towerofanimus | the right mood

Entry tags:

the right mood

characters: grand highblood & summoner

setting: floor thirteen - gothic cathedral church thang

format: action

summary: he's not...trying...to help, per se.

warnings: swearing, possible violence, promiscuous behaviour, etc... you know, the usual.

[ the mood of this floor is something the grand highblood is more used to, and the religious theme is a nice little addition to it. not that he knows how earth churches and shit look like, but he just had a feeling that's what it all was about. he just felt that it was. his feelings can be pretty accurate, especially when it comes to stuff he's into.

to his surprise, he spots a certain someone that he didn't expect to find here. as much as he doesn't want to admit it, his cardiovascular system suddenly starts working double time, a grin spreading across his face. ]

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[there's a bit of satisfaction at the reaction, and relishes the bit of tension between them -- it's kind of sad how much he clings to that, almost, he thinks -- but then he furrows his brows again when the summoner provides very little in retaliation. what is this!!!

welp, as long as he's asking, might as well answer. maybe it'll provide some reason as to what the shitblood is doing here.]

Can't you motherfucking tell? This place practically motherfucking reeks of some form of religion, even if I don't all get the alien's ways of things. Never fucking been here either, so it doesn't motherfucking hurt to get my exploration on, now does it?

[...you surprise him Highblood. Here he thought all you did was run around and kill people, but now you're saying you have an exploratory spirit too??? MIRACLES]

[And okay, barely a tiny hint of that snark actually becomes a thing in his head, but it's... something anyway. Sits up and takes another look around the room, looking for this supposed reek... But the only sign of religion he's ever encountered has been the subjugglators' face paint, so... he doesn't... see it. It's just a big ass room to him]

Guess not... How can you, tell...?

It's a motherfucking feeling, motherfucker. You don't got to be all seeing that shit to know.

[He practically growls that out, seeing as it's such a silly sounding concept. To just know and feel that something was made for a certain something, but he's a man of faith. Feelings are all he's got when it comes to believing in the word of the Messiahs! There is no print here, no symbol of his religion in any of his belongings aside from the paint, so that's all he's got. Oh and murdering too, yeah, that's definitely still a thing that's a part of his religion.]

What the fuck are you doing here is probably the motherfucking question.

[Yes that is incredibly stupid sounding, and he just... sort of looks at him... for a bit. That's it? Really? It's just a feeling... That is dumb. Religion is dumb if you're the best example of it he can find]

I told you. I'm uh... trying to listen.

[rolls his eyes! you're dumb! god.]

You didn't tell me shit. [but that's only because he couldn't hear him. he starts to walk around him, sort of half circling him only because the pews are in the way.] Listen for what?

[Oh good. Well now that he's up off him, the Summoner returns his attention to the front again. Waiting for the voice to come back from wherever it gets scared off to when other people approach. Kind of vaguely, he imagines it is p dangerous to not be watching the Highblood try to circle him, but... he just.... can't seem to care. Which is no longer surprising to him. Whatever. It is what it is. Death seems quite a lot less scary when he is without purpose like this]

Someone talks up there. Most days. Unless uh... people get too close. [Pointed wing twitch. You drove his minor obsession away, you suck]

[He stops long enough to direct his gaze to the front, noting the obvious silence. Then turns back to him, looking at him like he's trying to study him.]

Oh yeah? And just what the motherfuck do you think he's all trying to say? You can't even hear the motherfucker.

[Ventures closer, his steps slow and deliberate, sort of brushing past him and going behind him. He eases into the pew directly behind the Summoner, just so he can be out of his sight, and this places him far away enough from the front that the voice starts droning on again.]

[Oh. Oh. His skin kind of prickles as the Highblood brushes him, and he... remembers... a lot of things actually. Their last meeting. He made a promise to himself didn't he? Yeah, he did]

[...hm. Too bad it just doesn't seem as important now. He was really looking forward to it at the time. Shifts a little once the Highblood has settled behind him, slumping forward again and listening now that the voice is back]

I know. [That's... all he says LSJDLFJ Of course he can't really hear it, but spiraling uselessly around a voice he can't make out is better then spiraling uselessly around his own existential crisis, okay okay]

[he huffs irritably at the short answer, and the fact that the mumbling voice has more of the summoner's attention than his own, well, pisses him off.

He waits for a second.

Maybe a little longer, he can't really recall, and he reaches out to grab one of the Summoner's horn right by the middle of it. With an insistent tug, he makes sure that he can see the rebel's face, leaning in and growling lowly in warning. He doesn't offer any words, but with little warning, he yanks again to pull him off the pew and throw him onto the ground.]

[WOW RUDE?????]

[He actually doesn't react much to the first tug except to grab the pew for balance, staring rather blankly up into that growl. Except then he's tossed on the ground??? And for a good long moment, he looks pissed]

[But it fades as quickly as it came, and he averts his gaze, pushing himself away and trying to get to his feet. He's moving kinda slowly? Not like he's hurt, just like it takes all his motivation just to get his feet under him and stand]

What was, that for...

[There's that spark of relief again, but aurrghghh! It's gone when the Summoner goes back to being some emotionless wreck or something he's not even sure and man, he's just getting angrier looking at him. He won't allow the Summoner to stand, and he stomps a foot down dangerously close to his body, looming over him with a look of murderous intent in his eyes. This was becoming...dangerously...platonic.

A large hand comes down and pins him down by a shoulder, his claws digging into his skin, but not enough to pierce just yet. It's just a reminder saying, if you move, it will hurt.]

You, motherfucker. Are getting all up on my nerves today, even more than motherfucking usual. Shit's just not right, you know? To think, that I even had a motherfucking working cell in my thinkpan, because clearly I was all sorts of motherfucking WRONG. You had me there for a while, motherfucker, with your bullshit revolutionary machismo and all that other shit. I motherfucking thought--

[and arrghghjfh he can't finish, so he slugs the Summoner in the face. Come on, do something!]

[Okay, there are... little flickers of annoyance all over his face throughout this. When the Highblood nearly stomps on him. When he gets pinned. When he doesn't just break his skin. The threat of it is the most infuriating thing he has come across in quite some time for some reason. Or... no. He knows exactly the reason, mind turning back to that promise again, but he just... can't. He can't]

[All his little doubts and anxieties are murmuring at him. He can't win. He won't. The highbloods kill them all in the end and there's nothing he can do to stop it. He wonders if it's the Grand Highblood himself that finally does it--]

[And then everything HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER JESUS CHRIST. His reaction is completely instinctual, the short startled barkof pain, and the way he recoils away from the hand on his shoulder, threat or no. He lashes out, unpinned arm taking a wild swing at the retreating fist while he aims a kick at the joint of one of the Highblood's legs]

Get off!

[Nope nope, not this time. Even with each strike that lands, he still manages to keep his hold on the Summoner. He's just a little too angry right now to realize that the Summoner was finally reacting, thinking that maybe it's a little too late for him to change his mind.

No one made a fool out of the highblood like this. There are some things he could wave off, or just laugh about, but fucking with his feelings just didn't sit right with him. Especially since the object of his blackrom affection is a lowblood rebel. He was taking a leap of faith here, you know! He was setting double standards, seeing as if he had caught wind of any of his Subjugglators consorting with lowbloods -- especially in romance -- they would've been culled so fucking quick.

So in a sense, he's more angry with himself, but takes it all out on the Summoner. He falls to one knee as it's kicked painfully, but he brings his fist down like a hammer onto the Summoner's chest.]

[WOW STOP HE IS INCREDIBLY UNIMPRESSED WITH THIS. If the Highblood would just back the fuck up for a second he'd see that YEAH still being held down IS PISSING HIM OFF. And there is a kind of violent fury in his eyes like there hasn't been since the Summoner killed him. He is writhing, fighting to get out from under his hand, putting long claw marks into the arm holding him. He will turn it to ribbons if he has to, and from the look on his face, it's probably obvious that that is his goal here]

[At least until...]

[That]

[That was really unnecessary. There are definitely a couple things that make a deeply unpleasant crunching sound under that impact, and for a second his whole body just shuts down. He probably looks pretty dead there, until he draws a sudden, pained breath. Gasping and choking and... There's blood at his mouth and he's... crying? Probably mostly because of the pain, but hell yeah there are tears caught in the corner of his eyes]

[This wasn't supposed to happen. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want the Highblood to kill him because that means whatever it was that was happening between them must be over. Right? He doesn't know. He doesn't know how anything works anymore. He's just... lost. Fuck, maybe he is better off dead. His voice is... tiny, even for this room: ]

Stop...

[Oh, the burning scraping sensations running up his arms register all right, but his grip doesn't lessen. He feels satisfied with the initial impact of his fist against bone, the familiar cracking sound is music to his ears, and everything feels normal. Just another Subjugglator killing a lowblood, and he might as well have confirmed the Summoner's fear right then by raising his fist once more.

Then the tiny voice cuts through the oppressive air of the floor, and he stops. His eyes, blindingly red, suddenly fade back to its normal color and he stares at the damage he's done. It shouldn't have effected him so, but it does. He lowers his hand slowly, bringing it down onto the ground next to the Summoner. A sort of...cold look replaces the earlier one of rage, and bares his teeth slightly.]

Hey, shhh.

[The other hand still keeping him pinned down, he leans over him and flicks his tongue out against the corner of his mouth to lap at the blood. It's done really quick, and he soon pulls back, quickly getting to his feet.]

Not even motherfucking worth killing anymore.

[Oh he...]

[Is not sure he's happy the Highblood didn't just put him out of his misery. He is for sure definitely not happy about that cold... nothing of a look. It's kind of overwhelming, the way it feels like the whole of him is splitting apart after so long without feeling anything]

[No no, please don't go, please don't say that. You are breaking his heart, even though he doesn't realize that's what this feeling is]

[Slowly moves to push himself up, shivering at the hollow pain in his chest turning every movement into a struggle. Wipes the blood away from his mouth, rubs at his eyes, a sort of futile and rather childish attempt to make himself look presentable. For a moment it is probably obvious this is his first caliginous anything, and he is truly lost on what to do next. Not apologize. He knows that. But trying to fight back now might seem desperate, even if desperate is exactly what he is at the moment. He doesn't know. How do you make it up to your... whatever the Highblood is to him, when you've disappointed them so completely]

[Looks up at him, mouth parted like he wants to say something but just... can't. Can't find the words. Fuck]

[It's a good thing that the highblood has a hard time feeling pity, because this is a truly pitiful sight. Instead, he feels disgust, and his lips peel back into a sneer. There's...very little the Summoner can do in his current state that would help change the highblood's mind, but yeah, trying to fight now would've come off a little desperate.

Sure, the highblood didn't have the highest standards if he hated someone enough, so even a couple of mistakes here and there wouldn't have gotten such a severe reaction from him. But do anything that would normally stir feelings bordering on pity? He just couldn't handle that sort of behavior, especially from his kismesis.

He lingers just for a moment, his expression only hardening. That slack-jawed, mid-sentence look is...not a good look on the rebel. It's just sad, and he can't believe himself. He can't believe he even considered accepting this lowblood trash as a kismesis. There had been such potential, too. It was so perfect, that he had been almost willing to look over the fact that they were practically on the opposite sides of the spectrum. What a waste.]

I all motherfucking misjudged you, motherfucker. Just lie the fuck back down on the ground where you all belong. [He grinds his teeth, obviously a bit torn, but the hesitation is barely noticeable as he turns to leave.]

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the right mood

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