08-01-2018, 10:25 PM
STOCKING ANARCHY
✯ — if you don't fuck with us then motherfuck you
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stocking herself, was sure as hell surprised. she never imagined that she'd gain her wings again. just like her stockings, they were something sweet to her, and sacred. a representation of her (former) angelhood.
the wings atop of her back were small and delicate. nothing like her once majestic and glorious wings.
she spots malphas by the door, seeming to recoil away from her and stocking looks on in worry. "malph... you okay?"
there's arrow too, standing at the entrance. there's traces of shock among her face. stocking casts arrow a shy, unsure smile. tilting her eyebrows up in a silent indication that she has absolutely no fucking idea what's going on. there's attention on her from two of her friends, and suddenly the feline is feeling a little subconscious.
the only indication plip has ever 'heard' the chocolate brown oriental is by the subtle growl from within his belly, the grumble provoking a gaseous bubble within the pitcher plant's stomach. a bubble pops from it's ovule-like container and floats from it's jaws.
"nope, plip ain't seeing shit," comes her steady, deadpanned reply. it's the only question she knows how to answer as of now. subconsciously, stocking attempts to the muscles and ligaments in her wings, wondering if she can truly get them respond to her commands. they barely respond with a pitiful flutter. fucking great.
"homeboy has no eyes. he's optically challenged." in response to her words, plip's lips flexes. she isn't sure if that's the vegetation's subtle way of responding to her... if it's even sentient at all. she severely doubts it. while it may respond to stimuli, it doesn't have the brains required to make such intelligent feedback... right?
the wings atop of her back were small and delicate. nothing like her once majestic and glorious wings.
she spots malphas by the door, seeming to recoil away from her and stocking looks on in worry. "malph... you okay?"
there's arrow too, standing at the entrance. there's traces of shock among her face. stocking casts arrow a shy, unsure smile. tilting her eyebrows up in a silent indication that she has absolutely no fucking idea what's going on. there's attention on her from two of her friends, and suddenly the feline is feeling a little subconscious.
the only indication plip has ever 'heard' the chocolate brown oriental is by the subtle growl from within his belly, the grumble provoking a gaseous bubble within the pitcher plant's stomach. a bubble pops from it's ovule-like container and floats from it's jaws.
"nope, plip ain't seeing shit," comes her steady, deadpanned reply. it's the only question she knows how to answer as of now. subconsciously, stocking attempts to the muscles and ligaments in her wings, wondering if she can truly get them respond to her commands. they barely respond with a pitiful flutter. fucking great.
"homeboy has no eyes. he's optically challenged." in response to her words, plip's lips flexes. she isn't sure if that's the vegetation's subtle way of responding to her... if it's even sentient at all. she severely doubts it. while it may respond to stimuli, it doesn't have the brains required to make such intelligent feedback... right?
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