[ ooc: world info | swann info | tl;dr: cream puff princess baby from a horrible classist dystopia ]
{ TWO ; a tiny flailing jellyfish woman }
[Swann Honeymead is not someone who does well with change. An acceptable variety of change, in her opinion, is having the second guest bedroom repainted from robin's egg blue to sky blue. Or trying a new tea blend at the bakeshop. So it does not happen to be up her alley when she is mysteriously plucked up and deposited in an ugly town full of badly-dressed people who could all use some serious makeup lessons.
Up an alley is, coincidentally, where she runs into a crowd full of angry townsfolk who are carrying actual torches and weapons, evangelizing to each other about the evils of monsters. Swann has made the severe mistake of obviously sticking out, both by virtue of her clothing and of the fact that she's a five foot tall, blonde cupcake person, and they immediately peg her as a monster. They also ignore her protests that she's not a monster, that it's a mink jacket, not fur growing out of her skin.
And because she is nothing if not a slave to fear, she gives them exactly what they want when she runs: a chase. A chase that eventually sends her tumbling off a pier and into a lake, where it becomes super clear that she is less of a monster and more of an idiot (or both, but mostly the latter), and also that she's going to drown because she can't swim.
Which is exactly how you find her: a thrashing, pink-and-white puff in the middle of the lake, weighed down by wet, heavy clothes and a mess of silvery hair that keeps getting caught on things she can't identify. Somewhere in her useless, gurgling shrieks, you might just be able to make out a]
-- Help!! Help, I can't -- [gurgle gurgle] My hair!
{ FOUR ; wendigo ; a tiny useless bambi woman }
[It's not surprising, that Swann's transformation begins with her already-big doe eyes turning a dark gold and getting a little larger, the whites disappearing entirely as her pupils swell. Her face lengthens slightly while the tip of her nose darkens. There's the sudden appearance of white spots down her back and sides, resting on a fine coat of tawny fur along her spine and ribs. Pointy, furry ears in the same mix of brown and white fur take the place of her own human ones. Little nubs of antlers, barely more than bumps, sprout just under her hairline.
It's not exactly the terrifying change she was expecting.
She hasn't even become an adult version of a monster. She's a fawn. The only thing even mildly intimidating about her is that she's become cold enough to breathe frost, to leave little ice crystals on the raw meat that she wakes up ravenous for. That she shovels shamelessly into her mouth while sitting on the kitchen floor, until the whole of her chin is bloody and there's nothing left in the refrigerator.
In a first, she dresses carelessly, doesn't coordinate her clothes at all, just runs a brush through her hair (and fur) instead of actually styling it. Only puts on a handful of accessories. Wears flat shoes to more easily make her way through the town.
She needs more meat. She's never been so hungry in her life. And she needs human meat, salivates at the thought of ripping flesh from bone, of hearing skin and muscle tear between her sharpened teeth.
Unfortunately, she doesn't really know how to hunt. She's also still a teacup human... deer... wendigo, and thus not super prepared to easily take on more than maybe like a child. Which, monster or not, is still an appalling thought and not something she plans to do..
Luckily for Swann, she's spent thirty years working around her small size. And that's why she knows to huddle up pathetically in an alley, waiting for the inevitable someone who'll come check on her. She even makes herself cry, easily sending black makeup down past the black deerlike outlines around her eyes. Being a sobbing little blonde who's dressed more or less like a bonbon tends to generate concern in the hearts of strangers.
And that concern creates opportunity. The kind that finds you with a baby wendigo launching herself at your face. Even if she knows you, even if you're a monster too. The hunger pains override everything else.
What do you do?]
{ WILDCARD ; put up your dukes, let's get down to it }
[like whatever you want, or lmk and i can write you a special starter. because you are very special, friendo.]
Swann Honeymead | OC | OTA
{ TWO ; a tiny flailing jellyfish woman }
[Swann Honeymead is not someone who does well with change. An acceptable variety of change, in her opinion, is having the second guest bedroom repainted from robin's egg blue to sky blue. Or trying a new tea blend at the bakeshop. So it does not happen to be up her alley when she is mysteriously plucked up and deposited in an ugly town full of badly-dressed people who could all use some serious makeup lessons.
Up an alley is, coincidentally, where she runs into a crowd full of angry townsfolk who are carrying actual torches and weapons, evangelizing to each other about the evils of monsters. Swann has made the severe mistake of obviously sticking out, both by virtue of her clothing and of the fact that she's a five foot tall, blonde cupcake person, and they immediately peg her as a monster. They also ignore her protests that she's not a monster, that it's a mink jacket, not fur growing out of her skin.
And because she is nothing if not a slave to fear, she gives them exactly what they want when she runs: a chase. A chase that eventually sends her tumbling off a pier and into a lake, where it becomes super clear that she is less of a monster and more of an idiot (or both, but mostly the latter), and also that she's going to drown because she can't swim.
Which is exactly how you find her: a thrashing, pink-and-white puff in the middle of the lake, weighed down by wet, heavy clothes and a mess of silvery hair that keeps getting caught on things she can't identify. Somewhere in her useless, gurgling shrieks, you might just be able to make out a]
-- Help!! Help, I can't -- [gurgle gurgle] My hair!
{ FOUR ; wendigo ; a tiny useless bambi woman }
[It's not surprising, that Swann's transformation begins with her already-big doe eyes turning a dark gold and getting a little larger, the whites disappearing entirely as her pupils swell. Her face lengthens slightly while the tip of her nose darkens. There's the sudden appearance of white spots down her back and sides, resting on a fine coat of tawny fur along her spine and ribs. Pointy, furry ears in the same mix of brown and white fur take the place of her own human ones. Little nubs of antlers, barely more than bumps, sprout just under her hairline.
It's not exactly the terrifying change she was expecting.
She hasn't even become an adult version of a monster. She's a fawn. The only thing even mildly intimidating about her is that she's become cold enough to breathe frost, to leave little ice crystals on the raw meat that she wakes up ravenous for. That she shovels shamelessly into her mouth while sitting on the kitchen floor, until the whole of her chin is bloody and there's nothing left in the refrigerator.
In a first, she dresses carelessly, doesn't coordinate her clothes at all, just runs a brush through her hair (and fur) instead of actually styling it. Only puts on a handful of accessories. Wears flat shoes to more easily make her way through the town.
She needs more meat. She's never been so hungry in her life. And she needs human meat, salivates at the thought of ripping flesh from bone, of hearing skin and muscle tear between her sharpened teeth.
Unfortunately, she doesn't really know how to hunt. She's also still a teacup human... deer... wendigo, and thus not super prepared to easily take on more than maybe like a child. Which, monster or not, is still an appalling thought and not something she plans to do..
Luckily for Swann, she's spent thirty years working around her small size. And that's why she knows to huddle up pathetically in an alley, waiting for the inevitable someone who'll come check on her. She even makes herself cry, easily sending black makeup down past the black deerlike outlines around her eyes. Being a sobbing little blonde who's dressed more or less like a bonbon tends to generate concern in the hearts of strangers.
And that concern creates opportunity. The kind that finds you with a baby wendigo launching herself at your face. Even if she knows you, even if you're a monster too. The hunger pains override everything else.
What do you do?]
{ WILDCARD ; put up your dukes, let's get down to it }
[like whatever you want, or lmk and i can write you a special starter. because you are very special, friendo.]