Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2013 12:40:36 GMT -6
The first thing Romano noticed upon cracking open his groggy eyes was a very feminine hand resting in front of his face. For a moment, he entertained the idea that everything to this point had been a horrible nightmare, and he was really safe at home, curled up on the couch with whatever pretty girl he had run into that day – for he could feel her pressed against his back. He couldn't quite remember what he did prior to his dream, but whatever it was, it must have been right to deserve such pleasurable company.
"…Ohi, principessa…" he mumbled, using his favorite petname as he struggled to remember his bedmate's real one. "…I had the most godawful dream…" Closing his eyes once more, he nuzzled the hand in front of him before planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
Wait.
He felt that. It was like he was kissing his own hand. Why did he feel that? His eyes shot open once again, suddenly feeling more awake than earlier.
This isn't my house. He knew this room. He recognized it. He was still in the accursed mansion, in what he had deduced to be the men's smoking room. He knew that bar, those sofas, that creepy painting that he had been so sure was ripped apart some time ago. Could he still be dreaming? He sat up suddenly to take in his surroundings, his jacket sliding off as he did so (it had been draped over his shoulders as a makeshift blanket). What he had felt pressed against his back was merely the couch's backrest. He was alone. And he felt different.
Looking at his hands, he could see they were both more slender and delicate than he remembered. His clothes felt baggy, hanging loosely on his slight form. His hair was longer, dark-auburn strands brushing his shoulders in glossy curls. Furthermore, as he sat up, he felt a little more…top-heavy, so to speak. This dream again? he thought dryly to himself. Perfect. But did I have to dream it happened here? Just to confirm his suspicions, he tugged at the collar of his shirt, peeking underneath. Just as he expected: boobs. …This isn't a dream. It couldn't have been a dream. Even in dreams, he could expect to hear from his neighbor downstairs – which he could now plainly tell was gone.
"'FANCULO!!!" he shrieked, realizing a moment later that the pitch he chose to yell was an octave lower than his vocal chords were made for and hurt his throat. "CHE CAZZO?!?! MERDA DEL CAZZO!!!" He continued to fire off a string of expletives, falling off the couch as he scrambled backwards, trying to get away. But how could he get away? No one could escape their own body. "IS THIS FUCKING FUNNY TO YOU?!?!" he screamed, shouting at whatever malevolent forces did this to him. "IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU?!?!"
He stood up, realizing just how big his clothes were on him. His pants gathered at his bare feet in wrinkles (Apparently, he had taken off his shoes to nap. They would no longer fit him anyhow), the legs too long and likely to trip him if he tried to run. The waist slipped low on his hips, even with a belt, and his shirt's neckline dipped a little lower than a real lady would feel comfortable with. Partly from shock and partly from disbelief, Romano subconsciously cupped his new assets in his hands. They were real all right…
"Well, the joke's on you!" he barked, realizing how whiny his new voice must have sounded. "I could get fucking used to this!" He crossed his arms over himself, hands checking the width of his waist. So what if I'm a girl? I always preferred boobs anyway. And I bet I'm damn hot, too. I wish I had a mirror. He chewed on his lip. He might could stand being a girl, so long as he was a pretty girl. But what if he wasn't? Unfortunately, there wasn't a mirror in the room. Men weren't big on checking their appearances, he supposed. There was, however, a large window that would do in a pinch. Bending over to roll his pant legs up and allow easier walking, he made his way to the window. Same green eyes, same pouty mouth, but somehow better with a delicate little chin, rosy cheeks, and sweet pink lips… Not a bad figure, either, he thought as he lifted his shirt and tugged it back tight around his bust, revealing his midriff and a cute bellybutton. He would date her if he wasn't her.
"…Where the hell is my damn weapon," he deadpanned, asking the girl in the window. Suddenly, something in the background moved: another person. Romano's blood ran cold. He wasn't alone! There was someone else in the room. And here he was, an unarmed girl. Dropping his shirt and whirling around, he pressed his back to the window, face paling as he met the unwelcome stranger.
"…Ohi, principessa…" he mumbled, using his favorite petname as he struggled to remember his bedmate's real one. "…I had the most godawful dream…" Closing his eyes once more, he nuzzled the hand in front of him before planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
Wait.
He felt that. It was like he was kissing his own hand. Why did he feel that? His eyes shot open once again, suddenly feeling more awake than earlier.
This isn't my house. He knew this room. He recognized it. He was still in the accursed mansion, in what he had deduced to be the men's smoking room. He knew that bar, those sofas, that creepy painting that he had been so sure was ripped apart some time ago. Could he still be dreaming? He sat up suddenly to take in his surroundings, his jacket sliding off as he did so (it had been draped over his shoulders as a makeshift blanket). What he had felt pressed against his back was merely the couch's backrest. He was alone. And he felt different.
Looking at his hands, he could see they were both more slender and delicate than he remembered. His clothes felt baggy, hanging loosely on his slight form. His hair was longer, dark-auburn strands brushing his shoulders in glossy curls. Furthermore, as he sat up, he felt a little more…top-heavy, so to speak. This dream again? he thought dryly to himself. Perfect. But did I have to dream it happened here? Just to confirm his suspicions, he tugged at the collar of his shirt, peeking underneath. Just as he expected: boobs. …This isn't a dream. It couldn't have been a dream. Even in dreams, he could expect to hear from his neighbor downstairs – which he could now plainly tell was gone.
"'FANCULO!!!" he shrieked, realizing a moment later that the pitch he chose to yell was an octave lower than his vocal chords were made for and hurt his throat. "CHE CAZZO?!?! MERDA DEL CAZZO!!!" He continued to fire off a string of expletives, falling off the couch as he scrambled backwards, trying to get away. But how could he get away? No one could escape their own body. "IS THIS FUCKING FUNNY TO YOU?!?!" he screamed, shouting at whatever malevolent forces did this to him. "IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU?!?!"
He stood up, realizing just how big his clothes were on him. His pants gathered at his bare feet in wrinkles (Apparently, he had taken off his shoes to nap. They would no longer fit him anyhow), the legs too long and likely to trip him if he tried to run. The waist slipped low on his hips, even with a belt, and his shirt's neckline dipped a little lower than a real lady would feel comfortable with. Partly from shock and partly from disbelief, Romano subconsciously cupped his new assets in his hands. They were real all right…
"Well, the joke's on you!" he barked, realizing how whiny his new voice must have sounded. "I could get fucking used to this!" He crossed his arms over himself, hands checking the width of his waist. So what if I'm a girl? I always preferred boobs anyway. And I bet I'm damn hot, too. I wish I had a mirror. He chewed on his lip. He might could stand being a girl, so long as he was a pretty girl. But what if he wasn't? Unfortunately, there wasn't a mirror in the room. Men weren't big on checking their appearances, he supposed. There was, however, a large window that would do in a pinch. Bending over to roll his pant legs up and allow easier walking, he made his way to the window. Same green eyes, same pouty mouth, but somehow better with a delicate little chin, rosy cheeks, and sweet pink lips… Not a bad figure, either, he thought as he lifted his shirt and tugged it back tight around his bust, revealing his midriff and a cute bellybutton. He would date her if he wasn't her.
"…Where the hell is my damn weapon," he deadpanned, asking the girl in the window. Suddenly, something in the background moved: another person. Romano's blood ran cold. He wasn't alone! There was someone else in the room. And here he was, an unarmed girl. Dropping his shirt and whirling around, he pressed his back to the window, face paling as he met the unwelcome stranger.