[With every gym, comes bathrooms, and that’s the first place Dylas heads to. Crowds? They aren’t really his thing. Neither are aliens. Or technology. Or bright lights. Actually, most of these things are all new to him, but surprisingly? Being spirited away from one world to another? That’s not new to him. And he’s pissed off that it’s happening to him again. It’s stressful enough to get his blood pumping and his heart racing, or...
...or it would, if his body still did either of those things. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, the lights dimmed so much they might as well be off, inspecting his wendigobody for new changes. Standing at slightly over seven and a half feet thanks to limbs that are longer than they need to be, and that’s before the antlers are taken into account, he opens his mouth wide and inspects his fangs with clawed hangs.
And then, when the door opens and the light switches on, he turns and hisses at whoever’s unfortunate enough to greet him. He’ll do better next time.]
ii. welcome to the jungle
[Aside from a pair of shorts he’d stolen from some sucker in the gym, Dylas hadn’t been wearing any clothes to begin with. Why should he have to? He has a glorious mane of fur, alright? Okay, he would’ve liked to have covered up more, but it’s a little difficult to find clothing in his size, his size being ‘freakishly tall, like, monster tall.’ Even then, about twenty minutes into his walk, he feels like it’s too much. The heat is overbearing. There’s a little thing about wendigo and sunlight. They don’t get along. He feels like he’s melting. It’s a small miracle that his body still sweats at all.
Shortly after the realization that he wants to be completely naked and die alone, melting into a puddle of deer-scented flesh somewhere, he skulks away from the group and finds a group of palm trees to die under. Well, re-die. His heart is still stopped (it’s a secret to everyone). He lays down in the cool grass in the shade after kicking off his shorts and pricks up his ears, listening for anyone who might wander over into his private garden.
Eventually, he starts to doze off. And laying in the grass, he’s a far sight from a hissing, angry monster—he’s a sea of restful, perwinkle hair and scarred, pale skin. The fur around his neck and shoulders is silver and the fur that starts at his cervine hooves and ends at his waist is as black as the night sky, leaving his entire body painted like a stormcloud.
But even though he’s peacefully dozing, he still hears you approaching, jerk. He doesn’t even open an eye.]
no subject
[With every gym, comes bathrooms, and that’s the first place Dylas heads to. Crowds? They aren’t really his thing. Neither are aliens. Or technology. Or bright lights. Actually, most of these things are all new to him, but surprisingly? Being spirited away from one world to another? That’s not new to him. And he’s pissed off that it’s happening to him again. It’s stressful enough to get his blood pumping and his heart racing, or...
...or it would, if his body still did either of those things. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, the lights dimmed so much they might as well be off, inspecting his wendigobody for new changes. Standing at slightly over seven and a half feet thanks to limbs that are longer than they need to be, and that’s before the antlers are taken into account, he opens his mouth wide and inspects his fangs with clawed hangs.
And then, when the door opens and the light switches on, he turns and hisses at whoever’s unfortunate enough to greet him. He’ll do better next time.]
ii. welcome to the jungle
[Aside from a pair of shorts he’d stolen from some sucker in the gym, Dylas hadn’t been wearing any clothes to begin with. Why should he have to? He has a glorious mane of fur, alright? Okay, he would’ve liked to have covered up more, but it’s a little difficult to find clothing in his size, his size being ‘freakishly tall, like, monster tall.’ Even then, about twenty minutes into his walk, he feels like it’s too much. The heat is overbearing. There’s a little thing about wendigo and sunlight. They don’t get along. He feels like he’s melting. It’s a small miracle that his body still sweats at all.
Shortly after the realization that he wants to be completely naked and die alone, melting into a puddle of deer-scented flesh somewhere, he skulks away from the group and finds a group of palm trees to die under. Well, re-die. His heart is still stopped (it’s a secret to everyone). He lays down in the cool grass in the shade after kicking off his shorts and pricks up his ears, listening for anyone who might wander over into his private garden.
Eventually, he starts to doze off. And laying in the grass, he’s a far sight from a hissing, angry monster—he’s a sea of restful, perwinkle hair and scarred, pale skin. The fur around his neck and shoulders is silver and the fur that starts at his cervine hooves and ends at his waist is as black as the night sky, leaving his entire body painted like a stormcloud.
But even though he’s peacefully dozing, he still hears you approaching, jerk. He doesn’t even open an eye.]
Get lost, asshole.
iii.