ORIGIN

The world had become complicated. Or, at least, Zoisite had found that she was starting to understand the world, and now was starting to pick at the pieces. It made her skin crawl, tugging at where it connected to carapace under coarse fur.

Today, Zoisite did not want to face the difficulties at her doorstep. They were left forgotten, in wake of a mission that had been spent too long on the side lines, waiting for the perfect moment. Destiny, finally, preciously, was being reached toward. The six legged, insectoid creature crept far from home (less far than previous ventures, but--) to a new land, one that was lit in a unique, strange light.

Zoisite had to hold her head back to watch her step, but she stopped every few moments to admire the view, reaching up on to her hind legs so she could stare more easily. The plant life that grew here lived in a different light... Had Venari ever been here?

The Palace drew her attention, but it felt like a place that her stained talons shouldn't touch, and so she tread around it, past it, beyond until a wall of plants blocked her way. They were strangely organized, hedges in straight lines like the perfect walls of the Palace. Curiosity held her heart for a moment, and then...

Bravery. Daring. Desire: Zoisite wanted to see what was beyond, and this harmless request that fired in her mind was met with a simple, deadly whisper. Why not? And so, the talons reached up, and with a scuttling motion, the insectoid creature climbed over the hedges and entered into the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

Flowers in patches and waves, colors blending into one another, all perfectly placed as though by some diligent designer. If the wildflowers had been beautiful, and Venari's patchwork garden breathtaking, this? It was indescribable. The hand of a goddess must have decided what truly should grow and where to make this perfect garden, and Zoisite? Zoisite immediately felt a thousand unseen eyes lock upon it.

It was a trespasser. But immediately, she knew. This was the place where the flower she needed would be growing. If something as small and miserable as a crime stood between her and her -------- if-- if that-- then so be it. Was the Zoisite not also a killer who could not stomach the responsibility? What, then, was something as insignificant as treading on holy ground? She already had made so many worse mistakes.

The Zoisite crept along the edge of the garden, sticking to the shadow in a low, stalking crouch, head tilted sideways to squint at the rows of flowers as she passed. And then, her big dumb head bumped into something soft and squeaky. Every inch of her froze, locking up like a bug under a recently uncovered rock suddenly exposed to sunlight.

Zoisite did not move a single muscle. If she did not move, maybe no one would notice that she had bumped into something. Maybe it would be fine.

Someone squeaked at her. Head twisting, the Zoisite's golden eyes found the source of what she had bumped into: a perfectly innocent looking little green creature. A... A child, even, given her proportions and... "I'm sorry," she said back, mandibles clicking. This was terrible. Immediately, the Zoisite crouched down low to the ground, so as to not tower like a huge, terrifying monster.

... but... then she asked if she was okay? "... Me?" She blinked each of her six eyes one at a time, huddled on the floor. "I'm... fine..." Why was this little creature asking if she was alright? Surely she had knocked her over, probably bruised her...

"... I... I'm sorry," again with the apologies. "Are these your flowers...?" Oh, no.

The little one tried to reassure her, much to the cold shiver down her spine and the quiet, subtle rattle of her quills. The flowers didn't belong to Pollen, but she took care of them, so... it was her responsibility to tend them? But she was so young... She reminded her of Oliver, except more oblivious and naive... oh...

Miss Isra? Who was that? The insectoid creature lowered her head, staring down at her front talons. "My name is..." Did she dare claim a name? What would her family think? But this little gembound, well... If she called her that name, she could claim that it was a nickname, maybe?

"Zoey," she whispered. "... my name is Zoey." Pretty, and beautiful, and lovely, all the things she wasn't quite yet-- but it reminded her of little Mary, that name, and she adored it with a soft, guilty pleasure in her heart. "I'm so sorry," she said again, clicking quietly, moving her mandibles as little as possible so as to not scare the little gembound. "I'm looking for a rare flower to bring to my friend... But, I-- I didn't meant to try and steal Miss Isra's flowers."

Hopefully she wouldn't get in trouble...

Zoey's a pretty name.

Her name. Pretty. She-- she didn't deserve it, yet, but how it made her heart swell. Private, far away from her family, she could be... Pretty. She could be Zoey. The guilt she would later feel could swallow her whole, but in the moment, all she felt was joy.

"Are you sure...?" The kaiju asked, jaws clicking together. Pollen offered to help her, and cautiously, the larger gembound crawled behind as they trekked through the garden. "... I don't have anything for you." It seemed unfair to ask something of Pollen without giving something in return, especially when this flower could do so much for Zoey.

Pollen's kindness was somewhat lost on the Zoisite.

She tried to look around for something along the path, while hunching down and trying to keep attention to where Pollen was, but it was difficult with her upside-down head to keep track of everything at once. One of her talons snagged on a root somewhere and she stumbled, her massive body tumbling into one of the flower beds.

Panic took hold, and she scrambled to her feet, talons slashing the plant life underneath as she tried to right herself. Her quills rattled with alarm, her eyes wide, and she froze in place, covered in mulch and staring down at one of the delicate flowers she had destroyed. She looked up at Pollen, mandibles parting, but no sound came out of her dry throat.

As Zoey flailed and stared, bloodsoaked-colored jaws slacked wide, Pollen has only raised her hand and... well, cooed at her. Again, she was promised that it was okay, but a sweeping glance about the trench she had carved out with her mass told her that it would be a lot of work to fix the flowers she had trampled.

Pollen reached out with her soft, small hand, and the bed of quills lining her body clattered even louder at the sight. At her other end, her tail pincers clacked together, and her talons dug deep into the soil as she steadied herself. She shied away, pulling her head back from the muta. Six, huge golden eyes stared forward, like spotlights shined right at Pollen's outstretched limb.

"Careful," she warned with the barest clip of her mandibles, keeping the deadly scissors held tightly closed so that a swing of her head in a panic wouldn't slice any of the young gardener's limbs (or head) from her body. Pollen showed no fear of her-- foolishly, unfortunate, as it was-- and she retreated back another few, clumsy steps to create space between them, but thankfully the gardener did not push the issue and insist on bringing that soft, squishy hand too close to the deadly pincers. After a few moments, quite slowly, the rattlesnake-esqe rattling of her quills hushed, and she raised her head, craning her neck to peer about the garden.

"... thank you," she spoke in that same, cautious and slow fashion. "I'm okay to continue. I'll be more... careful," she looked back down at her feet, slowly stepping forward on to the path once more. "... Okay." It would be a bit hard to search for the perfect flower while watching her own feet, but the last thing she wanted to do was cause more trouble.