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

[disgracedvoid]

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.]

Comments

[geometry]

[Well, at least he doesn't wear a glowing helmet.]

[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.]

[disgracedvoid]

[His helmet is glowing and fucking awesome. There's a small, significant twitch in him at that, but he says nothing of it.]

And your sign?

[Here's the crux of the problem, isn't it.]

[geometry]

...The same as yours.

[In case it hadn't been obvious from that outfit.]

[Belatedly, he glances down.]

Oh...

[disgracedvoid]

[Another, more pointed headtilt.]

Is it.

[geometry]

It is.

[The voice gets ever weaker.]

[disgracedvoid]

Yet you do not wear it because...?

[Are you trying to imply there's something wrong with his sign or something?]

[geometry]

[Urk.]

I... I was told that I did not deserve it.

[disgracedvoid]

[Oh well, now you've done it, now he's scowling for all he's worth.]

By whom, precisely?

[geometry]

An indigo adult.

...

He is called the Grand Highblood.

[Maybe Darkleer knows him.]

[disgracedvoid]

[On the upside, it is a good thing he was not holding anything in his hands. Because he just clenched those fists hard enough he would have probably pulverized anything in them. He looks conflicted for a moment, almost on the verge of a swearing fit, but he contains himself. A steady breath. Then another. Then another. When he finally speaks, his voice is on a whole new level of enforced neutral.]

Is he here, then.

[Welp, never thought he'd get to die this way.]

[geometry]

N-not anymore.

[Casually backing up onto the staircase again. That, that is terrifying.]

He... he disappeared. Several months ago...

[disgracedvoid]

[It takes him a moment to process that information. Then the tilt of his head turns almost bird-like as he looks at Equius for a long moment.]

And yet you've continued to uphold his orders.

[It's not a question.]

[geometry]

...Yes.

[Mostly through force of habit, but he has a feeling that the less he says, the better.]

[disgracedvoid]

Why?

[geometry]

In case he returns.

[And somehow retained his memories, which up to this point has never happened; Equius knows this. But, you know. Can't be too careful.]

[disgracedvoid]

[There's a moment of heavy silence. And then, wonder of wonders, Darkleer actually snorts.]

...he's been known to cause that effect, yes.

[geometry]

[What.]

...What?

[disgracedvoid]

The Grand Highblood.

[There's a small pause.]

Or at least, I remember him doing such. You will forgive me, it has been a very long time since I last thought of him.

[And then there's a small pause.]

Though not being his sign, he has no right to control who may or may not be worthy of it. That privilege, if anything, would be mine.

[This notion is, somehow, amusing to him, if one were to judge by the slight twitch of his lips.]

Which reminds me, that you've yet to answer my question: what have you done that justifies such unsightly scurrying around?

[geometry]

[Oh. Then... maybe he should ask this troll's jurisdiction on it, later. For now, there was another question to answer.]

I didn't want to bother you.

[disgracedvoid]

[His tone takes on an almost sardonic twist.]

Which is precisely why you decided to scramble away and make a racket?

[geometry]

...Sorry.

[A+ conversational skills, Zahhak.]

[disgracedvoid]

[Hey, at long last he deigns to sit down. So hey, at least he's not looming again.]

It is a workshop. Having someone else here would not bother me unless they made an effort of it. So you may do whichever you originally intended to do here.

[There's another small, almost amused pause as he finally drops his eyes back to his work.]

Or you can leave as well, if you wish to go and practice your stealth.

[geometry]

[Was that an invitation? Equius isn't quite sure if that was an invitation. So he doesn't leave quite yet. Surely this troll would want to ask him more questions, and... maybe he won' suck so badly at this next lot. (Yeah, that's not going to happen.) So he's just going to casually creep over to the opposite side of the room and have a seat on one of the computers that Doc had built. Gotta gotta code.]

[disgracedvoid]

[Darkleer watches the younger troll walk over to the other side of the room, mind already starting to work in lazy patterns of consideration. But that could wait. He turns back to his work, a tad mindless as his fingers move almost without conscious input from his brain. There's nothing particular he'd set out to build for now, it's simply that he can think more clearly when his hands are occupied. The arm slowly works itself into something else, changing shape several times as he ponders his current situation and the... unfortunate meetings he's had thus far. Slowly, as his mind circles, the mechanisms work themselves into something far more complex, fingers delicate and precise with the ease of practice. It is a mixture of old memories of the arm he'd once built for Mindfang, and the small project he'd been working on, prior to coming to the Tower. Darkleer's greatest fascination is in movement and patterns, and his creations tend to mimic it with uncanny elegance. Whatever it is he's building by now, it's certainly as intricate as his own thoughts.]