Whatever you hit is soft. You can barely feel the impact, the sensation in your horns muffled as they are, but you reel back all the same - or you try, but there's fingers wrapping tight around your horn, dragging you up.
Sometimes you regret your size. This is one of them. You can't feel the grip on your horn as anything more than an irritant - only the red velvet at the base has any strong sensation, and their grip is firmly on the yellow-orange border - but the panic bubbling up in your chest and wrapping tight around your throat has nothing to do with the physical discomfort of being hauled up.
No, it's all mental. You're being restrained, and that wouldn't be so bad - plenty of people get a thrill out of pinning the tiny redblood, and it's not as if that can't be fun, sometimes, but that's because you can always jump.
You can't use your psionics if people are touching your horns, though, and, it's hard not to panic as you try and fail to twist free. It's too bright out here to see properly without your glasses, but when you squint at your assailant, you can make out the oversized swoop of their horns, and that's almost familiar.
Why is it familiar?
Oh! OA. It's OA.
(Heavens, you hope it's OA.)
Sipara's saying something, her voice a hiss of static and rage behind you, but you ignore it for now. "Hello," you chirp, your voice painfully bright and friendly, and the nervous laugh that bubbles up is entirely involuntary. Your hands are up, but you can't bring yourself to try and force your way free just yet: OA has to be the tallest troll you've ever seen, and that's frankly terrifying.
You duck your head instead, tucking in your chin and trying to gently pull your horn free that way. (They're as big as a highblood, so you'll just pretend they are.) "You're, ah, OA - right?"
no subject
Sometimes you regret your size. This is one of them. You can't feel the grip on your horn as anything more than an irritant - only the red velvet at the base has any strong sensation, and their grip is firmly on the yellow-orange border - but the panic bubbling up in your chest and wrapping tight around your throat has nothing to do with the physical discomfort of being hauled up.
No, it's all mental. You're being restrained, and that wouldn't be so bad - plenty of people get a thrill out of pinning the tiny redblood, and it's not as if that can't be fun, sometimes, but that's because you can always jump.
You can't use your psionics if people are touching your horns, though, and, it's hard not to panic as you try and fail to twist free. It's too bright out here to see properly without your glasses, but when you squint at your assailant, you can make out the oversized swoop of their horns, and that's almost familiar.
Why is it familiar?
Oh! OA. It's OA.
(Heavens, you hope it's OA.)
Sipara's saying something, her voice a hiss of static and rage behind you, but you ignore it for now. "Hello," you chirp, your voice painfully bright and friendly, and the nervous laugh that bubbles up is entirely involuntary. Your hands are up, but you can't bring yourself to try and force your way free just yet: OA has to be the tallest troll you've ever seen, and that's frankly terrifying.
You duck your head instead, tucking in your chin and trying to gently pull your horn free that way. (They're as big as a highblood, so you'll just pretend they are.) "You're, ah, OA - right?"