thecapitol | (no subject)

WHO| Cuthbert Allgood and Open!
WHAT| Food fight... sort of
WHEN| Afternoon on a day when nothing all that interesting is going on.
WHERE| Training Center
WARNINGS/NOTES| Minor injuries possible in this post.

It took some serious searching and luck and probably pestering various people who work for the Capitol, but Cuthbert has managed to get a decent slingshot to practice with. He knew he should have been practicing more of his close range and trapping skills, they would serve him better in a place where he wasn't likely to get the weapon he really wanted. But the temptation to practice with something he was comfortable with was just too much to resist.

Which went a little ways toward explaining what he was up to at the moment: firing unpopped popcorn kernels at anything he considered a worthy target in the Training Center arena. That included other tributes, so long as they had something interesting to aim at.

"Damn! These things are just too small."

He wasn't as accurate with the popcorn as he had been with the steel balls he used to use, but far less chance of getting in trouble this way (he hoped). It may not be wise to bend over until he has been disarmed or runs out of ammo.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The ammo I chose was smaller than what I'm used to. I swear to thee it was a poor shot and none else."

As afraid as he is of the young Highblood he should hopefully sound sincere saying that. He shouldn't want to start trouble. Not like this, at least.

"What were you painting before I was so rude as to interrupt?" He says, trying to deflect.

He glares down at Cuthbert. The deflection doesn't go unnoticed, but he allows it, if only because he still must wait until the arena begins to be allowed to do anything.

"HOLY VISIONS. The wicked pictures. IMAGE OF WHAT IS WRIT IN THE OLDEST AND TRUEST SCRIPTURES OF THE MIRTHFUL CHURCH. The minstrels rise and call sung in eye's perception and death in the hue and pigment. THE EXECUTIONS AND CARNIVALS PAST, THE SLAUGHTER MOST BLESSED AND THE UPROARIOUS CADENCE OF THE HORROR HALLELUJAH TO COME ON WHAT WE KNOW IS TO MOTHERFUCKING COME." There's something different about it, how he normally talks, to how he talks about his religion. There's an extra energy to it. An avidity that oozes, even as he was irritated moments before. And still is.

He focuses back on Cuthbert and says, "Truth, Motherfucker, is what I paint."

That is a lot to take in. Cuthbert stands quietly for a moment, taking it in as he examines the wall and what was painted on it before he apparently ruined everything. He's pretty sure this troll is high on something, and he's also pretty sure he knows what. And then a strange thought occurs to him.

"Do you ever see visions of demons? Displaced things that live only on the passions they have been entrapped with?"

He's silent for a long moment. His face goes blank and unreadable. It would almost seem he isn't going to speak when finally, he answers, "DEMONS do not just live within, brother. REAL AS YOU OR I. Trolls what disregard the name of the DEMONESS and the ANGELS are fools AND FIT FOR CULL BY THOSE SPOKEN." And of course, there was no difference between an angel and demon. And everyone knew of the Demoness and her work.

"Have seen of vision born of fear belonging to another motherfucker- some what I have made through bend of fear and mind. SEEN TRACE OF ONES WHAT WERE IN EXISTENCE BEFORE MOTHERFUCKING EXISTENCE, and Messiahs speak, would a motherfucker get full fucking auricular of that, in words what those of true faith hear only. THEY SPEAK to me."

Strangely, this explains a lot, and Bert relaxes hearing it.

"I know it well, they've spoken to me also. I have seen what they can do to lesser men, men who don't have the strength to hold themselves separate from greater forces. I believe I also know why you paint and draw now."

There's a pity here he didn't ever expect to associate with this otherwise violent troll. But any man who's had his mind tampered with by demons should be glad to be as together as the little Grand Highblood is. He knows what happens to someone who can't hold it together and fight, and he would not wish it on his worst enemies.

"Could I bother you to join in this decorating?"

"YOU, Have heard voice of the Holy Messiahs?" He asks with a raised brow and a deadpan tone. He's not sure what to take more offence over; the idea that Cuthbert, a non-believer, would presume to claim whatever he heard to be the same as his Messiahs, or that the Messiahs should actually speak to Cuthbert. "AND YOU KNOW WHY HE PAINTS," He repeats in that same disbelieving voice. There were... a lot or reasons why he painted, nightmare visions and gods just being some of them.

But if he truly heard voice of the Messiahs, perhaps this was means of repentance for sins. And even for those he wished the most painful sorts of death, who was he to deny ticket entry to the Carnival for one such as that? He grits his teeth.

"If he can find space free for his own, then bother he motherfucking may."

Edited 2013-06-13 04:58 (UTC)

"I've heard from one of their kind, aye. And I dare not repeat what was said to me or done."

Bert sits down at the edge of the painting GH was already making and takes a bit of brown and green to play with. He isn't really drawing anything in particular, just shapes and lines, letting the colors mix together and drip down.

"Thankee."

His eyes narrow but he doesn't ask.

"IT AIN'T to be mere decoration. IT'S OFFERING," He explains, without prompting. "It is form of holiest praise. GIFT AND PRAYER. Made of the most righteous truth; that which what up and runs through a motherfucker's veins." He brings his palm up to his mouth and sinks his fangs in, just enough to draw color, not enough to shred (nor attract the attention of the motherfucking peacekeepers what ever linger the fuck on). Beads of the deepest indigo-purple rise up, which he then shows Cuthbert, before then smearing his own blood on the wall.

"BUT BLESSING IS MARRED HERE," he says, with growl rumbling beneath. "A gift has been stolen. SEEN AT WHAT YOUR KIND BLEED CUTHBERT. Seen at the motherfucking lack what gets prevalence on up in here. IN HIS TIME THERE WAS ONLY TO BE ONE WHAT HAD SUCH BLOOD AND HE WAS NOT MEANT TO MOTHERFUCKING HAVE IT. In his time, there was NEVER WAIT ON FOR THE HOLY TWO. Blood, Cuthbert, is everything and motherfucking all. THE MESSIAHS WILL NOT BE PLEASED. Nor am I, do you understand?"

Edited 2013-06-19 07:46 (UTC)