“Pa.”

”Pa.”

”What are you doing?”

”PA.”

“This is NOT an okay thing!”

“STOP IT.”

But he just laughed and laughed and the sky shook with the thunder of it. And it was shitty.

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Hours later, it was--




Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Every step rang with that mantra in my mind.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

I mean, if you can call them steps. They were more like precarious wobbles in a vague, general direction.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Wow, this is so shitty.

What are even heels and what are they for? Obviously they weren’t for hooves, judging by the way they were forcibly shoved on my own—except I couldn’t slip out of them like they obviously wanted because Pa had enchanted this shitty thing so that it wouldn’t leave my body.

Which was why the ass (oh god oh god there was actually an ass) continued to sit on my actual ass even though the fake-ass ass was sitting perilously loose somewhere behind my croup, like dual silicone bubbles—or maybe like two puppies rising and falling with every step wobble, fighting underneath the pink fabric-thing that rapped around the bottom of my chest, my stomach, and finally strapping the ass around my ass (I think Pa called the pink thing a “dress” but he was laughing too hard to be legible).

I tried to blow some strands of the black hairy thing out of my eyes, but more than anything I was just moving them around from one annoying location to another, along with some of the sand that was trying desperately to get under my eyelids. Because, I suppose, it only seemed right and necessary to some thunderous asshole in the sky to compound one shitty thing with another universally shitty thing. Fuck sand.

You’d think going into a fight when you’re already buzzed and hot would be an asset. But I had never been this steaming before, this indignant and full of rage. It was scary; I swear I got dizzy just by sheer anger. It didn’t help that every wobble-step brought on a fresh wave of fury, or the fact that I could clearly feel the bubble butt bouncing up and down with every movement I made. The huge-ass birds screaming at me were shrieking with laughter, and I screamed back at them, frequently. The raindrops weren’t there by accident; they were there because Pa sent them along with the distant rumble of thunder, and he was laughing at me.

I had just gotten done shouting down one vulture (“Yo’ Ma AND yo’ sister too!!”) when I saw another vulture coming right for me, head on. It was hard to tell because of all the hair and sand trying so valiantly to get into my eyes, but holy crap that wasn’t an actual bird. Oh yeah, this was still a tournament, and I was still supposed to be fighting someone.

I couldn’t even see what it she was doing; all I could tell was that there was something white and feathery hurling at me, so I backed up as fast as I could before it came upon me. I was lucky; I felt something whack at the air around the left side of my chest, which meant I dodged a bullet. And ran headfirst into another one, I guess, since I immediately stumbled spectacularly in the shoes that desperately wanted to come off but nah not really. I stumbled so hard, in fact, that I actually felt both my right fore and left hind ankles twist painfully, sharp enough that I fell backwards on both of my asses. If there was any silver lining to be found, it was the fact that the fake butt actually served as somewhat of a cushion, and I was able to bounce back on my (aching) feet relatively quickly.

But my luck ended there; something swooped from the sky before I could even get a hint of it; something sharp grasped at the base of my skull, scratching through my mane—my wig was thrown askew as a vulture clawed the fuck out of me, for dissin’ on its Ma and is sister. ”Hey!” I growled, but it was gone just as soon as it had come. I could feel something start to trickle from the pain I was feeling right behind my ears, while the wig clung desperately to my face, determined that I shouldn’t see shit. And don’t even talk about my white, feathery ass opponent. I had no idea where she was.

I let loose a steady stream of curses. This wasn’t fun; it certainly wasn’t a release.

It was all shitty.



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[ W/C: 781 | 1/2
Tandavi is dressed as Kim Kardashian (Specifically this outfit)

Summary: Is having a shitty time. Backs away from Tandavi's feint; dodges her hooves, but stumbles in the process, painfully twisting two fetlock joints in the process. As she recovers her footing, gets mauled by a vulture; sustains a gash at the base of her skull, near her ears. Her wig gets skewed and she is unable to see her opponent anymore. ]




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