Welcome to Edensphere...

[fugue_angel]

Characters: Fugue (fugue_angel), Snake/Boss (bossinthegrass), Rosiel/Flutter (hocestbellum)
Date/Time: Sometime on July 14
Location: The Hall of Beginnings
Rating: TBA, but I'm expecting some violence and crazy. ^^
Summary: ...new arrivals in Edensphere, but does Fugue really want to be there to greet them?

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[hocestbellum]

One moment. He was warm, wet, warm and there were soft half-bits of feathers in his hair, behind his ears, sticking to his lips. Blood-encrusted fingernails, the heavy weight of a dream - a dream? - and then.

And then, the next moment.

Something was cracking, the sound splintering until it became a brittle shatter. He breathed in - and suddenly all of that warm, wet feeling was flooding his throat and he was choking, choking --

Now, spread out against a cold floor, hair everywhere, and the cover of -- wings? spread liquidly against his back.

Anger, confusion, anger. He was on his feet a few seconds later, his wings dragging wetly behind him. Naked, unhappy, hair in a straggling, tangled mess: he looked nothing like the avenging angel he was. He stumbled a few steps forward, glancing wildly about him. There was the perpetrator

[bossinthegrass]

The cocoon of his had a set of fingers sticking out of it as the spy awoke, twitched upon realization that he was trapped somewhere that was not comforting to him at all, and tore through the fibrous wall.

In a spectacular spill, the goo sloshed out onto the floor and out the man tumbled, as naked as the day he was truly born.

He shook the fluid out of his hair, crouched upon the floor in a very familiar manner, and slowly stood. With a disgusted little sigh-grunt, he began to shake off his arms and gather handfuls of the stuff to get it off of him.

A strange prickling feeling at the back of his neck halted him, but it was too late. He heard a sound to his left and turned to be greeted with hands around his throat.

He couldn't utter some sort of surprised cry - it came out more like a stupid gurgle - and that was when a mental picture formed in his head: the pinky.He didn't know what this psycho with wings was on, but it wasn't going to be him. His hands shot over the ones upon his throat, gripping the pinkies and tugging them

[fugue_angel]

...a winged creature lunging in for the kill, and then a gloppy naked man made a good save before lunging to the backs of cocoons like he was playing laser tag.

Well, this was different. At least, he was pretty sure it was. Fugue was glad that he erred in the way of caution.

In his shock, he'd dropped the basket and backed away in shuddering hobble (hoping that it wasn't obvious that he didn't really hobble about on a normal basis), again remaining at a relatively safe distance for conversation

[hocestbellum]

He howled with the sudden pain, all thoughts of violence forgotten as he looked down at his once-beautiful hands. Both of his pinky fingers, dislocated at the joint.

But even as he screamed, he could feel the bones resetting themselves, the grind and the crunch of it was audible.

If it weren't for the nasally voice that interrupted, he might have been wholly distracted by the new phenomenon that was the beauty of his regenerated hand. (Because, looking down upon the white pianist's fingers that curved so artistically upon command: it was like a small miracle in and of itself--)

"Commotion," he repeated, and his voice was regaining the silky smoothness that it once had had. His expression scrutinizing - he was slowly gathering his wits about him, and the need to destroy he had managed to clamp down, keep under control. His hands had suffered a near-disaster already