R4INBOW RUMPUS P4RTYTOWN (Capricorn ramblings )

[Sporky]

We've only known each other since March.

I only knew you as a Vriska and Terezi player.

You made me really like Vriska, really see how very damaged she was. You made my Karkat roleplaying evolve. You made me ship them together.

I shouldn't be crying. But I am.

I'm gonna miss you.

Good friend. Best spider.

[Sporky]

Highlander, to trolls, would be The Adventures Of A Greenblood From Centuries Ago Who Finds Out He Is an Immortal And Can Only Be Killed By Losing His Head, Is Taught By Another Incredibly Manly Immortal How To Properly Use Bladekind, And Ultimately Becomes The Only Immortal Left After A Great Many Number Of Battles And Is Granted The Prize Of Becoming A Blueblood


There, Xinder. I did it myself. Don't stress yourself.


I'm the man now, dog.

[Sporky]

Combine CRUXITE RAPIER && THE ADVENTURES OF A GREENBLOOD FROM CENTURIES AGO WHO FINDS OUT HE IS AN IMMORTAL AND CAN ONLY BE KILLED BY LOSING HIS HEAD, IS TAUGHT BY ANOTHER INCREDIBLY MANLY IMMORTAL HOW TO PROPERLY WIELD BLADEKIND, AND ULTIMATELY BECOMES THE ONLY IMMORTAL LEFT AFTER A GREAT NUMBER OF BATTLES AND IS GRANTED THE PRIZE OF BECOMING A BLUEBLOOD POSTER = THE QUICKENER

Perhaps it would have been cheaper to use the base rapier for this. Oh well. The power increase from using his cruxite rapier instead of the base would be worth it.

This new sword was a beauty. Still a rapier, still made of the material that composed the cruxite dowels, but still different. A cup hilt instead of a simple crossguard, which fit snugly into his hand. It was very thin, very..dainty, but he still could not ply the blade, despite his considerable strength. Upon a closer inspection, the cup was ornately engraved, too. Little lightning bolts crisscrossed across it, etched into the dark green cruxite material.

Speaking of lightning bolts, every few seconds, a tiny spark would jump up the blade. They were, unlike the sword, a bright, purple-tinted white. He swung and thrusted the sword, sparks trailed in the air along with the blade. This thing was a beauty. He liked it. Seemed every sword he fashioned was a wonder. Definitely one of the bright spots of this game.

[Sporky]

Here, have another Mindfang post.

---

Ah, what else could of been expected from so pathetic, so pitiable, a man? What else could of been expected from so low, so childish, a man? To actually fight? To perhaps grief and put his own life upon the line? To dash up with sickle in hand, to swing and flail with fist and steel? To howl and scream in feral anger as he laid so pathetically bottled? Oh, what could of been expected except for surrender? Spinneret knew her answer before she even heard it, she knew her answer from the moment it had left those painted lips.

It was simply to clear. It was simply to pathetic.

The young man before her was a coward. A useless fool whose service she could hardly value. A useless cowards whose loyalty would undoubtedly waver at the first sign of conflict. Before her stood a man whose loyalty would need to be engraved. Before her stood a man whose experience, whose grit, would need cherishing. Oh, it was sickening. Yet, what else could be her prize? Where could that gem, that boundless treasure, of laid except within that freakish blood? Was it mere circumstance? Had she overlooked something? It was a question she pondered anew as she gazed upon that young man, as she awaited his answer. It was a question she silently considered even as she stood there, allowing that mutant before her to consider his darling fate.

A mutant whom simply took his grating time to come up with so simple, so easy, an answer. Oh, it was enough to make those lips slowly curl into so pleasant a smile. It was enough to make that sole eye's gaze soften, to almost softly consider the young man before her. As her stance slowly shifted, becoming less tense, less ready to simply spring forth and drive that naked blade into so foolish a mutant's a heart. Oh, it was an odd change. A change that may of been seen as almost unsettling despite its soft nature. After all, where had that former steel gone? Was it perhaps a show that she accepted her victory? That she knew it was no longer a matter of debate? Or, had she simply grown tired of worrying about so minute a foe? Perhaps she had even grown bored, her attention left to waver. Oh, that was a possibility. After all, her sole, darling, eye had begun to waver away from that young man and onto her own appendage. Her own arm, a limb of wiring and steel.

It was possibility a mixture of all those things. Or, perhaps it was none of those simple little actions. Yet, finally did her answer come. Finally did she hear that hissed, almost venomous, reply. A reply to which she, slowly, rotated her arm, bringing it before her as she slowly stepped backwards and away from her captive. As she stepped backwards and slowly adjusted herself upon her heel, bringing herself to walk away from that man even as her own hand lifted. As a gloved length came to play across that robotic wrist, as it came to gently pry open so sleek, so obscure, a cavity to reveal that panel once more. A panel to which she cooed a single word. "Darkleer."

A moment was left to pass, a moment in which she allowed her hand to drift away and for that robotic wrist to merely hang before her as she crossed the room, as she drifted away from her darling 'recruit' and his cage. "Mister Vantas," Spinneret softly began without glancing at him, "you truly will need some training. Just whom are you to use such foul language within the presence of a lady?" Spinneret mockingly questioned. "And just whom are you to keep me waiting?" She whispered only for a few, furious, beeps to catch her attention.

Oh, with a grin, Spinneret allowed her gaze to lower. She allowed her gaze to fall onto that tiny screen embedded within that arm's console. "Oh dear, now you've gone and upset my crew." She tauntingly mentioned as she lowered her hand, as she allowed it to but tap upon that screen. It was an action that left an image of that screen to leap forth, for the desktop of a computer to be revealed and for so popular, so well known, a system of communication to leap forth. Yet, by distance alone, those furiously typed blue words would likely be but a blur.

highb100dedMachinist [HM] began trolling gamblingArachnid [GA]
HB: I apologize for my e%ceptionally crude delay, Marquise.
HB: I was in the middle of demolishing a wall, hoping to find a safe.
HB: I have found no such safe.
HB:
HB:
HB:
HB: Marquise...
HB: Whom is the impudent f001 who would use such 100d language within your proximity?
HB: Marquise?
HB: Are you there?

It was a series of messages to which Spinneret could merely grin. "Darkleer," she softly cooed, only for a message from her handle to pop up and onto that screen, "I require you, now. You know how to find my coordinates, I expect you here by the time I have closed this conversation." Spinneret softly whispered only for that message to appear again. Lifting but a sole, gloved, finger, Spinneret eased that panel shut and dismissed that hologram. "Now, Mister Vantas, look at what you've gone and done. You're such a horridly dimwitted thing, aren't you? Ah, if only you could of answered a tad sooner and a bit less crudely. Alas, I'll still manage to acquire what I desire. I hope you enjoy your new prison, Mister Vantas, you're not going anywhere for awhi-"

The rest of her sentence was all but lost upon the echoing boom of destruction. Yet, Spinneret stood unfazed in that noise's wake. She stood unfazed as so hulking, so massive, a figure all but burst through that lawn ring's wall, parting cement and steel as if it was but water. By any definition, the man was gargantuan. A man of amazing stature and musculature whose very size may of put some lucus to shame. At almost a towering seven foot tall, the broadly built figure silently approached. Broad legs carried him forward with a near deceptive finesse and dexterity, though. Leaving him to quickly cross that room, heavy boots noisily crushing packaging and bottles as he left that gaping hole within the lawn ring's side. "Marquise." The figure softly began only to but cut off by a mere twitch of a gloved finger. Without a word, the darkly armored figure drew to a halt and came to stand there, merely gazing upon his employer behind unblemished goggles of darkened plastic.

"Mister Vantas, allow me to introduce you to a good friend of mine. An employee, you could say," she softly whispered as painted lips curled into so mocking a grin, "or a slave." She continued. It was a comment that the large man almost seemed to stiffen at. "Yet, do you recall the mechanic I mentioned?"

"Machini-" Darkleer attempted to comment within so gravely, so masculine, a tone before a mere glance from Spinneret silenced him anew.

"The mechanic, I mentioned." Spinneret began anew. "This is he. This is the man whom is going to seal you within your lovely new cage, Mister Vantas. I hope you are comfortable, Mister Vantas, because I can assure you that you are going nowhere for quite sometime. You really should learn to be less crude within a lady's presence and much quicker about serving your superiors." Spinneret softly mentioned before turning upon her heel, turning to face her executioner of choice. "Darkleer, I have introduced you. Now, allow me to introduce Mister Vantas. This, pathetic, young man possesses something you might find very interesting. Why, I actually recommend you take a look at his blood before you seal him within. It might seem... quite familiar. Remind you a man you once followed and a man whose revolt caused your lovely beloved to be killed. Does it not?" She whispered.

Oh, it was simply insane. Just whatever was that crazed pirate talking about? Surely that would be Karkat's thoughts. After all, hadn't the Sufferer's revolt been centuries ago? Oh, if only he knew the truth about that woman and her dastardly crew of seagrifts.

"Darkleer, can you get to work? I hope for you to seal that thermal hull and insure he can not escape. Can you do it?"

For a moment, the question hung within the air. Yet, only a moment. After all, Darkleer knew not to let that woman wait. "I lack the proper tools, Marquise." Darkleer finally replied, her voice shaken and his ashen flesh flushed so dark a shade of blue. Oh, it was clear something had gotten to Darkleer. That Spinneret's comments had either humiliated or angered that man.

"Oh, I'm sure you can think of a way to do it. Can't you simply, oh, crush it in? It might be a tad crapped for poor little Mister Vantas, but he'll simply have to get over it."

---

*STRONGbreak and enter*

D --> OH YEAH

Actually, here. Have my reply to that as well.

---

Had he not just sworn fealty? Had he not just accepted her terms? He had said yes to her question, had signed away his fate to being that of a seagrift, had openly swore and cursed the society that shunned him, and she was chastising him for it. Language...he was given pause. He had always been quite vulgar. His entire life, from the moment he had learned to swear, it had been woven quite tightly into his vocabulary. He had never thought of it, had dismissed those who chastised him for it before, but now...with his life on the line and a pirate before him who could end his pitiful life with but a single thrust of her arm..he was given pause.

Could he change his way of speaking so suddenly? Could he abandon vulgarity that had spread tendrils thick and deep into his mind? His life depended upon it, surely...but he was weak. Pathetic. An angry little troll, of little real worth or value. He wouldn't be a seagrift, the thought now occurred to him. Cabin boy, maybe. Forced to wait on and tend to the Marquise, constantly harassed and beaten by those who she deemed fit to actually work for her, fit to actually earn their own meager share of bounty.

Karkat's mind was being put through the wringer tonight by this woman. He had gone through love and adoration, bitter hatred, fear, some modicum of confidence, and had now settled back to fear again. All because of his tongue now, he would die. Because of poor word choice, she would reduce him to mere servant, where he would surely be beaten to death by some drunken crew member, and simply tossed overboard like trash. This, more than anything, scared Karkat to his very core. More than when the fighting had started. More than when she had first shown herself. More than any other point, Karkat was scared now.

Karkat began to cry. He began to cry very heavily. He scrambled back away, all semblance of confidence falling away as the pathetic side of him came to the forefront. He had damned himself. He had almost seized a new life for himself. He would have been something, could have finally enacted revenge on the culture that had shunned him, even though it hadn't been an active shunning. But no. No, he had ruined it for himself. With mere word choice, he had snatched that away from himself, claimed defeat from the jaws of victory. So the tears fell. They rained down, shameful cherry red staining cinereous flesh the horrible color.

The arrival of her gargantuan assistant did little to ease his nerves. He was going to be sealed inside his thermal hull, his hiding place becoming a cage for however long this woman decided. The crying turned to wailing. Pathetic, childish bawling. He scrambled back far away from the two, back up against the other wall of his cage. No. No no, this wasn't happening. This was a lucid nightmare, and he would wake up on the floor of his respiteblock safe and sound, just a nightmare from passing out while drinking. No. No no no. Not happening.

But it was, little Karkat. It was happening and it was all his fault. All his tongue, all his choice of words. A new life taken from him by his own hands. He had damned himself to however long he had left alive to being sealed inside this tiny box, all because he couldn't keep his tongue clean. "I'm sorry.." he choked. "Please, no. I'll speak better. I won't swear. For the love of christ, please don't do this! Please god, please!" Poor Karkat. Pathetic Karkat. Bawling, trapped, and begging like a small child.

[Sporky]

And now for the immediate reply. :3

---

Spinneret knew what she was doing when she whispered those words. She knew exactly what web she laid and what prey she entangled. Oh, those words had been intended to more than just rattle that darling little prize of hers. It had been to instill so horrid a memory within that brute's mind. To once more remind him of his failures, of his faults, of his reasons for obedience. It was a web she laid with an expert's ease, a web both of her victims ever so helplessly stumbled into.

The first, Karkat Vantas, had fallen for it completely. He had dived head first into it and showed the inner reflections of his soul. Within so rash, so immature a moment, he revealed just what defined him as once more he was confronted with death. As once more he was whisked away from the hands of freedom and into the certainty of death's embrace. What she found was exactly what she suspected. It sickened her. For a moment, Spinneret couldn't help but softly sigh as she drifted aside, as she turned her back upon that wailing man. As she turned her back upon so crumbling a visage, upon a weeping face and frightened eyes. Oh, she had ensnared a coward and there was no doubting that. The young man would be useless. The scythe that lay at his feet a mockery. A threshecuter? Oh, Karkat hardly deserved to be front line infantry. It was disappointing. How had such lovely genes fallen into such low, such pathetic, graces? Had it been diluted throughout the years? Left pointless and watered? How was this meant to be her glorious prize?

Karkat Vantas was nothing akin to The Sufferer.

And surely that would cut that brutish traitor of a man deeper than anything. A wound meant to but slow that heart once more and keep him ever so tamed. Darkleer had grown ashen at the sight. His body left to grow rigid as he stood upon edge, his large fingers curled into trembling fists. It was a reaction Spinneret had more than predicted, something she hardly had to examine to confirm. In silence, that behemoth of a man stood there, gazing upon Karka- No, that horrid blood, for which he fought and bled. In silence, that behemoth gazed upon that drying blood, feeling wounds open anew upon his heart as his thoughts drifted to a woman so soft of touch. In silence, that behemoth slowly moved, carrying out the orders of a woman whom had ensnared him.

There was no confirmation of the order. There was no recognition of ever hearing it. Instead, Darkleer simply went to work. He drew closer upon that thermal hull and paused for but a second before it to remove the sheathe, or rather the cane, to Spinneret's sword. It was a moment in which Karkat might of tried to escape, a moment in which he might of tried to simply plunge forth and hope to outrun the duo. Yet, Spinneret knew he was to pathetic to even try. She knew his own fear had dominated him, had broken him and made him harmless. She knew it would be but another blade underneath Darkleer's ribs. It was. Yet, with the sheathe removed and silently handed over to Spinneret, Darkleer continued his work. Yet, not before stealing one last glance into that thermal hull and the cowering man within. Darkleer felt sick as a wave of disgust rippled across his stomach, yet he ignored it as he began to work. There was elegance to his strength. A refined nature that mirrored the construction of Spinneret's arm. Darkleer did not merely crush that thermal hull within. Darkleer did not simply twist that door closed. Instead, he enveloped its hinges within his large palms. For a moment, he allowed gruff fingers to play across cool metal. Only to press upon them, constricting the metal in upon itself as he increased the tension within its springs. It hardly sealed that thermal hull, yet it would increase the friction of opening those dual doors.

"Huuuuuuuurry up, Darkleer. You're taking far to long with this. Are you actually enjoying yourself? Oh dear, whom would of thought you the type to revel within an execution?" Spinneret's mockingly sweet voice called out. "Do hurry up, all you need to do is make sure he can't escape when we throw him into the ocean. And yes, Mister Vantas, I am sure you're sorry. Yet, there is simply no excuse to such crude behavior." She mockingly continued.

Wait, what? Seal him within? Ocean? Oh, did she no longer plan to simply let him starve? Instead, she planned to let him drown?

"I will increase my pace." Darkleer replied. It was all that warned for that sudden abandonment of elegance. It was all that warned of him suddenly battering at that thermal hull. With a squeal, it shifted underneath his grasp. The very bars, the handles, torn asunder and away. It was a bar quickly forced about that entrance, left bent and taut across its frame. Yet, it was loose. Any fool could of beaten it ajar with time. Something that Darkleer and Spinneret both knew.

"Insure you duck, Mister Vantas." Was all Darkleer commented with before forcing the ends of those bars through each side of that thermal hull, plugging them into place with a crude innovation. "This will do the task." Darkleer finally commented before growing silent. Oh, with a grin, Spinneret had drew near to that behemoth. With a grin, she had enveloped his waist within those slender arms and pressed herself against his back. "Woooooooonderful job. Now, do be good, and carry it for me." She loudly cooed. "Make sure you don't throw it into the ocean, yet. I'd like the crew to get a laugh out of his sobbing." Spinneret sweetly continued before her voice softened, as it turned into so mute a whisper for only Darkleer's ears.

The movement would likely be jarring. A sudden jolt that saw the thermal hull's wiring disconnected from the wall, a sudden jolt that saw the entire thermal hull lifted and adjusted. Slowly yet surely, as if encumbered by the thermal hull's size alone, Darkleer adjusted it and brought it to lay flat against his shoulder, leaving Karkat to sprawl within the thermal hull. "Come along, Darkleer!" Spinneret's feminine voice hauntingly called. It was all that forewarned that journey, the constant jolt of being moved upon Darkleer's shoulder. The bruising vibrations of Darkleer's every movement. The bumps and twists that Karkat would have to endure as Darkleer turned or adjusted himself. The scraps and cuts he would take from the jaggedly broken ends of that thermal hull's former handles. It was a journey that would likely seem to take a lifetime. A journey noted by the introduction of new voices, of muffled laughs, and even a few shouts. A journey that came to a sudden halt, stopped for a moment as another shout characterized that journey. Only for the echo of a gun and the pained screams of a distant creature, to be heard. And then silence. Silence dominated but by a soft order, from Spinneret it seemed, to another. A silence broken by the slowly approaching sobs of that creatu- A troll!?! Was that a soft mewl for help? Surely it had been. It followed by another moment's sobbing another moment's pleading for mercy. A young girl? Perhaps less than four sweeps? The second echo of a shot was all that answered that girl's pleading.

Then they was moving again.

The sounds of the ocean... the gentle wash of its tides against a beach. The sharp cries of distant gulls and the ;pw moans of creatures of the deep. They was nearing the ocean. Spinneret had assumed the lead of that party once more, her entire landing crew gathered and at her back. They carried a pitiful fortune. Those who had possessed sylladexs had stuffed them to their very brim with various items. Those who didn't, had carried what they could either upon their back or within their arms. Yet, it was a pathetic haul. A haul that had grown more than one icy glare, a haul that had left some to hiss and threaten rebellion. That was until ever so sweetly Spinneret had lied to them. After all, it was simply for their best. Who could of guessed how they might of reacted had she told them what laid within that darling little fridge? Perhaps they would of drawn blades upon the slightest mention. For the faintest hint of loyalty to simmer within their hearts and for them to act upon a whim and dispatch that naturally born traitor. Or, perhaps they would of taken him within arms, simply clung to him with darling smiles and proclaimed him a savior reborn. Oh, who could of guessed?

Yet, Spinneret hardly cared to test her luck. After all, whom knew just what she would end up doing with that pathetic little grub of a man. If he would soon find himself prostrated before the Empress himself and a darling bounty placed within Spinneret's hand.... or if he might of had true freedom within his future. Alas, she hardly knew. Yet, for the moment, she knew exactly where poor little Karkat would find himself. Held by Darkleer, the thermal hull but slightly dipped into the water... left to slowly fill it as the crew began to push off from shore and begin to row, anew, to their ships.

[Vipervertical]

You wanted me to read....this one? I'm not sure what to make of it. It feels sorta like I just walked in on a movie near the end without seeing everything that lead up to it.

(Other than that the only thing that kept sticking out to me was the use of "whom" where "who" should be. Who is a subject tense and whom is an object tense. It's easiest to think of it like "they" and "them." If they sounds better, it should be who. If them sounds better, it should be whom. That said, whom is pretty much entirely obsolete in modern English. Though it is linguistically incorrect to use "who" where "whom" belongs, it has become so commonplace that it no longer constitutes a problem. Whom is only used when one is attempting to be formal and only becomes a noticeable issue when it is used incorrectly.)

ohjeezimsuchanenglishnerd

[Sporky]

Another reply, shock and horror! O:

---

If you had told Karkat but hours ago that his would would be twist-turned upside down so swiftly and so fully within minutes, by two people, he would have scoffed at you. He would have spat in your face and told you to get the christ out of his hive. How could he have known? He wasn't gifted. He had no abilities. He couldn't tell you what he was going to have for breakfast the next evening, let alone how royally his life would be screwed up by the suddenly arrival of several ships' worth of pirates. He would have scoffed at you, sent you away, had a good laugh when you were gone. This thought occurred to he as he was jostled around so brutally inside his prison. Cuts, bruises, they paled to the wound inflicted on him by his own mind.

He had been so very thoroughly confused by this woman tonight. He had run the entire spectrum of feelings, though fear definitely settled in as the dominant emotion here. Again, thoughts of death settled in upon him. Drowning. He was going to be flung into the ocean and drowned, without any hope of freedom or rescue. All because he had dared speak with vulgar words to her. He had damned himself...how many sweeps ago? How long ago was it that he had sealed his fate, by adopting such a harsh vocabulary? Every swear, every profanity, they had but hastened the opening of death's maw, loudened the death knell that was ringing for him.

So his mind collapsed in on itself, retreated as he fell limp inside that horrible prison of his. He saw not the inside of the thermal hull, but black. An expanse of black. He was hallucinating, seeing anything but the grim reality that was bearing down upon him. He sat alone. Alone with his tears, along with his sickle, utterly alone. He curled up into a ball, his wailing becoming louder, joined in chorus by incomprehensible shouting and babbling. But that too gave way, as in his hallucination, he was joined. From what he was seeing in his mind, an iron grip grasped his shoulder. A hand of steel and wire like hers, attached not to an entire arm of such, but to the stump of a wrist. Only the hand that held his shoulder was technology, gear and wire encased in a shell that was as bright red as the sinful blood he claimed.

He tried to twist his head to see who it was that had joined him, but his face was forced to the ground. His companion spoke, voice a much deeper, dominant version of the accent that spilled from Karkat's own lips. "You've squandered your gift, boy!" It was a male, and Karkat desperately wanted to see who it was that was yelling at him. Outside his mind, it was him speaking, the voice issuing from his own lips as insanity took hold of him. "Given such blood, given another chance to make something of yourself, to start another rebellion, but nay..nay, you cower and hide like a scared little mouseroach, too weak to stand up for yourself. Oh, no, it'll be okay. Just a wee little waystation somewhere, unassuming, just giving basic necessities to those who stumble across. It wouldn't matter, no lad. You'd wear some other color, any other color, just to hide and blend in. You're pathetic."

What would Mindfang and her crew have thought, to hear Karkat babbling like an idiot, yelling at himself in a voice that wasn't his? Had she broken him already? Had she gone too far, irrevocably shattered this boy's mind, left him of little worth or value? Just what had that orb played at, with those fleeting images it had shown her? How could this pathetic, whimpering creature be the key to her happiness? Even the empress would offer so very little for this wretch. Traitorous blood or not, he was surely collapsing in on himself, and would be no threat. Not worth sullying her 2x3dent to cull, surely. So what had that orb meant when it lead her to him? What could he possibly hold for her, other than a source of annoyance and shame, reminding her of how much better the Sufferer had been?

And what of Darkleer? Had he not suffered for this blood? Had he not bled from innumerable a wound for the Sufferer? Had he not come close to taking that title himself? And now for his troubles, he sat enslaved by the Marquise, a proud behemoth reduced to lackey for this woman, whose head he could surely pulp with little effort should he so choose? Dropping Karkat and claiming it an accident would be easy, but the action would have angered the Marquise. So, what was running through that giant's head, forced to simply sit and clutch the flooding prison of this miserable wretch, composed of all the Sufferer's faults and none of his strengths. What had happened to the bloodline that had once produced so fearsome a hero, so selfless a leader?

Karkat had fallen silent after his little tirade against himself in that other voice, that familiar voice to at least Darkleer and the Marquise. Only the sounds of hands slapping at water and quiet whimpering gave away that Karkat still breathed inside that thermal hull, that he had not ended his life. and how could he have? He was too weak to even take that way out, too pathetic to do anything other than endure these torments and weep about them. Oh, Karkat. Oh, shameful Karkat. How pitiable he was. Surely this couldn't be all he was? Surely there was SOME tiny sliver of the Sufferer's strength within him? That fiery gaze he had brought to bear on her when accepting her terms, surely that had been something she'd seen before, though diluted? Surely the acid he had spat when condemning society was some feeble version of his forefather's glorious speeches? But if they did exist, there were but buried underneath a mountain of weaknesses, every negative quality of the Sufferer made dominant and exaggerated.

[Sporky]

BEHOLD! A short scene of Wytmonde and his matesprit, that belongs to my moirail, Yamuna Terida! <3

---

-- recoillessBifurcation [RB] began trolling vinecoveredTrellis [VT]--
RB: Hi, Y4mun4!
VT: |$|Hey@$!|$|
RB: You busy?
VT: |$|$orry, @ l@$@gne in the oven c@ught fire..|$|
RB: I bet it still t4stes better th4n 4nythin6 I cook.
VT: |$|Oh re@lly now?|$|
RB: We both know 4ny food I'd cook would be likely to be r4dio4ctive somehow.
VT: |$|Now th@t'$ ju$t being $illy..|$|
RB: W4it, h4n6 on.
RB: Ye4h, I could m4ke th4t work.
VT: |$|Wh@t.|$|
RB: The empire would tot4lly be up for 6ettin6 me to m4ke r4dio4ctive food to serve enemies.
RB: Hell ye4h.
VT: |$|...|$|
RB: ...Wh4t?
VT: |$|You @re @ $tr@nge @nd funny boy.|$|
RB: You s4y th4t like it's news.
VT: |$|Hee~|$|
RB: <3
VT: |$|<3|$|
RB: Nnnn6, this food t4lk h4s me hun6ry.
VT: |$|I'm m@king pizz@!|$|
RB: 4wwww, no f4ir!
RB: Te4se!
VT: |$|Come on over @nd you c@n h@ve $ome!|$|
RB: Th4t's 4 6ood ide4, 4ctu4lly.
RB: Let your mother know so she doesn't fre4k out 4bout d4d, ok4y?
VT: |$|ok@y, i will!|$|
RB: <3
VT: |$|<3|$|
-- recoillessBifurcation [RB] gave up trolling vinecoveredTrellis [VT] --

[Sporky]

Moar Mindfang!

---

Had she been wrong? It was the question that continued to nag her even as she moved aboard that tiny ship, as she came to sit at the boat's helm and allow herself to sink into the thin padding that coated the ship's seats. Had she been wrong? Had she misread that orb? It was a question that continued to prick her fears even as her boarding party came aboard, as they clambered across the ship with their pathetic haul of plunder in hand. Had her luck finally ran out? Had she lost the ability to correctly gleam any answer from so valuable a tool? Had she become as uncertain in fate's progression as any other fool? Oh, it was a horrible, nagging, question that pierced her ribs as she watched Darkleer lumber aboard, as she watched him silently begin to adjust that wailing hull and allow it to idly lay upon the beach's edge.

"Tthut him up." A bookish looking man commented to Darkleer. "Hiss thwailing is giving me a headathe." The psionic continued as his hand drifted to his forehead, as it came to play across the thin, ashen, flesh of his temples. For many, it would of been enough to guarantee one's punishment. For many, it would of been enough to cause Darkleer to snap. For him to but momentarily forget so righteous a cause, to return anew to that doctrine he had been forever taught since birth. To cause so thick a hand to break bones, to crush arms. Yet, Darkleer was still. It was a comment he endured. A comment that left his jaw to tighten, for sharpened fangs to clench and grate. "I said tthut him up." The former scholar commented again. "Pleasse." The scholar turned sea grift begged.

"Be quiet."

It was a simple command. A command Spinneret hardly realized she gave. "Just be quiet. You'll be away from him soon enough." Spinneret commented as her gaze, vacantly, swept onto the beach and the last men of her crew. "Do hurry them up, Darkleer." The Marquise softly commented, her voice just above a whisper. Was it exhaustion that bled her vigor? That had bled the enthusiasm with which she had ordered their attack? In the end, it did not matter. Her men, with a silent glance from the shaded behemoth, was enough to renew her men's efforts and to leave their tiny craft to slowly dip forward and into the sea. For oarsmen to set to work as others, the pilots of those tiny crafts, primed their engines for the deeper waters.

"Misstressss?" The dual tongued scholar softly questioned.

"Whaaaaaaaat do you want?" Spinneret snapped, her voice holding but an edge of steel as her worries turned her mood sour. Silence met her response, a moment's pouting and them sour acceptance left to meet her sole eye's gaze. "I told you to be quiet." Spinneret whispered again, her voice dry as her gaze slowly shifted away from her crewmen and onto Darkleer's burden. The source of those muffled sobs. The source of those muffled mutters and shouts. For help, most likely. The source of all her panic. The source of all her worry. Oh, Spinneret couldn't help but pale as she felt her blood chill within her veins. As she felt untamed panic race across her mind. What had she done? What had she done wrong? Was there meant to be more to that message? Was there meant to be more beyond that blaring red light? Oh, what was it meant to imply? What did it literally imply? Was it her vision giving out that had caused so blaring a glare? Oh, she had seen red before. She had seen nothing but so horrid a color in the wake of that dragon's gaze. She had seen nothing but red for weeks from that maimed little eye. Was it strain that had brought again that red hue? Was it strain that had muddled her message? She would need to try again. She would have to try it again. She would have to gaze into that wondrous little orb once more and untangle the truth from those wicked, thorned, lies.

The sudden roar of the engine's motor was enough to drift her thoughts aside. To make her come around again to come and stare upon Darkleer. To stare upon the behemoth which sat before her, silent within his contemplation. To stare upon the traitor for whom her heart had once fluttered. To stare upon the man whom had become so desperate, so pathetic, within the worst of ways with the loss of his beloved. To gaze upon a man who sat so stoic. To gaze upon a man whose gaze laid hidden behind darkened frames. To gaze upon a man who lay so openly wounded underneath her treatment. The tightening of shoulders. The annoyed, rapid, throb of his neck. The fluttering of muscles within his arm as again and again he toyed with the temptation of dropping that burden, of allowing it to sink into the murky depths below as it grew heavier. As by the moment water slowly filled within, coming to drip and play across open wounds. "You wish to kill him, don't you?" Spinneret whispered, her voice soft, almost comforting. It was the first statement she had made in several moments. A statement that drew more than one eye upon her and the behemoth which held their supposed captive.

"You wish to kill him and everything he stands for, don't you, Darkleer?" She whispered, her voice remaining so honeyed and soft. "It disgusts you, doesn't it?" She continued. "If you allow him to drown, you will never see that woman again. I will never guide back to her arms."

It was enough to make that arm tighten, for fingers to all but crush the metal underneath his fingers.

"Remember that, Darkleer. If he dies, you never see her again. All your betrayals, all of your sins, all of your suffering would be for nothing. Do not forget that, Darkleer. He is woooooooorth more alive than dead when we take him before the Empress. If she wishes for us to execute him, you will be given right before anyone else. Even myself. For now? Remember your place." She whispered to her slave, her voice almost lost upon the lashing winds as they drew closer to those smoking ships. Even in the wake of that barrage, the smell of gunpowder lingered upon the air while graying smoke drifted from those countless barrels. "Have the men return to their posts and the weapons returned. We sail as soon as the boats are loaded and the prisoner aboard. Darkleer, when we get aboard, I want him out of that thermal hull and it tossed aside. Throw him into a proper cage, something small enough for my quarters. I wish to extract some information from him before we exchange him to the Empress. Insure no one is allowed to approach him or to talk with him." She ordered even as her gaze drifted to that thermal hull. As she imagined the petrified, shivering, grub within.

Leaving her stomach to roll.

"Handle the ropes." Spinneret ordered to no one in particular as she gazed upon that thermal hull. Yet, everyone knew to whom she talked. Without a word, that psionic acted. A mere thought was enough to leave those courtesy lines to unravel from the sides of each ship. For the elongated, easily climbable, nets to unfurl themselves across the ship's side and into the water's edge. "Cut the engines." Spinneret commented. In seconds, her pilot had shut the engine off. The once constant roar left to die in the breeze as all around her those other ships began to slow, as well, with their engines dying. Minutes was left to pass as man and woman alike labored up those courtesy lines. Minutes was left to pass as each boat was hauled aboard those anchored ships. Minutes was left to pass in which so bloodied, so victorious, a crew was left to return as victors. Minutes was left to pass in which so pathetic a haul was left to spread, leaving men and women to scowl and yell. Minutes was left to pass in which so feral an anger was left to pass, as so grand a rumor began to flicker among their ranks. A rumor of so finely blooded an individual. A man of royal standards whom stood ever so close to the throne. A sea dweller of fine blood. A heir, a lovely prince to the throne, stolen away from his humble little village and spirited away by so dashing a band. A hostage to bring them a wealth beyond their grandest dreams.

It was a lie, of course. A glorious little lie meant to be silent her crew's complaints. A little white lie meant to but buy her a few day's time. A time in which she could discover the truth about her situation. A time in which she could plot her future. To either exchange that man to the Empress or use him for another means. Was he perhaps meant to be a captive? A figure head meant to draw all the more recruits to her side? Was she meant to forsake her claim to nobility and instead take up the banner of a rebel? Oh, it would be an easy role to play. After all, she had garnished so vile a reputation across so countless a universe even as she became so outstanding, so tame, a noble upon her own. What would the title of traitor bring to her? New recruits? New found glory and wealth? A crew fascinated not with her but by another? Oh, the idea was sickening. It was enough to make her stomach roll and for fingers to tighten into so tight, so trembling, a fist.

No, she was overlooking something. But, what?

What did she need to do?

That was the question that drove her. That was the question that added the haste to her step as she barged into her quarters, as she left her door to fling open and rattle against the wall. As metallic boots noisily crossed the plush rugs that marked her room. As she came to stand beside her desk and the drawer that contained her answer. Metallic fingers almost crushed the desk's handle as she excitedly yanked it outward, threatening to take the drawer off its proper tracks. Only for her hand to delve inside, to pass that loaded gun and bag of dice to envelop that small box. By the time she heard the noise at the door, she had already withdrawn that crystal ball. By the time Darkleer made his presence known, she already shifted herself and brought herself to sit within her desk's chair. A high backed affair of plush, dark, leather. By the time Darkleer arrived with his prisoner in tow, Spinneret had raised that orb, leaving it to linger before her face as fingers of flesh and blood teased with the material of her eye patch.

"Marquise." Darkleer commented. It was all he needed to say to distract her, to make her lash her head about. To come and fix that sole eye's gaze upon him and his capt- Oh, she couldn't help but cackle. It was a sharp, mocking, laugh that escaped those sapphire lips. A noise of such bitter mirth as she gazed upon so comical a sight. Oh, Darkleer had followed her every command. Yet, he had perhaps taken a bit of cruelty in following them. Wet, frightened, and bleeding, Darkleer had extracted Karkat from the thermal hull. Like a child might handle a doll, he had transported Karkat. Easily fending off his attacks as he stuffed him into so comical, so humiliating, a prison. A domed, open barred, cage with a slotted bottom.

An oversized bird cage.

A cage had has so hastily thrown a canvas over, a piece of waterproof and oiled leather that had all but consumed Karkat within utter darkness. A canvas he allowed to settle and lay even as he carried Karkat to Spinneret's room, where all three of them currently stood.

"Oh, Darkleer, was that really necessary?" She mockingly cooed as she allowed herself to shift out of her chair, as she momentarily forgot that lovely little orb and deposited it within the seat of her chair. "Leave." Spinneret ordered to the behemoth, leaving Darkleer to momentarily hesitate before turning upon his heel. "Leave the captive, Darkleer." She commented, leaving the behemoth to idle once more. "Somewhere within the roof. Anywhere, really, will be fine."

After all, the cage itself wouldn't be that heavy once Karkat was removed. It had, after all, once been ever so common a fixture of her room. The cage of so beautiful a bird. Of so rare, so rumored, a prize that swathed itself within fire. Yet, with the grace of a beaten slave, Darkleer dropped his burden, allowing the entire cage to rattle and shake as it was dropped within the center of that plush room. "You may leave." Spinneret ordered again, leaving the wounded troll to shuffle away, closing the door within his wake. "Now, Mister Vantas, wasn't that quite an enjoyable ride? Why, you even lived, it would seem!" Spinneret mockingly cooed as she drew closer, as she allowed a hand of steel to drift downwards. To tease the heavy fabric of that canvas before snatching it away, unveiling her bloodied and wet prize. His surroundings may of came as a shock. After all, he was hardly born into a lavished life.

While the room could of been simply described as luxurious. Ornate. Wasteful. Prideful. A room adorned in colors of blue and black, a room noted by plush furniture and modern fancies. Of a large, spacious, cocoon. An affair of black enamel that laid tucked away into the corner. Of a screen, a television by all appearances, that laid installed into the side of a wall. Of plush, sapphire, flooring that all but caressed one's feet. Of a room dominated by so faint, so pleasant, a chill.

"Have you learned your lesson, Mister Vantas?" Spinneret softly questioned as she dropped that canvas, as she allowed it to pool at her feet and she gazed into the cage's depths upon her darling little prize...

---

And now Karkat wetting himself.

---

Shock was right. Not just for his surroundings, but for this entire experience. Jostled about, soaked in water, suffering from fresh cuts and bruises, and mumbling in that deeper voice, Karkat was shocked in more ways than one. He had thoroughly been convinced he was going to die. All because, again, he had so rashly chosen his words. His vocabulary, now? Oh, hell no. He would do his damndest to refrain from swearing. He knew he would get precious few chances, if any more. No. This was a woman who did not mess around. He wouldn't dare test this woman's patience again, wouldn't dare speak profanity in front of her.

He moved to his hands and knees within the cage, dared to stick a finger out between the wire. Soft, plush carpet. The softest, richest he had felt. Completely different from the rough shag he had scrimped and saved to afford putting in his own relaxationblock. It felt so wondrous between his fingers...NO. She had spoken to him, this was not the time to get distracted. He turned bloodshot, tear-puffed eyes to face her. "I've learned my fu....my lesson, yes. I won't swear. Just let me live. I won't swear." His voice was his own again, but still, it had been changed by his brief dip into the pools of madness. It was his pitch, his tone. But the inflections, the stressed syllables, they were a little more exaggerated than before.

He had replied. He had been good. He turned his attention back to the room, turning this way and that in his prison to examine the surroundings. Adorable? Laughable? Pathetic? It was up to the beholder how to take his curiosity. This was indeed the most opulent room Karkat had ever laid his eyes upon. The coloring, how it fit her, what she wore. How everything that was possible had a web motif. The recuperacoon that he found himself staring and wondering about, which brought a tint of candy red to those slate cheeks.

And then...then he saw it. Over her shoulder. A trophy case, full of innumerable and incomprehensible items. Several head or helmet looking things. A smaller case of seven large, dimly glowing multicolored gems in a case with red and white shoes. A blue-hilted broadsword. A large, orange ball elbazoned with four red stars. And then...it. A bare skull...well, not really. It was not a skull, more a fabrication of a skull. Hornless, as well. It was scuffed, dingy, but it was still gleaming metal. A perfect recreation of some alien's cranium, likely, but in itself, not frightening. No, the frightening thing was that moments after he started looking at it, it looked at HIM.

It had been staring straight forward when he first saw it. But then, it turned, angled down to look right back at him. He scrambled back up against the cage wall opposite him. Red optics blazed to life, and Karkat honest to god wet himself in fear. This was the final straw this night, this..thing, leering down at him from her trophy case, this thing was the one final hurdle of fear that made Karkat sink so low as to wet himself. Oh yes, this would surely get him killed now. He had truly damned himself now. How shameful. How very shameful. But it..it was... He pointed at it, wildly jabbing his finger over her shoulder. "What is that?!" he wheezed. "What is that, and dear god why is it looking at me?!"

[Vipervertical]

Your posts are too long for me to read and comment appropriately on right now, so here's a placeholder until my attention span lengthens.

RAINBOW DASH ALWAYS DRESSES IN STYLE

[Sporky]

DAMN, I love this chick.

[Sporky]

That will be all.

*Ollies outy*