He is alight with triumph. His breathing is punctured by pleased growls that are absolutely not clicking purrs. Like he's pulled off a particularly difficult cull. Which he has, hasn't he? A troll doesn't become Grand Highblood without taking down the previous one and many others beneath the high rank. Even if he hadn't done so from his standpoint, it still counted surely.
He wants to celebrate. But, with no corpse to stand over, to take apart, to create art with, he's not sure how. His eyes dart back to the blood dripping down the Helmsman's arms. A good gold. The Initiate holds his hands out to the him- still covered in indigo himself- and gestures with a nod of head.
"MAY WHAT YOU'VE SPILLED BE USED?" He asks, seriously. Sure he could just take it but this feels more like a rite, to ask for it, an exchange of motherfucking color, even if both remain alive.
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He wants to celebrate. But, with no corpse to stand over, to take apart, to create art with, he's not sure how. His eyes dart back to the blood dripping down the Helmsman's arms. A good gold. The Initiate holds his hands out to the him- still covered in indigo himself- and gestures with a nod of head.
"MAY WHAT YOU'VE SPILLED BE USED?" He asks, seriously. Sure he could just take it but this feels more like a rite, to ask for it, an exchange of motherfucking color, even if both remain alive.