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

[He can feel the struggle the little troll is putting himself through to calm his fear and discomfort, feeling his mind grow almost numb. How did he know what to do- did he, like some others he's come across so far, know about his existence here before too?

Aside from that, he also wonders what sort of torment this little one has gone through here in this tower- and of course other things of relevance like his blood color, you know, the important stuff.

Then he chuckles lowly, looking over him curiously, still hunched over him.]

Nah. Turn the motherfuck around and face me, resistant little motherfucker.

[All right, this wasn't going to go down any way that didn't involve pain if he kept resisting. He still could do this in a way that didn't make him look like such a pussy. With a final sharp breath in, Gamzee spun on his heel in a rapid about-face.]

[He tried putting on an authoritative expression, hands balled into fists and arms held straight down at his sides. His paint was a little mussed from being sick, but he hadn't failed to apply it this morning, like he did every morning. He hadn't stared his ancestor in the face for what seemed like sweeps, but it couldn't have been that long... could it have?]

Long time no motherfuckin' see on all of a motherfucker.

[The sentence came out as rough as he could manage. He couldn't show any more weakness. He'd dealt with this fucker before. He refused to be pushed around by this giant piece of shit.]

[Aw. He...

Is motherfucking adorable. Look at how strong he's trying to appear, and how...wow, how similar he looks to himself. The face paint, the curling horns, and the messy hair. It's like a spitting image of himself in his wriggler days.

And apparently this little shit had met him before, too. That's starting to get really irritating.

He narrows his eyes at him, teeth bared but in a non-threatening way for the time being.]

Got the motherfucking familiarity on about a brother here, too. You will tell me your name, little motherfucker.

Gamzee.

...Motherfucker.

[He ran his tongue over the front of his fangs, trying, trying, trying to keep eye contact.]

And don't be all motherfucking forgetting that shit, neither!!

[He only pretends to forget, just to be infuriating.]

And just what the motherfuck are you doing all up and huddled near the motherfucking window like a brother without no purpose, Gamzee?

[Gamzee sniffled. A horrible, sloppy, wet noise of mucous and liquid being sucked back up his nostrils.]

The fuck's it to you?