03-28-2016, 04:29 PM
Juju doesn’t eat butterflies, though they’re probably very nutritious and part of someone’s balanced diet. She prefers grass and sometimes berries, maybe an apple—bark in the winter even though it gets stuck in her teeth sometimes and is just way too chewy. You know, the usual things. Ripping out throats and the like simply doesn’t appeal to her in the way it might appeal to others. She’s funny like that.
Although, there was that one time she noticed an anthill and just kind of purposely stepped on it and smeared it and kept going. She murdered millions that day (maybe, they probably dug themselves out and swore vengeance on her and she’s probably labeled a menace in all ant societies now and if she ever dies and is reincarnated as a human, they’ll invade her house and fuck up her countertops and she’ll never be able to set anything sweet down anywhere—ever) and didn’t even bat an eye.
Along comes a fellow who overhears what she’s said and she turns to him, her ears swiveling forwards; he seems nice enough, normal enough, but she knows enough (her parents come to mind) to know that not everyone is as they seem. “I doubt I’ll get used to this,” Juju replies, scanning the field for more unusual things. They’re not hard to find, in fact, they seem to overpopulate this place; freaks are in such abundance here that she actually feels like the one that’s out of place. Too ordinary to even be seen among the extraordinary. It’s odd and she doesn’t like it at all. Maybe she’ll go ask the pretty lights later if they know how to get some wings or some shit somewhere. Wings shouldn’t be too much to ask with everything else that’s running around, right?
Er, right?
“I’m Juju,” she says, with a slight incline of her head. It's an odd name but it suits her just fine; besides, it's proof that her mother had a sense of humor to go along with that explosive temper. "I gotta ask, though, man," she grins. "Do you have a staring problem or something?”
Although, there was that one time she noticed an anthill and just kind of purposely stepped on it and smeared it and kept going. She murdered millions that day (maybe, they probably dug themselves out and swore vengeance on her and she’s probably labeled a menace in all ant societies now and if she ever dies and is reincarnated as a human, they’ll invade her house and fuck up her countertops and she’ll never be able to set anything sweet down anywhere—ever) and didn’t even bat an eye.
Along comes a fellow who overhears what she’s said and she turns to him, her ears swiveling forwards; he seems nice enough, normal enough, but she knows enough (her parents come to mind) to know that not everyone is as they seem. “I doubt I’ll get used to this,” Juju replies, scanning the field for more unusual things. They’re not hard to find, in fact, they seem to overpopulate this place; freaks are in such abundance here that she actually feels like the one that’s out of place. Too ordinary to even be seen among the extraordinary. It’s odd and she doesn’t like it at all. Maybe she’ll go ask the pretty lights later if they know how to get some wings or some shit somewhere. Wings shouldn’t be too much to ask with everything else that’s running around, right?
Er, right?
“I’m Juju,” she says, with a slight incline of her head. It's an odd name but it suits her just fine; besides, it's proof that her mother had a sense of humor to go along with that explosive temper. "I gotta ask, though, man," she grins. "Do you have a staring problem or something?”