Thanks For Keeping Me Tame [O|Holiday]
Nov 28, 2014 3:30:58 GMT -7
Post by The Bearer of Bad News on Nov 28, 2014 3:30:58 GMT -7
The Place: A dockside inn and tavern.
The Food and Booze: Pretty Goddamned dreadful.
The Television: Less Dreadful. They have Netflix.
Schatzi could carouse with the best of them, no doubt. The trick was not eating anybody she wasn't supposed to. Feline ears twitched atop the silver-haired maiden's head, standing quite straight when she felt a hand slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts. That was not okay. Over-the-fabric contact was understandable among drunken sailors, especially considering the length was meant for someone several inches shorter than she was at this moment and how loosely they hung at her narrow hips. Of course, all of her clothing was meant for someone shorter than herself, leaving her breasts squashed under a tight shirt that left a fair amount of her torso exposed and her knee-socks only coming up to mid thigh. At least her shoes still fit.
She had tried to get a drink before, when she was rather a lot shorter, but then her age was mistaken as less than legal, so she'd grown in the bathroom. Also she'd been a man at the time, but nobody seemed to notice that. The shapeshifter inverted her stance, treating her only half-empty bottle as though it were a knife, slipping forward from hands that were breaking the rules and swinging the alcohol forward in a slash. Nobody was struck by it, nobody was meant to be. It just brought it into a convenient sipping position for when her foot connected with the molester's crotch in a reverse snap-kick. She then settled into her original position as though nothing had occurred. A trademark of the Drifting Snow discipline. It was unlikely anyone had seen a thing, so swift was the movement.
She smiled cattily. If she'd had a tail it likely would have been swishing in self-satisfaction. Such a delight to play with these insects...before she caught them and ate them.
The Food and Booze: Pretty Goddamned dreadful.
The Television: Less Dreadful. They have Netflix.
Schatzi could carouse with the best of them, no doubt. The trick was not eating anybody she wasn't supposed to. Feline ears twitched atop the silver-haired maiden's head, standing quite straight when she felt a hand slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts. That was not okay. Over-the-fabric contact was understandable among drunken sailors, especially considering the length was meant for someone several inches shorter than she was at this moment and how loosely they hung at her narrow hips. Of course, all of her clothing was meant for someone shorter than herself, leaving her breasts squashed under a tight shirt that left a fair amount of her torso exposed and her knee-socks only coming up to mid thigh. At least her shoes still fit.
She had tried to get a drink before, when she was rather a lot shorter, but then her age was mistaken as less than legal, so she'd grown in the bathroom. Also she'd been a man at the time, but nobody seemed to notice that. The shapeshifter inverted her stance, treating her only half-empty bottle as though it were a knife, slipping forward from hands that were breaking the rules and swinging the alcohol forward in a slash. Nobody was struck by it, nobody was meant to be. It just brought it into a convenient sipping position for when her foot connected with the molester's crotch in a reverse snap-kick. She then settled into her original position as though nothing had occurred. A trademark of the Drifting Snow discipline. It was unlikely anyone had seen a thing, so swift was the movement.
She smiled cattily. If she'd had a tail it likely would have been swishing in self-satisfaction. Such a delight to play with these insects...before she caught them and ate them.