(no subject)
Characters: Shannon and Mildmay
Setting: Yachiru's group home
Time: Early in the bodyswap event.
Summary: Shannon wakes up as a little boy. Mildmay is...Yachiru. They need to plot an escape.
Warnings: Swearing, suggested colorful activity.
The first thing Shannon noticed that was off was the lighting in his room. Eyes still closed - still not ready to open and face the day - he felt the warmth of the sun on his face and saw the odd orange glow that was prodding him to wake up already. In his half-asleep state Shannon rationalized: clearly, he was not in his cave basement because he had spent the night at one of his gentleman friend's houses, and he of course didn't remember the gentleman or the events of last night because he had been overserved at the bar where he had met said mystery gentleman.
No use delaying it, then. It was time to make the dreaded walk of shame. He opened his eyes and found himself in the strangest bedroom with smaller furnishings - almost as if it were for a child... He shrugged. Many of the gentlemen Shannon had met had been full of strange design ideas.
Only, now Shannon was sure he hadn't gone out last night - he'd spent his hours sulking and listening, moodily, to his mother. He ran a hand through what he thought would be his hair, but what he found in place of his fashionably long curls was a stick-straight mess.
Now was the time for panic. Where was his hair?
His stomach lurched; this wasn't the first time he'd woken up in an unfamiliar place. He scrambled out of the twin bed (the sheets, he could tell, were of a low thread count too) and propelled himself towards the dresser to look at the mirror.
Shannon screamed, and the sound was pre-pubescent and small and trailed off in something that could almost be Felix (or possibly Kleenex, it was hard to say when he was this shrill).
He was a boy. With scabs and scars and dirt under his fingernails. His hair was a drab sort of brown, he had freckles - loads of them - and he looked kind of blurry. He stretched out a shaky hand to grab the pair of thick framed glasses on the dresser and slid them on with a look of pure horror. He was less blurry now - and even more of something he did not want.
The screaming continued.
Setting: Yachiru's group home
Time: Early in the bodyswap event.
Summary: Shannon wakes up as a little boy. Mildmay is...Yachiru. They need to plot an escape.
Warnings: Swearing, suggested colorful activity.
The first thing Shannon noticed that was off was the lighting in his room. Eyes still closed - still not ready to open and face the day - he felt the warmth of the sun on his face and saw the odd orange glow that was prodding him to wake up already. In his half-asleep state Shannon rationalized: clearly, he was not in his cave basement because he had spent the night at one of his gentleman friend's houses, and he of course didn't remember the gentleman or the events of last night because he had been overserved at the bar where he had met said mystery gentleman.
No use delaying it, then. It was time to make the dreaded walk of shame. He opened his eyes and found himself in the strangest bedroom with smaller furnishings - almost as if it were for a child... He shrugged. Many of the gentlemen Shannon had met had been full of strange design ideas.
Only, now Shannon was sure he hadn't gone out last night - he'd spent his hours sulking and listening, moodily, to his mother. He ran a hand through what he thought would be his hair, but what he found in place of his fashionably long curls was a stick-straight mess.
Now was the time for panic. Where was his hair?
His stomach lurched; this wasn't the first time he'd woken up in an unfamiliar place. He scrambled out of the twin bed (the sheets, he could tell, were of a low thread count too) and propelled himself towards the dresser to look at the mirror.
Shannon screamed, and the sound was pre-pubescent and small and trailed off in something that could almost be Felix (or possibly Kleenex, it was hard to say when he was this shrill).
He was a boy. With scabs and scars and dirt under his fingernails. His hair was a drab sort of brown, he had freckles - loads of them - and he looked kind of blurry. He stretched out a shaky hand to grab the pair of thick framed glasses on the dresser and slid them on with a look of pure horror. He was less blurry now - and even more of something he did not want.
The screaming continued.