#turtlefrog

[altoas]

the spirits are calmer when you're around

[altoas]

and they are boyfriends, your honour

[altoas]

ooh this underpaint is coming out crisp .✦ ݁˖

[altoas]

and on this day we build us a ship~ a shippy ship so shippy that it'll get us through all this shit~

[dreamscapeadvent]

When you have to write SOMETHING, but you’re not sure what’s going to come out: (freewriting)

[added after the below was typed: I encourage you all to try freewriting like I just did. It’d be fun to see what pops out of your minds. As you can see, mine’s odd.] 

Sometimes Hartman just couldn’t keep in his excitement; whenever a new shipment arrived, he would tear into the box to see what it was that it was time to catalogue and store. This time he wasn’t sure exactly how to react. 

A few boxes in, he got to one that was slightly moist and stapled instead of taped shut. His usual excitement gave way to pure giddiness as he reached for his cutters and began clipping away at the staples. As he undid the last staple, the flaps burst open and the building’s intercom started playing soft classical. 

“HULLO!” shouted a creature as it leapt out of the box and lighted gracefully on Hartman’s desk after a series of mid-air flips. “I’m the turtlefrog!” 

“The what?” asked Hartman, dropping his cutters to the floor with a clank. 

“The turtlefrog! I’m all that stands between you and a heartless, boring narrative!” 

“Well, that’s a relief. Why was the box wet?” 

“Cardboard glistens in my presence. It has something to do with alchemical reactions to my naturally excitement-generating aura, but why it only affects cardboard is anyone’s guess.” The turtlefrog pulled a cigar from behind his shell and lit it with a snap of its fingers. 

“Hey,” said Hartman, “that cigar smells a lot like my mom’s homemade apricot cobbler.” 

“It’s no coincidence!” said the turtlefrog with a cigar-clenching grin. 

“... you don’t mean...” Hartman sat back in his chair. 

“Yep! That cobbler’s transcended the astral plane and become one of the cardinal smells that pop up randomly in people’s lives, alongside campfire, autumn, new car, oldish-sitting-in a-parking-lot-all-day-car, and angry cat!” 

“I hate the smell of angry cat,” Hartman replied.

“It’s not supposed to be liked.” The turtlefrog grinned and put out his cigar on an adjacent cardboard box. “Welp, bye!” 

“Later gator - I mean frog - or... whatever.” Hartman chalked a storage number on the turtlefrog’s forehead and shoved it in a file, wrote down a brief description on his clipboard, and moved onto the next box.