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 Posted: Sat Oct 28, 2006 11:52 pm
Man...he looks kind of...sick. But then again, he's part flea and I don't know jack obout them...so...whatever. Tommy just shrugs, "Well...once...I um...I was locked out of my duplex and living in the forest for a few weeks..." he shakes his head a few times, remembering the life-saving sight of that strange wounded animal he had fed on. "Anyway...yeah, only once. But I wasn't really in my right mind then...don't remember it."
Not that I'd want to, he thinks with a shudder.
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Posted: Sun Oct 29, 2006 2:57 am
"Sounds like a right giggle." F said in response to Tommy's recounted misadventures, and gave a half-hearted grin before stubbing his cigarette out on the ground.
He then lifted the jug and took a large gulp. "This stuff's delicious." he announced with something of a gleeful whisper. "You should try." he grinned, holding the jug out, and then bringing it back as if he couldn't resist one last sip.
F went to take another swig, but seemed to choke on the mouthful instead, and gave an involuntary cough that would have been useful if the aim of the conversation was to spray Tommy with blood.
F doubted that was a desirable thing, and meekly rose one hand in apology, while promptly setting the jug down with the other. It was all he found he could manage thanks to the sudden, burning sensation that had crawled over his body and envoked a horrible desire to rake his skin off with his fingernails.
The flea-man began to scratch at his forearms, and a growl of frustration escaped his throat when this didn't relieve the itch. His whole body tensed up and he sat hunched over as if bracing himself until the feeling passed.
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Posted: Sun Oct 29, 2006 11:19 am
"Heh...yeah, you're telling me..." he says softly but trails off when F brings the jug to his lips and drinks deeply. He eyes the beautiful sight longingly, barely supressing his urge to try and rip the jug out of the flea man's hands and down the entire thing...it looked so damn good. It was about this time that Tommy got his wish, but not really in any desirable way. He blinks a few times and wipes his face with the back of an extremely long hand...involuntarily licking it as it passed over his face. he closed his eyes and shivers some as the taste of blood caresses his tongue.
After this small moment of ecstasy, he opens his eyes to see F in a strangely familiar position. Oh s**t...not again...please for the love of God say it's gas...not a change not a ******** wide eyes say it all as he utters out the automated repsonse towards a person in pain, "Hey man...you alright?"
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Posted: Sun Oct 29, 2006 3:41 pm
Of course, the dreadful feeling didn't pass, it only escalated.
"Spectacular." he replied, uttering a single strained word from behind the matted ropes of hair that had already begun to loosen near the front. F fought the urge to curl up and die, however, and made his way to his feet instead.
"Jus'.. got a bit of a.. headache. Vat's all." his words sounded like they were caught in the back of his throat, his voice little more than a slightly high-pitched whisper, proving the problem was rather more than a headache.
"Nice -Ahuuah!- meeting you." he announced hastily, the interjected cry being involuntary, and caused by F noticing that areas of his skin appeared to be bubbling quite disturbingly.
F averted his eyes and thought about the first unrelated thing that came to mind.
..Breasts. Breasts would do. He liked breasts. Breasts were nice.
F turned away calmly, hobbled towards his duplex door, and closed it behind him, the drained goat and the jug of blood left outside with Tommy.
If he was going to change, he'd do so in the comfort of his own duplex and without wide-eyed spectators, thank you very much.
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Posted: Sun Oct 29, 2006 10:55 pm
Tommy just stood there, staring for a moment. "Jesus Christ...some people have all the luck huh?" he asks to the sleeping goat. He stares longingly at the jug of blood for a moment. C'mon...just take ******** it...no...Sabin can't take too much longer with the goddamn ******** it...no...I'm not going to steal it.
Sighing, he heads over toward the entertainment center to watch a movie...ah...the dark movie theatre...how he misses it.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:15 am
Upon entering the room, F gave a brief two-finger salute to the camera then staggered towards his chest of drawers, slammed a finger on the play button of his casette player, and fell to the floor.
A solid beat and a brief guitar solo filled his ears, followed by the words:
"Woah, black betty. Bam-ba-lam."
It would do.
And so it began. With F on his hands and knees and Ram Jam plugging on in the background, large areas of the man's skin began to throb as it dried, cracked, partially flaked off, changed colour, and toughened within minutes. His lower legs and arms, as well as his face and back were particularly affected.
F yelped as a searing pain ripped its way up his forearms and he looked down to see a corrugated ridge of hardened skin along each limb. He tried to control his breathing- making a conscious effort to take his mind off what was happening to his body. He forced himself to focus on the music, and his right palm began to beat the ground in a haphazard half-second rhythm. A moment later a suffering croak of a voice whispered its way through clenched teeth to tunelessly mutter the lyrics.
They were frequently interrupted by grunts of pain, and as a result, didn't fit the beat at all well. But slogging out these words over an over served as a reasonable distraction for F as he became more flea-like by the minute.
And so while his mind withdrew into the song, his head fell into his hands. His jaw felt like it was trying to escape his face, and all sorts of sickening noises accompanied the intense pain caused by his skull gradually pushing forward into a snout of sorts, and then by his bottom jaw literally splitting in two.
His next 'whoa' was involuntarily drawn out as thick bristles began forcing their way from his thick skin.
Then came his tongue. Two of his three prongs thickened, forming sections similar his fingers, but still tongue-like in texture. F winced as his brain was hit by a wave of indecypherable information about the air around him. At the same time, the middle section of his tongue lengthened into a long, thin, almost complete tube that had less flexibility.
During and even after this process was finished, F found his murmured singing was rather impeded by these new mouthparts, warping his words so that they no longer sounded how he intended. F fell silent after he heard his mouth saying:
"Whoa, bwack bethy. Bam-ba-wam"
Finally, a firey pain burned at F's sides, and he slid onto his back with a gurgled cry, his spine arching backwards as he clenched his jaw. His eyes grew ever wider as he witnessed two extentions suddenly sprouting from his chest and growing outwards, twitching and roaming involuntarily as they did so.
Once they had settled, F awaited the next wave of pain to strike as he lay there, but it seemed he had been spared furthur discomfort. F released a never-ending breath that felt like it had been hiding away in his lungs the entire time.
The flea-man rolled his head to one side, neck stiff and sore, to discover laying on the floor were hairs and a few whole dreads that had fallen from his own head, and presumably unwanted teeth that had been ejected from his mouth. He also discovered that he was having a bit of a hard time focusing on the objects and the room around him.
F's mouth hung open a little as he stared at the blurry rejected parts. "Bugger.." he rasped defeatedly.
He also hadn't yet noticed how toned down the music that was now playing sounded to him, and that he was entirely lacking the outer parts of his ears. But right now, he was drained, and aching, and entirely prepared to drift off to sleep right there on the floor.
"Damn fin' gone wiwd." F mumbled quietly, but was asleep before he realised he couldn't even understand the words coming out of his own mouth.
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 1:06 pm
[Solo RP] F begins to explore his fancy new bug parts. Late the next morning, F awoke with an audiable groan, feeling much like his entire body had been pecked and gnawed at by vermin all night. He stiffly climbed to his feet and headed to the bathroom to perhaps have a shower and investigate his appearance in the mirror. The first thing he noticed as he stepped up to the sink was the pink tinge to the whites of his pale eyes, and how he found himself squinting in an attempt to sharpen his vision. He did, however, spot that his scar had faded slightly. After a while spent poking and prodding at his aching features (including an lengthy oggle at the jaw that he was now able to be flapped open slightly) F brought his attention to what interested him most -his new mouthparts. He had actually found himself hoping for some kind of equipment to deal with properly extracting blood. But nothing in his mouth seemed obviously built for that. With his own arm raised, he slowly put his mouth to his new leathery skin and hoped for the best. It wasn't there a second before he pulled back his head with wide eyes, the thicker of his two mouthparts stretching out back towards the arm and wavering gently. These strange extentions seemed to pick up tastes, textures and smells that he could never have imagined. The thing was, it all came to his brain as a bit of a jumbled mess, and F wasn't even able to decide whether what the tongue sensed was desirable or not. Either way, no blood was drawn. "Wank." F muttered, and looked down to his chest, where his two arm-like deformities hung twitching slightly. Eventually the flea-man decided to get some air, and staggering out of his duplex he proceeded to accidentally kick over the jug that had been left on his doorstep. The now semi-congealed blood spilled from the container and spread all over the concrete infront of his door. "Guhuhh.." F complained desparately to Gurty, the only living being in sight, and hobbled forward a few more steps as if attempting to chase after the fleeing substance. He soon gave up, and instead settled with glaring at the goat and promptly retreating back into his room for another day or so.
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Posted: Thu Nov 02, 2006 4:26 pm
HALLOWEEN BASH 2006F manages to turn up just as things get horrific. Sabin Duvert As the clock strikes midnight, the music abruptly cuts off, leaving only the noises of the jungle beyond the tent and whatever noise the occupants make. The lights of the tent dim, showcasing a string of lights that flash to life that lead off through the jungle to the North. Fidatof Bochinsky It was a few days since his second change, and F was slowly getting used to the strangities that day had brought. Now the flea-man made his way up to the halloween-themed tent and pushed through the material, hardened toes clicking softly on the tarp floor as he walked in. He had taken to walking with raised heels, finding it more comfortable and efficient. It also gave a slight bounce to his step. F had ordered a nice tuxedo and a plastic gun from the labs as his costume, and decided he'd be James Bond. He'd had to pull the suit jacket down over the spines on his shoulders, ripping it in places, but it still made him look smarter than he'd looked in a very long time. Back home, there weren't exactly many opportunities for a man like him to parade around in a tux. F squinted around as he entered, searching with his recently worsened eyesight for someone he recognised. And suddenly the music lights went out. "Whu'd I do?" he asked the nearest shadow. ************** Fidatof Bochinsky F, in his suit, ended up shuffling along with the crowd, and slotted into the line behind Richard, still completely bemused. "Err.." he began, looking about to see if any of the faces around him held any answers. "Whuh?" The flea-man knew that asking much more would lead to confusion. Not about the situation, but about what the hell he was trying to say. Those flea mouthparts weren't exactly forgiving.
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Posted: Wed Nov 08, 2006 1:40 pm
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Posted: Mon Dec 25, 2006 7:05 pm
Like several other islanders, F received an envelope addressed with simply his one letter name.  Along with it was a page torn neatly out of her sketchbook of a particularly complex and colorful tattoo design, signed and dated (several years ago). Merry Christmas.
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