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You have a duty to do. It is a perfect excuse to drown out the panicky screaming in your head.
The young mistress watches with amusement as you refuse to respond. All four of her have ti stifle their laughing when the tea pot rattles obviously in your hand. Then she speaks.
"You ARE the straight fairy, then, aren't you?"
You refuse to cry. All four Flan's, still gathered around your back, begin embracing one another in what was obviously some vain attempt to entice you.
"I've gotta' admit, I've never seen a fairy serve tea while I was sitting on them before. You look silly."
Says the hussy who's making out with herself in a three-way-kiss-of-misguided-melting-flirtations. Why does this happen so frequently? I just want to be left alone, maybe meet some cute guy, get married, have some kids delivered by stork, or maybe by cabbage patch or something, why is that sso hard to understand?
WHY IS THAT SO HARD? I like MEN dammit! Even under this calm, stony face that isn't twitching at the corners of the mouth in frustration at all, lies a burning desire for a CUTE BOYFRIEND! I- wait.
Since when did the young mistress actually MELT in to herself?
"You know, I've been down here for a real long time... I've got half a dozen tricks up my sleeve for something like this..."
You watch in horror as the three young mistress' behind the young mistress on your back begin making out in earnest, melting in to each other like fleshy-goo-horrors, all detail fading with each passing second until the three blurred and fused with each other until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
The young mistress doesn't even flinch when the whole mess opens up a single gaping maw and pulls her off of your back, swallowing her whole.
You scoot the tea tray to the side. Wouldn't do to break it, after all.
You then stand up, use the lovely print as a boost and attempt to fly away, as the only logical course here is to GET THE EVER-LOVING FUCK AWAY, NO LOOKING BACK.
Your wings are caught mid-beat, yanking you to a VERY painful halt. Before you can scream, however, a deep (but not too deep) voice calls out, oddly familiar as it was enticingly exotic.
"And where do you think YOU'RE going?"
You turn your head warily.
Holding your wings is an ALL TOO FAMILIAR young blonde gentleman with beautiful jewel-branch wings. His cute red sweater vest and yellow tie are tailor made. His cute red shorts sit atop toned, lean legs. His red eyes pierce yours, dominating your very soul. His ponytail is tied in a familiar ribbon. His white derby hat (red trim), rested on the finger of his free hand. He had long, red claws for nails on his smooth, delicately-pampered hands.
He looks like a proper lanky young gentleman from back home.
[ ] Loins = AFLAME
[ ] Ew. Victorian is the worst
[ ] ONLY BARA ALLOWED!
[ ] Too old
[ ] I wish to be the little boy
[ ] MISTRESS FLAN HAS BEEN EATEN BY A BLOB!
[ ] Write-in, anon. Write-in.
You're not out of the woods quite yet!