Tᴏᴏᴛʜʟᴇss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
no_eels) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-02-14 04:54 pm
no_eels) wrote in entrancelogs2013-02-14 04:54 pm
☢
Who: Toothless, and you (open)
Where: The Fourth Floor.
When: During the pollution event.
Rating: PG
Summary: Yeah, all of this toxic stuff? Not good for dragons. Toothless is feeling a little off.
The Story:
So far, of the so-called 'events', this is the one that Toothless dislikes the most. The clouds are like fog, but they cling to him and make his green eyes sting. A bad smell comes with them, and the clouds are everywhere. Toothless stays in his room as much as possible, but a dragon needs to run if he can't fly. He runs through the mansion and over what ground is tolerable, outside, but retires to his room shortly after every occasion.
Today, he feels worse than usual. What little food he can find won't stay in his stomach, and for some reason the 'closet' (which in his room is a crevasse in the rock) won't give him anything. As someone who can't speak, he finds it frustrating on top of all of the anxiety. Nothing in this place makes sense normally, but now he has to live off of his fat stores? They won't last forever.
Laying in his room doesn't help, so instead he opts to go out for another walk. Sluggishly, slowly, he makes his way, normally brilliant eyes a little glazed.
He hopes this ends, soon.
Where: The Fourth Floor.
When: During the pollution event.
Rating: PG
Summary: Yeah, all of this toxic stuff? Not good for dragons. Toothless is feeling a little off.
The Story:
So far, of the so-called 'events', this is the one that Toothless dislikes the most. The clouds are like fog, but they cling to him and make his green eyes sting. A bad smell comes with them, and the clouds are everywhere. Toothless stays in his room as much as possible, but a dragon needs to run if he can't fly. He runs through the mansion and over what ground is tolerable, outside, but retires to his room shortly after every occasion.
Today, he feels worse than usual. What little food he can find won't stay in his stomach, and for some reason the 'closet' (which in his room is a crevasse in the rock) won't give him anything. As someone who can't speak, he finds it frustrating on top of all of the anxiety. Nothing in this place makes sense normally, but now he has to live off of his fat stores? They won't last forever.
Laying in his room doesn't help, so instead he opts to go out for another walk. Sluggishly, slowly, he makes his way, normally brilliant eyes a little glazed.
He hopes this ends, soon.
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