[UNMODERATED] [CRITERIA: minimum replies 8, reach the potato chip bag]
For a few seconds, there's nothing but darkness.
If it's true that lack of sight causes other senses to be enhanced, then that's kinda unfortunate, because the smell of old sweat hangs heavy in the air here. It's comforting. Somehow.
Light creeps in soon enough, ushered along by the sound of a zipper being pulled. Loudly. Finally an object comes into focus and it's a face. A giant face. Like, movie screen sized. Eddy Waxweiler could probably do a better job cleaning his pores and, oh– the ground is suddenly moving, up, up, fast, like an elevator, and then abruptly stopping again.
"You again," Eddy's normally soft voice booms, and large raccoon ringed eyes look directly down at the assembled.
From this vantage point, it becomes clear that this memory takes place in the dormitories. The sophomore ones, specifically, based on the arrangement of the room. School issued desks and bunks line the walls and some are kept far more fastidiously tidy than others. The nearest - presumably Eddy's - falls within the general cleaniness level of 'lived in'. A framed photo, a model of the Apollo Lunar Module, and a Fergus O'Malley poster are all intentionally placed around the desk, while school papers, a half-empty bottle of black nail polish, an unopened bag of potato chips, and a cheap ballpoint pen are scattered across the surface. Every so often one of the mothers in the photo takes a moment away from her young scuffed-up sons to shake her head in disapproval at the mess.
Far below, a now-opened mahogany and slate equipment bag full of Keeper gear sits near Eddy's feet. A small hole has been chewed through a side seam.
It's all pretty standard. Except the part where everything seems at least fifty feet tall.
Oh.
This memory belongs to a mouse. Probably the five foot tall one that just got frozen gnawing on the giant hand that everyone's perched on.
MEMORY: Honey I Shrunk The Kids
[CRITERIA: minimum replies 8, reach the potato chip bag]
For a few seconds, there's nothing but darkness.
If it's true that lack of sight causes other senses to be enhanced, then that's kinda unfortunate, because the smell of old sweat hangs heavy in the air here. It's comforting. Somehow.
Light creeps in soon enough, ushered along by the sound of a zipper being pulled. Loudly. Finally an object comes into focus and it's a face. A giant face. Like, movie screen sized. Eddy Waxweiler could probably do a better job cleaning his pores and, oh– the ground is suddenly moving, up, up, fast, like an elevator, and then abruptly stopping again.
"You again," Eddy's normally soft voice booms, and large raccoon ringed eyes look directly down at the assembled.
From this vantage point, it becomes clear that this memory takes place in the dormitories. The sophomore ones, specifically, based on the arrangement of the room. School issued desks and bunks line the walls and some are kept far more fastidiously tidy than others. The nearest - presumably Eddy's - falls within the general cleaniness level of 'lived in'. A framed photo, a model of the Apollo Lunar Module, and a Fergus O'Malley poster are all intentionally placed around the desk, while school papers, a half-empty bottle of black nail polish, an unopened bag of potato chips, and a cheap ballpoint pen are scattered across the surface. Every so often one of the mothers in the photo takes a moment away from her young scuffed-up sons to shake her head in disapproval at the mess.
Far below, a now-opened mahogany and slate equipment bag full of Keeper gear sits near Eddy's feet. A small hole has been chewed through a side seam.
It's all pretty standard. Except the part where everything seems at least fifty feet tall.
Oh.
This memory belongs to a mouse. Probably the five foot tall one that just got frozen gnawing on the giant hand that everyone's perched on.