[Childhood Memories] Moocows and Milkweeds

Moochi’s lap is full of bright pink hair. In one hand, she holds a brush with long and dense freign-hair bristles. In the other, she holds a spray bottle filled with a light, milky-colored liquid. When she sprays it, the air is filled with a lactic, vanilla scent. The conditioning spray settles into the hair in her lap and allows the brush to glide through without stopping to pull and tug on the snags. The bun attached to the hair takes a deep breath of the perfumed spray, sighs, and relaxes the muscles in his shoulders so she sinks back into Moochi’s thighs and lap. Moochi giggles.

“Smells good?” she asks.

“Yeah…” Val hums. “You’d think a milk product would smell uh… well you know. Rotten after a while. This smells so fresh, though…”

Moochi nods. “Milkweed milk operates a lil’ differently than mammoo milk, but I suspect the same properties could be pulled on out. There’s lots ‘a enzymes an’ acid that are completely separate from the actual cream. Helps make the conditioner do it’s job an’ gives it that nice milk scent. It’s comfortin’, right?”

Moochi’s voice has the usual lilt to it. She talks slow and drawn out, pulling on her vowels and curling the hard edges of her words into a pillowed drawl. Val finds that she really likes the twang and pace that Moochi speaks with. Much like the rest of her presence, there’s something incredibly comforting to the time she takes with her words. It makes his eyes almost as heavy as the constant feeling of fingers and brush bristles against her scalp. “Yeah,” she says, her own voice heavy with drowsiness. “Makes me feel like I’m a baby bun all over again.”

Moochi sets the brush down to take Val’s hair directly into her hands. She uses her fingers to separate the pink into two large pieces, and then three smaller pieces from there. Carefully, she sprays one more dose of the milky conditioner and brushes through with the wider comb of her hands for any last tricky tangles and knots. Finding none, she starts folding the strands over and under each other, creating a wide plait down Val’s hair. “Eh? You remember all th’ way back to those days? Golly… You must have one bright mind lil’ miss if you remember the smell of what they were feedin’ you in the bunnery.” A smile is bright on her face as she pokes a bit of fun at her friend.

Val waves a hand around. “Nah-nah. Not like that exactly. I just mean… well you know how baby buns smell, and the whole milk thing yeah, but the pampering and all doesn’t hurt. Like I said. It feels like I’m back with Murmur again getting tossed in the bath after dragging another bun into a mud puddle.”

“You’re so silly,” Moochi chuckles, and Val’s tired eyes crinkle up at the corners to hear the word. Silly isn’t something she is often called. He tips her head backward - and Moochi taps the tip of her nose with the end of the hair she’s currently braiding. “What else do you remember, hm? Since I reckon I’m so Murmur-like.”

“Not much, if I’m being honest,” Val continues. “A few things here or there, but nothing I have the energy to get into right now.” A beat passes as Moochi hums, twisting up the end of Val’s first braid before she begins the next. “... What about you?” Val asks.

“Aw-well. You know it was Murmur that made me wanna get into the milkweed business, dontcha?”

“No?” Val asks, in the manner of: why exactly would that be something I know?

“Uhhuh!” Moochi responds, bubbly. “There’s a big ol’ world of hell out there beyond the burrowgatory. I can’t remember much of it, of course, I don’t think any of us really can… But I do remember a time that Murmur decided to take me and my littermates out for some fresh air from his den. A nice, cozy warm day-”

“All days in hell are warm,” Val interjects. Moochi gives the hair in her hand a tug, which makes him quiet with his own snort of laughter and air through his nose.

“Like I was sayin’- A nice, warm, typical day in hell. He took us out somewhere wide and grassy… For all I know it coulda been attached to the burrows, I don’t reckon I recall exactly if they’ve got grass in hell. He sat all of us down in that grass and told us to run around and stretch our legs. Quite a few of my littermates were far too scared to wander far from Murmur’s hands, but me? Oh, honeybunch… I remember lookin’ out over that great big field and never wantin’ anything more in my little brain than to run and run and run from one end to the other.”

Val’s eyes are closed, but she nods and hums to note to Moochi that she is still listening as Moochi finishes twisting and tying off the end of her second braid. Moochi continues. “Somethin’ like that really made me start thinkin’. Could I own a field like that of my own? When I was a big grown bun, would I have my own grasses and flowers to explore and tend to? Didn’t hurt when Murmur came back to us with a big ol’ bushel of milkweed flowers. We each got to take one and nibble on the stems of em. You’ve never tasted anything as sweet or delicious as I did on that day, I promise ya. Couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the ground that made em… and, well.”

She sets her hands and Val’s hair down to tap on one of her long gluttony horns, cartoonishly wobbling her head from the pressure just for the show of it. Val opens one eye to look up at her. The bags under them are dark and heavy… but Moochi can see the gentle glow of appreciation in her gaze - even if it’s just for the company and attention Moochi is willing to give her, not a single string attached.

“I like you, Moochi,” Val hums, sleepy.

“Eh? Whysat?” Moochi asks, startled, tilting her head to one side.

“You’ve got something good in you. I think it’s neat. Not every bun gets so happy just to grow weeds… or to brush a girls hair.”

“You’re not just any girl, Val,” Moochi chuckles, shaking her head. “Hey… and my farm ain’t just any weeds!” 

Val’s laughter is silent, but his shoulders shake with it as Moochi puffs her cheeks up in a pout, tips her head back in her lap, and plants several “aggressive” and faux-peeved kisses on Val’s forehead.