Three days ago, she awakened with the urge to open her eyes.

There was no reason nor benefit to; everything around them was dark, but it was warm and it was comfortable. It was a dozy sort of half-sentience, how often she was asleep and how often she woke up, she did not know. She was only aware that she was, in fact, somewhere, as a someone, who was unaware of somewhens, thus far.

It was safe. The luxury of living in pure safety was the inability to know most things; just the warmth and the dark, and to do not much else other than to curl up and sleep some more.

Three days since she had opened her eyes, she felt a new urge: to kick.

Nothing bad had happened thus far; without a second thought they reared one leg back and suddenly, with a resounding crack all around them, there was light, and there was cold. The ground itself gave way under her, and all around her was the most curious thing.

Colour. Blues and pinks and whites and purples intertwined among a valley of crystals, reflecting off each other whatever was below. It glistened and, for an instant, it hurt to look at. The cub found that she could do naught else but stare-- stare and stare and stare, even as she began to fall and the miasma of beautiful colour went further and further away.

At impact, she forgot everything: the dark, the safety, the fall. Everything except for the colour.

When she woke up this time it was with a sore back, and a sore leg: things which were, for now, considered normal, if not very nice. Their forepaws drew over their face and they began to push up, head craning to look for the colour.

It was dark now, however, and though streaks of pale, white quartz was high above their head, it didn't look like what they remembered. I have to find it, her little muzzle wrinkled thoughtfully. Where did it go?

Despite the truly absurd frequency he falls from it, Opie loves his home-- as much as a young marsupial with eternally apoplectic rage can love anything, at least. Nestled between other, nearly identical looking derelict buildings, he was totally convinced that his derelict building was the best one that ever existed, thank you very much. And considering the ridiculous amount of energy he'd put into finding it, it had better be.

He was an opossum of standards, and would suffer nothing less during his forced time perched atop a ball of apathetic dirt rocketing endlessly around the void.

Privately, he finds the view to be the most essential part of real estate. He'd rejected an obnoxious number of structures before finding this particular one; he hadn't even really known why at the time; just that they were clearly lacking something essential. One mad scramble to the window ledge here, one beady-eyed squint out there, and things had started to make sense-- Orion's ceiling was breathtaking, and clearly, those other buildings were complete and utter garbage in comparison to this one.

Opie has no real concept of sky and space; Origin's tunnels, though admittedly expansive, are all he knows. He has never seen a horizon or a celestial body, and likely never will. But falling asleep under Orion's luminous quartz deposits each night affords him the same feeling of stargazing-- an existential smallness compared to the largeness of what was above. He finds it strangely soothing. A quiet reminder that the probability of all things existing as they are, in this exact moment, is both infinitesimally unlikely and extraordinary. Even if your own existence is painfully, painfully stupid.

And then a fucking creature falls from the ceiling.

He blinks, half convinced that what he's seeing is some sort of hazy fever-dream. Because, statistically, what are the chances of a fucking creature falling from the sky like a fuzzy, demented comet? Exactly-- either very slim or very, very fat, he rationalizes. How did it even get up there, anyway?

The thing disappears from view; there a sickeningly distinct thump!; and Opie spends the next five minutes or so grooming himself while he calculates the best course of action. He could always just... do nothing, which is his preferred answer to most things. It requires the least amount of effort, and would spare him from the massive amount of idiocy he knows he'll be subjected to otherwise. Admittedly, though, a part of him feels he should have a better idea of what exactly is going on; considering the creature's proximity to his home, and all.

Wait.

The gravity of that thought abruptly hits him in the stomach, and Opie groans at the stunningly bitter realization that he really is going to have to get involved in... whatever this is going to be. "Fuck," he hisses between his teeth, glaring at a nearby quartz deposit as though it were at fault.

Irritated at the forced involvement, the possum takes the scenic route down. This is, of course, the worst possible thing he can do-- his attempt to make it even somewhat enjoyable is, predictably, ruined when his well of energy refuses to cooperate with him for no apparent reason. He ends up tumbling down the makeshift 'stairs,' (a truly impressive pile of rubble leading up to his ledge), with a cacophony of angry shrieks and curses.

He should have just jumped out the window instead, really. The fall might've killed him, and then he would be spared this undeserved torment.

Spitting mad, Opie refuses to find the source of his aggravation at a pace faster than a waddle. He's not entirely sure, but he thinks he'll bite it: first for making him get up, second for causing him some mild bruising, third for existing in general. That seems fair enough; if you ask him.

"Hey!" Opie barks, turning the last corner-- only for every emotion inside of him to decay and instantaneously reform at the sight in front of him. It's all so jarring enough that he stops mid-stride and cocks his head at the tiny... thing, which is annoyingly fluffy and has annoyingly big, cute-looking eyes.

He cocks his head and flashes his teeth in an ironically adorable parody of a threat. "What are you doing down there?"

And then, because he is starting to wonder: "uh... are you supposed to look like that?" Do legs move that way?

@January