Basket Case
IC Date:
Word Count: 673
IC Date:
Word Count: 673
The thirty-first of October was drawing nearer, ushering in a bustle of activities both within this local chapter of the YMCA and without. Halloween's orange and black tendrils had appropriately spread throughout Destiny City, as it had with the rest of the country, and once again managed to beat back the enchroaching red and white epidemic that was the expanding Christmas season. The loss of Thanksgiving was mourned years ago; the turkeys had little chance. It may as well have been renamed "mini practice Christmas." But Rhys remembered; she remembered so many of the human holidays and celebrations in this region. They were a reminder of Earth's unique culture, and how it should be protected from the scourge from space. Halloween, of course, included. This holiday was as much about friends, family, and neighborhood ties as it was about being scared pantsless.
She did not much appreciate that Halloween put cats on the scary pedistal, but it was reassuring that there were few people who took that aspect seriously. Rhys and her magical girls were their unsung heroes, after all!
It was all of this sentiment that brought forth a healthy feeling of confused disappointment in the Mauvian at the sight in front of her. It looked like it had been mangled by a lawnmower, but also inexplicably created purposefully as such, like the creation of an angry god. There were patches of yellow and purple where there shouldn't have been, creating sickly bruises to compliment the splintered bones protruding from a lumpy surface. There were lesser animals on the side of the road that looked more put together that this thing.
It was, to put it simply, the saddest woven Halloween basket Rhys had ever seen in all of her (remembered) born days.
The kid had potential, she knew. The ragamuffin had watched most of the themed basket weaving classes since the teacher had taken pity on the supposidly stray cat during the late-autumn cold snap. In return, she purred and rubbed on legs encouragingly for everyone present. Which, insidentally, was also what landed her at the YMCA snug and warm after hours.
The class was making orange and black Halloween wicker baskets this week; the younger ones for themselves to trick-or-treat, older ones for their offspring, and a few from the local Girl Scout chapter out to get their basketweaving badges.
Rhys could have forgiven the jarring mess if she thought this girl, Jan, had done her absolute best. There was no shame in failing such a pasttime if one truly tried - nothing serious was on the line as with the war. But Rhys had watched Jan hastily lay down uneven spokes, weave poor thatches, and generally not care if the outcome was servicable or aethetically pleasing. And it was not that Jan was lazy - quite the opposite. Jan wanted to achieve quickly as an added show of pride. She was technically about a day and a half ahead of everyone on her basket. The girl would have to learn that quick did not equate to efficient. This was her potential, and it hurt Rhys to see it wasted so. If it was one of her agents, it would be easy to simply give them a pep talk to straighten them out (assuming there was as little as a wicker basket on the line, else she would also have to quietly report them as well). But here, the Mauvian's voice was useless and her pawings misinterpretted.
So Rhys would have to paw harder.
She brandished her claws and put the ailing thing out of its misery. It was short work because of the poor construction, at least. Some reeds splintered after existing at such odd angles for so long, but most unwound simply and coiled in a pile. No one would suspect her - after all, no other basket would have been touched and Jan's was not exactly stable. She could begin again, with a fresh lesson. Rhys took good care of all of her children.
She did not much appreciate that Halloween put cats on the scary pedistal, but it was reassuring that there were few people who took that aspect seriously. Rhys and her magical girls were their unsung heroes, after all!
It was all of this sentiment that brought forth a healthy feeling of confused disappointment in the Mauvian at the sight in front of her. It looked like it had been mangled by a lawnmower, but also inexplicably created purposefully as such, like the creation of an angry god. There were patches of yellow and purple where there shouldn't have been, creating sickly bruises to compliment the splintered bones protruding from a lumpy surface. There were lesser animals on the side of the road that looked more put together that this thing.
It was, to put it simply, the saddest woven Halloween basket Rhys had ever seen in all of her (remembered) born days.
The kid had potential, she knew. The ragamuffin had watched most of the themed basket weaving classes since the teacher had taken pity on the supposidly stray cat during the late-autumn cold snap. In return, she purred and rubbed on legs encouragingly for everyone present. Which, insidentally, was also what landed her at the YMCA snug and warm after hours.
The class was making orange and black Halloween wicker baskets this week; the younger ones for themselves to trick-or-treat, older ones for their offspring, and a few from the local Girl Scout chapter out to get their basketweaving badges.
Rhys could have forgiven the jarring mess if she thought this girl, Jan, had done her absolute best. There was no shame in failing such a pasttime if one truly tried - nothing serious was on the line as with the war. But Rhys had watched Jan hastily lay down uneven spokes, weave poor thatches, and generally not care if the outcome was servicable or aethetically pleasing. And it was not that Jan was lazy - quite the opposite. Jan wanted to achieve quickly as an added show of pride. She was technically about a day and a half ahead of everyone on her basket. The girl would have to learn that quick did not equate to efficient. This was her potential, and it hurt Rhys to see it wasted so. If it was one of her agents, it would be easy to simply give them a pep talk to straighten them out (assuming there was as little as a wicker basket on the line, else she would also have to quietly report them as well). But here, the Mauvian's voice was useless and her pawings misinterpretted.
So Rhys would have to paw harder.
She brandished her claws and put the ailing thing out of its misery. It was short work because of the poor construction, at least. Some reeds splintered after existing at such odd angles for so long, but most unwound simply and coiled in a pile. No one would suspect her - after all, no other basket would have been touched and Jan's was not exactly stable. She could begin again, with a fresh lesson. Rhys took good care of all of her children.
