Something fun for our characters to do? Pick a color, and the character will answer!
- Red:Seven insecurities
- Orange:Six turn offs
- Yellow:Five turn ons
- Green:Four life goals
- Blue:Three fears
- Indigo:Two weaknesses
- Violet:One thing you love
1/2,3,4,5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20
He’d threatened harshly, but the ruined words still came. The angry ex-darkspear was no longer the one in charge, and he actually took a step back, every coarse hair on his bare shoulders and neck bristling as he moved away from the smaller one in front of him. As if those words were slaps of their own.
He felt cornered, really. WAS cornered. It could be seen in the expression of his orange eyes. He was cornered here in the room he had never touched, filled with gifts of flowers and friendship and confronted in ways he couldn’t just slam his way through. Kal didn’t much like it.
He declined to answer. Instead the lanky bastard snorted, moving to skirt around the mosshide he had just hit. Looking away from him. Pretending he had not heard. He moved to escape, is what he did. Back to the hold where he knew THAT darkness held no threats of friendship.
Kal moved, wasn’t that good enough? Apparently not, as the tongueless bastard in front of him continued to try to berate him, even with the physical warning he had just received. Angered, it was hard for the ex-darkspear to keep the concentration it took to figure out what words were meant to be spoken. He almost gave up. He wanted to give up. And yet, he continued to inwardly translate, though each attempted sentence just pissed him off more and more.
Maybe it was because he didn’t have an answer.
Though he had moved, he still loomed, his size advantage a desperate attempt to stay in control of the conversation. Physical pain hadn’t stopped Me’notoa, nor had cruel words, and frankly Kal had run out of weapons.
“I am going ta have ta kill joo,” he snarled, “If joo do not just be droppin’ dis. If I be gettin’ exausted wit dis, it will not be goin’ de way joo want. It would no’ be hard, an’ joo should fuckin’ be thankful I haven’t. Quit askin’ for friendship joo ain’ gonna get, or I will be tearin’ more outta joo den scars and bruises. No matta wha’ ja keeper tinks he gonna do if I try.”
He loomed, and he waited. He waited, and his stance spoke of more violence as strongly as his words.
The air felt thick as Me’notoa berated him, solid like chains it seemed to hold him still in a sort of trembling anger. There was silence and no motion from Kal, he did not even blink.
The mosshide touched him. Jabbed him really, with one of those skinny, green fingers. The makeshift star that hung around the ex-Darkspear’s neck flickered, dimming before brightening once more… And suddenly he moved. Like a switch that had been flicked, he jerked, lashing out as he had with the plants. A backhand, aimed right for that cheek HE had scarred, that thin line.
“I did not be askin’ for none of it.” The jungle troll’s orcish was cold and drawn as thin as that fresh scar. “Why should I be appreciatin’ what I ain’ wantin? No broom. Leave.”
Only then did he move, stepping stiffly aside, a growling snarl pasted across his features.
The reasoning behind Me’notoa’s lack of Zandali conversation continued to elude Kal. Too busy with his own words, it had never dawned on him that the other just could not understand it. The fact he never spoke it back was just chalked down as a weird quirk. Maybe he did not want to disrespect the language by even attempting to speak it. Or perhaps it was harder for the tongueless idiot to make the sounds, though to Kal it felt like it should be easier. But what was he to know? The ex-Darkspear still had his mouth entirely intact, a privilege he quickly abused again as the smaller mosshide practically begged to go get a broom and clean up.
“Don’ joo fuckin’ come back wit no broom!” The taller one snarled, his words back in mangled orcish again. Continuing to speak Zandali to one who refused to speak it back was always an awkward situation. “I tol’ joo ta fuckin’ go away an’ not come back ta dis room AGAIN. LEAVE. GO AWAY. I don’ be wantin’ ta see ja face down here, GO!”
He was in the way. He realized this. Somewhat. But didn’t move.
Another plant dies due to his misdeeds, and Kal does not allow himself a second thought for it, nor the lengths that must have go into getting it to it’s inevitable grave.
His scarred fingers balled into tightly closed fists, and he stood even straighter than he had, standing tall in an outward show of his superiority. For all that, he did not strike the other again, although the thought was tempting. He just stood, and listened to more mumblespat rubbish with flicked-flat ears.
Sometime. Busy. Stupid excuses that did not satisfy his want of an answer. They of course could not stop the yelling, but the next sentence, that did. Why are you upset with me. Kal did not answer. His voice HAD no answer. I just want to make you feel better for once.
“Get. Out.” The growled reply Me’notoa finally did receive was quiet Zandali, the kind of bitter calm tone that tasted more like threats than requests. “Do not enter this room ever again. Do not bother me. Leave.”