not interested in deep conversations

[highbloods.livejournal.com]

Characters: The Grand Highblood + anyone
Setting: Cafeteria
Format: Any
Summary: The Grand Highblood is not amused by the food but whatevs?
Warnings: The Grand Highblood.

It's almost comical how the highblood is hunched over at a table that seems a bit small for him and eating a bowl of oatmeal(????). His face doesn't show his opinions of the sludge, but he doesn't seem to be hating or loving it. Surprisingly neutral, which is saying something if you happened to know the nature of this particular highblood.

He's pretty distracted, so you'll have a 50/50 chance of getting on his good side or his don't-give-a-fuck side. Then again, he is pretty unpredictable.

Do you dare approacheth the grazing adult troll in his not-so-natural habitat?

Comments

[weirderscience.livejournal.com]

When the Grand Highblood turned around, he'll find Mao smiling, leering almost. He hadn't even touched his food. And the longer he looks at the creature, well... rocket launchers in this one's kneecaps are definitely a possibility.

[highbloods.livejournal.com]

That's a strange look. At least, for someone so small and not at all intimidating looking. The highblood never got leers from anyone aside from perhaps a small handful. He could count the exact amount of them on just one hand.

"If you all got something to motherfucking say, SAY IT, MOTHERFUCKER." He stopped eating for now, curious as to what the bespectacled boy would say. His interactions with the humans have varied from Typical to What the Fuck is Going On. Experimenting through small talk seemed like a good idea at the moment.

[weirderscience.livejournal.com]

You asked for it.

"...How old are you?" Mao asks, master of tact as ever. Maybe he had been in something of a... rut before. But, man. He thought that all of those gray skinned things were short (just a bit taller than him), but this guy is... what, eight, nine feet tall?

[highbloods.livejournal.com]

Welp, at least it wasn't a hard question. The highblood blinks slowly, as if seriously considering one of two things, one of them being maim the shit out of this kid, but he doesn't. Instead, he actually tries to recall just exactly how old he is, and wonders if this human (of course, he doesn't know Mao isn't a human) would understand any of his obviously superior troll vernacular.

"It's been a motherfucking long time since I all even thought about my age, wriggler." He rubs his chin thoughtfully, and shrugs. "MAYBE I'M MOTHERFUCKIN 10 SWEEPS OLD. MAYBE I'M OLDER. Who the fuck knows?"

[weirderscience.livejournal.com]

"Ten sweeps? Can't you people at least give me a normal age?" Even the demons used human years -- it was just easier. But of course these people had to be special and make up their own stupid unit of temporal measurement! (Never mind that they were nowhere near Earth or any other world that used Earth years...)

[highbloods.livejournal.com]

He barked out a laugh. "THAT IS ALL A MOTHERFUCKING NORMAL AGE, MOTHERFUCKER! What all manner of motherfucking unit of measurement would YOU BE USING HERE?"

[weirderscience.livejournal.com]

"Years! Everybody uses years." He paused. "...Well, everybody except a bunch of gray-skinned freaks, that is."

Pictured: cruisin' for a bruisin'.

[highbloods.livejournal.com]

If Mao had been close enough, the highblood would've just simply reached out and tried to crush his small head in his hands. Unfortunately, he had to use some energy for some flash stepping. He didn't particularly enjoy being called a freak when he knew and believed that he was a superior being within his culture.

"MAYBE, MOTHERFUCKER..." Suddenly hair is billowing all over the place in front of the small demon, and he was face to face with the grinning Grand Highblood. "You should be all motherfucking keeping your alien ways to your motherfucking rude little self."