03-23-2022, 01:11 AM
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BUT I’M OVER IT NOW
[sub][W]isker[/sub]
graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ bonehead hyena
“Hey, don’t diss my boy Dante like that.” Vale’s neck cracked as ve turned to look at Kold, but vis voice lacked bite. After leaving like ve had, Vale agreed. Who the fuck left a nutcase in charge? Sure, ve’s good at blowing shit up (including a pyramid in the Pitt’s own territory), yet vis talent for violence is the only stand out component of vis resume.
However. Vale has never given up. Otherwise, the curse blackening vis blood wouldn’t be torture.
Vale attempted to lean against Olalla, using the behemoth’s bulk as resistance to pop vis shoulder and neck back into alignment. “Ahhh, see, this is exactly how we’ll work together. I really don’t want to explain the metaphor, but I’m sure Aegon, Kold, and Jor can figure it out. Just waiting on you.” With a sticky grey tongue, vale licked vis third eyeball. A grisly, unintentional wink.
“Your thriving Pittians say they’re agreeing with me.” Vale rolled vis red eyes. “Really opened yourself up to that one. No easy answer like rhetorical question, dummy to salvage that self-roast.”
“The Coalition, you mean,” Vale corrected. “The main warmongers left the Typhoon—they may hate our guts, but the wound isn’t fresh. Captain Morrison’s a dark horse, but nobody wins a battle by their lonesome. But the Coalition’s run by Stryker and Ninazu’s son. Coalition’s in a better position.”
“Wait, who said anything about digging graves?” Vale sounded puzzled–genuinely so, because death threats are as casual as flinging a gore-slicked arm over someone’s shoulder. “Actually, yeah, probably me. No offense, but you’re too much of a wuss to bring it up. You seriously responding to a death threat by saying your own death would inconvenience me?”
The rotting hyena cackled. Then ve removed the paw slung over Olalla’s shoulder and tapped vis forehead. “Here I thought I was the bonehead!”
“So I’ll spell it out for me. You’re a logistician, and you’re running a society built on literal slave labor.” Dragging vis tongue over vis teeth, Vale cut the grey flesh against white bone. Black sludge oozed down vis chin. “Eventually, you’ll run into a resource acquisition problem. Or a resource retainment problem. Or whatever shit accountants say for the tax write-off when the business runs on blood.”
“I don’t think you’re the type to get your paws dirty.” Vale rubbed vis chin in a mockery of a thinking face, mucking up vis paws with rot. “You’ll delegate. But whoever you raise will want your spot. And they’ll have the violent charisma Pittians adore. Like me, these marauders will know violence better than you. Unlike me, they’ll naively think they can handle the bullshit, because running a slave empire only requires sadism and creativity, right? You know better. I know better.”
Vale held out the paw, then looked down and remembered how bloody (sort of? bloody? is that blood that comes out of vis veins?) ve made it for a theatrical whim. “Ugh, see what I mean? Seriously. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve already challenged you. Let’s work together, mkay?”
YOU NEVER TRUSTED ME ★ However. Vale has never given up. Otherwise, the curse blackening vis blood wouldn’t be torture.
Vale attempted to lean against Olalla, using the behemoth’s bulk as resistance to pop vis shoulder and neck back into alignment. “Ahhh, see, this is exactly how we’ll work together. I really don’t want to explain the metaphor, but I’m sure Aegon, Kold, and Jor can figure it out. Just waiting on you.” With a sticky grey tongue, vale licked vis third eyeball. A grisly, unintentional wink.
“Your thriving Pittians say they’re agreeing with me.” Vale rolled vis red eyes. “Really opened yourself up to that one. No easy answer like rhetorical question, dummy to salvage that self-roast.”
“The Coalition, you mean,” Vale corrected. “The main warmongers left the Typhoon—they may hate our guts, but the wound isn’t fresh. Captain Morrison’s a dark horse, but nobody wins a battle by their lonesome. But the Coalition’s run by Stryker and Ninazu’s son. Coalition’s in a better position.”
“Wait, who said anything about digging graves?” Vale sounded puzzled–genuinely so, because death threats are as casual as flinging a gore-slicked arm over someone’s shoulder. “Actually, yeah, probably me. No offense, but you’re too much of a wuss to bring it up. You seriously responding to a death threat by saying your own death would inconvenience me?”
The rotting hyena cackled. Then ve removed the paw slung over Olalla’s shoulder and tapped vis forehead. “Here I thought I was the bonehead!”
“So I’ll spell it out for me. You’re a logistician, and you’re running a society built on literal slave labor.” Dragging vis tongue over vis teeth, Vale cut the grey flesh against white bone. Black sludge oozed down vis chin. “Eventually, you’ll run into a resource acquisition problem. Or a resource retainment problem. Or whatever shit accountants say for the tax write-off when the business runs on blood.”
“I don’t think you’re the type to get your paws dirty.” Vale rubbed vis chin in a mockery of a thinking face, mucking up vis paws with rot. “You’ll delegate. But whoever you raise will want your spot. And they’ll have the violent charisma Pittians adore. Like me, these marauders will know violence better than you. Unlike me, they’ll naively think they can handle the bullshit, because running a slave empire only requires sadism and creativity, right? You know better. I know better.”
Vale held out the paw, then looked down and remembered how bloody (sort of? bloody? is that blood that comes out of vis veins?) ve made it for a theatrical whim. “Ugh, see what I mean? Seriously. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve already challenged you. Let’s work together, mkay?”
BUT I’M OVER IT NOW
[sub][W]isker[/sub]