ALIEN SLIME WRESTLINGpossibly_thriceOctober 10 2010, 03:07:01 UTC
A silence like a star.
"What are you," said Win, without looking at him. "Scared?"
"Hey," he said, indignantly, and then he didn't know what to add.
She spun slow on the balls of her bare feet, the dragging pressure of her curled toes cutting tracks into the goo. Her face sleeved with light. And, it has to be said, goo.
George stepped backward without thinking.
Winona smiled. The translucent edges of her teeth were tinted to a dark yellow where the goo had gotten in.
"Right," she said, and leapt.
They went down rolling, and landed at the edge of the less solid part of the floor. "We're gonna sink," George gasped, straining back from the place where he could see the light coming through, faint and urine-sharp, its source buried under fathoms of semitransparent stuff.
"I love you," said Winona, and bit him.
"--holy fuck, ow--"
"--love you, love you, love you--"
The goo separates under their weight, splits, in places, like jello under the edge of a spoon, their bodies carving fragile canyons out of the smooth strange depths as they flail. It's not so bad at first but this is stupid and Winona's discolored teeth are sharp as other kinds of cutlery and "Geroff," George grunts, in a twist of air and effort.
They fly apart. A few inches apart, granted, in this slow medium, but the sudden removal of the pressure on his front is as strange and awful as if they were at opposite ends of this impossible room, and he curls in, protectively, around the vulnerability of his skin, the frightening loss of sensation.
Winona, splayed out on her back, makes a sound.
"Don't be like that," she hisses, and the fingers she has thrown over her closed eyes blur like the prongs of a tuning fork. She pulls up into a sitting position without using her hands. In the goo is a shallow hollow for her torso and one of her arms, the one she left outstretched. A goo angel, one-winged. Her hair slips in hanks over her shoulders, curling down to rest on the tops of her bare breasts, the pale threads darkened to the unnatural glint of brass by the wet stuff holding them together.
George breathes.
He's really not expecting the arm that snakes out to grab his ankle at all, when it comes.
*
presumably there's a plot or explanation but ehhhhhh who cares amirite
"What are you," said Win, without looking at him. "Scared?"
"Hey," he said, indignantly, and then he didn't know what to add.
She spun slow on the balls of her bare feet, the dragging pressure of her curled toes cutting tracks into the goo. Her face sleeved with light. And, it has to be said, goo.
George stepped backward without thinking.
Winona smiled. The translucent edges of her teeth were tinted to a dark yellow where the goo had gotten in.
"Right," she said, and leapt.
They went down rolling, and landed at the edge of the less solid part of the floor. "We're gonna sink," George gasped, straining back from the place where he could see the light coming through, faint and urine-sharp, its source buried under fathoms of semitransparent stuff.
"I love you," said Winona, and bit him.
"--holy fuck, ow--"
"--love you, love you, love you--"
The goo separates under their weight, splits, in places, like jello under the edge of a spoon, their bodies carving fragile canyons out of the smooth strange depths as they flail. It's not so bad at first but this is stupid and Winona's discolored teeth are sharp as other kinds of cutlery and "Geroff," George grunts, in a twist of air and effort.
They fly apart. A few inches apart, granted, in this slow medium, but the sudden removal of the pressure on his front is as strange and awful as if they were at opposite ends of this impossible room, and he curls in, protectively, around the vulnerability of his skin, the frightening loss of sensation.
Winona, splayed out on her back, makes a sound.
"Don't be like that," she hisses, and the fingers she has thrown over her closed eyes blur like the prongs of a tuning fork. She pulls up into a sitting position without using her hands. In the goo is a shallow hollow for her torso and one of her arms, the one she left outstretched. A goo angel, one-winged. Her hair slips in hanks over her shoulders, curling down to rest on the tops of her bare breasts, the pale threads darkened to the unnatural glint of brass by the wet stuff holding them together.
George breathes.
He's really not expecting the arm that snakes out to grab his ankle at all, when it comes.
*
presumably there's a plot or explanation but ehhhhhh who cares amirite
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