Get Dressed. Get Out There.

“Oh, yeah! That… Smash Bash thing, mhm. I’ve heard of it, but I’m not really big into fighting. Heh, I know enough to imagine it can get pretty intense! I can Definitely see why you bought the Getaway Package.” A chuckle before tossing a smile to Gwen. The intrigue she had for hearing why everyone decided their life needed a full-blown reset was great, but the fighter/racer/island representative’s had to be Pretty high up on the list. “Has it done the trick? S'gotta be more relaxed, right?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Island life’s a lot slower than what I’m used to — in a good way! It’s kind of funny, looking back on it now, but I almost gave up on the whole thing a few times during my first week! IIII… might not have read the pamphlet as closely as I should’ve? I didn’t think I’d spend those days clearing up the land and fending off tarantulas. I’d pictured something a little more vacation-y. But when all that was said and done… well, this island is more like home to me, now.”

Something she’d never really… felt before, to be honest. That feeling of being part of something larger, being something more than just one of countless other Gunners, and taking life day by day… It was nice.

“What about you? You’ve heard my life story — ” or as much as Gwen had been willing to tell of it, Sans costume aside, “ — but I’m sure you’ve got your own reasons for flying out in the middle of nowhere for a fresh start, huh?”

She picked up a rock, attempted to send it skipping out across the ocean — and watched as it immediately plunged into the waves with a pathetic splash, instead. How did Coach always make this look so easy…?

Gwen picked up another rock, for an equally unsuccessful Attempt #2. With any luck, maybe she was scaring away any nearby sea bass, at least.

     A smile sat firmly across the fellow islander’s face while the other finished her tale, ever so slightly amused by the visage of expecting a full-fledged vacation and getting a deserted island filled with weeds, tree branches, and dangerous wildlife. But she could get it. ‘Getaway package’ didn’t exactly paint what said package delivered to her, either. You’d think they’d be reclined in chairs sipping vacation juice. Goodness gracious was that the opposite of what you got during those first few weeks.

     “I’m super happy to hear that it started to work out for you, Gwen. Toughing it out and creating something I could call home with my own two hands was a sensation I never thought I’d feel in my life. Kinda wish Nook’s Cranny stocked elbow grease, though. Would’a made the work a little easier, that’s for sure.” She rolled her eyes at her own joke, chuckle quick and short before the baton was handed over. 

     “Nah, a vacation was the last thing I wanted. Have you ever been out into the city? --Actually, you're a part of that tournament, so I'm sure you've at least seen a birdseye view of th'place. One of your battlegrounds hovers way above it, I remember that much. Folks thought aliens were invadin' for a bit!” She laughed, head reminiscing over the past murmurs an airborne stage high above the bustling city. Not everyone got the memo that their city was going to become quite the hotspot for a universe-renowned fighting tournament.

     “Well, I was raised in the city. And after it was time to take my first steps outta the nest, I found out I was not ready to take on what I was born in, no way. City’ll chew you up and spit you out without thinkin’ for half a second. I learned that the hard way. Was down n' out for a good long while, couldn't hold onto a job for more than a minute. It was only until a friend recommended the Nook Getaway Package to me, said Mr. Nook was a family friend and that his latest program sounded like exactly what I needed. A restart to build a strong foundation on instead'a fumbling with the wreckage I had scraped up with the city-slickers. One thing that's always rung true for me is that I need some kinda goal t'keep my drive up. I'm a workaholic, bonafide. ...But if you're drivin' in the wrong direction for too long, you're eventually gonna get in a wreck, y'know?”

★ @floraphonic​ asked:  “You… you wouldn’t happen to know an owl named Celeste, would you? Wh–… were one of those shooting stars you??” Now, let it be said that Nora was a firm believer that there was tried and true magic in the world. I mean, she owned a star wand that could materialize clothes onto her body with a simple wave and a wish for what she wanted… so long as she owned it. So it wasn’t //too// farfetched. It’s just… She didn’t expect there to actually be Real Star People up there!

❝ wha— oh, no way! ❞  guilt doesn’t settle in when geno guffaws loudly, but only a moment after. ❝ s— sorry, it’s just… i don’t think i could imagine actually being one of those stars! no—— they’re just fragments. they’re wish stars —— vessels of wishes that shatter into fragments when they land. that’s all. i don’t think one of us ever launched ourselves here like that before! ❞

to say they don’t careen through the night sky would be a lie, but the shooting stars people see from their planet are granted wishes, bar none. it’s rare that they’re able to see star folk from where they stand… he thinks.

     Huh. Stars were absolute geeks. Duly noted. 

     His sudden bout of laughter puts a sudden stop on her initial astonishment, instead swapping it out for a flush of pink far past the blush she applied each morning. Despite it, a star fragment was pulled from her pockets, a deeply inquisitive look filling her face as a few steps clicked forward. The shining yellow bit was held out, examining it alongside the living star’s head as if he were a fossil under a diligent owl’s eye. You could almost see the dots above her head...

     “Now tha’cha say it? It’s pretty easy to see just how different you and the fragment are. I just wish I’d noticed sooner!” ...It was a borderline defense mechanism at this point. Might as well make it something they both found funny. Plus, she’d heard worse at the Marquee way back in the city. There were some unabashed chuckles before the fragment was slipped back into her inventory, she had to admit. Had to refer this one to ol’ Shrunk if this kept up. 

@floraphonic​ asked:  Ah… Uhm? Hm. It was an easy thing, working outside. Waving hello to the neighbors as they walk by, starting a small conversation over the fence. The dangers of working outside NEVER included ‘having your work-in-progress shirt worn like a pair of pants by something vaguely animal-like, vaguely human-like, but //Nothing// like anything you’ve ever seen before’. Even still, Nora’s skittish smile rose, tilting her head with the bouncing of bobbed hair. “That’s not how that goes on, honey…”

          In all fairness, Fyuga isn’t used to wearing pants… or a shirt. Or.. well. Anything at all, really. Her fur covers the majority of her body anyways, so she never once felt like she had the need to wear clothes. They were for protection, fashion, and most of all.. to look cool. But Fyuga accomplished (almost) all of that already, and the differences in her body physique made it difficult for her to put on clothes anyways, save for maybe a hat.

         But finding this in-progress shirt, with one sleeve being just short of the other, an obvious sign of a sudden loss of regularly-required materials, and an underside wide enough not only to allow Fyuga to nestle her legs through it and then through the sleeves, but also fit her big, fluffy tails under it… well. Mostly. She had to literally stuff some of her tails into the sleeves with her legs to get them all to fit properly. The result? Well… it looks ridiculous, but it’s cute when you realize this girl doesn’t really have many brains on her.

          The woman, presumably the creator of the pants, points out that what she was doing was incorrect… but Fyuga was more surprised with the fact that she actually found a ‘pair of pants’ that fit her.

     She wouldn’t put a dampen on the other’s fun just because they were halting her work. It was time for a little break anyway. “Looks like the ‘pants’ are wearin’ you... Fyuga, you said?” Sights leave the other, reaching over to her other side of her chair for a second. A trunk was popped open, shoe tapping as fingers rifled through fabrics galore. Cycling through, a bland, white-looking pants pattern was produced, held up to the air. It was an obvious work in progress, even more so than the shirt. Really just for references, a building block. But... she had more, and making a little something was as easy as cutting some holes for her tails.