Sinderella
Voted Most Likely to Romance the NPCs
- Pronoun
- That/Bitch
Guzma didn’t remember where exactly he was before everything went black. He was thinking about how to apologize to Odette for the roach. He didn’t expect it to fly at her, and he definitely didn’t expect her to get so pissed. But then again, that was pretty stupid on his part. The derivative of Wrath incarnate was bound to find some reason to lose her shit. His bad.
He had decided to tell her as much on his way to her place, saying a silent prayer that she didn’t jump on him (or that she did…beggars couldn’t be choosers). He didn’t get far enough before his existence was shrouded in a mix of light and shadow, and the thought of his dearly angrylove of his life friend floated by his mind’s eye.
When he came to again, he knew he was still outside. Cicada cries didn’t lie. Not to mention, the humidity was doing its absolute damndest to get his sweat glands going, and he groaned.
“Guzma?”
His eyes snapped open. When the fuck did I—?
He didn’t remember getting to her. He also didn’t remember her being a fucking mawile.
Their eyes remained in a deadlock for a second that dragged against the muggy heat. Neither one of them could tell what the other was thinking, and it didn’t seem to matter. Guzma broke down into a fit of hysterical laughter before Odette could process his look.
“YOU! LOOK! SO! FUCKING! STUPID!” he squealed. “OH MY FUCKING GODS!”
Odette’s concerned regard shriveled up into a scorching leer. She watched him scream, his cackle grating on her patience like sandpaper.
“Speak for yourself, rat.”
The laughs ceased. Guzma’s body went rigid, eyes darting around in time with his racing heartbeat. He started to pat himself down. Fuzzy. Prickly. Then he noticed his hands. Badger claws.
Big. Meaty. Badger claws.
“Oh my gods—“ he inhaled, the horror digging deep gashes into his forehead.
Odette approached slowly, hands outstretched to draw in the calm. “Guzma, calm down—“
“What did we say, Odette?” he said in a shrill rasp.
“I know that—“
“I thought we were done with the world hopping shit.”
“Yes…” she said, averting her eyes in hesitation. “But—“
When she glanced back, he was up, skulking toward her with his head lowered in warning.
“What the fuck did you do?”
She inhaled a sharp breath. “I can explain.”
“I’m fucking waiting, then!” Guzma hissed.
Another breath. This one, she held longer. “I was…upset…”
Silence. She tapped her fingers on her garter belt. “Because…of the roach…” She watched his eyes widen, and her tapping sped up. “So I…answered this silly little call that…took me into one of those…Mystery Dungeon games…” She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye now.
“And push came to shove…I guess…brought you here…by accide—“
He was tackling her to the swampy ground before she finished explaining. He bared his badger teeth (holy fuck, his badger teeth) at her.
“YOU DRAGGED ME INTO FUR AFFINITY: THE GAME BECAUSE OF A FUCKING ROACH?!” he shrieked, his voice reaching a decibel he didn’t think his dropped balls would allow him to access.
That thought made him stiffen again, his frown pinching up. He didn’t protest as Odette kicked him off. She scrambled up to smash his head into the ground, but stopped mid lunge when she noticed his mouth hanging agape.
“Odette, I have a very serious question to ask you. How you answer is gonna determine how the next 5 minutes of your life are gonna go,” Guzma said slowly and carefully.
Odette wasn’t sure whether to frown in concern or glare at him. Instead, her brow was weighed down with dubiety. “…okay.”
“Where are my balls?” he asked with curt urgency.
She blinked at him. “Huh?”
“Where. The fuck. Are my balls?”
Odette was simultaneously caught off guard and entirely unsurprised that that was his concern at a time and place like this.
“I assume they’re, like…in?” she offered with a vague gesture toward his backside. He silently gaped at her in a way that left her wondering if he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, or on the verge of taking a shot at her. She wouldn’t know that it was most certainly the latter.
“You know…how they’re…drawn…” she trailed off into a cringe.
“How do you know how they’re drawn?” Gold eyes ignited with accusation, as if the answer to his question would help him determine if she were guilty of a heinous crime.
“W-we’re not talking about me right now,” she sputtered. “I know where my balls are!”
“Yeah, in?” he spat.
He moved to pace away, stopping mid step when he noticed the others they were surrounding. He sat down, raising his front paws to claw down the sides of his furry, prickly fucking face.
“This has to he early onset schizophrenia, or I’m gonna crash the fuck out.”
He had decided to tell her as much on his way to her place, saying a silent prayer that she didn’t jump on him (or that she did…beggars couldn’t be choosers). He didn’t get far enough before his existence was shrouded in a mix of light and shadow, and the thought of his dearly angry
When he came to again, he knew he was still outside. Cicada cries didn’t lie. Not to mention, the humidity was doing its absolute damndest to get his sweat glands going, and he groaned.
“Guzma?”
His eyes snapped open. When the fuck did I—?
He didn’t remember getting to her. He also didn’t remember her being a fucking mawile.
Their eyes remained in a deadlock for a second that dragged against the muggy heat. Neither one of them could tell what the other was thinking, and it didn’t seem to matter. Guzma broke down into a fit of hysterical laughter before Odette could process his look.
“YOU! LOOK! SO! FUCKING! STUPID!” he squealed. “OH MY FUCKING GODS!”
Odette’s concerned regard shriveled up into a scorching leer. She watched him scream, his cackle grating on her patience like sandpaper.
“Speak for yourself, rat.”
The laughs ceased. Guzma’s body went rigid, eyes darting around in time with his racing heartbeat. He started to pat himself down. Fuzzy. Prickly. Then he noticed his hands. Badger claws.
Big. Meaty. Badger claws.
“Oh my gods—“ he inhaled, the horror digging deep gashes into his forehead.
Odette approached slowly, hands outstretched to draw in the calm. “Guzma, calm down—“
“What did we say, Odette?” he said in a shrill rasp.
“I know that—“
“I thought we were done with the world hopping shit.”
“Yes…” she said, averting her eyes in hesitation. “But—“
When she glanced back, he was up, skulking toward her with his head lowered in warning.
“What the fuck did you do?”
She inhaled a sharp breath. “I can explain.”
“I’m fucking waiting, then!” Guzma hissed.
Another breath. This one, she held longer. “I was…upset…”
Silence. She tapped her fingers on her garter belt. “Because…of the roach…” She watched his eyes widen, and her tapping sped up. “So I…answered this silly little call that…took me into one of those…Mystery Dungeon games…” She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye now.
“And push came to shove…I guess…brought you here…by accide—“
He was tackling her to the swampy ground before she finished explaining. He bared his badger teeth (holy fuck, his badger teeth) at her.
“YOU DRAGGED ME INTO FUR AFFINITY: THE GAME BECAUSE OF A FUCKING ROACH?!” he shrieked, his voice reaching a decibel he didn’t think his dropped balls would allow him to access.
That thought made him stiffen again, his frown pinching up. He didn’t protest as Odette kicked him off. She scrambled up to smash his head into the ground, but stopped mid lunge when she noticed his mouth hanging agape.
“Odette, I have a very serious question to ask you. How you answer is gonna determine how the next 5 minutes of your life are gonna go,” Guzma said slowly and carefully.
Odette wasn’t sure whether to frown in concern or glare at him. Instead, her brow was weighed down with dubiety. “…okay.”
“Where are my balls?” he asked with curt urgency.
She blinked at him. “Huh?”
“Where. The fuck. Are my balls?”
Odette was simultaneously caught off guard and entirely unsurprised that that was his concern at a time and place like this.
“I assume they’re, like…in?” she offered with a vague gesture toward his backside. He silently gaped at her in a way that left her wondering if he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, or on the verge of taking a shot at her. She wouldn’t know that it was most certainly the latter.
“You know…how they’re…drawn…” she trailed off into a cringe.
“How do you know how they’re drawn?” Gold eyes ignited with accusation, as if the answer to his question would help him determine if she were guilty of a heinous crime.
“W-we’re not talking about me right now,” she sputtered. “I know where my balls are!”
“Yeah, in?” he spat.
He moved to pace away, stopping mid step when he noticed the others they were surrounding. He sat down, raising his front paws to claw down the sides of his furry, prickly fucking face.
“This has to he early onset schizophrenia, or I’m gonna crash the fuck out.”
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