The Pigeon, are you Starli and Milly Sunstar? (I like Peri's introduction btw)

Here's Hex's Intro!

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Once she ties her form to the pigeon, Hex goes back to sleep. Or rather, tries to, as the pigeon pecks at her repeatedly until she finally gets up again, throwing a pillow at the pigeon. It flies off looking haughty and Hex starts to pack.

She throws a toolbox, a digital clock out of batteries, batteries, a 24 foot measuring tape (well, it’s more like 23-and-a-half feet—but 23-and-a-half foot tape doesn’t look as good on the label), an extra sweatshirt (silver with neon pink hoodie strings), and three rolls of duct tape (extra strong). She puts this all into a bag that also contains a two person tent with three holes of varying sizes, hoping nothing will fall out. She hoists a purple umbrella decorated with green ladybugs over one arm and pauses to survey her room. Spying something of importance on her desk, she makes her way over to Meredith, her pet rock whose mismatched googly eyes seem oddly sentient. She throws Meredith into her tent-bundle, and turns to go. Go take a nap, that is. However, her bed is covered in pigeon feathers (along with many clothes, papers, and past pet rocks, to name a few), and she resigns herself to the fact that maybe she should get going. After all, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon are waiting.

The pigeon comes back once she’s outside. It gestures impatiently with its beak, hopping back and fluttering its wings as she takes a step forward. Hex glares at it. The pigeon glares back.

Hex loses the staring contest. Slowly she comes forward again, grabbing the pigeon with one hand (the other is holding the umbrella). The pigeon slowly lifts off, Hex dangling from it, sighing (and occasionally screaming) into the wind.

As she approaches, her hand starts slipping off the feathers, quicker than a blink, until she’s free-falling towards dusty soil, and all she has time to do is pop her umbrella like a parachute and drift slowly down onto the dirt.

._.

Signed, 

The Pigeon

Sorry sorry sorry. I've been busy drawing picturings (go check my picturings thread out if you want one). Here it is.

Anything else you’d like us to know: I play volleyball and own a huge black wolf can I bring him. Also, Hello my name is Reuby Moonnight. I am a couch stealer, no I will not move my legs. You may sit on the floor.

Hi! Some more important updates:

@Amethyst: Neither of us are Milly Sunstar or Red Starlight. We both remain unguessed.

@Jynx, that is fine, however please do not change it once your intro is out. We will replace your new form with Starzzle's old one. However, you may not bring your blue-jay palisman, as it is regrettably sentient and hard to kill.

@Darkling. PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR FORM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. Or three; we can't remember how many you requested.

@Reuby Moonnight: unfortunately, you may not bring your wolf to this ski lodge. Also please answer the question about what poem you would recite if you are the poet at the president's inaguration (no origional compositions, only already published works from known authors).

Signed,

The Pigeon

Oof. I'm sorry

You’re reading a poem for the president’s inauguration, which poem are you reading (unfortunately original compositions are not allowed, please plagiarize a work of art from another writer and provide the author and title here): When the trees go up in flames

And Halloween grows
near.

The plants excitedly
proclaim,

That fall’s
already here.

Pumpkin and maple
float in the air,

Cinnamon spice dust
the world.

Like vibrant
snowflakes set a flare,

To the ground
they’re hurled.

But yet some leaves
hold on to the trees,

They have not fallen
down,

A lovely painting my
eyes do see,

The forests
beautiful crown.

Nearly 11 as I write this but the shame abyss awaits for another day.

Name and what you’d prefer to be called: Darkling. Just call me Darkling.

Pronouns: They/Them/Whatever

If I thank you, would you say you’re welcome?: Heck if I know, ask my conscience.

Packing list: You know what, I'm feeling minimalist. I'm bringing absolutely nothing. Unless you count the clothes I'm currently wearing. Which I wouldn't.

Describe your appearance poetically: I am as tall as a slender graceful tall thing, my hair is as choppy and black as waves at midnight, behind my eyes lie multiverses. Under my eyes lie shadows that convey that I am not feeling much of a poet at the moment.

Describe your appearance realistically: Pinstripe suit, messy dark hair, green eyes, freckles, sharp little teeth. 

Personality: A bit insane, but aren't we all? Unpredictable, reckless, often experiencing violent changes in mood. Also sarcastic, and if I'm sincere it's about the oddest things. 

Greatest fear (please make this realistic, and it has to be something, you are not allowed to be fearless in this ski lodge): That others might find me dull or boring.  

When do you get up in the morning: As late as I can get away with.

Tell me a secret: The earth IS flat, you're just brainwashed into believing otherwise. Don't tell the government I told you that, they're after me enough as it is. 

*sneezes*: You have thrown off my groove. NO ONE THROWS OFF THE EMPEROR'S GR-

Favorite or lucky number: 27. Has this one been taken already? If so, OH WELL.

You’re reading a poem for the president’s inauguration, which poem are you reading (unfortunately original compositions are not allowed, please plagiarize a work of art from another writer and provide the author and title here): Ooey Gooey Was A Worm, by Ogden Nash. Short and to the point. Out of context in every way. Perfect.

Anything else you’d like us to know: Were mistakes made during the making of this sheet? Probably. My effort levels are feeling low. If any further concerns arise please contact me by poking your head into the void and screaming loudly.

Thank you!

If you need my validation by telling you you're welcome, if that would really make you happy, here it is: You're welcome. However you are not welcome into my home, because the vampire situation around here is a real problem. Disguising yourself as a pigeon's a cute trick but it didn't work, nice try. 

@Admins, Darkling's comment from 16 hours ago hasn't posted yet, although other comments posted after have. Do you know why?

@Darkling, if this doesn't work, can you try reposting it?

Sorry for this!

Signed,

The Befuzzled Pigeon

I don't know what it said or why it wasn't posted. Please try resubmitting.

Admin

Here's Amethyst's intro:

._.

Amethyst hands her form to the pigeon with a hearty smacking kiss and snuggles her face into its soft downy feathers. She mutters soft soothing words to it as it tries to flap away, holding it tighter and gazing into its eyes, which seem to be dripping little amounts of a clear liquid. She tries to brush it off, but only succeeds in coating her hands. Eww, she thinks. It bites her nose, and she drops it abruptly with a glare, scrambling back into the corner. Blinking, she brushes her hair out of her eyes and wipes her hands carefully with a Kleenex. 

Once recovered, Amethyst gets up to pack, humming Five Little Ducks. She wraps a few books and a notebook in a long black cloak embroidered in purple thread with stars and constellations. However, she can’t remember anything else she meant to bring because the constant humming repetition is clearing all sensible thought from her head. She stops humming, putting on a purple dress (embroidered with a black snarling wolf), black combat boots, and a matching purple N95 mask.

Realizing she doesn’t know where to go, she turns back to the pigeon, which is waiting at the window. It motions with its wing, as if telling her to sit. She sits. The pigeon coos, loud and piercing, a calling. Huh. Sounds like it’s singing Five Little Ducks. That’s weird, although it is rather catchy.

They wait for a while, Amethyst stroking the pigeon absently. Then, a hoard of birds—pigeons, doves, hawks, and exactly five little ducks—come swooping down by the window. The first pidgeon nudges at her back and she tumbles forward, out the window and onto the carpet of birds. Before she can climb back inside, she is swept up on the wings of hundreds of birds.

._.

Signed,

The Pigeon