Ch 02: The Times, They Are A-Changin'
Good Griff!
Part 1 – Interesting Times
Chapter 2 – The Times, They Are A-Changin’
(In Which Strange Things Are Afoot and Feet Are Strange Things)
My hair has gone white and my eyes have gone yellow. Welp, only one thing to do: scream. “WHAAAAAAAAAAaat the sweet baby Jesus is this!?”
“Do you mind with the noise? My head’s still a little tender after last night,” Steve calls from the other room. He appears in the doorway. “What are you yelling about, Gil? Y’alright?” He gets a good look at me. “Your eyes are yellow.”
What would I do without him? “NOOOOOOOOO! REALLY? And here I was worried about chipping a nail!” I’m concerned I wasn’t sarcastic enough. “I already frickin’ noticed, smart guy! What the hell’s the matter with me?”
He thinks about it for a second. “Maybe you have jaundice. Did you drink your liver to death last night? Because knowing you, that’s a distinct possibility.”
“I already told you on the phone. I wasn’t even that drunk when we came home.”
“Yeah, about that phone call. I’m still mighty pissed at you for this tattoo thing,” he grumbles.
“Man, I already told you. I had nothing to do with that. Maybe you went back out after I went to bed and got it yourself,” I try to reason. A realization hits me. “Wait, so you were serious? You really have a tattoo? Lemme see!”
Suddenly, he’s not looking so angry at me so much as embarrassed. “No way!” He starts backing away back into the main room.
I follow after him and start poking him in the chest. “Oh? Then how can I know you’re not lying if you don’t show me and prove you actually have it?”
“Fuck off, you Farrah Fawcett wannabe!” he shouts at me as he turns to make a break for it. He starts towards his room, but the door’s closed and he wouldn’t have time to open it before I caught him. He turns towards the kitchenette, but it’s too late. His hesitation gives me the time to throw myself at him and side tackle him. I sit on his chest.
“Okay, little man. I realize this must be a dream come true for you right now, but I’m just not interested in you in that way. I think we should just be friends,” I tell him with fake seriousness.
“Hardy har har. Would you mind kindly getting off me?” He grouses.
“Nooot untiiil you shooow meeee!♪” I sing.
“I CAN’T if you’re SITTING ON ME!”
“Okay, then just tell me where and I’ll find it,” I wink at him.
He looks like he’s thinking it over then lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuggin’ fine. They’re on my thighs.”
I stand up. “Oh HO! Two of them! Who knew you were so daring?” I chuckle as I help him to his feet. I sit down on the couch and he stays standing.
Steve unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his jeans, and lets them drop. “WHOOO! Take it off!” I howl at him. He scowls at me and lowers the waistband on the right side of his boxers. There, crisp and clean on his thigh, is the goofiest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It’s a tattoo. Of a pillow. With eyes. Above a pair of crossed feathers. What. The shit.
Naturally, I burst out laughing. “BA HA ha ha ha haa! Man, that is, without a doubt, the greatest thing I have ever seen. It’s like the worst jolly roger ever. Of all time.”
The look on his face. Oh my god, it’s priceless. It’s the perfect combination of ‘Why me?’, ‘Kill me now’, and ‘I’m gonna murder you.’“Yeah yeah yeah, yuk it up there, friendo.”
“Are you sure you’re not gay?” I laugh. “Because you had that girl macking on you all night and-“
“What?” he interrupts.
“Oh yeah, totally, dude,” I make a throwaway gesture, “She’s obviously crazy about you and you didn’t even notice. And now you’ve got the tutti fruitiest tattoo I’ve ever seen.
“I’m not gay!” He spits out way too suddenly. “And so what if I were? Which I’m not. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that.”
I give him a wry look. “Hey. Remember who you’re talking to.”
Steve looks puzzled for a second, then relieved. “Oh. Right.”
Well I think that’s a minefield of a conversation we’ll get to another time. “So you’ve got the same thing on both sides?” I fix him with an even stare. “Why in God’s name would you get that?”
He looks super serious. “Probably the same reason you changed your eyes and hair, grandma.”
Oh. That sobered me up. “So you’re saying that these things just happened? Like, on their own?”
He pulls up his pants and plunks down on the couch next to me. He runs his hands through his curly black hair in frustration. “I mean, I know the answer should be ‘No’ because weird shit doesn’t happen,” He holds his face in his hands, “The world is painfully boring and nothing amazing ever happens,” He sighs and looks up at me, “But I have no rational explanation for this. You said that, what, an hour ago, your eyes and your hair were normal, right?”
“Well, I can’t tell you about my eyes, but my hair was definitely its normal brown,” I chip in.
“And nothing happened between then and when you noticed that change?” Uh oh, he’s getting all serious on me. It’s a really rare thing for Steve to get serious about anything, so it’s kind of cool to see it happen. Like an eclipse. He’s going into brainiac mode. I can actually see his brain cells firing. “You didn’t go near any sort of chemicals, radiation, unrecognizable technology? Was anyone suspicious following you around? Were you bitten by any strange insects or other animals? Anything unusual at all that could bleach your hair or damage your eyes?”
“Wow. No to everything. What was that about bugs? You think I’m Spiderman?” I say, doubtingly.
“Well fuck if I know!” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “I’m just throwing ideas out here. We’re in virgin territory here.”
I laugh, “Yeah, YOU are. I guarantee you I’m not.”
He facepalms. “You know what I mean. This is unprecedented shit happening to us. People don’t just change instantaneously like that. Random Cutie Marks don’t just appear on people. These are uncharted waters.”
“What marks? That’s the pony thing?” I ask in confusion.
“Cutie Mark. It’s that picture the ponies have on their ass,” he begins to explain, “It represents-“
Oh god, he’s going to keep talking about this. That’s my limit.
“NOPE!” I shout as I shoot up off the couch, leaping over the coffee table. “Don’t care! I missed my morning run today, so I’m going to get that in now.” I go grab a ball cap from my room and secure my now shockingly white hair under it. I make for the front door.
I’m half way out when Steve calls after me, “Wait a sec!” I stop. “YOU missed your run this morning? How the double deuce did that happen?”
I turn toward him with an embarrassed face. “Ehhh… Just didn’t sleep well last night. Really weird nightmares,” with that I turn and step out.
Just as I’m closing the door I think I hear Steve mutter, “You too?”
But now is not the time for that. Now is the time to put my brain on autopilot and just run. Now is the time for speed.
»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»~»
I cut my run short tonight. My calves and ankles were starting to hurt for some reason, so I called it early. I came back home and scarfed down some of whatever it was that Steve made for dinner. Say what you will about the guy, but being a fatty means he knows good food. Now we’re sitting in front of the TV watching this week’s episode of Portal, AKA best show ever.
As I’m sitting here watching, my legs keep cramping up and my ankles keep locking up in an extended position. It hurts like a bitch. I must have pushed myself too hard today. I manage to soldier my way through the end of the episode, but by the end it, I’m barely hanging in there. After it’s done, I’m ready to just head to bed. I’m in pain and I’m exhausted from a bitch of a day.
I grab some painkillers from the bathroom. I close the medicine cabinet and examine my reflection in the mirror. I’m used to seeing my face with dark brown, almost black eyes and topped with my spiky brown hair. It’s weird to see them so different. Not even counting those changes, my face looks wrong for some reason. Other than my hair and eyes, I look the same. So why do I expect to see something different looking back at me? Forget it. I’m not up for this kind of self-identity bullshit even on a good day. I gulp down the painkillers and stick my mouth under the faucet to wash them down.
My feet are still all locked up as I make my way to my room, forcing me to walk tip-toe. Steve notices this. He gives me that worried look I hate. “Hey Gil, you alright?”
I’m at my door. I answer him, “Yeah, just muscle cramps. Musta pushed myself too hard. I know you’ve never had that problem, but that’s all this is.”
He doesn’t even rise to my jab. He just keeps looking at me with those big brown doe eyes all full of worry. I fucking hate that. “Okay. But if anything else weird happens, let me know. I’ll be up a while yet. You know me, the wee hours are the best hours,” he says and gives me a weak, apologetic smile.
That face. I don’t need that pitiful fucking face. I want to just punch it in. But instead, I slam my door and move to my bed. I strip down to my undies and sit down on the bed. I massage my leg muscles for a few minutes before laying down.
I lay there for a while, just thinking. I know, I know. It’s dangerous, but I do do it occasionally. This was a day I’d love to forget, but somehow I don’t think I will. Even discounting the pain in my legs, I still feel off. I can’t understand it. It’s like there’s an itch about to form just under my skin, throughout my entire body. I sigh. Well, at least I don’t have to work tomorrow. I’m not sure when, but at some point I drift off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~zzZZZZ~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! There’s the alarm again. I had those weird dreams again last night, but they weren’t so bad this time. Just images of clouds and bright colors everywhere. There was this one blue blob that kept following me around. The dreams weren’t bad, so I actually got some rest last night. That and the fact that my legs don’t hurt anymore and the morning is already better than yesterday.
I sit up in bed and stretch. Time to get moving. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Or at least, I try to. As soon as I’m up on two legs, I’m already falling flat on my face.
“Okay, ow. The hell was that? Are my legs still asleep?” I mutter to myself. I sit up and reach down to massage my legs awake. As I begin to rub, I think how soft and silky my fur is.
...Waaaaaiiiit a second. Something about that seems… off. I look down at my paws, but they seem normal: tan fur, three toes, soft black paw pads. Yep.
What.
WHAT?!
PAWS!? I have paws! Where are my feet? WHO TOOK MY FEET?! I need those! I start to hyperventilate. Jesus fuck, why is this happening? Yesterday was one thing, but I need my feet. Wait, if it didn’t stop at hair and eyes, what else has changed?
I push myself to all fours, and then shakily stand up. It’s painfully slow inching along on these new paws, as I carefully stagger over to my mirror and I’m stunned by what I see. I don’t… what? By now, I’m a gibbering wreck, breathing hard and spouting random noises of panic. This whatever is spreading. Yesterday, my hair was feathered. Today, my hair is feathers. Honest to fuck feathers. Where my hair used to be, and spreading down the back of my neck, is a layer of downy white feathers. In place of bangs, I have a trio of longer, wider feathers that fade to purple at the tip. They’ve even spread up toward the sides of my face and completely cover my ears. I turn my head to inspect. Nevermind, I was wrong. The feathers aren’t covering my ears; they’re just gone.
GAH! MY EARS ARE GONE! The sight of the little holes in the side of my head with no ears shocks me so much I yowl and leap backward a full six feet. If I weren’t so panicked, I’d be impressed. I shamble to the door as fast as I can and throw it open. I step out and start toward Steve’s room, but I stop short. My door faces the back of the couch, but I can see one of his legs draped over the side. Lazy kid must have fallen asleep out here again.
“Steve, wake up!” I shout.
All I get in response is an annoyed growl.
“WAKE UP, LAZY BONES!”
He kicks his leg a little bit, his foot twitching wildly, and grunts. “Uhhhhh. What time izzit?”
“6:30!” I bark, “Wake your sorry ass up, retard! It’s an emergency!”
He moans again. His hand raises up over the back of the drab beige couch, covered in stains, and waves me off. “Leave me alone. Ah need more th’n three hours o’ sleep. Unlike you, some o’ us need our beauty rest,” he mumbles.
“GET! UP! FATASS! You said to tell you if anything else weird happened! It did! MY FUCKING EARS ARE GONE!”
He doesn’t respond for a couple seconds. But finally, he reacts. “What?” he asks, sounding more alert. He sits up, his head popping up like a gopher, and turns to look at me, a thin line of drool running down his cheek. Oh god. Not him now.
“It got you too! The weird stuff is spreading! Look at me! Look at you!” I shriek at him.
“Me?” he asks, looking confused. He brushes his hair out of his face, which seems to confuse him further. Not only because it’s not normally long enough to need it, but because it’s a dark purple with blue streaks. He takes a lock in his fingers and looks at it closely. He turns back to me and his eyes take a second to focus on me. His bright green eyes.
“Gilda, what the fuck?” He asks, with more detached shock than outright panic.
“What did you call me?” I demand. That name. It sticks in my mind like a thorn. I jerk my way over to him. “What is that name?”
“I…bugger. What?” he looks around, bewildered. “OHHHHH! I know what’s going on,” he sighs in relief.
“You… You do?” I beg him, my hand clutching the couch back in a death grip.
“Yeaaah. I’m dreaming,” he states matter-of-factly.
Is this guy serious? “No, you’re not! This is real! I’m really covered in feathers here! Get your ass together, I need your help!”
“Nah, I have lucid dreams all the time. Don’t worry about it,” he says, and pats my hand, trying to be reassuring, “because you’re not really real. This is all just in my head. Now I’m going to go back to sleep.” He lies back down. “Nice feet by the way. They go really well with the tail.”
The…. tail? I turn my head and look down at my ass. Sure enough, there’s a furry lion tail, the same color fur as my paws, merrily swishing back and forth.
“I… da… Habadidina,” I sputter. Dammit, brain, don’t you quit on me now. Too late, full systems failure. My legs fall out from under me, my vision goes black, and I pass out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~zzZZZZ~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awake several hours later in a daze. Why am I lying on the floor? Why is Steve shaking me, shrieking “Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup,” like a little girl? Why is his hair purple? Why does he have blue… horse ears?
Oh right. Oh! Right! I bolt upright. “How long was out? What’s going on?” I demand.
“Ohmygodmygod, thank Asgard you’re okay. You woke me up earlier and you had a tail and feathers and I had purple hair and I thought it was just another dream, so I went back to sleep, though that doesn’t really make sense to still be sleepy in a dream but whatever, I went back to sleep and then I just woke up now and it was, like, just after 1 and I saw that I still had the purple hair but it was for real, not a dream, and now I also have all this other stuff and I freaked out but then I saw you on the floor and I thought you were dead, but you’re not! You’re aliiiive!” Steve spews all in one breath. Wow, that was actually impressive. He sits down heavily on the back of the couch, trying to catch his breath. He sways and falls backward, his legs now draping over the back. They end in dark blue hooves.
I hear him take a deep breath in through his nose, mutter, “Infinite patience,” and exhale through his mouth. After a few seconds, he sounds much calmer, “Gayle… what is happening to us?”
I stand up and totter on my changed legs. I ease over to sit down heavily next to him. He’s staring blankly at the ceiling. I sigh, “I don’t know, little buddy.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. I can’t tell what’s going through his head. Eventually, Steve breaks the silence. “We need to assess the situation. We need to take stock of our changes, try to remember anything that could have caused this, figure out where this started. Maybe if we get some insight into what’s actually happening, we can try to find a way to reverse it.” He’s in serious business mode again. He continues to look straight up. “What’s the first strange thing you noticed, Gil? Was it the hair?”
“You keep calling me that,” I point out.
“Huh? Calling you what? I said ‘Gayle’,” he says quickly.
“No, at first I thought I was hearing you wrong, but the last couple of days, sometimes you call me ‘Gil’, and this morning when you were still half asleep, you called me ‘Gilda’,” I tell him.
“I did?” His eyes get wide for a second then dart around the room. He looks like he’s processing something. “Interesting.” His eyes snap back to me. “So was that the first thing? Was there anything else out of the ordinary, no matter how small, that happened before that?”
“Um….” I wrack my brain. “I guess the first thing might have been when we were at the bar. I was in the middle of a sentence, and then suddenly it was like I was dreaming. When it was over, you guys said I’d been spaced out for a few minutes. That was about quarter to 11.”
He turns toward me. “Oh yeah, I think I remember that. It was weird. You sort of mouthed some words, but you didn’t really say anything.” He turns back to the ceiling. “What was the ‘dream’ about?”
How do I even describe it? It was so different from anything I’d experienced before. Or maybe, it was exactly like something I’d experienced before, just a really long time ago.
“How do you mean?” he asks. Did I just say that all out loud?
“I’m not sure. I never had a dream like that before, but I’ve been having them every night since then.” I lean back and stare at the ceiling too. “It almost didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like a vague memory, except it wasn’t anything I’ve ever seen before. I couldn’t see very well. It was all just colors and shapes and voices and flashes of light. At the end, there was this one voice.” I shudder as I remember it. “It was so creepy. It said, ‘Five score-‘”
“Divided by four,” we finish at the same time. I quickly turn to him to find him kneeling on the couch, leaning toward me, his face uncomfortably close to mine. I notice he’s got a blue lump on his forehead.
I’m at a loss for words. “How…” I croak, “How did you know that?”
“I had the same dream,” he says, sounding like some sort of fucking wizard.
“When?”
“Yesterday. I was asleep. I was having a dream, then suddenly it just shifted. It was just like you said. There were colors and shapes. There were towers all over the place. I was in the middle of a group of these… colorful blobs, I guess. We were all moving in one direction fairly quickly. They were screaming. ‘Run!’ they were saying. ‘Honey, help!’ ‘Hide, Daisy!’ ‘He’s coming this way!’ There was so much screaming…” He trails off.
Steve shifts and finally sits normally like a regular person. “Ow!” he cries and adjusts his butt. “Not used to that.” He sighs. “After that, there were these flashes of light. They were coming closer and closer. I heard this… laughter. It was horrible. It was this goofy sounding guffaw, but a goofy guffaw as it would sound coming from a psychopathic clown who’s about to murder you, skin you, and wear your face as a mask. He was…” Steve gulps. “He was singing. The song went, ‘Five score, five score, divided by four.’” He starts to sing it in a slow, haunting little melody. I shift uncomfortably at this. He continues, “‘Five score, five score, divided by four. Something something removed. Something body confused. Something game something will play. Cast something away.’ I don’t remember it very well. I… don’t think I want to.” He stops and pauses.
“That’s okay, man. I don’t think I would want to either.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Then what happened?”
“Then nothing,” he says simply.
“Nothing?”
“Then there was an extraordinarily bright flash, some excruciating pain, and I woke up. My thighs itched, which led me to the cutie marks. That’s when I called you.”
“Shit, man.”
“Yeah.”
“I told ya I didn’t do it,” I chuckle.
He turns and scowls at me. “I could use a drink.”
“Isn’t that what got us into this mess?”
“Well more couldn’t hurt,” he chuckles. “This is some birthday we’ve had, huh? Didn’t even get a cake.”
“Like you need more cake, fatass,” I poke him in the gut.
“Hey! For the millionth time, I’m not fat.” He brushed my finger away.
“Okay, how tall are you?” I ask.
“Six foot even.”
“And how much do you weigh?”
“About 95 kilos,” he responds.
I roll my eyes. “There’s the kilograms again. You always do that. What is that in pounds, like a normal person?”
He rolls his eyes upwards, and makes some waving gestures in the air with his finger. I recognize his “I’m doing math” face. “Um… approximately 210 pounds.”
“So, fat.”
“Think what you want, but not everyone’s a gross stick like you. 210 may be out of shape, but it’s not fat,” he says indignantly, “And you may not want to eat cake on your birthday, but if I want some the day after on MY birthday… I’ll…” He trails off. That’s weird.
“What’s wrong?”
He shoots to his feet, err hooves, and turns to me. “Quick, what time were you born?”
“What? Who cares? Who remembers that sort of thing?” I ask in confusion.
“I do! Don’t you have a copy of your birth certificate around here somewhere?” he bursts.
I’m lost. “Um, yeah, in my desk. It-“
He almost trips over the coffee table, but Steve shoots toward my room. As he goes, he makes clip clopping noises and I notice for the first time he has a bushy, tangled tail the same dark purple with light blue streaks as his hair. “Whoa, when did that happen?” I call after him.
“When did what happen?” he calls back from my room. I hear him open a drawer and start rummaging around.
“When did you get a tail? And the horse feet and ears for that matter?”
“While I was sleeping. I’m growing a horn too! You just now noticed?” he calls as he slams a drawer. “I can’t find dick in this hazardous waste dump you call a room!”
“Well sorry me, miss prissy pants!” I taunt, “Most of us didn’t go to school to be professionally anal retentive! It’s probably in the lower left. Why do you need it?”
“I’ll tell you when I’m right!” he announces, “And besides, being a librarian is not anal retentive. There’s nothing weird about liking things to be in order.” He continues to riffle through papers. “Now, the fact that if I ever met Melvil Dewey I’d totally blow him? I admit that’s weird, but the guy was a fucking hero in my book. …Get it? Book!”
“Ha ha, you’re a fucking comed-“
“FOUND IT!” he proclaims and rushes back into the main room, sitting back down next to me.
“Let’s see here… time of birth… HA I FUCKING KNEW IT!” he announces triumphantly. Jeez. Who knew a guy could get so excited about fact checking? “Abigayle Theresa Griffin, born 10:42 pm!”
“Your point?” I spit impatiently.
“I was born at 12:04 pm the next day,” he informs me.
“Yeah, so?”
“You said that you had that vision at approximately quarter to 11, right?”
I’m beginning to see where this is going. “Go on.”
His voice is start to get higher and faster as he gets more excited. “Well I had mine just about noonish the next day! And you know that ‘score’ is another word for twenty, right? So what would ‘five score, divided by four’ equal?”
Christ, he’s making me do math at a time like this. I figure it out in my head, “Um, twenty five.”
He continues on his roll, “WHICH!” he punctuates this with a raised index finger, “We both just turned...”
Holy shit, the pieces all just fell into place. I finish his thought “…The same exact minute we had the dreams.”
“Exactly, my fine feathered friend!” He cheers.
“Don’t call me that,” I scold him, “And wipe that smirk off your face. You’re grinning like the cat that got the canary.”
“Ah, I think you’re both the cat AND the canary here, Gilda,” he chuckles.
“What?” I question. That name again. Why does it sound so familiar? “What does that mean? And what’s that name?”
With one fluid movement, he snags his laptop off the coffee table, opens it, and is already typing something in. He clicks a few times, and then spins the screen around to show me a page. It’s a wiki entry showing a picture of a creature. It has the back half of a lion, with paws and tail like mine. Its front end looks like an eagle, with white feathers like mine. There are even three large ones in front that fade to purple at the tip.
“Gayle Theresa Griffin?” he announces, “Meet Gilda the Griffon.”
/_‾_‾_‾TO BE
CONTINUED‾_‾_‾_〉
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This has to be one of my favorite side stories in the Five Score Divided by Four universe.
Gayle's personalty is just so entertaining.
2592135
Thanks. Personally, I find her fairly irritating. But what can I say? Sometimes you don't pick your characters, your characters pick you (and they have a mind and personality of their own).
Awesome way to end a story, I cannot wait to read more of it, seeing as this is the first story with Gilda in it, I have read a few about Lazy Bones, but that's besides the point. I really enjoyed to story and will continue to. Keep up the fantastic work!
2592149
You did?
That might be sliiightly impossible, since I made Lazy Bones up for this story.
God I really need to work on my five score fic man but it's becoming difficult.
2592800
Don't push yourself. I've found that writing has to be sincere. If you force it, it doesn't come out particularly well. If you write something just because you think you have to, it shows. Only when you're actually feeling the story does it really come to life.
2593061
It also doesn't help when I write three other fics at the same time.
2593067
Yes, the certainly complicates things. lol
2586022 Ok thanks very much. I always like to know what characters look like when i read a story
now on to reading the story.
2592168
Well, I wouldn't say that. The name is either way too familiar and five score divided by four is real. Or I am some kind of amazing psychic and this is just dejavu.
2595207
QUICK! What are the winning Powerball numbers? It's a record jackpot and I needs me a slice of that 600 million pie!
You must be psychic.
2592168 well I just came across this one browsing Devian art. But I think I like your character more actually.fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/220/6/4/lazy_bones_by_kimorah-d5aefmq.png
2597944
Ewwwww! Burn it with fire!
2598251 yeah that's exactly what I thought when I saw it on google images
2600072
Aw, thank you kindly.
Shut your lying mouth, boy. You have the privilege of living on the same planet as the mantis shrimp.
Anyway, looking forward to more. Especially Gayle's reaction to turning into something pony-related.
Am I the only one who thinks the changes are happening too quickly?
2606344
Holy shit, man. You're my new favorite person for showing me this. I have been converted to the true way: the worship of the mantis shrimp. I love little tidbit factoids like this. A personal favorite is The Great Pig War, wherein America and Britain almost went to war for a third time over one dead pig.
2607444
Yeah, probably. But expect it to actually start coming even faster. What I'm writing right now, I was thinking to myself, "Jeez, I maybe need to slow this the hell down." But really, as I see it, there's not much to do with the intermediary stages. Physically, they're very short, so there's not much sense on getting too attached. The final form is the one that we're going to be seeing for the long run, so why beat around the bush? And situationally, there's not much difference between the middle stages and the end. Once they've started and have any noticeable changes it becomes a game of "we need to stay hidden" just as much as if they're complete. But disregard all that, because what it comes down to is that I'm just going by the official timeline laid out here and here. The whole process takes about about 60 hours, and Gayle is about 40 in.
2607571 Ah. Didn't know about the timeline. Thanks!