Swiftcurrent Creek Don't call Marian, she's my alibi

life aboard the SS Wylla had been, in so many words and by all accounts, rough fucking going.

what's more, god, the piss-poor treatment when she disembarked. the blatant disrespect. first of all: her transit and delivery were handled about as thoughtfully as FedEx handles their parcels.



now, she couldn’t say the sensation of her face bouncing off a rock was altogether enjoyable; she was largely protected by the amniotic membrane encasing her, but colliding with earth, she found, wasn’t exactly like gently alighting on a bed of feathers. 

to the colonies of ants populating the soil, she was definitely a meteorite blotting out the sun and hurdling from a distant planet to send their metropolis to extinction. naturally, her arrival was met with overall aversion and intense recoil. not quite the reception one might expect when debuting their life, you know? 

to make matters worse, she was gawked at like she had two hooves for antennas. not even her own mothership wanted to beam her back up! similar to a pimple, she was first scowled at, poked a few times, then left alone—but only for the short amount of time it took for Wylla to reflect on the concept of "an eye for an eye".

ultimately, her presence was just too vexatious to ignore and she had to be picked at until something popped. 

the membrane engirdling her burst and she immediately felt warmth disperse from her body. HEY! her tiny frame stirred and mustered a gurgled squawk of objection. a sense of touch was the only thing she had going for her, and so far, 0/10 stars. she would be lodging a formal complaint later.

barely able to lift her dented little gourd, Tiercel was at the utter mercy of her detainer. she squirmed and grunted and frowned something fierce as the slime was scoured from her pelt—she couldn't decide if she liked that sensation or entirely loathed it, so she chose to strongly and noisily disagree with the goings-on regardless of the compensation she recieved.

eventually, she settled down after being smartened up and arranged against the toasty warmth of Wylla’s belly. the little extraterrestrial began rooting around, parting through the highveld of silver fur and gnashing her gums against anything protruding or in her path. it didn’t take long for her to succeed in finding what she was looking for. 

the best part about being an only child? all of the pumps were available and she didn’t have to wait in line.

premium gas, baby. Tier greedily began to fill her tank, foot-pebbles pressing insistently against her mother’s teats to make glutting herself more efficient.