Swiftcurrent Creek i'm the king of this pity party with my jewel encrusted crown
i found brimstone in my garden,
i found roses set on fire
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can't stop won't stop. @Wylla


BYGONE WERE THE DAYS OF HER PRECIOUS YOUTH and woe betide the next milestone that dared compromise her station in the lap of luxury. tenebrously blue, her eyes fluttered dozily. everything was unfocused, a world vibrantly composed of bokeh, but she could pry her lids open for longer stretches of time now that Wylla had cleaned off the dried secretions occluding her eye-folds, making them feel like used bubblegum any time she tried to blink.

not soon after, her legs could more or less position themselves beneath her in the fashion of a proper goddamn mammal instead of protruding from her sides like inefficient rudders. this meant scooting as a primary method of transportation was OUT, and learning to steer her potbellied rattletrap was IN. get in loser, we’re going shopping.

mount evebreast had stepped out, probably set to the task of provisioning herself while her greedy alien was still satiated by the last feeding. so the story goes, mammary glands are limited on how much can be drawn off 'em before the suckers shriveled up like burned scrolls (what happened to the milkman? doorstep delivery? who let that profession roll over and die?). this meant in order to keep the milk a-sluicin’ down her child's fat rolls, and to maintain a supply stocked to demand, the denmother’s nourishment was essential and disappearing acts were likely to be numerous until Tiercel's growth spurts started shooting blanks.  

the sudden omission of her number one source of warmth was deservedly and emphatically objected. "va te faire foutre, pauvre!!" her inner dialogue raved, while outwardly she was still as a stone settled in the sediment of a stream, the only motion being that of her abdomen rising and falling with each breath. then, with an exhalation so heavy, she jerked upwards, and squirmed, and writhed, struggling to get her splayed legs out from under her and arranged in a way that supported her top-heaviness, but also kept them both in reconciliation with gravity. 

easy....

does...

it...

ah… HA! her legs trembled like they'd completed a triathlon, paws firmly planted and her claws clinging to dirt out of self-doubt, but she was doing it! standing! man, what a rush, what an adrenaline dump—the thrill from her achievement pranced around in her psyche, providing her with access to another new emotion: confidence.

and then almost immediately, confidence's creepy cousin apprehension followed closely behind. 

step one, done deal…. now what?

step two?

….what was step two?! what was—her nerves quickly opted out. she dithered, but tensed to catch herself before she could fall. her stance suddenly resembled a balancing beam act. she wobbled like a bowl of jello, leaning one way, then the other, and without meaning or wanting to she began doddering forward—oh, i see, bonjour step two—quicker and quicker until she anticlimactically faceplanted on the ground.

by hell. fortunately, the ground was softly padded and her head broke her fall. seemed like it did that a lot.

if mom was around, she would have raised the alarm and cried out for EMS, but with no audience from which she could collect such sympathies, Tier didn’t emote any dismay over her collision course with earth save for a pathetic, startled chirp that twanged reflexively against her vocal bands. 

and heaven’s to murgatroyd where was mother? attending the last supper? well, giver-of-life, i hope you had a nice repast with your associate jesus christ, because ya missed your only daughter’s very first steps. if that small shamble could even be considered steps…—no, it counted!  it did! moms live for that shit! c'mon.

but truthfully, from that moment to the next, all that set foot into Tiercel’s mind was frustration over the complete lack of hearthside fine dining. how long had it been since she’d tasted that sweet ichor of the gods? was she an orphan now? what if she starved!? 

the babe grunted. transitioning into an independent woman was far too hyped up. smash the matriarchy.
1/3 threads. lowp, tag 2 manifest