Virgil does not like being wet. He does not like being soaked, unable to fly, the scales washed off his wings rendering him unable to fly, the sand in all the little crevices of his carapace. It's going to be a pain getting that out of him.
But why? Why even ask that anymore, he could have just drowned- well. He doesn't know why.
The faerie drags himself up, wringing out his limp wet hair and... there's other people here. His antennae twitch, rubbing his throat uncomfortably, preparing to slink off with his wet hair into the forest. That is, until he finds himself with his hands raised, unable to fly away, a Ryslig native shoving his shotgun into the faerie's chest.
"Hey, pal, okay, uh- look-"
[3- Finally called]
Virgil does not have an interest in the gods. He has never approached, addressed, or prayed to either one; it's not even intentional, he just doesn't actually care about religion the same way he didn't at home. And yet... there's the voice.
The fourth god especially didn't appeal to him typically, just on concept, but then-
He finds himself in the arcade, pink hair catching blacklight glow, watching the little machines wheel about and he grins. Oh, oh boy-
He's trying to smuggle one out in his coat, beeping in distress and frustration.
Virgil | OC | On his way back
Virgil does not like being wet. He does not like being soaked, unable to fly, the scales washed off his wings rendering him unable to fly, the sand in all the little crevices of his carapace. It's going to be a pain getting that out of him.
But why? Why even ask that anymore, he could have just drowned- well. He doesn't know why.
The faerie drags himself up, wringing out his limp wet hair and... there's other people here. His antennae twitch, rubbing his throat uncomfortably, preparing to slink off with his wet hair into the forest. That is, until he finds himself with his hands raised, unable to fly away, a Ryslig native shoving his shotgun into the faerie's chest.
"Hey, pal, okay, uh- look-"
[3- Finally called]
Virgil does not have an interest in the gods. He has never approached, addressed, or prayed to either one; it's not even intentional, he just doesn't actually care about religion the same way he didn't at home. And yet... there's the voice.
The fourth god especially didn't appeal to him typically, just on concept, but then-
He finds himself in the arcade, pink hair catching blacklight glow, watching the little machines wheel about and he grins. Oh, oh boy-
He's trying to smuggle one out in his coat, beeping in distress and frustration.