thearena | [Closed, Slightly Backdated]

Entry tags:

[Closed, Slightly Backdated]

Who| The Initiate, Terezi
What| The partner pair is injured and needs to re-cooperate
Where| Desert arena.
When| After AndrAIa death, Don & Initiate fight, and Dualscar confrontation, BEFORE troll meet
Warnings/Notes| The Initiate still being awful, swearing, violence, etc.

His eyes burn red-orange around Indigo-grey irises, every step is another one wanting to reel on anything close enough-- be it the Pyrope or some beast-- and tear it to bits. But he can't. He can't. For the the first time in his god damned life, he's tired beyond wanting another fight. Exhaustion, for once, outweighs want and rage. Bloods runs free down his face, matting his hair flat on one side. It runs thick and cold, dripping off his chin, down his neck and arm. He can't even bother to fix his paint. The missing horn aches so much worse than broken bones, a sharp and shrill pain that near paralyses. He's thankful for the first time, his voodoos are gone, because at least then, the loss isn't so heightened.

He'd left the seadweller living, he's certain. The fish would come back for them, but hopefully not yet. He needs to rest.

He glances over, with the eye not blinded by his own blood, to see the Pyrope's state. Better than him, but he's-- well before he had his horn snapped he'd gotten up after more painful things, he doesn't know what she can handle and he'd rather not have gone back to her for nothing. Fuck him if she died and rose up a corpse on him. He growls, between heavy breaths.

"KICK WICKED SHIT OVER THIS, PYROPE, AND I WILL WEAR YOUR FUCKING CORPSE-BLOOD," He promises, without near as much venom as he might have.

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Terezi walks alongside the Initiate, step for step. Her bo staff is clutched in her left hand, while her right hand is pressed to the gash across her front. Teal blood stains the front of her shirt, but doesn't pour like the Indigo's head wound.

"There's only one of us in any danger of dying," she assures him, "and it's not me."

Not now, anyway. The hit she took was painful and bloody, but it wasn't deep. Things could have been a lot worse for her, especially if the Initiate hadn't shown up when he did. She didn't want to admit it, but she'd be stupid not to realize it. He had basically saved her life.

"We should stop. If he's going to catch up to us, I'd rather him do it after we've patched ourselves up. Not after we've passed out from over exertion." Or blood loss, in the Initiate's case.

He growls again, rather than dignify her with response.

He hopes the fishfuck gets lost. Only half because of convenience, the rest; hilarity.

He slumps into a slope of sand, angled just right. It's not quite like his beach, too dry and hot, but it's close enough. And the night-fall --at last-- helps.

"Patch the fuck away," He says. He lays back in the sand with a huff-- a sigh really, and watches the sky with one eye open.

While the Initiate lays himself down on the sand, Terezi takes a seat next to him. The huffing sigh she makes is remarkably similar, if not identical to his. Trekking over this sandy wasteland is tiring, even more-so when you're in pain. Though she doesn't have much room to complain when she can smell an indigo-hued miasma clinging to her partner's skin in patches. Jegus, Ingidos sure did give zero fucks about bleeding everywhere.

She's not sure who his comment is directed at, but she honestly doesn't care. She gives her own wound a once-over to make sure her initial assessment was still holding--which it is. Bloody and painful, but only a surface wound. She's not in danger of dying just yet.

She manages to wiggle herself out of her skirt, pulling it down off of the leggings. There's a bit of blood on it, but it's mostly clean. The slits in the fabric make for nice guides as she starts tearing it into strips. Once that's done with, she takes her full bottle of water and scoots closer to the Initiate. That head wound has her worried the most; she can worry about everything else afterwards.

"Hold still," she directs, while unscrewing the cap. Her free hand moves to the bloodied side of his hand, and if unimpeded, she'll try to gently part the hair while pouring bits of water to clear some of the blood away.

Edited 2013-07-21 04:18 (UTC)

It jars him to realise just how out of it he must be, to not realise sooner she was so close. He jerks slightly and his hand does in fact snap up to wrap around her wrist.

"WHAT DOES SHE INTEND?" He hisses, holding her still. He stares at her, both eyes wide, in wait for an answer.

It's a good thing she manages to keep a hold of the water bottle in her other hand. They really don't need to be spilling any of it pointlessly.

Terezi doesn't jerk or resist when the Initiate grabs her wrist. He can probably feel her pulse against his palm, but it's not quick or panicked by any means. She just regards him patiently and holds the bottle of water out where he can see it with his good eye.

"Patching, like we said," she remarks, a dry edge to her patient tone. "It's not like I'm going to put a knife in you while you're not looking. I'm not that ungrateful."

"Lot of ways at to maim a motherfucker, Pyrope," he says, distrustful. Though knives were never cozy. Especially the serrated ones, they never came free clean.

He lets go of her wrist and sits up, eyeing her all the while. "MISSING A HORN. Lest you got it on you some place ain't much patching what can all be done. OUGHT TO WORRY AT FOR HER OWN ASS."

"My ass is fine, and I am otherwise barely bleeding," Terezi counters, though 'barely' by her standards is in comparison to him. There's not much that can match the mess he's making.

She takes her hand back when he releases her wrist, but she doesn't move away or relent. "Despite whatever injuries you think that I can inflict with a water bottle, you really need to have those cleaned and dressed. You'll run the risk of infections, otherwise."

Not that she expects that to be a huge selling point for him. She wouldn't be surprised if Lay Down And Wait For It To Get Better By Itself was his typical way of dealing with injuries. Trolls are hardy creatures, not easily given to diseases; but there's no telling what sort of things might be crawling around this arena. She'd rather not take chances.

"...Listen, I know you don't trust me. I don't blame you! But you saved my life back there, and I am not going to run the risk of letting you die for a really stupid reason." She huffs out a sigh, mildly exasperated. "Just... give me a modicum of trust for two minutes, then I'll be out of your hair. Literally. I promise."

It's not a selling point at all. He outright snorts at the idea. Sure it was possible to get infection but really. He sees nothing wrong with Laying Down And Waiting For It To Get Better By Itself.

He eyes her uneasily. He listens to what she has to say, but he still doesn't want to let her close.

"You ain't my moirail, Pyrope," He says. "FURTHER, AIN'T GOT TRUST THAT PAINT WOULD BE WATCHED BY SHE. Not a bone in her what's got reason to care for her it, in her atheist casing."

Terezi's lips press together to a tight thin line. Of all the ridiculous reasonings... She's not sure which was worse, the first of the second, but both were very clearly labeled as 'dumb' by the expression on her face.

"Moirallegiance has nothing at all to do with it," she states, matter-of-factly. "I agreed to be your partner for the duration of this arena. This is a professional relationship, and while I have every intention of keeping your ass in one piece, I have zero desire to pap any part of it."

She huffs out another sigh like before, but noticeably more exasperated. "...Besides. I don't need to be neck-deep in your crazy cult to know how important your paint is to you, and I don't need to be papping you to respect that."

Considering he brought it up, he shouldn't be as annoyed about her talk of papping as he is. But now it's on him.

Now it's a challenge. He grinds his teeth-- and how does it ever punctuate the ache in his head and his missing fang-- and growls.

"FINE!" he barks. "But if one bit of paint is removed he will end her."

For all the growling and barking at her, Terezi looks remarkably unfazed. She never had any intention of touching the paint in the first place, so his threat doesn't get much of a reaction out of her. If he's listening carefully, he might hear the word "finally" muttered under her breath as she moves back to addressing his head.

She pours a bit of the water into his hair to clear out the blood--not a lot, just enough to work her fingers gently through the matted bits. Without all the blood and hair in the way, it doesn't seem as bad. It's still bleeding too heavily for her comfort, though, so she bundles up some of the pieces of fabric and presses them gently against his head.

"I need you to hold on to this for a little while," she says, addressing him again. "Just put your hand here where mine is and keep the pressure on it."

He is listening carefully. He doesn't trust her --or just about anyone-- enough not to. He bares his teeth at her comment, for all she's out of view.

And then she dumps water on his head. If he hadn't known it was coming, he'd have likely reeled on her. As it stands, he's dug his claws into the sand, and only digs deeper, hissing when she comes too near the horn, or rather, the lack of it.

He feels the press of fabric and grumbles another 'fine', un-burying a hand to hold the cloth in place. He glares at the empty horizon.

"DONE YET?" He huffs.

"I've barely started." She can tell he doesn't like the water, though. She was half tempted to do something about the blood that was covering his eyes, too, but now she's not so sure. It's not a huge concern, but he'd probably feel better if he could see out of both eyes.

"...Can I wipe the blood out of your eye, or would you like to deal with that yourself?" At least she's giving him options and not just doing it. Then again, she is taking that threat of his at least a little bit seriously.

"Is she intending to look?" He asks, then adds, "OR shall he clarify, SHALL SHE DIRECT SNIFFER ANY FUCKING PLACE BUT ELSEWHERE?"

He reaches up to try and get some of the blood out of his hair his own self.

"She claimed understanding of what lack of paint all means, so if she ain't got care, I'll motherfucking leave it be."

"If she ain't got care, she ain't have asked in the first place," she retorts, mimicking his speech just a bit as she gives him a flat look. "I don't make a hobby out of asking for permission. I just thought you might be more comfortable not being half-blind, but I'll take that as a No."

She knows that she really shouldn't be getting annoyed at him, though. She wouldn't be here without him, and the reminder of that dissipates her irritation quickly enough. She moves from his face down to his chest, where she starts rinsing the dirt out of the worst of the lacerations.

He rolls his eyes and makes a face right back, throwing his hands up.

"MOTHERFUCKING FORGIVE IF HE CARES MORE AT FOR WHAT IS SACRED THAN A SPLIT OF A THING WHAT HE HAS AT OF TWO," he says. He deadpans. "Except in that I ain't care to whether she thinks different in priority or not."

As she moves, he shoves his hands back into the dirt. It's a difficult not to attack her, or even just shove her back, but a waste it would be to kill her so soon after recovering her.

Edited 2013-07-28 07:57 (UTC)

This is not going very well for either of them. More than anything, she wants to tell him to stop being such a baby over his stupid paint issues. But that certainly won't win her any points, so she bites her tongue for once.

Instead, she notices his restraint, and it crosses her mind that this might be nerve-wracking for him. She would certainly be on edge if it was the other way around. Trolls aren't the most trusting creatures by a long shot, and she's not doing any favors by being abrasive with him. She pauses in her ministrations, then resumes with a more careful touch. A different topic of conversation could probably help, as well.

"...Thank you," she says quietly after a few moments of silence. "For saving me. ...You didn't have to, and I didn't really think you would. At least, most Indigos wouldn't have. So..." She gives a bit of a shrug, a frown pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I do appreciate it."

He peers at her, kneading the sand under his fingers. 'Thank you'. He thinks the Helmsman had said it too. He wonders where the fuck all these trolls came from.

"SHE INSISTED PARTNERSHIP. And continued to insist past," he says. "WORKING CAHOOTS WITH A CORPSE AIN'T LIKE TO GET ANYWHERE. And she said at to see it's workings and so I am." He doesn't want to touch the insinuation behind 'most indigos'. There are things to which he agrees and doesn't and he doesn't feel particularly like elaborating.

"You're Welcome would have sufficed," she responds, but a bit of a smile has replaced her previous frown. As stupid as it may be, she likes him a little for that bit of logic. Whatever he might think, she's heard stories of Indigos who would stab their partner in the back if they thought it would benefit them. It's atrocious and underhanded, and she's glad that he doesn't seem to be one of those.

"I'm almost done." The information is more for his nerves than for anything else. There's going to be sand caked under his nails by the time she's done, that's for sure. She reaches for a few of the bandages she tore, and her thoughts turn back to what he had said, and there's a small part of her that is mildly curious.

"...What do you think so far? Of it's workings?"

There would be sand, but really, that point was moot when he had blood all stuck underneath his nails too. All strange human blood that started mutant red then dried to rust and black.

He pauses then says, "IT IS WORTH CONSIDERATION. Subjugglator troops are meant at for the rowdy, raucous making, punishers at of the Alternian troupes and one's what should be feared as fucking such. BUT DISORGANIZED AND ILL-PLANNED ATTACK AIN'T ALWAYS HAVE AT PROFIT. Conversely the legislacerators could use at better understanding for church law and reason. COULD USE AT FOR RECOGNITION FOR WHEN THE DEVASTATION IS TO BE NECESSARY. Can see efficiency in idea."

It's honest. Perhaps it's not what she was meanning to ask for, but it's the truth. But other things are also true.

He deadpans, "CAN ALSO SEE IT BRING OCCASIONAL MOTHERFUCKING ANNOYANCE." Then, he smirks. "But that gave for no surprise."

Despite all of that, Terezi smirks back at his final bit of an answer. It's hard not to, when she can't really take his complaints of annoyance seriously.

"Also no surprise is that annoyance goes both ways, Chuckles." She ties off the last bandage, and there's a dry sort of teasing in her voice. It's not all that surprising that he should be able to see the logic in the system if he was the one to implement it in the first place. Terezi still has her misgivings on that, but she's not about to count out the possibility.

There isn't much more that she can do for him, so she finally backs away, easing herself down onto the sand next to him. Her own wound still hurts quite a bit, but she wipes her hand on her leggings, trying to dispel the bits of indigo blood that she'd gotten from rinsing out his wounds. The last thing she really wants is smearing that stuff on her own injuries.

Then, she's carefully trying to rinse the cat like she did with most of the Initiate's. It's a little more difficult to do with herself, but she seems to be managing.

"I'm starting to really hate sea-dwellers," she mutters, partly under her breath.

And chuckle he does. "FUCKING ACCORD IS REACHED. Let great honk of jubilation resound across the desert sea for a TRUE MIRACLE IS UPON US."

He doesn't sigh in relief when she finally lets him go, but he could. And it shows in his posture. His brings his hands up out of the sand, and returns to lying back in it, once again watching unfamiliar stars. The silence is almost amiable, at least from his end.

He catches her muttering, and barks a laugh.

"Only starting? GIRL," he tsks, only half-joking. "You truly can't have run into too many of the fishfucks if it's taken this motherfucking long."

"I've run into... three, now. One was my friend, the second was a barnacle on everyone's backside, and the third--" She gestures out over the sand in the direction they'd come from.

"The Orphaner can choke on a bulge for all I care. I thought he was insufferable before, when he was just some shitty bit of history that sea-dweller number two wouldn't shut up about."

He laughs, "LEGISISTER, I CAN MOTHERFUCKING GIVE PROMISE TO YOU, THEY ARE ALL DETESTABLE. Can only think your first to be a fluke of highest degree. MET MORE SEADWELLERS THAN WHAT A BROTHER COULD COUNT ON DIGITS WITH. And not one was worth their salt spew, not a single goddamned one. PAINTED MY SHORE AND HIVE WITH THEIR VIOLET AND I AIN'T REGRETTED ONE BUT FOR THAT IT DROWNS OUT THE OTHER HUES. Would you think they learn to take message? NONE, NOT ONE TOOK REALISATION THAN THEIR SPILL MEANS NOTHING TO ME, THOUGHT THEMSELVES THAT FUCKING IMPORTANT."

He peers over at her, raising a brow. "The Orphaner? THAT HIS TITLE?"

Terezi snorts out a bit of laughter at his rant, even as she's still preoccupied with rinsing and covering her chest wound. That would be typical of sea-dwellers, wouldn't it? She's suddenly imagining a dozen Eridans swarming onto a beach, and the image alone makes her grin.

His question bring her back, though, and she nods. "Yeah, the Orphaner Dualscar. I thought you knew about him already? The sea-dweller that supposed-future-you culls for being a boring tool?"

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