#highglare

Yet again it’s just me being delusional about characters I made up in my head.

You don’t know why you keep going back to him. He’s a monster, a beast, a psychopath who takes pleasure solely in others’ suffering. You’re no different in that regard. You feel him prodding at your mind the moment you step into his chambers. Never once has that prickle of Chucklevoodoo not been there. He wants to get into your head, and you are never going to let him there. Not with the things in your mind. You’d have a club breaking your body before you even realize he knows your secrets. That isn’t exactly something you want to happen. And yet, despite the clear dangers, you always find yourself coming back to the brute. There’s something to him that doesn’t seem quite right. (You don’t mean in the ‘this troll is completely insane’ way either, because that’s clear enough already.) Something seems different about him, and maybe that’s why you always find yourself here. Every night you aren’t busy chasing around criminals he sends you after, you’re here. “Back again, Neophyte?” There’s a chuckle to his voice that isn’t friendly. It’s a dark and menacing sound to fit the dark and menacing paint slathered on his face for the sole purpose of concealing his real emotions. His religion is all about concealment and blood, as his throne room so properly portrays. Behind him is a mural of blood that makes your stomach churn, on the wall above the massive doors - the doors themselves are framed with something that looks suspiciously like bones - are the words “OBEY THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS” in various hues of the hemospectrum, lined in order - it even includes mutant red and Imperial fuchsia. The blood of the Sufferer and the blood of would-be-Empresses, culled to keep Her Imperial Condescension throned. You pull a sharp-lipped grin onto your face, your muscles relaxed and posture casual. “You need to stop sounding so surprised, Grand Highblood.” Again, he makes the dark sound. He gives your mind a prod, but you keep your posture and your grin, your mind on the defensive and your lusus instinctively protecting you as well. “It makes me think you want this motherfucker to know what goes on in that pretty little teal sponge of yours. And that’s a motherfuckin’ surprise. No one has ever wanted a Chucklefuck in there, yet you act like this is a game. What’ve you got in there, gutterblood?” His paint may conceal most emotions, but it’s always obvious when he’s grinning. The paint spreads and his yellowing teeth contrast against the dark and light of his paint. He thinks of this like a game as much as you do, and he thinks he’s going to win. “Isn’t that the goal of the game? It’d defeat the purpose if I just outright spoiled it for you.” His grin flickers before disappearing, and you’re back to not knowing what his expression is. That’s a game on it’s own. “I hope you don’t believe you’ll keep your thinkpan safe from me forever, Redglare. One of these nights, I’ll break into it, and whatever secrets you’re holding will be mine for the picking.” Okay. That’s an entirely different tone. You’ve never heard that one, and it manages to shake you a bit. He’s determined to crack your mind. You don’t let your facade change though, keeping your grin on and posture lax, confident in your mind’s defenses. For now. There’s a reason he’s suddenly taken on that tone, and you want to know why. He may be a psychotic fuck, but he’s still something like a troll. Trolls do different things for a reason, even if that reason is simply for entertainment - which wouldn’t surprise you in his case, but it doesn’t feel like that. “Had a rough night?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately only further confirms your idea. He sits on your question for a while, his dark indigo eyes latched onto you. Either he doesn’t blink or he blinks at the same time as you. “Now why the motherfuck would you be concerning yourself with something like how my worknight’s been?” His paint splits into his grin once more, but it looks more strained. You merely smirk a bit, rather pleased by how you managed to make him outwardly uncomfortable before he could do it to you. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “Ain’t that the reason I asked?” He growls the words, but the grin stays painted on his face. You’re winning, but you’re toeing the line. “Now tell me, wicked sis, why the motherfuck are you curious as to what I’ve been all up and busy with this worknight?” He drops the grin and grips his armrests tight enough for you to hear the wood cracking and splintering. Clearly, tonight is not a night to be messing with him. You take a few seconds to respond, sitting on his question like he had sat on yours. The prodding on your mind becomes sharper the longer you take, prodding you to hurry up and answer. “Curiosity.” “Killed the fuckin’ meowbeast. Now give me an actual answer, tealbitch, and quit stallin’. It ain’t ever just ‘curiosity’ with your kind. Especially not you in particular.” It seems as though he knows you far too well to be able to pull the ‘I am just a very curious troll’ card. You really aren’t that surprised. Disappointed, yes. Surprised, no. “If something stressful happened, then chances are shit’s about to hit the fan very quickly for the rest of Alternia. That means I’m going to be blasted with a good portion of it, considering my position.” That should be a sufficient enough lie. You aren’t going to be telling the brute that part of you is actually a bit worried. Not for Alternia or for yourself, but for him. It was an aggravating kind of feeling, one you know you’re going to have to conceal. Thankfully he can’t tell you’re lying. “Humph.” He settles back in his throne, loosening his grip on his throne and giving off a rather strong air of displeasure. You don’t know what he had been hoping to hear, but clearly it isn’t what you just said. Maybe he was hoping you’d continue to defy, just so he had a reason to break you. Not like him being The Grand Highblood isn’t reason enough. Sometimes you wonder why he deals with you. Other times you decide it’s best to not know. “Condy’s been gettin’ antsy. Paranoid in her power. Thinks there’s some underground movement of the mutant’s old cult or someshit. Like that would ever happen.” He snorts in amusement, as though the very thought of the Sufferer’s ideals continuing under their noses is impossible. He’s just as delusional as the rest of the highblooded trolls, thinking that killing the ‘leader’ would stamp out the whole movement. All it did was create a martyr for idealists like yourself to set morals off of. “Why would that work you up enough to make you nearly break your throne?” Obviously something else is going on here. “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own motherfuckin’ good, Neophyte.” He scowls, his eyes narrowing and voodoos prodding some more. He’s never been this expressive before. It’s worrying on a whole other level, and the way he’s poking your mind harsher doesn’t make it any easier to keep your facade. “I’ve heard that several times before. It’s usually followed by something along the lines of ‘that and your curiosity combined will make for a real short lifespan’. Never so nicely put though.” He snorts, but the majority of the sound is unamused. “Nah, wicked sis. It ain’t gonna be your smarts or your curiosity. It’ll be that ego. It’s too big for a troll of such low blood. Ever heard that one?” “Yes.” It’s getting hard to keep your facade. He’s never been this offensive with his attacks before. Typically they’re only pokes, playful jabs almost. He’s tired of waiting to crack you. “You’re the one stalling now, you know.” “What was the question again?” “Why are you so worked up about the Empress being paranoid?” You don’t know whether he really forgot the question or if he was just being difficult, but you would rather get to the bottom of his sour mood than know why he asked you to repeat the question. “She thinks a particular… Favorite of mine may be part of this underground cult she’s paranoid of.” The way he hesitated on how to phrase that makes you worry. It’s fairly obvious which direction this is going, and your facade cracks a bit. “You wouldn’t happen to have an inkling as to whom she’s worried about, would you?” His eyes flash several shades of indigo, and your facade completely crumbles as you focus on defending your mind against him. Your teeth grit together, contorting your face. “Now why the motherfuck are you tryin’ so hard to keep your pretty little teal pan so secret? Makes a wicked motherfucker suspicious, you know. Makes The Most Wicked Motherfucker himself real suspicious.” You have to get him focused on something else. Or at least break his concentration a little bit. Pyralspite’s worried and sending you all the signals to get the hell out, but you know you can’t just leave. It’ll be far too suspicious. You’d have a platoon of Subjugglators on your ass before you’ve even left the palace. “Since when did you consider me a ‘favorite’?” He’s silent and eyeing you up, but the pain stabbing into your pan has dulled quite a bit. You can recompose yourself, but you don’t. There’s no point. You cracked his mask; he cracked your facade. He hasn’t put his mask back on, so it’s only fair. “Since you decided to be different. Right now I’m all up and thinking I made the wrong motherfuckin’ choice in trustin’ you. I don’t like to be wrong, tealsis. Especially when it comes to trolls with actual talent that I can stand. Prove Her Imperially Paranoid wrong, or I will have to tear you limb from limb and make a painting with your pretty blood.” The fact that he’s being so upfront about everything really worries you. “Would you care to tell me exactly how I am to prove her wrong?” You aren’t ready to die yet. You’re fresh out of the Academy. Hell, not even a sweep ago you were still in classes and training, prepping to become a Legislacerator. The only reason you’re here now, in The Grand Highblood’s throne room, is because he took a special interest in you one night when he was touring the Academy looking for a replacement Legislacerator. His grin comes back, wicked as ever, splitting his paint more than before. The prodding on your mind retreats fully, but you refuse to take down your defenses. “You’re a smart motherfucker, figure it out.”