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Post by Orphaner Dualscar on Jul 13, 2011 11:56:41 GMT -10
For pride wwill surely swwell
But nothing's unforgivven in hell- - -
This was dangerous.
This was dangerous, stupid, and a choice he was already regretting. Even after placing everything in order and figuring out every possible variable, his palms were still sweating as he made his way around the deck of the ship. In fifteen minutes, the show would be starting. Perhaps then he would be able to relax.
Relax, so long as the land dwellers managed to say silent and civil throughout the show.
He was merging his two worlds for the night. And though it was only one night, the prospect was an unnerving one. Here were two groups of people who expected him to act in certain ways contradictory to one another. The sea-faring nobility expected the prim and proper Dualscar, a respectable sea-captain with a charming manner about him. Terezi and Summoner…well, they were expecting the man they had grown to man. The violent, sardonic man with a penchant for malicious humor. He had warned them to be on their best manners, but if experience had taught him anything, the two land-dwellers were always ready and willing to sabotage his best-laid plans.
As far as plans went, however, this one had been carefully set-out. He had brought Terezi with him to the deck, dressing her in the finest gown his slaves could whip up in time—helpful, but certainly not enough to excuse the fact that he had brought a land-dweller with him without an explanation. One that he had yet to come up with. But with the right trolls paid off to let Summoner in through the back-way, and little chance for a commotion once the show was getting started, he tried to assure himself that it would all go swimmingly.
He took a breath to calm his nerves, placing a hand on Terezi’s shoulder and steering her into the room with him. At the very least, Summoner would never have to see the interaction, holed up in the private theatre box as he would be. More importantly, no one else would have to see him. Despite not being a sea-troll, Terezi was of high enough blood to not warrant much attention, beyond a casual, questioning glance thrown to him by those of longer acquaintance. Summoner, on the other hand…well, that uproar wasn’t something he wasn’t willing to consider. Nobility such as himself bringing a low-blooded land-dweller to such an event? Beyond even that, an infamous low-blood, well known for his part in the group of revolutionaries? The news would surely reach the Empress, and the order for his culling would be swift and deliberate.
He could have groaned. So, he was risking his life for the low-blood now. Grand.
Pushing the thought from his mind, he did a quick scan of the room to locate the trolls of principal trolls in the room. He gave a polite nod to one of the women busily attempting to wave him over, again pushing Terezi in the direction of the group.
“Very true indeed,” the woman said to her group as he came into earshot, her glass of champagne teetering precariously in her hand, “And now, my dear Mister Dualscar, what have you to say in behalf of the interested trolls who have been watching you and your…young friend from across the hall?”
He chuckled politely. Hitting the drinks hard already—some had no taste for good theatre. “My lady, I must inquire to the subject before daring to speak upon it.”
She waved a hand at him, “Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh my out of opinion. My dearest Captain, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places you in to not give an explanation for your company! No man of common respect, no man who had any value for his character, ought be seen..” She tapered off, turning her hand to Terezi, “Can your most intimate friends have been so excessively deceived?” She said it as a joke, but Dualscar knew the thin ice he treaded upon. There was a certain degree of true inquiry in her question, and everyone would be expecting an answer.
He quickly leaned down to Terezi’s level in their distraction. “Dowwn the stairs to the left, stop at the first landing and keep wwalking dowwn the hallwway. Box Five. It will be the one that…tastes purple” He relayed in a whisper, doing his best to restrain a groan at the mention of tasting. “Let Summoner in through the back door.” With that, and a less than subtle push in the right direction, he stood back up and addressed the crowd of finely dressed sea-trolls.
“A wworthy question, my lady, but you wwill excuse that I keep my reasons as my owwn. I dare say you wwould find her vvery agreeable, howwever.” He said, his calm smile ever in-place.
“Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a creature agreeable whom one knows to hate! Do not wish me such an evil.” Again, the group laughed around her. It was to be expected—of the highest blood among the circle, it was mere obligation amongst them. He politely excused himself from their group; lower as he might have been to her, she was of no concern to him. Rather, she had no strong ties to the empress or the true nobility.
He immersed himself into a group of higher-ups among the Empress’ nobility. A constant supplier of certain…commodities for them, the time for blackmail for certain favors would soon be upon them. They spoke of their shipping goods, how glad they were of Dualscar’s assistance, and which other trolls were looking the most 'agreeable' on that fine evening. The curtain call was sounded, and Dualscar gladly pulled himself from their company and toward the direction of his box.
The show promised to be spectacular—perhaps the looks of utter shock on the land-dwellers’ faces would make the excursion worthwhile.
TEMPLATE BY VIKA OF CAUTION.
LE OUTFIT |
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Post by Terezi Pyrope on Jul 13, 2011 14:55:41 GMT -10
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Post by The Summoner on Jul 15, 2011 11:13:31 GMT -10
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000] bLEW dOWN tHE dOORS tO lET mE iN sHATTERED wINDOWS aND tHE sOUNDS oF dRUMS pEOPLE cOULDN’T bELIEVE wHAT i’D bECOME  ♙words : 1009; ♙tags: Scar and Rezi; be my mirror, my sword and shield
What was the point of all this again?
Yes, long ago there had been an argument, things had been said, and apparently promises had been made, but the crux of the situation was, Longhorn had never thought that the sea troll was actually serious when he had mentioned such a crazy thing. It seemed that there was more to his kismesis than met the eye though, because the invitation had been extended, and now he was stuck in a small storage area on a foreign ship, equal parts confused, anxious, and (though he would never admit it) nervous. While he had no problem facing down a batallion of the Grand Highblood’s finest men, hell, he would laugh at the challenge, there was something much more chilling about having to remain secretive and out of the way. Perhaps it was merely long buried memories of childhood, of concepts of death and highblood superiority, but the fact that he was on a ship filled with highbloods, sea trolls to be exact, set his nerves on edge.
Still, it was a challenge that he couldn’t back down from, and no matter how absolutely wrecked he felt, trapped as he was in the storage bay, he couldn’t show that to his kismesis. No, instead he set his mouth in a firm line, glaring ahead at the metal door in front of him, ears perked to catch any sound. Anything that would constitute betrayal his mind helpfully reminded him as he tried to shove the errant thought aside. No, no, it wouldn’t end up like that, he had to have faith in the young one, that her influence as an auspictice would be enough to prevent any sort of unwelcome surprise. He did not feel like dying any time soon, and if it was to be his time, then it wouldn’t be on some godforsaken boat, dressed up like some sort of paraded houndbeast.
And oh, how he hated the costuming. Contrary to what he preferred to come across as, there was still a shred of his old military training, and its incessant pulling at his mind would not let him just show up haggard and covered in dirt like normal. No, there were times and places for such things, but now it was time to fit in. Or at least there had been an attempt made, but when one did not possess anything that could really be considered 'fine’ it made the process far more difficult. Eventually, all he had to settle on was the old commander’s uniform he had been issued so long ago in the reapers, and even that wasn’t entirely appropriate. Though it had been a piece that had been worn generally for ceremonial purposes, there were still small indigo stains upon one of the sleeves that he had never bothered to clean after he had absconded from the city, and they had long since dried into the fabric. After looking them over for a while, he had decided against trying to remove them on such short notice, and simply set upon the thing, trying to make it at least semi-presentable.
A quick tailor job with a pair of shears and some cord had made the jacket wearable again, and luckily his moirail had been far too distracted with another set of attack plans to notice the fact that he had pulled the old uniform out from storage. It was getting harder and harder to hide things from the other troll, and it pained him to be so secretive to his pale brother-in-arms, but nothing good would come of the more excitable troll learning of the....agreement that he had with the sea troll (where was he? Goddamn him!). He snarled at the unwavering metal in front of him, as if somehow his ire would cause someone to show up and just take him to where he needed to go.
Apparently some universal force decided that his ire was enough, because there was suddenly a commotion beyond the door. The noise nearly stopped his vascular pump, and it most certainly frayed the last nerve that he had been clinging to. Every muscle tensed, completely ready to spring into action should it turn out that he had been discovered by some gaudy lost troll, but instead it was merely one of the faces from before, one of the trolls that they had spoken to that had led him to his current predicament. Curt words were exchanged, and he found himself following along, trying not to lose sight of his guide, which proved to be easier thought than done, considering the fact that they were currently aboard a vessel that seemed to have some sort of love for hallways. Winding hallways, his eternal enemy. Even with his wings flattened to his back like some sort of of gossamer cape, there was still the issue of his horns (always his horns) catching on or knocking things from walls. It was a struggle to keep up, especially with how secretive and quickly they were supposed to be moving, and he mentally cursed the entire situation, all of the trolls within the boat, and most certainly his own stupid pride for not allowing him to turn down the invitation.
Eventually he was shoved inside yet another passway, told to stay there, and then summarily abandoned once again. It was a routine that was getting old, but fortunately the wait this time was far less. Perhaps a minute or so, and the door was opened again, but this time by a much more familiar face. He was always glad to see the little odd wriggler, but even moreso now, in such hostile territory, though a quick nod was all he gave as he followed her out.
Ugh, the decadence everywhere, it was nearly dripping off of everything around, and try as he might, he couldn’t help but be the slightest bit impressed by all of it. Of course, that was a terrible way to feel, but there was a infinitesimally small part of him that was perhaps a bit jealous....though the chances of him ever admitting such were somewhere between none and never. Instead, he merely rolled his eyes at everything, slipping into the box behind Terezi and awkwardly arranging himself in the small space the best that he could. Alright then, only a bit more to gut through, at least that gave him hope.
my missionaries in a foreign field credit to gREY of OTE |
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Post by Orphaner Dualscar on Jul 16, 2011 12:05:56 GMT -10
For pride wwill surely swwell
But nothing's unforgivven in hell- - -
Had the noble seatrolls been a group less preoccupied with their own affairs and matters directly in front of them, one of them might have glanced over and noticed the haste with which Dualscar sped across the deck and down the stairs.
Dualscar threw the door open before him, descending before any of the leisurely sea-trolls would even began to part ways to migrate towards their seats. Good—he would be able to position Summoner behind the curtain of the box to make certain none could see his gaudy horns in time. He made his way with a determined pace, completely on edge to his surroundings. A servant troll offered him a glass of champagne as he passed—he flipped the tray on the servant, sending the collection of filled glasses to the ground. Good. Another distraction to further delay the patrons on this side. He heard the servant give a low groan as he turned the corner. He would probably face repercussions for the inconvenience Dualscar had caused; that was his problem, not Dualscar’s.
Dualscar’s problem was getting to his theatre box, slipping a few more gold coins to make sure those sealed lips stayed that way, and finally getting to relax and enjoy this particular show he had been looking forward to seeing since its announcement. Had it been any other show, he would not have invited his land-dwelling acquaintances. He was here to show them true culture, after all, and nothing short of the best would do for that. No, he wanted to see them, utterly shocked to see what true culture was—not whatever it was they had imagined for themselves back on land. He wanted to know that they would go back to their sad little lives, knowing they would never experience something quite so wonderful again.
Of course, he hadn’t quite had time to tell the others’ what the story was exactly about. A high-blooded chorus girl taught to sing at night by a deformed lowblood and made a star for it, his flushed feelings for her, her flushed feelings for a wealthy sea-dwelling victome she had known in childhood…he could almost smirk; would Summoner be indignant over it? Or would he just be brimming with pride at the lowblooded character’s genius and torment of the highbloods?
He rounded one last corner, walking straight to the main door into his box. A troll waited outside, nodding to him once—a silent notice that everything had gone according to plan. He slipped a small bag of gold into her hands. She asked him if he would be needing help getting his baggage out as well. Dualscar might have smiled at the sarcasm, had the matter not been so serious. He faced her, expression stony, and assured her that he would not. He could deliver his own baggage. She disappeared down the hallway, and he slipped through the door.
The tension was nearly palpable once he entered; hoping to mask his own, he smirked at them, “Enjoying ourselvves already, are wwe?”. He turned his attention to Summoner, giving the outfit a quick once-over. Oh, how quaint. He sent the lowblood a knowing glance—the closest thing he had to formal wear, was it? He would have to make his slaves whip up a nicer outfit for him later—surely even lowbloods had need to dress up on occasion, didn’t they?
He locked the door behind him and came forward, “You, lowwblood, wwill need to sit here.” he said, motioning to the seat closest to the wall and behind the curtain, obstructing him from the audience’s view. Dualscar himself took the seat directly in front of him—the one that would make him visible to the audience.
The theatre quickly filled. Dualscar looked over the side, taking a mental note of how many there were. By the time the lights began to dim, it was nearly a full house. That was to be expected, but nonetheless shot a pang of anxiety through his heart. ”I need not remind you both to mind your manners? Wwe don’t wwant any attention on us.” he barely had time to hiss at them, as the overhead lights dimmed, the stage lights flickered on, and the actors poured on-stage.
The play began with a number of older sea-trolls on stage, bidding in an auction in an old opera. Finally he could relax and enjoy the show. Relax being terribly relative, given the straight, uncomfortable posture he would have to maintain throughout the show, should anyone glance into his box. The ‘broken’ chandelier was revealed on stage, and with a cry of, “Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination. Gentlemen!” from one of the actors. With that, the chandelier flashed to life. And, on the many strings it was attached to, slowly lifted from the ground and began to move above the audience as the overture played. The stage was transformed from its former palor into a beautiful set, and the true play began.
Ah, when the female lead began singing her first song, all thoughts of his worry dissipated into thin air. That mesmerizing voice, soft but strong, flowing so smoothly from those wonderful lips!
How either of them could have lived without theatre…well, that was certainly beyond him.
TEMPLATE BY VIKA OF CAUTION.
LE OUTFIT |
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Post by Terezi Pyrope on Jul 18, 2011 19:48:35 GMT -10
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Post by The Summoner on Jul 30, 2011 11:19:44 GMT -10
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000] bLEW dOWN tHE dOORS tO lET mE iN sHATTERED wINDOWS aND tHE sOUNDS oF dRUMS pEOPLE cOULDN’T bELIEVE wHAT i’D bECOME ♙words : 762; ♙tags: Scar and Rezi; be my mirror, my sword and shield
It would never cease to bother him how much the sea troll thought that he could lord over everything in his path, that was one thing that Summoner was sure of. Just the arrogance of the other was enough to set him on edge, and it was only the fact that there were multiple sea trolls everywhere whose very word could send a plethora of combat-ready guards after him that stopped him from shooting a sharp quip back at Dualscar. As if the entire situation wasn’t already torturous, the fact that he couldn’t defend himself against any of the other troll’s quips was perhaps the icing on the sugary round confection. Why, why had he allowed his pride to get the better of him on this occasion? Certainly when everything was over and he was assuredly safe, he would have to repay the other in spades.
.....
...perhaps that was not the best turn of phrase to use.
....
....anyways-
Tucking away his ire for further use later, he instead focused his eyes forward, raising a brow at the crescendo of the orchestra and the gaudy effects that were playing out upon stage. It was....it was actually quite beautiful, though he would never admit that out loud. Certainly the amount of extravagance that had been put into just the few first minutes dwarfed everything that he had seen in all of his life, both in the sheer texture and the cost. It was both disheartening and curiously intriguing, as it was, and he couldn’t help but lean forward just a little, trying to catch everything and anything he could. Just how could anyone afford all of this anyway? All of the luxurious fabrics, and the expensive jewelery, and why would anyone ever have such crafted architecture? A view into another world, it was, almost like the fantasy novels that he was so fond of had come to life right in front of his eyes. How many times as a wriggler had he imagined such decadence, such treasure before him? Eventually he had come to his senses and learned that life would never be like his fairy tales, but there was still that small, buried part of him that would always be wonderstruck.
In the midst of his begrudging admiration, however, a sudden sense of wrong yanked him away from his musings. There was a chill down his spine, and suddenly thoughts that were not his own shoved their way to the front of his mind, foreign, sick, like an invading disease. For a moment the urge to shout nearly overwhelmed him, but the memory of his situation managed to still his tongue in time. Psychic powers were a herald of lowbloods, seen as something untamed, unfit for the higher masses, so why in the world was there something attempting to infect his psyche? He was on edge, nails biting into his palms as he clenched his fists as though the gesture would somehow be able to stop the molestation, but suddenly there were words to the presence, and the tone washed over him like water.
Though he couldn’t deny that knowing the source of the invading force helped calm his nerves a bit, there was still an underlying sense of violation that came with knowing that someone would willingly patter around within his head. Sure, he did trust the younger troll to an extent, and she had been a rather effective auspistice, but that still didn’t forgive the fact that that was still his mind, goddamnit. Still, he did his best to calm his ire, flicking his gaze over and doing his best not to move, lest he draw attention to himself from any wandering eye that could be focused on the private box. He was not used to ever being connected to another troll’s mind, the only times that he had been privy to such were...better left forgotten. Wildbeasts were his forte, they were less complicated, more primal and instinctual than trying to understand and sort through troll emotions and thoughts. In as much, it was nearly impossible to understand how to communicate back with the younger troll, not to mention the nigh perverse feeling that would have come with touching another psyche so intimately. Instead, he merely nodded a tiny bit, not entirely sure to what he was agreeing to and fully ready to deny her at the first sign of any sort of betrayal.
....not that he really expected it, but a troll could never be too careful, no?
my missionaries in a foreign field ♙notes: - ; credit to gREY of OTE |
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Post by Terezi Pyrope on Aug 22, 2011 15:01:05 GMT -10
| [atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 300px; background: url(http://www.kazuya-akimoto.com/2004revised/2004revised_images/2459_Dark_Blue_Cave_Bat_Pattern.jpg); border: 1px double #008E00; background-position: center, bTable] d33p 1n th3 d4rkn3ss my h34rt st1ll s33s 3v3ryth1ng th4t 1'll n3v3r b3 b3h1nd th3s3 3y3s 1'll go 3v3rywh3r3; th3r3's no n33d for symp4thy | [atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #aaeebb; border: 1px double #008E00; color: 116633]
She couldn’t deny it: that had hurt. Yes, she had been expecting him to be unhappy, but he may as well have turned and slapped her the way he had retaliated, and Terezi couldn’t help but flinch, pulling her hand away briefly at the initial rejection. She almost pulled back the request entirely -- silly of her to think he’d trust her enough to let her in -- when he did just that. Still blind and now a little frightened, she placed her hand back over his, using it as an anchor despite the tension in it. Even angry, he was safe.
Carefully, she let herself in, making certain not to so much as glance at anything other than what he was seeing. Other than the passive ability to read the emotional energy he was giving off, she knew nothing in his head aside from what was being brought through his eyes. If he could look through hers, then that was fine, but she doubted it; beasts were more his persuasion, and in honesty she doubted he would force upon another something he himself despised.
Terezi found it rather ironic that the first thing she’d been able to see in close to three sweeps was herself. She would rather it have been someone else, and began pondering whether this was the best idea after all. It all felt so curious, feeling herself in her skin while staring at her body from three feet away. She had no control over where the Summoner looked, though, and more importantly had no interest or ability to do so, and thus she supposed it would be a thing she’d have to get used to. The dress was even prettier than she’d imagined -- hell, she was even prettier than she imagined. But that was a vain and silly thought, so she put it out of her head, focusing instead on the rest of the world around them for the moment. She was pleased to find that she had been right about the intricacies of the theatre, its fine details and gently draped curtains all falling just so. Combined with the music and, despite tensions, the company, everything was for that moment absolutely perfect.
Summoner would probably never know or understand how much this meant to her, but that was all right. With her free hand, she reached up and rubbed at one of her own eyes, half fascinated by that simple motion and half trying not to be shocked that she saw no teal when she felt it on her face. She was glad she didn’t see it, however; that meant he didn’t either, and she would rather keep it that way, joy or no joy.
Thank you. It was all she could think to say, and luckily at the moment she could share with him at least a little of what she was feeling so as not to cheapen the words. To herself, though, she hoped he would stop looking at her and turn his attention back to the stage; she didn’t want either of them to miss another moment of this after all the trouble they’d gone through to get here.
| [atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #aaeebb; border: 1px double #008E00; color: 116633]TAGGED: Du4lsc4r & Ruf1o
WORDS: 546
NOTES:
CREDIT: LunarFlowerAngel from OTE | Lyrics | Image |
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