[Like most people, Paracelsus has found he's gone through some changes upon his arrival. Compared to most people, however, his feel a little more...drastic. To get straight to the point, he was a giant fucking key before waking up here. Now he has fun things like flesh...! And legs...!
Legs that he immediately stumbles over the moment the tiny sheep whacks him over to mingle. He gracelessly flops face first into the ground and his attempts to get back up aren't going as well as he would like. It's not like he doesn't know how to get up on his own, it's just now he bends in weird ways and it's making it difficult. Paracelsus finds himself ass up as he pushes himself forward, plowing his torso through the soft garden grass. At least it's not rock... or concreate... or...]
Ow, ow, ow, ow-
[Okay, this isn't working. On the bright side, he can't make himself look anymore foolish, so he defaults to...rolling over to whoever will give him the time of day. He shoots his arm up and waves it pathetically.]
Hey, a little help...?
[The weirdest thing about all of this? It sure is quiet here. Like, sure, there's the usual sound of chatter, but......where's A.B.A.? He refuses to believe she wouldn't have something to say about this by now.]
Heaven or Hell
[Once upon a time, all Paracelsus used to care about was...blood. Lots and lots and lots of...blood. He'd get lost in the sauce, it strengthened him in ways you can only imagine, and he hurt and used a lot of people just to get it. And he...didn't like that, didn't like the way he could feel himself slipping; he didn't want to lose his sanity. So recently? He's decided to cut himself off. No more blood, no more violence.
Should be easier now that he has all this newfound freedom. Still trying to get his bearings, Paracelsus heads down to the comforts of Hell in hopes to just hole himself up in his room and wait this whole thing out. Surely this error will get sorted soon...right?
But when the elevator doors open, he's greeted to one hell of a brawl, and he can't help but run his fingers down and claw at his face.]
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.
[This is the exact OPPOSITE of what he wants. But hey! Did you come down with him? Paracelsus is going to chance it and hope you aren't crazy because he really needs help-]
Listen, I need to get to this room. [He holds up his keycard—btw should this insult him, he has so many mixed feelings—and points to it like a gigantic lost child.] I really don't want to fight...
Paracelsus 🗝 Guilty Gear -Strive- 🗝 Hell-raised
[Like most people, Paracelsus has found he's gone through some changes upon his arrival. Compared to most people, however, his feel a little more...drastic. To get straight to the point, he was a giant fucking key before waking up here. Now he has fun things like flesh...! And legs...!
Legs that he immediately stumbles over the moment the tiny sheep whacks him over to mingle. He gracelessly flops face first into the ground and his attempts to get back up aren't going as well as he would like. It's not like he doesn't know how to get up on his own, it's just now he bends in weird ways and it's making it difficult. Paracelsus finds himself ass up as he pushes himself forward, plowing his torso through the soft garden grass. At least it's not rock... or concreate... or...]
Ow, ow, ow, ow-
[Okay, this isn't working. On the bright side, he can't make himself look anymore foolish, so he defaults to...rolling over to whoever will give him the time of day. He shoots his arm up and waves it pathetically.]
Hey, a little help...?
[The weirdest thing about all of this? It sure is quiet here. Like, sure, there's the usual sound of chatter, but......where's A.B.A.? He refuses to believe she wouldn't have something to say about this by now.]
Heaven orHell[Once upon a time, all Paracelsus used to care about was...blood. Lots and lots and lots of...blood. He'd get lost in the sauce, it strengthened him in ways you can only imagine, and he hurt and used a lot of people just to get it. And he...didn't like that, didn't like the way he could feel himself slipping; he didn't want to lose his sanity. So recently? He's decided to cut himself off. No more blood, no more violence.
Should be easier now that he has all this newfound freedom. Still trying to get his bearings, Paracelsus heads down to the comforts of Hell in hopes to just hole himself up in his room and wait this whole thing out. Surely this error will get sorted soon...right?
But when the elevator doors open, he's greeted to one hell of a brawl, and he can't help but run his fingers down and claw at his face.]
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.
[This is the exact OPPOSITE of what he wants. But hey! Did you come down with him? Paracelsus is going to chance it and hope you aren't crazy because he really needs help-]
Listen, I need to get to this room. [He holds up his keycard—btw should this insult him, he has so many mixed feelings—and points to it like a gigantic lost child.] I really don't want to fight...