thearena | [closed, semi-backdated]

Night is still fallen as the Initiate and Terezi make their way across the desert. Terezi's skirt has been ripped up into make-shift bandages, wrapped over wounds too likely to get infected for pride to intervene. The top of her clothing is stained with dried teal with a gash at the front, and he, with indigo and red all over, is one horn down, the broken end crusted over with indigo for being snapped to close to the skull, nerves raw and frayed. His paint at least is done fresh, but all in all, they both look terrible.

Which wouldn't matter to the Initiate so much except when he sees the trio on the horizon. And who, it seems is leading it. You've got to be motherfucking kidding me, he thinks. He bites back a groan.

He walks faster, paying no mind if Terezi is keeping up or not, until his visions confirms, yes, that is exactly who he thinks it is. He ignores the Neophyte, Terezi, and the younger troll for the moment. He speaks directly to the Signless, disdain and exasperation marring his features.

"YOU'RE STILL FUCKING LIVING," he says with disbelief. "Thought a motherfucker to walk onto weapon by now preaching his heresy all the way."

Edited 2013-07-21 05:26 (UTC)

The Signless doesn't waste time wondering what the hell happened to the Initiate. This is the Hunger Games, after all. The simplest and most obvious explanation is probably the correct one, here.

And yes, it does sting a little to have it implied he couldn't even last a few weeks in his own backyard.

"I haven't had much time for preaching."

Seeing the Initiate has a stronger impact on Redglare than she would have liked. She's seen the Highblood injured before but never to this extent. Then she sees Terezi with her torn, teal-stained costume and concern flashes across her face before she can stop it.

She makes a move toward them but stops when Initiate and Signless have their exchange. Her brow furrows behind her glasses. "The Signless has been holding up surprisingly well under the circumstances." She looks at the indigo up and down. "It seems you can't say the same."

The Initiate rolls his eyes. "You never had at time for preaching, NOT MOTHERFUCKING ONCE DID YOU EVER HAVE AT THE TIME FOR IT. You knew shit would lead to your head hunt. YOU KNEW AT YOU HAD TO RUN CONSTANT ON CRIME OF BREATH BREATHED. And yet up and fucking preach you did, didn't you, you insufferable sack of shit." He ends up spitting the last few words with venom. He remembers what the Helmsman said. What they'd both become for The Signless's rabble. What they never had to be if they listened.

He blinks, realising that the Neophyte is in fact there, and scowls, throwing his hands up. "I SOUGHT BATTLE AND BATTLE FUCKING SOUGHT HIM IN TURN. But that motherfucker wouldn't cull a flea. SO IT STANDS HE ZIPPED LIP AT FUCKING LAST AT TO STAY HIDDEN. Didn't think he could."

Wait, what? The way he's talking it's like he...What?

"Initiate, I would like to have a word with you." She grabs the front of his torn and bloodied costume and gives a good yank, tugging him away the group. She has a lot of questions and she wants them answered now.

It catches him off guard, and the suddenness of it further helps carry him along and away. It's when they stop that he finally recomposes himself. Somewhat.

"THE FUCK YOU WANT? Would've listened at to she there over," He says.

Edited 2013-07-28 21:40 (UTC)

She drags him until she's positive they're out of earshot, trudging through the thick sand in her too high heels while dragging an enormous troll behind her. Once she stops and whirls to face him, her expression somehow both blazing and serious.

"I thought privacy would be better for this. Now I am going to ask you something and I expect you to answer it honestly, partner. How do you know the Signless?"

It was more than obvious from the way they'd spoken they at least knew each other outside of Panem. If she's right about her hunch it could explain a whole lot of things about her partner, namely exactly why his hatred of Sufferists runs so hot.

And if she ever sees him again, her him, she's going to kick him so hard in the kneecap his long dead lusus will feel it.

"WHAT?" He says, incredulous. "This is about him?" Of course it was, of fucking course.

"KNOWN FOR HIM SINCE... MOTHERFUCKING WRIGGLERHOOD! Met him in the market, tiny fucker was making rabble and noise out where anyone could hear. ATTRACTED CROWD HE DID, OF FAIR SIZE AT TIME. Would've been culled sure as sure and told him as much." He frowns deeply, considers the rest of his answer, how much she should actually know. He doesn't want her to assume things, of any nature.

"WE TALKED," he admits, bitterly. "He was a fucking fool and only turned out to be more so with age. A FOOL WHAT AIN'T UNDERSTAND SHIT FOR WHAT HE SPOKE. A liar and motherfucking HYPOCRITE. Ain't made word before his hide since a brother joined the subjugglators. THEN HE SHOWED HERE. A cull game of all fucking places."

He shakes his head. The Signless was a sinner mutant and he'd allowed him life even a moment past meeting him. His future self apparently saw the error in this. Saw smarter than he what poison the Signless leaked, all that would be dragged down with him, and what taint lay upon his own messiah owed soul. He suppose he must've thought he'd be swayed. But a figure meant to tempt trolls to stray, couldn't be swayed. His hands clench tight.

"GOT TOLD OF HIS FURTHER ILLS PAST MY TIME. Told of his sins further, and oh are there fucking many, his blood near-fucking-non-issue by then," he says. "WHAT THE FUCK MATTER IS IT YOU? This because I ain't culled him? IF THAT'S ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING CASE, WOULD PLEAD REMINDER SHE STOOD WITH HIM NOT SECOND BEFORE!"

Edited 2013-07-29 00:49 (UTC)

He knew him.

Sweeps together, sweeps full of making her hunt and cull Sufferists, reminding her over and over again why they did what they did and never once had the Highblood mentioned knowing him. She can feel her anger rising in the back of her throat and burning like bile. Forget the roundhouse kick to the knees, if she ever sees the Grand Highblood again she is punching in straight in the codpiece.

"My interest is not in his culling. Alternian laws are of no consequence here." Her tone is virtually a hiss, her body language straight to the point of rigid. "I would like to know why you made no mention of this relationship before or what reasons you can think of as to why you would see fit to hide it from me in my time." She knows these are questions she should be demanding of his future self but dammit she has to make do.

He straightens at what seems to be challenge, his eyes narrowing.

"Why would I have? OR A FURTURE ME? What the motherfuck does it matter!? THE SIGNLESS IS BEFORE YOUR TIME. And he has nothing to do with you. FURTHER, THERE IS NO FUCKING RELATIONSHIP AT TO MENTION!" He snaps.

"It matters because partners are supposed to communicate. The Signless may have been before my time but that doesn't mean he didn't have an effect! The Highblood and I spent sweeps hunting down his followers together. Sweeps and sweeps but when I asked why his answers were always convoluted, over-complicated Subjuggulator speak."

You wanna indi-go? She'll take you down, motherfucker.

"HIS FOLLOWERS? His followers have no fucking idea at to what he preaches either! LESS SO THAN THE SIGNLESS HIMSELF! They aren't even the same motherfucking danger! IF I HAVEN'T SAID AT LEAST THAT MUCH, THEN I'LL BE FUCKING SURPRISED! Subbjugglator speak. MAYBE YOU, NEOPHYTE, DIDN'T LISTEN!" He shouts. "You really need to ask why?" Because he will give reason why.

"I listen plenty when something is worth listening to!" She's getting so angry she would say she's seeing red but that's just her lenses. She wishes she could verbally rip into him the way she's often wanted to rip into his older self, to shout at him about what the Sufferists are like in her eyes and not his, clouded by festering hate. She wants to grab him by the collar, yank him down to her level, smear his precious paint-

Shit.

"OH! Is that fucking so! LET THE TRUTH BE KNOWN A NEOPHYTE'S HEARING IS SO SELECTIVE! What exactly does she deem worth listening to?" He snarls. "He preaches heresy. IT IS HERESY WHAT HE PREACHES."

And then it occurs to him. How she'd walked next to him, someone who should have known more than he what it was the Signless did. And she did nothing, confessed to have killed his followers with him, while the Signless himself stood there and she saw no ill. He seethes.

"Were you listening to the Signless? TELL, DID YOU TAKE LIKING TO HIM? Blinder than your motherfucking descendent, DO YOU SEE CHARM IN WHAT HE WRECKS UPON ALL WHAT'S AROUND!? He is Milenko walking, Neophyte. AND HE WILL DRAG ALL DOWN WITH HIM, AS HE FUCKING HAS, ON WORD PREACHED OF THE MOUTH OF THE HELMSMAN HIMSELF! He preaches rebellion at base, and if she ain't grasped it yet, let him illuminate; THERE WILL NEVER BE A REBELLION WON IN ALTERNIA! Never motherfucking minding one in which it's instigators won't pick up the sword, WHICH IS WHAT. HE PREACHES. WHOLE. Niave-ass impossibilities what remain intangible to end of fucking time, with followers trying to tear at wall in reach for what can't be touched, and the wall crumbles and crushes, but it will still remain out of reach. IS THAT STILL NOT ENOUGH, NEOPHYTE!?"

Edited 2013-07-29 05:15 (UTC)

She tones him out halfway through. She knows this ramble, it's close enough to the hoofbeast shit her partner had thrown in her face over the course of their entire partnership whenever the subject of Sufferists came up. She stares him dead in the eyes, her face an aggravated mask. She's tempted, so tempted to punch him in the face just to get him to shut his flapping maw.

She doesn't answer his question. Instead she lurches toward him, grabbing two fistfuls of bloody fabric and mangy hair. She looks ready to headbutt him, maybe even bite him with the way her face is contorted in frustration and anger.

But she doesn't. Instead she crushes her mouth against his, awkwardly bumping fangs and unintentionally scraping her teeth against his upper lip.

Her teeth draw blood, just that bit of indigo coolness claiming paint as runs free. His hands grip her arms tight and his chest feels oddly hollow. His anger still runs sharp, enough that he kisses back just the slightest bit, before his mind catches up with him, slams hard with that cold shock of fact. She's kissing him. She's... she's motherfucking kissing him.

He shoves her back hard, just short of throws her, and stares incredulous. His paint is smeared around him lips.

"You- WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK WAS THAT!?"

She kissed him.

It only lasts a few seconds but those few seconds are, strangely, some of the nicest she's had in weeks. They're familiar almost to the point of being a small comfort. The cloying smell of grease paint, enormous hands gripping her arms, the sharp taste of blood in her mouth.

She jerks back to reality when he shoves her. She stumbles back, tottering and nearly falling in her heels. Her stomach sinks like a stone. The anger is still there, churning in her gut, but embarrassment is quickly winning out as the dominant emotion. She has made a horrible mistake.

She kissed him. Shit.

"It got you to shut your seed flap, didn't it?" She wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing indigo blood and paint across her glove.

It wasn't until the Initiate got to shouting that Terezi figured she should go break them up. She doesn't have any real idea why the Neophyte wanted to talk to him alone, but she keeps catching blips of shouting--just noise, nothing that she can actually understand. Is she worried? Not really. They're both adults, they can settle their disputes without bloodshed... probably.

She's more concerned with what they're saying. If they had to go that far away, then it must be a secret; but it won't be a secret for long with the way they're going at it.

When she gets closer, though, it's not... quite what she expects. At first, she smells indigo on red, and she's almost certain that it did come to bloodshed. Her steps quicken for a fraction of a second before she hesitates and stops a few feet away.

The blood (and paint) isn't only on the back of her ancestor's glove. She can smell a bit on her face, too. Likewise, the Initiate's lip is bleeding and his paint is smudged... There's only one real direction that can point, but it's difficult to wrap her mind around it. Despite the tension she feels in the air, Terezi narrows her eyes suspiciously at them.

"Are you two done with your private pow-wow yet? I shouldn't have to remind you that standing around and shouting at each other is probably in the top five for Quickest Ways to Attract Unwanted Attention."

Edited 2013-07-31 17:03 (UTC)

He's just about to snap at her again, furious to have been made to shut up after yelling at her for what she ought to listen to, the indignation brought, and she motherfucking kissed him.

Then the little Pyrope shows up.

His eyes dart between Terezi and the Neophyte. He makes a strangled noise of frustration.

"There wouldn't all be a need for shouting, NOT A GODDAMNED NEED THERE'D BE, if she'd actually listen, which he is discovering now she doesn't, not even when HE IS HER MOTHERFUCKING HIGHBLOOD! I take it back, I don't see why a future he chose her," he snaps, petulant. Then turns back to Terezi. "AND WHAT DO YOU WANT LITTLE PYROPE?"

It's still dark when Redglare decides to wander away from the group with the hook sword she'd collected from the Cornucopia. She doesn't go far, just enough that she can have some privacy. There's been a severe lack of it since she arrived in Panem.

Once she's far enough, she adjusts her grip on the sword then takes a few practice swings at the air. She's still getting used to the weight difference it has to her cane. It's heavier, making her more clumsy than she should be. She doesn't like it. For sweeps she's prided herself on her speed and grace in combat. Now she's trudging around a desert in a skirt that's too short, heels that make her footing off and a sword that's too heavy. She's glad the other legislacerators or, worse, her partner as she knows him can't see her right now. They'd probably laugh themselves sick.

Terezi can't necessarily see her, either, but that doesn't stop her from following her. She's trying to be discreet about it, not too invasive. She doesn't want to bother the Neophyte, and her pride is still wounded from their time in the candy arena... But she's awfully curious.

Whatever the others might have done, Terezi certainly has no intention of laughing. She lingers for a few minutes on the edge of their camp, still close enough to keep tabs on the rest of their party. Eventually, that isn't close enough, either, and she abandons the campsite all-together.

"You could always take the shoes off," she calls out the suggestion from a few yards away. She's not sure how much it would help, but fighting barefoot would probably be easily than trying to work around those heels.

Redglare turns her head a fraction to look at Terezi out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't expected to be alone for too long and she was right. At least it's just Terezi. After their earlier conversation she doesn't think being alone with the Initiate is the best thing for her.

"Easier as it would be, I don't trust what might be lurking under the sand with my near bare feet."

"Oh." Right, she hadn't thought of that. Suddenly her suggestion sounds rather silly to her own ears. This isn't like the forest she grew up in or the Land of Thought and Flow--both of which had solid soil beneath her feet. She's never really been in the desert before.

Fidgeting with embarrassment, she digs her toe into the sand as if to inspect the loose treachery of it. She's glad now that she didn't try kicking her boots off earlier.

"...Have you used a sword like that before?" she asks, mostly to get her mind off of her previous question.

Redglare has little experience with sand herself. A few trips to the desert or beaches for work purposes but that was it. The sand had been difficult to walk in with her boots but with heels it's near impossible. She'll still take them over stepping on a scorpion.

"Not like this, no. I had a cane sword that was much better suited for me but it was taken when I arrived." She's not still bitter at all, what do you mean? "What about you?"

Terezi knew about the cane sword that was Redglare's trademark, of course. She knew about a lot of others things that she had scoured history books for, but it didn't hurt to ask, just in case her information was wrong. Not that she ever intended to tell her ancestor just how many times she'd poured over those books with gleeful abandon.

"I had a cane, mostly," she answers, trying her best to sound innocently coincidental. "I've used a three-part staff, too. And I picked up a sword cane in the past sweep or so..."

"And how proficient are you with it?" She's a little surprised her descendant would use a sword cane as well but almost pleasantly so. It's nice to hear they have similar interests.

How coincidental it is she's unsure of.

"Very!" That part, at least, she can be proud of. She holds her head a little higher, a little eager to talk now.

"I could take down anyone or anything, even without any abilities. My partner and I made names for ourselves before we were even off of Alternia. We were unbeatable." At least until the falling out--but she really doesn't need to mention that part, does she?

"Good." Redglare flashes a grin. She tosses the sword to her other hand, carefully grasps the blade near the hilt and extends it in Terezi's direction. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

That hesitance just after her ancestor's question is rather telling, to say the least. She sniffs at the sword, a frown pulling at her lips. She's never tried to use a sword like that before. The closest she's ever come to a sword like that was... nearly getting sliced open by the one Dualscar was using, to be honest.

"Uh... I suppose." Just like that, her eagerness has dwindled to a forced enthusiasm, only because Redglare seems to be insisting. She takes the sword and notices the weight to it almost immediately. It drags down her arm when she holds it, not at all light and quick like her cane. Turning away from Redglare, she takes a swing with the sword, slow and cumbersome and not at all impressive in any sense of the word. This really isn't helping her embarrassment.

Redglare steps back, just far enough to be out of sword range. She watches Terezi, her arms folded across her chest and her face impassive. Her gaze is critical behind her glasses, watching her every move.

After a minute and that embarrassing practice swing, she steps up behind Terezi and nudges her back with her hand to adjust her posture. She pokes and shifts the smaller troll, correcting her stance to better fit a heavier sword. She finishes by taking Terezi's other hand and placing it on the hilt.

"Try again."

Terezi's own nervousness amps up considerably when she realizes what is going on--that the Neophyte is analyzing and critiquing her. The touch to her back has her almost immediately tense, and her face flushes just a little bit teal at all the poking and prodding. She doesn't make a complaint though, silently trying to note all the adjustments that her ancestor is making.

The strangest feeling by far is holding the hilt in both hand. It still doesn't feel easy and maneuverable, the second hand only restricting her from using her full range of motion with the blade. But she rolls her shoulders and takes a few swings with her new posture. It's not meant for speed, that's for sure. But there's more power behind her cuts, and they're steadier than they were before.

After a few more swings with the corrections made, she turns back towards Redglare over her shoulder, waiting for a new verdict.

There have been a lot of things going on lately, of that there can be no mistake. For the most part, however, it isn't anything terribly out of the ordinary as far as what she's used to goes. Sure, it's a little strange to be traveling with adults, but other than that, it's pretty much like home. More deserty, maybe, but home all the same. As long as they kept moving, they'd probably be safe, for a time.

That it wouldn't last forever was practically guaranteed, but there wasn't a whole lot of sense in doing anything more than she already was. Being ready for whatever came next was just going to have to be enough, and she was hoping that if it worked for Alternia it would work her.

For now, however, she was simply taking advantage of a moment of relative silence to make sure that everything is in proper order. Just because no one's attacking them right now doesn't mean that no one will!

And just because no one's attacking them right now doesn't mean that Terezi's not going to be a little shit if she gets the chance. Which basically entails pouncing on Nepeta the first chance she gets, hanging her arms around her shoulders.

"Hello Pouncilor. I am very pleased to note that you are still firmly representing the Mighty Felinebeast Committee in this happy murder game."

Fortunately, Nepeta is pretty used to this sort of thing, and takes the pouncing with as much grace as she can muster. After all, just because they're smack in the middle of a fight to the death doesn't mean they can't catch up on anything.

"Of course! Not just anyone can repurresent the might felinebeast committee!"

"Or quite as finely as you have been! I would award you a medal for your dedication to duty, but there's only dumb sand and brush here." Terezi gestures out into the expanse of desert with her bo staff as if to point out the obvious. Somehow, she manages to do this while still hanging on Nepeta like a a very cumbersome cape.

"I guess this means I will have to owe you one medal upon our glorious return. The mighty dragon marks down this medal tab by scratching a notch into the stone with her mighty claw. Which by the way can easily chisel through solid rock, if you hadn't noticed!"

A very cumbersome cape indeed, but as they aren't planning to go anywhere in the immediate future, it's no bother. Besides, given some of the things she's hauled back home, Terezi isn't that bad, largely due to being mostly troll-shaped.

"The great feline is impurressed by the strength of the dragon's claws! Her own are not nearly so mighty, although still suited to her needs."

[closed, semi-backdated]

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closed to Terezi, after initial meet-up

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