Much OOCness abounds as Elizabeth tries hard not to make out with every Organization member even vaguely attracted to her, and fight back the disease for her own cynicism and sanity!
Xemnas especially wants her...head on a platter. If the poor boy can actually fight off the MSV long enough to do it. Axel is kept at bay with a squirt bottle.
Basically, everyone gets fucked over—not laid.
Oh—the name Cats on Mars came from my love of Cowboy Bebop. It seemed like a kooky enough name for a fic as on crack as this one. I don't own KH2. This isn't aimed at anyone in particular, I've been into fanfiction long enough to have been around the block several times, but hey: It's not my fault if you're offended.
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Angel wings. Despite humans' comple lack of evolutionary adaptation to flight, Elizabeth had somehow sprouted angel wings overnight. Big, white, and kind of heavy. Downy and soft. They weighed on her shoulders, and the girl had to hunch over to find a comfortable place.
She'd never get her sleeping camisole off. In fact, getting dressed was going to be a hideous hassle altogether. Let alone cleaning the feathers. How do you clean feathers in the first place?
Needless to say, the poor girl was reeling.
Her eyes changed from their normal hazel to a blazing orange, and she nearly topped over--she stepped heavily on some primary flight feathers, almost yanked them out, and screeched out something vulgar for it. Big white wings weren't meant to be stuffed into little dorm rooms, they were meant to be free—
Eyes that change color? Angel wings? What the hell?
And what's up with my hair? And my face!
Somehow Elizabeth's skin had become blemish-free and milky white. She was used to being reasonably pale—but this was ridiculous. She looked like a porcelain doll. And her hair looked like something from a Pantene Pro-V commercial: Long, silky and a more golden shade of blond than it normally was. Split ends were in absentia, and there were no flyaways. At the least it had retained its length and not extended: Small of the spine. Her fingernails were long and perfectly manicured though she hadn't done anything but failed to cut them recently. Though she was 19, and had always appeared her natural age, she had an ageless near Olsen twin-like face now.
Oh, and, here's a kicker: She miraculously had 20/20 vision even though she'd worn glasses since fourth grade, and had been nearing legal blindness.
I can't go out like this! I don't even look like me—well, I do, kind of—but a creepy, idealized version of me! And I have class today! I have a test tomorrow!
But, strangely: Classes and real life had ceased to matter as much to Elizabeth as being a good person. Surely the professor would understand and give her a retest? Her goodliness would touch his heart. Something in Elizabeth, something that was quickly losing ground, was horrified at this perversion of normalcy.
Elizabeth fought to retain some semblance of reality even as she felt she was losing control. She tried to get a hand on one of her wings and found that they were sensitive—she couldn't jerk the damn things around. They were physically connected to her being. Not good. She could wear sunglasses to cover her eyes, but she couldn't do anything about the wings without killing herself in the process.
Fortunately for the young Mary Sue—gasp, hoshit—she didn't even have to worry about mundane reality for much longer: Darkness suddenly sprung up around her and swallowed the startled girl posthaste.
A sudden surge of freefall sent her stomach flying up—strangely, she didn't feel like puking—and she landed without hurting herself on a soft, soft bed.
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MUHAHAHAHAHA. Flame me, bitches! Come on, you know you want to! Feed me!
Oh, and she'll somehow end up as a high schooler, even though she's a college student. Yeah, that should be fun.
