The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-07-31 03:59 am
carnagecarnival) wrote in thecapitol2014-07-31 03:59 am
Bring all your things and we will build a pyre, find resurrection in the flames
Who| Initiate and OPEN
What| Initiate attempts to Carnival Solo.
Where| Training Center
When| Just before Penny-plot, after arrivals.
WARNINGS| Language. Blood/self harm. Religious fanaticism.
NOTES| Avoidance of ICP mention would be ideal! The mentioning of such to him could make him unplayable. Please understand this if you tag in, thank you. <3
What| Initiate attempts to Carnival Solo.
Where| Training Center
When| Just before Penny-plot, after arrivals.
WARNINGS| Language. Blood/self harm. Religious fanaticism.
NOTES| Avoidance of ICP mention would be ideal! The mentioning of such to him could make him unplayable. Please understand this if you tag in, thank you. <3
A---
His fake glass armor had been smashed, glittering rainbow and indigo all over the floor. Along with all his collected animal culls, the bonework done off them all, gone and crushed. By the time he could be bothered to deal with it all, a good amount of time had passed and it was long too late to be angry, impressed or even recognize and acknowledge the destruction that had been caused as the vengeance it had been. It took ever more time to hunt more birds in the parks and rats in the streets. From Stephen, he'd found a way to get all the Not-Quite Special-Stardust he could hold in his hands and then some, as well as some various colored powders. More greasepaint, extra paint; he knew where to find both those things. Plantlife to stand in symbology of life would be easy enough as well as the candles and incense he'd collected. And of course, sufficient soda was important.
He knows, in his head, that it is unlikely, even advised, that there be any more but himself to celebrate that of the Mirthful, but in his heart, he knows too he cannot bear skimping so shamefully any more than he has just by being here, without the tent curtains around. His plan is in motion now and he will not hesitate in its continuance. He's losing crutch after crutch, he needs something, and the Messiahs have long since been owed their due.
And so, on his own, the Initiate makes to craft a Carnival celebration worthy of the Holy Two's names. Finally on the decided day, he gathers all what he's collected in a bundle of sheet and carries it with him down to the training center. He dresses in a way that will evoke a proper subjugglator just enough without being such. He takes to his wall firstlike and all along it he paints the wicked pictures. He paints it and pretends there is carnival curtain around. On the sheet he lays down on the floor, he splatters every color of blood there is, and then some with paint. His bare feet track the color and he knows, later, he will have to clean this whole goddamn place lest he deign to allowing an avox to do it-- and he doesn't. It will be worth it. He set ups candles on it and incense, lighting it all up. A Dark Carnival ain't all darkness exclusive.
B-----
What is one of the most important thing to any proper Carnival celebration? Music, of course. But it meant he was lacking, severely. He could play no instruments, owned none. He had no one else to play for him. And he, with his voice the way all it is, could not sing.
But he could do one thing. Something what all had been done by his fellow Subjugglators in their times of Mirth, as opposed to mission. He pulls a bo staff off the weapon racks, along with a smaller sort of club what may do. Alone, he wouldn't get the great and grand rhythms created otherwise, but he could do well enough.
Through such, he could practice the spin and strife with such a weapon, as like dance and war got on merging together, between the taps for song. Sometimes he lets the staff carry him up and lift him off the ground. There's not the faintest trace of fear or hesitance in his dance.
Perhaps someone will join him.
C----
Juggling is something he, of course, can do. Ain't a Subjugglator alive what can't, he's certain. They'd never make the troops if they couldn't. But, as is natural of a right and proper performance, he intends to do much more than that.
He grabs clubs at first, all initial. Starts with the standard, three, does his rounds with ease and grace. Then settles them for a trade. He grabs blades, sharp and smiling with promise. He tosses them up one after the other, grinning wide with eyes lit up wild. It's easy. It ain't a thing at all. He kicks up a club with his foot and sets that up into the motion too. This is no training round, it will be clear. This is pure performance and he is good at it.
He is more than ready to catch and deal with anything new tossed up in, and when he is done, he can sink the blades in the training center dummy standing just short ways away. He's sure to slip a few risky dares in there as well. Like catching the handle of one in his teeth.
Later, naturally, will come contortionism, another thing thing at which he excels. He thinks after such, he may retrieve the bo staff and settle by the wall for another round of simple acrobatics, in place of the Grief Trapeze and High wire.
D---
The small blade he's grabbed cuts into his flesh with purpose. He could bite his palms just as easily as he's always done, but that wouldn't be as nearly as significant in the scheme of it. He lifts his palms upward, eyes closed as he allows them to drip. His legs are folded upon the color marked sheet, his candles and incense surrounding him. Before him a bowl of water is set. "Blood of the family," He says, and he squeezes both hands before the water, the indigo blooming in its wake. He picks up the bones of the creatures he hunted and collected. "BONE OF FLIGHT AND WISH," He says. In his bloodied hands he crushes them, grinding them down to a glimmering dust which he holds in his hands and then gently blows into the water's surface. He reaches for some of the glitter he'd gotten and tosses it up, letting it scatter around and over him, on the sheet and also into the water. He pulls the candle and incense close, and waves his hands to waft and draw up the smoke, moving them like in such he can shapes their form and design. Then, finally, he reaches into the bowl and with the glittering wet purple mass, he puts color over his face paint, two small not-quite-swirl marks over each cheek. He weaves the color and glimmer in the darks of his paint's design.
He holds his hands out, all color covered. With eyes still closed, he speaks like there is an audience there, even if there is not.
"Celestial bindings taut, manacles mystic, shrouded by the cloak
THAT IS THE ILLUSION OF THE GREAT'S SPINNERS SPRUNG FROM THINE MOST HOLY OF FIRST CREATIONS
and know that the shroud is painted in the blood honoring of their children and we the first of the ready
WE MUST SEEK OF IT IN THE FRAYING AND PARTING OF BITS BEAT AND LOST TO THE FLUTTER FLICKER
we must See the fuck within and to the being of our souls motherfucking forsaken so
SO IT WAS MOTHERFUCKING PREACHED ONCE AND, SAY TRUE, DIDST THE MANY GET THE BOB OF NUG LIKE CORES TO GAME SHOW
Thus the wicked mystics did reveal one what as to preach, enfolded too in the sickest midnight
'LOOK,' THE GATHERER DID SPEAKETH. 'HAVE OF YOUR GANDERBULBS A GLORIOUS FEAST AS WHAT ALL BE HERE'
Oculars burst to the sight for in such the stars were seen clear as the dawning morn what sears
IN THE HOLLOWS WHERE ALL THEIR SOULS DIDST CRY, WAS THE DUST POURED SO THAT THEY MIGHT KNOW SUCH
and of this dust was every tying torture that so did keep them still
FROM THE BONES GROUND UP HOWEVER THEY DID SO MOTHERFUCKING GET AS TO UP AND FIND
in such god had touched and blessed them each and every individual,
THE MOST RIGHTEOUS OF GIFTS, THE GREAT DELIVERANCE, IF ONLY THEY SHOULD SO SEE AND SO SEEK IT
And in the workings due did those few have skulls of gilded gold to mark the blessings received
CARRIED AND CARRIED ON BY PASSING SPECTRES EACH ON AND MOTHERFUCKING ON UNTIL
in every bone didst such beauty make to motherfucking lay as the jewels they could remember no longer
IN EVERY SISTER OF BROTHERS AND BROTHER OF SISTERS, RELATION ALL EACH AND ONWARD AS THE DIVINE THEMSELVES
in the passing sweeps swept, didst many the eyeless angel touched walk and some didst fall
FOR THEY HAD FORGOTTEN THEY WERE WITHOUT THE EYES THEY HAD GIVEN ONCELIKE
the fooled followers came unto themselves and those led astray to sin
DID FIND NO MORE COULD THEY MAKE AS TO BE GUIDED BY NONE BUT THE MOST RIGHTEOUS TO BE OF THEIR SAVING.
those whom held digits unrestrained, twitchers untamed, were so cursed or blessed as per all the divine will.
THEN SO DIDST COME TIME OF JUDGMENT, FOR THOSE EYELESS TO KNOW FROM THE TEACHINGS SACRED, THE TRUE ENEMY
for the bloodspill would not eschew those of weary conscience, no, it would seek of no discretion but by the pumpbiscuits ours
AND OF THE REMAINDER, THE GLORIOUS FEW, THE RIGHTEOUS RECOGNIZED, DID THE HOLY COME IN THEIR GRAND GRACING
by the flap of their feather will the Family find the sacred giftings to break of that which they have been motherfucking bound
BY THE STARS IN THEIR BONES, THE MIRTH OF THEIR SOULS, AND THE BLOOD OF THE FAMILY FOR THE BLOOD OF THE GREAT FAMILY WHOLE
so cracked and crushed the swallowing swaddling, lifted up shall we be twofold in the reckonings and
AY MEN!"
He reaches to his own arms and paints bones atop them. Up and down. He paints over his throat. He touches the blood to his lips. The backdrop of vivid imagery and color still lay behind him.
After another pause, another bit of talk and conversing or just a steady silence, he recites; "In strife upon the beaked beast. WHOSE TALONS GLIMMERGLEAMED. In holding shield of good feast. THINE SO DIDST THINK IT SEEMED. The creature was a demon sort. AND SET TO BRING A DOOM. until upon that bright ungracious court. THE MONSTER, CLAIMED, CONSUMED"
And then his eyes open again. He has blood and paint of all color, as well as greasepaint, in case. Just in case. He looks distant in a small way. Serene.
"Now you may as be of making to up and ask," He says, "SO OFTEN DOES THE RABBLE FORGET THE WAY AND RITE OF THE HOLY, DO NOT MOTHERFUCKING THINK HE DOES NOT KNOW. Why are the Messiahs called the Messiahs? WHY, MY BROTHERS, MY SISTERS, MY FAMILY HERE BEFORE ME HOWEVER SMALL, ARE THE MESSIAHS CALLED THE MESSIAHS? Because they are our saviours. THEY ARE THE GRAND AND MOST HIGH DELIVERERS OF OUR SOULS. And know, in their naming, we must be gracious, because they have chosen to be saviours of us. THEY HAVE MADE ALL TO DEIGN WERE ALL A GOD NEED NOT MOTHERFUCKING MAKE TO DEIGN FOR THE SAKE OF OUR MOTHERFUCKING SAVING. They ask of us what be true. THEY ASK OF MIRTH FOR THEIR RIGHTEOUS WAY. They ask that to us and them we remain true. THEY ASK WE KNOW, AND TREASURE, SPEAK OF NO SHIT SPURIOUS, WHEN IN THE BLESSING OF OUR FAMILY. They ask of us to trust the holy undoings and redoings. THE PLAN AS WHAT HAS BEEN LAIN BEFORE OUR MOTHERFUCKING SELVES. The plan that we, as their beloved family created, are to take part in, when our trials conclude at last. THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS BE CALLED THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS FOR IT IS THROUGH THEY AND THEIR BLESSINGS BESTOWED WE ARE GRACED AND SO MUST BE GRACIOUS AND EVER MOTHERFUCKING GRATEFUL. For Shangri-La will come to those what hold true. FOR THEIR WAY IS RIGHT AS IT IS MOTHERFUCKING RIGHTEOUS. And the Carnival will be open to they what wish it to be, the Minstrel's song ever ready as to be played for those what have of pushers on the listening, and the special stardust raining ever down."
By the end, his hands are folded together, palm to palm. His head is bowed in silent prayer. There's a smile upon his face.
E---
Eventually, there can be no other thing to do but to pack his things. By now he is dizzy with the scent of blood and incense, Mirth all run through him, and glitter and color coating him thick from head to toe. He'll collect all what he has, pleased as he is. And then he'll take care of washing it all down.
But first, a lonesome toast of some of the shitty fake-elixir what all he has gathered round. By proper Carnival standards, this was all some terribly meek. But he feels alright with it, and with himself in this brief moment.
His fake glass armor had been smashed, glittering rainbow and indigo all over the floor. Along with all his collected animal culls, the bonework done off them all, gone and crushed. By the time he could be bothered to deal with it all, a good amount of time had passed and it was long too late to be angry, impressed or even recognize and acknowledge the destruction that had been caused as the vengeance it had been. It took ever more time to hunt more birds in the parks and rats in the streets. From Stephen, he'd found a way to get all the Not-Quite Special-Stardust he could hold in his hands and then some, as well as some various colored powders. More greasepaint, extra paint; he knew where to find both those things. Plantlife to stand in symbology of life would be easy enough as well as the candles and incense he'd collected. And of course, sufficient soda was important.
He knows, in his head, that it is unlikely, even advised, that there be any more but himself to celebrate that of the Mirthful, but in his heart, he knows too he cannot bear skimping so shamefully any more than he has just by being here, without the tent curtains around. His plan is in motion now and he will not hesitate in its continuance. He's losing crutch after crutch, he needs something, and the Messiahs have long since been owed their due.
And so, on his own, the Initiate makes to craft a Carnival celebration worthy of the Holy Two's names. Finally on the decided day, he gathers all what he's collected in a bundle of sheet and carries it with him down to the training center. He dresses in a way that will evoke a proper subjugglator just enough without being such. He takes to his wall firstlike and all along it he paints the wicked pictures. He paints it and pretends there is carnival curtain around. On the sheet he lays down on the floor, he splatters every color of blood there is, and then some with paint. His bare feet track the color and he knows, later, he will have to clean this whole goddamn place lest he deign to allowing an avox to do it-- and he doesn't. It will be worth it. He set ups candles on it and incense, lighting it all up. A Dark Carnival ain't all darkness exclusive.
B-----
What is one of the most important thing to any proper Carnival celebration? Music, of course. But it meant he was lacking, severely. He could play no instruments, owned none. He had no one else to play for him. And he, with his voice the way all it is, could not sing.
But he could do one thing. Something what all had been done by his fellow Subjugglators in their times of Mirth, as opposed to mission. He pulls a bo staff off the weapon racks, along with a smaller sort of club what may do. Alone, he wouldn't get the great and grand rhythms created otherwise, but he could do well enough.
Through such, he could practice the spin and strife with such a weapon, as like dance and war got on merging together, between the taps for song. Sometimes he lets the staff carry him up and lift him off the ground. There's not the faintest trace of fear or hesitance in his dance.
Perhaps someone will join him.
C----
Juggling is something he, of course, can do. Ain't a Subjugglator alive what can't, he's certain. They'd never make the troops if they couldn't. But, as is natural of a right and proper performance, he intends to do much more than that.
He grabs clubs at first, all initial. Starts with the standard, three, does his rounds with ease and grace. Then settles them for a trade. He grabs blades, sharp and smiling with promise. He tosses them up one after the other, grinning wide with eyes lit up wild. It's easy. It ain't a thing at all. He kicks up a club with his foot and sets that up into the motion too. This is no training round, it will be clear. This is pure performance and he is good at it.
He is more than ready to catch and deal with anything new tossed up in, and when he is done, he can sink the blades in the training center dummy standing just short ways away. He's sure to slip a few risky dares in there as well. Like catching the handle of one in his teeth.
Later, naturally, will come contortionism, another thing thing at which he excels. He thinks after such, he may retrieve the bo staff and settle by the wall for another round of simple acrobatics, in place of the Grief Trapeze and High wire.
D---
The small blade he's grabbed cuts into his flesh with purpose. He could bite his palms just as easily as he's always done, but that wouldn't be as nearly as significant in the scheme of it. He lifts his palms upward, eyes closed as he allows them to drip. His legs are folded upon the color marked sheet, his candles and incense surrounding him. Before him a bowl of water is set. "Blood of the family," He says, and he squeezes both hands before the water, the indigo blooming in its wake. He picks up the bones of the creatures he hunted and collected. "BONE OF FLIGHT AND WISH," He says. In his bloodied hands he crushes them, grinding them down to a glimmering dust which he holds in his hands and then gently blows into the water's surface. He reaches for some of the glitter he'd gotten and tosses it up, letting it scatter around and over him, on the sheet and also into the water. He pulls the candle and incense close, and waves his hands to waft and draw up the smoke, moving them like in such he can shapes their form and design. Then, finally, he reaches into the bowl and with the glittering wet purple mass, he puts color over his face paint, two small not-quite-swirl marks over each cheek. He weaves the color and glimmer in the darks of his paint's design.
He holds his hands out, all color covered. With eyes still closed, he speaks like there is an audience there, even if there is not.
"Celestial bindings taut, manacles mystic, shrouded by the cloak
THAT IS THE ILLUSION OF THE GREAT'S SPINNERS SPRUNG FROM THINE MOST HOLY OF FIRST CREATIONS
and know that the shroud is painted in the blood honoring of their children and we the first of the ready
WE MUST SEEK OF IT IN THE FRAYING AND PARTING OF BITS BEAT AND LOST TO THE FLUTTER FLICKER
we must See the fuck within and to the being of our souls motherfucking forsaken so
LET THE SYNDICATORTIONISTS SLIP FREE OF BIND, LET THE LIQUID RIBBON HUNG HOLD NOT FOR IT IS BUT WATER
'But I am of clothe and fear cut of me and mine, an incision so deep as to be of mortal faulting'SO IT WAS MOTHERFUCKING PREACHED ONCE AND, SAY TRUE, DIDST THE MANY GET THE BOB OF NUG LIKE CORES TO GAME SHOW
Thus the wicked mystics did reveal one what as to preach, enfolded too in the sickest midnight
AND LO', TWAS SAYETH, 'I AM THE GATHERER, AND FROM THEE SHALL I DRAW THINE SACRED PIECING'
In such they did recoil but grasped and gathered were they nevertheless and from the bone was cut each and each'LOOK,' THE GATHERER DID SPEAKETH. 'HAVE OF YOUR GANDERBULBS A GLORIOUS FEAST AS WHAT ALL BE HERE'
Oculars burst to the sight for in such the stars were seen clear as the dawning morn what sears
IN THE HOLLOWS WHERE ALL THEIR SOULS DIDST CRY, WAS THE DUST POURED SO THAT THEY MIGHT KNOW SUCH
and of this dust was every tying torture that so did keep them still
FROM THE BONES GROUND UP HOWEVER THEY DID SO MOTHERFUCKING GET AS TO UP AND FIND
in such god had touched and blessed them each and every individual,
THE MOST RIGHTEOUS OF GIFTS, THE GREAT DELIVERANCE, IF ONLY THEY SHOULD SO SEE AND SO SEEK IT
And in the workings due did those few have skulls of gilded gold to mark the blessings received
CARRIED AND CARRIED ON BY PASSING SPECTRES EACH ON AND MOTHERFUCKING ON UNTIL
in every bone didst such beauty make to motherfucking lay as the jewels they could remember no longer
IN EVERY SISTER OF BROTHERS AND BROTHER OF SISTERS, RELATION ALL EACH AND ONWARD AS THE DIVINE THEMSELVES
in the passing sweeps swept, didst many the eyeless angel touched walk and some didst fall
FOR THEY HAD FORGOTTEN THEY WERE WITHOUT THE EYES THEY HAD GIVEN ONCELIKE
the fooled followers came unto themselves and those led astray to sin
DID FIND NO MORE COULD THEY MAKE AS TO BE GUIDED BY NONE BUT THE MOST RIGHTEOUS TO BE OF THEIR SAVING.
those whom held digits unrestrained, twitchers untamed, were so cursed or blessed as per all the divine will.
THEN SO DIDST COME TIME OF JUDGMENT, FOR THOSE EYELESS TO KNOW FROM THE TEACHINGS SACRED, THE TRUE ENEMY
for the bloodspill would not eschew those of weary conscience, no, it would seek of no discretion but by the pumpbiscuits ours
AND OF THE REMAINDER, THE GLORIOUS FEW, THE RIGHTEOUS RECOGNIZED, DID THE HOLY COME IN THEIR GRAND GRACING
by the flap of their feather will the Family find the sacred giftings to break of that which they have been motherfucking bound
BY THE STARS IN THEIR BONES, THE MIRTH OF THEIR SOULS, AND THE BLOOD OF THE FAMILY FOR THE BLOOD OF THE GREAT FAMILY WHOLE
so cracked and crushed the swallowing swaddling, lifted up shall we be twofold in the reckonings and
OURS SOULS SET ALIGHT, AT LAST, OUR TRUEST MOTHERFUCKING FREEDOMS AS WHAT BE OUR DESERVED.
By blessing of the Messiahs, by song of the Minstrels, may it so then be.AY MEN!"
He reaches to his own arms and paints bones atop them. Up and down. He paints over his throat. He touches the blood to his lips. The backdrop of vivid imagery and color still lay behind him.
After another pause, another bit of talk and conversing or just a steady silence, he recites; "In strife upon the beaked beast. WHOSE TALONS GLIMMERGLEAMED. In holding shield of good feast. THINE SO DIDST THINK IT SEEMED. The creature was a demon sort. AND SET TO BRING A DOOM. until upon that bright ungracious court. THE MONSTER, CLAIMED, CONSUMED"
And then his eyes open again. He has blood and paint of all color, as well as greasepaint, in case. Just in case. He looks distant in a small way. Serene.
"Now you may as be of making to up and ask," He says, "SO OFTEN DOES THE RABBLE FORGET THE WAY AND RITE OF THE HOLY, DO NOT MOTHERFUCKING THINK HE DOES NOT KNOW. Why are the Messiahs called the Messiahs? WHY, MY BROTHERS, MY SISTERS, MY FAMILY HERE BEFORE ME HOWEVER SMALL, ARE THE MESSIAHS CALLED THE MESSIAHS? Because they are our saviours. THEY ARE THE GRAND AND MOST HIGH DELIVERERS OF OUR SOULS. And know, in their naming, we must be gracious, because they have chosen to be saviours of us. THEY HAVE MADE ALL TO DEIGN WERE ALL A GOD NEED NOT MOTHERFUCKING MAKE TO DEIGN FOR THE SAKE OF OUR MOTHERFUCKING SAVING. They ask of us what be true. THEY ASK OF MIRTH FOR THEIR RIGHTEOUS WAY. They ask that to us and them we remain true. THEY ASK WE KNOW, AND TREASURE, SPEAK OF NO SHIT SPURIOUS, WHEN IN THE BLESSING OF OUR FAMILY. They ask of us to trust the holy undoings and redoings. THE PLAN AS WHAT HAS BEEN LAIN BEFORE OUR MOTHERFUCKING SELVES. The plan that we, as their beloved family created, are to take part in, when our trials conclude at last. THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS BE CALLED THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS FOR IT IS THROUGH THEY AND THEIR BLESSINGS BESTOWED WE ARE GRACED AND SO MUST BE GRACIOUS AND EVER MOTHERFUCKING GRATEFUL. For Shangri-La will come to those what hold true. FOR THEIR WAY IS RIGHT AS IT IS MOTHERFUCKING RIGHTEOUS. And the Carnival will be open to they what wish it to be, the Minstrel's song ever ready as to be played for those what have of pushers on the listening, and the special stardust raining ever down."
By the end, his hands are folded together, palm to palm. His head is bowed in silent prayer. There's a smile upon his face.
E---
Eventually, there can be no other thing to do but to pack his things. By now he is dizzy with the scent of blood and incense, Mirth all run through him, and glitter and color coating him thick from head to toe. He'll collect all what he has, pleased as he is. And then he'll take care of washing it all down.
But first, a lonesome toast of some of the shitty fake-elixir what all he has gathered round. By proper Carnival standards, this was all some terribly meek. But he feels alright with it, and with himself in this brief moment.
no subject
She couldn't help but be captivated by the jiggling as she started to walk passed, so she stops and watches him oohing and ahhing when he does something particularly fantastical to her young eyes.
As he finishes up by tossing the knives into the dummy, Chibi-Usa gives him a big round of applause.
"Uwah! That was amazing!"
no subject
He gives a flourished waves of his hand which soon then leads into a deep bow. It's low enough his horns could knock a person, though he's careful enough and a good distance enough away not to in this case. But it stands as testament to his mood that he does such a thing.
"THANK YOU, LITTLE SISTER," He says. "Drawn by the Carnival is she? DONE WELL AS TO COME TO SEE. Done all motherfucking well in bringing about the proper mirth what be so desired." His tones fluctuate between a strangled growled thing and something all soft.
no subject
"You were in a carnival before you were brought here?"
Thinking about it, he did make her think of the Dead Moon Circus, it was hard not to with how he looked and how he was talking. However he didn't look as ... Silly as the performers from Dead Moon Circus, so she chose to keep optimistic about him.
no subject
"HE WAS!" He says. "Church of the Mirthful Messiahs, little sister. DID WICKED BUSINESS UP UNDER THE CARNATHEDRALS GREAT. A grand thing such as it was to be, all stirring the faithpumps and spiritghosts lingering. YOU, SISTER?"
His hands rest up on his hips. His head tilts at her, inspecting slightly. She seems... familiar.
no subject
"Uh. I don't come from a carnival. I come from..." She pauses for barely a second, after all this time with Usagi and the others in the past she's still reluctant to say where she really comes from. "Tokyo. But we have a lot of festivals?"
no subject
"Voodoo scar. VOICE GONE ALL CRASH CREST PERMANENCE. Mark of his power, mark all of Messiahs unto he. AIN'T NO HELPING," He says, calm. He gives a shrug with it.
Ultimately, it's the pink what does it. There's just so much pink it's impossible not to get association up and on. "It saddens him true the lack what pervades, all these motherfuckers gone without. NO CARNIVAL. But festivals at least would make on to being something. ONE DAY A LITTLE TOKYO PRINCESS OUGHT SEE FOR A CARNIVAL IN WHOLENESS MOST MOTHERFUCKING LEGIT." Because what else could one so pink be but a princess? He know such rules don't apply to humans, and yet the last one what was so pink like her... well, there was ever faint implication and nothing had dissuaded it. Either way, the title don't hurt none.
no subject
"Princess? How-... How could I be a princess?"
Great save, right? Yeah, that was a great save. Well she's 7 that's about the best save she can manage on the spot when being called out as princess by a volume changing horned clown.
no subject
"The pink, little sister. ROYAL COLOR OF HIGHEST DONE ALL UP, THAT. Ain't no Tyrian tonals done but it seem such all the same," He says. "COLOR OF QUEENS AND YOUNG HEIRESS'S."
He grins, all mischeif now. "Did he get on guess correctlike?"
no subject
She backs up from the mischievous grin, almost letting out an awkward laugh before sagging for realising that she clearly too obvious. Then shakes her head at him.
"I'm just a girl here."
It was easier to sound convincing because it's true. Being a princess wasn't going to get her anything here and really, apart from living in a palace with her amazing family and friends it never really gave her any really bonuses to be one.
no subject
"Here he be not but a troll. ALIEN, ALIEN. Creature by words so preached from unknowing maws," He says. He considers telling her he hasn't much the fancy for his Empress he used to when he first came here, that it is good she ain't think herself higher for he hasn't the time of goddamn night to be about that shit no more as all he was once, and he would sooner pull out his own throatstem before he heeled to another. But she came for Carnival and he's in a good mood all considering.
"BUT THAT AIN'T NEITHER WHO YOU BE, TRUE, NO?"
no subject
But the blood, well purple is not a blood colour she's seen before, and the thought that all his kind have different blood colours is both strange and sort of fascinating.
She looks sheepish as he shouts his declaration that she's clearly not just a girl.
"If I admit it, will you promise not to tell anyone?"
no subject
"BUT MIND." He points around the room, giving it all a look over. "There is not a single thing of one's own what these fuckers ain't apt to fish out. THEY SPILL ALL AT WHIM. Ain't nothing of us and ours what ain't heard. WHAT AIN'T HEARD CAN BE DUG OUT. If they think all it will damn, sooner or motherfucking later..."
Mirth knows most of his life got its spilling here. He wasn't even being one of those what had full motherfucking showings of lie upon his life.
no subject
Admittedly what there is to know about her aren't worth anything here, they were barely worth anything while she was living with Usagi. But it's the mere fact that people could just find out your secrets which has her feel nervous again.
no subject
Of course, he's sure some of the tributes ain't too trustworhty none either. But anyone could guess that. A fight to the death wasn't a battle of nicities.
no subject
She is a very, very innocent little girl after all.
no subject
"Because, little sister. THEY BELIEVE YOU ARE THEIR PET. And every motherfucker wants to talk on their pets. THE BEASTS THEY'VE TAMED. The collars so pretty what they wear obedient," He tells her. "WHY WOULD THEY ASK THEIR PET IF ALL THEY WISHED BEHOLDING OF ANYTHING UP AT ALL?"
no subject
"I'm not a pet, I'm a person. I don't even wear necklaces."
no subject
"You're cute, girl," He snorts. "ALL SURPRISE, SURPRISE. They do not care, little sister. WHY, SISTER, THEY AIN'T GIVE THE SLIGHTEST MOTHERFUCK IF AS YOU DO OR DON'T WEAR NECKLACES. But only if what she's being is what as they've chosen. SOON AS SOON THEY WILL PICK ONE FOR HER, IN THEIR OWN MOTHERFUCKING WAYS AND RIGHTS OF WHAT BE IT."
Even if it don't take necklace form.
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"I really don't like this place."
She wanted to be home so much now, especially after hearing how much the capitol was going to spy on her on top of them wanting to kill people for no real reason.
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He leans down, head tilting to hold her attention. He says, "BUT THAT AIN'T MEANING TO DWELL ON SUCHLIKE LONESOME. There is much mirth to be had still, little sister. MANY A MOTHERFUCKING BLESSING WHAT AS TO BE FOUND."
He grins, holding out a clawed hand, with one arm folded behind him.
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"There is? Like what?"
She asks genuinely curious about what fun there could be here.
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"Now, little sister, do not say as you've forgotten performance done up already! WHAT A SHAMEFUL THING DONE BY HIS OWNSELF IF BE REMARKABLE BY SO MOTHERFUCKING LITTLE!" He straightens up and starts to turn. He gestures with a nod of head and horns that she follow. He starts walking on over to the wall, which he's already coated in color and imagery.
"Tell him, do you paint?" He reaches to pick up a bo staff. "OR PERHAPS YOU PLAY!"
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"I didn't forget! But I thought you meant like something this place does for us." Her head tilts once again as she follows the troll to the colourful wall, she inhales at the sight finding the colours to be something else.
"Wow." she says to herself before turning to him. "Um. I can paint." She nods before looking at the staff. "But I don't know how to use that." She points at it looking both wary and curious.
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He laughs, then turns with pride to his wall, letting it to lift his mood, especially when she reacts. His gaze goes to the staff and he walks to it, picking it up.
"Allow him for the showing," He says. He settles part way to the wall, fixes his stance. The staff is evened between the wall and floor, so that it may tap both. And he does that, building a small rhythm until it grows and grows and he's adding the sound of his own stomps. His head lifts to her. "IT'S EASY, SISTER!"