thecapitol | When you were young you were the king of carrot flowers

She could be anyone from the back, gilded horn tips peeking over a lion's worth of hair, done up in layers that spread out like a mane. She isn't, once she half turns, gray arms sheathed in transparent green fabric. Not in the usual leathers and furs, they've found some inspiration in her lusus and layers of pale spring green linen fall in clean lines under her hair. When she turns, there's gems and gold at her ears, her arms, her neck, and a gold leash is wrapped around her hand.

Beyond her is what might have been mistaken for a furry white couch but is more obviously a white lion, two tails flicking and eyes narrowed to silent slits at his approach. A muzzle traps any roar and it looks like the pair of them were waiting for something. Perhaps permission to go outside, since they seem to be near the door.

"Can I help y..." She stops and blinks, unsure of what she's seeing, "...Are you um--are you new?"

Look for nip and find the cat. Kurloz's face lights up as he forgets all of what he was originally searching for. He would sing his praises to the Lord, if only he could. She's beautiful, a true mother fuckin glory for his sinner's gaze to behold, as she ever is, his wicked kittybitch. Even where she is different. For she is most surely different. She speaks soft too, where his Meulin speaks her parables so they may so then ring.

No matter.

With great flourish he bows low. He sinks then to a knee, a hand over his heart, then gesturing up to her. He rises back to his feet and begins to move his hands about in frantic gestures. Would she know the language that had been made between them? He shall find out.

Edited 2014-04-17 07:10 (UTC)

She pulls back a step and if he watches, he can watch the realization crest over her, disbelief turning into shades of pity. Not loving pity, not romantic pity, but pity for a boy who is finding the person he cared about does not remember him, nor feels the same way.

His hands fly in movements she can't follow and she tries for a moment, to understand but his hands dance and any attempt is lost. In her desperation, she reaches out and stills his hands. Behind her, her lusus makes a noise, between a growl and a hiss.

"I don't--I don't know what you're--Your mouth, what happened to you?" She hisses, a sympathetic noise, and she would sink to her knees if he wasn't already taller than her. The sandals add nothing to her height.

It appeared then he would be speaking to no one during his time here. Well, it wasn't as if that were new.

When she stills his hands, he stops them as if he were commanded. His eyelids fall shut and his head lowers some, though his smile does not vanish.

He removes his hand from the cradle she's made for them. He puts his fist to a flat palm, a singular sign he doesn't expect her to understand, but makes anyway. Honk. His fingers touch his lips and gesture outward. Voice. He smashes his hands over his ears. Then with one hand he makes a zipping motion over his lips, smiling again after. Finally his hands come to rest lightly cradling hers as she did his moments before.

Dear sweet Meulin. My mage. Thine self need not let such vexations press. They are not of your mother fuckin concern.

Edited 2014-04-17 07:37 (UTC)

She watches his signs and there is only the barest understanding on her face. Speaking--hearing, hearing something loud perhaps? Then closing his mouth--like a zipper, like he did it himself. She doesn't really understand, how could she, when she doesn't know the events that he's gesturing about. But she furrows her brow. He's the Initiate's other self, like Kankri is Signless, and she wonders again what their relationship was but she can guess.

"I don't really understand but...you did that to yourself? Doesn't it..." She trails off, of course it probably hurts, or did hurt, maybe the holes have healed or--she suppresses a visceral shudder at the idea of that feeling. She doesn't really know how to feel right now, with his smile wide and thread tight at the edges, knowing how conflicted she feels about the other version of him, how fragile any truce there is.

"I'm not--your Meulin. I don't remember. Kankri does, I don't. I don't even know how I knew you--Your Kankri said we were close?"

Doesn't it hurt. He snorts in a way that might be a laugh. He shakes his head. It doesn't hurt anymore. It stopped hurting some time ago, save for the occasional ghost sensation in his lost tongue. The threads don't truly hurt at all.

To the second question he nods. He holds his hands over his heart, shapes his fingers into the flushed symbol, then clasps his hands together. He signs a quick few things that she won't understand but mean the same thing, between his Meulin and himself.

Now, he's curious. Kankri remembers? Is there any reason he shouldn't? Kankri had been there with the twelve of them. He doesn't much like to know less than anyone on such things, yet here he feels like he does. He tilts his head in question.

Edited 2014-04-17 17:54 (UTC)

She was right. She steps back against her lusus, taking comfort in the white fur under her hands and the strength there beneath the soft. It's not unexpected really. She knew close--and the way he had edged around it, it had had to have been a quadrant. She just never really gave it weight. It was too real here, with him in front of her. It was real and unavoidable.

"We don't--you and the Initiate, you are the same but not, two different lives." She finds her hands gesturing more, perhaps in response to his, "Me and your Meulin. Kankri and the one I call the Signless. He remembers things--Signless--that I don't." She hesitates, then places a hand over her heart, "He's my matesprit. The other you and I--we don't...didn't...we don't really get along. We're trying more for Terezi's sake but we still aren't...there's a lot of pain to get past to ever become allies, let alone friends."

Before the last arena she might have run, hid from his, hissed her betrayal and left to find Signless or Terezi. It was a measure of change that she was still there.

He watches her take a step back to her lusus. Perhaps a different lusus, he thinks, than the one his Meulin had around.

He listens, as she did for him. He does so solemn and calm. There's a discovery there-- the seer had power after all, it appeared. He understands too that there is difference even in their likeness.

He only experiences a twinge, when she tells she's matesprits with this other Kankri. A dark stirring of something takes him by surprise and he pours over the feeling with curiosity, letting it wash over him just for the sake of experiencing it. Interesting. He imagines tightening a grip on a person not here, letting the feeling run its course, and then with a violence, he buries it to where it might as well not exist. The holes in the world where all the lost things go. He doesn't let any of it show on his face in the slightest.

He presses his palms together, and gives a nod with closed eyes. He continues to try for appearing welcoming to her. He at least is a friend, is he not, sister? If he and his alternate-- foolish of him, to have passed over such a loyal and attentive one-- were so different, then this was true, surely.

Edited 2014-04-18 00:03 (UTC)

Pressed back against her lusus, she sits, limp at the shoulders as her lusus shifts to hold her up. There's intelligence in those eyes as they stare him down, then shift closed, nudging Meulin into life again. She doesn't know what else to say. Her regal outfit doesn't suit her, she thinks. It's loose and flowing but still confines somehow. She preferred the furs and leather.

"What--um...you must be here because you're his ... family." She pauses, thankful for the brief moments that her other self did not show up. Facing a past version of others seems hard enough, she can't imagine seeing herself.

"Well. Only my lusus for me." She's stilted, unsure, not like herself at all. She hates how awkward she is, stumbling over her words, "My descendant was here. Already. Nepeta. The other me isn't here. I'm sorry--I mean, I wouldn't wish her here with all of this. I don't wish you here with this but I don't think they'll make you fight."

She turns away, fingers dragging through her hair and nails grazing her face, and she sighs. Her eyes flutter shut, gold liner shining over the green eyeshadow swirled in patterns above her lashes. They stay shut for several breaths before she turns back to him.

"I'm not good at this. The past and the lives people lived and how different everyone was--is. And I don't know anything that happened then, save that it was a better place. Honestly, I'd rather be out hunting with him than in this dress and in this place."

A rare moment of honesty as she remembers this person won't be here long enough to take advantage of her. If he would. If he would take advantage of the other version of his matesprit.

Meulin has a decsendant? Of course she would. A shared ancestor and descendant. Hm. Perhaps he'd see her. He's not sure he cares enough to seek her out yet when there is a Meulin before him.

She doesn't think they'll make him fight, she says. The better for him. Although it could be quite funny to surprise someone with what he's learned to do with clubs in the past sweep and a half. Nothing like what his alternate could do, but he should like think he's not too bad. But again, it would be conducive to very little. These people weren't game imps.

He watches her struggle and falter. There's a light in her that's gone out, he thinks. How sad. He imagines his Meulin a bright dancing blaze to hold in the hands. This Meulin is a struggling spark, persistent and no intent to go out soon, but not dancing as she could be.

Kurloz brightens his expression suddenly, to show an idea come to him. He taps both hands to just below his collar. He points at her with one hand then back to himself again. He mimes hiding, by holding his hand up over his face, then moving them aside again. Then he makes a 'stay put' gesture, spinning a finger to get her to turn around, and without waiting for her to do so, he proceeds to slip off behind the nearest thing he can hide behind-- a very big chair. Hunt him. Good old fashioned hide and mother fuckin seek. Something light, loose, foolish, but perhaps it will win her humor and trust. And just to add to it, he peeks out from behind just to see if she is looking and will take the bait.

She's confused almost immediately, is he playing the prey? Perhaps once, a long time ago, her lusus had done this with her, hiding things for her to find, another step on the way to becoming independent. Not a game but teaching. She glances back at them. The green eyes seem just as confused, a little wary, but not overtly aggressive. More curious than anything else.

She clasps her hands behind her back, letting the leash trail from her fingertips--as if she needed it, and steps after him. As she nears him, she calls out.

"You aren't very smart prey. A hopbeast at best and even they have the sense to keep still."

He bursts into strangled snickers, tucking his knees closer.

When she gets close enough, he lifts himself out and puts on a pout, batting his lashes. He is the smartest of prey and he is oh so hurt by such cruel accusation, Meulin. See how hurt he is?

He raises his pointer finger up. Why, sister, this is just the beginning, see here his excellent prey skills. But first she must close her eyes. He points at her then covers his own eyes, before turning and starting off.

Perhaps this way she might actually look for him if he hides well enough. And on the plus side too, if he gets pounced for his efforts, he will be well used to it. The next place to hide is... behind a door he thinks.

Edited 2014-04-20 22:35 (UTC)

Everything he does catches her off guard. So playful, so much the opposite of the Initiate, she doesn't know what to think of him. Playing hurt, the smiles, he's...so strange. She wants to pull his stitches free, hear him say something, ask him what happened to make him so different from that other indigo.

Instead she closes her eyes. She's so confused, so off balance, she doesn't know what else to do besides play along. Her hands clench at her side, she wants Terezi, she wants Kankri--the small one, the one who might understand. When she opens her eyes, she looks around quietly, unsure all over again.

HE doesn't smell like much in particular but she looks for signs, a scuff in a carpet, the imprint of his heel--how does he walk in those. She finds one, then another, her lusus trailing behind her and sniffing the air.

If she pulled his stitches free she'd not get a word. She'd not get the barest noise. He keep his lips shut and she would never see the tongue he has no more of. And if she asked him what made them different, he would not tell. Couldn't. She'd have to ask another.

As for how he walks in heels? Why that one is easy.

Miracles.

When she finally finds him, as she inevitably does he puts his hands up in the 'you got me' gesture. He smiles down at her lusus. Then he looks back to her. His wonder has got the best of him. He points at her then taps his ears.

It's easy to find him, easy to walk over. He's the easiest prey, doesn't run, doesn't hide very far and his distinctive tracks--well she's aware she'll have no trouble with this. Even if she hummed to herself, didn't listen to where he went or try to catch a scent in the air, he would be easy to find because he wanted to be found. Simplest game in the world.

His hands catch her attention again though, moving in gestures she recognizes this time. Her--ears? She touches her ears, wondering if somethings wrong with them.

"Is there something--I know they put things in my ears, hve to punch the holes in them too after ever arena." It was annoying at best.

For a second, just a moment, he actually feels something... A dread. Could it be? Even a whole lifetime later, and still she was cursed by him? His scream, beholden to the Lord's call, still marked upon her sorry husk?

But then he finds she's mistaken what he means. That alone is indicative. If it had stayed, she would know, instantly, as to what he was referring to. And that's a good thing except... except...

No, she was happier as she was. He had her closer, his Meulin. But more importantly, she was closer to the Lord as she was. As he was. The both of them were better this way, part of the faithful, part of the family. It was as the Lord willed it. As by Him it had been mother fuckin willed. Not a tragedy. A triumph.

He beams at the Meulin before him and shakes his head and hand. It is of no consequence, let thy queries lay forgotten.

Edited 2014-04-23 16:26 (UTC)

If she'd known what he'd thought--that was she was better deaf, better that way--she would have run. Walked away and never looked back at the disturbing version of the Initiate that another version of her loved.

She doesn't know, can't read minds, can't even read his expression because he hides it so well. So she simply smiles hesitantly back.

"I know they look strange. Only higher bloods really wear jewelry in their ears or fins back home."

She still thinks he's referring to her earrings. That's precious.

He brings both hands up to his cheeks to express such.

Then he reaches out really slow, seeing if she might let him touch the pierced in pieces. Of course piercings were for anyone on Beforus. Meulin was only one notch lower than the pierced tattoo-ist Porrim. Not so truly amazing to see in his case but it's easy to pretend.

Her smile is awkward now, a little too thin. Is he mocking her? She doesn't know and when he reaches for her piercings, her body screams to pull away. To not let him that close, because for all he claims they were in love--or that he, at least, loved her, she doesn't know him. He's not the right version and neither is she really. They're odd and off and wrong.

"Um--did you want to. See?" She doesn't move, frozen by her indecision, by her curiosity about this stranger and the life he represented, and all her instincts telling her to not trust blindly.

He spots the shift. Even on Beforus, an indigo could not easily go without the noticing of fear. Not when one can feel it all around.

He slows his movement even more, hands pulling back some. He nods, throwing in a thumbs up. Simple and to the point. He smiles soft as he can, to portray no harm, but perhaps some sympathy, or maybe apology.

She can't help her hesitance, even as he pulls back and away. He's sweet, she thinks, but something nags at her, an inherent distrust of indigos perhaps. Her hands rise to her earrings again, quickly, before dipping down to her side. Behind her, a growl rises.

"I'm sorry--lus' shh." She turns, using that excuse to quietly reflect for a moment. A scratch under the jaw and a few whispered words manage to subdue the growl for the moment.

"I'm just a little on guard. My lusus never made it long enough for me to have close friends--well not one who touched me. Forgive me if I try to make sure they don't bite someone's head off."

Kurloz folds his hands over his heart. He gives a look of sympathy. An expression almost sad. Then he looks to the lusus, peering it over. It can't be the same as Meulin's was can it? Who could say.

He starts to lower himself down to his knees, supporting himself with a hand before settling. Then he lifts that same hand slow and turns it over, not quite extending, but an invitation. He doesn't stare into the eye direct, so as not to challenge, just like he was taught.

Look see? Making peace.

She watches dubiously. This cannot possibly go well. Surely, her lusus senses her unease, that why they were growling at all. That and protectiveness. Her fingers curl in the base of the mane, loose but ready to tighten. Ready to stop if a silly Beforan troll tries to gets himself bit.

The growl starts back up almost at once. Her lusus seems equally as dubious of this proffered hand and the growl only changes pitch now, higher perhaps. Suspiciously her lusus sniffs--then sneezes.

The growl keeps going but he is patient. He waits and waits, for that moment of 'yes' and then he can give those scritches like what he knows.

He blinks. It sneezed in his hand...

Gross.

He makes a face at first. Then slowly, he makes a noise like a snort. His shoulders shake and he keeps making breathy wordless noises. But if she listens close, from the way he does it, it will sound sure enough like laughing. Or maybe crying, but there are no tears to be seen.

A feline to the core, her lusus seems offended by that reaction and pulls back. A few licks to their paw and the growl becomes a little softer. It doesn't really go away, but at least they don't seem in immediate danger of the indigo becoming lunch.

"...Are you laughing or upset?" She squinted. Sorry, she is not well versed in the many moods and mannerisms of one Kurloz Makara. Either version.

Re: [Kurloz] Around the tower

carnagecarnival - 2014-06-19 04:28 (UTC) - Expand