[i]chIRP! Mrrrrp~!![/i] 

Two in the morning. Of course, it was the weird little abomination experiment that Sorrel adopted, the sweet little slugcat thing. He named the little guy Becquerel, but everything [i]except[/i] that ridiculous name stuck. Including the nicknames “Slugcat” and “Bee” for his strange little friend. Like any normal cat, little Bee had the zoomies. At two in the fucking morning. 

Sorrel finally sat up from his bed. He didn’t know why he made his latest plans line up so close together— he was glad, at least, that he was resting, and glad that he was [i]able[/i] to rest without coughing up blood and throwing up and screaming in pain at that moment. The mutant cat stopped the moment Sorrel got up, looked at him, and went to ask for cuddles and food. Of course. 

[color=A8C3BC]”Oh, you’re just a little sweetheart, aren’t you, Bee?”[/color] Sorrel smiled softly as he whispered to his friend. The slugcat thing wove around his feet as he stood up and headed to the kitchen— honestly, he needed a snack as well. He sorted through his cupboards and ended up taking two things out: one small paper pack of dried seaweed and one jar of freeze-dried chicken hearts. It wasn’t feeding time for little Bee, nowhere close to it, but a little bit of tasty protein for a midnight snack made sense. The green and blonde dreads Sorrel sported were neatly wrapped into a silk cloth, but it didn’t stop sorrel from absently sweeping the blank space where his locs would be to the side. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched Bee chow down on the treat, as he washed and dried his hands and put the jar away. 

Scrolling through his phone at night was a bad habit— just like munching on a midnight snack while bundled up in bed, like the simple pack of seaweed at Sorrel’s side as he lay there and scrolled around absently. He knew he was being unhealthy right now, but he at least wanted to finish up the seaweed packet… Maybe, though, he was [i]meant[/i] to stay up, that night..? His phone whistled its fun little tune as a text message popped down from the top of the screen. 

[quote][i]Hey! It’s Cricket! I was wondering if you wanted to meet up this Saturday to have lunch? I could bring desert if you make a meal.[/i][/quote] 

There it was, the reason why Sorrel’s face turned bright red at two in the morning. The reason why he blushed so hard that, once again, he bled from his nose like some anime moron. He scrambled for a towel or something— and then, from his little nightstand, he pulled out the bloodied cloth from the man who messaged him. Sorrel would’ve found that moment exceptionally romantic if he wasn’t fretting about being a mess on Saturday. [color=B1A2C7]What would Cricket even like..?[/color] Sorrel’s thoughts started to spiral on as he paced around the room, his right hand holding the phone and his left hand pressed against his nose with the little towelette. 

[color=B1A2C7]He’s obviously a bodybuilder— would he like something protein and energy packed..? What allergies does he have? Would he have mentioned it in the text? What meals are considered romantic?[/color] It was hard to focus, but Sorrel eventually sat back down onto the bed. [color=B1A2C7]Would it be weird to send a text back at this time..?[/color] 

It took a while for Sorrel to go back to sleep. Frankly, he never truly slept at all, and he still felt groggy the next morning. He assumed at that point, after more thought than he cared for, that Cricket didn’t really have allergies— the man was going to eat at [i]Chipotle[/i] of all places, infamous for its shit practices, and then chose fucking [i]Taco Bell[/i] as a replacement. He’d go something a little more low risk, anyways… a nice smoked salmon that’s been flashed-fired in the pan for a final touch and well-seasoned manoomin— wild rice— would do the trick, be healthy, be protein rich and the likes. He was sure it’d be the perfect lunch… [color=B1A2C7]Wait… is this a little too try-hard-ish for a first date…? Surely not, maybe it’d be… seen as a really nice gesture, instead?[/color] 

Sorrel laughed to himself as he served his perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs onto toast and watched Bee eat raw duck, a small egg, and half a sardine. He wondered if Cricket would think he was weird for [i]preparing[/i] meals for his little mutant cat— [color=B1A2C7]Wait, why am I even thinking that? I’ve only met this man [i]once![/i] And it’s gonna be twice when I see him at the park in like… a week.[/color] 

As Sorrel absently ate his eggs and toast, he finally responded to Cricket. 9:24 in the morning was a… more acceptable time to reply, right..?  

[color=A8C3BC]’Of course! I’ll make a nice surprise lunch for Saturday :)
I’ll see you Saturday at the Wilacrik Downtown Park
It’s the park by the Chipotle’[/color] 

Sorrel stared at his little string of texts. Why did he feel so self conscious? Why did he want to try again? Why did this make him feel… scared? Lightheaded? He never really had anyone asking to go on a date with him before, this was his first one ever. He… also never really had someone wanting to visit him just to be with him, either… but that’s in the past, and right now he has a date and a meal and a hungry slugcat clawing at his legs for some of his scrambled egg toast. 

A few minutes passed by, and he decided to pick the phone up again and send a photo. Why did he choose a photo of one of the silk moths that just came out of the cocoon..? He didn’t know. They were cute, to him, and this little lady had just wriggled out two days ago when that photo was taken. For some reason, Sorrel thought Cricket liked bugs… but what if the man didn’t..? What if Cricket actually hates the silk moth photo?? 

Sorrel groaned, turned off his phone, and finally went off to do chores in Ground Zero. 

—————————A Few Days Later—————————

Friday. 

Tomorrow is Sorrel’s date with Cricket. 

Today is Gamma-Burn’s date with revenge. 

And… prevention of further suburban sprawl, one of the causes for the United States having such a car-dependent culture, which is just… [i]so[/i] unhealthy, for so many reasons. This was ultimately for the good of the common people, and for the detriment of the millionare who bought this perfectly fertile land to turn into pricey and poorly made housing that doesn’t benefit anyone. But.. all of that didn’t have as good of a ring to it as having a date with revenge. Or… vengeance, might be better? Sorrel shook his head. 

[color=B1A2C7]Come on, there’s no time to think of random stuff like that. I need to get there, as soon as possible— before the fucking [i]maggot[/i] arrives.[/color]

He also knew that insult wasn’t original— there was no [i]time[/i] to think of original insults for the bumbling beetle! 

Gamma-Burn had a few special packages in his pockets— seeds he developed, based from perfectly edible plants indigenous to the area that would also be nearly impossible to remove from the land with normal means once he made them grow on it. A food garden for the people, and a giant lost check for a greedy and corrupt rich guy… or, woman, in this case, if his research was correct. 

The seeds exploded out of each packet the second this infamous specter threw them across the land— they weren’t harmful explosions, just the [i]Pop! Pop! Pop![/i] of various little capsules designed after sandbox tree seed pods. All he had to do now, before he ran out of time, before people came, was to [i]grow[/i] those little suckers. 

And, when Sorrel pushed his hands to the ground and sent an encouraging pulse of radioactive warmth through the ground, all of those seeds exploded out of the ground. Juneberries, strawberries, blueberries, wild leeks, raspberries, nettles, elderberries. mayapple, pawpaw, wild garlic, wild asparagus— they all grew, and grew, and [i]grew[/i] and became giant, lumbering shrubbery with deep roots and resilient bark, able to regrow themselves at a moment’s notice. Maybe these plants were considered GMOs, but Sorrel knew these babies were going absolutely [i]nowhere[/i] and would grow back even if they got plucked from the roots, like in the case of the wild garlic and leek. Hell— sorrel knew, from his experiments, that these guys couldn’t even be burned away and would just grow back from the ashes and the little seeds and roots that stayed in the ground. God, he was so proud of this idea. Acres and acres of land now belonged to the earth and the people, and can give food to those who are patient enough to just get on their knees and pluck from the branches and roots. 

… and, frankly, now that he realized it— King Stag was taking a bit too long.