09-24-2019, 06:35 PM
Poppy – which is what Celina has decided to call @[Popinjay], finding the combination of sounds both easier and more fun to say – grabs a few of the mushrooms without hesitation. Celina watches her with fascination, but pulls back as disgust appears on the bay’s face. Well, mushrooms aren’t ever really delicious, Celina tells herself, and grab a few of her own.
At first they taste not dissimilar to the morels she’s just swallowed, but then the bitterness kicks in. She nearly spits them out, but instead forces herself to swallow, though she rubs a dry tongue against the edges of her sharp teeth as though she can rub the taste away.
“That was, like, super gross.” She admits. She wants to rid the taste from her mouth, and the cool scent of water on stone reminds her that there might be a drink toward the back of the shallow cave. It’s dark back there, and she has a hoof-sized swarm of fireflies float ahead to illuminate her way. ”Gonna get a drink,” she says over her shoulder to Poppy, and kicks through the deep pine needle litter as she looks for the spring.
It’s not much deeper than her muzzle, she finds, most of it disappearing back beneath the granite, but it is enough to quench her thirst and clean the bitter taste from her mouth. Celina nods contentedly, and decides that this odd fuzziness in her head must be the work of the mshrooms.
She is about to tell Poppy that she is feeling them, and turns back to face her friend.
Poppy is there, illuminated against the backdrop of sunlit redwoods, except she is also not Poppy. Celina tilts her head to get a better look at the second purple head that her friend is sporting, but is soon distracted by the way the redwoods start to dance and shift from green to gold to silver.
”Woah.”
At first they taste not dissimilar to the morels she’s just swallowed, but then the bitterness kicks in. She nearly spits them out, but instead forces herself to swallow, though she rubs a dry tongue against the edges of her sharp teeth as though she can rub the taste away.
“That was, like, super gross.” She admits. She wants to rid the taste from her mouth, and the cool scent of water on stone reminds her that there might be a drink toward the back of the shallow cave. It’s dark back there, and she has a hoof-sized swarm of fireflies float ahead to illuminate her way. ”Gonna get a drink,” she says over her shoulder to Poppy, and kicks through the deep pine needle litter as she looks for the spring.
It’s not much deeper than her muzzle, she finds, most of it disappearing back beneath the granite, but it is enough to quench her thirst and clean the bitter taste from her mouth. Celina nods contentedly, and decides that this odd fuzziness in her head must be the work of the mshrooms.
She is about to tell Poppy that she is feeling them, and turns back to face her friend.
Poppy is there, illuminated against the backdrop of sunlit redwoods, except she is also not Poppy. Celina tilts her head to get a better look at the second purple head that her friend is sporting, but is soon distracted by the way the redwoods start to dance and shift from green to gold to silver.
”Woah.”