an ecdysis-committing chelicerate solo pet

backdated to september 6, 2025

This was way more important than doing homework. Okay maybe it wasn't, but just five more minutes! Paris promised to herself that she would go back to the common room. But until those 'five minutes' were up, there are some priorities. Namely, figuring out what in the name of cherry blossoms is captivating the attention of that exuberant group of 5th years.

They had been speaking in animated but hushed voices for the last seven minutes, their focus on the tallest member of the group, and as soon as they had started doing so, they had immediately become the most fascinating humans to watch that whole afternoon (beating even the freaked first years fleeing from a squirrel at the edge of the forest). People watching was an art, and Paris had practically mastered it.

Paris padded softly through the copse of trees nearest the group. They were almost in sight; occasionally one of them becoming briefly visible through a gap in the trees. She stepped over a large fallen tree without looking, just having heard a snippet of a sentence (something about butterknives?) and becoming overly focused on attempting to lip read.

Her progress, however, was halted due to a tug against her robes. Paris turned back quickly to untangle the hem from the gnarled twigs protruding from the log and stopped suddenly. Wait. Hold on for 14 yoctoseconds. Is this really what I think it is? A sling of some kind maybe? No, it's just the molt. But--AHH THAT MEANS IT MUST BE NEARBY!!

Forgetting entirely about the impassioned yet questionable 5th years, Paris gently picked up the molt, flipping it over to examine the markings. ...But it couldn't be. Could it? They're not even native to here! But it's so obvious! It was! An actual real live Grammostola rosea molt! From a sling that was probably moving into its fourth instar! She would have to soak it later to find out its gender. In the meantime...

Paris placed the molt gently to the side and scrutinised the log for gaps or holes. The leafy shade of the trees did not aid in the search, but it concluded fruitfully. Inside a rather deep gap sat a beautiful young tarantula, its setae hairs soft and feathery-looking and its fangs black; it had to have been at least five days since its molt.

Carefully holding her hand out to the arachnid, Paris held her breath as the adolescent spider crept slowly onto her hand and up her arm, its legs tickling as it made its way up. "Can I keep you?" Paris whispered softly in amazement. Spiders cannot talk. It stuck a leg into her ear and Paris laughed, trying not to twitch to crush the gorgeous creature on her shoulder.

Paris slowly made her way back to the castle, the tarantula occasionally scurrying between arms or across her head. She thanked the spider and talked to it the whole way to the Hufflepuff common room (not to do homework), eager to show her new friend its new home.

ooc: paris will later examine the molt and determine the tarantula to be male
word count is 528