ANNIE -W. (
sistershoggoth) wrote in
station722017-06-08 04:45 pm
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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....
unlimited
Baby demon is throwing an inner tantrum, as usual. Nothing seems fair just because he doesn't get his way and others get to carry on with their lives like his bratty appetites aren't the center of their world. That's probably why he's chomping harder into the leg of some common farm animal, chewy and seasoned to hell and back, as he makes his way around, aimlessly.
Disgusting, furious, confused, ineffective. Not words, not shapes, just blurs with meaning in Petre's head when he approaches the floor covered in snot like a monster with the world's goopiest flu just dragged his fat ass around and fucked off in misery. Unfortunately the source he finds is a lot less interesting than the thought of a monster, and a lot more aggravating. ]
What the fuck. Ever heard of a fucking bathroom? Someone's gonna slip on all your alien diarrhea.
[ speaking of which, WHAT THE FUCK ]
The first one?
Then she notices the slime and the way it seems to be oozing from the young woman. It would be hard not to notice, but the goo itself hardly seems to faze her as she continues forward. Honestly, she's seen worse things.
She pauses a short distance away, studying the strangely bouncing balls of green goo. "Is that new?"
unlimited
Just asking hey, what's up from the other end of the station telepathically still feels a little weird. Maybe it always will; Lucina's from a world where the only real way to see how someone else is doing is to physically get over there, since even their slower means of communication over a distance have been completely demolished.
So she focuses not on words, but on where the feelings are coming from, and makes her way to find Annie and a puddle of...something, and frowns. ]
Are you alright?
gettin slimed
Right now, it's Annie, her galactic whirlwind of gods only know what's happening in that head of hers. Between royalty, a literal galaxy, and a demigod, Nyx sometimes wonders if he was put on this brood just to be severely outclassed.
It doesn't bother him, at least. As usual, Nyx wanders towards the direction of the tug, full of disgust and some level of loathing and impatience.]
Annie?
[He's... not really sure if to interrupt, to be in her space when all she really might want is to be left alone. He could offer the courtesy of physical space when mental space wasn't much of an option.]