The words are out even before Dave has a chance to think about holding them back, and if one large part of his brain wants to complain about suddenly being covered in glittery purple fairy dust, it's being drowned out pretty handily by the part of his brain that is insisting that this is just about enough surprises for one day, thank you very fucking much.
He wants to touch them, wants to know if they're soft or scaly or what, just because holy fuck, they're fucking wings, and his hand goes out automatically before he can stop it, wondering if Gamzee's down with the touching.
"Fuck, bro," he says, kind of hoarsely, because seriously - what the fuck do you even say in response to something like this? They're out in the hall, now, and people are kind of looking, but less than Dave would have expected, and none who look quite so gobsmacked as Dave feels. Maybe wings aren't a big fucking deal here, or whatever.
"You guys have got wings? Why the fuck didn't that come up in any of our conversations?"
Codtier, yessssss.
The words are out even before Dave has a chance to think about holding them back, and if one large part of his brain wants to complain about suddenly being covered in glittery purple fairy dust, it's being drowned out pretty handily by the part of his brain that is insisting that this is just about enough surprises for one day, thank you very fucking much.
He wants to touch them, wants to know if they're soft or scaly or what, just because holy fuck, they're fucking wings, and his hand goes out automatically before he can stop it, wondering if Gamzee's down with the touching.
"Fuck, bro," he says, kind of hoarsely, because seriously - what the fuck do you even say in response to something like this? They're out in the hall, now, and people are kind of looking, but less than Dave would have expected, and none who look quite so gobsmacked as Dave feels. Maybe wings aren't a big fucking deal here, or whatever.
"You guys have got wings? Why the fuck didn't that come up in any of our conversations?"