Not that it isn’t nice to have a ball of claw filled fluff sitting on my head, it was rather cute, if I was being honest. Here is your fluff ball of death that’s apparently decided to stick around. Top of the desk though? Thank you very much. If I pull one from the middle, same thing on both sides. If Taylor tries to look at the bottom, nothing but an inky black void.
And that’s not like some sort of ‘well duh you can’t see the card before you flip it over’, there is no bottom of these cards. Pieces of plastic that just appear out of nowhere from a deck that I can’t even see the contents of until I draws the first. Meanwhile, down the hall, one Taylor Hebert stared owlishly, stupefied at the whole scene playing out in front of her, holding a slip of a card that had just appeared in her hand. “ DOES IT LOOK LIKE THAT’S AN OPTIO-OW FUCKER!” “Can’t you just… move out of it!?” Ema called, cringing as Sophia’s fist hit the little ball of fluff dutifully clinging to her face. The girl bucked hard, her body crashing into a row of lockers as people started moving out of their classrooms, trying to view what all the commotion was about and others gawked openly at the tiny little fluffball doing its level best to viciously maul one of the school’s premier track athletes. Or at least that would be the natural conclusion until one saw that the little muppet was actively moving using its tiny claws to swipe and scratch and cling onto Sophia’s face with independent motor functions. It was a muppet and Sophia Hess had just really gotten into an intense game of charades and taken it too far. You quickly realized it wasn’t a bad toupee once you noticed the tiny little claws, and tiny little feet currently scratching at Sophia’s head.
What was odd about this particular screech was just who was releasing it, her voice echoing off the walls.Īfter all, it's not every day that Sophia Hess, track athlete, Secret Ward Parahuman and all round Queen B and ass kicker of Winslow was on the receiving end of what looked like a rather thorough ass kicking.Įspecially when that ass kicking was being delivered by a toupee. The occasional screech of outrage, pain, or even fear was not an altogether uncommon thing in Winslow which said quite a bit really.
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