towerofanimus | (no subject)

Characters: orphaner dualscar (

orphans) and whoever!
Setting: the dormitory floor or cafeteria; any of the stairs in between
Format: starting with action, but i'll match
Summary: dualscar deals with his curse. or rather, doesn't.
Warnings: innuendo, language, the ability to use this icon icly, and general hideousness

[it was pretty easy to tell something was blatantly askew with him; thus, avoidance of the majority of the tower's floors for sometime. but that newly and mysterious acquired feeling of benevolence towards his peers? the seemingly inherent need to good? to keep peace? the come-ons, ones that would even make his fins curl with distaste, that would tumble from his mouth nigh every time he dared open it?

it was beginning to make him physically sick.

he was hoping this to be just another trick of the tower. though upon noticing no one else seemed to be afflicated as he was, the seclusion had began. however, he can't survive forever in such-- it's actually relatively easy to catch him rushing through hallways, up stairwells, or hurriedly finishing a bowl of oatmeal at a lone table.

feel free to say hi. the orphaner actually won't bite this time.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She has to admit some satisfaction in the change in his demeanor. Good to know it'd worked for sure.]

In regards to how you shouldn't treat people, [she says smoothly.] Your whole sudden empathy thing, that was me. I just threw in the bad pick up lines for bonus humiliation.

[wow she's been the cause of why he's felt so fucking awful lately? and yet at the same time, better? he'd tell her some convoluted way to go off herself, but finds that he. can't. and is instead wondering what it was exactly (as he's done a lot of awful to a lot of nice people here!) that would suddenly merit this.

also, magic doesn't exist. his eyebrows raise a fraction. so how she could have gone about doing that--]

Why?

[She takes a step forward, then two, utterly confident as she closes the distance between them just to make her point. She wants to say this before she takes the spell off, so he has a chance of feeling actually guilty.]

I should probably say that if you can't tell what it was for, you're even more reprehensible than I thought, and you deserve worse.

You do deserve worse, but I want you to know why. You tore Eridan's arm off and left him to die, someone that's at least in some universe related to you, and if you ever do anything like that again to someone I care about...

You'll find out what 'worse' is.

[that he does, even if he'd been out of his mind when the actions against the jadeblood had occurred. he hadn't thought of apologizing to eridan when they'd met, and he only just now wishes he could do so-- the need to apologize having occurred so rarely in his many sweeps of life that it hadn't even seemed to be a possible action at the time. because he does feel remorse, and it fucking sucks that perhaps another is suffering because of him.

which may as well just throw his entire identity out the window. he looks a little stunned at her words, and certainly not unremorseful. the orphaner remains silent, though perhaps his expression alone would tell her enough.

he doesn't deserve forgiveness.]

[It's enough of a reaction for her, and frankly she's getting tired of this. She's still angry, had known from experience that revenge wouldn't make her feel better; she did it to make a point, to show that she'd back up her words. Though this curse was comparatively mild, Willow didn't want anything to escalate.

Right now she wanted to cuddle her boyfriend and remind herself that not everyone was this foul. Dualscar edged into reminding her of Warren, and that made her lose her grip on her control.

So it was time to get this over with. She speaks a few words in Sumerian to end the spell, and all of a sudden, like the floor dropping out, it's done and gone.]

I want you to think about how easy that was for me to do, and maybe you'll think twice before doing that again.

[the change is instantaneous.

in his expression, posture, demeanor-- everything. his gaze is positively livid, teeth bared into a savage snarl, the rush of his hand to his sword becoming audible as claws jar against its hilt. the weapon is pulled and barely aimed, as it hadn't needed to be, to plunge straight for her heart.]

[She was expecting exactly that reaction, and simply lifts her hand. The sword stops in mid-air, completely immobile, and all the pulling won't get it to move again until she wants it to, or leaves.

Ordinarily this kind of silent, impromptu magic would demand a price from her, but Willow is so steeped in the curse she'd cast that it's easy to draw that up. She's riding the edge of black magic and hiding her fear about stepping over.]

Haven't you gotten the message yet?

[what fucking message.

but he won't dignify her question with a response, instead to stare as if to burn her a hole through her very being. perhaps he had gotten it, perhaps he hadn't cared. or perhaps he was simply too wrapped up in himself to even consider it, having returned to the way he's been as far back as he can recall would do that. his anger and sudden hatred of the individual before him has reduced him to silence.

muscles tense with effort, his grip on the sword quivers. but that's all.]

You can't win. Don't mess with me again.

[Point made, she couldn't care less about what he thinks of her now, and doesn't want to stick around and find out. She turns to leave.]