a. [ It might not be readily apparent who-- or what-- is occupying the other side of the bed. In her slumber, Giselle had tossed, turned, and tugged, enough to gather all of the sheets and blankets around her. The result was something like a cocoon-- or a burrito, maybe? Whatever it was, it was very warm, and she was very content. She snores softly, a sound that's audible through the many protective layers of her new form. ]
f. [ Giselle has a knack for getting involved when her intentions lie far from involvement, and her foray into a new universe is no exception to this. In the process of asking for directions out of the loud, foreign arcade, she had somehow ended up ushered onto the stage, microphone in hand. A spotlight claps on, and she winces, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the stark and sudden onslaught of light.
She's about to apologize for the misunderstanding and excuse herself, but-- oh? A lilting tune begins, filling the room; the crystalline tones of a piano. As her eyes adjust, she looks around for its source, and notices a large screen situated towards the back of the room. Are those-- lyrics, flashing across it? She looks down at her mic. Hmm...
If she was in Rome, would it really hurt to do as the Romans did? She smiles, opens her mouth, and... ]
We're soooaaarin'... flyyyyin'...
[ Soon she's laughing, twirling, and holding out her mic for the audience to sing along to the parts that were clearly beloved. ]
giselle | the house in fata morgana
[ It might not be readily apparent who-- or what-- is occupying the other side of the bed. In her slumber, Giselle had tossed, turned, and tugged, enough to gather all of the sheets and blankets around her. The result was something like a cocoon-- or a burrito, maybe? Whatever it was, it was very warm, and she was very content. She snores softly, a sound that's audible through the many protective layers of her new form. ]
f.
[ Giselle has a knack for getting involved when her intentions lie far from involvement, and her foray into a new universe is no exception to this. In the process of asking for directions out of the loud, foreign arcade, she had somehow ended up ushered onto the stage, microphone in hand. A spotlight claps on, and she winces, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the stark and sudden onslaught of light.
She's about to apologize for the misunderstanding and excuse herself, but-- oh? A lilting tune begins, filling the room; the crystalline tones of a piano. As her eyes adjust, she looks around for its source, and notices a large screen situated towards the back of the room. Are those-- lyrics, flashing across it? She looks down at her mic. Hmm...
If she was in Rome, would it really hurt to do as the Romans did? She smiles, opens her mouth, and... ]
We're soooaaarin'... flyyyyin'...
[ Soon she's laughing, twirling, and holding out her mic for the audience to sing along to the parts that were clearly beloved. ]
h. wildcard!