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How this works: Post IC and state what the OC above is/does/has too much of. This can be based on looks, personality, behavior, etc.
Rules:
- Use the word "too" at least once. That is the point of the game.
- Please put effort into your responses. There's technically no sentence minimum, but please no two-word responses.
- Your response should not be NSFW, offensive, or hurtful to real people. Let's confine the emotional pain to our characters.
- Wait until three other people have posted before you post again, unless it's been 24 hours. In that case, only one other person must have posted.
You get the point, right? So let's start for real with Dr. Fire!
"Too...octopus-like..? Meh, I'm too tired to think of anything."
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["Hey I'll have you know that I am sans, just from another multiverse >:( ]
(i hope you don't mind the short response, he didn't have much of a bio! cool character!)
Holvaster pouted. Because, of course he did.
Across him stand something that shouldn't even be possible, an anthropomorphic water bottle. It's a wonder, you'd think by now it, Marble, would of broken or .. been drank? Is he safe to drink? Dumb, childish thoughts like this ran through Holvaster's thick skull. (Which, was so thick I'm surprised he's not toppling over to the side as we speak). He sniffed and leaned his lithe body against whatever the hell they were standing by, face distorted into a disgusted smile of sorts. Eyebrows furrowed and yellow teeth showing themselves off like a stressed chimpanzee. And, a stressed chimpanzee he was.
"What are you?" He looked at Marble and tilted his head. The anthro was filled with water, a wonder! But, alas, unfazed, the frontman only continued to lower his weary eyelids.
"You're too.. fuckin' fragile looking. One god damn shove and you're dead. Water everywhere. It'd be a fucking shame if .." he motioned a shove with his hands, acting as if actually had the guts to hurt Marble.
He didn't. And, he wouldn't. Nonetheless, he scoffed and continued, greasy hair blowing in his face like a homeless person's.
".. I pushed you, huh? Unless, you're one of those plastic water bottles. Then that'd be boring."
"I don't... Really know in all honesty, sir..." Smith started with raised brows while eyeing the youth before her, "... I'm not normally the type of person to listen to your type of music... Metal, right? It doesn't sound too bad, but at the same time... It's still a little bit... Uhhh..." Her mouth hung open for a few seconds while she gesticulated ever so awkwardly, and with her signature hint of desperation to boot, and gave the other party a sheepish grin.
"... Loud?" she finally piqued when she broke the silence- Oh. With her fingertips brushing slightly against her lips, the young aristocrat tittered under her breath before squeaking, "It's too loud for my taste. But I might, uh, just be biased. I've only listened to violins and, well, the occasional saxophone for much of my life. I don't think I've listened to a guitar like that before, or... Such a... Scratchy voice... For that matter..." Smith paused. "... Not that it's a bad thing, of course!" she was quick to clarify with a laugh, "I'm sure maybe your voice is just a bit too exhausted from all that singing?" Uhhh... "I'm sure that it sounds pleasant outside the stage, no?"
Oh.
While leaning back in her seat, Smith combed her fingers through her hair while humming, "Besides, I'm not even, uh, here to ask you about making your band perform at the next aristocratic convention, if..." Her voice suddenly cut itself off. Smith's brows furrowed slightly, while her smile thinned juuuuust a bit, and the young woman placed more focus into combing her hair. Why? Who knows? Hopefully it wasn't to impress her guest, because may the skies know how that shit would pan out.
"... It's going to cause a scandal," squeaked the young woman after a bit, as if she wasn't going to cause another scandal (that was probably magnitudes worse than whatever the hell she was fretting about) by lingering around someone who indulged in cheap instant noodles like they were a staple food. As she fluttered her lashes, Smith added more carefully, "I wish my peers were more open about it, but... I doubt that they'd listen to someone like me if I suggested to them that they should try this... Death... Conspiracy... Business..." She felt silent once more, her voice trailing off as it hit its last few ungraceful words.
In hindsight, Smith was probably starting to realize why they were losing their shit over her decision to go to "Metal City!"
She rubbed the back of her neck while suggesting more sheepishly, "Maybe they'll like you more if you look more, uh... Professional?" Her eyes drifted over to the white-and-black paint adorning her guest's face. "... You look a bit too morbid, anyhow," Smith admitted awkwardly, "Maybe if... I can get you some nice outfits, and maybe a lozenge for your throat... You can be as good as new, mm?" Another pause. The young woman eventually stood up to her feet and chirped, "How about that, sir? I have a lot of both! Don't worry about it! I can help you out!" Sure. Like that was going to do anyone any good.
@ NP: I use pre-hospice Smith by default in my responses, and this is no exception dsuygff- however, you're free to respond to her post-hospice counterpart if you so desire; just lmk if that's the case so that I can respond appropriately!!
I'll also try my best to do a follow-up for NP if I have the time!!