Zee is eyeing the fluffy skittering things with some degree of cation. It's a predatory sort of cation, though. Like a lion staring down a wildebeest. The sort of caution that says, 'I know you're dangerous, but I'm going to ruin your day as soon as I get the chance'.

That plush that showed up a few hours ago (days ago? It's hard to tell sometimes) was a harbinger.

A herald.

A... um... messenger of doom?

There are probably other good words for it, but Zee's drawing a blank right now.

Yes, she does her own narration, shut up.

But if she does her own narration, shouldn't it be in first person like a hard boiled noir private eye? And if she's going to do that she really needs a hat.

Would being a dame preclude her from being a hard boiled private eye? Has that gender role been deconstructed sufficiently? Maybe she could be a hard boiled dame? No wait, she doesn't actually have to be any of these things. She can just narrate for herself in the first person instead. AHEM! It was a lonely Thursday morning, the grey drizzling sky as depressing as Cosmos' expression. Things got more colorful when those squid dames showed up, kicking doors and shouting for tribute. I knew they would settle down quick, that was just the nature of things these days. Especially when that stranger with the knockoff Kit Kats stepped in. I'd keep an eye on them, since that was my Job.

...by this time Zee has thoroughly distracted herself from the potentially murderous plush animals, focused far too much on trying to wear a sufficiently hard-boiled expression.