E%patriate ♐ Darkleer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
disgracedvoid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-01-04 02:31 am
disgracedvoid) wrote in towerofanimus2013-01-04 02:31 am
Entry tags:
[CLOSED] All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you better run, better run, outrun my gun.
Characters: [AU6] Darkleer and [OU] Tavros.
Setting:Darkleer's home away from home. The Workshop floor.
Format: Action.
Summary: Darkleer agreed to help Tavros make a weapon. Because frankly, watching the kid try on his own is pretty damn painful in itself.
Warnings: Darkleer being Darkleer. Also probably Tavros abuse in some fashion.
[This place does weird things to a troll's head, Darkleer thinks, and it's not just about Equius little fit a few days prior. It's probably because he's been out of touch with reality and society for so long, or maybe the mutant - and he will damn well call him "the mutant" in his mind if he wants to - is starting to wear him down, but he can't really muster much scorn for the younger trolls - that is, every other fucking troll on this place - not even for the lowbloods. Especially the lowbloods.
He's pretty sure the damn scumblood used to annoy him a lot more, Before. He doesn't think of Before often, if he can help it. But given that he's here, waiting for the laughably pathetic wiggler whose efforts he's agreed to oversee, instead of working on his own projects, he can't help but wonder a little. As a highblood, if Darkleer still considered himself such, it would be not only his duty but his privilege to herd the lower castes in the right direction. So on the smallest technicality, he can almost make sense of his willingness to put up with the brownblood stuttering disaster. On the other hand, as a blood traitor, Darkleer isn't a highblood anymore, not really, so he doesn't have any real obligation to do so. He certainly doesn't have much of a desire to do it, either.
And yet, here he is. Waiting. And glowering.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact Tavros is so utterly bad at this it's almost physically painful to witness, and given that Darkleer spends most of his time in the workshop, he can't not witness it. And the boredom... that probably has something to do with it, too. Darkleer was never bored, before coming here. Maybe it's because he's never truly alone, the way he's used to, that it invites boredom.
Whatever the reason he'll eventually decide on, here he is, waiting to see Tavros put on his show and feeling irritatingly at ease about the idea. Vaguely, he wonders if he's ill.]
Setting:
Format: Action.
Summary: Darkleer agreed to help Tavros make a weapon. Because frankly, watching the kid try on his own is pretty damn painful in itself.
Warnings: Darkleer being Darkleer. Also probably Tavros abuse in some fashion.
[This place does weird things to a troll's head, Darkleer thinks, and it's not just about Equius little fit a few days prior. It's probably because he's been out of touch with reality and society for so long, or maybe the mutant - and he will damn well call him "the mutant" in his mind if he wants to - is starting to wear him down, but he can't really muster much scorn for the younger trolls - that is, every other fucking troll on this place - not even for the lowbloods. Especially the lowbloods.
He's pretty sure the damn scumblood used to annoy him a lot more, Before. He doesn't think of Before often, if he can help it. But given that he's here, waiting for the laughably pathetic wiggler whose efforts he's agreed to oversee, instead of working on his own projects, he can't help but wonder a little. As a highblood, if Darkleer still considered himself such, it would be not only his duty but his privilege to herd the lower castes in the right direction. So on the smallest technicality, he can almost make sense of his willingness to put up with the brownblood stuttering disaster. On the other hand, as a blood traitor, Darkleer isn't a highblood anymore, not really, so he doesn't have any real obligation to do so. He certainly doesn't have much of a desire to do it, either.
And yet, here he is. Waiting. And glowering.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact Tavros is so utterly bad at this it's almost physically painful to witness, and given that Darkleer spends most of his time in the workshop, he can't not witness it. And the boredom... that probably has something to do with it, too. Darkleer was never bored, before coming here. Maybe it's because he's never truly alone, the way he's used to, that it invites boredom.
Whatever the reason he'll eventually decide on, here he is, waiting to see Tavros put on his show and feeling irritatingly at ease about the idea. Vaguely, he wonders if he's ill.]
no subject
... a compliment?
Tavros' ears perk up, and there's a smile on his face. It's growing slowly. ]
... You really mean it?
no subject
[Didja order a side dish of super sarcasm with your meal? 'cause you sure as hell just got one. Darkleer bares his teeth at Tavros.]
Get moving, boy.
[Darkleer doesn't have time for your feelings nonsense. 8|]