thearena | [closed, semi-backdated]

"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?"

[closed, semi-backdated]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject