You leap upon the platform constructed by the mutual genius of yourself and your erstwhile trollchum. You did most of the physical building, especially considering that it was an actual physical requirement for reasons tautologically paradoxic. The true genius, though you still credit yourself with being at least a pretty smart part of things, was your long-distance friendpal. Your interplanetary pen-palacious xeno-buddy. Your bosom-bestie, your pale-amour, your... oh, you get the idea already. Point is, she's got the smarts to make sure the software side of things is PLUM-DANDY, 13UCKO!
In terms of judgment, however, you were sure to have the lion's share. In that you were sure to claim the first bits and gorge yourself until satisfied, leaving only what morsels you deigned not to eat. Meaning that there had better be plenty of the good stuff to go 'round or else poor decisions would rule the day.
It's too bad your partner in extended metaphors happened to be one to imbibe soporifics. The number three predator of good judgement, just after lions and teen hormones.
As such, you arrive pretty much naked. With only your horns and hands to hide your shame-bulge. You looked up at your inebriated compatriot, hoping your bright head-protrusions might distract from this fact.
You weren't sure if that was the case or not, as she immediately reached for you and lifted you in her hand, which happened to cover most of you. It also gave you a feeling of disquiet as she thumbed your naked front-side and giggled.
"omg ur so sooooft!"
"except these thorny bits"
"*horny*"
"hehehe horny bits"
"ive got those too ya kno"
;)
Before you get a chance to introduce yourself (along with a few of the finer bits of Troll culture regarding modesty) she tries standing up and fails miserably. Apparently, she had placed her portion of the dual apparatus on the ground and directly below a number of glasses on a table or desk. Most of them were empty, but of course, the one you fall into as your supple form is squeezed tightly out of her flailing grip like some kind of cartoon banana shot from a very real and deadly trebuche.
You splash right in some pink drink as if with expert aim and attempt to raise yourself out of the soporific fluid, but the sides are too far apart to brace yourself against and too steep to clamber higher up on.
And then she regains her balance, and reaches instinctively for the only full
glass, bringing the edge to her lips without thinking as she scanned the room for your location.
"oh man im so sorry lil frend" she says, unsure where you laned and addressing the seemingly empty room.
"hey can u liek"
"say somth?"
"or is this sum kinda"
"accident test"
"*ancient"
"do I have to find u b4 were buds is that the law-code of the horny grayliens?" she asks, still not noticing you right under her nose.
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