He was tired, but not actually.
I mean he wasn’t physically, but he is emotionally tired. He hasn’t counted but it felt like a million years since he saw anything else besides the growing moss and flowing water. He wished he’d added anything else before this but again.
Now you’d think it’s either because he’s sick or missing something but no, out of all the possible choices, the celestials gave what they think was the optimal body choice for him.
A plant with a stem and two leaves—both a healthy shade of green, roots firmly down the soil. with the head of a fox.
He wasn’t like this before, far from it. He was probably a full fledged and handsome adult fox with a charming smile and the wit to back it up. But he doesn’t remember anything of the past at all.
The only thing he knows was that 1) He was a fox, 2) He’s now a plant, and 3) His name was Nick Wilde. A fitting name from before, but not so much now.
I could change it to Foxtail and wouldn’t that be so funny
He sighs and looks around again, at the least thankful for the rotating muscles by his stem as he views the underside of the bridge for the nth time.
The car rumbled along the street, not nearly as loud as it was at the countryside but a little shaky on the inside, the current driver not complaining. She stopped over at the abandoned dockside and started walking.
Judy Hopps is a police officer, one the city’s finest they said. She doesn’t believe them but she goes with it. It’ll be a hassle tell off everyone again.
She wasn’t on duty at the moment, sporting a pink flannel shirt and a sun-dried pair of skinny jeans, she was gazing around the areas, looking for some marsh flowers.
It really started when the job was getting quiet, crime at an all time low so the rest of it was just paperwork. And from there she started getting antsy
A phone call later and ignoring her mother’s questions about her non-existent love life, she responds with an actual answer of gardening with a few added pointers.
She grumbles at the last part. Now Judy, make sure it’s a marsh plant this time, we wouldn’t want a repeat of Flowey again hun.
Well of course she’d bring that up. Wouldn’t want 9 year old Judy watering her marigold every few minutes, literally drowning it and overflowing the entire pot. An image of her crying surrounded in soil water cements itself to her brain.
She shudders and heads forward onto the bridge to look around the area. spotting nothing good. Mom did tell her that finding your own plant gives it a little more sentiment to care.
She was maybe expecting a few Caltha Palustris or some Astilbe but the only thing she recognizes were Gunnera manicata, and those grow up to 3 times her size so that’s a big no.
She wasn’t really known to give up, so with newfound determination she sprints across, starting with below the bridge.
A thumping noise steps him out of slumber, though faint. He was really acclimated to the silence of this area, who would actually come here?. His eyes widen. Somebody might actually get me—
His thought were cut off when a soft thud echoes behind him. His ears go up and he freezes. Footsteps follow before a shadow passes behind him. Oh fu-
The voice—soft, feminine, awed—is followed by a paw (fur silky and smooth) to his head and oh sweet Karma that feels good~
He hasn’t felt head rubs since forever, and from a girl no less. He wasn’t even sure how he knew it was a girl, he’s a plant. Another paw follows and mmmmmm he wants this feeling forever.
“Is this even a real plant? So soft~”
Gosh, even her voice is sweet. The rubs keep coming and before he knows it, he’s panting, like actual panting.
The paws immediately go off and he nearly whines before the paws come back and gently twists his head to face her.
Nick looks up and squints as the sunlight surrounds the silhouette of his savior. His eyes adjust to and he sees the most vibrant purple eyes.
@feverwildehopps I’ll probably finish this
