[Did you want to sit there? Good luck doing that. Because after a long night of traversing the tunnels (and that goddamn labyrinth beneath the pass), Davesprite's exhausted body has claimed the couch. The whole couch. His folded wings take up their own space, and the tail that forms his lower body has been coiled up onto the portion of the cushions not taken by his torso.]
[At least he's warm, given the three blankets (two space-patterned, thanks Andromeda) and pair of vintage '60s curtains draped over him. He's also an unrelenting eyesore between them, how incredibly goddamn orange he is, and what peeks out of the rainbow sock made from one of those kids' parachute games on his tail. The scars around his eyes mark the more literal kind.]
[Catch him later and he may be awake (with shades firmly on and scars hidden), but he has his tablet and is still comfortably settled under his blanket-plus-curtain pile.]
B. this prompt brought to you by the gold shag carpet my grandma had all the way into the 90s
This place looks so different without the carpet.
[Davesprite is up now, blanket and curtain collection gathered up with his things somewhere else, leaving him to float around the house while mumbling to himself. Mind the tail; it hovers right at trip hazard height above the floor.]
Who decides to call a carpet shag, anyway? Yeah, I want my floor covering to sound like a teenage stoner who thinks his dog can talk. I want to live my life cosplaying Austin Powers 24/7. I want my entire house to sound like nothing but a shack for banging people while being insufferably British about it. Ain't nobody ever saw shag carpet and got aroused, but these assholes had it all the way up the bedroom walls. Is this a metaphor? A visual reminder of what's lacking in the marriage? Come on, honey, you've had a headache every night for the past year. Well, sweetie, maybe if you made some sensible design decisions we wouldn't be having this problem. It's the horrorterror of carpeting. I swear somebody has to have busted their toe getting it tangled in all that fucking floor yarn.
cw: implied eye trauma/scars from the Noisy Black event
[Did you want to sit there? Good luck doing that. Because after a long night of traversing the tunnels (and that goddamn labyrinth beneath the pass), Davesprite's exhausted body has claimed the couch. The whole couch. His folded wings take up their own space, and the tail that forms his lower body has been coiled up onto the portion of the cushions not taken by his torso.]
[At least he's warm, given the three blankets (two space-patterned, thanks Andromeda) and pair of vintage '60s curtains draped over him. He's also an unrelenting eyesore between them, how incredibly goddamn orange he is, and what peeks out of the rainbow sock made from one of those kids' parachute games on his tail. The scars around his eyes mark the more literal kind.]
[Catch him later and he may be awake (with shades firmly on and scars hidden), but he has his tablet and is still comfortably settled under his blanket-plus-curtain pile.]
B. this prompt brought to you by the gold shag carpet my grandma had all the way into the 90s
This place looks so different without the carpet.
[Davesprite is up now, blanket and curtain collection gathered up with his things somewhere else, leaving him to float around the house while mumbling to himself. Mind the tail; it hovers right at trip hazard height above the floor.]
Who decides to call a carpet shag, anyway? Yeah, I want my floor covering to sound like a teenage stoner who thinks his dog can talk. I want to live my life cosplaying Austin Powers 24/7. I want my entire house to sound like nothing but a shack for banging people while being insufferably British about it. Ain't nobody ever saw shag carpet and got aroused, but these assholes had it all the way up the bedroom walls. Is this a metaphor? A visual reminder of what's lacking in the marriage? Come on, honey, you've had a headache every night for the past year. Well, sweetie, maybe if you made some sensible design decisions we wouldn't be having this problem. It's the horrorterror of carpeting. I swear somebody has to have busted their toe getting it tangled in all that fucking floor yarn.