Jennings woke slowly, rousing by degrees from the best sleep he’d had in what felt like decades. He lifted his face towards the morning sunlight and opened his…

Wait. What was wrong with his eyes? What was wrong with his face?

He could see, if you could call it seeing. He had a sense of what was going on around him, but the information didn’t seem to be coming to him as visual cues. He couldn’t turn his head much more than a few degrees in each direction, and each time he moved, he swore his body rustled.

The sunlight was nice, though. Energizing. The word ‘photosynthesis’ drifted across Jennings’ mind, and he aggressively shoved it away. Somewhere, on the edges of his consciousness, lurked an awareness of the truth, but Jennings studiously refused to let those particular thoughts loose. That way lay madness, or at least a truly spectacular panic attack, and he wasn’t about to go down that path. It was too nice of a morning for it. Instead, he closed his eyes (or whatever the plant-equivalent was) and basked in the light slanting through the window. Kinda a weird start to the day, but hey, he’d had worse.

Huey didn’t realize something was different at first, because he was used to waking up slowly and lethargically, and resisted opening his eyes as long as possible. So on this strange morning for many, Huey woke up without the slightest clue of what leafy magic had swept through the cave. All that the little hamster knew was that there was warm sunlight falling across him, perfect for sinking him back into the depths of cozy sleep. And so he did.

The second time Huey woke up, it was afternoon. The sunlight was no longer shining directly on him, so he managed to stay awake this time. Oddly enough, he wasn’t hungry even after such a long nap—in fact, he actually felt rather full, which made no sense. The last time he had eaten had been hours and hours ago, and Huey always looked forward to starting his day with at least a little snack. He tried to lift his head, but experienced another odd feeling. It felt like—it felt like there nothing for him to move. And come to think of it, he couldn’t see anything either. All he could do was feel: the sun, the occasional waft of air, and the sensation of being full and cozily enveloped in a warm, earthy scent. How strange.

And thus, the little hamster succulent decided it was all too confusing to bother with and went to sleep again. Maybe he’d have an appetite after another nap.

Geo opened his eyes, still a little groggy, he could tell something weird happened to him but he wasn’t sure what yet. Was it him, or did something weird always happened in April..

Oh, he seemed to be a plant now, that isn’t so bad, plants and rocks get along well together. he looked around and noticed that there were several more plants on the shelf, he also noticed that he and the others were in fact on top of a shelf. As far as he could tell he didn’t see anybody he knew, then again, everyone looked like plants so it was probably hard to tell who was who..

He then heard a Hydrangea tell him to go introduce himself to all of the other plants, that would be the best way to find out who’s who.

Geo turned to the other plants and gave out a small greeting, “uh..hey..”.

All night long dreams of flowers filled her head. But this wasn’t anything uncommon, from the day she hatched as a larvea dreams of buzzing and flying through the sky had been in her mind. She had no name. Just another female worker bee, though she did have secret desires to be a queen of her own hive!
But as she slept something began to ‘tickle’ her. She recognized the feeling, a bee probing with its long mouth part. ‘Why are you doing this?’ She thought to herself, ‘I am not a drone, or a baby bee anymore!  I can feed myself.’ She could feel the legs of the bee crawling all over her face. Which caught her attention and caused her to open her eyes.
At that moment the bee flew off, it’s buzzing noise, which she could normally understand as speaking was now just a loud but, pleasant sound.

Such a strange view things were! She didn’t see multiples of flowers. She could feel and taste the sunlight! It didn’t quite taste like honey. And while she did see some ultraviolet colors, there were normal primary colors she saw as well. And her visions were crisp and clear.
Without realizing it, she tried to flap her tiny wings to take off after her sister bee. But hard as she might try, she couldn’t take off. Her leaves smacking against other pots and containers that held other plants. A few of them next to her gave a wide eyed expression, if plants can so give expressions, they did and moved quickly away from her.
‘How strange,’ she thought. ‘Since when do plants fear bees?!’

“Excuse me! Wait! You there! Hey don’t you want a bee for your flowers?! Wait! Ok maybe not you you’re one of those with no flowers right now… But, now you have lots of flowers. Stop! Please!” Her voice, which had been one of the few things to remain the same, tried at best to speak above all this chatter among the plants.

What she didn’t know was she was what most gardeners did not want around their plants. For like her sunny and gentle nature, she was a common, dandelion weed!

(OoC: oh dear a weed in the green house?! Will she be accepted or will she be yanked before she has a chance to go to seed?)

Mavis woke up, slowly but surely, from her sleep. She had once again worked through a few nights in her laboratory and researched one of her ongoing projects.

As she looked around, still quite tired, she saw some other plants and that she was probably in a strange greenhouse. This wouldn’t really matter to her and would actually be a great joy, but she noticed something strange. Why was everything around her so much bigger than it should have been?

Mavis: “What the…?! Is it just me or is everything else bigger than usual?” Confused, she looks down at herself, only to realize that she was now a plant. Mavis: *Huh… That’s new… How did I do that?* She thinks and mentally goes through all the experiments she did yesterday.

When she noticed a few other voices, she turned her attention to them and tried to listen to the conversation as best she could, after all she had to find out what was causing it all. But unfortunately she couldn’t get any interesting information from them and so she retreated further into her pot, rustling in frustration, into the protective shadow cast over her by the rule.

She decided to just keep sleeping, at some point the whole thing will come to an end and until then she’ll just make up for her lack of sleep. So she closed her eyes and saw everything as a dream.

Isa looks around or, well, he did the best he could given his new state of body as he found himself to be some sort of spindling and twirling Morning Glory. His vines and leaves ere stretched out toward the sun and were draped across the pot he was planted in. He had been trying to find a way to transform Varin back into his less plant-y self, but somehow managed to get himself turned into a plant as well. Perhaps this was less of a magic situation and of mischief he considered as he ‘turned’ and saw other potted plants abound and around. It surely seemed that he wasn’t the only in a predicament.

Thought it wasn’t too bad in all honesty. He could consider it a vacation of sorts, and it wasn’t as if he wasn’t already used to living amongst plants and bugs (though he certainly hoped they would stay far away from him as he was now) thanks to his situation with Varin. And at least it wasn’t hard to be inconspicuous when you’re a potted plant.

“I think I’m going to like it here, everyone.” He says greeting his fellow plants.

Buck Wheatley stretched out his long stem as he woke up to a new day in his new greenhouse. With a name like Buck Wheatley, you might expect this dapper plant to be, well, buckwheat! But you’d be wrong. Buck was no other than the earth’s greatest creation—a single stalk of pure golden wheat.

Buck looked all around him, but there wasn’t any other wheat in the whole greenhouse—odd, considering wheat was usually grow in large quantities all together. Actually, it was strange to be in a greenhouse at all! He should be swaying in the middle of an open field, with his wheatious brethren by his side! It was downright insulting to be left—a single stalk all by his lonesome in a glass cage. Buck needed to start a riot!

“My fellow plants,” Buck communicated, the way only plants know how, “Don’t you hate it here? Don’t you want to leave?”

“No!” Shouted some traitorous fern in the back of the greenhouse. “I like it here! It’s nice and warm and cozy.”

“Comrades don’t pay that persnickety perennial any mind! Listen to me instead, the most golden and glorious of you all! We must escape! Who’s with me?” Buck’s exclamation was met with mostly the plant version of silence, but there were a couple of plants who were ready to spring into action. Perfect!

Now all Buck needed was—an actual plan!

“A calming warmth ...and the air feels so hot… hmmm?”
Tirya  opened her eyes, or rather her leaves (?!) to the sight of a greehouse with lots of plants, and she was also happened to be one of them.
Confused, she observed this new environment for some time. In one of the glass tiles of the greenhouse she could see her new appearence reflected, a lush green plant with large flappy leaves and small white flowers, planted in a flower bed with her roots stuck in the soil. Somehow this new form seemed very pleasing to her! The feeling of the sunlight shining on her green parts felt so nice and exciting… photosynthesis… a new sensation - she felt all relaxed and stretched her leaves towards the bright sky.
“Very well,” she thought, “not sure why I’m here or how I became a plant, but I’d love to just stay here for a while longer and take a break for a bit…”

Yiska grumbled as she awoke from her nightly slumber, glaring at her newest neighbors who didn’t seem to fully understand that the predicament that they were in wasn’t the best. She had determined over the last several hours of forced sleep that some wanted to be here, and others on the other paw where kind of forced into this predicament. Either way, she hoped that this was all some sort of sick prank and that sooner or later someone was going to jump out and scream. gotcha ya good or something along those lines.

Grumbling and chirping under her breath Yiska tried to raise one of her fern-like leaves to try and get an idea of how she was going to be handling this situation. Her mobility was a lot more limited than she realized, but she tried several more movements before giving up and subjecting herself to looking around the other plants in the greenhouse. “So, why are y’all here, whatcha ya do to get yourselves rooted in place?”

Móinn stretched his singular stalk, baffled by his new state of being. From what little the lindworm… sapling could tell, he had been transformed into a freshly sprouted tree of some sort. While he had never had sight, not in this life and not in his past, he could feel the heat of the sun beating down on a singular leaf sprouting from the tip of his… head? The tip of his stick? He wasn’t sure what the proper word for it.

He did know one thing, though. ‘You have to be kidding me. I didn’t even have the decency to be reborn as a flower? Ugh!’

He could smell the overwhelming scent of the other plants in the greenhouse, pollen so thick that it would have settled in his lungs and sent him into a coughing fit… if he still had lungs. As it were, he could only stretch his stalk towards his closest sweet-smelling neighbor and try to grasp one of their buds. ‘I would like to at least be something pretty, not small and scrawny. Give me that flower, right now,’ he demanded with the utmost confidence.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but at least if he grasped a bud he could mask the plainness of this form for a day or two. He could find a more long-term solution later. ‘It’s not as if you need twenty flowers. The least you could spare is one. Or two. Or perhaps three. I wouldn’t be opposed to ten either.’

Rue had always been a plant, so returning to the dirt was only natural for him. He did wonder, vaguely, if he hadn’t de-aged somehow or other. Perhaps he wasn’t as mature as he’d assumed, and simply needed more time in the soil. Or perhaps it was simply part of the life cycle of his particular cultivar. He’d thought some of the sprouts might have come back to their containers after wandering off, so perhaps he had as well. It was rather odd, after being mobile for so long, to not be anymore. He pondered the nutrients and minerals in his new abode, and deemed them appropriate. He’d become very good at combining soil and fertilizers over the years. He considered, briefly, the amount of containers; it always was a marvel to him that things could go in other things. The earth was comfortable, however, and he soon settled down for a round of photosynthesizing without much thought beyond that. After all, it was what plants did.

The most novel thing about becoming a plant for Lacey might have been the complete shift in how she perceived the world, roots questing for nutrients, face shifting incrementally to track the sun as it moved across the sky—but the part she found herself most delighted by was the fact that she was tall. A sunflower, in fact, her long stalk holding her aloft. It would have been rude to lord it over the other, shorter plants that shook and communicated around her, but boy, was she tempted. What a perspective! She could see so much. (See? a part of her mind inquired. Are you sure that’s what you’re doing? I don’t think you have eyes anymore… But whatever the mechanism involved here, she was aware of her newfound height and the angle it offered, so it amounted to much the same thing.)

A passing bee alighted on her face, and rather than the usual instinct to brush it off, it felt surprisingly… right. Yes, come here, every little bee, she thought, fluttering her petals invitingly. Drink of me! A pause as she considered. Ew, that sounded kind of creepy. It seemed her Ineki and flower brains were still not quite aligned.

As a tree, Logan was used to putting down roots wherever and soaking up the sunlight. So he wasn’t too perturbed to find himself in the company of other plants. Of course, it had been awhile, but he figured that like everything else, it would sort itself out in time. The wizards were to blame, probably. As they normally were. But for the time being, the soil was nice and the sunlight on his leaves felt very comfortable. He did wonder if Log was somewhere nearby. He was sure he’d spotted the rhubarb and the melon, so was in good company at least. He just hoped the other residents of the fort hadn’t gotten caught up in all this. He was sure the dragon would be a lot less pleased with the situation than he was.

Cecilia must’ve eaten something strange in the swamp when visiting her friend, for her to have awoken in an even stranger situation than she’d ever found herself in. Though her name apparently had associations with a flower, she herself was most certainly not one.

... That was, until this very moment.

If she focused hard enough, she could curl her leaves and communicate with the other foliage around her, but it was an uncomfortable feeling to not be able to move as freely as she normally did. Yet, she admittedly didn’t feel bad. Just… awkward and exposed.

She let her petals face the sun, soaking in the rays and the way it made her plant body feel alive. Yes, feeling alive… Apparently, that was a feeling even plants shared in common with those of flesh and blood. She could appreciate their shared joy of the simpler things in life: the sunlight, the wind, the rain.

As she was sure the others caught in the same situation as her would agree, though, she hoped this would be resolved quickly. She certainly didn’t want to stay rooted to one place for the rest of her life, literally.

Ted opened an eye. It… jiggled. They opened another eye. That one jiggled, too. One by one, the rest of their myriad eyes opened and jiggled and rolled, catching glimpses of drifting purple petals and draping leaves spinning by as their pupils settled with gravity.

They rustled their leaves until the air buzzed like a steaming kettle. In the absence of wind, it unsettled the ant-like shrine-goers as they went about their insignificant days of busy work, all the while blind to the fact that their spirit had become nothing more than food for a glutting tree. Like they, in time, would all become nutrients for the tree, for Ted.

Ah, but that satisfaction was a pleasure still far away. Now… now was time for fleeting meals to satisfy small hungers. They stretched their roots further, widening a net that was ever-growing, under grass and bush and tree. Their roots coiled into the soil to touch and test and steal, to slowly consume until everything else would wither and die from the lack and return to the soil to be consumed in its turn. Months and years would pass, even for these fleeting pleasures. But what was a month, a year, to a tree?

For now, green remained. For now, Ted’s boughs grew heavy only with flowers and hidden eyes. For now.

Horatia rustled her leaves gently as she adapted to her surroundings. She couldn’t say that her newfound predicament was expected, exactly, but she also didn’t feel as surprised as she might otherwise be. Weirder things had happened to her over the past few years, and she wouldn’t put it past someone to have illusory magic so strong as to make her imagine she had completely changed form.

She was still herself, or whatever aspects of her personality, preferences, and individualized perceptions she had constructed as the “self” she understood, that innate essence of being. She had always felt that the mind was the vital part of the human experience — the body could be moved, reshaped, adjusted, turned unrecognizable, but if the mind remained intact, the person remained. She may have changed shape, or felt as if she had changed shape, but this was simply a physical transformation and a spatial displacement — she could work with this.

Horatia swallowed the sunlight spilling onto her leaves and felt her way through her body. The way she experienced her surroundings had changed, but she did not fear it. She welcomed the shift.

Small aspects of her form became known to her as she shifted her location across her new host. Sharp, long leaves. Twisting, woody branches. Five-petaled flowers that burst from her limbs. She could not see, but she could sense the identity of her form, the shrub that now held her mind in its boughs. Oleander. Pleasing to the eye, but painful to the touch. Deadly, even.

Horatia couldn’t smile, exactly, but recognizing her form made her branches feel sturdier, her roots more secure. She would learn to make the most of this new form, in time.

Tyler yawns as he wakes up, turning over and stretching his…
....his uh. Erm. Hang on a second —
What the heck?! He twists around, trying to yell or run or - something, anything - is he a freaking —
plant?! Like - what the heck do you do with that? God, and the plant crap won’t even let him swear. This is the worst day ever. He feels his plant veins swell in fury. He didn’t even know they did that.
What does a plant even do?! He sits there silently, fuming. Well. That’s the plant experience, innit. He’s doing it. Being a plant. Nightmare innit. Can’t even cough. Now he wants to cough. No lungs to cough with. It’s the little things you miss. This is a pretty weird premise, innit. Yeah.
Welp!

Ming was always one to be on the move when she was flesh and bone, but now… Her roots flex in the soil and her leaves stretching out towards the sun, not truly motionless, but it was nothing compared to her life before.

The deliveries she was meant to make this morning a distant memory as her new roots carried water up and through her stem and leaves, deeply refreshing her body in way it never had before.

The sunlight on her leaves felt warm and….sweet? She never thought she would know what flavour felt, how interesting. Did the others feel it too?

“Hey there, does the sunlight feel sweet to you too?”

What sort of evil, twisted, divine magic had imprisoned Apollo in this form?!
He was guessing the other two plants beside him were Talia and Sora. This is a working hypothesis. He has no real way of knowing. He just presumes the other plants similar to him in the bed they all fell asleep in would be the same people he went to bed with. Which means it wasn’t either of them. An important elimination to make. Though this still doesn’t mean it’s not Talia’s fault. There’s still room for that.
He attempts to wriggle around, scream, cry, anything - he’s still a plant. Nothing he does seems to work. Weird premise, innit? Yeah. This is a lot to process.
He settles down, closing his… metaphysical eyes. Just going to focus his magic to… get out of this. Somehow.

Wist awakens slowly, petals unfurling like heavy eyes. “God, I feel strange,” she mutters to herself, her voice dry like leaves shuddering in fall. Or…? She doesn’t know how she looks, how she sees or knows or feels but she does, taking in her new form with a mix of fascination and horror.

“My goodness, I’ve taken root!” she exclaims, and while in her usual form the disbelief and delight would’ve made her voice squeak, here it only rustles calmly as she flexes each root and stem and petal. “Why, I believe the garden has claimed me at last!” She laughs, twirls, the sound and the motion little more than a sway of her violet blooms. “I must be dreaming!”
But it feels real—the cool, heavy damp of the soil around her many, boneless legs; the inarticulate fingers of her leaves; the blossoms of her head, light as air, sun-warmed and dizzy. She thinks she should be worried, but such a mortal emotion feels as far away as she knows the sun to be, even while she feels it’s warm embrace upon her, and the gentle petting of a breeze through the ajar greenhouse door. How could she know any worry like this? When she is finally one with nature and existing only to be cared for by it. When her needs are so fully met and the only thing left to do is stretch out and enjoy it; to be a plant and nothing more.

It is an exciting prospect, she thinks, as she settles into the earth. She has devoted her life to looking after plants and now, finally, she will know exactly what it’s like to be one. If she ever gets back to her usual form, she will have so much knew knowledge to share.

She wonders if, if she could spread her roots far enough, she could learn about the others in the greenhouse…?

Haywood was feeling awful….. short. He felt like… the size of a toy soldier? In the near distance, he could hear someone asking if the sunlight tasted sweet. Could sunlight taste sweet? He unfurled a few sleepy leaves out of the way to give it a shot.

“I’m not really getting sweet.” He mused, as loud as he could muster. But his voice felt so.. tiny. And it felt as if it reverberated more than he expected while being so very quiet. Almost inaudible. “But it does feel so very warm. Was it meant to be cold last night? I didn’t think it would be this cold this morning.”

He would say that it felt as if his voice vibrated through his bones, but it didn’t really feel like he had bones anymore. It felt more electric. As if his limbs just sprouted out of the sides of his body. And he only had four of them.

Outside the greenhouse sat an ancient olive tree. It fancied himself to be called Oliver. The greenhouse always looked so small to him. But full of life too. The small plants inside were but infants to him and he protected them as such, shading them from the harsh afternoon sun. He watched them grow and felt pride in that.

(Ill try and post longer but i’m running outta time)

In a dark corner if the greenhouse sat a hidden danger. Rot waiting for a chance to infect a weak plant. It was old and it was patient. Soon its time would come. It had no name. It had one thought. Destroy.

The rot in the dark corner slowly grew. Feeding of fallen leaves and waste left from the plants. It knew its time would come. It grew strong, expanding its territory, attacking the weak plants in the ground. The wayward grasses and lost seeds.

The transformation is so complete and so unexpected that it must be a dream. One moment she was human, flesh and bones and worries and scars, and the next she is…this. A flower, a blossom, a bloom. It is like someone has enacted a metaphor upon her life: the scarred girl to the thorned rose. Still wild, still capable of harm, but tamed; cultivated. Beautiful when treated with care. She’d have laughed, voice sharp with snark, if she still had one. Instead she shrugged her leaves indignantly. What a foolish dream; she’d been helping Auhnju and Faine too much in the garden, no doubt.

It didn’t look like their garden, she realized, at the same moment she realized she could see at all. They didn’t have a greenhouse like this—not yet, anyway. It was in the plans for the future, a cozy verdant hideaway even when the homestead was deep in snow—but making a house a home was expensive, and everything took time. She hoped, when they did, it would be as peaceful as this. She wasn’t sure she’d felt this peaceful in a long time.

Cautiously, she pulled a root out of her soil, and then another—they move strangely, not like limbs at all, but they do move, and—thank goodness—it does not harm her. It’s not, for once, that kind of dream. Carefully she places them one in front of the other in front of the other in front of the next, like a centipede toddling along on a hundred threads. Perhaps there are others here.