[So far Ryslig has been merciful on Fiddleford McGucket. He knows what he is -- merperson is an easy one to spot, particularly when you have Ford Pines and his handy dandy compendium to reference. So far all he's had to force himself to get used to are webbed fingers and toes, closely-packed dull brown scales that look almost like skin from a distance, and a whole mess of fins.
Of course his idea of getting used to them has been steadfastly ignoring them. It's the best he can do when he can't erase his knowledge of them and this whole awful place entirely.
Today, though, it seems like he's going to have to acknowledge what's happening to him whether he likes it or not. There's been a pain in his neck since this morning and it's only grown worse the more he's tried to pretend it's not there. It's not until the late evening when he feels something hot and wet trickling down his skin that he gives in and checks his reflection the window of a shop.
Tears have opened on both sides his neck. They form two swooping lines on each side from which blood is leaking in a thick steady trickle. That familiar swell of panic rises within him and bubbles up out of his throat as a shaky:]
Lord have mercy.
(Part B)
[About half an hour later he can be found a little ways down an alley with his head and shoulders fully submerged in a rain barrel. Faint unhappy gurgling sounds occasionally waft up from the water. Do you approach?]
FOUR; Gargoyle
[He's been running for what feels like forever and the sounds of following footsteps and shouting hasn't dimmed at all. Granted he'd probably be doing better at getting away if he didn't keep tripping over his own feet and his own be-damned incredibly long tail, but the point is, if this chase just keeps going in circles then eventually someone's going to get tired and it's probably going to be the noodly scientist and not the hardened monster hunters.
What other choice does he have but to go up? He spreads his wings, gives a few uncertain flaps, and then lifts off the sidewalk -- only to smack directly into a building. Incredibly enough, that was his plan. He scuttles up the side using his claws to keep a hold on the wood and stone and raps desperately on the first window he finds that's lit before even properly looking inside. He's too busy looking back over his shoulder at the approaching torchlight.]
Open up! Please!
WILDCARD
[Hit me up here or on plurk at mister_inkwell if you have any questions! Otherwise just toss me whatever starter you like.]
Fiddleford McGucket | Gravity Falls | Post-Portal Mid-Breakdown Flavor
(Part A)
[So far Ryslig has been merciful on Fiddleford McGucket. He knows what he is -- merperson is an easy one to spot, particularly when you have Ford Pines and his handy dandy compendium to reference. So far all he's had to force himself to get used to are webbed fingers and toes, closely-packed dull brown scales that look almost like skin from a distance, and a whole mess of fins.
Of course his idea of getting used to them has been steadfastly ignoring them. It's the best he can do when he can't erase his knowledge of them and this whole awful place entirely.
Today, though, it seems like he's going to have to acknowledge what's happening to him whether he likes it or not. There's been a pain in his neck since this morning and it's only grown worse the more he's tried to pretend it's not there. It's not until the late evening when he feels something hot and wet trickling down his skin that he gives in and checks his reflection the window of a shop.
Tears have opened on both sides his neck. They form two swooping lines on each side from which blood is leaking in a thick steady trickle. That familiar swell of panic rises within him and bubbles up out of his throat as a shaky:]
Lord have mercy.
(Part B)
[About half an hour later he can be found a little ways down an alley with his head and shoulders fully submerged in a rain barrel. Faint unhappy gurgling sounds occasionally waft up from the water. Do you approach?]
FOUR; Gargoyle
[He's been running for what feels like forever and the sounds of following footsteps and shouting hasn't dimmed at all. Granted he'd probably be doing better at getting away if he didn't keep tripping over his own feet and his own be-damned incredibly long tail, but the point is, if this chase just keeps going in circles then eventually someone's going to get tired and it's probably going to be the noodly scientist and not the hardened monster hunters.
What other choice does he have but to go up? He spreads his wings, gives a few uncertain flaps, and then lifts off the sidewalk -- only to smack directly into a building. Incredibly enough, that was his plan. He scuttles up the side using his claws to keep a hold on the wood and stone and raps desperately on the first window he finds that's lit before even properly looking inside. He's too busy looking back over his shoulder at the approaching torchlight.]
Open up! Please!
WILDCARD
[Hit me up here or on plurk at