Boss Battle - Present Mimic: box crossing - 600 words

1. You have received a notice about one of the gifts you ordered for someone dear to you. It instructs you to pick it up in person, and gives you a specific time-- the very same day! You rush to the address to find your package waiting for you, but there's something a little strange. Draw or write about your character picking up their package from a suspicious caretaker.

 

---

 

The crimson-coated aerial kukuri came to a halt, as clumsy as ever. The asphalt had been rendered icy by the weather conditions, sending the feathered creature, rider and all, face first into the snow. Arcus flew over Morakniv's neck in an impressive arc, landing on her stomach just as ungracefully as her oversized goose-creature. With a vexed groan, she lifted her face from the ground, and turned to look at the still stumbling kukuri.

"I'll feed you to one of those goddamn fishes if you don't start flying straight," the wyfex growled. As per usual, she got no reaction out of her companion. The kukuri kept busy with trying to get up and stay on its feet. It was unclear if it even ever had seen an aquatic kukuri. Probably not quite yet.

 

Arcus heard footsteps approaching in front of her, and turned swiftly to the sound. She followed the two hooves in front of her upwards with her glass-covered vision sensor.

 

"Not you again!" She hissed at the flaxen Clydesdale. Varick stood in front of her, an amused curiosity veiling his lime-lemon eyes underneath their translucent cover.

"Nice to meet you, too," he calmly snapped back with a teasing tone. "I believe I never got your name."

"Oh, screw you!" Arcus spit at the horse while she quickly got up. "I'm not meddling with the likes of you."

 

Varick narrowed his gaze. He wasn't offended - some people just were like this - but he had to admit that the attitude this one gave him was slightly annoying. "And what would the likes of me mean, Screw You?"

 

The wyfex froze for a bit, before her synthetic muscles relaxed again. What a smartass. She didn't answer, and started to dust herself off. The Clydesdale pushed air out of his nostrils, that came out as two straight, pale streams of carbon dioxide on both sides of his muzzle. He turned to the wrapped box on the ground, and approached it. "But I presume that Flamemane is just as sufficient."

 

Arcus had to do a double take on the chestnut stallion, as if what she heard impacted her sight. "How did you-"

"The graffiti is quite prevalent in this part of town." Varick confessed playfully, and bent down to pick up the present box. Small paw prints on the snow led to and from it, that became lighter as their direction shifted away from the box. Must've been the carrier, whatever it had been.

"HEY." The wyfex's sudden yell stopped the horse right in his tracks. "I saw it first!"

"From up there? I doubt it," Varick argued back and proceeded to lift the package from the ground. He rotated it in his hands. Something felt odd about the item, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what that strangeness was.

 

Like working on an instinct, the Clydesdale suddenly took a step back. He dodged the wyfex's bright-colored claws, watering her attempt to grab the gift for herself. She growled, but didn't say anything. Then, the situation dawned on Varick.

"It seems that there has been a misunderstanding of some kind," he mused, "but it is easily solved."

 

Arcus took steps back. She still didn't trust this guy. Metal bunnies be damned. The horse tucked the present under his arm, and reached out his free hand. It was curled into a loose fist, knuckles pointing at the wyfex.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Varick raised his brow, a tinge of controlled mischief painting his face with a coat of anticipation.

 

"As long as you don't craft up any more of those stupid plushies."

 

"Deal."