Foster van Denend (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
criticallyfucked) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-12-16 12:01 am
criticallyfucked) wrote in lostcarnival2017-12-16 12:01 am
Entry tags:
You Can Lead A Horse To... Oh God
Who: Foster von Horsebody and YOU
When: D16-D18
Where: Anywhere!
What: Thanks, I hate it!!
Warnings: You'll hate it too!
There you are, minding your own business.
Maybe you've just been shopping (again), or finished a particularly pitched snowball battle (again), or maybe you just wanted to go for a short, bracing walk after a long, luxurious soak in one of the available hot tubs (again.)
And everything is peaceful: the moon is calm and quiet, the wind is cold, the snow is the perfect blend of powdery and fresh.
Until you see him.
See it.
It looks like a horse, at first--striding long-legged through the snow, its neck arched, mane and tail billowing. But only at first. There's something wrong with its face. With its head.
But no, it can't be...
...Can it?
Yes.
Yes. It can.
This horse. Has a human face.
And not just any human face.
This face.... this horse...
..... is Foster van Denend.
He's wearing a look of unmistakeable intensity, an expression that's no longer a smile, but it might have been one just seconds ago. His blue eyes are brightened by the reflection of light on virgin snow. A little bit of saliva glistens on his lower lip.
It is, undoubtedly, the worst thing you've ever laid eyes on.
You're welcome.
BONUS A: ON THE JOB
This isn't what he asked for. He asked to become a beast of burden, describing the horses at the manor and the idea of a body that would perform such labours unassisted.
No. That's blatantly untrue. It's not what he intended, of course. But what he intended or not, what he wanted or not, it is--word for word--what he asked to be. And thus certain that the fault lay with him (what had he said? he couldn't even remember, whatwords exactly he had used to convey his meaning), he didn't complain. And having accepted (or resigned to, or resolved to) his new form, his initial alarm, regret, confusion, and excitement... are all in the past.
Once he got his footing (literally), he realised that he had to learn to live with it--because that's when it occurred to him that he was going to have to work with it.
Or there would be consequences.
Which is his motivation for attempting to do just that--a sponge pressed under one hoof, another gripped in his teeth. There's look of fiercedesperation determination on his face.
If anyone returns to the Carnival, for any reason--
Well. He's just knocked over a mop. He's... doing his best to corral it (har har), pawing at it with one hoof, then scooting it with that same hoof, going the other way. He bends, trying to seize the wooden handle in his teeth, but his human face is too short, and he has to drop to his knees--
"Fuck. Fuck--no. Fuck. Fuck."
If nothing else, he's hard to miss.
BONUS B: FEAST DAY
Foster is hard to miss, but he's equally hard to watch.
Without thumbs--without hands, or paws, or really any appendage even remotely designed for anything but standing on--he can only add servings to his plate by asking for them. Which isn't too terrible.
The problem is that he has also no way to put that food in his mouth. Not without bending that majestic, horrible equine neck gracefully over the table and putting his awful, uncanny human face directly into his plate of food.
Which is what he's doing right now to a slice of cake, and the cake has icing, and he might be doing his best, but--
Honestly, it's a crime scene. The act of forcing other people to see him eat is a criminal act. This is disgusting. I'm so sorry.
Maybe it's time for someone to complain to the Ringmaster.
Maybe several someones.
When: D16-D18
Where: Anywhere!
What: Thanks, I hate it!!
Warnings: You'll hate it too!
There you are, minding your own business.
Maybe you've just been shopping (again), or finished a particularly pitched snowball battle (again), or maybe you just wanted to go for a short, bracing walk after a long, luxurious soak in one of the available hot tubs (again.)
And everything is peaceful: the moon is calm and quiet, the wind is cold, the snow is the perfect blend of powdery and fresh.
Until you see him.
See it.
It looks like a horse, at first--striding long-legged through the snow, its neck arched, mane and tail billowing. But only at first. There's something wrong with its face. With its head.
But no, it can't be...
...Can it?
Yes.
Yes. It can.
This horse. Has a human face.
And not just any human face.
This face.... this horse...
..... is Foster van Denend.
He's wearing a look of unmistakeable intensity, an expression that's no longer a smile, but it might have been one just seconds ago. His blue eyes are brightened by the reflection of light on virgin snow. A little bit of saliva glistens on his lower lip.
It is, undoubtedly, the worst thing you've ever laid eyes on.
You're welcome.
BONUS A: ON THE JOB
This isn't what he asked for. He asked to become a beast of burden, describing the horses at the manor and the idea of a body that would perform such labours unassisted.
No. That's blatantly untrue. It's not what he intended, of course. But what he intended or not, what he wanted or not, it is--word for word--what he asked to be. And thus certain that the fault lay with him (what had he said? he couldn't even remember, whatwords exactly he had used to convey his meaning), he didn't complain. And having accepted (or resigned to, or resolved to) his new form, his initial alarm, regret, confusion, and excitement... are all in the past.
Once he got his footing (literally), he realised that he had to learn to live with it--because that's when it occurred to him that he was going to have to work with it.
Or there would be consequences.
Which is his motivation for attempting to do just that--a sponge pressed under one hoof, another gripped in his teeth. There's look of fierce
If anyone returns to the Carnival, for any reason--
Well. He's just knocked over a mop. He's... doing his best to corral it (har har), pawing at it with one hoof, then scooting it with that same hoof, going the other way. He bends, trying to seize the wooden handle in his teeth, but his human face is too short, and he has to drop to his knees--
"Fuck. Fuck--no. Fuck. Fuck."
If nothing else, he's hard to miss.
BONUS B: FEAST DAY
Foster is hard to miss, but he's equally hard to watch.
Without thumbs--without hands, or paws, or really any appendage even remotely designed for anything but standing on--he can only add servings to his plate by asking for them. Which isn't too terrible.
The problem is that he has also no way to put that food in his mouth. Not without bending that majestic, horrible equine neck gracefully over the table and putting his awful, uncanny human face directly into his plate of food.
Which is what he's doing right now to a slice of cake, and the cake has icing, and he might be doing his best, but--
Honestly, it's a crime scene. The act of forcing other people to see him eat is a criminal act. This is disgusting. I'm so sorry.
Maybe it's time for someone to complain to the Ringmaster.
Maybe several someones.
no subject
Apparently that's too much to assume, but at least Yukio's fulfilled any obligations of politeness. He's still smiling, but it's just strained now, and he gives a short sort of bow before turning and walking off.