#human!bitty

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

———-

As a true testament to Brassberry’s exhaustion, the scent and sound of a potential house fire didn't wake him. It did, however, summon our remaining housemates, who made their entrances to the scene of the crime against breakfast in a rather grandiose fashion. As a side note, this also did not wake Brassberry though YanYan and Cap must have passed right by his prone, drooling form on the couch during their heroic charge to the kitchen.

Cap exploded through the doorway, blue and orange eyelights darting frantically around the kitchen warzone that Cherry and I had created. The moment he spotted me in all of my wearing-the-ingredients glory, he rushed over, scooping me into his hands and lifting me up to his face to scrutinize me for injuries or impending death. With a surprising gentleness, his large thumb wiped the flour from my face. I saw actual tears in his sockets as he gave me a relieved nuzzle with minimal bitty-crushing involved. I guess he took his bitty protection assignment really seriously, so I patted him and murmured reassurances about my safety and his diligence.

My vantage point pressed against Cap's cheekbone also gave me an unobstructed view of YanYan in all of his dramatic glory as he very literally swept into the room like a Southern belle descending a grand staircase to swoon over the news of her husband's untimely death… complete with ensemble. Yanyan wore an absolutely normal black satin teddy, the pinnacle of comfort and luxury, but he'd also thrown on a sheer black floor-length cover-up complete with feather trim. He delicately fished a slice of lime out of one of his sockets, tossing it carelessly into the sink before assessing the situation that must have dragged him from his requisite beauty sleep. Wait, did skeletons use limes on their sockets instead of cucumbers?

I held back a hysterical giggle imagining tiny pancakes instead of limes or cucumbers.

Yanyan sighed, then strode over to the counter to peer at the singular pathetic not quite pancake. "SOMEONE OTHER THAN BRASSBERRY TRIED TO MAKE BREAKFAST AGAIN, DIDN'T THEY?" His tone held absolutely no surprise. How often did this happen?

Cherry sniffled from his spot on the floor, trying to control his sobbing enough to squeak out an apology, but Yanyan quickly shushed him.

"IT LOOKS A LOT BETTER THAN MY LAST ATTEMPT," he commented, actually kneeling down to place a hand on Cherry's shoulder. That’s right, Yanyan knelt on the dirty kitchen floor, in the rubble of our disaster area and actually initiated a comforting touch on our smallest (aside from me, of course) housemate. Cherry leaned into the touch, and Yanyan swallowed his uncertainty and let him.

Lil Bro grabbed a mug, and a bottle of syrup from the cupboard. He filled the mug with syrup, then tore up the failed pancake and tossed it in as well. I got strong "hot cocoa with miniature marshmallow" vibes despite the unusual substitutions. There’s a thin line between “not a picky eater” and “consuming actual garbage,” and Lil Bro shuffled past that line, mug in hand.

We all watched in horrified awe as Lil Bro chugged his beverage.

When he finished, he laid his hand on Cherry's other shoulder. "tastes a lot better than my last attempt." The magic words soothed Cherry’s panic to a controllable level.

Cherry let out a wheezy little chuckle, and Lil Bro and Yanyan shared a quick glance over his back that clearly stated that they'd accomplished their mission of consoling Cherry for the low, low price of a bit of humility and choking down a mug of syrup-lubed inedible pancakes.

With the entire crisis now truly averted and nobody eager to start cleaning up the mess, we discussed some alternatives for breakfast. Unfortunately, breakfast time slipped away during the course of our misguided cooking attempts, but that also meant that restaurants were now open for the early lunch crowd. Cap suggested grabbing some Grillby’s to go, and with only one house member abstaining from the vote (due to sleep), the decision was unanimous. 

I doubted Brassberry would've dissented anyway. He loved Grillby’s, and even if that fact had changed since yesterday morning, his only other choice for a meal had been utterly destroyed by culinary ineptitude. Collectively, the housemates and I opted to close the door on the kitchen and simply leave the problem for the future, a future in which we move to a new house with a not-ruined kitchen.

These aren't the droids you're looking for. Ignore that man behind the curtain. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. What kitchen disaster? Now, I have no idea how those pop culture references played out due to limited TV access, but I'm sure things worked out just fine with minimal effort from those involved. I'm usually right, except when it comes to pancake measurements. 

In hindsight, Cherry and I probably would've gotten the same results if we just used bombs like Mettaton suggested….

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*The Bittyswap idea I am using comes from a conversation I had with @staxurst awhile ago after she drew herself bitty-sized with a full-sized skeleton. Ammazolie also drew a similar concept. There is also an entire AU called bitty!reader with a similar premise but different plot. In conclusion, no need to ask. I don’t own the idea, only my own in-progress plot within the idea. Have fun with it!

*Also, you’re not a dumbass. Nobody has asked this before! 

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

When Brassy woke me up far too early the next morning with the less than appealing offer to join him at his Snowdin Forest sentry station for the day, I politely declined by way of disgruntled groaning to express exactly how much I did not want anything to do with that idea. As much as I enjoy the prospect of slowing freezing to death while simultaneously succumbing to SOUL-crushing boredom, I could put aside my own selfish desires in favor of lazing about in the comfort of my bed, faithfully awaiting my owner’s return.

I only hope that someday my sacrifices will be recognized and rewarded.

I rolled over and resumed my oh-so-attractive signature combination of snoring and drooling, ignoring Brassy as he shuffled around his room getting dressed and stalling to give me plenty of opportunities to decide that I really love frostbite and completely despise comfort. With a pointed sigh, he left. I could hear the heavy thumps of his boots on the stairs and the muffled rumble of his voice as he bade our housemates farewell.

I wondered if YanYan would stop by, but I doubted he’d come within 100 feet of the disaster area that was Brassberry’s room. YanYan had lofty standards. Fortunately for me, nobody else in the house had standards or respect for privacy.

Brassy’s side of the bed hadn’t even cooled down before Cap and Cherry burst through the door to invite me downstairs to watch TV with them. I admired their ability to muster that kind of enthusiasm before noon, so I agreed. Cherry hurried to pick me up before Cap had a chance. I gave the timid skeleton a grateful smile. While Cap seemed to understand how fragile and squishy I am, he still struggled to control his immense strength when it came to handling me.

Cherry carried me in his cupped hands like a captured firefly that he didn’t want to injure. As our procession of two and a half passed YanYan’s room, the house diva made an appearance. He informed me that he planned to go dancing at an exclusive club and invited me along, but the thought of pulse-pounding house music rattling my tiny body to pieces did not sound like my idea of a good time either. I stuck with the original plan, much to YanYan’s poorly disguised disappointment.

I didn’t let the guilt swallow me because I’m just not that into vore, but any lingering misgivings about my choice of activity evaporated completely when Cherry showed me his collection of designer sugar cereals. Bright colors, cartoon mascots, and breakfast marshmallows abounded as the usually timid skeleton extolled the virtues of each individual cereal. After a heated debate, we opted for fruit rings and marshmallows. Cap poured himself some cinnamon squares, and I gloated, the true winner because they both offered me bites of their food which I happily dipped into the cold milk in their bowls.

The three of us piled onto the living room sofa, displacing the resident couch lump who teleported off to quieter pastures.

I snacked through several monster cartoons spanning the duration of a fruit ring, a marshmallow, and a cinnamon square, which left a patina of sugary sparkle on me. The characters and musical numbers were appealing, but I missed some of the humor. I suspected the shows contained lots of inside jokes. I may be fashion forward, but I am way behind on current monster memes, though I did get a laugh from some scenes involving ridiculous Temmies.

At first, I lost track of how much time passed in front of the television. The empty cereal bowls sat on the coffee table as episode after episode of monster cartoons melted together into a mess of colors and sound effects. I noticed Cherry and Cap shooting surreptitious glances at the wall clock during each commercial break, and soon I joined them, anxiously watching the numbers climb past the time when Brassberry usually returned home from work.

The cartoons on the TV screen played on, forgotten, as Cap, Cherry, and I divided our attention between watching the clock and staring at the door. It wasn’t uncommon for Brassberry to be late, but he’d only gone to his Snowdin sentry station and no amount of dawdling could possibly explain his lateness.

Three concerned faces lit up when the door finally swung open only to fall again when a rapidly texting YanYan strolled in. We couldn’t help our reactions, but I know we hurt YanYan’s feelings even if he would never admit it. Nothing ruins a sense of self-importance quite like housemates who greet your return with dismayed scowls.

YanYan huffed and stomped up the stairs, fingers tapping his phone screen furiously as he gossiped about the monsters he’d encountered at the club. Or maybe he was looking for a new apartment with more enthusiastic roommates. My heart went out to YanYan, but we had a much more pressing matter to focus on.

Grim thoughts of Brassberry’s single HP occupied all of our thoughts. Nobody voiced the concern, but we all wondered if some accident had befallen him. What else would prevent him from returning home? We kept coming back to the same unanswered question:

Where was Brassberry?

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

I guess I’m not very savvy on how monster jobs work because I was under the impression that when you had a job, you had to go to it and actually do something. Brassberry had a talent for defying expectations, so instead of doing anything even remotely sentry-like, we spent the day strolling around Waterfall and sight-seeing. One of the sights we saw was Brassy’s unoccupied sentry station.

I pointed at it and raised a questioning brow, but Brassy just laughed. The sound was as deep and rich as his voice, and I honestly loved to hear it.

“What?” he said. “I don’t always sit at my sentry station.”

“Yes, from what I’ve heard, most of the time you’re napping there,” I joked. He snorted, but didn’t deny it.

“I take my job very seriously. In fact, I’m investigating the illegal human!bitty trade right now,” he said, peering down at me as I hung over the edge of his pocket, enjoying both the view and conversation from my safe little alcove.

“I feel very investigated,” I said with mock solemnity. “So Mr. Illegal Human!bitty Trade Operative, who’s the culprit in these illicit activities?” I had a sneaking suspicion that it was an inside job. The evidence? Me.

“Are you asking me to blow my cover, Rookie?” he accused. I giggled. I couldn’t help it. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

He gasped, pretending to be affronted. “Who, me? I would never!” 

“It’s always the last person you suspect!”

He patted the top of my tiny head very gently, and we shared several minutes of good hearty laughter. I demanded to know why the rookie didn’t have her own official (very small) badge.

My mood began to falter when I realized our winding route had taken us along a little footbridge and into the Dump. Brassy offered to find me a badge among the discarded human and monster debris, but the humor of our earlier conversation had been lost to my memories.

“I used to live here,” I whispered as my eyes swept along the ground looking for any sign of other human!bittys like myself. I recalled the lack of human!bittys at the Temmie shop, and my eyes darted around frantically, searching for something, anything to show that human!bittys still lived here. Brassberry stopped walking when he noticed my preoccupation. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked before quickly correcting himself. “Is it something you can tell me about?” 

I considered my response for a long while before saying anything. I decided to share my observation with Brassy. As much as I trusted him with my own life, this would be a suitable test to see if I could trust him with information about my fellow human!bittys. I doubted he could use what I was about to tell him against us, and I didn’t think he’d share something told to him in confidence. I just knew that Brassy had different loyalties than I did, loyalty to a King and his Royal Scientist who were dedicated to eradicating the human!bitty infestation.

“There used to be a lot of human!bittys around here. This is where the Temmies used to catch us.” I gestured broadly, indicating the entire Dump without pointing out any specific hiding places- just in case.

He nodded, but didn’t comment. Had he already known? 

.“Do you think you’re the last one?” he finally asked, voice subdued.

His question shocked me. “No.” I answered without hesitating, but I didn’t elaborate on my sure answer. 

I’d given Brassberry a piece of nearly useless information, and in exchange, he’d told me, with one sympathetic question, everything I needed to know about the monsters experimenting on us.

They didn’t know our numbers were static. They didn’t know we never truly died. After all, human SOUL energy can only be transferred, not created or destroyed.

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

Since I am a highly illegal trade commodity and Brassberry is supposed to be in charge of my species’ ultimate extermination, we agreed that I should stay safely hidden in his pocket until we got to the Temmie village. That option suited me just fine; Brassy’s jacket pocket was lined with soft fabric and smelled wonderfully of worn leather. I actually dozed off during the walk- snug, warm, and safe in my little private hideaway.

An incredibly rude bony digit poked me awake when we arrived. Shopping with Brassy turned out to be quite an experience. First, we stopped at a shop selling human!bitty clothing and accessories. Trying on clothes and shoes felt like my own tiny Heaven until I started comparing the fit and quality to the clothes YanYan had made for me. It reminded me of how he’d shunned me, how I’d hurt him. 

I couldn’t even enjoy the miniature fur-lined, hooded cloak in deep forest green that Brassy purchased for me because YanYan would’ve thought it looked fabulous. The sassy skeleton would probably never even look at me again. Brassberry sensed my change in mood and decided a quick venue switch would solve everything. 

It didn’t.

We went to a dumb shop full of dumb curios, and every time I glanced at something for more than 1.2 seconds, Brassy bought it, thinking I’d want to decorate his room with things that I liked. Nothing says home sweet home like a garishly iridescent unicorn statue or one of those weird doll-sized couches in the shape of a leopard print high heel.

An appeal to my materialistic nature hadn’t worked, so Brassy plied me with ice cream instead. I have to assume he didn’t understand the ramifications of a freezing dessert on my absolutely minuscule human!bitty body. Why would he take me all the way out to the Temmie village to kill me with hellish brain freeze when he could’ve just dropped me outside in Snowdin? I smiled and suffered, not wanting to hurt the big guy’s delicate feelings.

“Do you want to go back home?” Brassy asked me with an expression that hinted at some very hurt feelings. Dammit. I nodded.

The winding path of our shopping trip had circumnavigated the Temmie shop where I’d been sold, but in the interest of saving time and effort, we strolled past it on our way back to Snowdin. The windows of the shop, usually bustling with human!bitty activity, stood empty.

“That’s strange,” commented Brassy offhandedly. My gut twisted with anxiety. 

“Maybe they hid the human!bittys because they knew you were coming,” I joked, trying and failing to produce a convincing laugh.

“Pfft, nah. They never hide the human!bittys from me.” Why would a merchant hide their wares from an enthusiast?

Despite the cool weather of Waterfall, and my near death-by-ice-cream, I began to sweat. No way could the huge skeleton miss the obvious signs of distress written all over my face and body. I had a sneaking suspicion as to why the human!bitty cages stood empty, but could I trust Brassberry enough to share the information?

Could I lie convincingly enough to hide it?

Human!bittys have their secrets.

Our existence depends on it.

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

I never really considered Death by Oatmeal to be an option. I mean, who’s clumsy enough to fall into a container of oatmeal large enough to drown in? Me, apparently. Maybe whoever wrote my obituary would be kind enough to say that I died searching for dinosaur eggs. As the edible quicksand swallowed me up, the heat of it finally penetrated my clothing. I couldn’t even scream despite the fact that my skin felt as it were melting into my bones.

Honestly, I wished death would hurry up, but instead of impending doom, two hands rushed at me, scooping me out of the goop and into the blessed cool air. Caked in oatmeal, I couldn’t make sense of the babble of voices, but the hands around me were huge. They could only belong to one skeleton, the one whose voice yowled in a pain that mirrored my own- Cap.

Cap the bitty killer. Cap, the gullible giant who I had lied to and threatened, had thrust his unprotected hands into blazing hot mush to save my life. Gratitude overwhelmed until I heard a strange sizzling sound and a shout. Stars, did Cap think I was a raw oatmeal cookie? I knew it! I knew they were trying to eat me! Dammit, I trusted them! I-

-was doused in a torrent of freezing cold water. The spray hit me like a magical attack, and if Cap hadn’t been cradling me securely in his hands, I would’ve been washed right down the drain. My panic subsided with the overpowering burning sensation. In fact, I soon began to shiver at the rapid temperature change.

“You gotta get her out from under the water, Cap.” I’d recognize that drawl anywhere. Swiping dried, pasty oatmeal from my eyes, I looked around. Sure enough, everyone was on their feet ready to save the day except Lil Bro.. I guess he figured the other would take care of it. Cherry sobbed brokenly, still clutching his breakfast spoon in one hand. Brassy stood next to Cap, trying to pry me from his mate’s hands. Unfortunately the cooled oatmeal held me pasted to Cap’s palm.

YanYan’s gaze focused on me like a laser. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was worried, but worrying leads to wrinkles. No way would YanYan risk it. Feigning disinterest, even though he’d obvious considered me worthy of standing up for, he commented irritably: “Way to ruin an outfit, Vex.” Thanks YanYan.

“This one is already outdated anyway,” I grumbled at him. The very corner of his mouth lifted, practically an ear-to-ear smile from someone like YanYan. 

As Brassyberry tried to figure out how to release me from my whole grain prison, Cherry’s sobs quieted. The low murmur of Lil Bro’s voice, interrupted by the occasional post-panic attack hiccup soothed my nerves. I pondered. It didn’t take me long to realize that I’d have to chew my way to freedom. Breakfast had become a physical and emotional gauntlet, and I desperately hoped this wasn’t some sort of normal meal ritual at the skeleton house.

I patted one of Cap’s fingers, and he whimpered. Poor guy had burned his hands saving me. “I’m going to have to eat the oatmeal,” I informed my not-as-captive-as-me audience. Cap decided that the panic attack void left by Cherry needed to be filled immediately.

“Don’t bite me! Don’t bite me!” he wailed. 

“I’m not going to bite you, Cap!” I bellowed, trying to break through his raw terror before he accidentally (or purposefully) squashed me. “Just hold still!” Cap froze. I briefly toyed with the idea of instructing him to do the Hokey Pokey, but it was oatmeal time!

I must’ve eaten at least a full tablespoon of hardened mush. Not a big deal for a full-sized monster, but for a human!bitty? I thought I might explode. Once I’d finally consumed enough of the oatmeal, I managed to wiggle myself loose only to stumble awkwardly and almost fall off of Cap’s hand platform. My stomach ached, my body burned, and the effort of escaping had exhausted me completely. Brassy caught me as I fell.

There’s a moral to this twisted tale of judgment, deception, and hot cereal. You can’t always judge someone by their extensive list of brutal murders. Sometimes people and monsters just need a second (or fourth) chance.

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

Once again I awoke to a face filling my vision. This time, however, it was Brassberry staring at me. How long had he been standing over me like this? Would I ever be able to sleep without being watched? Had he noticed me drooling on one of the many pillows he’d gathered for me? In the short time I’d been here, the big, buff, skelepuff had built me what seemed like a luxurious palace of soft pillows and blankets. A plush palace in under two days? My owner apparently cared quite a bit about my comfort.

When I yawned and stretched, Brassy beamed, displaying alarmingly sharp teeth like a proud owner with a new, adorable kitten. I considered sneezing for his amusement, but I do not do kitten sneezes. I do creating-a-multi-nostril-cyclone-of-booger-mist sneezes. They are not cute. In fact, if Brassy saw that, he’d probably return me to the Temmie shop.

Instead, I returned his smile with one of my own as he carefully laid out some clothing and a bitty-sized tub of warm water so I could start the day fresh and clean. Speaking of fresh and clean, during my sojourn with the house fashionista, someone had cleaned Brassy’s room to make space for my clothing and dispose of any offending food garbage. Was Brassberry trying to impress me? It worked. 

The free range herds of clothing that once roamed the wide open spaces of the floor had been corralled into hampers. Hampers! Someone had painstakingly rebuilt the fallen ruins of Shelf City, and the shelves were organized. Organized! I could see the computer desk and several other flat unoccupied surfaces with my own two eyes! He had a desk, the top of a dresser, and two nightstands! Amazing!

I’d missed family breakfast yesterday, but today Brassy carried me downstairs to the dining room, primped and preened and looking stunning in a tiny cable-knit sweater and leggings from the local (very local!) boutique and placed me gently in the center of the table. The other occupants of the house greeted me with warm smiles, except YanYan because I don’t think he does anything warmly. His smile was aloof, but at least he seemed to find me worthy. Even Cap smiled. 

It felt strange to think I’d feared being eaten by these very same monsters less than two days ago. Now I sat on their dining table, completely safe.I noticed that everyone ate something different. Five plates hosted five entirely different meals, and then there was the platter just slightly to my left. I wondered who planned to eat this steaming, towering monument of breakfast foods. Were there more monsters living here that I hadn’t met yet? Confused, I searched the faces around me. They were expectant, but expectant of what?

Brassy wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. I glared; he sweated. “I, uh, didn’t know what ya liked for breakfast, so, um, I kinda made ya a little of everything?” His embarrassment caused him to say the last word like a question. I could’ve sworn that YanYan snorted, but there’s no way he’d ever admit to making such an undignified noise. 

I walked over to the edge of the table where Brassy’s pale hand rested and patted it. “I think you made a little too much for me... ok, a lot too much for me, but thank you.” I kissed one phalange and went to the overflowing plate to try to choose something suitable.

Steam rose from the offerings like a fragrant mist. I poked at what appeared to be a burned quiche, and the entire pile wobbled dangerously. I doubted my breakfast was structurally sound, and it made me nervous at my small size. It was nice not to be part of the menu, but I would feel better if I wasn’t in danger of being squashed by said selection.

“That piece of bacon is bigger than you are, Vexy,” chirped Cherry in his childlike voice. “Brassy, maybe she should eat some of the dinosaur egg oatmeal like me an’ Cap,” he suggested. Good boy.

Brassy tried to hide the fact that my rejection of his efforts stung, but we both knew the smallest family member had a point. I couldn’t safely food-Jenga anything loose from the large plate without risking toppling it. With a sigh, Brassy grabbed the plate he’d prepared for me and scraped its contents onto his own plate. At least it wouldn’t go to waste.

“I’ll make ya somethin’ smaller next time,” he grumbled, and I knew his feelings were hurt. Subdued, I slunk over to Cherry’s cereal bowl and hoisted myself on the rim to peer inside. Piping hot oatmeal blasted my face with steam.

“Watch!” Cherry was so excited to have my attention and eager to show me the dinosaur eggs that went with the oatmeal. He poured a small packet of candy “dinosaur eggs” into the oatmeal, and the heat melted the outer shell to reveal dinosaur shapes sinking into the tar pit of hot cereal.

The process fascinated me, so much so that I leaned forward for a better view...

... and tumbled headfirst into the scalding mush.

My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.

I didn’t bother opening my eyes right away when I woke up; instead I luxuriated in the plush comfort of the pillow I laid upon. I survived. I had a home. I could really be happy like this! I yawned and stretched languorously, opened my eyes, and screamed. A bone white (literally) visage filled my vision, one eyelight glowing white, the other that lovely shade of gold and orange. My scream woke Brassy, who sat straight up in bed, colliding skull to skull with YanYan with a sickening CLACK.

Hands flew to smarting faces. Brassy gave a grumpy half-awake snarl.

“What the fuck, Brassy!” YanYan shouted indignantly.

Brassy sat up in bed, and I scrambled over to stand next to him, my legs wobbling from the plush mattress. “What are you doing in my room so early, YanYan?” Brassy’s voice carried the grumble of sleep on top of its usual deep sonorous tones.

“It’s past 10 in the morning, Brassy,” YanYan sniffed haughtily, “and I need the human.” Oh. I squeaked in surprise.

Brassy grumbled as he settled back into bed. “What for?” he asked.

“I was under the impression that she needed clothes... and culture. Besides, she asked about Project Runway and there’s a marathon on. Unless you’d rather join the lazy brute squad.” The last comment was delivered in my direction, accompanied by an impatient look and a raised eyebrow.

“I’m in,” I confirmed quickly. The only thing better than watching Project Runway is watching Project Runway with a catty friend who has a good eye for fashion. Plus the thought of more YanYan original clothing designs held its own special appeal. Seeing my enthusiasm, Brassberry shrugged, grunted, and went back to sleep while YanYan scooped me up into his graceful artist’s hands.

He placed me delicately on a cushion on his desk before parading out what looked like a full line of human!bitty clothing. I clasped my hands over my mouth in awe and excitement. I felt like a royal princess, viewing the wares of the finest tailor in my kingdom, all designed just for me. YanYan smiled smugly, a superior artisan well aware of the quality of his work.

“You made all of this in one night?” I didn’t bother trying to hide the admiration in my voice. He deserved it. I reached out a tiny hand and stroked the fabrics. They were soft and flowing in a variety of prints and colors. I noticed that he shared my love of asymmetry. “It’s... it’s... it’s perfect!” No lesser word could describe Yanyan’s work, and he gave me a look of approval for my adulation.

“Obviously,” he huffed, pleased but unsurprised by my praise. “We need to do fittings, but I thought we could take care of that during commercials.” He pointed me towards a large wall-mounted flat-screen TV. Of course YanYan would have sleek, cutting-edge technology.

He pulled out a sewing kit and began pinning a beautiful floral dress onto me. The measurements were already near perfect. YanYan knew his way around fashion, critiquing it and designing it, as it turned out. He handed me a gourmet bon-bon as we groaned over inept draping and tragic pleather fabric choices. The fancy chocolate didn’t even fit in my lap, but I nibbled it anyway. Lush vanilla creme and a soft raspberry nougat. Yum. Where did he even get luxurious sweets like this in the Underground?

We spent the next 12 hours arguing vehemently over styles, agreeing that neoprene mesh is a no-no once and an even bigger no-no on repeat, and expressing our outrage over our favorites being eliminated. We waited together with bated breath for the announcement of the winner; we howled excitedly when the contestant we backed achieved victory. By the end of the night, I had a new wardrobe and a new friend.

Yanyan greeted Brassberry with a frown when he came to collect me for bed that night. I yawned and curled up in Brassy’s large, rough palm, ready for sleep. YanYan leaned down to whisper goodnight to me, and I gave him a bitty-sized kiss on the cheek as thanks for the wonderful day. He smiled, then addressed Brassy with a sharp tone to his voice.

“You need to find some shoes for her, Brass. She can’t walk around here barefoot like some peasant.” Hmm, now that’s a definite upgrade from rodent.