Stark's Room, The Arms, Saturday Morning

Stark awoke Saturday morning suddenly no longer Stark-shaped. There was a minimal amount of flailing this time and only one small yell of dismay, quickly muffled. He was almost used to this. Almost, not quite. He would never really be used to it. The flailing and yell gave way very shortly to nothing more than a long-suffering sigh.

He was at least resigned to it by now. It would go away. It had always gone away before and so it always had to go away. There was no other option that Stark was willing to consider and if he started considering other options things were sure to end badly. So he was going to continue believing that this too would pass by tomorrow. Or Monday. Definitely before Tuesday. He hoped. It would, wouldn't it?

At least here there would be others to commiserate with. He hoped. What if it was just him? He didn't want it to be just him. Not that he wanted others to have to deal with this too. He just didn't want to have to be the only one. The only way to find out was to go out, he supposed.

[Establishy. Though if you've got a reason or desire to stop by the alien's room I'm not gonna stop you. Mostly I just love the Starkozu icons.]