Post by Godot on Mar 20, 2012 21:13:36 GMT -5
Tercer took his sweet damn time getting ready, washing off the slime, (but largely ignoring his mess of hair, made it look greasy and unkempt that way,) tugging on one of his better sweatshirts and worse-off pairs of pants, and throwing on some sandals for good measure. The three pairs of eyes of his lusus followed him as he trudged around his hive, blinking serenely whenever he swore to himself/at himself/at Metiet/at the world/so on and so forth. After an inordinate amount of time had passed, he finally left his hive, ignoring the other troll's presence outside as he knelt down in one of many of the patches of dirt that dotted his scant lawnring.
”You'll want to-- Oh don't do that-- oh now you're just being a slob,” Metiet started, watching as Tercer dug his formerly-clean nails into the dirt, rubbing some on his face and hands and the knees of his pants. ”You're going to look like a trashy lowblood that way!”
”That's the point,” Tercer growled, standing up to face his irritating ally. ”Now where the fuck am I going?”
”Language, language...” Metiet admonished, smirking when Tercer quietly intoned ”Language” to satisfy his obsession. Pleased he could rile his friend up so easily, he thrust a bag into the other troll's hands. ”Map's in there, as well as some extra stuff I thought you could use. Now go have a good night FLARPing, sweetie. Dinner will be waiting for you when you get back. Play nice with the other trolls!”
”I hope you choke to death while I'm gone,” Tercer muttered in response, attempting to slide the bag into his sylledex. BAG= 2+1+7= 10. REJECTED. Groaning, he tried again. SUPPLIES= 1+3+7+7+3+9+5+1= 36. ACCEPTED. Not bothering to thank Metiet for fear of meeting his smirking face after failing at his own sylledex in front of him, he turned and stormed off, aware that it would take him the better part of a night to reach this troll's place.
That's exactly how long it took, give or take several extra hours spent wandering around, wondering his exactly he was supposed to read the scribbles Metiet employed all over his useless map. He finally found the correct hive, arriving in worse spirits than he had been in when he left-- at least then he had been well rested and warm from the slime. Now his legs were doing that weird thing where his muscles twitched in time with his pulse because he'd been walking for too long. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about the twitching.
Strolling up to the door like he owned the lawn-ring already, he pulled his pendulum from his sylledex. (ROCK ON ONE STRING: 81. Bit of a stretch, but it worked.) Twirling the makeshift device/weapon around his finger, he raised his other hand, pounding loudly on the door three times. Idly, he examined the troll's lawnring as he waited for them to come answer the door-- clean, neat, almost painfully so. He was probably a fastidious douchebag. The thought almost made Tercer smile.
”You'll want to-- Oh don't do that-- oh now you're just being a slob,” Metiet started, watching as Tercer dug his formerly-clean nails into the dirt, rubbing some on his face and hands and the knees of his pants. ”You're going to look like a trashy lowblood that way!”
”That's the point,” Tercer growled, standing up to face his irritating ally. ”Now where the fuck am I going?”
”Language, language...” Metiet admonished, smirking when Tercer quietly intoned ”Language” to satisfy his obsession. Pleased he could rile his friend up so easily, he thrust a bag into the other troll's hands. ”Map's in there, as well as some extra stuff I thought you could use. Now go have a good night FLARPing, sweetie. Dinner will be waiting for you when you get back. Play nice with the other trolls!”
”I hope you choke to death while I'm gone,” Tercer muttered in response, attempting to slide the bag into his sylledex. BAG= 2+1+7= 10. REJECTED. Groaning, he tried again. SUPPLIES= 1+3+7+7+3+9+5+1= 36. ACCEPTED. Not bothering to thank Metiet for fear of meeting his smirking face after failing at his own sylledex in front of him, he turned and stormed off, aware that it would take him the better part of a night to reach this troll's place.
That's exactly how long it took, give or take several extra hours spent wandering around, wondering his exactly he was supposed to read the scribbles Metiet employed all over his useless map. He finally found the correct hive, arriving in worse spirits than he had been in when he left-- at least then he had been well rested and warm from the slime. Now his legs were doing that weird thing where his muscles twitched in time with his pulse because he'd been walking for too long. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about the twitching.
Strolling up to the door like he owned the lawn-ring already, he pulled his pendulum from his sylledex. (ROCK ON ONE STRING: 81. Bit of a stretch, but it worked.) Twirling the makeshift device/weapon around his finger, he raised his other hand, pounding loudly on the door three times. Idly, he examined the troll's lawnring as he waited for them to come answer the door-- clean, neat, almost painfully so. He was probably a fastidious douchebag. The thought almost made Tercer smile.