natural order of life

[grandhighblood]

characters: the grand highblood and you.
setting: the space floor
format: any is a-ok
summary: a happy highblood is...still pretty bad.
warnings: the grand highblood [ THERE'S A GOOD CHANCE HE'LL TRY TO KILL YOU THIS TIME ]


The highblood is in high spirits, despite all the things going on in the tower. He finds himself leaning against a wall, staring off into the vast depth of space as stars and galaxies continue to explode then reincarnate. It never ceases to amaze him. It reminds him of his work, where he would bring about the culling sentences for some weak-as-shit trolls to "make space" for trolls that were more useful. They would be culled to create space for new, stronger ones, and that's what the gist of his job was, really. To create order through domination and fear.

He feels good about his latest work. It was hard and sort of emotionally taxing, but in the end, the results are all that mattered.

Comments

[mutab1e]

Oh, that's your job, Highblood? Well, congratulations, because in just walked the weakest troll there is.

Okay, admittedly, maybe he had started being a little lax on monitoring the arwas he was about to enter for any Highblood activity. After all, he had been walking around this tower for months, and aside from the dormitories (where he found somewhere else to sleep or adopted odd hours if the Highblood was in there) he had never seen him once. So his workboots are being worn with zero attempt to hide the sound as he walks up the staircase; this floor always gives him the creeps so he rarely stops on it, but there is urgent business to attend to on the workshop floor. And since the Highblood is sitting there so nice and quietly, he totally fails to notice.

[grandhighblood]

He hears the clomping of feet, and his ears perk up immediately at the sound, a slight grin growing on his face. They seem to be in a rush, and soon he sees the little visitor, immediately recognizing him as that little troll that shares the room with him. He rarely saw the little thing, usually busy bickering and fighting with Fawkes or sleeping to pay him much mind.

But now. Oh, yes, motherfucking now, he finally gets a chance to...get to know him a little better. They ARE roommates, after all.

Silently, the highblood creeps over to the staircase, the darkness of the room doing well to hide some of his presence. There's a bit of a blind spot, and the highblood easily uses that to his advantage, just waiting for the troll to enter this particular floor.

"Hey, motherfucker," the highblood whispers, then a large hand shoots out to grab him.

[mutab1e]

It's almost pathetic -- no, definitely pathetic -- how much time and effort Equius puts into being a spineless failure at society. Figures that the one time he decides to stop being a coward, he would run right into the only person he was trying to avoid in this whole tower. So basically he only realized there was anyone there when the Highblood's giant claw had closed around his entire upper body.

And then he screamed. Of course, there was no getting out of the Highblood's grip.

[grandhighblood]

The highblood never got tired of the way any creature's bodies vibrated and shook when they screamed and struggled. It was a tiny thrill, just enough to get him excited for the next move.

"Hey, shhh, shhh..." he shushed, chuckling loudly as he drags Equius off the stairs and brings him face to face with him. "What's all the motherfucking matter, hivemate?"

[mutab1e]

Now, Equius Zahhak was by no definitions a short troll. Thin as a rake, yes, but not short. But then again, neither is the Highblood, and the age difference speaks volumes here. So Equius, being brought eye-to-eye with the GHB, now stood with at least four feet between him and the ground. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't deliver a crotch shot either because jesus christ, that has to be legitimate armor there, shit.

"Nothing, sir," he squeaked. "Nothing, just-- just passing by, really, I'm so sorry!"

[grandhighblood]

As Equius squeaked and apologized, the highblood just shifted his grip a bit, his large hands holding him comfortably around his chest. The little shit was so fucking skinny, he could actually just hold him with one hand without worrying about him slipping away. No need to use the claws here. For now.

"No need for those wicked sorry's, motherfucker," he said, his tone light and deceivingly pleasant. "Just wanted to be all getting my motherfucking GREET ON with you. DON'T YOU FEEL MOTHERFUCKING HONORED?" His thumb slides up Equius's chest, still holding tight, and brushes the tip of his claw against his chin.

[mutab1e]

Oh shit, oh shit. Equius has heard this guy 'talking' to Fawkes and occasionally England, and he knew in some detached way that he had a serious voice level problem. But now that it's pointed at him, with the teeth and the stench of his breath (not that Equius would ever say so out loud) and the lack of even ground under his feet, he's beginning to wonder how the other two managed to not just run and impale themselves on one of those giant horns, just to get it over with. At least they could get away -- but he can't, because they're humans, and their blood doesn't mean anything. Even if he did have the power of movement he was bound by obligation not to run. The highbloods had every right to threaten people like him, or kill them even. That was just how it worked.

"Y-yes, I do," he said, tilting his head upward as the Highblood's claw slid. "I mean it. You're truly incredible." Licking boot? Yes. Oh, God, yes. But that's what you do when a higherblood pushes up to you and starts making threats. If it's a brownblood or something, then maybe you can run or fight. But not to anyone higher than green, and definitely not to him.

[grandhighblood]

The way Equius went on about him being incredible made him remember to look down at the troll's symbol and color. Strange, the symbol was similar to a certain Expatriate he once knew (and angry bile rises in his throat) but it was a mustard yellow color. Odd. Without even realizing it, he squeezed the troll tight, gritting his teeth at the memory.

Don't worry, it's not directed you directly, Yelloquius.

"Explain your symbol and color, shitblood," he spat, curious as to why a symbol associated with the Expatriate was of such a disgusting hue. "That symbol belongs to bluebloods, motherfucker. You think that shit's FUNNY? All swapping the colors for the fucking fun of it? YOU THINK THAT'S MOTHERFUCKING CLEVER?"

[mutab1e]

OW. OW. OW.

Equius attempted to swallow the choking noises he produced when the Highblood's grip tightened. At least it wasn't around his throat, but still, it made things an awful lot harder. And considering the expression on his fearsome, painted face, it seemed like his attention was on a very different matter... a matter which soon became glaringly apparent. He knew there was a version of himself who was among the bluebloods, somewhere, but... the symbol? The same symbol? That didn't make sense. Maybe it would have been understandable if he had Karkat's, but... not his.

"No-- no!" He decided that now would be a great time to stop squirming, and so he promptly went stiff as a board. "No, no it's not funny, I didn't do that! This symbol has always been mine!"

directed at you* wow wtf haha

[grandhighblood]

The hand clenched around the skinny troll loosened a bit, but only to allow proper air flow. His mind still wandered with some upsetting memories of his times with Darkleer and the shit that he pulled at execution day that he barely caught what the yellowblood had to say.

"Maybe from some motherfucking ludicrous alternate bullshit timeline this could be a thing all happening, but you're WRONG, MOTHERFUCKER."

Funny enough, that's kind of what it was, but the highblood couldn't exactly wrap his mind around that concept right now. He'd seen a couple of odd trolls here and there, but never really got a good look at them mostly due to a lack of interest or he was busy at the time.

"But, well, we can be all revisiting that nasty business later," he said suddenly, scratching his chin thoughtfully with his other hand. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall again and brought the troll down onto his lap, his grip still tight, a hint of claws digging into his skin.

"NAME, MOTHERFUCKER."

[mutab1e]

Ah, yes, good! For a moment there Equius thought the Highblood was actually letting him go, but to be honest, he would take being in the creature's grip over the drop to the ground. His face continued to get darker and darker, even through the makeup; had Equius done something to upset him? He actually started to look worried there, mixed in with the proper state of terror one should assume when being dangled from an indigo's claw. He prepares for this, okay.

From what he understood the Highblood was actually right on the mark there with the alternate universe thing, but you know, maybe pointing that out wouldn't be the best course of action. So instead he goes with, "Um, I can change it if you--"

AND THEN he gets cut off, suddenly sitting on the Highblood's knee. Okay, concern gone, right back to terror. "...E-Equius Zahhak, sir."

[grandhighblood]

"Equius Zahhak," he repeated dully, sort of letting his gaze go off into the distance, deep into space. It was a surprisingly strong name for such a pathetic looking yellowblood, and he licked his lips and teeth, letting the sound settle on his tongue.

"Don't think I motherfucking didn't all hear what you were up and going to suggest, pissblood." He scratched at the symbol on the skinny troll's chest, letting the fabric tear a little around the yellow on the shirt as if trying to erase it. "You think a you can just all go and CHANGE THAT SHIT? Heh, but of motherfucking course you'd want to. Who would all want to be some barrel-bottom licking parasite of a yellowblood? Of course you'd want to simply CHANGE to a blueblood! BETTER THAN MOTHERFUCKING NOTHING, AM I RIGHT, EQUIUS ZAHHAK?"

[mutab1e]

Oh shit. Oh shit. He misunderstood. "--No! Nonono. I wouldn't change the blood color, no. Never. That would be... ugh. I was just going to change the symbol to something more appropriate for a, uh, yellowblood."

He actually does know one troll who tried to change her blood color, or rather, to hide it. Kanaya Maryam. She was a mutant, a candyblood, who for the longest time tried to keep herself as an anonymous shade of gray. He'd tried to avoid her during that period, frankly, because not knowing her blood color upset him quite a bit. How would he know if he was speaking with reverence to a rustblood, or disrespecting a blueblood? He wouldn't. But when she actually came out about it, oh man, then he took a much more active role. As a freakblood she wouldn't know anything about the beauty of social order, right? Because she probably never learned it. So it therefore became his duty to teach her how to exist in a civilized manner, or at least to develop the proper attitudes towards those above her on the spectrum -- that is, practically everyone.

[grandhighblood]

The highblood sneered, though there's a hint of amusement behind it. He continued to scratch jagged holes into the shirt, making sure to remove that awful arrow, the symbol that belonged to that wretch Darkleer.

"You could, motherfucker. You really motherfucking could," said the highblood, almost conversationally, a sort of contrast from his earlier yelling. "Or maybe you could all just walk around without it. A piece of motherfucking yellow-bellied trash like you don't all need one, anyway. What good will that noise will it be all motherfucking offering you anyway?"

[mutab1e]

Well... symbols are... symbols. Every troll has them, no matter what their blood color. Granted, it's never been directly told to him what purposes the symbols serve, but he's always assumed it was just another manner of identification. Alternia is a large planet. There could be any number of Eridan Amporas or Nepeta Leijons -- or, yes, Equius Zahhaks -- sitting around, but they would most likely have different symbols, so there's absolutely no possibility for mistakes. It was an efficient system, when Alternia was still alive. But now...

"I... could do that," he said. Turn his shirt inside-out or something.

[grandhighblood]

It had been the highblood's idea, yes, to consider walking around without a symbol, but he suddenly brings a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. As if he had suddenly changed his mind about something.

"Tell you what, motherfucker," he said with finality, "How about I--" His massive paw suddenly moves up and his thumb along with a couple of fingers wrap around the yellowblood's neck. "--DO YOU A MOTHERFUCKING FAVOR? It'll do all of us not-so-disgustingly pathetic trolls a favor too, if you know what I motherfucking mean."

And with that somewhat cryptic statement, his hand starts to squeeze, grip steadily getting stronger and stronger, even stronger than before.

[mutab1e]

Of course, there is no way he could respond to that, considering there's currently a giant claw crushing his windpipe. But rest assured, Highblood; if he were in any position to speak right now, he wouldn't voice his protest, honest. Hadn't we already mentioned that it was practically the job of the highbloods to kill people like him? And now that the Tower was in operation, he could hypothetically be killed as many times as he needed to if it suited the beachdweller's needs.

Not that this was really moving through his thinkpan at any short length of time, naturally. The lack of oxygen was making his head go foggy. He still did not struggle in the Highblood's grip; it might be less 'fun' for his twisted view of entertainment, but struggling against the inevitable was frankly so stupid that even he wouldn't stoop to the level of doing so. (That said, he does eventually start choking for air, even as he tries to stop himself and just die already. It happened once, it can happen again.)

[grandhighblood]

Where a small smirk had been was now a sort of thin-lipped frown. He liked it when his victims struggled, and here was this utterly pathetic and sad lowblood that wasn't even trying to fight his fate of being crushed to death by him. Sure, he would just revive again, but he had a new outlook on this situation of his. If he could not appease the Messiahs with sacrifices, then he would appease them with the act, at least for now. If there was a problem with this, he was sure to hear from them.

It was like holding a limp doll in his hands, one that finally gurgled and choked, a natural reaction no matter how much the yellowblood wanted to remain still or not. He slid a nail across his throat, a shallow cut at first, and he watches the muddy yellow flow over his fingers.

"It's a motherfucking shame you'll just be all resurrected back in one motherfucking piece," he murmured, eyes lidded as he looked at the choking troll's face.

[mutab1e]

The Messiahs, yeah, okay, great. Cool story, Highblood. ACK--

No matter how much Equius wills himself to be a civilized rag doll, his sensibility is failing fast. Just like it was a natural reaction to start gasping for air once the Highblood's grip became too tight, his body now appears to be twitching, the natural troll reaction to rip this guy's eyes out competing with lack of energy and what little remains of his self-control. Every so often one of his hands, instead of trying to make claws, forms into the shape it might use if he were firing an arrow; just muscle memory, to be sure, but if the Highblood can recognize it...

[grandhighblood]

Unfortuantely, the highblood wasn't too fond of the bow, and didn't recognize it as such, but he did notice it was a rather strange hand formation for one being choked. It was very precise and kind of interesting to watch as he continued to withhold air from the little one.

His thumb slid across the already slit throat, again and again, cutting deeper into the wound each time, watching the blood flow freely, as he licked his lips.

"So motherfucking quiet," he cooed, using the tip of his nail to pull back the sawed through skin and muscle. "Such a good motherfucking lowblood."

[mutab1e]

And then it was over.

As quietly as it could manage, Equius' body promptly threw in the towel, and what little stature was left in him diminished. There was absolutely no fanfare to it, because it was all a matter of time anyway. ...So that's that, Highblood. You had done away with your pathetic whimpering hivemate (if only temporarily) just like that; don't you feel proud of yourself?

[grandhighblood]

Yes, quite. Well, perhaps 'proud' isn't the best word for it, but he feels a sense of normalcy settling in his bones as blood seeps into the cracks of his skin, staining them a dusty yellow.

All he needed now was the finishing touch. It didn't matter if the wound healed over in the resurrection, because all that mattered was the act of it. The act of creating the symbols were important. So, he stuck a nail through Equius's shirt, and slit it down the front, ripping it off the limp body then discarding it. Quickly, but with some relish, he carved a simple symbol onto the yellowblood's chest.

:o)