ARPG MEMORY: Make A Wish

He hadn’t really been looking to take on another wishing weed, especially not so shortly after Tiny had left home for the annual wishing weed migration, but.. this little weed was just a tiny baby. It was helpless. It was all alone outside with no one to help it, and was too young to migrate on its own. Baby found it in the backyard, nestled against one of the fence posts, trying to block out the wind and keep itself warm. The only reason he found it to begin with was because Lumpybutt was making a scene, causing a ruckus and giving Baby enough cause to worry that the little beanie was trying to dig underneath the fence. Again. But not this time. This wishing weed, he noticed, was a spore variant, not a little blossom baby like Tiny. Its little cap is soft but firm, and the wishing weed makes gentle squeaks when Baby gently pokes at it. He can see that it’s dirty, wondering if it’s ever been able to clean itself. No matter. He doesn’t hesitate for a second to bring the wishing weed inside; it’s only a tiny bit chilly outside now, since fall is starting, but for a tiny little baby like this, it’s probably a lot colder than any midveiler would be.

After holding the back door open to let Overlord, Lumpybutt, and little Screech inside, Baby makes sure that no one is getting into direct trouble just yet, gently nudging a few of them with his toes to get them to go play with some toys while he busies himself.

Into the kitchen he goes, placing the little wishing weed on the countertop, only to think better of it a moment later. Baby carefully scoops it back up into his hands, rummaging around one of the kitchen drawers until he finds one of his soft tea towels, shaking it free of its folded state and placing it on the counter in a soft, crumpled mass. The wishing weed sits on top of it, warm and cozy.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Baby says, pulling another towel out. He turns the sink on, letting the water run for a few moments before it’s a perfect warm temperature, and Baby gets a corner of the towel wet, wrings it out, and starts gently dabbing at the wishing weed’s dirty fluff and cap. He tries not to rub too harshly, not wanting to disturb the natural flow of their fluff, but he rather likes how it closes its eyes and sighs contentedly, letting Baby clean it. He maintains his gentle approach, not wanting to hurt it or stress it out. He can only imagine how stressful it must have been to be outside all alone for who knows how long. Well, not anymore.

“You can stay here if you want to,” Baby says quietly, “It’s a bit of a noisy place; not everyone is as quiet as we are, you know.” The smile that tugs at his mouth is one he hasn’t had since before Tiny left. “But if you think you might like it here, there’s room for you, wherever you like.”

The wishing weed still has its eyes closed, making tiny little puffing noises in response, and Baby thinks it’s the cutest thing. Tiny would at least give him small little beeps and peeps, but this soft little friend is mostly quiet. It’s adorable. He misses Tiny, he really does. But it’s not a crime to have another wishing weed in the house, is it? Tiny would want Baby to be happy, and if inviting a new member of the family into his home is the way to do it, then by golly he will.

After setting the towel aside, Baby reaches into the cabinet, pulling down a fresh teacup, just like the one Tiny used, and carefully tilts it down on the countertop. The wishing weed bumps the rim of the cup with its face, blinks, and then eagerly hops in. Baby can’t help but smile, a little sad, but a lot happy.

“You’re as cute as a button in there,” he says, gently stroking its little cap with his finger, “I think I’ll call you Button.”

As if accepting the name, Button gives Baby the tiniest little “chuu” in response, and nestles cozily inside the cup after. Baby carefully picks it up off the counter, holding it between both hands, and carries it with him upstairs. A nap sounds good right about now.