Spoiler! :
If Plice wanted to wake up in a sewer, all she would have to do is go down to a sewer, hit herself on the head multiple times so she would fall asleep in such deplorable conditions, and then wake up. She had done no such thing. She had never desired to do such a thing and she would like to keep it that way.
She was understandably annoyed when she opened her eyes to see not the familiar vine-covered walls of her room in her and Ollie's loft, but the grime-covered stone walls of a sewer.
A sewer.
Plice was insulted that someone thought she should be brought down here. Then she was angry, because whoever brought her down here would pay.
She got to her feet, but as she moved she realized something was horribly wrong. She was wearing armor! While Ollie may have dallied in monster hunting and worn some form of physical protection to keep her feeble human form from being disemboweled when she fought a particularly nasty beasty. But Plice, being of the noble and powerful shadow-vine fae bloodline, had no such concerns. Which was why her wearing bulky armor was something of an issue. Not only had whoever put her down here put her in a sewer, but they had also thought it necessary to dress her in this monstrosity.
Everyone who saw Plice knew that the skin-tight and revealing outfits she usually wore were so much better. Even Ollie(who, though being of a rare human bloodline, did not know how to properly dress herself) agreed that Plice's outfits were amazing on her.
Blood would run if she ever found out who did this to her.
Cursing this person from here to the Summer Court, Plice staggered to her feet, her movements significantly more clumsy since her newly acquired horrible outfit did nothing to increase her usual unearthly grace.
Once standing, Plice came to the horrible realization that she had something obscuring her face. She pawed for the thing and ripped it off of her, sending her ink-dark hair spilling down her shoulders. When she held up the thing to look at it, she found that it was a mask in the shape of a skull.
How terribly goth.
She tossed it aside in disgust and then realized something even more horrible about the armor. It was blue!
Ugh, thought Plice. Blue contrasts horribly with my lovely violet skin. She contemplated taking off the offending blue gloves, then realized that that would mean she would touch the grime around her with her bare hands. That would be the final straw in this already nightmarish basket.
Plice decided, in a great act of self-sacrifice, to leave them on. She was deciding on what best to do next(break out or look around for whoever did this to her and show them why King Oberon himself feared the shadow-vine fae) when a loud sound reminisce of a wall being destroyed in a fit of rage echoed through the disgusting tunnel and Plice realized she wasn't alone.
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