Porphyria Dempsey
RE: By Web Design - Porphyria Dempsey - January 11, 2025
She hadn’t any sense of what to expect, but she had to hope Mr. Podmore had gleaned enough about her to guess at her tastes. She had wanted strange – this surprise was that for sure.
“I do love spiders,” Porphyria declared, glancing between them with a beam. She had been a little envious of that mauling a couple of years ago in Irvingly; she would have liked to see the Acromantula on the loose, at least, but there had been a lockdown. This, of course, was a captive – but she supposed a captive talking spider would be a captive audience. And that she would be one in turn.
Trees and tragedies were rather hopeful too. “Will you introduce us?” she asked Mr. Podmore – being careful, in case there was etiquette for this sort of thing, the way there was with hippogriffs. Porphyria might rarely care about proper etiquette, but – when there was an audience with an Acromantula on the line, she wouldn’t risk it.
RE: By Web Design - Sydney Podmore - January 20, 2025
Pleased he had managed to intrigue her, as she was more intriguing than anyone he had ever met, Syd nodded at her request. There was no real etiquette here, not like with a hippogriff (their hippogriff, Frannie, was particularly nonchalant about it, but she was around people often), but he appreciated the decorum.
"Bertram," he called as he moved over to the bars separating the enclosure from the. "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Miss Porphyria Dempsey." The spider hadn't moved until Syd mentioned her name and suddenly he was rousing himself from his nap spot to make his way over.
"Porphyria?" He asked, eight eyes peering curiously at the newcomer. "As in Porphyria's Lover?"
Suddenly Syd felt as though he was about to be made into a uncultured fool.
RE: By Web Design - Porphyria Dempsey - February 25, 2025
She felt almost shy at the introduction, though not because Mr. Podmore had called her a friend of his (she was surprised he had categorised them as friends rather than acquaintances, but nonetheless pleased to become so – people occasionally preferred to keep her acquaintance at arms’ length). No, she was mostly intimidated by Bertram, in case a giant spider proved himself smarter and better read than her. But that he knew Browning was a happy start – “The very same,” Phyri exclaimed, “she who was come through wind and rain.” And who would very swiftly be strangled by her lover for it, in said poem. “I write poems, too. And I hear you are fond of tragedies.”
Her tone was conversational, and her eyes alight as the eight-eyed creature scrutinised her in turn. “Are we allowed to come into the enclosure,” Phyri asked, undecided as whether she would be offered a more enticing answer by Bertram or Mr. Podmore, or it was really too dangerous, “or will that result in my tragic end?” Acromantulas ate people, didn’t they? They ought to talk about that.
RE: By Web Design - Sydney Podmore - March 8, 2025
Already out of his dept, Syd made a mental note to track down this story to read for another time. He was more pleased by the look on Miss Dempsey's features as Bertram dove right in to the literature. As he was now just a vessel of supervision for what he assumed was about to be an in-depth conversation, Syd motioned for her to follow him into the enclosure. "Bertram was raised by hand, has been around humans for his entire life, we're just amusement to him." He laughed as he said it, unlocking the enclosure and stepping in. "Like I said, it's mostly people I don't trust, not the creatures, there will be no tragedies on my watch." Bertram rumbled a little at being called a creature, but came forward to greet Miss Dempsey anyway.
"Did you bring your work with you?" The spider asked thoughtfully, in his typically slow drawl. Syd was curious of the same, but didn't want to make Miss Dempsey think she was obliged to humor them. Syd set about cleaning part of the enclosure, straightening things to give the pair some more dedicated time to discuss. Bertram was a neat creature, unlike some of his residents, so he didn't have a whole lot to do, but he could always find something.
RE: By Web Design - Porphyria Dempsey - March 30, 2025
A tame one, then; although Porphyria had to wonder what Bertram made of humans, living in such close proximity to them and yet a different species. But then even Mr. Podmore saw the difficulties of trusting humans, and he was one; so maybe that was not the first question she ought to ask.
At any rate, Bertram had a question for her – and she was a little too awed by stepping into the enclosure and being nearer to him to much protest to it. She felt dwarfed by the spider from here; his legs alone were taller than her, and much less spindly than the usual spiders one encountered. And Mr. Podmore had just said he was accustomed to being around humans – but Phyri could see his large pincers just before her, and thought they could cause some damage, if the creature so wished.
“I did not, but I can recite some, if you’d like?” Phyri promised, sifting through her works to choose something she thought Bertram would best appreciate. She selected a mossy tree stump to sit on, and offered up a few verses of a poem to him, gazing up at those eight unblinking eyes. It was not her very darkest poem (she was a little conscious of the zoo owner in earshot) but one written after her time as a wren, something that had been borne out of Irish myths, and talked of time and nature and decay and carrion flesh – and had some tree imagery she was particularly proud of, and hoped Bertram might appreciate.
“I can bring more another day, if you didn’t despise it,” she added lightly, at the end. She had some earlier long-form poems that went further into gory gothic tragedy.
RE: By Web Design - Sydney Podmore - April 12, 2025
Syd kept stealing glances out of the corner of his eye, mostly to keep an eye on the interaction, though he trusted Bertram far more than most of the creatures in his care. Mostly he didn't want to make himself too conspicuous, though he didn't think Miss Demspey capable of being self-conscious, he did not want to intrude. He moved some things around, stepped out to add fresh water to the little well for drinking, trying to be quiet and unobtrusive while Miss Dempsey recited some of her poetry for the arachnid.
It was hard not to be somewhat awestruck by the fact that she could simply recite the work from memory, but he supposed she had written it, so perhaps it was not as hard? Syd had memorized potions and antidotes and different things for his work during healing, but this felt altogether different; it was sort of mesmerizing and he found himself pausing despite his best efforts to appear occupied.
Bertram clicked his pincers in what Syd assumed was some amalgamation of applause and Syd held back from joining in. He perhaps wasn't so hypnotized by the content, but moreso the imagery and the cadence with with she spoke. Fortunately Bertram was clearly as interested, watching with rapt attention and was able to voice his thoughts, all positive, save for some suggestion on a phrasing, which Syd would have never dared to share, but the spider didn't exactly follow human manners sometimes. "I would enjoy that immensely, you are indeed talented." Syd rather thought he would also enjoy hearing more of Miss Demspey's work and if he had to use Bertram as the conduit, then so be it.
"Bertram is not often so complimentary," Syd joked. In fact the spider was very critical sometimes, but Syd had learned to brush it off. Perhaps he just liked women more, as he let Miss Bixby read to him often and inquired after her when she wasn't in.
RE: By Web Design - Porphyria Dempsey - May 1, 2025
She had never imagined a giant arachnid could be such an insightful literary critic, but then – that was a flaw and limitation of her imagination until now, clearly. She wondered if Bertram would be averse to being the subject or the inspiration of a sonnet – she was struck by him in a way that seemed to demand a sonnet specifically, and Porphyria largely disdained sonnets as lowercase romantic trash. (Byron called them puling, and she had always been inclined to agree, before.) But she could make something of it, with its crisp opening octave... but no doubt Bertram would have critiques for her, if she tried. He had offered her up some already.
So much the better – they were having proper artistic conversation now, and she wished she could stay all day. “Oh, I am scarcely ever complimentary,” Porphyria acknowledged, with a carefree, conspiratorial laugh, understanding a harsh critic better than a soft one – but she felt absurdly mellow now, and the smile she gave to Mr. Podmore was as warm and mild as any she had ever offered. “But I must admit your company has been a delight today. Both of yours,” she added (in case Mr. Podmore felt left out). They might have been close to strangers, but she felt quite at home here – she could have lingered in this exhibit happily all day.