bumblebees on parade

The OCD rampage continues: it's less about having the socks and more about completing an inventory of all that are and all that have been; I can reach a nirvana, I promise.

In other news, beehaw.

Chapter 01: Berryhopper *
Chapter 02: Speckled Monarch ^
Chapter 03: Sand Upa ^
Chapter 04: Dharma Cricket ^
Chapter 05: Munchygrub ^
Chapter 06: Everyman Cicada +
Chapter 07: Sticky Stick Insect +
Chapter 08: Gregarious Scorpion +
Chapter 09: Lazure Swallowtail *
Chapter 10: Motley Cobra *

"No wings...they must have extraordinarily powerful legs, then."

Minoth grins. "Exactly right, Lora. They've got a sort of proboscis that sticks out to pierce the berries, and then they suck out the juice."

"What about this ornamental bit, then?" She points, seemingly unbothered by the idea that the bug might bristle. "Seems awfully heavy."

Lora doesn't say useless, because every type of insect that lurks out there in the woodlands eventually serves some sort of purpose. She's seen it, and Minoth's shown her, too.

"My working theory," answers Minoth, "is that they're vestigial. Some even look like exotic fruit."

There's some kind of a metaphor - maybe an allegory - here for how Haze absolutely delights in the presence of the monarch butterflies aflutter in mild-mannered packs upon the moor.

They're common, stupidly easily found, nestled in the forest for winter, remarkably unchoosy when it comes to their factors of survival, and of course stunningly flecked with orange.

Even Minoth doesn't trouble himself with capturing or offering a mounting point for each one he sees. For Haze, however, he's glad to extend the favor and present the priestess princess a member of entourage in regalia to perch atop her glittering halo.

"Fascinating...this upa has no light."

"All the better to camouflage into the sand with," says Minoth, tapping his head knowingly. "Evolutionary adaptions are some pretty slick tricks, aren't they?"

"And the Bebth Upa..." Aegaeon continues, catching onto the thread. "It has evolved toward a slim, burrowing head as well. However, it is at home in a water environment."

"One big happy family indeed!"

Some might shrink away from the animal-sized crawler, but Minoth finds them to be almost friendly - perfect for idle amity and a lightless place to stop your eyes a-swimming in the desert.

"You're telling me you know the exact rate at which that cricket's chirping?" Minoth nearly drops the specimen in his amazement, but somewhat smoothly recovers.

"I have an internal clock, and I know how to count." Obviously. Maybe humans can only sense beats by twos, but Mythra's built just a little bit different. Not different enough that it's not pathetic that this is impressive, though.

"Amazing," pronounces Minoth - really, uncharacteristically reticent.

"That's it? I could also, y'know, tell you the ambient temperature, based on that...?"

"Well, sure," Minoth says to acknowledge and pass the passenger's time disembarking, "but I'm never the right temperature anyway."

"But if they're always munching, then how come I never see them get any bigger?"

It would be a strikingly valid and insightful question, were the answer not in the name.

"Grubs are immature, just like you," replies Minoth with nary a hint of malice. Milton makes a displeased expression that could only truly be described as a stank face, in return. "But when they're ready to become adults, they turn into beetles. Your herculean rhinoceroses, et cetera."

Okay, sure. There're no big grubs because grubs aren't big.

"Still. How come I never see that happen?"

"Are you ever watching?"

"I suppose I don't mind cicadas, but I certainly don't see how the droning sound is a particularly attractive sound to a prospective mate." Addam strokes his chin, ever pensive even about the most menial of things. "Care to shed some light on it, Minoth?"

Minoth, though always willing to elucidate, rolls his eyes. "I don't expect that a male human would be attracted by the song of a male cicada, regardless of sexuality. You can just take a gander at anyone you'd like to mate with, but the little guys have to make their presence known. Any rhythm'll do."

The implication, when Minoth passes forward the supplies list for his scripts, is that he'll turn a stick insect into some sort of grassroots wilderness pen, an awkward conduit through which for ink to flow.

That's Jin's first suspicion, anyway. He considers how it might be used for a spine, or else simply drained of its sticky sap to be used in the binding.

Turns out, it's not that at all - Minoth gently, gingerly poises the phasmid upon the page, for to draw his own pen along its length and create neatly dividing ledger lines for easy writing and reading.

"Now, this one-"

"I know, I know," Mikhail cuts Minoth off not by the force of his voice but by the height of its clear young tone. "Scorpions are actually arachnids, and spiders aren't insects."

Minoth slumps, nods. Okay then. "Actually, I was going to say that this one-" he pauses to rotate his wrist and let the scorpion finish cresting the back of his hand "-is not predatory, contrary to the pattern all other scorpions follow."

"Scorpii?" Mikhail offers, still bored. Titans, he's always bored.

"Could be. I certainly wouldn't object." And then one must consider fish and fishes...

"I know it's an artistic effect, but I just know it had to be a poet that named this one."

Brighid arches a brow, variously amused by Minoth's innocent stumping for his craft whenever possible. Anyone who names things is a bit of a poet, unless they're compiling technical manuals. Just who or what does the maestro think named the Jewel he has the honor of accompanying at this very moment?

Nonetheless. The butterfly is indeed beautiful, perfectly lighter than air and blue as the sky's day is long.

"You're personally acquainted?"

"Ah, well." Minoth shrugs. "I do my best."

"It's just a caterpillar, actually. Did you know that?"

Hugo makes an appraising face, peering as close to the snake-like critter as he dares, lest it flare up some spite and jump out at him.

"So why, then, does it look like a cobra?" he queries.

With a sheepish smile, Minoth lowers his hand and releases his captive back to wherever it wants to wriggle. "I'm sure it doesn't like being picked up and observed. Still, you were more frightened of it than it was of you, I bet."

Well. That's just foolhardiness on the emperor's part. He'll do better.

i would be helpless without (and yes, some miscellaneous googling plus pop cultural knowledge)