February Event - Garden of Woe [Merrymeet]

[pumpkinhollow]

**Plain text version here.

GARDEN OF WOE

To Meet is Merry...

It’s a beautiful day. Normally Merrymeet is held a tad later in the month, but thanks to some predictions from Phil, the festival planning committee managed to snag a date right in the middle of a patch of lovely warm days. A false spring --- there would be another snow by the following week. But it’s the first hint of a true spring waiting in the wings. The sun is shining, the grass on the festival green is slowly waking up, snowdrop flowers wobble in the breeze, and the weather is approaching something akin to balmy. It's as if Celestine herself carried in her opposite-most sister on a warm breeze, just for today.

Partygoers trickle in from all sides, gathering at the Festival Green. Each and every soul is dressed in their spring finest. And when Juniper Sweetwater once again ascends the steps to the gazebo, the crowd falls silent. The procession is about to begin.

Dress to Impress

Generally speaking, the dress code for Merrymeet is garden party formalwear. Appropriate outfits can fall anywhere in the Classic or Lavish categories. Characters here less than 2 months are able to get free rentals if they’d like, but can buy their outfit if they wish. Everyone else is asked to please purchase their outfit (from 300-500B, depending upon complexity).

Short on Brass? Drop by Gourd en Glace before the event and grab yourself a sundae and bring it up to Venka Meridell, the proprietor who also happens to be the local tailor’s daughter. She’ll slip you a coupon for a half-price Merrymeet outfit if you’re willing to taste test one of her unorthodox new ice cream flavors. Her mother, Saraya, will begrudgingly accept these coupons. [Mod Note: Please only take this option if you have 500B or less in your ledger, we are trying to get some of these rich-ass characters to spend their damn money!]

Once you’re all dressed to the nines, please feel free to use the code below to show off your drip in the Fashion Show thread!

<img src="YOUR URL HERE" alt="Merrymeet" style="width:400px;">

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Crowning of the Flower Queen

Once Mayor Poe gives the signal, a band begins to play, signalling the entrance of the Floral Court. A hush falls over the crowd as they watch the nominees enter, one at a time and escorted by their chosen companion. Many beloved community figured were nominated this time, and competition was stiff--- the crowd is eager to see who is named their Flower Queen.

Then, the procession begins in earnest as each member of the Floral Court (Valdis, Ylva, Margaret, Lyubov, CT, Alice, Fever, Magne, Olivia, Anya, and Helena) is escorted through the festival green and up to the gazebo. Standing at the top of the short flight of gazebo stairs is Juniper Sweetwater, a poised and delicate Wood Elf with pale brown hair. Gracing each pair with a greeting of “hail and merry meet”, she places a small ring of flowers upon the brow of each member of the court, and hands each one a matching boutonniere or corsage to bestow upon her plus-one. Juniper lets each pair file into the gazebo to take their seats.

Then some of the other leading ladies arrive and do much the same--- first, Drelasa, who won third place, and then Elsie and Sally, who tied for second. Behind them is Sally’s toddler Gwen, who is “escorted” (carried) by her older brother Yellow, both of whom are invited to join as special guests. Juniper takes a moment to bestow each of the women with a slightly larger crown, and a bouquet decorated with a ribbon indicating their place and a brass or silver charm as a token of their achievement.

Finally, the last to enter is the Flower Queen herself. The music swells as this year’s Queen, Dahlia Leeds, is escorted by her Courtier, Radar O’Reilly. A murmur sweeps over the onlooking crowd of surprise and excitement as Dahlia proceeds through the parted crowd. Once one of the most beloved people in town, Dahlia has barely been seen outside her home since her fall from grace at her birthday gala. And when she has, she’s looked sallow and miserable, a husk of herself. And yet here, today, she looks utterly radiant--- aside from the fact that she is very obviously weeping, utterly overcome with emotion at the fact that so many of her neighbors and friends still accept her. Tears of surprise, joy, relief, and gratitude pour down her face in thick streams that she cannot contain as she makes her way down the aisle with Radar, both of them dressed ornately in delicate blue.

The pair are showered with flower petals as they follow the winding trail, applauded quietly by festival goers before they reach Juniper. Fluidly, she swaps places with Dahlia so that the new Flower Queen is the one stood at the top of the stairs and the prior is on the ground.

“Hail and merry meet.” Juniper curtsies. “Today, just as I was two years ago, you have been chosen by the people of our town to be the Flower Queen. It is my honor to present you with gifts befitting a queen.”

Another townsperson passes her a basket, which Juniper presents to Dahlia. It contains a number of spring-themed treats--- honey harvested from last spring’s flowers, a bottle of specially crafted sweet festival wine to be consumed on the summer solstice, a candle embedded with dried flowers, a blend of lavender and bergamot tea, a charming floral soap, and a necklace with a pressed forget-me-not inside a clear pendant. There is also a medal hanging around the wine bottle shaped like an orchid bloom, engraved on the back with text. “Flower Queen 16:55 - Pumpkin Hollow - Dahlia Anastasia Leeds”. Juniper then passes the somewhat heavy basket off to Radar to carry--- after all, it’s the Courtier’s job to attend to the Queen!

Then, Juniper pins a boutonniere to Radar’s lapel, and beneath it, a medal of his own. “Floral Courtier - 16:55 - Radar O’Reilly”.

“With this sprig of Serannai’s glory, I bestow upon you the honored duty of Courtier to the Flower Queen. Assist her as she needs and ensure that she spends this day as free and joyful as a spring breeze.”

Lastly, Juniper turns back to Dahlia and takes up a crown of flowers, larger and more elaborate than the others, holding it aloft for a moment before resting it upon Dahlia’ss head.

“With this crown, I pass my title on to you. May it bring you felicity and fortune, so that you may share it with the earth as you put seed to soil.”

Before letting them go, Juniper leans in, beaming and grasping Dahlia’s hand tightly with the warmth of someone who has known her their whole life, and whispers, “Congratulations!” Then, she takes a step back, hurrying delightedly off into the crowd, leaving Dahlia to stand and look over the crowd of her friends, her neighbors, her loved ones, so many of whom have still chosen to embrace her. For a moment, all she can do is stand in awe.

Applause rings out over the crowd, music swells once more, and Merrymeet officially begins. Congratulations to Dahlia, and all the members of the Floral Court!

Eat, Drink, Be Merry!

It doesn’t take long for lunch to be brought out, courtesy of some helpful volunteers and the Oak & Iron’s diligent cooking staff. Salads full of spring greens, fresh bread with herbs baked in, puff pastries with fresh cheese and asparagus, egg tarts, chicken sandwiches, and crispy little hashbrowns formed into cups to look like bird nests, each with a devilled egg sitting inside. There are also dozens of little desserts made with flowers and spring berries, like cakes and custards, and even heart-shaped macarons.

And while there is wine being passed around the table, there is also tea. But this isn’t just any tea, and these aren’t just any tea pots. The pots are clear glass, surrounded by ornate silver fixtures, so that you can see the color of the tea and the leaves steeping within. Some are regular tea leaves rolling around in ball strainers while others are blooming floral teas perched in the center of the pots. And best of all, these teapots are enchanted courtesy of Dr. West, looking like chubby little tea puppies walking around on four short metal legs. They meander around between dishes on the tables, bumbling up to partygoers to offer their contents and tipping forward with surprising grace to pour tea into cups. They are helpfully labeled with tags tied to their handles, explaining what they contain.

While a few contain typical tea blends, others are marked as containing enchanted teas, provided by Aeryn Sallek. The enchanted blends are as follows:

Party Enhancer - An energizing and sweet lemon hibiscus tea that makes the drinker able to dance longer, sing louder, eat more, and worry less. Turn down your inhibition and turn up the fun! This is a great tea for people who want a little party boost without getting drunk.

Liquid Courage - Feeling too shy to dance? Nervous about asking that beautiful person to spend the day with you? Want to go for that first kiss but struggling to work up the nerve? This smooth lavender black tea will help!

Romance Reagent - For those looking to be a little more flirty or emotionally open, this rose milk tea has a higher concentration of the “emotional acuity” potion to help you be open with your true feelings and get your cuddle on. And this denser dose of potion will even have the added effect of making you a little more suave, as well.

Sultry Spice - For those looking to find someone nice and invite them somewhere more private. This warming apple spice tea literally just has a mild aphrodisiac in it.

Enjoy any of these with your meal to turn up the mood! While these teas are clearly labeled, it's up to you whether or not you actually read them. Accidents can happen!

Eating isn’t all there is to do, of course. The other primary activity is dancing!

Local musicians will be playing throughout the day for group and couple’s dances, including a local partner dance called the Sunrise Waltz and a classic maypole dance. Feel free to dance the afternoon away with partners, friends, new acquaintances, and more!

There’s also areas to catch your breath and chat with friends, a chocolate dipping station, flower sprouts in tiny pots as party favors, flower garland braiding areas, and plenty of wine! Additionally, there are a few flower-filled tents on the festival green with private seating areas for couples to catch a few moments alone. You’re not supposed to, but if you’re quiet and don’t mind a bit of risk, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak a little naughty fun into your day in these little tents.

And of course, there is the planting ceremony later in the day, so feel free to join Dahlia and Juniper at the edge of the green for this short tradition! With an apron thrown over her dress and a short spade, Dahlia takes a moment out of the festivities to plant a tulip bulb in a half-empty row near the gazebo, right next to the one Mary Dahl planted the year prior, and Juniper herself the year before that.

...But Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Ballad of the Damned

Would any event on a cursed island truly be complete without some sort of unscrupulous paranormal activity? Truly, nothing is sacred (except maybe the Dance of Celestine, once), as yet another of Dahlia’s infernal relatives arrives bearing “gifts” to put a damper on her special day.

As night begins to fall, the afternoon band is finally given time to rest and retire to the party themselves, intended to be replaced by a Council-approved evening band. However, said musical group is waylaid on their way to the stage, and replaced with an act far stranger.

On the left part of the stage, a man with pipes embedded in his chest begins to sing a low note, accompanied by a deep, rich harmony as though his chest were a pipe organ. Perhaps it is. On the right side, an older man who almost looks human, save for the exposed “ribcage” full of harpstrings. And at the front, a pale woman dressed all in white with a veil covering all but her mouth, who sings like an angel over the music of her companions. The man in charge and his large sitar are conspicuously absent.

When Sonata begins to sing, two things begin to happen. The first is that black, thorny vines emerge from the slumbering ground, encasing the performers in thick foliage with gaps only big enough for the sound of their music to escape, and thorns big enough to ward off any interruptions. The second is that anyone who can hear the music will find that the sound floods their mind with memories of grief, pain, loss, and loneliness. So intense are these memories and emotions that even the most strong-willed can barely keep from weeping, with only a few exceptions.

Those with protection from demons will find their suffering great, but not debilitating, and Father Mulcahy’s boon from Mortanne and personal experience combined are enough to offset the more soul-crushing effects of the somber music. However, these things alone will not be enough. With the infernal band protected, the Domain of Sorrow’s Song will continue leeching anguish from the party-goers for their master for as long as they can. The only way to combat them is to cut off their source of power through self-imposed joy--- a challenging task, given the situation.

Luckily, a friend from outside the barrier interested in helping his daughter has sent some friends to help you get started.

March of the Bizzyboys

Five Drainfolk in red uniforms find themselves in a forest. Little teal-furred monkey-folk with long hair and longer tails stand amid pink trees and a gaggle of little fuschia butterflies. Their names are Vibiano, Grujaja, Bananathaniel, Alexei, and Patty--- mysteries, until recently, revealed a few letters at a time. The wind sings like bamboo wind chimes through the pastel branches.

The butterflies swarm together, forming the shape of a person, and from the flock emerges a strange man. With chitinous hands and a face covered in dark pink wings, he steps free of the fluttering mass and onto a stump, wearing long fur robes, and he smiles a toothy smile.

“Hello there, Bizzyboys! I am King Olwylder, Archfae of the Court of Red Butterflies,” he says with a sweeping bow. Then, he leaps down from his makeshift stage, his own enormous wings splayed out behind him. He lands crouching, diminishing his impressive height to get onto their level. “I have a very important favor to ask you.”

“You see, some old friends of yours, as well as my beloved daughter Elsie, have been caught up in a bit of trouble. I need you to go to a little town called Pumpkin Hollow for the evening and help them out. Afterwards, you can stay there a while, or not, if you prefer. But during the flower festival they have going on, I need you five little darlings to do me a very, very important favor, and do what you do best. I need you to solve a mystery. Can you help me?”

Once all five Bizzyboys have agreed, Olwylder shakes each of their fuzzy hands and thanks them profusely, covering their red uniforms in pink flowers before sending them on their very merry way. They ride to Pumpkin Hollow on the back of a black horse, driven by a man with no head, and fan out in search of their old bosses as well as Olwylder’s daughter.

The five original Bizzyboys, played as guest NPCs, arrive at Merrymeet just before the band begins to play, and are immune to all of its effects due to the blessing of King Olwylder and sheer adorable whimsy. Threading with one of them can help you acquire the self-made fun you need to break the spell yourself, which you can then spread to others! These delightful shenanigans have been graciously provided by five helpful players, so please thank Liz, Sid, Mira, Maniette, and Kai for their assistance in making the magic happen! Once the event ends, it will be up to each player whether their Bizzyboy remains in PH or heads back home.

| CONTENT WARNINGS: altered states of consciousness, mildly dubious consent, grief, depression, mood control |

Comments

Tarantulas (and Dawn!) OTA

[tisnotthehouse]

Merriment

Tarantulas very nearly didn't come. The...events that followed last year's Merrymeet still feel real and immediate to him, and he's loathe to expose her to malicious gossip while she's still so young. But Erik convinced him to give it a try, arguing that it would do more damage to associate her origins with shame and secrecy than otherwise -- and more immediately, he suggested that most of the townspeople would be preoccupied from discussion of the recent shared nightmare and Dahlia Leed's nomination, with no time to drag up old news from last year. So he and his daughter are here too, wearing identical flower gowns, with Celestine's golden ribbon tied like a sash around Dawn's waist.

For a while Tarantulas is too busy to be suspicious of anyone, first in persuading Dawn to stay in her seat during the procession of the Flower Court and then in keeping an eye on things when she joins a group of only slightly-older little girls in a lesson on making flower crowns. Only once its clear that the children (and their attendant adults) aren't about to reject or bully her does he start to relax.

If you're interested in approaching him, now's probably the time. Just don't make him tense up again; he might bite you.

Dolor

Tarantulas is immobilized with grief -- literally. There's a voice in him crying out to find his daughter and protect her, but...what's the point of it all, really? What can he really do for her that someone else couldn't do better? What if he's just weighing her down, holding her back? Certainly his presence has never benefited anyone else. Prowl, Springer, Verity...he only ever made things worse for all of them. And Overlord? River? Hah, relationships? More like sick jokes. Face it Tara, you're just not meant to be around people. You're a solitary creature, just like the animals you imitate.

Groaning with pain he crawls under the nearest table and transforms, wrapping his legs tightly around himself like a spider already struck dead. Dawn, meanwhile, has lost track of him: she whirls and runs through the crowd, tears streaming down her poor little face while she squeaks for attention and help. She's still just a little girl after all, not even one year old. She doesn't understand what's going on, she just knows that everything is scary right now and she can't find her father. Please help?

Dolor (cw: offhand suicidal ideation in narration)

[impostor_syndrome]

Purple feels like proverbial dogshit at the moment, but having an unattended crying child bonk into their shins is certainly one way to take their mind off how they've let so many people die that the best thing they could have done for the galaxy would be to stay on Adamance and let the baboon hawks take them. They've always had a fondness for children, although they don't know if they could ever see themselves as one of those people who put their kids in their own little spacesuits and take them to work with them. And not just because of all the times they've seen a tiny little orphan staring at the wall in shock.

...In addition, the squeakiness of the little thing's cries sparks a sense of urgency in them that has a much more recent origin. Purple sweeps her up into their arms and rocks her gently before it's too late. "Shhh, shhh, you'll be fine."

[tisnotthehouse]

Dawn whimpers, nipping half-heartedly at Purple's suit-sleeves -- but she's a pampered, adored child, treated gently by everyone who knows her. She doesn't know enough to be suspicious of a stranger who holds her and speaks to her gently, and this time that works out in her favor. She whines and tugs on Purple's suit, wiggling and craning her neck around as she tries to catch a glimpse of her father from this taller vantage-point.

[impostor_syndrome]

She stopped crying, which is a good start and a relief, even if it's accompanied by some ineffectual biting. Her teeth are pretty sharp, but she's not using enough force to do more than make them glad they don't have to return the suit after this. Purple pats her on the back. "Show us how you really feel."

There's only a few other people in town who are that fuzzy while bipedal, and Wilson or Music don't have as many eyes. It's pretty clear whose kid this is now that they're not so focused on calming her down; unfortunately, that would be the guy who they mainly remember for jumpscaring them with his spider legs when Captain Zelda invited him over to upgrade the boat. "Where's your dad?"

Seems the kid has the same question. They lift her up higher, in case that helps her spot something with all those eyes of hers.

[tisnotthehouse]

Dawn wiggles and squeaks and clambers until she's seated on Purple's shoulders, keeping her balance with ease as she leans on his helmet, peering all around. And then SMACK! She'd slapped her hand on Purple's helmet to get his attention!

"Ba!" she says imperiously, pointing the way back to Tara's table, the seats empty but the tablecloth twitching oddly.

[impostor_syndrome]

"Wh- Okay," they sputter as Dawn clambers onto their head, the brim of their unnecessary yet fashionable hat wobbling all over their field of view as she gets herself situated. They keep their hands raised in case they need to steady her, but she's got this handled. If only they could be that confident.

Purple follows the direction of the tiny pointing finger. "Well. There is absolutely something hiding under that table. I'm an expert on these things."

They're trying for their usual glibly chipper tone, but a weariness is creeping back into it. The kind of things that would prey on them wouldn't fit under a table, and they're really not in the mood to get down on the ground, throw the fabric aside and bodily haul someone out of a hidey-hole like the monster they really are. They still make their way over to the table, but instead they grab one of the adjacent chairs and poke at the space under the tablecloth with its legs.

"Hello-ooooo, anyone in there?"

[tisnotthehouse]

Something under the table hisses, and a long, thin, hairy leg pokes out, raising the tablecloth like a curtain. A spider the size of a dog peeks out, its many eyes welling with some kind of sickly pink fluid. Its pedipalps twitch -- and from its mouth issues Tarantulas's voice. "Dawn? Oh my darling, I'm so sorry..."

Still muttering apologies, he starts crawling right up the chair Purple's waving at him, making for his arm and from there, to his kid. A touching family reunion is about to take place, and Purple isn't only invited -- they're the venue.

[impostor_syndrome]

"NnnNNNnngeeaaeeegh," says Purple, about to be bodily crawled upon by what looks to them like the very apologetic bastard child of a snare flea and a bunker spider with pinkeye, and caught without their emotional support shovel to boot. They drop the chair, but not quickly enough to keep Spider-Dad from grabbing their arm, which they flail around wildly. Their non-spidered arm reaches automatically into their jacket pocket. "Nope nope nope nope nope, get off me!"

Their hand closes on the hilt of their knife, but they stop themselves, memories flashing through their mind of wailing blood-splattered Maneater larvae and little orphans sitting down and refusing to move, and instead peel the jacket off and fling it onto the ground. Scaling scenic Mt. Purple will be a true test of Tarantulas' reflexes and dexterity! Not so much Dawn's, since she's still clinging to their helmet with determination and the sticky hands that no toddler would go long without.

[tisnotthehouse]

"Stop moving!" Tarantulas takes notice of Purple long enough to snap, shrinking his body down further to the size of a kitten, so he can nimbly leap from the jacket to Purple's waist before they've even finished taking it off. Dawn, meanwhile, grows fretful at what seems as an unseemly delay in her reunion with her beloved father, begins to admonish her erstwhile savior with scolding squeals and smacks around their helmet area. The two spiders cling to Purple's body, unwilling to be shaking off when they're so close to finding each other again.

[impostor_syndrome]

"You're the one who jumped on me!" He's shrunk down to a non-terrifying size but that also makes it harder to catch him, and that's before his kid starts making a ruckus. The shrieking and slapping and metallic pinging noises of a frustrated toddler attached to their helmet strain their focus enough that it slows them down, even as they stretch their arm joints beyond the human range of motion to grab at Tarantulas crawling up their back.

"Why are you like this?!" It's more a cry of aggravation than an actual question.

[tisnotthehouse]

"You're the one holding my kid!" Tarantulas points out, very reasonably too he must say. He dodges the arms, scuttling up Purple's back until he finally makes it to Dawn, who immediately squeals and scoops him into her arms. "Oof, that's a little too tight, darling -- there we are. It's okay, calm down, calm down..."

Once Dawn's been soothed Tarantulas sniffs quietly, rubbing at his eyes with his pedipalps before addressing Purple again, "I suppose I owe you an apology for startling you," he says grudgingly. "And a thank you for bringing Dawn back. What's going on?"

[impostor_syndrome]

Well, fuck, he's got them there. What are they going to say, no I'm not? That'd work about as well as telling the crowd of people around the vent you popped out of that you were just checking on the air conditioning. And trying to think of a good comeback distracted them from squirming around, so he's got one over on them there, too. But really, what were they trying to achieve? Keeping a parent apart from his child, just because he's got bad manners and skittering legs? (What the fuck did they just think? Not wanting to let talking bugs crawl on them makes them the asshole? They have got to get out of here. The atmosphere's really getting to them.)

While Purple's preoccupied with their thoughts, standing there awkwardly with one index finger halfway raised, the spider-people are having a family bonding moment atop their head and shoulders. It actually is kind of touching.

"Thanks," they respond, also a little grudgingly. They point at the thick lumps of thorny vines taking up most of the bandstand. "Party crashers came to ruin everything. I don't know anything about magic, no one can get through the plants, I don't see how we're supposed to stop them."

[tisnotthehouse]

"Ugh, demons." Admittedly Tarantula's eyes are so weak in this form that he can't actually see the stage from here, but deducing that "malicious party-crashers + magical barriers = yet another demonic invasion" is not exactly rocket science. (And yes, he would know.) "We really should have seen that coming...they did something like this last year too." He pats Dawn with a couple spindly legs before announcing, "Well, I'm not sticking around to expose my daughter to yet more of this nonsense. We're going home."

A moment later, he adds, "You can come with us, if you'd like. My shop is very secure."

You know what else is very secure? The top of Purple's head. It'd be nice if he didn't have to climb down just yet.

[impostor_syndrome]

"That's the best idea I've ever heard," they respond. You can leave! Demons at the party, incredibly depressing music, cops if you're quick. Real winners quit. (Like they could ever call themselves a winner- okay, there they go again. Ugh.)

"Is there much of a pattern to it? So I can figure out which parties to skip? The winter ones were fine." Maybe they're doing it to bully Dahlia, since first it was her birthday party and now she's the Flower Queen.

Purple squats down to pick up their now slightly dirty jacket, expecting Tarantulas to hop off their head while it's closer to the ground. Which he doesn't. Fine, they've got bigger problems than a spider smaller than the average Tulip Snake and every bit as clingy sitting on their hat. He can stay there for now. (How is he even doing that? He barely weighs anything in that shape!)

"So I'm supposed to take you there?" they say, skeptically, just to confirm that they've been volunteered to be the getaway vehicle; they're more resigned than offended, and already moving toward the boundary of the park. The sooner they get out of demon range the better.

[tisnotthehouse]

"Not that I've been able to detect so far. Perhaps they're targeting Dahlia?" he suggests, unknowingly echoing Purple's own chair of reasoning. "But it also seems as though they prefer to space out their attacks so we lower our guard. Makes us more entertaining prey, no doubt."

Indeed, Dawn and Tara both have no trouble riding out the changes in Purple's posture and altitude, Dawn even giggling quietly as they stand up again. "If you wouldn't mind," Tarantulas says placidly. "Dawn seems quite fond of you -- and you do have longer legs than her, you know."

Tarantulas could give himself even longer legs than that, but why should he? He and Dawn are both perfectly comfortable where they are.

[impostor_syndrome]

Purple nods, adding some light turbulence to the ride. "So if it's been a suspiciously long time, or it seems like Dahlia would have too much fun if they didn't."

This has to be the only time that anybody's been glad the local impostor already knows where they live, they think, but have enough sense not to say out loud. They're trying to keep a low profile in this town. Ominous, vaguely threatening comments won't help them with that.

"I'm not gonna make your kid carry you home." They sound a bit scornful of the idea. "Are you stuck like that, or do you just not want to get up?"

Let's see, they're facing south, and Tarantulas' shop – the one with the spider-themed name and the purple sign – is on the west side of town. It's not far. They've taken longer walks to get to work in the morning. The demon music's fading into the distance already.

[tisnotthehouse]

"Obviously I'd be the one carrying her," Tarantulas argues, a little stung by the implied slight to his parenting. "I can change size whenever I like. It's just that we're both so wonderfully secure up here. Surely you won't deny a hard-working single father and his adorable progeny a few small comforts?"

Yeah, he'll get down if Purple really insists on it. But first they need to get insistent.

[impostor_syndrome]

"Do not turn into a spider big enough for a child to ride on," is what Purple gets insistent about. "Not if I have to watch."

They have seen enough giant spiders for one lifetime, thank you very much. Is he using their reaction from last time against them? It's hard to tell; he might have said the same thing to anyone.

"Good for you," Purple says, a tad curtly. How come he can change his body mass that much, and that easily? They wish they could do that. (Although if he can only turn into variously-sized spiders and spider-humanoids, that's a tradeoff they wouldn't take. Not even because it's spiders, just the inflexibility of it.)

"Is my head really that comfortable?" They glance at a street sign. Still going the right way. "That's one of the weirder compliments I've received."

[tisnotthehouse]

Tarantulas sniffs disdainfully. "I forgot you were one of the town arachnophobes. Too bad; they're really very delightful creatures when you stop to observe their habits and anatomy. But yes, you make a very serviceable moving platform. I've had less comfortable rides from people who were actual trains."

[impostor_syndrome]

"My objection to being in chomping range of spiders big enough to eat me isn't because I haven't spent enough time getting to know them," Purple complains. "They were all over the place in my last job. I've never actually seen one eat someone who was alive when it found them? But not because they didn't try."

There were a lot of close calls and non-fatal maulings between themselves and their coworkers, but at the end of it Purple's eaten more spiders than they've been eaten by, so they came out ahead in that sense at least.

"Well, thanks. This hat was expensive, so it's good to know I'm getting my money's worth." They pause. "Have you really met train-people?"

[tisnotthehouse]

"I have put far too much time and effort into establishing myself as a productive member of this society to throw it all away by eating someone now," Tarantulas points out, speaking briskly as if this is an old, worn conversation that he's already tired of. "Predation may be effective in emergencies, but it's terrible optics -- especially when may one have to explain themselves to their food the next day. I have no intention of eating you even if the opportunity should arise."

He laughs, however, at Purple's question. "I certainly have!" he says, voice warming. "As well car-people, shuttle-people, even a space station-person or three. I suppose this must be your first exposure to Cybertronians, you poor thing? We're a highly variable species, very specialized at the individual level. I wish I could say it's made us wonderful generalists as a whole, but alas. The dominant culture of the planet, not to mention our world government, has been trending towards authoritarianism for the last ten or twelve million years."

[impostor_syndrome]

This is really awkward and feels almost more like a preemptive scolding in case they let their appetite get the better of them (which they have no reason to, they can eat all the fish they want on the clock, not to mention the ferocious things in the woods, they have so many options they could turn to first) than an admonishment for their aversion to big spiders. They tell themselves there's no way Tarantulas could have found out about that. Nimona's probably put the pieces together by now and some of their coworkers from the fishing boat might suspect something, but the only one they actually said anything to was Dahlia, and as far as Purple knows none of them really hang out with him that much.

At piggyback-ride range, he might still notice the way Purple's shoulders tense up as Tarantulas goes over the subject of people-eating and why it's a bad idea. More defensively than when they were just talking about spiders. "I didn't say you would actually do it. But you see why I'd be nervous, right?"

Oh good, something they can talk about that isn't related to anyone's chances of eating their neighbors. "Not a species I've run into in my universe, no. Do you all turn into different things?" They pause. "Twelve million? I think my species was still figuring out walking upright twelve million years ago."

[tisnotthehouse]

"Right, so I'm explaining to you why you have no logical reason to be nervous," Tarantulas says dryly. "Besides, I'm not even hungry right now. Although Dawn could probably use a snack when we get home..." He taps his forelimbs on the flat crown of Purple's hat. "I think we still have some casserole from the last time Cesar came over, if you're feeling peckish."

With that settled, he turns back to one of his favorite topics: educating the general populace (and Dawn!) about Cybertronians. "We're an exceptionally long-lived species," he says grandly. "I myself am just over six million years old, and I have every expectation of living six million more, at minimum. As will you, darling," he adds to Dawn. "Because you have a Cybertronian spark too, it was calved off from mine when I made you!" Dawn, who has already been told this several times before, merely giggles, much more interested in looking at the houses they walk past.

[impostor_syndrome]

"You make it sound like such an easy task," they grumble. "I believe you about not eating me, or else I wouldn't come over to your house and eat your food. Leftover casserole sounds great, by the way."

They won't get a lot out of it if it's vegetarian, but anything that César can eat should at least be digestible and calories are calories.

"Exceptionally long-lived is right. Is it weird living at the same speed as the rest of us? I bet a boring meeting on your homeworld could go on for longer than this planet's had agriculture."

[tisnotthehouse]

Tarantulas merely hums, neither confirming nor denying that eating Purple would be simple for one such as him. Some things are better left a mystery. :::;3

"A common misconception among shorter-lived species," he remarks, "but actually my sense of time is no different than yours. The sun still rises and sets, an atomic clock ticks at the same rate on Cybertron as it does on Earth. Or Concorde, although without an electron microscope it's not like I can actually check...But I digress. With us the real danger is complacency. It's far too easy to fall into habit, every day much the same as the one before, and let the years slip past you unremarked. That way lies senescence, and eventually obsolescence. Naturally it was precisely the state the Senate found most desirable for the common workers of our kind, pretending that each one of them was an unthinking cog in the great Cybertronian machine -- until Starscream massacred them all. Ironically the Senate had fallen into complacency themselves, and never saw it coming."