ORIGIN

A brightly coloured rock lay in the tunnels, undisturbed. There was a peaceful silence until it jerked with an abrupt, out of place jerk. It wasn't still for long after that, as the rock began moving violently until it cracked and splintered open, and tumbling out came a pathetic looking, scrawny little flamingo.

It wasn't pink, no. It was more a blue-grey colour, and had five tiny little horns crowning it's skull. It was wet and stood there in wide-eyed silence for a moment, spindly long legs shaking with the new weight they carried. Finally, it shook itself dry and settled down peacefully to look up and down the tunnels.

Half-embedded in the dirt of Tunnel N lay a mound of rough pink spires, light occasionally glancing off of its edges. It had been there for many days, hidden in the relative darkness nearer to tunnel's Orion entrance, and had yet to so much as twitch. Today, however, it seemed the occupant was ready to meet the world, and dull bangs issued from within, the chrysalis jerking and jumping with every sound. Finally, with a loud crack! and the thump of one of the spires falling to the floor, a hole was busted out of the gemstone egg.

Inside, curled up as if too afraid - or, in this case, too lazy - to venture forth, lay a tiny skunk of pure white, with pink pawpads, a pink nose, and blood red eyes, which darted about, not sure what, if anything, to focus on. With a great yawn, gemstone teeth twinkling in the light, the Gembound heaved herself up and out of her nest, tumbling onto the floor with a grunt. Shaking her head, the skunk stood up on shaky legs - before promptly falling back down and giving up with a sigh. Her ears perked up when she noticed the creature nearby, but she said nothing, watching silently.

The flamingo's head lifted abruptly and it turned to see where a hollow thump had come from. There was a pause before he hobbled forward, webbed feet flopping comically. His neck craned down to peer at the skunk before he produced an oddly quiet, delightled honk.

Honey! he said, perhaps too happy for his own good. What's your name, sweetie?

He stepped back a little, fuzzy 'wings' (if you could call them that) flapping around slightly in excitement.

The skunk stared at the gangly creature as it approached, seemingly more curious than afraid. She tilted her head when he spoke, and tried to open her jaw to mimic his movements - and found it couldn't quite open all the way. Frustrated, she opened and closed her mouth, quartz teeth clacking together in the empty tunnel. Finally, a reply, so soft it could go unheard completely. "Fffff... leuuuur." She scratched at her nose in frustration, breath whistling. "Fleur. Name... Fleur."

Her tail wagged a bit at her success, and the tiny white fluffball beamed up at the flamingo, gaze open and entranced. "You... tall." Fleur's attention was drawn to the bird's own gem - or, well gems, glinting in the light. "Pre-tty," she murmured, patting her paws on the ground happily.

The hatchling honked loudly, preening somewhat. Fluer! Wonderful, sweetie, you are not too bad yourself, somehow, the flamingo seemed to have somehow mastered speech already. I am Florence. You may call me Flo, hun.

Florence made some space for the skunk, gleeful as ever. Are you hungry? he asked.

The compliment-slash-insult flew right over the kit's head, and Fleur simply stared up at the bird, startling a bit at his exuberant honk. Florence, she thought, determined to remember the name. His question was met with another round of frustrated teeth-clacking and jaw-moving, until she was able to choke out a short "yes," struggling to rise to her feet.

Fleur managed to stand, tail waving for balance, and she grinned up at Florence, smile glinting in the light - it wasn't every day you saw a mouth full of gemstones, after all. "Hunnnngry!" Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, though Florence himself didn't look very filling, so she simply stared at him, red eyes patiently awaiting guidance.

He nodded and set off. So, darling Fluer, what do you eat? he asked. For whatever reason he seemingly decided to put the skunk's dietary needs in front of his own.

Not that he knew what he even wanted to eat. He assumed he could eat whatever his new friend would - and if he was wrong then so be it. But he doubted that he was wrong in the first place, of course.

He continued to trudge on, eyeing the moss on the walls.

The question seemed to stump Fleur, who simply continued waddling beside her feathered companion. A pink tongue peeked out to lick at her muzzle, and teeth clacked as she rotated her jaw, thinking. Finally, the skunk glanced up at Florence, wincing away from the streams of light piercing into the tunnel. A grunt, and then a frustrated squeak, and the skunk pawing at her own mouth, tiny claws scratching at her gemstone teeth. "C-c-can't..."

An exhausted growl, and Fleur shook her head, tiny ears flopping about. "Food. Don't... know. What." The words were short, clipped, but she perked up once they were out, wide, bushy tail wagging. At the mere thought of food, many images flashed through her mind, from berries, to rats, to the decomposing corpses of larger animals. Whatever she was, it appeared she ate... well. Anything.

There was a pause, as if Florence only just realised Fluer was having issues speaking. He turned and leaned down, long neck craning all the way down to peer at the little skunk's mouth. Are you alright? he asked quizzically.

He watched the skunk's mouth move when she replied, thoughtfully. If she could barely talk, she could probably barely eat, too. He hoped this wouldn't be the case, at least.

Fleur blinked, and it seemed the flamingo's beak just.. appeared, right in front of her face. With a startled grunt, she teetered over, falling back onto her rump with a squeak. His question made the skunk tilt her head to one side, confused. Alright? Oh! The bird must have meant her heavy, aching jaw and head, which slumped whenever she wasn't actively trying to keep it in place. "Face... heavy."

She opened her mouth as wide as it would go - which wasn't wide at all. It seemed her gem had incompletely fused her jaw to her skull, making moving it at all a bit of a miracle. Heavy, cold, bright pink teeth lined the skunk's mouth, and she tapped at a fang, wincing at the screech of claw on rock. "Hard to. Talk." Indeed, every word spent a spear of pain racing from the newborn's cheeks to her head, and she winced again, pawing at the ground in discomfort.