vatheon | [ ♑ ] it was inevitable

Entry tags:

[ ♑ ] it was inevitable

who: grand highblood + summoner
when: 9/26 evening
where: their usual forest playground
style: prose
status: closed

The first message had been a tease, and the Grand Highblood hates being teased. But as much as he hates being poked fun of, he's no fool to go off on a rampage trying to find the ones who dare poketh their stick into the lion's cage. That just comes off as way too desperate, especially if he did manage to find the Summoner who would've likely been in no mood to indulge his bloodlust. Though there's also a 50/50 chance that he would've indulged him, which only infuriates the highblood more, being way too used to being The Most Fickle One of them all.

The second one was the message he had been waiting for. Finally.

He takes all the shortcuts from the cave and into their usual forest area, finding no reason to prolong such an anticipated meeting (and of course having very little else to do), and finds himself standing in a large clearing. The trees, rocks, even the ground itself shows wear and tear from their previous clashes, and the forest itself along with its wildlife seems to sigh heavily at his presence.

Then he cranes his neck up, and a wide grin slowly stretches across his face. The winged troll is perched high up on a tree, staring down back at him.

"Still in the motherfucking mood?" He wanders close to the tree, stretching out an arm to brush his hand against the bark. His fingers wrap tightly around the trunk as much as his hands will allow and shakes the tree viciously.

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In an instant Summoner is gone from where he was just standing, a rush of wings and he's suddenly tip toeing on the top of the Highblood's hand, pointing his lance down at him, point aimed right between the Highblood's eyes.

Silly indigo, it's been sweeps since he was the troll you fought, the troll you stripped the wings of. This orange blood is the same, but so different.

He smirks, moving to pat the Highblood's cheek with his lance side.

"All that weight gain is slowin' ya down, chuckles. Come on, try at it again, that first one was free." Smirk.

Edited 2012-09-27 05:22 (UTC)

The idea of causing some permanent pan damage is extremely tempting.

His eyes open wide, pupils contracting, and his grin goes from relaxed to something a bit manic. It's no newsflash, but he really hates looking up at other trolls aside from her Imperious Condescension herself. More like, he hates it when people lower their eyes to stare down at him. He gnashes his teeth briefly in annoyance and knocks the tip of the lance away with the slap of his hand.

"Get your deformity of a NUB SKULL all out of your motherfucking seedflap-" he snaps, lowering his head slightly to angle his horns out at him - more of a quick threatening gesture rather than an actual attack - and lunges forward with an arm outstretched to try and snag the front of his shirt.

Summoner jerks back, smacking the to of the Highblood's hand with the side of his lance, tsking at him as he gets further away. Hate looking up? Oh, he can see that, and now you might even have to tilt your head a little as he stares down at you, glaring down his nose with a toothy grin.

"My shirt? Trying to get me bare for you, eh? But that'd just make me uncomfortable!" Grins before suddenly flying to the side and around, extending his arm and sending a piercing blow at the Highblood's side.

"GOOD."

Well, of course Summoner is being a huge dick and just joking around but hey, it's something the highblood actually wants to have happen. Summoner being uncomfortable, that is. Not shirtless. Not that being shirtless is necessarily a bad thing either.

His body twists around the thrusting tip, just a hair's width from getting a nasty tear in his shirt. A monstrous hand shoots out to clamp around the lance, gripping it tight and slamming the same hand into the floor to get the Summoner grounded.

"Don't motherfucking flatter yourself, motherfucker. Just need a good grip to get a fireblooded piece of shit like you snuffed the fuck out for a bit, YOU MOTHERFUCKING HEAR ME? Dirt all up and looks motherfucking better on the ground anyway!"

Being shirtless is always a possible necessity. Don't ask how that works, it just does.

Got his lance? Oh, well he'll just let go of it then and pull a new one from his sylladex. He's pretty used to indigos grabbing things in fights, so it's always good to be prepared for it.

Summoner quickly uses his new lance to try and send a blunt, hard blow to the side of the Highblood's head, following it up with a hard clock of a horizontal horn, something he's head way too much experience doing.

"Snuffed? Snaffed? Sniffed? Uh- Sniff? You gonna smell me, big and tall? That's pretty creepy."

We'll just take your word for it, then. Shirtless...ness being a necessity sounds like a real good deal, after all.

The highblood drops the lance once that new lance bashes into the side of his head, then he finds his head being tossed to the other side when that ridiculously high-blood proportioned horn clocks him real good. He allows himself a muffled pained snarl, clenching his teeth, and slowly brings his head back around to face the Summoner's smug looking mug.

"Smell you? That's all the motherfucking LEAST of your motherfucking worries in the terms of being CREEPY." The club suddenly materializes in his hand and he swings a few times as hard as he can, despite the fact that he knows just one good, solid hit could kill someone as small as the Summoner.

"I can be all kinds more motherfucking creepy, you know this. Been waiting to subject your motherfucking shitself to all kinds of things that'll make even the greatest motherfucker's skin crawl."

Cool. It's for the best.

There's a pang of interest at those words. The least of his worries in the terms of being creepy... What else would he do, was he willing to do, did he want to? And why the fuck was he caring... Summoner's eyes slim, snarling a bit, mostly at himself, but it looks to be directed to the Highblood.

The club swings, he dodges in a rush, then again, another dodge, then a third time, dodging once more. All the dodging doesn't really leave a spot in to attack him right now though, but at least those killer hits don't hit him. Summoner chuckles during the play, and soon flies up fast, wings opening wide to catch him and keep him up there.

"Waiting? Aww, that's uh- really pretty sweet actually."

Each time he misses, he feels his teeth clench harder, his blood boil just a little more. But there's also a funny sort of relief knowing that this motherfucker could really drag out a fight with him. His eyes follow him up, snarling at how his neck strains up.

"Ain't nothing sweet Motherfucker can be kind of slippery when it comes to subjecting the motherfucking physical extremities onto them."

"Aww, sorry, well uh-" Stops, a little higher up.

"Maybe you can pray to those gods of yours, hey?" Smiles.

"Oh wait, probably not-" Twirls his lance a few times, pointing it down at him from above.

"Cause you know, they're fake."

OK, yeah, no. That's just NOT motherfucking cool. Not only is this motherfucker flying above him like he's just so god damn untouchable, he all just had to go and say those motherfucking blasphemous words.

"You don't know what the MOTHERFUCK you're all up and blathering the motherfuck on about, motherfucker," the highblood seethes, his voice low at first. He glares daggers, eyes turning orange.

"You don't have motherfucking grounds to be making those sort of blasphemous claims, you fairy-ass motherfucker! Vomit-veined ditch burrowing creatures lower than motherfucking dirt didn't get, AND DON'T MOTHERFUCKING DESERIVE, the motherfucking schoolfeeding about this noise."

Now he's just full-on ranting. You can try and interject but he'll just yell over him. Unless you wait until he's done, then, well, let's hope Summoner isn't trying to talk and more occupied with trying to dodge a flying club.

The Highblood's angry response is definitely a good one and Summoner can't help how his smile grows, listening, watching.

"I'm uh, well I'm pretty sure I do know actually? You know, know that it is at least really ridiculous clown stuff." Summoner laughs, arching his back a little and sighing happily as he swings about his lance a few more times.

"You really don't have any real basis to believe in all that either. But since a majority of you guys are just mindless dogs, it makes sense that you'll believe whatever shit your fed." Oh lord... ranting. Summoner's nostrils flare, pulling in a deep breath. It is kind of interesting to listen to in some ways, but for the most part he's concerned by that club because-

"SHIT-" He dodges fast though it almost hits one of his legs. He stares back at where it flew past and then looks down at the other troll with a sneer, shooting in his direction, lance ready to stab at his chest.

Despite not stopping to actually respond to any of Summoner's shit, the highblood still bristles angrily while ranting and raving at the continuous insults being hurled at his religion. It's just such an obvious weak spot, but he's not used to it being poked at so openly by...well, anyone!

Then the club is being swung in Summoner's direction, and he almost smirks, but only almost, since that club flies right by him instead of smacking him out of the sky like a pesky moth. Ugh, OK, motherfucker is coming right for him-

"Come on, motherfucker..." He mumbles under his breath, standing his ground as the Summoner dive bombs at him. Arms out, claws hooked, he prepares himself for a collision whilst avoiding that lance somehow. When the Summoner is JUST close enough, the highblood draws another club that's smaller than his iconic main weapon (like the last one), and swings out against the lance tip in an attempt to redirect the motherfucker into a different direction.

Seriously, taking jabs at the Highblood's religion is like a big bright blue gem on his chest that just says "hit me here". And Summoner is just wailing on it. It feels good to make him so flustered and pissed off. So obviously that means messing with him more in that regard, one has to properly take advantage of tender weak spots, it's just the Nitram way.

"Close one, again, I suggest praying for better aim?" Smirks, looking back down. Part of him feels a little bad about all the anti religion talk. He's never say anything like this to Gamzee, even if he still doesn't really understand the whole clown thing and thinks it's pretty silly.

And then dive and-

SMACK!

His lance whirls around and Summoner snarls. The way the Highblood hit the weapon kind of twirls Summoner around in the air, but he decides to use that to his advantage and spins all the way around fast, aiming to slam his lance into the side of the Grand Highblood's face. Hey, it's not a piercing blow to the chest, but the blunt blow to the side of the head is still nice.

Ah, that bit of impact is satisfying enough. He can see the twirl happening, and he does see it, but all he can really do within the mere seconds that it's happening is brace for impact. He clenches his teeth hard, screwing his eyes shut as the lance impacts with the side of his face, throwing his head off to the side and releasing a pained growl.

"Cute little twirl, motherfucker!" He snaps, swinging his club out wildly. "The Cavalreaper training include motherfucking dancing as motherfucking well?"

Not only does he swing, but his free hand grasps out into the air for him as well, using those sharp claws he rarely cuts or files down to hook into a leg or arm.

The club swinging doesn't hit anything but it preoccupies him enough that he can't respond and-

"Ack!" A snarl, feeling claws dig into his leg. Summoner quickly swoops back, landing feet away and lookings down to his thigh, seeing thick, deep gashed, already dripping a little with orange. He sneers before letting out a snorted laugh, glancing up to him.

"Dancing? Hell no, lowbloods aren't pampered like with you and your training. You might be able to afford shitty drills and a lenient exercise, but I don't have the time for all that bullshit."

"HEH HEH, OH, RIGHT." The highblood snickers, flicking the tip of his tongue across his lips. "Sometimes I forget how motherfucking ignorant you unschoolfed motherfuckers are about that noise!" Because, wow, lenient? Nope. At least, not in his experience.

He looks down at his claws and allows himself a small shiver, grinning as he brings a claw up to his lips and laps at it slowly, both enjoying and grimacing at the sharp tang of rusty blood. His gaze remains fixed on the wound, eyes lighting up like motherfucking ~~Christmas~~ 12th Perigee.

"Why don't you let a brother teach you a few motherfucking STEPS-?" And he lunges again, club already swinging out to the side, preparing to launch itself at the wounded Summoner.

Edited 2012-10-05 07:33 (UTC)

A scowl before he's dodging, but not high like usual, this time he crouches low, switching his lance for a large knife. As he dodges low, he grips the hilt of the knife tight in his hand, and aims to slam in deep into the Highblood's leg from the side.

The wide sweep of his arm doesn't allow for much, visually, so he misses the small detail where Summoner draws the large knife. He sees the smaller troll dart forward, but only when the knife plunges into his leg does he realize-- fuck.

He roars, the blade digging into his leg deep but he quickly raises his hand to backhand the troll (or at least drive him away so he could tend to the knife). It sends a hot bolt of pain up and down his leg, causing him to lurch in his step, nearly tripping. It's a pretty nasty wound, and dear god does it hurt. It hurts so fucking much, but he only finds himself stretching his mouth from ear to ear in an unsettling grin. A strange moaning sound bubbles up in his throat, and it's obvious he's trying to keep it down but he's pretty sure Summoner is close enough to hear it.

"Motherfuck..."

He gets a swift back hand but it more catches his horn than anything. Either way he's being slide to the side, quickly stumbling and soon balancing on his feet. He shudders, before he even looks, hearing that deep sound rumbling from the Highblood and slowly tilts his head to the side, glaring over his shoulder at him. He sees the grin, and paired with the sound previous, and that unsettling curse word, Summoner feels his stomach churn and he's not sure if it's purely from disgust.

"Wow, no-" he finds himself growling, taking out another knife and spinning on his heel before he leaps up and dart at him. Summoner stops infront of him fast, swinging his leg hard to swipe the Highblood's legs while one is would and he's preoccupied with.... whatever the heck his is doing. Summoner's trying to get him to fall on his ass.

The highblood might be preoccupied with the pain/pleasure(?), but his wits are still about him. His eyes widen, but with one leg sort of paralyzed, he can't avoid the legs knocking hard against his ankles. He goes down, but he catches himself with his hand and one knee on the ground. No way he's going to just fall over like that, especially from this light-boned freak of nature.

With him so close now, he screams at him, specks of spit flying everywhere as he angrily swipes at him.

"Get the motherfuck back here so I can all up and ERASE THAT MOTHERFUCKING NUB off your motherfucking shoulders!" He swings the club down where the Summoner stands while swinging his free arm out to claw at him if the club fails to stop him.

Pain/pleasure(?), we just don't know.

Again the club misses, but Summoner keeps allowing himself to get too close for too long and that swipe of a hand comes at him. It almost grabs him but he holds up the knife, blocking with the blade pointed out and sinking into the Highblood's palm. He can't hold the guard for long though, their strength just isn't. So he opens his wings and readies a quick leap back, leaving the knife where it is.

The knife draws thin rivulets of purple blood that flow down his palm. Most people would find this an unfortunate advantage, now adding a new weapon into his arsenal, but the highblood only sneers.

It only distracts him for a moment as he flicks his hand out to the side to fling the blade from his hand. There's a small thudding sound of metal embedding into tree bark. Unlike the blood from the Summoner, the highblood only stares at his palm with a growl in his throat, then charges forward with a tremendous leap. His legs are powerful enough to get him going, but then his huge forearms are stretched out to keep his upper body from crashing into the ground.

Head tilted down, horns out like gnarled lances, he runs at the Summoner like a wild bull. How ironic.

The speed at which the other troll comes at him is frightening and he finds himself stiffening a little before taking to the sky fast, but not before one of those horns sticks into his side.

He raises up, gasping and pressing a hand to his side, swooping over him and landing on the ground in the spot where the Highblood once was. Quickly, Lysunder pulls out a thin throwing spear and throws it fast at the Highblood's back, still clenching his side with his other hand.

The pressure against his horns feel...well, amazing. It's so satisfying to just stick a motherfucking fleshy thing with the tips of his horns, knowing it just broke skin and all that blood was flowing.

His body reflexively twists to turn and face the Summoner, even without realizing that a spear is being launched at his back. It scrapes across his side, almost identical in placement to the Summoner where his horns had slashed through. A hiss, loud and serpentine, as his hand also goes up but without touching it.

He's tempted to run at him again, but he's still, breathing heavily in silence, and just watching.

"Heh," a smirk slides up on his mouth, glancing at the wound now on the Highblood's side. Summoner breathes deep, smelling blood, a general scent of it, from the both of them. His wings shake a little before remain open, and slowly his lowered head raises up, tilting back a little to stare down his nose with a grin, lids low.

"Doesn't appeal aesthetically to you, I know," a deep tone, pulling his hand away from his side a little, blood dripping down his leg and dripping from his hand.

"But you still want it, don't you?"

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