When you're kitten-sized, the greenhouse really does feel like a deep, dense jungle. All the plants loom massive, and their careful spacing within their large beds makes for a convenient path through all that green. What sunlight does filter through the leaves is hazy from passing through the greenhouse's foggy windows. Outside may be cold, but in here it's warm, cozy. Zero Sugar Pepsi sits low, pounce-ready, in the middle of a large plot of soil, surrounded by Wandering Willows who are starting to get a little restless. The little saplings sway and shift, occasionally getting up to move here or there, ostensibly to find a more comfortable spot in the dirt. Or maybe just trying to put distances between themselves and the Blob on their left.
At the end of the bed, past the little beads of fertilizer, past the tiny lawn gnome someone stuck into the earth, Tansy Treetops crouches over a particularly toothy sprout of snapping dragons. Spade in gloved hand, she carefully repots the fussy flowers, humming to herself, a pretty, improvised tune, oblivious to the tiny hunter lurking just beyond her willows.
Pepsi's eyes aren't on Ms. Treetops, though, they're focused just beyond. High up on a table sit five cacti in colorful pots. Two blue, one gray, one red and one green. The two blue pot cacti seem like they could be as tall as Ms. Treetops, herself, while the gray one and the green one look awful small to Pepsi’s eye. That red one, though. That guy’s just right.
The little cactus kitten does some complex math it probably isn't ready for, then bounds forward. A full sprint, running for those cactuses. At the lip of the bed, she leaps, tiny paws spread out and reaching for that table that seemed so much closer a moment ago.
In the corner of Pepsi's eye something moves. A vine, and not one that belongs. She freezes in mid-air. The vine does, too. Everything freezes.
MEMORY: Little Hunter
[CRITERIA: Minimum 9 Tags]
When you're kitten-sized, the greenhouse really does feel like a deep, dense jungle. All the plants loom massive, and their careful spacing within their large beds makes for a convenient path through all that green. What sunlight does filter through the leaves is hazy from passing through the greenhouse's foggy windows. Outside may be cold, but in here it's warm, cozy. Zero Sugar Pepsi sits low, pounce-ready, in the middle of a large plot of soil, surrounded by Wandering Willows who are starting to get a little restless. The little saplings sway and shift, occasionally getting up to move here or there, ostensibly to find a more comfortable spot in the dirt. Or maybe just trying to put distances between themselves and the Blob on their left.
At the end of the bed, past the little beads of fertilizer, past the tiny lawn gnome someone stuck into the earth, Tansy Treetops crouches over a particularly toothy sprout of snapping dragons. Spade in gloved hand, she carefully repots the fussy flowers, humming to herself, a pretty, improvised tune, oblivious to the tiny hunter lurking just beyond her willows.
Pepsi's eyes aren't on Ms. Treetops, though, they're focused just beyond. High up on a table sit five cacti in colorful pots. Two blue, one gray, one red and one green. The two blue pot cacti seem like they could be as tall as Ms. Treetops, herself, while the gray one and the green one look awful small to Pepsi’s eye. That red one, though. That guy’s just right.
The little cactus kitten does some complex math it probably isn't ready for, then bounds forward. A full sprint, running for those cactuses. At the lip of the bed, she leaps, tiny paws spread out and reaching for that table that seemed so much closer a moment ago.
In the corner of Pepsi's eye something moves. A vine, and not one that belongs. She freezes in mid-air. The vine does, too. Everything freezes.