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station722017-06-08 04:45 pm
sistershoggoth) wrote in station722017-06-08 04:45 pm
Entry tags:
[open] D049
CHARACTERS: Annie & U
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: D049
SUMMARY: Time to make some titty slime dance.
WARNINGS: Annie.
First Come First Serve
She feels like she's rotting at the seams. Her body more foreign and uncomfortable than it usually is, and that's already pretty uncomfortable. If she doesn't put enough energy into not doing so... her mind eventually wanders its way towards bigger things. Daydreaming about the ample lungs of an entire ecosystem, the blood beat of a molten core, the heavy certainty of her own field of gravity-- Like a spasm she becomes aware of how her skin and bones constrict her, how her humanity limits her.
It's bad enough without the scar in her chest oozing green snot. The scar was bad enough, raised skin like a mountain range where she's been seared closed; restricted.
And now, irritating and unwanted, her hand has swelled, red and itchy, from the goddamn slime dragon's pissy little bite. She's aware of how the hand feels hot and fat. It dangles between her knees where she sits, the other hand working its way through cigarettes. They're stale and awful, they make her sinuses burn and her throat itch, but she doesn't stop. The rush of nicotine is the only thing distracting her in this moment of what she can only consider to be self-pity. That only irritates her further, and she chews on the filter of a dying cigarette before she drops it amongst the others between her feet and starts again anew.
Somewhere along the way, tired of feeling so fucking confined she tugs loose the compression bandage around her chest, green with slime, and tosses it away. Just lets her long-dead wound drip into her clothes, down her stomach, long strands of hair getting stuck in its viscous mess.
Disgusting. She feels disgusting.
She rubs her eyes furiously, face in her hands. Her leg starts to jiggle restlessly, the heel of her boot clip-clopping out a rhythm... that droplets of goo begin to coalesce together and imitate, bouncing like freshly dropped marbles.
Unlimited
She's sitting, staring at a puddle of goo... trying to figure out how to do this shit on purpose...
Prose or Action is fine, I am just lazy and tend to write header prompts without too much formatting....
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: D049
SUMMARY: Time to make some titty slime dance.
WARNINGS: Annie.
First Come First Serve
She feels like she's rotting at the seams. Her body more foreign and uncomfortable than it usually is, and that's already pretty uncomfortable. If she doesn't put enough energy into not doing so... her mind eventually wanders its way towards bigger things. Daydreaming about the ample lungs of an entire ecosystem, the blood beat of a molten core, the heavy certainty of her own field of gravity-- Like a spasm she becomes aware of how her skin and bones constrict her, how her humanity limits her.
It's bad enough without the scar in her chest oozing green snot. The scar was bad enough, raised skin like a mountain range where she's been seared closed; restricted.
And now, irritating and unwanted, her hand has swelled, red and itchy, from the goddamn slime dragon's pissy little bite. She's aware of how the hand feels hot and fat. It dangles between her knees where she sits, the other hand working its way through cigarettes. They're stale and awful, they make her sinuses burn and her throat itch, but she doesn't stop. The rush of nicotine is the only thing distracting her in this moment of what she can only consider to be self-pity. That only irritates her further, and she chews on the filter of a dying cigarette before she drops it amongst the others between her feet and starts again anew.
Somewhere along the way, tired of feeling so fucking confined she tugs loose the compression bandage around her chest, green with slime, and tosses it away. Just lets her long-dead wound drip into her clothes, down her stomach, long strands of hair getting stuck in its viscous mess.
Disgusting. She feels disgusting.
She rubs her eyes furiously, face in her hands. Her leg starts to jiggle restlessly, the heel of her boot clip-clopping out a rhythm... that droplets of goo begin to coalesce together and imitate, bouncing like freshly dropped marbles.
Unlimited
She's sitting, staring at a puddle of goo... trying to figure out how to do this shit on purpose...
Prose or Action is fine, I am just lazy and tend to write header prompts without too much formatting....