The Big Applesauce

All is quiet in the darkened shop as Aglet crouches in a vent set high in the wall, silently readying his tools. There won't be any Beans about; the grocer's closed hours ago and its owner is safely absent. He's long used to borrowing in a house full of sleeping Beans, though, and even those members of the Settee family who have never borrowed from anywhere other than an empty shop don't go around making noise where there's even the slightest chance of a Bean hearing them.

They don't really need another bag of granola yet, but Aglet's been feeling restless and more than a little left out. Aunt Euphony doesn't talk to him as much anymore now that there are other Borrowers around, and every time he tries to talk to one of his cousins he comes out sounding like a complete idiot. He's tried, of course, and he'll try again -- and tonight he'll show them that at least he isn't useless. He'll come back with his bag stuffed with granola from one of the giant bins, and then they'll see that he's not so stupid as he thinks they think he is. He's done having everyone take care of him; it's time he shows that he can provide for the family, too.

"Here we go," he whispers under his breath, shouldering his bag and giving his coiled string one last tug to check its connection to the grappling hook on the end. He takes a deep breath, then pushes open the loose vent grate and props it open a scant inch, dropping down a string ladder fastened to the floor of the vent. Down this he climbs to make a ginger landing on top of the shelf that runs over top of all the bins. Without pausing, he scurries along the wall, making a beeline for the dry goods.

The moment at which everything goes wrong comes when he's stooped above the bins of cereal, squinting down at them and trying to remember which kind is the granola his cousins like and which is the kind they said was gross. He's about to just shimmy down and do a taste test when the world gives a sort of lurch. Aglet flails, grasping vainly for handholds on the box of wheat germ beside him, and lets out a sharp cry as feels himself topple over the edge.

He does not, as he expects, hit the hard plastic lid on the nearest bin and break all his bones. Instead, he lands on something surprisingly soft, bouncing back up a little ways before he settles on what feels like fabric. He lays stunned for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling, before he realizes something rather important:

The lights are on.

Gasping in fright, he flails, clawing his way out of where he's sunk into the soft material. After several seconds of panic he finally manages to scramble to his feet, arms out for balance and stance wide. He's not where he was, he realizes, but at the moment the question of where he is pales in comparison to the question of how he can get out of the open. On three sides, giant upholstered walls rise around him, and in the other direction is a sharp, unforgiving drop-off. Standing in place, he looks around frantically for some hint as to what's happened and how he can possibly get down.