thecapitol | (no subject)

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Who| The Psiioniic and YOU! Plus the Initiate.
What| The Psiioniic is in the Capitol. Humans are both disgusting and fascinating, and he has a horrible sweet tooth.
Where| The Capitol! Typically near shopping areas.
When| Todayyy.
Warnings/Notes| The Initiate being a violent, creepy clown.

Closed to the Initiate

The Capitol is large and bustling, and the Psiioniic isn't quite fond of it. He's gotten far too used to being alone, with just the stars and space bending around him to be used to anything like this. He stays close to the Initiate, hoping the large, imposing troll will help keep others away.

And he does, for the most part. Or at least the Psiioniic can believe he does, and it gives him a small comfort. He can focus on the objects around him, stopping at a few small shops so he can pick through things with the Initiate by his side.

Open

The Psiioniic has found heaven. Or, well, something close to the troll equivalent.

He's standing in a stall selling a variety of honey and other sweets, and he looks baffled. He's holding a sample spoon, the woman behind the stall looking nervous as he stares at her blankly. He keeps bring the spoon to his lips, chewing on it briefly before asking for another sample.

If someone doesn't stop him he's liable to eat all the honey in the store, and if anyone gets close they'll hear him making odd chirpy noises and see him blinking rapidly. He's just...he's very confused and conflicted over the honey, and he needs help.

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He's surprised at the sudden tension. Though, really, he shouldn't be. This poor troll has probably not seen the kindness of many others, and it's...pitiful, truly pathetic.

He doesn't realize at first the noises he's making. The soft, gentle shooshing as he untangles more necklaces. He manages to get two out without tearing any hair, and it's when he places them on the shopekeeper's table that he realizes he was shooshing the other troll. His hands still in mid-air and he pauses. He can feel his cheeks burning, and he's so embarrassed that he wants to die.

But.

But he can't deny that this is a paleness that feels right.

It doesn't register at first, what it is the Helmsman is actually doing. His eyelids droop down and his breathing comes slower, a sound not-quite like the ocean, his ocean, fills his pan. And then when it does sink in, his eyes open wide and he stops breathing altogether. As the Helmsman pauses in untangling, the Initiate lifts his head and stares.

Fuck.

He swallows, nervous, lowering his hands. He should apologize. He has no right to touch the Initiate. He's far below his station, even if he's not a true adult yet. He shouldn't be doing this.

"I'm thorry."

Before he can entirely pull it away, he catches the Helmsman's hand. He hasn't a motherfucking clue what is happening right now.

"NO," he says quickly. "Wait it..." He trails off. He's still staring. He keeps holding the fuck on. Should he... let go?

"Stay," he says then, as he releases the Helmsman's hand, giving a 'stay put' gesture. Because that's a thing people do right? He hurriedly does his best to tear out another necklace on his own, gritting his teeth, and glancing back every second. He feels like a damn fool. But if the Helmsman just left he'd only feel more of one. They'll get what they motherfucking came for and be done. Then they can return to their blocks and- fuck if he knew.

Edited 2013-06-10 07:12 (UTC)

He can't leave now. He shakes his head, placing a hand over the Initiate's and pulling things away. Then he starts untangling again, fingers deft. It's time consuming to pick the hair out of the chains, but he's much better at it than the Initiate himself is.

"What would you do if I wathn't here?" He tuts, trying to ignore the fact that he desperately wants to shoosh the Initiate. "You'd go bald."

He lets his hand fall and lets the Helmsman's do the untangling instead. He doesn't know what he's doing. Letting the Helmsman touch his hair apparently but motherfucking beyond that... His face is cool with his blood, along with his ears. Thankfully, both are hidden beneath hair and paint.

"WOULD NOT," he retorts without feeling. His head is buzzing a bit too much with what's happened.

He shakes his head fondly, huffing out another shoosh. The Initiate's hair is rough, but...there's something about this that feels nice. Something that feels right. "You definitely would," he tuts. Soon he's untangled all the necklaces in his hair, and before he can stop himself he's smoothing out the Initiate's hair, making sure it doesn't look too horrible with the chunks missing.

Mirthful motherfucking Messiahs two. There are so many reasons why he shouldn't be okay with this. He isn'tentirely sure he is okay with this. The back of his mind is screaming that he should cull this troll, this heretical bit of walking Empress chattel, he should do himself right by Messiahs now. But it gets harder and harder to hear over the wash of waves, the gentle shooshing. And he can't kill here anyway, right? Not yet. This is fine.

And it feels nice.

"Brother, hair grows back," he says. He gives his hair a quick shake once the Helmsman is finished. "GOT LOTS ANYWAY."

He looks at the directly Helmsman once more. His hand grips air at his side, opening and closing, and for once not entirely in want of his clubs.

The Psiioniic looks up at him, a small, horribly open smile gracing his lips. He doesn't even consider how he looks, because he's just. Happy, but he's can't place that warm, fuzzy feeling as happiness quite yet. It's been so long since he's felt anything close to it.

"It doeth, but you don't want to look thilly, do you?" His hands hang awkwardly at his sides now, and he pulls his sleeves down over them. He's not sure what to do anymore. "I got them all out for you, though, tho you'll be fine."

He's not sure he's ever felt so confused in his life. Seeing that smile, The Helmsman makes him feel small but for once he's not furious about it. Does he want to look silly? Not this way, but he sure as shit feels he's already made himself so.

Disappointment hits him, for the briefest moment, seeing the Helmsman hide his hands.

He doesn't say thank you. But he does give the slightest of bows with his head, low enough to count but not enough to direct horn at, eyes kept closed. It's a mechanical motion learned in the church, whenever being imparted genuine wisdom by the priests, and it may be the best the Helmsman will get.

"Ought we both to move the fuck along then," he says.

He wants to reach out to the Initiate, wants to make him smile so badly. With something akin to horror he realizes that he wants to pap the Initiate.

Oh, fuck. He's so fucked.

He clears his throat, fidgeting with his sleeves. "Uh, yeah. We thhould...go and maybe. Get food or...thomething..."

The amount of awkward in the air is as tangible as if it were fear and he had his voodoo back. Its even more frustrating that he can't just turn it off either, even as he tries to ignore it. He wants to cull every single motherfucker what may have saw.

"AIN'T IT MOTHERFUCKING SOMETHING; food here what ain't even require a hunt," He muses. "YOU PICK. Have no motherfucking preference up with I." Well, he might have, but he'd rather say that than that he had no clue where to go.

He's going to die of awkward. He feels like a wiggler with his first pale crush, stumbling and flailing about like a tool.

He hates that he feels like this.

"Well, there'th a lot of platheth here." He takes a step back from the stand, glancing left and right. "Tho let'th go...thith way."

And then he's off, heading towards the Speakeasy.

He follows by the Helmsman's side, and ducks in after him- mindful of his horns- into the speakeasy. It's a whole lot of alien bullshit in there, but at the same time, it reminds him a bit of some of the hive cluster market places back on Alternia. He'd lived far from them, but every so often, a motherfucker had to make a trip for things he couldn't just hunt- like books- and then he'd get swept up just a bit that world. After becoming a Subjugglator, missions and inquisitions starting in Hive clusters brought him to the markets much more often, but this particular place distinctly makes him think of one he'd avoid. Like the one he'd first found Kan- The Signless in back when he was younger.

He very suddenly and sharply feels like he's making a mistake. He recites verse after verse in his head to drown it out. Then eye for eye with socket lye, lead by way of wound, for souls they did supply. Motherfucking decry that which would bleed out sin.

He doesn't seek out a place in the center; he goes to the darkest corner of the room, where they are least likely to be bothered, just as he always had, and there he settles, albeit uneasily.

He follows him quietly, looking around the Speakeasy curiously. He's never been here before, at all. He's never gone into actual eateries much, at all. Or, well, ever. On Alternia he would either be working in the kitchen, or...running through the wild, trying to avoid capture.

He threads his fingers together, resting his hands on the table. It's impossible for him to hide how he looks by this place. It's a whole new world to him.

He does notice the look the Helmsman wears. It's obvious this is all new to him and he's cursing himself for it because of course the motherfucker would know less of how this place works than him.

He taps his claws in the table, spins the salt shaker, tears up napkins all without saying a word. Until finally-

"WHY DID YOU HELP ME?"

His attention gets drawn back the the Initate, and his eyes go wide for a moment. He goes slightly yellow, chewing on his bottom lip.

He shrugs awkwardly, looking down at his hands. He can't look him in the face.

"I don't know. I jutht...thought I thhould."

"Beacause he's a highblood?" Or rather, the Highblood. It would be a good reason; keep from being culled, perhaps even to make alliance so as to be on the side of a subjugglator. The Helmsman did do that sometimes, bend suddenly to the subservient, sometimes even right after a genuine remark on one thing or other. Or perhaps the Helmsman sought to make a fool of him somehow within the arena, reveal himself more powerful or... fuck if he knew.

Part of him would rather not know.

Edited 2013-06-17 09:57 (UTC)

The look the Psiioniic gives him could be described as somewhere between confused and incredulous. He, honestly, had never thought of it that way - and after sweeps of servitude, after being trained for obedience, he knows he didn't do it because he felt like he had to help him because he needs to help his betters.

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, becauthe I thought you...needed it, tho you didn't hurt yourself..." He trails off, clinking at him.

The Helmsman's confusion only adds to his own. He didn't think it so unreasonable an idea, and he can't figure out why else the Helmsman would have done what he did.

"MOST WOULDN'T. Most would all stay at away." Most would try to cull him and then be culled for it and used as paint and warnings for all else what came near. He goes back to tearing up napkins.

"YOU'RE DIFFERENT... is motherfucking all."

They're just going to be confused forever. He stares at him quizzically, taking note of the poor napkins that are being destroyed.

"Motht trollth are not in thituationth like thith," he says simply because, well, it's true. Most trolls aren't dragged somewhere so bizarre and alien and watched.

"Ith...different a bad thing?"

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