The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-06-01 05:50 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2014-06-01 05:50 pm
Entry tags:
We'll have to try again after the silence has retruned
Who| Initiate and open! Multiple prompts!
What| House raiding, Shion's death + Dog hunting, Walkers + amusement parks, Hell + Nightmare/Fear power (message passing?)
Where| Abandoned building, out around, amusement park
When| Starting from the first day to hell time
WARNINGS| Gore, violence, death, desecration of corpses, language, so on
a)
When he'd found Mituna's corpse, still at the cornucopia-- the damn fog making him loop back even after making his way off-- he'd found it torn asunder by beasts. Even after the last time of him having gotten so far, all the training done, he fell so quick this time. But all the same, he'd found the neck still in one piece, the necklace he'd given him still there, his token. He'd reached down and pulled it off, taking the gold skull off the chain before returning the latter. Then he lid the skull onto his own necklace token, the container of makeup and the linked loops of three hung together on it. He'd given grace unto his moirail to meet him back in Capitol, and then he turned away, back into the fog.
Now he has the tiny skull in his fingers. He's been thinking of prophecy. He's been thinking of shit destined. The undoing of what may be undone... and what may not. He's a killer and a killer he shall be for all time. But he has to make all a difference on what is done now. It's a difficult balance what all to strike.
Even now, as he searches the empty hive and hears that creak of noise, his first instinct is to grip his weapon and let loose a warning growl. He watches the door frame, weapon ready and ears flicking.
b)
His first cull is one what all he could recognize. He'd met him in the first arena. The boy had been a daywalker then and the Initiate had spared his life and R's, for the robbing of them, thinking they'd be more useful taking out other tributes. And then in capitol, there had been expose done with his mention. Shion they called him.
But he doesn't know the boy, not really, and he doesn't know that anyone he knows is close to him. Fair game. And a good warm up.
He lunges out from the fog and tears the boy apart. Faster than the motherfucker could feel a thing, messy enough to impress and disgust the capitol in turn. He'd secure his place. He'd show them his value. Oh, a motherfucking monster is he. He laughs.
He takes the head off as always, but leaves it there. It's only when the barkbeast comes that he realises the value more in the spread of blood. It's no bigger than the average lusus. He can take it down. Maybe make a motherfucking meal of it. And so, as Shion's corpse is brought away, he readies for another strife.
c)
Despite his running into Shion, whom he really remembered only as he'd been that one arena long ago, he hadn't expected daywalkers. Yes, there was the one, R. No, these daywalkers looked nothing like trolls. But these were different and the same all the motherfucking same. These are daywalkers turned beastly. But they were still daywalkers looking to motherfucking eat. When he finds the first, opening it's neck to teeth, everything he's learned in his youth comes through. Take the head.
He moves quick. So does the daywalker-- damn, he ain't used to that-- but it's no matter. He sinks his pickaxe into it's back, removes it and continues his dance about it, dodging claws and teeth where they are. He pulls off an arm and comes off just as easy as any corpse, then he sinks an the axe in the back of its neck and pulls, tearing. The daywalker stumbles and the Initiate reaches and rips the head off the rest of the way. Breathing hard, he turns to assess his surroundings, if there's any more of them too near, wherever he is now after the scuffle in the fog.
And then the first blessing comes to him. Like a sign from above, he finds himself walking into abandoned Shangri-La. His eyes go wide as he finds first coaster, great and looming and not a beast as first thought. His lips pull up at the corners. Games. A Ferris wheel. Attractions and mirth of all sort. It ain't a carnival but by Messiahs it's good enough.
He doesn't even mind the threats about him or the way it all wants for coming apart at the hinges. The Initiate starts to run through it all, a laugh building and bursting from his lips, just as hinged as everything else in the amusement park. He spins in his delight. It would seem the last of his fucks have been lost to the fog.
d)
The noise nearly forces him to bring his hands up to his ears. The sound of siren's startle him into looking skyward, searching the sky for ships, the around him for some other disaster. And there is indeed, it up and surrounds. The world melts away. Literally motherfucking melts. He watches numb and wide-eyed as everything hollows.
And in its place, he feels it. His chucklevoodoo come him. The holy fear. It stretches out inside him and the outside curls up within, both uniting. The second blessing. The Messiahs were pleased.
Well, ain't that just attest to pleasing them more? When all he had his power last time, he'd taunted and toyed yes, he'd kept up a motherfucking cover built. But he'd spared the lives of them all. Of every single one of these motherfuckers he'd gone to the sparing. Not this time.
His eyes color and flash. He lets his voodoo, the fear, the motherfucking gris-gris gruesome spread over the amusement park.
What| House raiding, Shion's death + Dog hunting, Walkers + amusement parks, Hell + Nightmare/Fear power (message passing?)
Where| Abandoned building, out around, amusement park
When| Starting from the first day to hell time
WARNINGS| Gore, violence, death, desecration of corpses, language, so on
a)
When he'd found Mituna's corpse, still at the cornucopia-- the damn fog making him loop back even after making his way off-- he'd found it torn asunder by beasts. Even after the last time of him having gotten so far, all the training done, he fell so quick this time. But all the same, he'd found the neck still in one piece, the necklace he'd given him still there, his token. He'd reached down and pulled it off, taking the gold skull off the chain before returning the latter. Then he lid the skull onto his own necklace token, the container of makeup and the linked loops of three hung together on it. He'd given grace unto his moirail to meet him back in Capitol, and then he turned away, back into the fog.
Now he has the tiny skull in his fingers. He's been thinking of prophecy. He's been thinking of shit destined. The undoing of what may be undone... and what may not. He's a killer and a killer he shall be for all time. But he has to make all a difference on what is done now. It's a difficult balance what all to strike.
Even now, as he searches the empty hive and hears that creak of noise, his first instinct is to grip his weapon and let loose a warning growl. He watches the door frame, weapon ready and ears flicking.
b)
His first cull is one what all he could recognize. He'd met him in the first arena. The boy had been a daywalker then and the Initiate had spared his life and R's, for the robbing of them, thinking they'd be more useful taking out other tributes. And then in capitol, there had been expose done with his mention. Shion they called him.
But he doesn't know the boy, not really, and he doesn't know that anyone he knows is close to him. Fair game. And a good warm up.
He lunges out from the fog and tears the boy apart. Faster than the motherfucker could feel a thing, messy enough to impress and disgust the capitol in turn. He'd secure his place. He'd show them his value. Oh, a motherfucking monster is he. He laughs.
He takes the head off as always, but leaves it there. It's only when the barkbeast comes that he realises the value more in the spread of blood. It's no bigger than the average lusus. He can take it down. Maybe make a motherfucking meal of it. And so, as Shion's corpse is brought away, he readies for another strife.
c)
Despite his running into Shion, whom he really remembered only as he'd been that one arena long ago, he hadn't expected daywalkers. Yes, there was the one, R. No, these daywalkers looked nothing like trolls. But these were different and the same all the motherfucking same. These are daywalkers turned beastly. But they were still daywalkers looking to motherfucking eat. When he finds the first, opening it's neck to teeth, everything he's learned in his youth comes through. Take the head.
He moves quick. So does the daywalker-- damn, he ain't used to that-- but it's no matter. He sinks his pickaxe into it's back, removes it and continues his dance about it, dodging claws and teeth where they are. He pulls off an arm and comes off just as easy as any corpse, then he sinks an the axe in the back of its neck and pulls, tearing. The daywalker stumbles and the Initiate reaches and rips the head off the rest of the way. Breathing hard, he turns to assess his surroundings, if there's any more of them too near, wherever he is now after the scuffle in the fog.
And then the first blessing comes to him. Like a sign from above, he finds himself walking into abandoned Shangri-La. His eyes go wide as he finds first coaster, great and looming and not a beast as first thought. His lips pull up at the corners. Games. A Ferris wheel. Attractions and mirth of all sort. It ain't a carnival but by Messiahs it's good enough.
He doesn't even mind the threats about him or the way it all wants for coming apart at the hinges. The Initiate starts to run through it all, a laugh building and bursting from his lips, just as hinged as everything else in the amusement park. He spins in his delight. It would seem the last of his fucks have been lost to the fog.
d)
The noise nearly forces him to bring his hands up to his ears. The sound of siren's startle him into looking skyward, searching the sky for ships, the around him for some other disaster. And there is indeed, it up and surrounds. The world melts away. Literally motherfucking melts. He watches numb and wide-eyed as everything hollows.
And in its place, he feels it. His chucklevoodoo come him. The holy fear. It stretches out inside him and the outside curls up within, both uniting. The second blessing. The Messiahs were pleased.
Well, ain't that just attest to pleasing them more? When all he had his power last time, he'd taunted and toyed yes, he'd kept up a motherfucking cover built. But he'd spared the lives of them all. Of every single one of these motherfuckers he'd gone to the sparing. Not this time.
His eyes color and flash. He lets his voodoo, the fear, the motherfucking gris-gris gruesome spread over the amusement park.
d
She'd become separated from Shepard again and cursed the very nature of the arenas for how easy it was to lose someone. Lose focus for just one moment and they were gone and you could go weeks before finding them again!
Was it a Capitol trick? Or something deeper?
Like a switch in her brain she felt a shiver pass through her, and a heavy weight settled over her skin. It was instinct that her body transformed to stone like this when she was feeling the need to be defensive. Only for a moment did she revel in numbing sensation the stone had to protect her skin from the changing temperatures.
Only for a moment, because she realized if her powers were on then so too were the others in the arena. There were forces of death that lurked among the districts. That angel who had killed so many in the museum, that woman who had exploded. Even her allies were powerful enough if she was in the wrong place at the wrong time...
...or if the arena had done something to make them more aggressive like the masks had in the last arena.
Deciding that calling out for her would be foolish, Sandy set off to find Shepard before danger could find her. She would instead be running into another ally who was just as dangerous if not more so.
Re: d
Pure goddamn whimsy.
When she finds him, his smile stretched beyond what any smile should naturally go. And it's upside down. Specifically, he's got his knees rung over a rusted railing, high above the ground, attached to what once was some sort of game or concession stand. The rest of him hangs down, the distance just far enough that his horns don't scrape at all, though his braid drags back and forth as he sways side to side. His eyes still flash and all around him, the voodoo miasma is so thick it seems darker, like the light has bent in the way fear, a dust bowl storm or swirling swarm.
"A SISTER OF SAND!" He greets, arms going up-- or down, rather. "A motherfucking indigoat come trotting to the carnival side with he. WELCOME!" He laughs.
Re: d
It's almost silly...but mostly frightening.
Still Sandy has grown a great deal since her first arena. When once the sight of him in his power would have sent her screaming, now it only makes her stone skin prickle with anxiety.
"I guess you found your carnival." She acknowledged with a nod "Now all we need are the clowns...and maybe some cotton candy."
Re: d
"Didn't you know, Sister? HE IS THE MOTHERFUCKING CLOWN." Laughter pierces once more and grabs the pack he'd left on the ground, swinging it over his shoulder. And in the other hand goes the pickaxe.
"But he would so very much appreciate the finding of the cotton candy," He agrees. "TELL HIM. Is a Sister well?" Of course he's paying close eye to the way her skin shimmers like it does.
Re: d
"It's nice to have an extra layer of defense I guess." She knocked stone knuckles against her chest to make a rapping sound like two rocks coming together. "But it doesn't help as much as you'd think. Last arena that girl Max ripped my arm off even while I was like this."
It was all a matter of how she applied the powers.
"Shepard's been keeping an eye on me, but she got her powers back too so she's trying to make the most of them in case they get shut off again soon."
"How are you doing?"
Re: d
He is still in the habit of swaying. It is difficult to stop. He may have allowed himself to grow too giddy. It's difficult to focus. The bloodhaze did so sometimes. Perhaps it was because of so long without, having it again.
"As we all are, making like to take advantage, we," He says. "IS THERE REASON AS SHE WAS ABLE TO TEAR LIMB OF STONE?" Sure, he's ripped people apart, but he hasn't seen it common in humans. "Do you think such ability could make to be honed and so unbreaking in her sights?"
He stops still. He doesn't give indication as to why, instead waiting for her answer. He may have an idea for new test.
Re: d
"I dunno if it can get stronger. I've never had the chance to try." She explained. "Before I came here I was supposed to hide my powers. And now that I'm here the only time I ever get to use my powers is shortly before someone kills me and I get...reset." She shrugged her shoulders.
"The only guy I know who could teach me more about how they work is my dad and he's back home in prison...if not dead." Funny how relaxed she had gotten about the idea of someone she loved being gone forever. If she wasn't so numb she would hate herself for it.
Re: d
And prison. He knew what that was. Where they kept motherfuckers for torture until death proper was delivered unto they, sometimes with trial and execution, sometimes just skipping right to the latter. He'd put people behind bars. He'd taken them out again. But no one really left. If they did that just meant the spilling of some other blood, those what let them free. It was more a Legislacerator dealing, except when it became a matter of heresy, a matter of the church.
But this is a matter for neither. His body is poised and ready, even as he glances at her. The grin on his face what's more a baring of teeth, flickers out on her words but then comes back. "CAN LEARN WITHOUT HE. Like a knowing of body, just up and feel. IF IT MATTERS TO HER, GET A PICTURING. Get a want up in you want to grab on through it, the freeing of a motherfucking father," He urges. Then he asks, "YOU EVER SEEN A DAYWALKER, KID?"
And there, from around the corner the walker comes. White, humanoid. Until it's neck splits to show teeth. It makes a noise, and without taking his eyes off the creature, he passes his pickaxe over and says, "Want it?"
Re: d
"Those things?" She asked for confirmation. When he offered her his pickaxe she accepted it tucking her wood chopping Axe into her bag for now. The handle of it stuck out over her shoulder.
"What like...do I want to go fight the toothy monster thing?" She tried again to clarify. She was looking at him like he was insane, because he had more or less confirmed that in their previous conversations.
But willingly rushing one of those things? Just to feel better about herself?
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d
Then something comes with the heat, and Sigma freezes, gripped by a mild panic. Every doubt and insecurity he had felt before the Arena strikes him like a wave breaching shoal and Sigma flinches, gripping at his arms.
But this fear is a comfort. The Doctor is exhausted and paranoid, yes, but he has been capable of keeping his panic in check. He had always prided himself on his ability to suppress fear if it meant surviving another moment. If it has cloaked him now unexpectedly, it could only be the work of one particular Tribute...
And it is exactly the chance he needs. He stops, his breath quickened slightly in his fear, and waits for the Initiate to find him.
Re: d
He lets the fear curl careful around Sigma, all but lifting completely. Gentle. And there he guides him. He gets all standing up to meet a brother partway, giving small whispers of this way, this way. But by well more than half does he find Sigma-- the whole way even, but giving Sigma direction to look.
He can't mind read exact, but there's something pressing. Connected to fear but not quite, if still familiar. Rage maybe.
When he does find Sigma, there is blood on him too, a little less than flecks. His eyes still flash, and so make it hard to tell the genuine smile of greeting from one deranged. The fear doesn't help. And like he's suddenly become aware of such, he breathes it in. He blinks his eyes, and the flashing stops.
"SIGMA," He greets, saying much in the name alone.
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Sigma nods to him, he hesitates to speak what will be the first words he's said so far in the Arena. Sound won't come out easily and for a moment Sigma wonders if he has lost his voice- some sort of psychological reaction to this Arena, and the panic he'd suddenly felt- but eventually he is able to form words. "...Initiate Fraysong." His voice is raspy and strained from underuse. "I was hoping I'd be able to see you under such conditions..." Where Sigma's expression should be warm, he steels, and looks at the Initiate with concern.
The message is clear: We need to talk. He does not know if the Initiate's ability will go two ways, he did not try before. But perhaps he can at least communicate his intentions...
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(He doesn't think how much the way Sigma's mouth moved with no sound put a sick churn in him.)
Under such conditions. He frowns for a moment, thinking he understands. Then he closes his eyes and breathes back out careful fear, eyes lighting again.
WORDS UNSPILLED FROM THE MAW OF HE, BUT MESSIAHS GAVE NOT STRONG HEAR CARTILAGE IN THE PLANE OF THIS FOR THE LISTENING OF INNERS. He gives that simple warning with the layered voice of voodoo. Then; LET HIM PARSE FROM THE WATERS OF YOUR FEAR, BROTHER. PICTURE AND FEELING TO SCRY AND I MAY SO THEN INFER TO WHAT WORDS A MOTHERFUCKER DOST SPEAK. It will be tricky, he thinks, but he shall try nonetheless. A small part wishes there was any way to do this without hurting him, but he can only make the touch light as he can.
He reaches out with his hands, to cradle Sigma's head that way. Bring it all clearer. Not an excuse for the contact.
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It isn't difficult to summon every last one of his anxieties - they wait for him barely suppressed beneath the surface of his consciousness. There is unavoidable risk in his plan, and what Initiate would find first is not necessarily the fear of death but the overwhelming fear of failure that Sigma always carried with him to some degree, stronger now than ever before. To have died and to have accomplished nothing - that is what Sigma focuses on first. He hopes the Initiate will come to understand the rest, parsed through that frame.
He transitions to a secret that Sigma kept even from the Initiate, and while it may be too late to tell him now, he is acutely aware that all will be revealed in time. Terrified of the shame and the stigma, he summons up the darkest of his memories: what it was like to kill, though he hates every moment of it - the long nights spent making weapons and contraptions that would be used to spill blood. The fear of loss, knowing that to carry out his plans is to send good people to their death. He pulls that thought to the forefront, continuing to recall his past... the despair to have actively sent his own son to the grave so that others might live. That what he is about to do might do the same to the Initiate, and how he does not do it out of hate but so that their mutual goals might be realized.
Then he stops, pulling away from their connection (though it is less to seek relief and more like thrashing while drowning) for a moment. The fear is so overwhelming that Sigma trembles and has to steel himself. He does not know if he can handle another person cut out of his life.
Forcing that thought down, he focuses instead on the fact that he is seeking the truth. He is terrified of what he might find, and hands this vulnerability over to the Initiate. When the other had come to his room that day, he'd sworn to himself that he would find out what had happened to their families, and if he discovered the worst, that he would get them back. But the only way to seek the truth without sacrificing himself(and he had promised the Initiate he would not be lost) was to live a facade, to plant himself in the den of the enemy willingly... Sigma remembers when he returned to his garden, revealed as a "gamemaker", how every person that had once called themselves his friend turned their back on him. He knows that fate awaits him once more, and the Doctor feels ill with regret.
He ends the stream of consciousness with the fear of being caught by an omnipotent authority... of being under careful watch every single day, found over a single mistake, and then tortured and executed as a traitor, endangering the lives of other rebels in the wake of his death. He hopes desperately that even if the Initiate understood little of what had come before, that this particular fear is visceral enough for him catch an impression. Over time, Sigma would join forces with the Capitol. He would claim his allegiance. And, if he must, he would fight for them... all to leak their secrets to the Rebellion, and for the promise of finding Diana. Of finding Initiate's lusus, his alter, Gamzee, and keeping them safe or returning them once peace had been won...
Lost to his despair, Sigma has grown pale; his knees buckle and he sways in the Initiate's grasp.
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And part of him doesn't. The fear is so sweet, so right and belonging, there's always a want there. Then to be let in, allowed to be within too. Pulling something (something, something) he knows he can use to see this whole place come down.
But this is Sigma. And voodoo can break a person, this he knows well. So as he searches, as the fear paints pictures in his mind, he prays for the control to let him do this all.
Sigma does well for him. Everything is painted in the overlying veil of a fear of failure. Fears he shares-- dying wasn't scary, but losing-- and that helps it clear ever more.
And then there are the fears he does not share.
His eyes go wider as the fear of the cull; the cull of others washes him, foreign and unfamiliar. His mind wars between thinking it right, fitting-- he's older, stronger, of course he's culled it's a natural thing-- and reeling back from it, connecting such a thing with the man who praised him for his lack of cull last arena, instead of disregarding him for it.
The fear of loss, the loss of Sigma's son, is breathtaking. It pulls him back, for a split second, to when he crushed his moirail in his arms (it pulls him back to when he was young and stupid and prayed to the Messiahs he'd not see or have to make his best friend hurt when he knew). It presses odd on the wound of Gamzee and his alter. It presses on the fear of betrayal, that any one of his closest, even Sigma, could turn him. But it does so in a way he can't fault and he's not sure how to take that, except that he can't take it as traitorous like all he maybe should.
Gamemaker goes through him, like some sick joke of a title. It stiffens his form and tries all to send a twitch through in moments simultaneous. He keeps his claws still. Sure enough, in the vision of it all, everyone leaves. They see blood on his hands more all than their own and they turn tail. The fear is drenching in its chill.
But it's the last thing, that nearly makes him sink claws in, just from automatic reaction. Sigma caught. Sigma dragged along. Sigma executed. If Sigma wanted to hit the visceral, he succeeded. He makes a noise, just the faint sound of pain, barely audible. The Initiate nearly pulls back, withdraws from it all to try and block himself against the image. But he hangs on, keeps going through it all until the end.
The plan is brilliant. It works well. And Sigma could do it, he could pull it off, he could go deeper into it all than even the Initiate could, he who had shown scorn too many times to even pass as peacekeeper here. Sigma could get to the root of it all. Sigma could even get their power, maybe. He could get Gamzee, his alter, his lusus. He can't say no. There's not a chance he could pass this up and truly, Sigma's already made up his mind.
It's so much good and so much bad. There's a soft dizzying ache in his skull like all he's near concussed. By the end, even he has to catch his breath. But first, he catches Sigma. His arms wrap around the man, just to keep him up and standing. For a long time, he can't say a word. It's all so motherfucking much what to take in it feels of a mad motherfucking scramble to do so. All what he knew of Sigma takes on a new tint.
But he can't push the man away for it. There's something in him instead, something not-quite pity.
He knows he needs to continue on with business, but Sigma can't take more voodoo just yet. So he closes his eyes, holding Sigma, and decides to speak a small story while the man collects himself.
"Did he ever tell you, what all he was to become?" He asks, mouth dry. But he's not expecting an answer and not looking for one. "HE LIVES. A full motherfucking lifespan he up and lives. TO THE END OF TIMES DOES HE PERSIST. He became everything he'd ever dreamed of. HE BECAME THE GRAND MOTHERFUCKING HIGHBLOOD. High priest. KING. I did whatever my empress asked of me. I RULED OVER ALL BUT HER." Like the president here. But he was so much better and so much worse. His eyes open, but he's far away. "And I hurt the only one what ever mattered to me. I LED HIM TO TORTURE FOR A THOUSAND SWEEPS. By my own motherfucking hands, my beloved suffered. EVERYONE ELSE, I CULLED FOR HERESY AND THE LIKE. I would've culled every single person here, every single fucking one, if I had been brought then instead of where all I was, brother Sigma." Even his loves. Even his friends.
He breathes. That should be enough. Just to offer a light whispering. And so he does, eyes lighting up again.
HE WON'T LET YOU FALL. I AIN'T LETTING YOU GO. AIN'T GONNA LEAVE A MOTHERFUCKER TO LONESOMES CEASELESS, PAINS HEEDLESS. WHAT HE SAID BEFORE STILL BE TRUE. THERE AIN'T NOTHING WHAT BE DONE TO HE WHAT HE AIN'T ALREADY GONE AND DONE. YOU CAN HURT ME, IF YOU NEED TO. IF ALL EVERYONE BE SAFE, YOU CAN HURT ME. WE'RE GONNA GET IT ALL MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT THIS TIME, BROTHER.
no subject
But then the Initiate's story begins, and Sigma opens his eye slightly and listens, focusing only on him. Slowly, his strength returns, his breath calms. He remains in such a catatonic state until the Initiate's powers fills his mind again, when he finally relaxes completely. He's so sorry, from the bottom of his heart. But once more, he must do must be done...
To think of the Initiate as a warlord who stretched a legacy of death and torture across all of time is a difficult idea to swallow, but it is, unfortunately, a logical progression, a place he could imagine him landing without guidance. "I'm sorry," he answers, more a cover for the program than anything. He nods twice, in contrast to what he has just said. I understand, the feeling is mutual... and you may do the same. And oh, he is so very thankful he got to know the Initiate at just the right time, for right now, he cannot imagine himself managing without their relationship. He wipes his brow and finds his feet, fidgeting around awkwardly as if he were recovering from a panic attack. It's only mostly an act. "You and I, we truly are birds of a feather..." Those in the Capitol could make of that what they willed. "You will know what I mean soon enough." He already does.
no subject
However strange it is to think it like he is in his future self, and not his future, like a festering sore, a tumor, a curse within him. When he imagines it, he can't imagine himself living in that husk, though he knows he is. Stranger still though is that he ain't cursed for it nor mocked or anything. Believed, and forgiven almost.
He doesn't say what's on his mind. (You ain't like me. You're still better than me.) He doesn't even let it slip as voodoo. He'll accept the understanding, but he ain't gonna let Sigma be hurt by this and he knows he won't-- or else he won't let Sigma become like him. No matter what happened, there would be a difference.
As he nods, he lets his voice sound knowing, "SURENESS OF HIM PROPER." Let Capitol assume he planted a violence in this brother's head through voodoo. It would be believable. It could save Sigma, later, if not from capitol, then from the other tributes.
"Flight beasts feather twinned. CALAMUS COHORT. Famifowl." He gives a wry, tired smile.
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C (Sorry WOT OTL;;;;)
Wondering through the thick fog the first one caught her by surprise, approaching the young troll from her blind side. By the time she knew it was there, it was too late to get out of the way. The walker had latched on to her by the shoulders with its long pointed fingers and Vriska was taken back by how strong the creature was. Its featureless face cracked open to reveal rows of sharp teeth hungry to bite down on her flesh. Vriska quickly jerked forward, freeing her self enough room she could swing a powerful right hook with her makeshift brass knuckles right into the creature's mouth. Teeth cracked and broke under the force of the thick steel chain wrapped around her forearm and the creature buckled falling back. Though its attack didn't go without injury. The shattered teeth sliced Vriska's hand were the chain was not, staining the metal cerulean as the cuts bleed.
In the struggle with the first one it would appear that the noise had attracted more of the walkers seeing their silhouettes ungulate in the fog. Now, one or two of them wouldn't be a bad thing, but no. It was just her shitty luck that she had stumbled into a whole fucking pack of these things! Who ever made them she was going to find and punch repeatedly in the face. Hard. Well, she couldn't worry about that now. It wasn't in her nature to abscond but with being surrounded, that started to look like a viable option.
She bared her fangs, twirling the long loose end of the eight feet of chain in her left hand, she charged the fog. When ever she came across one of the beasts she would lash out with the chain like a club or slam another metal fist into their pasty white bodies, cutting herself a path out. Through the hazy veil she could see something looming in the distance. A building? She made a break for it in hopes to find shelter and shake these fuckers. As she raced towards it everything started to become clearer. What she saw was the rundown skeleton of a roller coaster and Vriska found herself wondering into an abandoned amusement park. Her pace slowed as he stared dumbfounded at her surroundings.
But then a laugh cut through the still air and her whole body tensed, stopping in her tracks. Just ahead she could see another silhouette in the fog........ and it was big........ had there were horns........ and........
SHIIIIIIIIT.
Her eyes went wide seeing the other troll more clearly as the fog lifted. No hell. HEEEEEEEELL NOOOOOOOO. That's it. Officially done with this shit. He seemed distracted with his retarded spinning like a fucking wiggler on his wiggling day. She could just back up and go the other way. Frankly, she rather deal with the walkers.
Frozen with indecision, one of the stragglers from the pack of walkers had followed her, creeping up from behind. Vriska heard the sounds of shambling feet and swiftly spun around to face it. Taking out the back of its knees with a swing of the chain she brought it down to her level. Without hesitation she positioned herself behind it wrapping the links around the beast's neck and pulled tight with a boot square in the middle of it's back. There was a loud crack of snapping bone and the head fell limp. Fuck, so much for being quiet. If he didn't see her before, he definitely would now.
lmao perf (also I couldn't tell if that was many tears or a Serket wink face)
"BLISTER SISTER CARNIVAL COME. What a joy done all to drum. PRESSING PUSH ON INNER TEETHS. Oh what on him hasth been bequeathed. MY IGNORANT MOTHERFUCKING INGRATE. Pains of pains. CURSE OF CLAUSES. Sister of mother fucking sisters. WHERE THE FUCK DOES SHE THINK OF HERSELF TO BE GOING?"
When she turns around he will be smiling with far too many teeth. His eyes are just that slight bit orange.
"Not getting abscond on so motherfucking soon is she? NOT A TURNTAILED COWARD. Oh no, he's sure that ain't the case. IS IT, SERKET? Honk."
He spins his pick axe idly in hand like a baton. He laughs to himself like this is all oh so funny.
Omg that did look like a winking face 8"D They were sweat drops
"Me? Abscond from you? Please, don't flatter yourself." Just tactical repositioning. Vriska snorted at him, shrugging it off. "Should have fucking known you were a faygo guzzling juggalo. That explains soooooooo much why you talk like fucktard. Now I'm kind of disappointed you aren't a seadweller. Then I would have ripped those stupid earfins right off your head and made you choke on them."
#serket player problems :'D
He smirks at her, lifting a disbelieving brow. He shall flatter himself all he damn well likes. Her, make him choke on fins. Ha.
"SUCH A SHAME IT IS. A sister was almost funny," He says. "LAST HE SAW YOU, CAPITOL HAD MOTHERFUCKING WAXED YOUR SORRY ASS UP IN THEIR ARENAS. Gone on and made a good fitting form of a sister. SETTING SWEET EXAMPLARY UP ON FOR THE CORPSE CALLED COLLECTIVE. She was so. MOTHERFUCKING. Quiet." He keeps up his smirk. "UP UNTIL THEN, DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A KNOW AT SHE'D BEEN HERE. Gets him to wonder how long all she'll get intent to stay this time." Terezi might be pissed at him for this but Terezi can fuck right off, he's not hurting her or no one. Except for his culls. Those ones got hurt a little.
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"What the hell are you talking about?" She blinked slowly at him looking mildly annoyed. "I've never been here before expect for when I was dragged here to 'visit' my dear sweet sister. I think I would remember if I died. And I would definitely remember meeting you."
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Just facts. Just the motherfucking factuals of the situation hashed unrighteous. If she didn't realise they thought her their play thing yet it was only a matter of time. He thinks of it like a favor, really.
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"Why are you telling me this? What difference does it make that I was here before? It doesn't do me any good if I don't even remember it." She lowered her hand from her hand to put on her hip.
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"HIS TONGUE SPILLS NO USELESS NOISE. No noise up and unmeant," He tells her. "AND HE DOES NOT MOTHERFUCKING LIE. It tells that they've given you a message pre-emptive. IT DOES GOOD BY TAKING WARNING ON WHATS AND WHAT NOTS FOR THE FUCKING DOING. As for why? IT AMUSES HIM. And he's got certain interests what for the abiding to which he up and follows. CERTAIN THINGS FOR THE SEEING THROUGH, SISTER."
Common enemy. Shared foe. Ones what he's got an investment in seeing burn. And for the ease of getting her vengeance steered on Capitol he could have some fucking fun.
Oh the joys of multi-tasking.
"A cold arena, for record, was when all she met her ends. SHE WORE JACKET THICK."
But for all capitol would damn know, watching this, he could just be telling her to follow their rules. Maybe she'd decline such and get her own ass in trouble with them. There wasn't really a way to lose in this moment.
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