clockstopped: (To hell with Tuesdays)
XXI † Orpheus ([personal profile] clockstopped) wrote2009-10-04 02:36 am
Entry tags:

►Open Post;

You guys ever have one of those weeks? Where Murphy's Law becomes godly and everything that can go wrong does. And HOW.

Which might be part of the reason he's half-asleep on the table, one arm hanging off the table and the other one being used to bury his face into. And even without that, it's easy enough to notice it looks like he hasn't slept in... well, a week. But it seems more like a physical inability to rest rather than any conscious effort on his part.

Of course, anyone with the eyes for it could notice that he's supporting another soul on top of his own, which probably isn't helping in the least. But it probably answers why he's been missing for a week. Or seems completely inclined not to move from his spot half-sprawled on said table. Or why all of the demons have given up on moving him from there.

Maybe you'd have better luck?

[identity profile] poppiesfield.livejournal.com 2009-10-05 07:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Er. Okay. So. Hypnos kind of gives up on understanding you mortals (and yes, Souji's probably distracted them quite sufficiently for them to notice that he's having his hands on Miwako's future boobs for more than enough time) and finishes the job. And then changes the doll's shirt, because it...well...doesn't fit any longer.

Other parts of the female anatomy come from memory (very nice ones, too), now.

"Are you children done arguing?"

[identity profile] poppiesfield.livejournal.com 2009-10-06 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
"...if you say so," he replies dismissively, standing and helping the, er, now-female Minato stand up.

"It should be easy to possess this body, then." Go go go do it. Already. So he can make repairs if needed.

[identity profile] poppiesfield.livejournal.com 2009-10-06 01:21 pm (UTC)(link)
For one thing, they do have the backing of a god, so any minor mishaps should easily be rectified. Minor ones. Not those that concern vessels who can't control their own souls, dammit.

"..." So he keeps silent, arms crossed, and expectant.