towerofanimus | (no subject)

Characters: the grand highblood + you
Setting: starts at his dorm, room 2-10. then he'll slowly descend and stop at no lower than floor 13 (cathederal floor).
Format: doesn't matter
Summary: the highblood has awoken and he's not pleased. Or amused. Well, maybe just a little.
Warnings: practice caution around the highblood. he's still pretty on-edge right now and his killing instincts are going haywire so if you're not careful, you might receive a face full of claws. also swearing and bad jokes.

Waking up in a sudden panic, rage and fear coursing through his veins like a shot of adrenaline, isn't really new to the highblood. He's used to sometimes accidentally sleeping outside the sopor, usually alone, grumbling and growling in his sleep. The only difference now is that when his eyes snap open in a blinding red rage, he can't move at all. His limbs are stiff, the sudden jerk of his body rattling the bed with loud creaks and groans.

It takes him a while to calm down after the paralysis wears off, and not even minding the ridiculously skin-tight white outfit he's wearing, he stumbles out of the room to figure out where the motherfucking hell he is.

If you come across him on any of these floors, it's probably best you catch him from afar lest he comes straight at you once he catches sight. Or at least attempts to. Why don't you pick a floor and find out?

[OOC; pick a floor from 1~13 and i will have him react accordingly! ♥]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Darkleer's lip twitches, but he suppresses the gesture before it can reveal itself as either a snarl or a sneer, and instead his already rigid posture becomes even more strained. He holds himself still as the Grand Highblood circles him, feeling the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end and yet not quite cowering so much as stoically bracing himself.]

I have always found outright deceit to be uncouth, my lord.

[He sounds almost demure, certainly submissive. Which doesn't mix well with his posture at all. His lip twitches again.]

There are always better ways.

[Regardless of how Darkleer seems to hold himself and speak to him, the highblood is content to know that Darkleer still appears to know his place. Whether or not he's sincere like he had been back in the days, he doesn't care. If the blueblood decides to pull a fast one on him, he'll be ready.

Anyway, he nods a little, snickering, and still staying right behind him.]

Tell me, Expatriate, about your motherfucking pathetic experiences all up in this impossible fucking prison.

It hasn't really been all that much different here than where I was, before.

[But that's only because he's him and he refuses to be anything other than the metaphorical mountain standing up to anything.]

Though of course, as far as prisons go, it is certainly far more entertaining than one would expect. There are plenty of interesting things to do, my lord. If that is what strikes your fancy, of course.

[Because who the fuck even knows what strikes the fancy of the Grand Highblood?]

[Then he quickly, silently, swoops around Darkleer to face him. His hair barely rustling him as he passes him by.]

Heh, oh, shouldn't YOU OF ALL MOTHERFUCKERS know what tickles this highblood's fancy?

[Things Darkleer is not familiar with: the sudden, pressing urge to run away. Things Darkleer is feeling right now: the sudden, pressing urge to run the fuck away. Because he's ~~dumb~~ Darkleer, though, he doesn't. He just clings onto his blank face for all he's worth.]

...should I? It has been a while, my lord.

[Can we go back to the part where you're bewildered by how old ~~and handsome and dashing he is. He likes that part better.]~~

[That void in Darkleer's mind blocks the highblood's natural tendency to reach out and try and enter his subconscious - even when the motherfucker's awake - to gauge his feelings, his fears, anyway. But that motherfucking blank he comes across is infuriating as hell.

How stoic his outer expression is doesn't help, either.]

Don't get your motherfucking freshness all up in this business, Expatriate. This could become a motherfucking demonstration, if that's what it'll come to... heh.

Ah.

[Shit, shit, shit. Things Darkleer does not and has never aspired to be: a pint of paint.]

Rather I would not presume to know what does or doesn't tickle your fancy, my Lord. I'd rather not be so bold.

[GO AWAY YOU CRAZY CLOWN, GO AWAY.]

[He squints at him, his face still close, but then slowly draws back with an amused expression.]

Hn. [A long pause.]

What room were you assigned, dear Expatriate?

Ah. Room 1-18, my lord.

[He holds onto the demure act with his dear life. Though seriously? He would much prefer not telling him that. But what else is he supposed to do? Lie to the Grand Highblood? Yeah, right.]

Excellent.

[Then Darkleer might feel the back of his hand brushing against the back of his hair.]

Carry the fuck on, then.

[He did not break down shuddering because STRONG SELF-CONTROL, but serioulsy, FUCK YOU, YOU CREEPY CLOWN.]

My lord.

[He bows his head respectfully, and dares not question that little mercy. He'll just try to actually walk away with a brisk pace and not even try and figure out what the fuck just happened.]