Happy birthday, nerd!
Here, as ordered: centaurboners and the last of my dignity.
There’s a real bite to the air today.
You don’t feel cold. Don’t feel cold at all. Feel like there’s electricity travelling under the surface of your skin, with big whorls in your head, chest, groin, where the energy pools and churns relentlessly in on itself before coursing on, leaving you heated and prickly.
You’re tired. You’re hungry. Don’t know hungry for what, even. For a fight or a fuck or maybe plain old food.
It’s never been this bad before. Ever. Seriously. You feel like a huge fucking creep, but the girls all smell amazing, this warm musky good come here sort of scent that makes you want to press your face -your body- close, find out if it is as good on your tongue, too. Basically you feel like the world biggest pervert, because everybody has become all hmmm yes please. It’s godawful, like you morphed into one of those horny little terriers that are so fucking ready to hump the shit out of just about anybody and everything, even if that includes Vriska or (oh god why) Kanaya. It helps to fence with Kankri, but you were a little too rough earlier and nearly poked out his eye. Cue endless stream of bitching, that useless hypocrite, so you just up and fucking left.
So that’s why you’re out here all by yourself (not too far, though, you’re still safely within the perimeter). If anybody asks, you can always say you’re attending to your Cursores responsibilities. Even though if someone snuck up on you they could probably blow your brains out before you managed to drag your attention away from the crawling ache in your groin.
You’re blaming John for this. You are so blaming John for this. You’re blaming John all the fucking way.