[OPEN]

[carnagecarnival]

Who| The Initiate and YOU

What| An aspiring preacher goes to make some noise

Where| The Training Center

When| Before the party

Warnings/Notes| Swearing all over. General awfulness.

Already he is weary of their pomp and pride, all these aliens swilling about him like they own him, like a bunch of sea-dwellers thinking injudiciously that he is not well above them in all sense of the greater workings. He snarls at the pecking and plucking, snapping his jaws at any who try to touch the paint of his face. He hopes he makes it very clear that if they remove his paint he will replace it's lack through leak of their veins. He has a feeling that they're just a bit too thick to understand. He mourns for his voodoo again and again, feeling somewhat stifled and lost without it in his reach. At least, he thinks upon hearing of the upcoming death-match, there are ways to keep himself busy.

He heads for the Center, leaving shredded bits of clothing and shoes behind in a bread crumb trail for the sorry fucks to find. By the time he gets there, his new tunic is bare of sleeves, the bottoms of his pants are torn, used to create a makeshift armband at each wrist, and his large clawed feet are bare. He's voodoo-less, weapon-less, and though he's just recently grown taller than even true adults, there may always be someone bigger and even a small troll--alien-- could be dangerous. He weighs entering the center with quiet subtlety but decides that, no, he is annoyed, antsy, and teetering on the high wire line of boredom, and that will not motherfucking do.

Cliche or motherfucking not, nothing quite feels like kicking a door open and walking in with your head held high. He gives a grin and offers his best ring-master's bow.

He says, loud enough for those nearby him to hear, "Mirthful believers, FAITHLESS FUCKS; Who can lead a Messiah blessed to find holiest armament? OR SHALL CARNIVAL COME WITHOUT A CLUB'S BLESSINGS?"

Always good to weed out the worthy from heretics early on, he thinks, already amused. He doesn't actually expect help. He heads for the weapons without waiting for response. 

Comments

[tis_allgood]

Cuthbert has been toying with knives and is still playing with one when a new troll appears. The profanity is still somewhat new and he hasn't really clued into the reason for it yet. He's done being surprised by them, but never done being amused by them.

"Insects or no, you're all sailors at heart. The lot of you would make my former weapons master blush, so you would."

Bert won't stop anyone from getting any weapons, but he's definitely going to buzz around and watch other people practice.

[carnagecarnival]

"Furthest fucking thing from a sailor, I am," The Initiate rebukes as he passes, aware Cuthbert refers to his language but nevertheless disregarding the comparison. He searches for a club, feeling their weight, lingering especially long over the larger spiked ones, but grabs two small ones instead and twirls them idly as he returns to give cuthbert a curious look.

"A MOTHERFUCKER IS AWARE OF MY KIND?" He asks.

[tis_allgood]

"I've grasped a horn or two."

And while he's going to skip the part that came after, it is the truth. He's still playing with a throwing knife, tossing it in the air and catching it again.

"But I would watch what I said about mothers, if I were you."

[carnagecarnival]

The first bit has The Initiate make a face. He's pretty sure he never gave any sort of signal that he was interested in hearing about a fucking alien's interspecies pale escapes, and he certainly hopes that that is not Cuthbert's means of trying to flirt with him.

The second thing he says just has him raise a brow. Aliens were so fucked up.

"THE FUCK? Never spoke shit of a mother. YOU ALL TO BE SOME KIND OF JADE ALIEN? GOT THE FUCKING PROTECTION BINDINGS ONTO A MOTHER GRUB?"

[tis_allgood]

To be fair, Cuthbert has no idea what it means, he's just using it as a way to say he's seen a few trolls since he's been here. But it wouldn't be the first and certainly won't be the last time he puts his foot in his mouth over something he doesn't understand.

"I'm not born of a grub, but of another human who was kind and undeserving of your vitriol. If I ken it right, you might call her my 'lusus'."

He just can't help but poke the bear here. "I would speak no ill of yours, though you seem to be begging for someone to do just that."

[carnagecarnival]

The Initiate's eyes narrow. Cuthbert may have had a chance of salvaging this, but the moment he made any mention of the Initiate's lusus was when he took the wrong turn down don't fucking go there alley. A club whistles past Cuthberts ear and crashes into a rack of weapons far behind him. The other club, the Initiate grips tight.

He snarls, "You know nothing on what is holy word, on that which is sacrament AND YET YOU STILL PLAY AT HAVING ILLUSORY HIGH GROUND, TAINTING FUCKING ADDRESS. If I wanted at to call him a LUSUS FUCKER I WOULD HAVE. If I motherfucking wanted on to tear out a SQUAWK BLISTER AND TIE IT WITH ASSUMING TONGUE, I STILL MOTHERFUCKING COULD. Couldn't give a damn at whoever the fuck you think he's meaning."

[tis_allgood]

"You take insult where none is meant. I simply wish to make myself understood."

He throws the knife past Initiate's head to prove that two can play at this game. They might do well to both walk away at this point, but Cuthbert has a tough time knowing when enough is enough.

"I have a feeling you'll be the first I seek out in our next arena match. But until then, I value my unbroken body too much to try you further. I can only hope you feel the same. I'm sure the other trolls would be upset to know I broke you."

[carnagecarnival]

His face takes on a ferocious smile as the knife flies past. He listens to the violence promised in Cuthbert's words and manages not to bark a laugh.

"Funny! HE COULD MIRROR THOSE EXACT MOTHERFUCKING SENTIMENTS!"

They would do well to walk away, but the first won't be him. A habit of survival and a habit of pride both.

[tis_allgood]

Maybe they can just back away from each other slowly.

"So long as we are at an agreement we may walk away on good terms. Do you kind shake hands? Or prongs, if that's how you ken it."

He offers a hand, hopeful that this isn't going to be another unnecessarily aggressive gesture. This is how things are settled where he's from and he's not going to let his manners slide just because everything here is topsy turvy.

[carnagecarnival]

"UNLESS ONE IS IN PROPOSITION OF FUCKING CAHOOTS, We do not," He growls. No, when two trolls get into disagreement, typically, one dies. However, they promise reward for a cull--a task that passes award in itself-- if only he is patient. Messiahs motherfucking test him. But, perhaps as a promised cahoots to do battle, he can accept it.

With his most recent molt, his forearms and hands started to reveal the very barest hint of mutation. His hands are not proportionate to him, nearly twice as large as they should be (all the better to crush a skull with). Perhaps Cuthbert didn't notice before, but he shall notice now, when the Initiate shakes Cuthbert's hand and it is engulfed only with the first few fingers. Like a young child shaking hands with a man.

The Initiate's eyes stay trained on Cuthbert's as he gives a quick, rough shake, and releases. He takes several steps back then waits for Cuthbert to retreat. He still will not turn tail; a troll that ran received a weapon to the back of them.

[tis_allgood]

Big hands don't necessarily mean strong hands, but it's definitely a good start. There's plenty to be wary of with this troll, starting with the hands

"There's a good man. Or grasshopper, or whatever it is you consider yourselves."

Bert backs away a few steps, but doesn't want to be the first one to walk away either. Eventually they may put enough distance between them to safely be able to leave without fear of retribution.