E%patriate ♐ Darkleer (
disgracedvoid) wrote in
towerofanimus2012-10-04 07:38 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] I want, I want to finally meet you, something real to cling to
Characters: Darkleer and YOU!
Setting: Room 1-18, the Cafeteria, the Workshop, around the Tower.
Format: I'll start with Action, but I'll match you.
Summary: Darkleer wakes up in an unusual place and goes about trying to find it in himself to care.
Warnings: Darkleer being a painfully polite, looming giant that keeps banging his horns into the ceiling.
[Lying back is awkward and a little unnatural for him. The bed creeks unpleasantly under his weight, as he looks around, frown deepening as he took stock of the unfamiliar surroundings as well as the strange white fabric on his skin. The collar causes a spam of annoyance that takes him five deep breaths to control, so by the time he's reading the letters, he finds himself more or less serene. Suspicious and more than a little indifferent, but serene. He explores the contents of his trunk, finding more relief in his wrench and his work rag, than the clothes or the armor or the bow. Though admittedly the bow and the arrows are a nice thing to have. After some considerations, he simply rips the white bodysuit off his person and proceeds to don the armor. If he was given weapons, it might have been for a reason.
So if you walk into 1-18, you will find him giving the final adjustments to the armor, quiver hanging off a belt to his side and Bow hooked on a leather strap on his back. And of course, the familiar, glowing helmet that obscures his eyes. He's slouching a little, as his horns almost scrape the ceiling when he stands up to his full height. He's wearing a fantastically puzzled expression, but hey, for all he's big, he doesn't seem particularly violent.]
--
[When you enter the cafeteria, you will find Darkleer in a corner, in full battle armor and with a look of supreme confusion on his face as he has a very serious stare off with a plate of oatmeal. It's a fantastic stare off, mind, he's slouching forward, hair curling down his shoulders and mouth set into an unamused, thin line. Seriously, oatmeal? Really?]
--
[When he finds this floor, he finds himself drawn in almost magnetically. His fingers twitch to take and test and make and create, but he contains himself for a while, studying the racks of tools and materials. He resists for a while longer, but eventually picks up a bit of this and that, before unloading a collection of random spare parts and metal and tools on a workbench. Carefully placing down the bow and the quiver, he sets to fiddle with them, not really sure what he's doing except fitting them together and pulling them apart. He relaxes visibly the longer he's at work, and before he realizes it, he's working on something that looks definitely arm-shaped.]
--
[Not sure why he shouldn't, and not feeling particularly threatened, Darkleer wanders around the Tower, looking at the various floor and peering curiously at the strange, foreign things in every corner. The supremely confused look remains firmly in place, but once again, it's not necessarily hostile. Just. Kind of intimidating.]
Setting: Room 1-18, the Cafeteria, the Workshop, around the Tower.
Format: I'll start with Action, but I'll match you.
Summary: Darkleer wakes up in an unusual place and goes about trying to find it in himself to care.
Warnings: Darkleer being a painfully polite, looming giant that keeps banging his horns into the ceiling.
[Lying back is awkward and a little unnatural for him. The bed creeks unpleasantly under his weight, as he looks around, frown deepening as he took stock of the unfamiliar surroundings as well as the strange white fabric on his skin. The collar causes a spam of annoyance that takes him five deep breaths to control, so by the time he's reading the letters, he finds himself more or less serene. Suspicious and more than a little indifferent, but serene. He explores the contents of his trunk, finding more relief in his wrench and his work rag, than the clothes or the armor or the bow. Though admittedly the bow and the arrows are a nice thing to have. After some considerations, he simply rips the white bodysuit off his person and proceeds to don the armor. If he was given weapons, it might have been for a reason.
So if you walk into 1-18, you will find him giving the final adjustments to the armor, quiver hanging off a belt to his side and Bow hooked on a leather strap on his back. And of course, the familiar, glowing helmet that obscures his eyes. He's slouching a little, as his horns almost scrape the ceiling when he stands up to his full height. He's wearing a fantastically puzzled expression, but hey, for all he's big, he doesn't seem particularly violent.]
--
[When you enter the cafeteria, you will find Darkleer in a corner, in full battle armor and with a look of supreme confusion on his face as he has a very serious stare off with a plate of oatmeal. It's a fantastic stare off, mind, he's slouching forward, hair curling down his shoulders and mouth set into an unamused, thin line. Seriously, oatmeal? Really?]
--
[When he finds this floor, he finds himself drawn in almost magnetically. His fingers twitch to take and test and make and create, but he contains himself for a while, studying the racks of tools and materials. He resists for a while longer, but eventually picks up a bit of this and that, before unloading a collection of random spare parts and metal and tools on a workbench. Carefully placing down the bow and the quiver, he sets to fiddle with them, not really sure what he's doing except fitting them together and pulling them apart. He relaxes visibly the longer he's at work, and before he realizes it, he's working on something that looks definitely arm-shaped.]
--
[Not sure why he shouldn't, and not feeling particularly threatened, Darkleer wanders around the Tower, looking at the various floor and peering curiously at the strange, foreign things in every corner. The supremely confused look remains firmly in place, but once again, it's not necessarily hostile. Just. Kind of intimidating.]

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Wait.
[The order is out of his mouth before he can help it.]
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[Slowly, as if to make clear that he means no harm, Equius pulls himself up to a semi-respectable standing position. It's only semi-respectable because, well, you never know with these highbloods, they all have their idea of what is too respectable or not respectable enough or... okay. He's completely overthinking this. He doesn't know how to deal with adults
and he's not even gender-ambiguous or carrying a sentient sword. So sue him.]no subject
Explain yourself.
[He narrows his eyes a little, noting the lack of sign on him, but there's something disturbingly familiar in that awkward, skinny frame. It might just be the horns, though. Those horns are distracting.]
Why did you try to run?
[In other words, what did you do?]
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I...
[He looks the troll over again. Certainly similar to the other Equius, the blueblood one, who he met a long time ago (or at least it seems like a long time ago). Except as an adult. He'd seen another adult around, the Dolorosa, who in actuality was a female adult troll who looked like Kanaya, the jadeblood... oh well this is just dandy. At least he actually knows what's going on, for once. Equius shifts his weight nervously and attempts to explain.]
Well, uh. Firstly. I don't think we're really from the same... universe.
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And how would you be so certain of such?
[A pause.]
And how does that justify scurrying around like a thief or worse?
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I... w-well, I'm not certain, but... you said to... never mind.
[This is stupid and he's stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.]
Just. I was just going to, uh, leave you be.
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[Darkleer frowns.]
Take a deep breath and start again from the beginning.
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[Slowly, he comes back down the staircase, walking with the sort of stance that indicates that he's ready to run at any given time, and moves no further than a few steps away from it. Because guess what? As Equius gets closer to Darkleer, it seems that he only gets taller. And something being taller than him is a kind of rare and somewhat alarming experience.]
[But, then, Darkleer could also crush his entire body with one hand. So. That helps a lot too.]
...Sorry.
[He could run. Right now. He could run away and not look back at this blueblood ever again, add him right to the top of the "People to Avoid" list, without even knowing his name.]
[Also, way to 'start from the beginning', stupid.]
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One should not apologize, unless one is at fault.
[His words are solemn and measured, but his tone remains somewhat severe. I'm afraid you're not impressing him much, Equius.]
Now, explain yourself.
[You're so lucky he's as monstrously patient as he's monstrously tall, boy. You have no idea.]
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[But really, look at yourself, Darkleer. If you expected a reasonable and competent descendant from all the stock you provided, then seriously, take another look at your life and choices. They're all going to be disappointments. Seriously.]
...What do you want me to explain?
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Take your pick, either that comment about universes, or perhaps a name and the reason you act as if you expect to find yourself attacked any moment.
[A small pause.]
Perhaps you should begin with a name.
[Because the ones he's thinking are not particularly polite.]
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[Just.]
[Glowing helmet.]
[There are so many things that are impractical about that helmet.]
...My name is Equius Zahhak.
[Can he just crawl into a hole and never crawl out now? Because that's what he wants to do. He is so done with this entire relationship, and it hasn't even been ten minutes.]
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And your sign?
[Here's the crux of the problem, isn't it.]
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[In case it hadn't been obvious from that outfit.]
[Belatedly, he glances down.]
Oh...
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Is it.
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[The voice gets ever weaker.]
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[Are you trying to imply there's something wrong with his sign or something?]
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I... I was told that I did not deserve it.
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By whom, precisely?
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...
He is called the Grand Highblood.
[Maybe Darkleer knows him.]
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Is he here, then.
[Welp, never thought he'd get to die this way.]
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[Casually backing up onto the staircase again. That, that is terrifying.]
He... he disappeared. Several months ago...
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And yet you've continued to uphold his orders.
[It's not a question.]
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[Mostly through force of habit, but he has a feeling that the less he says, the better.]
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