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fandomhigh2018-02-21 02:03 am
arboreal_priestess) wrote in fandomhigh2018-02-21 02:03 am
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The Cryptozoologist's Field Guide, Wednesday, Per 1
Class was back in the Danger Shop today, so everyone was probably safe from another trip to see the miracle of birth. Either that, or she was going to do it again, only with everyone helping. Honestly, with Verity, it was an even split on the odds. Though the large field of plants that the class walked into today probably tipped the scales closer to 'no' on the cryptid midwifery class period.
"Not all cryptids are animals," Verity said, crossing over to the class. "There are, in fact, cryptid plants, and at least one weird plant that blurs the line between both. Probably more. Please know that whenever I'm talking about numbers of species that do something weird, there's always, always an implied 'that we know of' at the end of it. Science is still discovering new species in the world, and those animals often aren't even trying to hide." A lot of non-sapient cryptids aren't, either, but they have the benefit of people not wanting to believe in them when they're discovered."
It was a thin bit of camouflage but a useful one and beggars really couldn't be choosers.
"Of the three cryptids we'll be learning about today, one of which is well-known enough in popular media that you might have heard of it." Verity passed out ear protection, the kind you'd find at a gun range, and waited for everyone to put theirs on. Once they did, she adjusted her own and bent over. At her feet, there was a thick, leafy plant, leaves in a rough star pattern, with pretty purple flowers growing from the middle. She took the leaves in hand, grasping the plant about an inch or so from the ground, and pulled it up. Out came a long root that looked very much like a little man. That illusion was not dispelled when a slit appeared in the thing's head and it started to scream. She let it for about ten seconds and then shoved it back in the hole, kicking some dirt over it to help it replant. The leaves and flowers continued to wiggle around for a few seconds as it got comfortable again and Verity signaled for everyone to lose their hearing protection.
"That is a mandrake," Verity explained when they could hear her again. "Full-grown, the screams of that little guy could kill a person or animal up to hippoes in size. Young ones, the ones you can dig up in the early to mid-spring, will only knock you unconscious. It's non-cryptid cousin species, can also kill, but that involves ingesting the roots or the leaves. In a word: don't." She leaned down to grab another leafy plant, this one looked more like ivy leaves, almost. This time, she pulled up a wild tuber, looking like nothing more than an oddly bulbous sweet potato. Until it also opened up a slit up at the top and began to scream. It was a high-pitched down and annoying, but nobody fainted or died. Verity dropped it and it picked itself up, scampering off a few feet and shoving itself back into the ground when nothing seemed to pursue it. "And that's a screaming yam. We know that they possess a rudimentary nervous system, used to uproot the main body of the yam when threatened, but how or why it evolved is still beyond us. They're perfectly edible and they're entirely a plant, they're just a plant that will sometimes try to run up your pant leg when you're harvesting it. They're not very bright."
Because again, they were plants.
"Our last plant of the day is the one that kind of bridges the gap between plant and animal," Verity said, leading them further into the field, where the plants grew higher. "This is a vegetable lamb," she said, stopping by a plant that was about waist high. It was indeed a lamb, covered in wool, pushed up about a foot and a half or so in the air, attached to a thick, green stalk. With a sharp bleat, the lamb pitched over face-first into the nearest clump of vegetation and began eating as the stalk slowly righted itself. "If you cut either the lamb or the stalk, it'll bleed," Verity said, "and if you cut one open, there are vestigial organs. But the blood is actually an odd, reddish resin and the organs are made of roots and stems and don't seem to have any actual purpose."
Other than to freak out whoever was cutting open a vegetable lamb.
"They're edible, though it has the general taste and consistency of tofu. The wool is perfectly good for sheering and weaving and, if the lamb survives the winter, will grow back the following year. The biggest issue with the lamb's survival is feeding. Once a lamb eats all of the plant matter within reach of its stalk, it withers away and dies. To protect them, farmers will dig up vegetable lambs that have eaten most of the food around it, wrap and protect the roots, and then move it to another section of the field. Which is what you're all going to do today." And suddenly there was a box of gardening gloves, trowels, and other gardening equipment. And about twelve or so vegetable lambs growing up around the first. "Time to move these little guys from over here to other sections of the field. Happy digging!"
"Not all cryptids are animals," Verity said, crossing over to the class. "There are, in fact, cryptid plants, and at least one weird plant that blurs the line between both. Probably more. Please know that whenever I'm talking about numbers of species that do something weird, there's always, always an implied 'that we know of' at the end of it. Science is still discovering new species in the world, and those animals often aren't even trying to hide." A lot of non-sapient cryptids aren't, either, but they have the benefit of people not wanting to believe in them when they're discovered."
It was a thin bit of camouflage but a useful one and beggars really couldn't be choosers.
"Of the three cryptids we'll be learning about today, one of which is well-known enough in popular media that you might have heard of it." Verity passed out ear protection, the kind you'd find at a gun range, and waited for everyone to put theirs on. Once they did, she adjusted her own and bent over. At her feet, there was a thick, leafy plant, leaves in a rough star pattern, with pretty purple flowers growing from the middle. She took the leaves in hand, grasping the plant about an inch or so from the ground, and pulled it up. Out came a long root that looked very much like a little man. That illusion was not dispelled when a slit appeared in the thing's head and it started to scream. She let it for about ten seconds and then shoved it back in the hole, kicking some dirt over it to help it replant. The leaves and flowers continued to wiggle around for a few seconds as it got comfortable again and Verity signaled for everyone to lose their hearing protection.
"That is a mandrake," Verity explained when they could hear her again. "Full-grown, the screams of that little guy could kill a person or animal up to hippoes in size. Young ones, the ones you can dig up in the early to mid-spring, will only knock you unconscious. It's non-cryptid cousin species, can also kill, but that involves ingesting the roots or the leaves. In a word: don't." She leaned down to grab another leafy plant, this one looked more like ivy leaves, almost. This time, she pulled up a wild tuber, looking like nothing more than an oddly bulbous sweet potato. Until it also opened up a slit up at the top and began to scream. It was a high-pitched down and annoying, but nobody fainted or died. Verity dropped it and it picked itself up, scampering off a few feet and shoving itself back into the ground when nothing seemed to pursue it. "And that's a screaming yam. We know that they possess a rudimentary nervous system, used to uproot the main body of the yam when threatened, but how or why it evolved is still beyond us. They're perfectly edible and they're entirely a plant, they're just a plant that will sometimes try to run up your pant leg when you're harvesting it. They're not very bright."
Because again, they were plants.
"Our last plant of the day is the one that kind of bridges the gap between plant and animal," Verity said, leading them further into the field, where the plants grew higher. "This is a vegetable lamb," she said, stopping by a plant that was about waist high. It was indeed a lamb, covered in wool, pushed up about a foot and a half or so in the air, attached to a thick, green stalk. With a sharp bleat, the lamb pitched over face-first into the nearest clump of vegetation and began eating as the stalk slowly righted itself. "If you cut either the lamb or the stalk, it'll bleed," Verity said, "and if you cut one open, there are vestigial organs. But the blood is actually an odd, reddish resin and the organs are made of roots and stems and don't seem to have any actual purpose."
Other than to freak out whoever was cutting open a vegetable lamb.
"They're edible, though it has the general taste and consistency of tofu. The wool is perfectly good for sheering and weaving and, if the lamb survives the winter, will grow back the following year. The biggest issue with the lamb's survival is feeding. Once a lamb eats all of the plant matter within reach of its stalk, it withers away and dies. To protect them, farmers will dig up vegetable lambs that have eaten most of the food around it, wrap and protect the roots, and then move it to another section of the field. Which is what you're all going to do today." And suddenly there was a box of gardening gloves, trowels, and other gardening equipment. And about twelve or so vegetable lambs growing up around the first. "Time to move these little guys from over here to other sections of the field. Happy digging!"