Dylas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sullenstallion) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
melodiesofeternity2018-06-08 05:06 pm
sullenstallion) wrote in melodiesofeternity2018-06-08 05:06 pm
Entry tags:
arm to the teeth [OPEN]
Who: Dylas and you!
When: After the new arrivals.
Where: A storage room in the Curti Center, laterwalking slithering to his home in the housing district.
What: Dylas receives a wonderful regain that earns him a few stares. Not entirely sure what's wrapped so tightly in the canvas, he decides to unroll it before heading home...
Warnings/Notes: Mentions of cannibalism, mostly played for humor.
i. can I give you a hand?
What’s their problem?
[Dylas asks the question aloud and at no one in particular as he makes his exit from the Biggs and Wedge. As if getting called out there wasn’t annoying enough—he’s been trying to keep a low profile for a number of good reasons. But those two assholes? They wouldn’t even look at him. Dylas calls himself a monster, but being stared at like one from people who have probably seen all kinds of weird shit is more annoying than hurtful. And all because of this parcel.
He looks down at where it’s tucked under his arm. Something from his home word, apparently, that’s what he’s carrying. But it’s long, lumpy. He can’t remember owning anything shaped like this back in his apartment. In fact, in Ryslig, he hadn’t owned many things at all aside from fishing equipment. This...it’s too short for a fishing rod. And with the canvas, he can’t smell it.
...well, it can’t be that bad.
And it isn’t bad until he’s stepped into what he thinks is an empty, seldom-used store room and sets the parcel down on a small table. He wastes no time in unwrapping it and, lo and behold, there’s a human arm staring back up at him. It’s still wearing its watch. Cute. Dylas stares down at it with a sigh, torn between relief, horror, confusion, and exasperation...when he hears the door opening. But it’s too late. He’s like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as the door slowly swings open.
How is he going to explain this?]
——Don't look!!! I'm, uh, changing!
ii. just another normal day
[So, maybe he understands why Biggs and Wedge didn’t make eye contact with him now. Maybe. Maybe he’s also surprised he made it out of there without any authorities being alerted, because what the hell. He’s heard about these things, these objects from other people’s home worlds. He never thought he’d get one. And now that he has one, he doesn’t want it. Throwing it away would also be problematic.
Dylas manages to make it to the housing district without any further unraveling incidents, but when your morning starts with someone sending you an arm, your luck isn’t bound to get much better. He’s slithering fast, his massive weight taking corners without pausing. One moment, a passerby could be minding their own business, and the very next there’s a giant snake-man clutching a package crashing or near-crashing into them.
Sometimes, Dylas is nicer, but today is not the day for that.]
Are you trying to eat sidewalk, or do you just have your head up your ass?
[He’s agitated enough by the encounter for his fangs to be showing, but maybe he’ll calm down. Maybe. Once he stops glaring and feels less tense about this whole ordeal.]
When: After the new arrivals.
Where: A storage room in the Curti Center, later
What: Dylas receives a wonderful regain that earns him a few stares. Not entirely sure what's wrapped so tightly in the canvas, he decides to unroll it before heading home...
Warnings/Notes: Mentions of cannibalism, mostly played for humor.
i. can I give you a hand?
What’s their problem?
[Dylas asks the question aloud and at no one in particular as he makes his exit from the Biggs and Wedge. As if getting called out there wasn’t annoying enough—he’s been trying to keep a low profile for a number of good reasons. But those two assholes? They wouldn’t even look at him. Dylas calls himself a monster, but being stared at like one from people who have probably seen all kinds of weird shit is more annoying than hurtful. And all because of this parcel.
He looks down at where it’s tucked under his arm. Something from his home word, apparently, that’s what he’s carrying. But it’s long, lumpy. He can’t remember owning anything shaped like this back in his apartment. In fact, in Ryslig, he hadn’t owned many things at all aside from fishing equipment. This...it’s too short for a fishing rod. And with the canvas, he can’t smell it.
...well, it can’t be that bad.
And it isn’t bad until he’s stepped into what he thinks is an empty, seldom-used store room and sets the parcel down on a small table. He wastes no time in unwrapping it and, lo and behold, there’s a human arm staring back up at him. It’s still wearing its watch. Cute. Dylas stares down at it with a sigh, torn between relief, horror, confusion, and exasperation...when he hears the door opening. But it’s too late. He’s like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as the door slowly swings open.
How is he going to explain this?]
——Don't look!!! I'm, uh, changing!
ii. just another normal day
[So, maybe he understands why Biggs and Wedge didn’t make eye contact with him now. Maybe. Maybe he’s also surprised he made it out of there without any authorities being alerted, because what the hell. He’s heard about these things, these objects from other people’s home worlds. He never thought he’d get one. And now that he has one, he doesn’t want it. Throwing it away would also be problematic.
Dylas manages to make it to the housing district without any further unraveling incidents, but when your morning starts with someone sending you an arm, your luck isn’t bound to get much better. He’s slithering fast, his massive weight taking corners without pausing. One moment, a passerby could be minding their own business, and the very next there’s a giant snake-man clutching a package crashing or near-crashing into them.
Sometimes, Dylas is nicer, but today is not the day for that.]
Are you trying to eat sidewalk, or do you just have your head up your ass?
[He’s agitated enough by the encounter for his fangs to be showing, but maybe he’ll calm down. Maybe. Once he stops glaring and feels less tense about this whole ordeal.]
no subject
He had said seeing Dylas' face was worse than other torture...
There was still his sense of smell, though, and Snow White lunged toward where Dylas had last been. He reached forward to claw at the naga and tried to bite him. Swinging around a weapon blindly seemed ill advised.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!... The words pounded with his heartbeat even if Snow couldn't say them. What was worse was the frustrating burn of tears behind his blindness when he didn't understand why it mattered so much.
no subject
He said he'd shut Snow White up, and he did.
Those teeth connect with his shoulder as he sinks down to the floor. He claws back, a monster's claws slicing through Snow's clothes while his tail starts to surround him...and then, seconds later, Dylas' tail isn't surrounding him anymore. He can claw and bite all he wants, but it doesn't matter, not when Dylas can coldly move around him and make his way for the door.
He can't cry out to help. He can't see where Dylas' tail ends and his body begins. He can't hear the sound of the door opening. After their brawl, however long it lasts, Dylas shoves Snow White to the floor and leaves him in there.
Someone will come help him eventually. Until then, he can be stuck with his own thoughts, or he can feel around for the door and make a run for it. Dylas doesn't care.
Snow White got what was coming to him.