vatheon | [ ♑ ] don't get up

who: the grand highblood & you
where: someplace between the ordo neighborhood and the plaza.
when: march 3rd, early evening.
style: any is fine
status: open

The highblood didn't sleep much.

Not that being in Vatheon changed that much, he just didn't sleep much in general. He found himself awake early in the evening, and had kicked all of his bedding out of the way in slight frustration. While this hive he picked out wasn't bad in its accommodations and size, he had very little use for a lot of the things inside it. Everything and anything that he didn't need was unceremoniously dumped outside, while things he could use were tossed into a huge pile in the middle of the living room. Lots of walls and doorways were demolished, literally just ripped right out, seeing as he couldn't fit through the majority of them.

The hive itself was only used as a place for rest and sleep, so once that was done with, he exited. It was already dark enough and noticed the weird mark on his arm glowing, which...didn't bother him much anymore. With no particular destination in mind, he walked, not being particularly tactful in his movements, but not making a big show of it. Way too early for any sort of attention.

Then suddenly, the highblood swayed, and stopped abruptly in his tracks. He looked down at the ground, eyes open wide, unable to snap himself out of this strange trance. The troll was but a statue, stock still, scarcely breathing.

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If the Grand Highblood actually tried to use his own chucklevoodoos, Equius probably would drop dead of fright.

As it is, he just moans, curling tighter around himself, wincing when the Grand Highblood speaks. Help help, he needs an adult, he needs an adult now!

There's no twang preceding the sudden appearance of an arrow sinking into the ground before the Grand Highblood's feet. There's just the sharp, grating sound as it sinks into pavement as easily as if it were dirt. The feathers on its end are plain, simple black. It's just a small little thing, standing between the older troll and the younger.

As if melting out from the shadows, Darkleer steps out from a small side street. Easy to miss, but near impossible to find until, apparently, that very moment.

Terror of his own is humming through his veins. Every instinct in him, every rule that has been forced and immortalized in his mind, his soul, it all screams out at him: one does not go against his superior. one does not raise his weapon against his better. one does not argue with a subjugglator.

"Grand Highblood. I apologize for interrupting. I believe that is my charge you have met. With all due respect, I must insist he come with me."

The sight of the arrow jolts him out of his thoughts, but is back to furrowing his brows at it, and straightens his back, crossing his legs indian-style and propping his hands up on his knees. Then he sees him, the familiar shadow of the Expatriate slinking out into the open. It's almost amazing to the highblood how he couldn't sense him until he showed himself. The bastard was top-notch at hiding.

He sneers like it's a reflex, leaning forward now, lowering his chin down slightly so his horns tilt forward like a slightly threatening gesture. Then his gaze went to the curled up mess of a troll on the ground and snorts.

"Your motherfucking descendant is a fucking mess and an eyesore," he spat, folding his arms. "Nobody's here to all stopping your motherfucking ass from absconding away to motherfucking safety."

Oh god, Darkleer. Darkleer Darkleer Darkleer.

Equius makes a very undignified whining sound in his throat, about the only noise he feels like he can make right now, and tears one hand away from his throat, reaching out towards his ancestor in supplication. Help him, Darkleer, help him, make the honking stop.

Mess of a descendent. The back of his throat burns and Darkleer locks his jaw before dismissing Archermedes. If he's going to pick up Equius, that means one of his hands is going to be preoccupied. There's no use in keeping out a weapon which needs two.

Cautiously, he advances until he can crouch besides Equius and pull him up against him. His eyes don't leave the Grand Highblood and he keeps one hand free. Fear still makes his heart pound, along with another, darker emotion that he doesn't put much thought into.

"Quiet, Equius," he murmurs into the boy's ear before raising his voice just slightly. "I apologize for any trouble he caused, sir."

The highblood watches Darkleer near and put his weapon away, and he wishes he could just get up and strike him for reasons so minuscule. Having his 'charge' roaming about willy-nilly, only to keel over and make himself as pathetic as possible in his presence was one reason that came to mind, and he curls his lips back into a nasty sneer.

"Looks all like the little fucker's got the wicked case of the voodoo," he says in a low and dangerous tone. "Take some motherfucking care in keeping him in your sights, or I will put him out of his misery the next time I ever encounter him." Fortunately, no one has told the highblood that death was not permanent here.

Equius clings to Darkleer, his arms locking around the older troll's neck as he buries his face in his ancestor's shoulder. There, just... just concentrate on Darkleer, concentrate on the way he smells and how Equius can hold him as tightly as he wishes without hurting him, and how he's massive and solid and comforting.

Equius' breathing starts to slow down a little, his throat opening up a bit, and he trembles in Darkleer's arms.

[ ♑ ] don't get up

I'll poke James, see if we can get Darkleer to the rescue...

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