morning.

"Thanks for that," he says, wiping the mess from his face, "Felt like I was gonna faint for a moment there."

He tried not to think about how many favors he was racking up. He didn't like the idea of being indebted to this odd fellow.

[impsflute]

Goodness, as if it couldn't get any worse.

Wortox's wandering eyes quickly snapped back towards Wagstaff, staring in abject horror before squeezing tightly shut.

With a shake and a shudder they rise to their hooves, and they disappear in an instant.

And as Wagstaff pulls his head up, he will find himself alone.

…

...For a few long moments.

A sound, whispy and ethereal, echoes through the thicket behind him, followed by the familiar crunching of snow underneath cloven hooves.

Carefully, they approach Wagstaff from behind, claws behind their back - and, well, it's careful until the smell hits their nose, and a glimpse catches from the corner of their eye, electing a horrible and loud gag from their throat. How lucky are they to be so empty, so completely dry, lest they join in on the fun, so to speak.

Even they could realize there was no quip appropriate here; it was just gross and terrible.

Wortox drops something on the ground next to him, pushing it towards him with a hoof until the hot stone makes contact with his leg.

(…They're holding something behind their back. He can smell it.)

[tinkering-survivor]

When Wagstaff finally caught his breath after his ordeal he craned his neck up; despite everything he'd apparently been through he wasn't so shaken as to forget his manners and wanted to apologize for his little episode - however involuntary it might have been. He choked out a single syllable before finding that he was alone. The old fellow took a step back, confusion growing into worry. He'd scared away the one being who might get him some sort of help, all because he couldn't control this sick body's impulses. God, he was so pathetic.

There was an odd sound behind him. Feeling a shiver up his spine, he slowly turned around. Lo and behold, just as he had resigned himself to solitude, there was Wortox, approaching rather sheepishly. He tried not to look as grateful as he felt. The old fellow heaved a quiet sigh of relief, and-

-that smell.

Just like before, all sense seemed to leave him as soon as it hit his nostrils. His eyes dilated far too wide, then contracted nearly to pinpricks. If he didn't have a blanket draped over himself Wortox would have seen the sparse hair running down his hackles raise on end.

"Give that to me."

[impsflute]

Oh, of course! Humans aren't too accustomed, so in-tune with the oddities of their realms - much less other ones. So close-minded and particular some can be. No wonder their friend had reacted so spectacularly!

"I see, I see, and I do hear your concern." Wortox hums, nodding and stroking the fur of their chin. "Do you recall how long it has been since you'd first turned?"

It sure sounded like it was a recent development; he hadn't yet come to accept his predicament.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff became lost in thought, trying to recall anything that might answer the other's question. Again, it was worryingly difficult; his attempts to recall anything made his mind feel like a thick, swirling quagmire in his head. He found that if he fought through the mental muck hard enough that he actually could start to remember things. Only brief fragments of memory at first - mostly flashes of himself down in the caves - then more complete scenes as he went further back. He remembered dark splotches beginning to cover his skin, then a wound that refused to heal, then finally an attack by an unknown creature in the dark of the night.

He was about to answer, but as soon as he opened his mouth he felt his guts lurch horribly.

He began to retch uncontrollably. Before he could stop himself his feast from before forced its way back up his throat and was violently expelled from his mouth. This went on for minutes and minutes.

The poor old thing was left shaking, hands braced on his knees and out of breath, by the time his stomach had finally finished purging itself. The smell and lingering aftertaste of the undigested mess of half-chewed food and brown-swirled bile made him gag, but he was mercifully empty and so only dry-heaved. Much to his disgust he hadn't entirely missed the blanket he'd been shrouding himself in.

[tinkering-survivor]

[been a lil quiet over here haven't i? ^^'

[i know it's not really the same as threading but OMG I"M SO EXCITED FOR DON'T STARVE ELSEWHERE!!! seeing as Klei gussied up the cast for this new leg of the journey i just had to do my take on a DSE Levi.]

[some notes for this hypothetical(unless...?) redesign:

tried to make him look both older and more disheveled(more wrinkles, messier hair)

has a less generous hairline and is wearing gaiters like his first finalized design - in the spirit of returning to old concepts with the added benefit of more skill and experience

that's it that's all i got i just wanted to look like i had more insight to share than i do

[tinkering-survivor]

[no context shitpost bc fuck you]

[impsflute]

Wortox's ear flicked in response to Wagstaff's statement. They lightheartedly rolled their eyes - What a grumpus! - but they only turn their gaze his way once he addresses them once more.

Their gaze is curious, at first. An eyebrow is raised, a tilt of the head as they look him up and down… until a sudden realization dawns on them.

"Do you not normally look that way?" They ask earnestly, staring at him with their big wide eyes.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff waited patiently for Wortox to reply. A sudden change in their expression left him hopeful, but said hope was sufficiently quenched by the next words out of their mouth.

The poor old fellow was left dumbstruck, taking a few moments before responding himself. "Wh-? No! I'm a man- a human!" He was yelling again, but more out of urgency than frustration. "I- I have normal human teeth! And normal human hands! And normal human hair growing from normal human skin! And-! And…"

His frantic yammering petered out. That sick feeling in his guts was getting worse; he needed to calm himself down again.

"No," Wagstaff reiterated, more calmly this time, "I don't normally look 'this way'."

[wxwood-official]

Reminder, people like this are not welcome in this community or this fandom. Stand up to racist fanartists, don't let this kinda shit slide when you see it, it's baffling that in the year 2025 people still have a victim complex THIS BAD when whitewashing characters. [The way they drew his afro I think should also be considered holy cow-]

wolfgang-gooning is a perfect example how NOT to respond to concerns about racism in your art. I know to them this is a joke but I've seen how racist assholes who draw only ''wholesome'' art or esp only funny shitposts quickly chase out the poc in their fandoms by showing how little care they have for them. If they were a popular blog, the way they replied to my concerns would've had hate anon in my inbox for WEEKS. Hell I probably will get some anyways. The fact they boil this down to manipulation and drama shows an extreme lack of maturity for a blog that was putting unlabeled porn in the DST tags for a while. I'd suggest reporting the mature content and block 👍👍👍

[impsflute]

Wortox snickers, that little spark of a smile lighting up into a wide, toothy grin. How very funny mortals are, to lecture them on matters they know well. And if they had managed to "accidentally" set the forest ablaze…?

" Hyuyu, and what fun that would be! "

The mere idea of it makes them giddy, their wagging tail pushing around the snow laying next to them. A silly, silly prank that would be, indeed.

They lean into the campfire, the flames practically licking at their face with how they'd closed the distance. Slowly, their shivering begins to cease, the frost that'd settled into their bones melting away with ease.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wortox's careless nonchalance put a deep scowl on Wagstaff's face.

"Oh, yeah, loads. Sounds about as fun as a heart attack."

Despite the chill, he makes no effort to move closer to the fire. He hung back, watching and waiting while the imp warms themself. His grimace intensified, though not because of his growing discontent with his companion: his stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots. Had he eaten too voraciously earlier? Or had Wortox's thoughtless actions riled him up more than he thought? Either way, he didn't want to dwell on it and set about distracting himself.

"Look, friend," he begins, trying to keep his tone even, "Not that I don't appreciate your help so far, but I really need to get to the bottom of… this." He paused to gesture at himself. "You think you can help me or not?"

[impsflute]

Wortox glances between Wagstaff's peeling skin and his scrunched expression.

A hint of a smile creeps onto their face as they huff amusedly, tossing the materials on the ground between them. " I didn't know mortals made such a stink when they shed! " They exclaim, mockingly fanning the stench away from their nose.

From their sack they retrieve a fire staff, raising it and - with a flourish - lighting the campfire big and bright. Quickly, they shuffle closer to it, pulling the bag into their lap.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff shot a venomous glare at Wortox, clearly unamused by their cracking wise at his expense, but felt too out of sorts to properly respond. He covered himself back up, wincing as the bed roll agitated his burns, and began to think.

Okay then, not dead or burning for eternity, but something's still very wrong. Looking like something out of a horror novel. Lost in the woods with some fuzzy thing who doesn't seem to know what's happened to me - hasn't even brought it up, actually. First order of business should be finding our bearings, then getting in contact with someone who might be able to fix-

His train of thought is derailed when Wortox began to put together a small pile of of materials on the ground. The unmistakable gleam of a ged gem caught the morning sun, and after blinking away the shine the turn man notices it's been affixed to a sturdy branch.

"Wait, what're you-?!"

A flick of the imp's wrist sends the little pile of kindling up in flames - and Wagstaff jumping back a good foot or so. The old fellow let out an undignified yelp when he lost his footing and fell onto his backside.

"Be careful with that thing!" he scolds as he clambers back up onto his feet, "You coulda set the whole damn place on fire!"

[impsflute]

Oh goodness gracious, they thought he would have found his food manners overnight.

It's so wet and slobbery and loud and - and visceral and it lasts for SO LONG. They're too close, they're right there, and tugging Kramps' sack over their head isn't enough, it's not thick enough, they can still hear it with perfect clarity and it HURTS.

It is nightmarish. But it ends… eventually.

All Wortox can muster in response is a measly, trembling thumbs up. Slowly, they begin to sift through their belongings, trying to shake off the discomfort that itches at their flesh.

When they resurface, it is with grass and logs in their arms, and a meek and perturbed expression worn in their face.

But that last one is gone quickly, with a sniff and a quirked brow. " What is that smell? "

[tinkering-survivor]

When Wagstaff looked over to Wortox he found them practically halfway in their bag. Man, whatever they were looking for, it must've been pretty buried in there.

They eventually resurfaced with grass and logs - strange that it took them so long to find staple resources everyone ought to carry around - and a rather upset-looking expression. He wasn't sure what their problem was, but doesn't have long to ponder it before they posed another question. At first he didn't have a clue about what they were talking about, not smelling anything out of the ordinary(aside from the bits of food left on the ground and on his face). After a few sniffs, however, he did pick up on something odd.

"I- I think that might be me," Wagstaff replied, bringing his arm up to his face to confirm his suspicion. If the scrunched-up face he made was any indicator he was probably correct.

[impsflute]

Eyebrows knit in concern, but they make no comment. It's likely best for both of them if they leave it alone.

" Of course. " Wortox turns their gaze back down to the contents of their bag, claws wiggling in the air for a moment before they pluck a bundle out of the pile, sitting up to slice it open and peek inside.

" Well that certainly isn't right. "

They toss it aside, pull out another one and confidently lay it out in front of Wagstaff, untying the rope binding it and - with a flourish - unveil several pre-prepared dishes; Surf 'n turf, bacon and eggs, jelly salad, and an entire honey ham. The warmth visibly radiates off of them, pleasant in the face of the harsh winter chill.

" Bon appétit, hyuyu! " Now they know to deliver that last package to one of the little ones.

They return to their routine.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff remained hunched over the whole time Wortox searched through their(?) belongings. He doesn't even register their carelessly tossing away that package nor their musing to themself.

The starving man practically lunged at the spread of food set out for him. He fell upon it quick as a flash, tearing at the food like a rabid werepig. He practically inhaled the bacon and eggs. His fur roll fell away in the frenzy, but he made no effort to recover it even despite the sunlight burning his skin. The steak took a little longer to go down, and the lobster made a sickening crunch when he first bit into it, forgetting to pull the juicy meat from the shell. He finally slowed down for the ham, but that was only because he had to tear off chunks before forcing them down his gullet. Even the jelly salad, which had been very quickly shoved aside at the start, was soon devoured.

By the time the he finally finished there were only a few scraps here or there that had been flung away by the carnage. It was hard to tell if he'd even tasted anything, he'd scarfed it down so fast. He sat hunched over, panting, with his eyes glazed over not too dissimilarly to how they'd been the night before, but he thankfully regained his composure.

"… Sorry," he muttered sheepishly, "I… I don't think I've eaten for a while."

Once he caught his breath Wagstaff worked his way back up onto his feet. He retrieved the fur roll and draped it over himself once more, wincing as he finally noticed the burns.

[impsflute]

They raise their eyebrows, giving Wagstaff a wide, closed-lip smile.

How very, very interesting indeed.

" And yet you have no staff to waggle, hyuyu! " They grin, wide and toothy, tickled by their own joke. " I am Wortox - It is a pleasure. "

They do not offer their paw.

Freed from their chains, Wortox yanks on the link, placing the sack in front of themself. They pull their fur roll over their shoulders - covering the quite unsightly (and cold) skin peeking out amidst their beautiful red coat - and they begin to rummage inside.

They have trinkets and goods aplenty, of course - both stolen and not - but that's not for what they search. Yet, the sight of it does give them pause.

They raise their head from the bag ever-slightly, just enough to peek back over at Wagstaff.

" What do you eat? "

[tinkering-survivor]

That remark earned the horned one a scowl. Yes, yes, they're very clever, making the same tired old cracking wise at his name that he's heard so many times before. He's quite charmed - really.

The old fellow stepped back when Wortox pulled their bag out in front of themself to rummage through its contents. After a moment or two he edged forward, earlier transgressions against his apparently oh so funny surname forgotten, and leaned in hoping to get a peek inside. He hops back a short distance when they suddenly look up from their searching, feigning innocence.

What kind of question was that? He ate food. Everyone here eats food. It was practically the one thing that everyone worried about; no matter how able of body or sound of mind someone was or wasn't, they still got hungry all the same. But maybe they just meant to ask if he had any particular dietary quirks. He didn't understand how anyone could survive out here being so chosey, but that wasn't his business.

"Well, I'm not a picky sort, if that's what you mean. I'll eat just about anything that's around-"

He was interrupted by a loud, almost angry growl, making him double over. He remains like that for a time before speaking up again.

"But meat sounds really good right now."