Dan was putting together a sandwich in the kitchen - peanut butter and honey with maple syrup and marshmallows, delightfully nutrition-free - when something stings his shoulder. He whips around to see what caused it but finds nothing, and because his hands are covered in maple syrup and peanut butter, he has to take a moment to wash them before he paws at his shoulder and retrieves the tiny red arrow with a few drops of blood on it. The delay means that he's lost precious time in tracking down the miscreant, so when he turns the corner he doesn't see the archer, but one of his fellow myths.
"I don't know what the solar system is and at this point I'm afraid to ask," he blurts at the first person he runs into.
II. Candy Hearts
Dan's come back from one of his horse runs to a gas station - part of his weekly ritual to restock on his personal favorite junk foods, drugs and alcohol - and has just come in from the stables, having finished giving Concrete Blonde a full care session with brushing, new shoes and plenty of treats to reward her for her work running across the ocean in sub-zero temperatures just so Dan could get his creature needs met. He smells a bit like a barn, and because the stables are cold, he's beelining towards the common area to warm his hands again over the fire - which is when he sees a selection of small candy hearts on one of the side tables to the couch.
"Oh, hell yes." He can tell the candies have writing on them, but if someone wanted him not to eat the candy because it was already claimed, they wouldn't have left it sitting on a table. And surely these can't be warning labels or anything, and if so, he probably wouldn't heed them anyway. He loads up seven or eight candy hearts into his palm and wolfs them down in one bite, murmuring through chewing, "candy for Danny..."
And that's when some red strings seem to come out of nowhere and wrap themselves around his hands, then up his wrists and eventually putting him in a clumsy hogtie on the couch. Some sorts of squiggles that doubtless have meaning parade around in the air, but damned if Dan can interpret them.
He doesn't cry out for help. He's near a warm, cozy fire, and he's got nowhere to be, and truly, he's sure someone's going to get on his case about this and evangelize about how he needs to either cut back on sugar or learn how to read, and given that he has no plans to entertain either idea he's just going to wait.
Dan Sagittarius | Open
"Ouch!"
Dan was putting together a sandwich in the kitchen - peanut butter and honey with maple syrup and marshmallows, delightfully nutrition-free - when something stings his shoulder. He whips around to see what caused it but finds nothing, and because his hands are covered in maple syrup and peanut butter, he has to take a moment to wash them before he paws at his shoulder and retrieves the tiny red arrow with a few drops of blood on it. The delay means that he's lost precious time in tracking down the miscreant, so when he turns the corner he doesn't see the archer, but one of his fellow myths.
"I don't know what the solar system is and at this point I'm afraid to ask," he blurts at the first person he runs into.
II. Candy Hearts
Dan's come back from one of his horse runs to a gas station - part of his weekly ritual to restock on his personal favorite junk foods, drugs and alcohol - and has just come in from the stables, having finished giving Concrete Blonde a full care session with brushing, new shoes and plenty of treats to reward her for her work running across the ocean in sub-zero temperatures just so Dan could get his creature needs met. He smells a bit like a barn, and because the stables are cold, he's beelining towards the common area to warm his hands again over the fire - which is when he sees a selection of small candy hearts on one of the side tables to the couch.
"Oh, hell yes." He can tell the candies have writing on them, but if someone wanted him not to eat the candy because it was already claimed, they wouldn't have left it sitting on a table. And surely these can't be warning labels or anything, and if so, he probably wouldn't heed them anyway. He loads up seven or eight candy hearts into his palm and wolfs them down in one bite, murmuring through chewing, "candy for Danny..."
And that's when some red strings seem to come out of nowhere and wrap themselves around his hands, then up his wrists and eventually putting him in a clumsy hogtie on the couch. Some sorts of squiggles that doubtless have meaning parade around in the air, but damned if Dan can interpret them.
He doesn't cry out for help. He's near a warm, cozy fire, and he's got nowhere to be, and truly, he's sure someone's going to get on his case about this and evangelize about how he needs to either cut back on sugar or learn how to read, and given that he has no plans to entertain either idea he's just going to wait.