#ghbsign

 He's not very impressive. Nubby, that's the word what comes to pan. His horns are so short and they're round, blunted at the tips. Useless, really. He looks way too delicate to you; he certinly ain't pampered none, but his hair's just a little too long to be efficient and nowhere near long enough to be a pride point. (Something registers that it's got an odd sheen to it, and more than that- it looks incredibly soft.) He's got scrapes and scratches up his arms, bare beneath the way too long and obviously well worn cloak, but there aren't any

real

scars from what you can see. He's got his motherfucking palms up, all placation and easy calm,fingers crooked just enough to show claws that aren't nearly sharp enough to do fatal damage like you're gonna be persuaded out of culling him if he's nonthreatening. Ain't how the game's played, but the effortless gesture is something to see. And he's smiling at you, that's the strangest motherfucking thing you might ever have seen, grinning like you're an old friend he hasn't seen in ages. What the motherfuck is this thing? She can't be serious. She can't be. This is just the shittiest joke of all time, that has to be the motherfucking explanation. Otherwise you might have to catch yourself thinking that Her Majesty has gone full batshit blind.

Maybe it's a ruse. They found this poor motherfucker here and stuck him in the getup, ran off while he stood here ready to get his skull bashed the motherfuck inside out. Shit's ruthless.

He chuckles a little nervously and you realize how long you've been staring at him, so you raise an eyebrow and cross your arms. "I'm sorry Your Highness," he says, gentle and familiar, slowly returning his arms to his sides. You don't see a weapon. Don't mean there ain't one, but you don't see one. "I never really do get used to being stared at. It's a little offputting, to tell you the truth." You snort at that, like he has any kind of right to tell you how long you can get your look on at him and lean in, try to see if you can tell what color his blood is. Either his irises just ain't filled yet or he's young as all motherfuck. You aren't sure which you'd believe faster.

"You. You're the motherfucker gets to being called Signless? You?" Disdain drips from every word and he visibly deflates. Your faces are so close you can feel heat from him, and apparently this little motherfucker burns bright and warm. Shit's weird. "Was all to being sent this motherfucking way after some dangerous renegade, very motherfuckin' fabric of Her world shredding around the bitch way She was to making it up and sound, and I found... this." You drop your arms and snort again, sigh deep while his smile turns that it-pains-me-to-hear-you-say-that kind of sad. Was he expecting you to be friendly? If he is who you're after, he's about to motherfucking die, and you'd think he might show a bit more fear to that possibility. You're under no oath for his culling to be quick or painless.

Then again, that ain't the way the game's played either is it?

You grin at him, slow and sickly and he just beams back at you like he's got you figured. "You wanna hear a joke?" he asks cheerfully, and you give him a nod to acknowledge how on top of this shit he is. "Always want to be hearing motherfucking jokes." You straighten to your full height and you take good notice of the twitch in the corner of his mouth. Maybe he's just gotten good at masking shit. Ain't the first one you met. Probably not the last. "Why don't you tell me some funny shit then, brother?"

Did you just call him that on purpose?

"Alright, let me think of the best one I know," he says, twiddling his thumbs together idly and looking up at the sky, throat bare and everything. Maybe the little shit is a motherfucking fool, and that would explain everything. When he gets his pick settled on down he snaps his fingers and everything, and he's motherfucking laughing at his own punchline before he can even deliver the pitch. "Okay, so. What's green and has wheels?"

'What's green and has wheels?!' That's his stroke of comedic genius, 'what's green and has wheels!?'

You shake your head and heave a deep sigh at him. He doesn't seem phased. Not even a little. In fact he's still snickering under his breath, and he looks so excited that you think he might have been keeping that tucked away for just such a miraculous occasion as this, just waiting to suckerpunch a motherfucker with this shit. "A frog on a cart?" You offer, smirking sharply at him. He busts into short bursts of laughter, shaking his head and even snorting a little when he tries to catch his breath. What the motherfuck is so fucking funny?

"It- It's grass. I li-lied about.. about the wheels." He wheezes his answer out between fits of wicked giggling and you just kinda blink slow at him, watching him all doubled over and gasping for air. "Ahh. Lied about the wheels." You blink again while he wipes tears of restraint from the corners of his eyes, note he's careful enough to blot them real quick on his cape and hide it in his hand, and you should demand to see that color and then get you a nice big jar of it and put one of those hideous fuchsia ribbons on the shit, that's what you should do.

He looks back up at you and he looks so motherfucking hopeful and you... Well. You start motherfucking laughing, Messiahs have mercy on your wretched soul. You snicker once, twice, and he huffs out another tiny laugh between your own, and then you're straight up chuckling at this fool and he's chuckling right beside you, still pleased as a paintsibling what got a dozen new paints from motherfucking nowhere at his god awful punchline. Suddenly you can't stop laughing, and then he's laughing with you and you want so badly to hate this stupid little motherfucker and his useless claws and worthless horns and his shitty shiny hair and his big bright eyes and you absolutely can not find it in you while you're in so much pain. You both laugh until you're nearly on the ground- Signless, actually, seems to be sitting next time you look up- and it takes a long moment for you both to regain your composure. You half-growl at him and he does startle for you that time. You click your tongue against your fangs.

"Motherfuck," you mutter and when you turn you hear a deep sigh of relief and can imagine him slumped and staring at the ground or his hands. "Can't be what I'm all to looking for, ah? Suggest you run on motherfucker." You hear his footsteps rushing in as opposite a motherfucking direction as he can go before you're done speaking, and you just keep walking.

You're going to be in so much trouble if She finds out you just walked away from him, but you have always liked it when motherfuckers laugh that hard at their own jokes.