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Entry tags:
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CHARACTERS: Meridian Fennel & Millions Knives
DATE: right here right now
WARNINGS: violence to pianos
SUMMARY: you can't take this guy anywhere
[He'd tried. He really had. He'd dressed the part and everything, come prepared to play the appropriate role. Maybe he thought he could handle it because it was in the game, but that was naive, having already experienced the strength of the simulation. Of taste and sound and touch.
To Meridian's credit, perhaps, it doesn't immediately go to shit. He engages in some polite conversation. He has a drink. Though he cuts an imposing figure, easily towering over the majority of the guests, he's smoothed out his low rasp into a lilting rumble, almost alluring. He's danced these steps before, albeit not of his own will.
But the illusion shatters when one curious guest just can't get over his ears. Meridian tries to deflect: they're sensitive, it's improper, and sir, I would really prefer you let this go, but the man's boorish. He doesn't take 'no' for an answer.
And so, as the man stretches out his fingers towards the delicate tufts of fur at the base of Meridian's ears, Meridian grabs his wrist. The man cries out, the crowd starts to turn. Meridian scowls as he hurls the man onto the nearest surface.
It happens to be the lid of the piano.
Someone happens to be playing it.
Meridian pins the man down as he stares at the piano player, defiantly, his claws splayed over the offending guest's throat. Sorry, not sorry.]
DATE: right here right now
WARNINGS: violence to pianos
SUMMARY: you can't take this guy anywhere
[He'd tried. He really had. He'd dressed the part and everything, come prepared to play the appropriate role. Maybe he thought he could handle it because it was in the game, but that was naive, having already experienced the strength of the simulation. Of taste and sound and touch.
To Meridian's credit, perhaps, it doesn't immediately go to shit. He engages in some polite conversation. He has a drink. Though he cuts an imposing figure, easily towering over the majority of the guests, he's smoothed out his low rasp into a lilting rumble, almost alluring. He's danced these steps before, albeit not of his own will.
But the illusion shatters when one curious guest just can't get over his ears. Meridian tries to deflect: they're sensitive, it's improper, and sir, I would really prefer you let this go, but the man's boorish. He doesn't take 'no' for an answer.
And so, as the man stretches out his fingers towards the delicate tufts of fur at the base of Meridian's ears, Meridian grabs his wrist. The man cries out, the crowd starts to turn. Meridian scowls as he hurls the man onto the nearest surface.
It happens to be the lid of the piano.
Someone happens to be playing it.
Meridian pins the man down as he stares at the piano player, defiantly, his claws splayed over the offending guest's throat. Sorry, not sorry.]