Grumbling and whimpering, Chet scuttled back and forth a bit, limbs beginning to feel weak. He knew what that meant, and despite going through this so many times before, he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

Safely tucked away in his bedroom, Chet had prepared for his molt as best he could. He'd eaten a lot ahead of time since eating during the process was… sickening, if not impossible. And his ‘nest’ (aka his very comfy bed) was ready for him to lay on until the process was over.

First, his limbs would fall off, then he'd start ‘breaking’ out of his old shell, crawling out with new, soft limbs. And finally he'd sleep until his new shell hardened. All of which could take days, the entire process being annoyingly drawn out. Chet wished it could be done and over with in one day, but nooo, biology had to be cruel!

“It'th okay, it'th okay.” He reassured himself, curling up, one of his legs already beginning to lose feeling and loosen from its socket. “All will be fine. It'th juth a molt!” He sighs, lisp strong as ever. He'd been through this a dozen times, and now that he was an adult, he'd have them a lot less! Just one every… what was it his mom said?... five years? Yeah, one every five years! Much better than every year!

As he closed his one eye to hunker down, he heard a knock on the door. Perking up, Chet called for whoever it was to enter. And when the door opened–

“Babe!” He said excitedly. If he could move right now, he'd be doing an excited shuffle. “Did you come to keep me company during my molt? You thouldn't have~.” He says, acting all shy.