[event/open] What even is the legal drinking age for a cat demon?

[forhissake]

Kuro was never a very large cat, in his friendly-sized form, even fully-grown.

He has, however, sized down considerably.

Where a fully grown sidhe demon had been just a moment ago, was now a soft little kitten. One tail, not two, curls out around him, still thicker at the base than at the tip. His little down baby fur has returned to stick up out of the thicker fur. His horns are now teensy little nubs, too.

When he wakes, he meows the smallest, squeakiest of meows.

It's cold! Why is it so cold? Where am I?

He whines, meowing plaintively. He sits up on teensy little paws and looks around with squinting eyes. He doesn't remember this garden. This isn't his silk house. Did someone move him?

I'm hungry!

let's hear it for the boy

[trombones]

Another day, another toddler. Now, there's a small skeleton monster wandering the castle. He's three years old to be exact, but who here could date the exact age of walking, talking bones? It's easy to tell it's Sans. He's shorter than usual, a lot more bug-eyed (socketed, whatever), but that blue jacket and perma-grin are still dare. He's pretty cute for a monster who grew up to be a walking, talking grease machine.

For anyone wandering the library in the middle of the afternoon, you might find a pile of books and blankets piled at a table. The blankets cover most of the table, save for a small "entrance" supported by books. The blanket is just thin enough to see the candlelight inside, as well as a skeleton-shaped shadow.

Should you choose get closer, two pairs of large blue eyes glow from under the entrance and dart out. Two floating skulls, both resembling dogs, speed out and lap several circles around your feet in a flurry of barks and sniffing. Mostly sniffing. They're not really dangerous, they're actually pretty excited by the new company.

Sans pokes his head out.

"Hey! You guys are supposed to be guard dogs!!"

By now, the skulls are yipping and bouncing in their floating spots. Sans groans about as exasperatively as a toddler can get. Which is a lot, if you've ever met a three-year-old. They're pretty sassy. He props himself on his stomach, and in the gap he makes between the entrance and the candlelight, you might be able to catch the pile of Christmas-themed sweets stashed under the table. Like, a lot. He stole a lot of cookies.

"Hi. I'm Sans. This is my... this is my big cool fort. I got treasure and guard dogs and a moat."

He points to a pile of books laid in a uneven circle around the table. That's the moat.