Come Sail Away IC Inbox

[crushed_pearls]

Erin's voice mail message is in a weary voice: "Erin Peters. If you called in the middle of the night and I didn't answer, I'm dying. If I pick up and someone on your end isn't dying, they will be shortly. Text otherwise."

Comments

[goodweather]

He pauses just long enough for it to be funny.

"It can be, but it's pretty flexible. I think if it were entirely housed in my spine it'd have a lot more complaining to do." He pats it, which mostly looks like him patting his own shoulder. "When we're not suited up it just sits around as clothes like this. Fits great, by the way."

[blacksludgeaffair]

"Phiiil needed to fight... That is its purpose..."

In other words, no need to thank it. Phil feels a quiet, understated pride from it, that blossoms into a buzz when he praises the fit of the coat.

"It is glad it fits... Its hosts have never... had wings before..."

[crushed_pearls]

"'m a fighter myself, but there's lots of interesting hobbies to explore on this ship." Erin sips her drink, and continues, all mischief. "Already imagining the power move of y'all showing up to tennis doubles."

[goodweather]

“Didn’t you sludge over that skeleton horse? I don’t think you needed to worry about wings, buddy.”

He takes a sip of his own drink, then slips off of his seat and steps back. “Mm, oh yeah, speaking of power moves—Erin? Meet Venom.”

With a series of dull and wet sounds like sinew knitting together, Phil gets taller, bigger, sharper; teeth and tongues flex from their collar and from beneath their jaw, little dull talons now something befitting of raptorial ancestors. Their wings look like blades that would hum in the air as it sliced through. The warm orange light of their mantle flickers oddly like something out of Silent Hill.

”Hi,” comes their voice, which would be boldened and white text on black if this were a comic book.

[crushed_pearls]

"If I were bi I'd be down so bad."

Best.

"DAMNIT I SAID THAT OUT LOUD!"

[goodweather]

“We know.”