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bigapplesauce2015-03-19 10:28 pm
fucking_ebay) wrote in bigapplesauce2015-03-19 10:28 pm
Entry tags:
Tar baby from hell [closed for now...?]
Something is definitely not right when Peter wakes up late in the morning. Since when does he pull his legs up into a fetal position when he sleeps on his back? He groans and stretches out his legs, reaching up to rub his eyes and --
And that's not the way legs and arms work -- nothing's moving right, it's like his joints are in the wrong places or stuck moving in weird ways and THOSE ARE FEATHERS --!!!
Peter goes from zero to feathery tornado in three seconds flat, honking and squawking his head off as he kicks and beats at the sheets with the wings he suddenly has today. Beds are not made for geese, nor geese for beds, and for a solid minute he mostly succeeds in making things worse until he finally squirms free and fights his way upright, panting and still as he catches his breath.
Well, shit. Could this be a dream? Maybe it's just a dream. It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed he was an animal. Biting himself, however, results in pain, which either means it's not a dream or that's just a stupid way of testing because maybe he can feel pain in dreams here. He wouldn't put it past the Rift. Right, so he's got to do something about it. He just needs to -- if he can just -- maybe if he --
HE'S A FUCKING GOOSE. Peter scrambles off the bed, crashing to the floor and clambering back to his feet to make a mad run to where he left his phone on the couch. Except he can't use it when he gets there because he's a FUCKING GOOSE and all he manages to do is drag it onto the floor and peck uselessly at the screen.
And that's not the way legs and arms work -- nothing's moving right, it's like his joints are in the wrong places or stuck moving in weird ways and THOSE ARE FEATHERS --!!!
Peter goes from zero to feathery tornado in three seconds flat, honking and squawking his head off as he kicks and beats at the sheets with the wings he suddenly has today. Beds are not made for geese, nor geese for beds, and for a solid minute he mostly succeeds in making things worse until he finally squirms free and fights his way upright, panting and still as he catches his breath.
Well, shit. Could this be a dream? Maybe it's just a dream. It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed he was an animal. Biting himself, however, results in pain, which either means it's not a dream or that's just a stupid way of testing because maybe he can feel pain in dreams here. He wouldn't put it past the Rift. Right, so he's got to do something about it. He just needs to -- if he can just -- maybe if he --
HE'S A FUCKING GOOSE. Peter scrambles off the bed, crashing to the floor and clambering back to his feet to make a mad run to where he left his phone on the couch. Except he can't use it when he gets there because he's a FUCKING GOOSE and all he manages to do is drag it onto the floor and peck uselessly at the screen.
no subject
Except not so much. Nothing at all seems to happen before Gabe sighs and -- picks him up? Peter lets out an indignant squawk, but he's set down as soon as he complains to give himself a shake and a fluff of the feathers and --
It doesn't hurt, at least, but when Gabe sets him down again and Peter tries to squirm out from under Gabriel's hand it's like he's just...attached. He might as well be trying to pull of his own
wingarm.O Archangel Gabriel, prays Peter, somewhat more coherent now, you have got to be shitting me.