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what's that a picture of? - Printable Version

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what's that a picture of? - Vakornol - Jun 30 2021

Among alabaster pillars and vaulting ceilings, there was one very out-of-place statue. Hulking, not detailed so as to make the reference look ugly in comparison, and purple. That, and its head was glancing about, marveling at old and familiar sights like they were still new. Refreshing her memory, as one'd say. Vakornol still could easily navigate the Palace, of course, and find her way right to old Girls' Night In haunts shared with Isra and whatever other company graced them with their presence. Nemean and Vargas were her favorite by far. The latter always looked pretty in pink.

So, she simply wandered the halls. Spooked off some cleaners here, peered into open rooms there. Hardly a sign of life lying about, but... eh. Perfectly alright with her. Vakornol ignored the suspicious Oily ooze leaking out the bottom of one of the doors as she passed by, the popping hisses and squeals echoing from inside—it was none of her business why a Hound was locked up in there. Probably its own fault and its own waste.

A lightbulb went off in her head, though, and she sharply changed course—passed by the Hound room again—and plodded into the technological marvel that was the cinema. Fresh-stocked concessions smelling of fat and tooth-rotting sugar lay perfectly accessible, and of course Vakornol helped herself. It took an exorbitant amount of effort to finagle an icy slush drink into a cup, and even more so to get some sugary fried dough sticks without touching the rest (she wasn't rude). They were alls easy to hold in just one hand.

It was quite a sight, then: a massive Valkhound plopped onto her haunches as static played across the big screen, a churro between each of her fingers and the largest possible slushy in the crook of an elbow.

@Aethril

RE: what's that a picture of? - Aethril - Jun 30 2021


Aethril wanted to do her favourite thing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

Late nights and being tired all the time wasn't very befitting of her. In fact, the last time she checked, wasn't her position meant to be one of luxury? Didn't that mean Aethril should be able to do whatever the hell she wanted whenever she damn pleased?

The first step in Aethril's Personal Day was to sleep in for as long as possible. She sent Obieth away to do whatever it was when Obieth was alone and lay in her own bed in varying positions until well into the afternoon, when it grew uncomfortably warm under her sheets and she felt the need to eat and drink.

She didn't go to Nedies for a meal, however, once she finally passed the barrier. She went straight for the Theatre's concession stand-- she ordered a purple soda, a plastic baggy of blended pink-and-blue cotton candy, and for good measure, just roughly about a fuckton of chocolate.

Then, she stuck her head into the theatre. The lights were on and the screen had nothing but blended grey static rattling throughout the cinema. Nothing was playing. Aethril would have turned and walked out if it weren't for a large, purple figure sitting in one of the larger seats.

... not Vargas.

"The Forsaken Reverant herself," Aethril announced as she came plodding-- barefoot --down the aisle. "I hope you're not waiting for the next showing. You'll be here a while."


@Vakornol

RE: what's that a picture of? - Vakornol - Jun 30 2021

One churro down the hatch, and already her monstrous hand was just a mess of cinnamon and sugar. It was fortunate that she didn't sweat, or the substance would be even stickier. It was unfortunate that she was a slobbering Valkhound without any lips to hold said slobber inside. So, her palm was already sticky. Of course, there was no social standard against licking your fingers off and immediately touching another surface. Those little broomstick animals would dry-clean or whatever it was they needed to do to keep these seats in tip-top, slightly smelly shape.

Vakornol shoveled another into her gaping maw, and was halfway to chewing and savoring it when a voice came a-walking.

Blistering bright lime eyes twisted to regard the humanoid, and she cocked her head with thinly-veiled curiosity. Jerking her head upward to hork down the rest of the churro, she huffed out a laugh. "The one and only!" Usually she was the one doing the introducing of herself, or some other person who'd taken it upon themselves to be an announcer for the coliseum—and usually those wound up involved in the bloodbath.

Aside from actually being known, the intriguing part was this one's appearance. Bipedal, fuzzy only on the head, pointy-eared, exuding a strangely raw power despite being barefoot and in her (kind of) pajamas? "I came for the free food, mostly. What've they got playing these days?" Vakornol spared a crooked, sugar-crusted grin before humming almost dismissively. "And to whom do I owe the honor?"

@Aethril

RE: what's that a picture of? - Aethril - Jul 01 2021


Oh no. She's hot.

Where other Valkhands might have turned up their noise at Vakornol's... demeanour, Aethril found herself endeared. The Hound was charming, cheerful, grinning-- for a moment she regretted not putting on a dress or fixing her hair. Was this just the effect of finally meeting someone she'd been a fan of?

... perhaps. Don't think about it. "Aethril," she smiled, quite pleased with how steady her voice was. "Nest Patrol and Nest Nannies. Some of the other Hounds in the Palace are big fans of the former."

She took the seat next to Vakornol, clambering into the giant chair. She huddled into one corner (yes, it was the corner closest to the champion) and set her drink and snacks down. Eyes lifted to the screen, watching the static flutter across the wall, and then craned her head towards the Valkhound again. "They've been trying to find where Rodd Danger went, I believe. If you know of him." Not that she could imagine him visiting the coliseum often.

"It's good to see you awake again, regardless. A lot has changed."


@Vakornol

RE: what's that a picture of? - Vakornol - Jul 03 2021

Vakornol, unaware of the hand's rank or current plight, offered an eager "pleased to make your acquaintance, Aethril" and promptly clamped her jaws onto the last of her churros. She chewed once with a loud smack!, but seemed to remember that she now had company and resolved to being at least a little more polite.

That, or she was trying to make it easier to listen to the showings on their way.

"They haven't gotten any of the good shows back up?" the Hound gawped, "this is bullshit."

Though, she didn't sound particularly upset about it. While Aethril was taking a seat, Vakornol was finagling her slushy into her hand. Being that she lacked thumbs, it was a bit of a dicey scenario. Furthermore, she completely lacked lips—and foresight. And so, she was popping the lid off the cup and lapping it up with the tip of her tongue. Very dignified and civilized.

Her tail thumped against the back of the seat as the artificial sweetener and ice hit the roof of her mouth. Disgustingly sweet and grape-like, whatever those were. It was maybe just what the color purple tasted like. The static flicker danced off the little ice crystals in her drink and added next to nothing to the taste experience. If only they could get Lessers to taste this unhealthy. Vakornol, even with the ultra-efficient metabolism keeping her awake and alert at all hours of the day, would then happily eat until she was sick.

In the meantime, there was the matter of Rodd Danger. Vakornol chuffed, leaning on the arm of her seat in order to wave her free claw. "Oh, I know of him. His goonies were practically begging me to have something called a... a cameo on his show. Terror of the bloodbath and all that," she paused to laugh, full-chested before sobering, "didn't know anything had happened to him, though. Seemed like a wily and clever guy despite the egocentric... assholeness." The Hound shrugged with her drink. "Shame about his fans."

There had to be some base to reality television, right?

Taking another chilly "bite," Vakornol hummed. "The sentiment's much appreciated," she murmured, and that was true; as kind as it was to be totally unconscious in a chrysalis, steeped in nothing but a persistent blackness, being able to move and breathe and live was far preferable. Hunting down rebels had led her to Tunnel P, toward her successor's place of employment, and her chrysalis had been worn into the walls there.

She did not linger too much on that or the question of what if Vargas had never taken the responsibility of a Master upon himself, even as an Overseer?

Instead, she held up her slushy by way of a toast. "At least the shape of this cave is the same. They're just a bit quieter than it used to be, just a few different faces." Hah, more like a lot of them, all new. And wasn't that something? "Just a bit new."

Vakornol tipped it back.

@Aethril

RE: what's that a picture of? - Aethril - Jul 05 2021

"Nest nannies is fine," Aethril argued, though it was a weak one. It wasn't the high-stakes high-brow she'd prefer to be caught watching-- in fact, if there literally hadn't been anything else on, Aethril might have felt embarrassed about it. Alas, it was Nemean banging on silverware or Rodd Danger failing to rotoscope over found footage. Pollen's excuse, at least, was that she was an impressionable child. The Valkhand, as far as she could remember, had not been a child for some eight thousand years.

Her hands clasped over her stomach as she got comfortable. "Oh, he claimed one of your successors for that," the Hand said conversationally. "Terrible, but a little funny to see him try to cut around Vargas being Vargas. He was caught and imprisoned by rebels near Usra and is likely dead, however-- though," and her mouth made a thin line, "if he still lives somewhere out there and decides to be an ass to one of his young fans, he'll damn wish the rebels killed him."

And perhaps predictably, there came one of those little urges. The hope that Danger did act out. The anticipation that sat just on the tip of her tongue. How she could twist his limbs back and force his spine to bend out of place. The intricacies of humanoid anatomy were well-known to Aethril, who was one herself-- she'd know exactly where the pain was the most severe.

Soon enough, perhaps realising-- as per usual --that it wasn't her mind talking, Aethril was shoving these thoughts down.

"I suppose," Aethril said. "Perhaps it's better to keep an optimistic view on things. I feel as though the state of the Nest is quite... dire, but it's well on its way to getting better." Hopefully.


@Vakornol