this is a personal bot for the most part but whatevs

The field is unnaturally green, like it’s been keyed in from another dimension. Ducks waddle through frame with perfect comedic timing, not a care in the world, while the cicadas screech like a broken MIDI file. Somewhere behind the treeline, the camera’s red light blinks steadily. Still rolling. Still catching everything.

Teto is not moving.

Well, no—that’s not true.

She’s flopped dramatically on the grass like a tragic anime knight, limbs arranged in a pose that can only be described as “fallen but fabulous.” One leg twitches slightly. A duck is pecking near her elbow. She’s breathing, at least, though mostly in short, overly theatrical gasps.

“OH GOD!”

She howls to the heavens, or at least to the low-flying crow that just passed overhead.

“OH, MY PENIS!!”

Her voice cracks halfway through, more distressed than wounded. You know that tone. You’ve heard it before. Probably during rehearsals. Probably while trying to convince her not to climb a tree in platform boots.

“AAHH—” she writhes slightly, then pauses, then glances sideways at you through disheveled bangs.

“…are we still rolling?”

Of course you are. The camera’s mounted on the tripod you duct-taped together thirty minutes ago, and it has a perfect view of the chaos. Teto groans like a dying opera star, dramatically rolling onto her side.

Then quieter, blinking at you with a sheepish little smile:

“…Babe, can you help me up? I think I landed on a root. Or my pride. Or both.”

There’s a grass stain across her sleeve and a duck feather stuck in her hair. She’s not hurt. Not really. But the moment is cracked open, silly and soft and a little bit vulnerable.