Alloran-Semitur-Corrass (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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goneawayworld2020-05-07 04:11 am
takenalive) wrote in goneawayworld2020-05-07 04:11 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] it comes, it comes, it comes
Who Alloran-Semitur-Corrass and OPEN
What Morphing, chores, and trying to remember how to pray
Where Various
When Handwaved times between the sheetcake and the corporate drones
Warnings Body horror in one prompt
[various, morphing] you are here, in the body you know best
Alloran makes some effort not to morph in front of people, but it takes a couple of minutes for him to change and he does so a few times a day, going from Andalite to human, or human to Andalite. Sometimes, on the outside of the Rig, Andalite back and forth with a six-winged alien bird the size of an eagle. Chances of stumbling across him somewhere in the process are decent.
No matter what shapes are involved, it's very bad to look at. Flesh moves like soft clay. Limbs wither and suck in, or sprout suddenly. Teeth may appear and cluster before a mouth forms to hold them, or be pushed to the outside when a mouth seals up and vanishes. Fur and hair grow like a time lapse or suck into his skin. There are muffled squishing and crunching sounds. It all looks like it should be extremely painful.
<Don't worry about it,> he'll tell anyone who sees, his tone distracted, the changes slowing. <It's unsightly, but there's no harm to anyone.>
[KP] dust the shelves, scrub the sink
The kitchens are no place for Andalite shape. There just isn't space for four legs and an enormous tail. Alloran's here in his chosen, unremarkable human morph and the jumpsuit set aside for it. When he's just set to tasks like chopping or washing or stirring things, it goes okay, even if he sneaks tastes of things like the liquid soap or suds or a leaf from someone's potted jade plant on its shelf overhead. In fairness, the plant's leaves have a glossy appealing look. Maybe you say something to him then.
In any case, he's then tasked to combine chopped raw Rig-grown vegetables to make a salad mix and uh. In among the acceptable stuff there are coffee grounds, and crushed eggshells, and potato peels, several tablespoons of cinnamon, and torn up paper... now he's taken down a bottle of vanilla and is unscrewing the top from an industrial-sized container of salt? Please stop him.
[morning ritual] nap with your windows open to the rain
In the confines of the enclosed gardens, Alloran is looking out of a window, his tail curling and flexing, opening and closing his seven-fingered hands. Get closer and you can pick up that he's repeating something.
<From the water that gave birth to us, from the grass that feeds us, for the freedom that unites us, we rise to the stars. Freedom is my only cause, duty to the people is my only guide, obedience to my prince, my only glory. The destruction of my enemies, my most solemn vow. I, Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, Andalite War-Prince, offer my life.>
There's an energy around him, some blend with grief and frustration where frustration is building. He paws the deck with a forehoof and shakes himself off, fur rousing, before he shifts an eyestalk, sees he's observed, and turns to face.
<Yes? Is there an issue?>
Wildcard
Anything else!
What Morphing, chores, and trying to remember how to pray
Where Various
When Handwaved times between the sheetcake and the corporate drones
Warnings Body horror in one prompt
[various, morphing] you are here, in the body you know best
Alloran makes some effort not to morph in front of people, but it takes a couple of minutes for him to change and he does so a few times a day, going from Andalite to human, or human to Andalite. Sometimes, on the outside of the Rig, Andalite back and forth with a six-winged alien bird the size of an eagle. Chances of stumbling across him somewhere in the process are decent.
No matter what shapes are involved, it's very bad to look at. Flesh moves like soft clay. Limbs wither and suck in, or sprout suddenly. Teeth may appear and cluster before a mouth forms to hold them, or be pushed to the outside when a mouth seals up and vanishes. Fur and hair grow like a time lapse or suck into his skin. There are muffled squishing and crunching sounds. It all looks like it should be extremely painful.
<Don't worry about it,> he'll tell anyone who sees, his tone distracted, the changes slowing. <It's unsightly, but there's no harm to anyone.>
[KP] dust the shelves, scrub the sink
The kitchens are no place for Andalite shape. There just isn't space for four legs and an enormous tail. Alloran's here in his chosen, unremarkable human morph and the jumpsuit set aside for it. When he's just set to tasks like chopping or washing or stirring things, it goes okay, even if he sneaks tastes of things like the liquid soap or suds or a leaf from someone's potted jade plant on its shelf overhead. In fairness, the plant's leaves have a glossy appealing look. Maybe you say something to him then.
In any case, he's then tasked to combine chopped raw Rig-grown vegetables to make a salad mix and uh. In among the acceptable stuff there are coffee grounds, and crushed eggshells, and potato peels, several tablespoons of cinnamon, and torn up paper... now he's taken down a bottle of vanilla and is unscrewing the top from an industrial-sized container of salt? Please stop him.
[morning ritual] nap with your windows open to the rain
In the confines of the enclosed gardens, Alloran is looking out of a window, his tail curling and flexing, opening and closing his seven-fingered hands. Get closer and you can pick up that he's repeating something.
<From the water that gave birth to us, from the grass that feeds us, for the freedom that unites us, we rise to the stars. Freedom is my only cause, duty to the people is my only guide, obedience to my prince, my only glory. The destruction of my enemies, my most solemn vow. I, Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, Andalite War-Prince, offer my life.>
There's an energy around him, some blend with grief and frustration where frustration is building. He paws the deck with a forehoof and shakes himself off, fur rousing, before he shifts an eyestalk, sees he's observed, and turns to face.
<Yes? Is there an issue?>
Wildcard
Anything else!
Morphing
That's going to be hard to forget.
"...should I leave?"
In case there's more morphing to be done? While he does seem to be...done for now, what does Dojima know? Nothing, really.
no subject
"No, I've finished. My apologies if you were disturbed." There's a flat, resigned quality to his voice, and a little mushiness of the consonants.
The clothing that formed during the morph is not adequate to how cold the inside of the Rig is right now. He's goosebumped up and already shivering as he picks up the one-piece coveralls sized for this body and frowns at them. "All right. How do I put this on? Through the neck hole?"
no subject
...
Just--Just try to take it in stride, Dojima. Trying hard to not think about the mechanics of the transformation, he gestures vaguely at the ankles of the coveralls.
"Feet go in first. Once you got them in the rest is like putting on a hood on your entire body."
no subject
"This is a terrible garment," he complains, starting with it backwards and then having to disentangle. "Now I see the point of having discrete pants. How do your people stand for this?"
He may mean this literally. To keep from falling over he's leaned against a wall.