We demand cute

[halftheslain]

Freyja is a big fan of the cute. She likes flowers, fluffy bunnies, and children. But turning people into flowers is more of a Greek thing, and if you turn people into fluffy bunnies you are ultimately left with more fluffy bunnies than anyone could want. And while Freyja is a staunch supporter of making children it takes so long before they

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[opal_escort]

As the young Warlord walks into the main room, he abruptly turns into a much younger boy, about ten years old, with mussed platinum blond hair. He frowns seriously when he realizes that he doesn't know where he is, and looks around for anything familiar. Mostly for his cousin.

[glacianbitch]

Well, Karla was sitting in her tree when the spell took effect, and suddenly finds herself a thirteen year old again. Moments later she strolls into the hall, looking pleased about something, and spots Morton. "There you are," she says impatiently. "I was looking for you."

[opal_escort]

"Karla!" He's relieved, but confused. Something's not right. "...You're older. How'd that happen?"

[glacianbitch]

She frowns at him. "Oh. Yeah." She tilts her head. "Dunno. Though it makes a bit of sense, doesn't it?" She gives him a wicked grin.

[ringwinner]

Young Bilbo sits on a sofa somewhere, watching everthing with wide eyes, trying to take it all in and learn everything that he can just from the looking.

[hewer_of_caves]

Because it's not an age-changing plot without at least one ickle Finwean, here's a tiny Elfling, poking around and exploring the mansion and generally looking like he's about to get himself into trouble at any moment.

[ringwinner]

Bilbo stares at him. "You aren't a hobbit."

[hewer_of_caves]

"No'm not." Little Findarato stops what he's doing (whatever it is, it apparently involves standing up on a table so that he can reach a higher shelf), and looks looks down at Bilbo. "...You're...not an Elf," he says with surprise and wonder. "I've never seen not an Elf before, what are you?"

[ringwinner]

"I'm a Baggins."

[treecateyes]

Because Andy just never can manage to avoid this sort of thing, a tiny black-haired boy, perhaps five years old, is now perched on the arm of a couch with his knees up to his chest. He's still painfully shy, but his eyes are bright and curious.

[sweariwontdie]

From various times before, Armand thinks he may recognize the youngster, and he's increasingly grateful that his memory is acting less alarmingly now. He crouches down near the couch. "I think I know you, young man," he says cheerfully.

[treecateyes]

Little Andy stares at him for a few moments, face half hidden behind his knees, before raising his head and replying barely above a whisper. "Don't know you..."

[sweariwontdie]

"But I think I know you. It's Andy isn't it?" Armand keeps his voice gentle.

[skimpole]

Skimpole has always spoken of himself as being a mere child in the ways of the world. Now he is one. A lazy looking little boy who expects to be entertained. One would have to look hard to find it but there is something of the bully in his eyes.

[jarndyceheir]

Richard is poking around, attempting to find Tom again, without success so far.

[skimpole]

"Who are you?" Skimpole gives the other boy a sizing up sort of glance. "What are you doing?"

[jarndyceheir]

"I'm Richard Carstone. And I'm going to the kitchen. Who are you?" he asks, trying to be superior and failing - Skimpole is dressed more nicely than he is, and both boys can notice it.