shitposting rave 3: Dawn of the third rave

*glares at mindfang*

 

*sets up a giant bomb inside the mug*

 

(a rat emerges from the pile of lazing rodents, and trots up to the mug. Sniffs?)

 

Relieved of her compulsion to look after the teal wiggler, Bianca rejoins the rave. She has quite a long snoot.

 

what's wrong with that dog?

 

"I don't think she's a dog." Jade smiles.

 

(doubtfully) okay, if you say so.

 

"Well, she looks like a thylacine," Jade points out. "An albino thylacine, but she's got stripes on her butt and back and tail and a really long nose like a thylacine. I've seen them before. Dr Pines has a bunch of them."

 

Bianca glances at the people who are talking about her and offers an inquisitive yip.

She doesn't move like a dog. Her tail is much stiffer than a dog's and she couldn't wag it if she wanted to. She has pale blond streaks in her white fur across her back and behind and tail and she has a much longer muzzle.

 

...
okay, i'll bite. what's a thylacine?

 

Jade sniffs the air. That definitely smells like a thylacine. "A thylacine is a marsupial, like a kangaroo or a wallaby. They look a little bit like dogs because of convergent evolution, the same way that there are people on different planets and in different universes who all seem to be built on the bipedal model but are actually cats or lemurs or insects, not primates." She shrugs. "In some universes, on some versions of Earth, they died off in the twentieth century. In others...they didn't?"

 

"Anyway, I'd know if she was a dog, because I'm part dog." Jade grins. "She doesn't smell like a dog."

 

Soullessness is not required for destroying and consumming, nor is it a prerequisit to temporal... fleibility.

[He would attempt to argue with Burt, but he is fairly sure arguing with lizardpups about not sleeping on the berth is more likely to succeed.]

 

ZZOMEONEZZ obviouzzly on their human rag.

 

is she finally gone.

 

(the reed that is in the rave vanishes, to be replaced by another one, who is lying facedown on the floor, wearing a black trenchcoat over ill-fitting business casual clothes, bleeding from the hand and with a crossbow bolt sticking out of her shoulder.

she groans.)

 

That looks nasty. Dyou want me to patch you up? I got experience with that sorta wound.

 

please and thank you. (she tries to pick herself up, but leans her weight on her injured hand and flops back down) what kind of fucking asshole security contractor carries a CROSSBOW?!

 

Stay down, will you! And the prepared kind, obviously.
(Oneira eyes the bolt. Nope, the clothes are in the way.)
Listen, I need you to imagine at least the trenchcoat away, or peel you out of it. The shirt I can cut, the coat I'd rather not.

 

you'd have a hard time trying to cut it, it's armored and it's the only reason i'm not worse off... (nonetheless, after a few tries, reed vanishes the coat)