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Sep. 4th, 2017 02:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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thirtyseventhsubject line: Straight from the horse’s mouth... [OPEN]
Who: Dylas (sullenstallion) & you! Open to all.
What: Dylas has brand new superpowers! Unfortunately, he did not ask for them.
When: Early September
Where: Around Olympia
Warning(s): Rated H for Horse.
i. the market district
[That morning, when Dylas woke up, he felt different. His head felt a bit cloudier than usual—like he was interrupted in the middle of a deep dream. It’s that level of grogginess that makes everything seem brighter, louder, a little more repulsive. It’s not unusual for him to wake up in a grumpy mood, so he brushes it off and goes about getting ready for his day. Up first is getting something to eat, so he decides to head to the market in an attempt to wake himself up before his shift at the clinic begins.
It’s while he’s there that everything takes a turn for the worse. Being around so many people kicks what he doesn’t realize are his new senses into overdrive. One moment, he’s inspecting a fruit that looks like a bunch of grapes but with tiny apples instead, and the next his ears are swiveling in every direction, picking up every sound around him. His tail sets to lashing as he turns around to snap at a man complaining about his commute, only to yell ‘shut up!’ at absolutely no one; the sound came from much further away.
He doesn’t quite connect the dots, but soon he’s in need of rescuing. His attempts to get away from a crowd that sounds louder and louder than before (did he drink last night? ...is he hungover on carrot wine?), he bumps into one person, and then another. Eventually, he can’t take it. And while he looks flustered, ears flicking in the direction of every sound and almost tripping every few seconds because of his disorientation, he’ll eventually reach a boiling point if no one rescues him.]
Stop talking! You’re all being too loud!
[By then, he’s attracting so many stares and so much judgment that his face is completely red.]
ii. somewhere nearby or in the clinic
[So, he’s not going to work today. The smells there are just as bad as the noises in the market, it just took his nose longer to catch up with him. He finds someone to cover for him, if only barely, but with how his body is apparently acting up he can’t stomach to be around the scent of potions and herbs and the surgery room. The clinic and the kitchen he works in are both out of the question, then, as is actually asking Lysa for assistance. Clearly, this is a problem he can handle himself.
Or not.
He can be found seated in a park in the Nobles District looking extremely exhausted and unhappy. Seated at a bench, he’s hunched forward, hand resting on his forehead. The kids who would be playing near the bench while their mothers gossiped nearby are instead staring at him from behind a statue like he’s radiating the most unwelcoming aura they’ve seen in their young lives. He’s already snapped at them once, and he can hear both groups of people talking.
When he hears footsteps getting closer to him, he doesn’t even look up. He knows he looks like a sweaty mess.]
Just keep walking. This entire bench is taken, alright?
[And then he does the most unflattering thing ever: he lifts his hand to his mouth and gags. Yet another pleasant scent hitting his nostrils. Maybe someone about twenty yards away is eating a pungent sandwich. Or maybe a cat pooped. Either way, it’s not a scent he can block out, not without getting used to his new powers.]
D-don’t just stare at me. I told you, keep—ugh—walking.
Who: Dylas (
sullenstallion) & you! Open to all. What: Dylas has brand new superpowers! Unfortunately, he did not ask for them.
When: Early September
Where: Around Olympia
Warning(s): Rated H for Horse.
i. the market district
[That morning, when Dylas woke up, he felt different. His head felt a bit cloudier than usual—like he was interrupted in the middle of a deep dream. It’s that level of grogginess that makes everything seem brighter, louder, a little more repulsive. It’s not unusual for him to wake up in a grumpy mood, so he brushes it off and goes about getting ready for his day. Up first is getting something to eat, so he decides to head to the market in an attempt to wake himself up before his shift at the clinic begins.
It’s while he’s there that everything takes a turn for the worse. Being around so many people kicks what he doesn’t realize are his new senses into overdrive. One moment, he’s inspecting a fruit that looks like a bunch of grapes but with tiny apples instead, and the next his ears are swiveling in every direction, picking up every sound around him. His tail sets to lashing as he turns around to snap at a man complaining about his commute, only to yell ‘shut up!’ at absolutely no one; the sound came from much further away.
He doesn’t quite connect the dots, but soon he’s in need of rescuing. His attempts to get away from a crowd that sounds louder and louder than before (did he drink last night? ...is he hungover on carrot wine?), he bumps into one person, and then another. Eventually, he can’t take it. And while he looks flustered, ears flicking in the direction of every sound and almost tripping every few seconds because of his disorientation, he’ll eventually reach a boiling point if no one rescues him.]
Stop talking! You’re all being too loud!
[By then, he’s attracting so many stares and so much judgment that his face is completely red.]
ii. somewhere nearby or in the clinic
[So, he’s not going to work today. The smells there are just as bad as the noises in the market, it just took his nose longer to catch up with him. He finds someone to cover for him, if only barely, but with how his body is apparently acting up he can’t stomach to be around the scent of potions and herbs and the surgery room. The clinic and the kitchen he works in are both out of the question, then, as is actually asking Lysa for assistance. Clearly, this is a problem he can handle himself.
Or not.
He can be found seated in a park in the Nobles District looking extremely exhausted and unhappy. Seated at a bench, he’s hunched forward, hand resting on his forehead. The kids who would be playing near the bench while their mothers gossiped nearby are instead staring at him from behind a statue like he’s radiating the most unwelcoming aura they’ve seen in their young lives. He’s already snapped at them once, and he can hear both groups of people talking.
When he hears footsteps getting closer to him, he doesn’t even look up. He knows he looks like a sweaty mess.]
Just keep walking. This entire bench is taken, alright?
[And then he does the most unflattering thing ever: he lifts his hand to his mouth and gags. Yet another pleasant scent hitting his nostrils. Maybe someone about twenty yards away is eating a pungent sandwich. Or maybe a cat pooped. Either way, it’s not a scent he can block out, not without getting used to his new powers.]
D-don’t just stare at me. I told you, keep—ugh—walking.
