"Do you suppose some of them are considered handsomer than others?" Presley wonders, standing next to Ramona. "Exactly what defines beauty standards for a Muscheron? More or less weird knobby parts on the cap?"
He's touched a lot of things during this entire nightmare adventure, but something about being Muscheron-sized makes it stark how unsanitary everything is. Are there still germs in a memory? "Ugh." Presley fishes a tissue out of his suit jacket, and vigorously rubs down a section of the discarded sunglasses before, reluctantly, touching it.
Unfortunately, the glasses glow under Presley's touch. Maybe it's the germs, but it also probably means they have to figure out how to drag this thing out of here.
"Alright. Let's see how heavy they are, I guess." She circles around to the other side of the Muscheron, trying to get a good grip on the tail end of the sunglasses. If one little mushroom can lift them, surely she and Presley can carry them a dozen yards. Or two feet. Whatever.
Presley echoes Ramona's sigh, but also gets into position. He tugs on the sunglasses until they pull free of the muscheron's grasp—or rather, a glowing duplicate does, just as unwieldy as the real thing.
But Presley has strong muscles from dance. He can handle carrying pink plastic, and only whines a little as he hefts the end piece. "Do you suppose it'll stay the same size when we get to the auditorium, or shrink down? Shrink down, right?" He pauses. "I'm going to wear them."
As Presley pulls the sunglasses free, the memory stutters to a start again, the muscheron spinning to a halt with his own pair of sunglasses.
The muscheron looks down. The bag's zipper pull is there, the zipper itself just barely undone.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaah," he yells, the fight reflex draining out of him in favor of flight. He drops his weapon and scurries over to yank at the zipper pull, straining with all his little might as the cat readies itself to pounce. Tooth by tooth, click by click, until the bag is just open enough to admit one (1) mushroom head.
"GIBBYE Z'KAL!" The muscheron hops in, butt first, wriggling and squeezing until he finally disappears under the flap. The little hole in the flap stays open, big enough for a muscheron-sized human (or muscheron) to slip through should they need to leave before that cat gets any closer.
[MEMORY COMPLETE! Now squeeze that linchpin through that portal back to Peckenpaugh, or stay here and get eaten by a cat. Two equally valid options.]
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peckenpaugh2020-06-01 11:18 am
MEMORY: Move-In Day
He's touched a lot of things during this entire nightmare adventure, but something about being Muscheron-sized makes it stark how unsanitary everything is. Are there still germs in a memory? "Ugh." Presley fishes a tissue out of his suit jacket, and vigorously rubs down a section of the discarded sunglasses before, reluctantly, touching it.
MEMORY: Move-In Day
MEMORY: Move-In Day
"Alright. Let's see how heavy they are, I guess." She circles around to the other side of the Muscheron, trying to get a good grip on the tail end of the sunglasses. If one little mushroom can lift them, surely she and Presley can carry them a dozen yards. Or two feet. Whatever.
MEMORY: Move-In Day
But Presley has strong muscles from dance. He can handle carrying pink plastic, and only whines a little as he hefts the end piece. "Do you suppose it'll stay the same size when we get to the auditorium, or shrink down? Shrink down, right?" He pauses. "I'm going to wear them."
MEMORY: Move-In Day - COMPLETE!
The muscheron looks down. The bag's zipper pull is there, the zipper itself just barely undone.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaah," he yells, the fight reflex draining out of him in favor of flight. He drops his weapon and scurries over to yank at the zipper pull, straining with all his little might as the cat readies itself to pounce. Tooth by tooth, click by click, until the bag is just open enough to admit one (1) mushroom head.
"GIBBYE Z'KAL!" The muscheron hops in, butt first, wriggling and squeezing until he finally disappears under the flap. The little hole in the flap stays open, big enough for a muscheron-sized human (or muscheron) to slip through should they need to leave before that cat gets any closer.
[MEMORY COMPLETE! Now squeeze that linchpin through that portal back to Peckenpaugh, or stay here and get eaten by a cat. Two equally valid options.]
MEMORY: Move-In Day - TOKENS!
Upon emerging from the memory out into the auditorium, the portal snapped shut behind them, while the sunglasses remained enormous. Hm.
Out in the Central Green, a muscheron thief and crabgrass, a magimagicicada were freed.
You can check your token totals in Pouch's shop here, and maybe see if there's anything worth grabbing while you're there!
MEMORY: Move-In Day - TOKENS!
Muscheron are the worst.