View Full Version: A Subjugglator's Duties


Title: A Subjugglator's Duties
Description: students must learn from a master.

terminallyCapricious - October 8, 2011 11:49 PM (GMT)
Gamzee finished off the last couple bites of his sopor slime pie, and leaned back against his recuperacoon. It was a lazy night, as most of his nights were. There wasn't much to do around his hive really, and after eating a couple of pies and slamming back a few Faygos, there really wasn't a lot he even felt like doing. It wasn't so much that he was lazy - although there was no arguing against it; he really was pretty lazy - it was more of the fact that there were so many miracles out there to take in, and only so few he could really get to from his hive. And so, he just opted to stay at home and chill, or maybe talk to a friend or two online every once in an Alternian moon.

And tonight was probably going to be just like all those before it - lazy, simple, devoid of many (if any at all) miracles.

Gamzee rolled onto his stomach, then got up and walked over to his desk, where his hubtop sat. There were a few papers scattered around, so Gamzee took one and began doodling on it with a nearby pen. The doodle first started out as one of his lusus, a giant sea goat, swimming happily in the ocean. He kind of missed SeaGoatDad, but he was always out to sea, there wasn't much he could do about that. Gamzee started to doodle himself riding SeaGoatDad, but as he did so, he noticed that the figure ended up looking nothing like him. Well, 'nothing' was exaggerating it, but still. The troll had much longer hair, seemed to be more muscular, and had some rather interesting face paint.

After thinking about it a moment, Gamzee realized something - Vriska, in the few times he had talked to her on trollian, had always mentioned something about ancestors this and descendants that. Were those real? It would be some sort of motherfucking miracle if they were. Gamzee never got to spend much time with his lusus, so the thought of having an ancestor around to hang out and chill with was a pretty damn good idea.

Pretty excited by the thought of a potential ancestor, Gamzee began scrawling out a letter on the page with the doodle to the unknown highblood.

hEeEeY, mOtHeRfUcKeR! mY nAmE iS gAmZeE mAkArA! :o) yOu MiGhT nOt KnOw Me (AnD yOu MiGhT nOt EvEn FuCkInG eXiSt) BuT i ThOuGhT i'D gEt My WrItE oN aNd GeT a LeTtEr AlL uP iN yOuR hIvE! oR sOmEtHiNg, HoNk. YoU sHoUlD cOmE cHiLl WiTh Me SoMeTiMe! We CaN sLaM aS mAnY fAyGoS aS yOu WaNt, AnCeStBrO!!! hOnK!!

Gamzee grabbed one of the many Faygo bottles laying around - a grape one, resembling his blood color - and stuffed the letter inside. He dashed outside and stood by the ocean. He then reached into his pocket to get the last bit of special dust he had on him and threw it into the bottle with a resounding POOF. He then sealed the bottle up tight, and tossed it out to sea.

Content with his actions, Gamzee plopped down into the sand and stared out at the waves. He quickly fell into a nice nap, dreaming of what might happen next.

Grand Highblood - October 14, 2011 05:03 PM (GMT)
    Ancestor. It had a sharp ring to it, the word tasting of ash and iron. A herald of something archaic and long left in the past.

    Oh how wrong that definition was.

    The Highblood stared down at the crumpled paper within his hands, its edges stained with saltwater from the sea where it had been plucked from and delivered to him. He had been understandably less than pleased to receive it at first, annoyed that he would be bothered with such trivial manners as mere notes, and then terribly suspicious that it was nothing more than a filthblood plot to try and strike against him, but as time had worn on and he had considered things further, he had decided that he was willing to suspend his disbelief for the moment. His disbelief, perhaps, but not his suspicions.

    A “Gamzee.” Indigo yes, his own progeny spawned from some torrid night with some unnamed kismesis who was nothing more than a smear on his glorious wall now. How...quaint. The thought that his greatness had been spread was something to ponder; after all, it meant that his legacy would live on, but there was that fact, that small little fact, that such a wriggler left unattended could have been dangerous. A lose end, an unbated sword, something that could rise up, something that could dare to threaten his place an-


    No. That was for the future, a future that wouldn’t be allowed to happen. Fine, this grub wanted contact? Even though it was laughable that a troll in such high status as himself consider or now. acquiescing trivial requests like the current one, he would play this part for now. But where, where would he start? This apparent descendant of his, this wriggler-minded creature, it would have been nearly impossible to arrange a physical meeting in any short amount of time, and certainly he couldn’t be bothered to run off at a mere child’s request but...ah yes, yes, there was a way.

    Dismissing the greenblood that had brought him the news with a glare, he moved from his throne, running one clawed hand across the vibrant streaks of color that covered the wall behind. The messenger would be added to there shortly, when he had the time, because certainly he couldn’t have the risk of any inferior lowblood running about with the knowledge of his spawn, his potential (dangerous, threatening) heir. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Though he felt no connection to this Gamzee creature, he was not about to let the populous know that there was a living troll descended from his genetics. While on one hand it was a sign of his power, on the other, it could potentially be used against him by the foolish revolutionaries that just seemed to keep popping up. How or why was only half formed in his thinkpan, paranoid delusions gnawing away incessantly at his thoughts, but it was something that he refused to let slip away. One wrong move, a wrong play, and everything that he had worked for could come crashing down around him.

    Making his way from the room, he rounded a corner and continued on, deeper and deeper into the private corners of his abode, away from the likes of prying eyes of both slaves and other Subjuggalators alike. He didn’t trust them with the more personal, dare he say, intimate parts of his life, and thus had strictly banned any other troll from setting foot beyond his throne room. It was a heavy decree, reinforced by the promise of slow, painful culling, and his things had been left alone for the most part, with only one or two incidences before people had learned. This was his sanctum, and it needed to be as secure as he could make it, it needed to be just motherfucking his.

    With a low snarl, he finally made his way to one of the inner rooms, slamming the door shut behind him as an extra precaution. Lines of shelves covered the walls, intricate fetishes crammed haphazardly on them, the faceless dolls staring down at him almost expectantly. It was his job as the leader of the Subjuggalators to weave the beginnings of each intricate chucklevoodoo to keep the populous in its place, but as he paused in thought, a plan began to form within his mind.

    Fine, if this so-called descendant of his wanted to meet, sobeit, but it was going to be on his terms. The child was an indigo, that made everything much more difficult, and added to that was the fact that he was attempting to contact, not terrify, so it would take a finer degree of concentration to invade his subconscious. A challenge, yes, but he was the best, the Grand motherfucking Highblood, and he would figure out a way.

    After careful consideration of the dolls lining the shelves, he selected a plain cloth one, previously unmarked and ready to be imprinted. A handful of ground bone that he had come to call his special stardust , a smearing of his own indigo over the doll’s forehead, and the connection, though faint, was there.

    Ritualistic and archaic as it may have seemed to an outside observer, it sufficed, and though he felt the contact faint and fragile, like something wound too tight and pulled too taught, the beginnings of foreign thoughts began to touch his own. Childish, immature, yes...that had to be it. It was fortunate that the other troll seemed to be asleep, because had he not, the entire process would have been a waste of his time.

    With eyes closed and the faintest glimmer of a smirk upon his lips, he rasped out low and quiet, projecting the words along through the doll, to the other, “hello grubling"

terminallyCapricious - October 14, 2011 09:22 PM (GMT)
Gamzee's dreams were even more miraculous than his everyday life; they were just intense, and Gamzee was always completely lucid throughout their entirety. A flight through space? No problem. An adventure with SeaGoatDad, who returned home suddenly instead of going off into the ocean again? A common occurrance around here. Meeting up with his best motherfucking friends for a game of FLARP or Fiduspawn? Sure, why the hell not? Gamzee loved dreaming. He could do anything - even more than he could on Alternia when sopored up. It was no wonder he was constantly taking naps.

But for every few hundred miraculous dreams weaving and winding throughout his mind, there were always the few more somber ones to rival them. Tonight's dream consisted of just sitting upon the shore where he fell asleep, watching the sea drift along. It was calming, but also somewhat foreboding. Dreams like this made Gamzee feel a sort of emptiness; something he feared all the sopor slime and Faygo in Alternia couldn't even hope to fill. He didn't get like this often, but when it did, it worried him. He shook his head, and decided to head back into his hive for a pie, when suddenly, he heard a voice.

"hello grubling," it boomed, causing Gamzee to jump a foot or so into the air. What in Alternia was that!? And where did it come from? Gamzee looked around him, alarmed. He wondered if perhaps it was SeaGoatDad... but then again, he never sounded like that before.

"wHo ThE mOtHeRfUcK iS tHaT oUt ThErE?" he stammered, slightly nervous. He silently hoped this dream wasn't about to turn into one of the ones where all he did was cull other trolls - he hated those the most, and was never ready for another one.

All he wanted was a nice dream, maybe some adventuring with his (probably made-up) ancestor. Not another nightmare.

Grand Highblood - October 26, 2011 04:51 AM (GMT)
    A tug,a pull at his own mind, and suddenly a feeling of thereness flooded the Highblood’s awareness, and back in the safety of his chambers he grinned widely, far too many teeth visible in the expression. It was a foreign consciousness, yes, but there was a hint of something so visceral, so instinctively familiar. Something that went beyond hemoshade, beyond the mutual indigo that flowed through their veins. So this was what it was like having a spawn...such a curious sensation. Not protectiveness, no, never that, but intrigue and a sense of self that was vaguely unsettling.

    But it wasn’t a time for introspective and thought, not at all. There had been a reason that he had gone to such troubles to find one small, perhaps insignificant, child, and it was time that the little one face the consequences. There was a fog that surrounded him from truly seeing what the other troll was thinking, what he was dreaming, (a mere discrepancy of blood, of a richness so like his own that it was naturally resilient against psychic powers), but there were shades and shapes, light and dark that he could process, enough to project his presence towards where the other seemed to be. He wasn’t solid, that was something that was beyond even his grasp, but with enough pressure and pushing, a tweak or two of power flowing about and suddenly there was mass. Intangible as his form was, it was enough for the time being. The sudden shock of a shaded figure appearing within one’s mind always seemed to work well enough for the outspoken filthbloods, after all, so why would one small troll be any different.

    Ah that voice though! So small, so weak! Was that truly what his efforts had wrought? Was that...was that fear he detected? It couldn’t be, of course not. Not from something of his genetic standing, not from something with his perfection coursing through its veins. That was inconcieveable, and he would not stand for it. Turning sightless dream eyes upon the source of the words, he made a low noise, gutteral and rough, in the back of his throat. It rang with disapproval and curiosity, but he was slow to speak. Sweeps of paranoia and watching his back carefully had worn him raw, and even if this was nothing more than a mere child, it was worth taking things with a grain of caution.

    Foolish to think that such a creature like this descendant of his could be a threat, but it was something worth considering. One misstep, and his entire empire could fall about him, and though it would have seemed to be laughable to think things could progress so quickly from nothing more than a simple dream meeting, there was no reason not to think the worst either.

    “such a vulgar way to address a guest," he scoffed, pausing for a moment to collect his words. “you sent a call grubling, don't tell me that you weren't expecting an answer."

    OOC: Oh dear, I'm sorry for the lateness of this reply and how incoherent it is, it's been midterms week from hell this past week or so.

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