"Gulp," said Mag Flashlight, trying to hold back the sudden wave of nausea that passed over him.
"Disgusting...but...fascinating," Vyperpunk floated off to Mag's left, also nauseous despite her well-practiced "vampiric" resolve.
Genau'Goeg was laying on her stomach on a table in the back reaches of the Founder's Falls Icon shop. A trembling Icon employee held a rather
nasty-looking pair of scissors in her hand. Ever since she'd been handed over by Vanguard into Mag's care, Gen had been complaining of being
"itchy" on her back, and no amount of scratching seemed to help. Mag had found Gen earlier that morning, flailing and bellowing in anger and
frustration, with blood everywhere. She had used every "roughened" surface in the Legendary base in an attempt to open the protective sacs encasing
her wings, with no luck. The sacs re-sealed as soon as she'd punctured them, and her untried wings lacked the strength to open fully. This was the third
time in as many weeks he'd walked in on such a scene - and was more than a little concerned. While she didn't seem to be in pain, per say, Gen's
patience did seem to be wearing thin. Mag shifted uncomfortably and eyed Vyperpunk. For reasons unknown to him, Vyper had offered to accompany them. Maybe
she's just bored... Mag considered for a moment, before turning his attention back to the Icon employee and his charge.
"Th-th-th-th-this is the kind of work they do at the Facemaker's! This is beyond the scope of Icon's service guarantee!" The Icon employee
was doing her best to hold on to the cutting implements, regarding the dark blue draconian on the table with the same terrified countenance as a mouse,
cornered by a rattlesnake. Gen appeared to be in a considerable amount of pain - or was just merely annoyed. Her lips curled and uncurled, revealing gleaming
dagger-like teeth as she growled under her breath in broken English.
"Gen no care about scopes. Gen no care about Gary's Service Aunties," she motioned towards the still-sealed wings on her back. "Gen back
itchy. Gen try to scratch - no can reach. Friends no can help. YOU can help."
"They better give me a raise for this," the seamstress muttered under her breath and bent down, scissors at the ready. She heated the scissors over a
large, burning candle, until they were glowing hot and carefully began her first insicion. Gen grunted a little as the searing metal punctured her flesh. Mag
took the initiative and held down Gen's arms, motioning to Vyper to hold her feet.
"This is for your own good, Gen," Mag said softly to his charge. Gen looked up at him and nodded, exhaling sharply as the seamstress began to cut. A
greenish, foul-smelling fluid poured out of the ruptured sacs, gagging the seamstress. Gen's shoulders twitched like the flanks of a horse trying to
dislodge a particularly annoying fly. "Get over it and hurry up, woman!" Mag said in a hurried tone. "We can't hold her for very long!"
The seamstress, still gagging, continued to clip away at the flesh, finally creating a large enough opening for Gen's wings, still slick with fluid, to
poke out with a resounding, thoroughly disgusting "squishy" noise. A deep growl rumbled through Gen's chest as, with great effort, she spread her
webbed wings for the first time. Mag was reminded of a butterfly fresh from the chrysalis as blood filled the bat-like appendages, growing a little larger and
fuller with each beat of her heart. The seamstress nipped the last bit of protective sac from Gen's shoulders, tossed down the scissors, and ran out of the
room, screaming "I QUIT! IF I WANTED TO WORK AS A FACEMAKER, I WOULD HAVE MOVED TO THE ROGUE ISLES!" Mag and Vyper relaxed their grip on Gen's
arms and legs, and Gen arose, snapping her wings open. Pus, clear fluid, and tattered shreds of blue skin went flying as Gen shook her wings dry and strolled
outside, past the gagging customers and employees. Mag sighed and looked to Vyperpunk.
"We can never come here again..."
"Disgusting...but...fascinating," Vyperpunk floated off to Mag's left, also nauseous despite her well-practiced "vampiric" resolve.
Genau'Goeg was laying on her stomach on a table in the back reaches of the Founder's Falls Icon shop. A trembling Icon employee held a rather
nasty-looking pair of scissors in her hand. Ever since she'd been handed over by Vanguard into Mag's care, Gen had been complaining of being
"itchy" on her back, and no amount of scratching seemed to help. Mag had found Gen earlier that morning, flailing and bellowing in anger and
frustration, with blood everywhere. She had used every "roughened" surface in the Legendary base in an attempt to open the protective sacs encasing
her wings, with no luck. The sacs re-sealed as soon as she'd punctured them, and her untried wings lacked the strength to open fully. This was the third
time in as many weeks he'd walked in on such a scene - and was more than a little concerned. While she didn't seem to be in pain, per say, Gen's
patience did seem to be wearing thin. Mag shifted uncomfortably and eyed Vyperpunk. For reasons unknown to him, Vyper had offered to accompany them. Maybe
she's just bored... Mag considered for a moment, before turning his attention back to the Icon employee and his charge.
"Th-th-th-th-this is the kind of work they do at the Facemaker's! This is beyond the scope of Icon's service guarantee!" The Icon employee
was doing her best to hold on to the cutting implements, regarding the dark blue draconian on the table with the same terrified countenance as a mouse,
cornered by a rattlesnake. Gen appeared to be in a considerable amount of pain - or was just merely annoyed. Her lips curled and uncurled, revealing gleaming
dagger-like teeth as she growled under her breath in broken English.
"Gen no care about scopes. Gen no care about Gary's Service Aunties," she motioned towards the still-sealed wings on her back. "Gen back
itchy. Gen try to scratch - no can reach. Friends no can help. YOU can help."
"They better give me a raise for this," the seamstress muttered under her breath and bent down, scissors at the ready. She heated the scissors over a
large, burning candle, until they were glowing hot and carefully began her first insicion. Gen grunted a little as the searing metal punctured her flesh. Mag
took the initiative and held down Gen's arms, motioning to Vyper to hold her feet.
"This is for your own good, Gen," Mag said softly to his charge. Gen looked up at him and nodded, exhaling sharply as the seamstress began to cut. A
greenish, foul-smelling fluid poured out of the ruptured sacs, gagging the seamstress. Gen's shoulders twitched like the flanks of a horse trying to
dislodge a particularly annoying fly. "Get over it and hurry up, woman!" Mag said in a hurried tone. "We can't hold her for very long!"
The seamstress, still gagging, continued to clip away at the flesh, finally creating a large enough opening for Gen's wings, still slick with fluid, to
poke out with a resounding, thoroughly disgusting "squishy" noise. A deep growl rumbled through Gen's chest as, with great effort, she spread her
webbed wings for the first time. Mag was reminded of a butterfly fresh from the chrysalis as blood filled the bat-like appendages, growing a little larger and
fuller with each beat of her heart. The seamstress nipped the last bit of protective sac from Gen's shoulders, tossed down the scissors, and ran out of the
room, screaming "I QUIT! IF I WANTED TO WORK AS A FACEMAKER, I WOULD HAVE MOVED TO THE ROGUE ISLES!" Mag and Vyper relaxed their grip on Gen's
arms and legs, and Gen arose, snapping her wings open. Pus, clear fluid, and tattered shreds of blue skin went flying as Gen shook her wings dry and strolled
outside, past the gagging customers and employees. Mag sighed and looked to Vyperpunk.
"We can never come here again..."