1 ♊ A kick in the teeth is good for some

[polariity]

Who: The Psiioniic and the Grand Highblood
What: Isn't it great meeting new coworkers?
Where: The Mayfield Bank
When: A bright and shiny morning!
Warnings: Violence. A knife held to the throat. Headbutts. Makeouts. Weird alien romance. Stupid giant humans being used as furniture. Gratuitous amounts of hate.

[So far, his life has been a spiral of bad decisions ever since arriving in Mayfield.]

[But that is nothing particularly surprising. His life, his choices, you know the drill.]

[So it's nursing a headache that the Psiioniic walks into his designated workspace that morning, heading straight for the coffee machine in the back. God, what was he thinking? Kidnapping the Condesce and getting Milla involved. God. He needs to drown his misery already, but it's too early for that- and how weird is that, to say that daytime is 'too early'?]

[He almost wishes he was back in Alternia.]

[Rubbing at his eyelids, he doesn't notice the... new addition to the banking staff.]

I can't believe they thtill make uth come in after all thith...

Comments

[artisticull]

[ This whole human job shit? He's not good with it, but he's also not about to let those motherfuckers get up in his pan and steal his soul. So there's the Grand Highblood, all eight feet of him, glaring balefully at anything that moves from a desk with a chair far undersized for him.

At least this is the highblood equivalent of a job for one of these human monkey fuckers, he's pretty sure. Goddamn star apes and their crazy social concepts.

But suddenly the day gets all the brighter when a certain lispy bastard makes his way on in, and the Grand Highblood moves far more quickly and quietly than a man of his bulk probably should in order to approach the heretic. ]

Honk.

[ He is the most eloquent of trolls. ]

[polariity]

[Before his brain can quite articulate anything besides a long string of curses, his body is already twisting into action. With a strangled noise of alarm, he leaps away, balancing on his heels as he practically tap dances away from the other. Even though he has his psionics now- and they crackle around his wrists like sparklers- he still finds himself unsheathing his knife from its hiding spot.]

[And then he stares.]

What the hell are you doing here!?

[artisticull]

Done got me this gainful motherfuckin' employment, filthblood. Looks like the Messiahs saw fit to provide entertainment.

[ He eyes the knife, the snap-crackle of energy, and snorts negligently as he focuses his attention on the Psiioniic's face. He might not have his voodoos, but he still knows how to juggle fear properly, and no lowblood was going to strike the Grand Highblood down.

And that's why he starts to stalk forward as he licks his lips. ]

Ain't all so fuckin' hot to spit all that noise at me, those motherfuckin' blasphemies, now are you?

[polariity]

[This is what he gets for saying his work is boring, isn't it? Too much pride, and so life throws the Grand Highblood into his work schedule just to fuck with things.]

You and your Mirthful Moronth can go fuck each other, thank you very much! What kind of athole trieth to thtart a fight in thith plathe? Only a thtupid clown, go figure.

[Despite the aggression in his tone and the way he doesn't back down, anxiety is still bubbling at the base of his spine and warning bells are going off in his head. Lesson Number One in Alternian life, you never picked a fight with a subjugglator if you knew what was good for you. Never.]

[But he won't give this guy the satisfaction of his retreat, so he just braces himself against the ground and ignores his jitters, baring his teeth.]

[And the jitters are most certainly from that and nothing else.]

[Really.]

[Fucking black flings.]

[artisticull]

[ He sees how his nerves are jangled, and not all of it is the natural apprehension some gutterblood ought to feel when confronted by someone so superior to themselves. It was considered unhealthy to not turn tail and run like hell when faced with a subjugglator, but sometimes unhealthy made for the best time for the indigo in that equation. ]

Heh heh honk.

[ And another step.

And another. ]

Think we'll pass, motherfucker. Gotta much better idea, what all we can do with you. Honk, honk, honk.

[ And he lunges. ]

[polariity]

Honk again and I'll thtuff your thuit down your chute-

[Fuck!]

[Leaping out of the way, he suddenly finds himself scrabbling against the desk of an alarmed drone, feet knocking over a couple of things here and there. With nothing more than a brief thought, he loops psionic energy around the giant's ankles. For not the first time, he wonders how the hell the bastard can be so big.]

[artisticull]

[ The Grand Highblood is utterly heedless of the drones, focused entirely on his quarry. He twists even as he loses his footing from that psionic snag, stretching himself out and reaching with one giant hand to grab the Psiioniic by his wrist. If he was going down and he certainly was, then he was taking that little scrawny motherfucker with him.

While the old saying 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall' certainly applies, no one had mentioned the discomfort of being someone brought down with them. ]

HONK!

[polariity]

Fuck-!!

[Stupid gigantic hands. Anyone else, he could have avoided their grasp. Yelping, Psii finds himself toppling against the other, the air being knocked out of him as their bodies smack into one another. Wheezing, he rushes to press his little blade against the monster of a man's neck.]

[At least he thinks it's the neck. He's pressing against something through all that hair.]

How'th- [Wheeze!] -that plan working out- [Pant!] -for you?

[artisticull]

Motherfuckin' delicious.

[ Apparently the threat of the knife does not sway him because he's just going to press right on down on him. ]

You gonna let them snatch up your soul all 'cause you can't handle me?

[ And that's when he licks his face. ]

[polariity]

What religiouth crazy are you babbling about now-

[And that's when, indeed, he licked his face.]

[..]

[Well then.]

[Psii pauses for a split second, facial muscles twitching, before he growls and digs his knife in until he can feel blood dripping down the handle and over his knuckles.]

I can handle anything you can throw at me.

[And then an energy blast from his other hand comes forth, aimed at the other troll-turned-human's side.]

[artisticull]

[ Motherfucking OW. ]

Ngh! Didn't no one... tell you, motherfucker?

[ His voice is hoarse, breathless, but his grin only becomes increasingly obscene as the scrawny lisping son of a bitch harms him. He slams one heavy hand down, thumping hard against the smaller man's chest in retaliation.]

They rip it right fuckin' out! Heiress done did told me! Don't play their game, they steal your soul! And I ain't all lettin' that shit go down.

[ He huffs, satisfied if in pain. ]

Because I'm gonna give that to the motherfuckin' Messiahs.

[polariity]

[A startled wheeze leaves him at that hit. Yes, he can make some psionic buffering to take some of the damage, but it still knocks him silly what does get through. No, he's not a skinny waif of a troll- human- not anymore. Funny how traveling with Signless and then coming to Mayfield has improved his body.]

[Coughing, he listens to the brute babble on and furrows his brow. What did Feferi do? Well... Maybe it's for the better.]

Whatever, freak. Jutht get the hell off of me before they make a grab for it. Bethideth...

[Arching up and pressing his body against the highblood's, he uses his other hand to grip the back of his neck and pull himself up so that his face is right besides the other's. His voice is a warm and soft gust of breath against his ear.]

I'm getting thick of theeing all thith blood coming from you. You're not good enough for it.

[artisticull]

[The funny thing about offhand remarks is that subjugglators? They're completely and irredeemably batshit psychotic and run with things in directions no one would expect.

They also find the worst things to be arousing. Sure, they've got startled drones everywhere and this is probably not the place for this kind of encounter, but he doesn't care. He especially doesn't care when the Psiioniic makes such a stupid remark.

When he snarls this time, there's something else in his voice, something deep and terrible. It's the abiding madness of his entire caste, a fury unmatched. And his pupils are blown wide with arousal as he slams downward, turning his head and angrily covering that defective's mouth with his own in a dominating, possessive kiss that's much more like biting.

Good fucking Mirthfuck Messiahs, this heretic was a romantic. ]

/uses this icon <3<

[polariity]

[A muffled snarl goes off against the Grand Highblood's lips, and then the Psiioniic is snapping back. Stupid blunt human teeth and nails- they're no good for a proper black fling. Combined with the stupid overabundance of the highblood's hair, it's nearly impossible to do more than just leave pretty pink scrapes against the nape of his neck.]

[Better luck with his teeth as he tries to tear through his lips and bite that damn tongue of his right off. He doesn't care if his own blood is spilled, so long as he gets to taste that coppery sensation from the highblood's own mouth.]

[His psionics aren't idle, either. The energy sparks along the knifeblade he is still holding to the Grand Highblood's throat, and the metal heats up almost eagerly, searing against his neck.]

[artisticull]

[ Well, this descended into a miraculous black encounter pretty damn fast. At first, he'd just been asserting his authority. Now he was thinking he'd have to do more than that. This is good, but he's thinking that this deserves something a little more elaborate.

The hot knife digs deeper, dangerously, into his neck when he leans his head back to break the kiss.

And then he brings it down, a sharp headbutt hard enough that the crack of two skulls meeting is quite audible. ]

[polariity]

[A part of him almost hopes that the highblood will slit his throat on the knife, because god knows the freak deserves worse than that, but then he's pulling back and-]

MOTHERFUCK!!

[Dizzy and blinking from the pain, the Psiioniic reels back and the grip on his knife falters. Piece of scumsniffing shit, of course he'd do that! So what if he's done that sort of thing before too? Not important.]

[What's important is to remember that he's still the one in control here, whether the prick likes it or not.]

[Suddenly, the crackle of psionics surrounds them both utterly and completely. The glare he sends up at the bigger man is accented with the sparks nearly dancing from the corners of his eyes and across his cheeks. Effortlessly, he reverses their positions, forcing the Grand Highblood onto his back instead. Straddling his stomach, he sneers down at him and does his best to look bored and dismissive.]

Don't want to play fair? Fine. I can play like that too.

[artisticull]

[ Motherfuck is right. The Grand Highblood wasn't sure what was going on with this squishy peach body, but slamming his head into someone else's shouldn't have dazed him as well. He should have been able to just push right on through and show the scum who was the grand high motherfucking subjugglator here.

Not... suddenly flipped flat on his back, held down by psionics. Cheap, real fucking cheap, and he growls low in his throat--a throat that is bleeding the hot copper drip of that disgusting mutant shade.

He's pretty sure he hasn't jumped black for someone this hard in at least a century, and he kind of likes it. That'd explain the slow, obscene smirk that splits his bloodied, painted face, anyway. ]

Fuckin' think so, lowblood filth?

1/3

[polariity]

[God, who the hell does this asshole think he is, smirking at him like that when he's the one in control here?]

[Besides the Grand Highblood.]

[No, seriously, fuck him.]

2/3

[polariity]

[...]

[polariity]

[You know what, he can work with this.]

[A smug asshole smirk of the Psiioniic's own slips across his face, sly as oil, and he pushes himself up to his feet. Mother Grub, but this bastard really is huge. He'd have to ask Milla if this sort of thing was normal for a human.]

Yeah. Thith lowblood filth fuckin' thinksth tho.

[He makes a production out of rearranging his clothes, straightening out his shirt, vest, jacket... Sweeps a few fingers through his hair and dusts himself off like it isn't no big deal. Yeah, has the Grand Highblood of the Subjugglators under his heel, ain't no thing.]

[And then he turns on his heel and starts to walk away.]

[But not by himself, oh no. With a harsh jerk, the highblood is yanked to his feet and pulled along, psionic bonds tight around him. When he reaches his desk, the Psiioniic begins to force him down on all fours. In this human body the highblood has been 'graced' with? It should be especially easy.]

I have a job to do. I can't wathte the day away playing.

[artisticull]

[ The sound that rises up in the Grand Highblood's chest is not entirely human, it probably shouldn't even be able to occur. It's a hissing growl filled with a hateful promise, his expression twisted in such a hideously infuriated expression as he's pulled around like a puppet. He tries to fight, but all his strength as a human is like nothing to a powerful psionic.

He goes down on his hands and knees hard, trying and failing to thrash against the bonds as his temper reaches what one might consider critical mass.

It is the kind of building fury the likes of which would have been devastating... had he been an indigoblooded troll. But he's not, and he's hissing something strange and unhinged under his breath, half of it not even intelligible. No one had ever publicly humiliated the Grand Highblood before.

And he is finding he does not like the experience. ]

...your fuckin' think pan... watch you get drowned in the rainbow motherfuckin' river... eat your eyes... choke you on your own fuckin bulge...

[ It might even be a prayer of sorts, given his... unique take on religion. ]

[polariity]

[Unfortunately, it doesn't mesh well with Psiioniic's religion. Stretching lazily, he seats himself comfortably on the highblood's back. Look at all the paperwork they have waiting for him. Twirling a pencil between deft fingers, he glances back down at his 'chair'.]

[The smirk hasn't once left his face.]

[Leaning down, putting his weight on one side of his hip, he takes a fistful of hair and hisses down to the enraged clown.]

Hey. It'sth a little dithrethpectful to make tho much noithe when a troll ith trying to work. A little quiet, if you pleathe?

[And then something hits him, and he gives a low snigger.]

[For this next act, he could continue to use his psionics. Using them is just such a beautiful relief. But no, that would be too good, not degrading enough.]

[So he toes his shoes off and leans down, slipping his socks of. Quickly, he ties them together in a large knot before twisting down around to the highblood's face again.]

On thecond thought, lemme help you with that.

[And then he stuff the makeshift gag straight into that way too talkative mouth, making sure to keep his fingers clear of the teeth. Straightening back up, he turns to his work.]

[Today, he has decided, is a good day.]

[artisticull]

[ This was just adding to the list of things that had never happened in the entire history of the Grand Highblood's existence. His hissing murderprayer is cut off by the sudden makeshift gag, and he snarls and hisses low in his throat. This is entirely unforgivable.

This is extraordinarily hateful.

What would have been a furious diatribe comes out as a muffled gurgle as he tries to force the gag out of his mouth. Messiahs, he was going to get free at some point, and he was going to pound that disgusting heretic right through the motherfucking desk. ]