towerofanimus | [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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He continues for a while, going down the stairs and peering around at the floors, completely unaware of the fact he's being stalked. As he reaches the art gallery floor, he finds his curiosity piqued by the images. At first, it is only the idea of art of any kind in a place like this that makes him turn to walk along the frames hanging from the walls. But soon enough the pictures begin including horns and blotches of multi-colored blood and familiar arrows precisely shot into helpless bodies. Some of these, he vaguely remembers, but most are unfamiliar. The gorier they become, the more certain he is they are outright fabrication. He might have been a murderer by trade once, long ago, but he had always been precise. Controlled.

He's never killed trolls for sport, it has always been a job. A task. And if there's something Darkleer has always prided himself to be is being meticulous and careful in the execution of all his tasks, pun intended.

He stops in front of a particularly gorish image of a troll writhing on the ground, body broken by countless arrows. He thins his lips, frowning at the image. What a perfect waste of arrows, that, what useless, pointless cruelty. He finds it, as a whole, bizarrely offensive. Doubly so by the display of his arrows in it.]

[Good! He's at an art gallery. She's somewhat surprised. Why would anyone want to examine nice art pieces when they are heartless creatures that kill for murderous empresses? She gives off a questioning look but stays silent throughout his small tour.

He then stops by a painting that is all too familiar with her and she's unable to breath. Him and that posture, along with that poor troll riddled with arrows?! Without noticing her behavior, she begins breathing hard, gripping the wall until it left cracked visible marks, and baring her fangs.

She was unaware that she was starting to lose her mind to rage.]

Edited 2012-10-05 08:25 (UTC)

[And then he hears it, the harshness of breath well above normal rate. He takes a moment to listen to it, trying to gauge the distance before minutely shifting his feet. He doesn't go for his weapon though. Not yet. And then, ever so casually, eyes still fixed on the garish picture before him, he lets his voice be heard.]

Either come out or leave me be, I have no quarrel with you.

[Ok, that's it. She pounces and slams into him, cracking the wall she pushed him against.]

THE HELL YOU DON'T!

[She then raises a claw right at his face and gives him a disdainful look.]

Do not tell me what to do, highblood.

[Darkleer's expression was that of someone who was seeing a ghost. The hand that raised to retaliate the attack dropped, bonelessly, as he went limp against the wall, staring. And staring. And staring.

After a sufficiently long time, he found an echo of his voice, hoarse and broken like shards of grass dragged through gravel.]

Very well.

[Except this was so far out of the realm of well it would be hilarious if he weren't sort of maybe having... a Moment, shall we say.]

[Gog, she hated that stare. Why did he have to keep looking at her that way? In fact that stare was the first of the many things he did to set her free.

...and she will never forgive him for that.

She was confused, however, when he listened and backed off. What kind of game was he playing?]

That was...easy. [She then narrowed her eyes.] What are you planning?

Nothing in particular, I assure you.

[It takes everything he has to keep his voice even. But he manages.]

Though I doubt you would believe me.

[He's right, she doesn't. But she's gonna give him the benefit of the doubt anyway.]

That depends on your mindset and who you are currently following.

From your anger, justified as it is, I would have expected you to know the answer to that already.

[The smile is both bloodless and empty.]

Please, like I know everything about you! In fact, in my previous lifetime, I have made sure NOT to know what was going on with you! I did not feel like wasting my time getting to know horrible executioners while on the run!

[Yes. Please. Continue to violently stab what remains of his heart, we can't have him forgetting he's got feelings, after all. He inclines his head, hair rustling.]

Fair enough. But I expected you to understand that an executor who will not execute his marks is of no use to the Empire at all.

[She shakes in anger at what he said, especially on the words "will not execute" and starts gripping him harder. When she speaks it comes out as a shaky hoarse tone.]

If you knew that...then why? Why did you do it? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM BUT RELEASE ME?!

[It's. Getting harder to keep a grip on things right now, and seeing her in distress isn't helping much. At all.]

...Because.

[Trust me, it's been hundreds of sweeps, and this is still the best he can do.]

[That was not good enough. Having enough of his words, she throws him aside angrily.]

ARE YOU SERIOUS? IS THAT ALL YOU CAN SAY TO ME?!

[She then takes a deep breath, gets herself calmed, and looks him in the eye.]

Why is that? Is it because of my blood-status?

[To be fair, his entire body feels like it's the consistency of wet paper so it's not that hard to make him stumble a little.]

No!

[He bares his teeth a little. Her blood really has nothing to do with it. He's thought about it. It's not her blood or her hair or her horns or anything. It's just.]

Because.

[It's just.]

Because I could not stand to see you hurt.

[Which was a bit of a bummer since he realized this after potentially hurting her the worst way imaginable. Yay. 8)]

[Could not stand to...what? To see her hurt? Why in the world would he care about that?!

Hearing this response only made her stunned. She gives a confused look towards him and stays silent.

She just had no idea how to respond to something so surprising! She did, however, slowly pull herself away from him.]

Edited 2012-10-09 04:46 (UTC)

[He swallows hard, throat painfully dry. Then he shakes his head slowly.]

I should leave.

[Oh god, let him leave. He'll go find a dark corner and hide in it for the rest of eternity if you don't mind.]

[She avoids his gaze.]

Y-yes. It is time for me to go as well.

[Giving off a shaky breath, she turns to leave. She still gives off a cautious look behind though, to see if he is true to his word.]

[He inclines his head slightly, before slipping away with quiet, but hurried steps.

He doesn't look back. He's not sure what he'll do if he does.]

[OPEN] I want, I want to finally meet you, something real to cling to

0w0 and you just made my night with this reply.

I'm glad our days are so full of joy~!

The most joyful of days. <3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject