Turtle Creek Designs

(What’s this?  For background on the Joy Turtle stories, go here.)

The Lady Babies

by Purdy Blue C.

It was early summer when Joy Turtle received word that a ladybug had been sighted in her Flower Girl rose bush, and she immediately set out to design this most welcome guest a necklace. She was hoping the gift might entice it to stay, as she knew that the difference between a garden guarded by a ladybug and one without was frequently the difference between a reasonable Arcadia and a twiggy wigwam not even a mole rat would see fit to refresh himself in.

Designing a necklace for a ladybug was no easy task, however, as ladybugs were infamously fussy. They found few things as important as etiquette. If, for example, you mistakenly offered a ladybug your hand, they might dutifully hold it for a moment–out of obliged courtesy–before flying away to find an associate who hadn’t been raised in a backwoods swamp by daft weasels. No one was certain why interacting with ladybugs required such elevated protocol, aside from the fact that the ladybugs themselves demanded it. That might be thought to contain some kind of lesson, were it not for the fact that attempts by other species to be treated with equal ceremony were commonly rebuffed with an exasperated, “Ladybug, please.”

Joy decided to make her ladybug visitor a necklace out of cultured freshwater pearls and faceted quartz crystal; something fresh enough to wear to an aphid buffet, yet dressy and classic enough for a formal mealybug banquet. She labored away while listening to the audiobook, The Ladybug in the Lawn, which she had purchased believing to be an etiquette manual, but which turned out instead to be a torrid romance novel about a swarthy, hard-working June bug who found a wounded ladybug in the grass, nursed her back to health, married her in secret, and eventually accompanied his forbidden love home under cover of night only to discover, tragically, that her parents lived next to a street light.

While it offered no instructional aid, it did have the magical effect of making time completely evaporate, and Joy awoke the next morning to find that she had somehow finished the necklace shortly before nodding off. She worked a reduction charm on it to shrink it down to ladybug size, and placed it in a simple, unassuming box. As she walked to the garden, she cleared her throat several times and tried her best to recall all the terribly obscure vocabulary words she had heard during her last ladybug encounter. Ladybugs’ vocabularies were notoriously advanced. Unfortunately, Joy could only think of one word, uttered by the Fair Lady Jane Redmums Botanica: lexiphanic, which meant “tending to use notoriously advanced words conversationally without regard to whether or not anyone else understands them,” and which was used by the Lady Jane to describe herself.

As she reached the rose bush, Joy raised her head as high as her neck would comfortably allow, stood as straight and tall as possible for an old turtle, and recited the accepted ladybug greeting in the clearest speech she could muster. She addressed the bush itself: “Excuse me, Flower Girl, but have you seen my fair Lady?”

Joy waited, nervously, but received no response. She scanned the bush. It seemed to have responded to the ladybug’s care already, laden with white and pink blossoms. Joy couldn’t see so much as a leaf, much less a ladybug…which placed her in a rather awkward position. The only proper way to address a ladybug was to address around her in hopes that she might volunteer herself. Joy cleared her throat again, thinking she might address a nearby crepe myrtle next, when a large leaf suddenly extended from the rose petals, falling forward like a drawbridge. On top of it, a small red and black fleck walked slowly towards Joy.

Joy blinked, then blinked again. She would have blinked a third time in astonishment, had she not suddenly recalled that blinking was strictly regulated by the ladybug code. It took most of her concentration not to blink, as she had never seen a ladybug so tiny.

“How do you…do…” Joy said.

As her words trailed off, she realized that she was staring at not one, but a group of five tiny ladybugs, each slightly smaller than the last. She gasped, which thankfully was not regulated, but encouraged.

“My goodness,” Joy said, “you’re just babies.”

The largest of the ladybug babies couldn’t have been more than a day old; the youngest, scarcely hours. It crawled forward using only its front legs, and was so small Joy could hardly see it. Joy dropped her formal stance and crept closer, trying to will her aged eyes into focusing.

The largest ladybug baby came to a halt near the tip of the leaf, and the others formed a tidy tableau around her. Once the tiniest ladybug baby reached the others, it struggled briefly before rolling over onto its back. As it did, Joy noticed that it clasped a minute flower petal in its middle and hind legs, which it promptly stretched over its stomach like a blanket. As it nibbled on one corner of the petal, it rocked back and forth on its shell and regarded Joy with a wild, wide-eyed intensity.

Joy was at a loss. She had never heard of anyone meeting a ladybug baby before and had no idea how to continue. “I…” she said, and then she stopped, for the sentence already contained the sum total of all thought she possessed. A moment passed, the six of them staring at each other, silent. The ladybug babies, with some prompting from the eldest, all crossed their front legs and smiled at Joy wanly, but politely. They appeared to be waiting for her to do something.

Joy couldn’t imagine such infants capable of speech…but they were ladybugs after all, so she attempted, “Good morning,” and followed quickly with, “Have you seen my fair Lady?”

“I hear,” said the eldest, “that it’s overrated.” Her tone was so arch it almost demanded to have a building constructed around it. “And Mother says it’s deeply misogy…ballistic.”

Joy comported herself. Evidently ladybugs matured quite quickly.

“I am so grateful,” Joy began, “that you–I mean your mother–begging your apologies, that you and your mother, my fair Lady–”

The eldest interrupted. “My Fair Lady Mary Pinkrose Florifera, isn’t here, I’m afraid.”

“And even if she were here,” added the second eldest, “she might not be receivifying visitors today.”

“And even if she were here and receivifying visitors,” said the third eldest, “it might not be the right hour for callification.”

“And even if she were here and in receivification with visitors at this very hour,” the fourth eldest said, “She might not be nice to them.”

The youngest stopped sucking on her flower petal long enough to add, with an air of authority: “Blah.”

Joy smiled and relaxed somewhat. Thankfully, although they were capable of speech, their vocabularies were evidently still being developed; she might at least understand most of what was being said, even if it wasn’t particularly pleasant.

“Please tell my Lady…fair…that I’m quite honored,” Joy said, “that my Lady…Mary Pinkrose…should not only choose to visit my garden, but raise her children in it, is–”

“Your garden?” asked the eldest. “Certainably you’re not implyitizing that Fair Lady Mary Pinkrose Florifera would simply stray into someone else’s garden.”

“She has, in fact, claimified this very garden,” said the second eldest.

“She has placed, if you will notice, a flag,” said the third.

“A flag which estabritches this garden as a colony,” continued the fourth.

“A colony which is, irreducibubbly hers, to govern as she wishes,” said the eldest. “Or doesn’t wishes, as the mood may strike.”

“Blah blah blah blah blah!” said the youngest.

Joy was taken aback. “I didn’t notice a flag.”

“Well of course you didn’t,” said the eldest. “My Lady does not stoopify to conquerification: she merely claimitizes.”

“The flag,” said the second eldest, “is understatementated, as understatementation is the best kind of statementation of all.”

The third eldest walked to the edge of the leaf, and nodded towards a place on the ground in front of the rose bush. “You may find it there. Or you may not: I have no idea how skilled you are at findification.”

Joy looked in the direction the ladybug baby had indicated and spied a brilliant red flag with black spots, surrounded by a white and black border with golden trim. It flew from a wooden flagpole the size of a matchstick. The black spot in the center of the flag was topped with a tiny golden crown, and surrounded by florid lettering. The words were too small to read clearly, but appeared to say something like, “Your Beautiful Land”, above the black spot and, “Is Now Ours”, below. Joy was fleetingly offended, until she realized that the claim could easily be nullified by simply convincing the nearest available mole rat to refresh himself near it.

“What a wonderful flag,” Joy said. “I’m quite honored that my lady fair and her ladybug babies–”

All of the babies gasped, except for the youngest, who burped.

“Begging your pardon, Miss’am!” the eldest said, fairly hissing the last word.

“Your very good pardon, Miss’am!” the second eldest said.

“But we much prefer the term ‘lady babies’,” said the eldest.

“To lady bug babies,” added the second.

“The distinction, I believe, is self-efferdent,” the eldest said.

“The ‘bug’ part, very particulationally, gets droppified,” added the second eldest, “Droppified with extreme prejudice.”

“Unless, of course, you meant to call us bugs?” the third eldest asked.

“Perishable thoughtation!” said the eldest. “Such a thing would be…unconscrable!”

“Desplicatory!” said the second.

“Deplurgable!” said the third.

“And…unthinkaterd!” added the fourth.

“Blah blah blah blah!” spat out the youngest.

“Our mother is a beetle,” the eldest said.

“She is every bit the little lady beetle,” said the second eldest.

“And despite having given birth to over two hundred of us, she still has quite a nice figure and manages to stay up-to-date on all the latest trends,” the third eldest said. “Without it becoming, you know, a thing for her.”

“It is effortalessitizedalocationatory,” said the fourth.

“I beg your pardon,” said Joy. “I didn’t mean any offense. I wasn’t aware there was a difference between a bug and a beetle.”

“Not aware?” the eldest asked.

“I don’t wish to make an issue of it,” said the second, “but we beetles share a very distinct and elevated lineage that separates us from mere bugs.”

“Bugs belong to the order Hemiptera, to which we do not belong,” said the third.

The other lady babies stared at her.

“I‘ve started night school,” she offered.

“But you’re not even a day old,” said the second eldest.

“Yes, but so much is to be gained simply from deciding to improve oneself,” said the third. She turned her attention back to Joy. “Bugs, to put it bluntly, suck.”

“Control yourself!” the eldest shouted.

“Whereas we beetles chew,” the third continued.

“Ah,” said the eldest.

“Oh,” said the second.

“Wha?” asked the fourth.

“I mean, techniclacla,” the third said, “we crush and cut our food up, but whateverly. Chew is a fairmost approximamization.”

“Consider, if you will, the emperor beetle,” the eldest said. “You might spend your life searching and never find an emperor aphid.”

“Or a splendor leafhopper,” said the second.

“No one has ever seen a scarab cicada,” said the third. “Or, if they have, they have been killed before returning to civilization to tell anyone about it.”

“Striped ambrosia bedbugs?” the fourth said. “The very thought makes me blargle myself a little.”

The others stared at her disapprovingly.

“Just a very little,” the fourth said.

“Sun beetle, jewel beetle, necklace beetle–all our brethren,” the eldest said. “I could go on.”

“Titan, Hercules and bombardier,” the second said, “if you admire strength. And who doesn’t?”

“Soldier, cowboy, stag…” added the third. “Though the three don’t get along.”

“Rustic sailor–that’s my favorite,” said the fourth eldest. “He’s rustic, but sailory…so sailory…”

The lady babies all giggled, and Joy smiled. She had been mortified by her bugly faux pas, but realized that ultimately, for all their airs, the lady babies were, at heart, just young girls. She decided to have some fun. “What,” Joy asked, “about the dung beetle?”

“We will tell our Fair Lady that you called,” the eldest said, directing the others to return to the rose bush. Evidently, the specter of the dung beetle was enough to end the conversation.

“How kind of you to let me come,” Joy said. “If you would, please tell my Lady that I wish to come again and bring my Lady a necklace.”

The lady babies stopped. “A necklace?” the eldest asked.

“To welcome her to my…small plot of land that is next to her garden.”

Joy produced the necklace and displayed it to the lady babies, who rushed forward to get a better look.

“The pearls are called…” Joy hesitated. In the trade, they were called potato pearls, but Joy realized that name might not sit well with the lady babies. As she eyed the necklace, an idea struck her. “They’re called ‘ladybu–’, I mean, ‘lady beetle’ pearls,” she said, “because some of them are shaped like little lady beetles.”

“Indeed they are,” the third eldest said. The rest of the lady babies cooed appreciatively.

“If you are agreeable,” the eldest said, “we would be happy to hold it for her until she returns.”

“And we certainly will not take turns trying it on until she gets back,” said the second.

“Most certainly not!” said the eldest.

“Why even mention such a shameful thing?” the third asked.

“Perish the thoughtamus,” said the fourth.

“Blah blah blah?”

“Yes,” whispered the fourth eldest. “As soon as she leaves.”

Joy handed the necklace over to the eldest.

“I am Joy Turtle, by the way,” she said.

The third eldest suddenly stepped forward. She raised herself up on her hind legs, opened her shell fully, and with her middle legs, gripped her wings and curtseyed.

“And I am Eliza,” she said.

“Oh, you’re a good lady, you are,” Joy replied. She smiled at Eliza, who appeared to be having some trouble holding her curtsey. In fact, she was holding it far longer than Joy had ever seen anyone hold one before.

“Really, that’s not necessary,” Joy said. “I’m an ordinary turtle and it’s just a simple necklace.”

“No, it’s not that,” Eliza replied. “I’m stuck.”

“What are you doing?” the eldest demanded.

“I don’t know,” Eliza replied. “It was instinctable.”

“It’s called a curtsey,” Joy offered.

“Well, it’s horrible and unnatural and I think it should stop,” the eldest said. She bumped Eliza roughly, knocking her back on all six legs.

“Thank you,” Eliza said, breathless.

“You’re welcome,” the eldest said. “Now show me how to do it.”

And with that, the four eldest lady babies began practicing curtseying to each other, as the youngest dragged the necklace behind the thick rose curtain, her antennae quivering with excitement.

—————

To see the necklace this story was written for, click here.