[A plant person with a graceful but purposeful gait, determination in the set of his shoulders, is walking along the street, with a leashed cat in his arms.
No -- not a cat. It's too big to be a cat. That's a baby lion. The lion's yawning contentedly with a tiny little squeak, pressing one paw to the nymph's be-leafed shoulder, and the nymph -- dressed in black and steel from head to sandalled toe, studs and spikes like artificial thorns, warnings against casual conversation and the fashion police, striking a sharp contrast against his soft petal-hair, his Venus flytrap eyelashes, his glittery sundew toes -- is murmuring to him, chastising.]
Someday, I won't carry you all the way back when you get tired, you know. You need your exercise, and not just the kind that's digging your food out of your puzzle box!
[But the little lion catches the scent of the big one, walking down the street in front of them. The fur fluffs up on his head and back, spooked: Tybolt's not certain if this is a friend or an enemy, and he doesn't smell exactly like lion, but neither had the other manticore Tybolt encountered behind his dad's back, and that guy had been OK. He's not sure what to think!
"rrRRRrraH??" the baby lion asks, squeakily. Who are you? What do you want? Are you friendly?
Meanwhile, Atem spots the urban megafauna, far from its natural habitat, and guesses it is probably a monster...odds are about a thousand to one that that's somebody's travel form.
But there is that one out of 9,999.]
Good morning!
[he calls, down the street, to the pacing animal. Is that a tiger? It looks mostly like a tiger, but not quite right...
If it doesn't answer, well, Atem can worry about dealing with a wild animal then.]
big cat time big cat time BIG CAT TIME
No -- not a cat. It's too big to be a cat. That's a baby lion. The lion's yawning contentedly with a tiny little squeak, pressing one paw to the nymph's be-leafed shoulder, and the nymph -- dressed in black and steel from head to sandalled toe, studs and spikes like artificial thorns, warnings against casual conversation and the fashion police, striking a sharp contrast against his soft petal-hair, his Venus flytrap eyelashes, his glittery sundew toes -- is murmuring to him, chastising.]
Someday, I won't carry you all the way back when you get tired, you know. You need your exercise, and not just the kind that's digging your food out of your puzzle box!
[But the little lion catches the scent of the big one, walking down the street in front of them. The fur fluffs up on his head and back, spooked: Tybolt's not certain if this is a friend or an enemy, and he doesn't smell exactly like lion, but neither had the other manticore Tybolt encountered behind his dad's back, and that guy had been OK. He's not sure what to think!
"rrRRRrraH??" the baby lion asks, squeakily. Who are you? What do you want? Are you friendly?
Meanwhile, Atem spots the urban megafauna, far from its natural habitat, and guesses it is probably a monster...odds are about a thousand to one that that's somebody's travel form.
But there is that one out of 9,999.]
Good morning!
[he calls, down the street, to the pacing animal. Is that a tiger? It looks mostly like a tiger, but not quite right...
If it doesn't answer, well, Atem can worry about dealing with a wild animal then.]