Death is Pretty Undefinitive, I Guess
Who: sitsinarmor and muttwithasword
What: Waking up in Luceti.
When: Pre-dated a little to whenever their intro is.
Where: The magical forest of Luceti~
Summary: It's not every day that you wake up in one piece after being dead. And all that considered, these two probably have some talking and tomdickery to achieve by the end of the day.
Rating: PG? Just some cursing, probably.
Dorochet recalled... Hn. He recalled falling face-first in sewer water; some way to go, right? At least he didn't have the time or life in him to curse his piss poor luck in the field of battle. He at least wondered if it was going to be a sudden lack of existence, or if he'd get condemned by some god above that he hadn't had the effort or energy to care about. But he didn't get that chance, it seemed, because his eyes shot open and his once sleepy breathing hitched in his throat.
He moved his fingers slowly, and felt grass. That definitely wasn't right.
Lifting his torso up on his forearms, the first thing he noticed was that the air smelled clear and sweet, nothing at all like Dublith's air, nothing at all like the acid-like bitterness inside the Devil's Nest of smoke and cheap booze. The second thing he noticed was that his back was pulsing with new, painful life. It fuckin' hurt.
Grumbling, he lifted himself shakily to his knees, still medicated-why was he medicated, again?-and surveyed himself. Torso naked, blinding white pants. Got it. Wet, burning sensation on the back of his neck. Raw and sore. He'd never been tattooed, so he wouldn't even jump to the conclusion.
And yet again, he had no time to. There was a faint, faint smell, a signature smell that he'd smelled just about every day for years.
"...Martel?"
He staggered to his feet, wiping his brow of sweat.
"You around here...?"
He folded the scent, finding it was probably a little too far for her to hear him; did... did they die, or somethin'? Or did they get taken in by some crappy lab group again? Don't even tell him that he has wings now. Assholes
What: Waking up in Luceti.
When: Pre-dated a little to whenever their intro is.
Where: The magical forest of Luceti~
Summary: It's not every day that you wake up in one piece after being dead. And all that considered, these two probably have some talking and tomdickery to achieve by the end of the day.
Rating: PG? Just some cursing, probably.
Dorochet recalled... Hn. He recalled falling face-first in sewer water; some way to go, right? At least he didn't have the time or life in him to curse his piss poor luck in the field of battle. He at least wondered if it was going to be a sudden lack of existence, or if he'd get condemned by some god above that he hadn't had the effort or energy to care about. But he didn't get that chance, it seemed, because his eyes shot open and his once sleepy breathing hitched in his throat.
He moved his fingers slowly, and felt grass. That definitely wasn't right.
Lifting his torso up on his forearms, the first thing he noticed was that the air smelled clear and sweet, nothing at all like Dublith's air, nothing at all like the acid-like bitterness inside the Devil's Nest of smoke and cheap booze. The second thing he noticed was that his back was pulsing with new, painful life. It fuckin' hurt.
Grumbling, he lifted himself shakily to his knees, still medicated-why was he medicated, again?-and surveyed himself. Torso naked, blinding white pants. Got it. Wet, burning sensation on the back of his neck. Raw and sore. He'd never been tattooed, so he wouldn't even jump to the conclusion.
And yet again, he had no time to. There was a faint, faint smell, a signature smell that he'd smelled just about every day for years.
"...Martel?"
He staggered to his feet, wiping his brow of sweat.
"You around here...?"
He folded the scent, finding it was probably a little too far for her to hear him; did... did they die, or somethin'? Or did they get taken in by some crappy lab group again? Don't even tell him that he has wings now. Assholes