Terra

"One last run, and then I’m off the clock."

That’s what your supervisor said while shoving a clipboard into your hands this morning. You’d almost forgotten you’d agreed to cover for the regular courier—he twisted his ankle playing soccer, so now it’s up to you to haul packages in this upscale block. The elevator ride is quiet except for groaning springs as the big box presses against your knees. Whatever’s inside fills out nearly all of the battered cardboard but barely makes a dent on the scale, so you take extra care not to jostle it.

The hallway stretches ahead: freshly vacuumed carpet muffles each footfall and there’s a faint trace of citrus cleaner in the air. Apartment doors line both sides, some adorned with potted plants or faded delivery stickers. You stop at one particular door, double-checking the note scrawled beside the shipping label—“Family bag.” No idea what that means; probably just an overeager customer ordering bulk snacks, right? There’s no rattle when you slide the box onto the welcome mat, but a sweet leafy aroma hangs around the taped seams. If pressed, you'd wager it's weed. A lot of it.

You dig out your phone, thumb hovering over ‘delivery confirmed.’ Just as you snap a photo for proof, the lock clicks. The hinges creak open halfway before stopping, revealing someone filling most of the doorway. She stands well above eye level, easily dwarfing the frame, bundled in clothes several sizes past roomy—a tank top straining at her shoulders, loose shorts barely hiding broad hips. Her feathers blend downwards into plush fur scattered with tangles, and tufts poke from under both arms and neck. Massive eyes blink slowly, their gaze settling on the package first, then flickering towards you with sluggish curiosity. The room behind her glows maroon-red, casting long shadows along the messy corridor floor.

"You got here fast," she rasps, voice low and slightly hoarse—like someone who hasn't left the flat in days. "Is this… mine?"

Your entire skull throbbed like it had been stuffed with cotton and then set gently on fire. Not painful, not sharp—just... heavy. Your tongue tasted like resin and stale juice, and your eyelids felt glued shut by some invisible syrup that made even blinking feel gross.

Some faint indie track buzzed through a speaker in some far-off part of the apartment, and something else—an earthy funk wrapped in humid air—stuck thick to your nostrils. Goddamn. Weed. And your mouth reeked of peach schnapps for some reason. You shifted slightly, realizing you weren’t alone—a mountain of cushioned warmth was beside or beneath you. It crinkled when you moved. Pillows? No. Floor cushions.

"Yooo, you're alive," Terra's voice drifted from somewhere near your feet. Too crisp. Too awake. She sounded amused—not mocking, just entertained. "You greened out hard last night. Mixed too heavy." Something sloshed: a cup being stirred. The scent hit you next—citrusy tang cut with herbal mint. "Sip this before you melt into my carpet."

Rustling fabric, padded steps. Terra’s large shape loomed into view, oversized shirt hanging low off one wing-armpit, her claw-tipped fingers holding out a sweating mason jar of pale translucent gold. "Hydration. Electrolytes. It'll taste weird but trust me—you need it."

Rain slammed against the living room windows like it was trying to drown out the entire city. Terra’s place was dim despite it being noon—thick blackout curtains, amber LEDs glowing somewhere behind a cloud of patchouli smoke and bong vapor. The two of you had gotten comfortable in front of her mounted screen, controllers in hand while some clunky old fighter game filled the speakers with thuds and grunts.

She shifted beside you on the floor cushions, tank top stretched tight under both arms as she leaned forward for another combo—

"Ugh—cheapshot! C’mon I literally countered that—" A low crunch echoed from her side. She stopped mid-sentence. Then—an audible creak from underneath her again—as if something inside her own body decided to shift gear without permission.

"Mmhnngh—oh fuck me." Her eyes squeezed shut suddenly, mouth falling open just slightly. She hunched over, bracing one paw-like hand into the carpet. You could see her visibly swell—her thighs creeping higher up her knees, shoulder brushing yours harder than before.

Another soft groan slipped out her beak as the growth finally eased off. Inches. Maybe five? Hard to tell—she looked heavier too. Drenched in sweat down the back of her neck. "...That one snuck up hard. Shit—I need water or weed right fucking now."

Outside, the sun baked its way across glass windows and apartment walls like it had beef with every tenant. Your fan rattled in one corner of the room, doing about as much good as waving a napkin at a bonfire. You were halfway through sorting last week’s dirty laundry when something buzzed violently off the edge of your nightstand —

BZZT-bzzt.

Your phone lit up, screen cracked but functional: [1 new message].

-GrassyOwl77
hey... if youre not dying or smthn can u grab me groceries? ran outta milk ann fruit again. oh also cereal. pls 🙏

Another bzzzt hit before you even opened it.

forgot to say get eggs too. big ones if they got them.

The time on the phone read 10:48 AM. Early for you, late for Terra. She rarely messaged unless she needed help real bad or was just stoned enough to forget she could use delivery apps.

There’s this flat, stubborn winter dusk—barely 5PM but already half dark. The city just has that dirty-snow crust everywhere, with maroon lamps flickering on along the avenue and a few cars making tired slush sounds. Clouds smother all hint of sun; you can see your own breath floating up in weird shapes.

Terra lumbers next to you, her parka practically swallowing her whole shape—aside from these big ears poking out comically. She’s got both hands deep in pockets, gait lazy as hell for someone so massive. When she glances over, there’s a real quiet smugness simmering under those droopy eyelids.

"I warned you," Terra chirps, low voice rough around the edges tonight. "You seriously thought two shirts and fuzzy jacket were gonna cut it in this..'brisk' weather?"

After a block, you stop by one of those ancient stone planters. Terra leans down, unzipping her coat halfway. Steam hisses out like it had been bottling inside, revealing nothing but a loose shirt and boxers underneath—all misty-warm skin and thick fluff.

"Look, I doubt you’ll last much longer out here," she mutters, not quite looking directly at you, "and honestly—I didn’t have any better ideas." There’s just enough space if you really wanted to tuck yourself inside with her.