Falling Outside The Normal Moral Constraints (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
picketship) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kenoslogs2024-01-02 06:37 pm
picketship) wrote in kenoslogs2024-01-02 06:37 pm
2024 catch-all
Who: Demeisen & various
What: Catch-all for non-event threads
Where: Various
When: Throughout 2024
Warnings: Will be in headers as appropriate
What: Catch-all for non-event threads
Where: Various
When: Throughout 2024
Warnings: Will be in headers as appropriate
100% the coliseum prompt
Members of the crowd huddle together in patches, some wearing masks similar to his - waving flags bearing his name or signature colors of red and black and gold. The battlecry they howl in a foreign language carries their delight for his violencd, and their dream of seeing his arena-based villainy come to an end. He raises a hand to the sky above, the other spinning a long, sleek staff with a sharp crook on the end — as his blue-and-white-and-black colored opponents take the field.
( Soon after, it begins. And he crushes his perpetual rivals with particular viciousness, a show of mockery and humiliation, punctuated by his sneering commentary. He manifests sand and storm upon them, beast and clone, and even the well-trained quarter: the former retiree, the twins, the valiant hero, cannot stand against him. He is their heel, and the crowd loves to see them lose bitterly and pledge to his end. )
( His second set is, without a doubt, a recreation of his fight against Amos Burton and Gavial in the streets of Springstar during the last Oracle. The two figures representing them are cast as cruel, encroaching invaders, assailing a woman and child before Springstar's beloved heel strikes them down — makes an example of Zenith's forces. )
And at the end, he casts aside the staff and mask and stands at the center of the ring, raising his hands to the crowd with a crooked, toothy smile. A beautiful, feral redhead indomitable and clearly popular! ]
You see how I fight for your entertainment. It is nowhere near the ferocity with which I fight for our victory, Springstar — and soon, you will revel in bloodsport and violence like no other generation has seen! I am Set, god of war whom stands at your side.
[ And as if a magnet, looking north, he spins and directs his attention to the man in the crowd. New and blasé, but notable nonetheless. ]
Are you still vacating this reality, new child? Shall I awaken you?
no subject
Judging from the fervour of the crowd, the animal-masked man is a familiar sight on the bloodsoaked sands of the coliseum—and to be sure, he commands attention as one well accustomed to putting on a show. Demeisen finds himself watching with interest, not just in the war god’s might and ferocity, but in his trickery—the shaping of storm and sand, the duplicates and animals that appear at his whim. He is always most interested in those in the arena who display strange abilities; it helps him grasp the limits of the place in which he has found himself, and the capabilities of those deemed most dangerous.
Though the attention paid to showmanship makes taking the full measure of the coliseum’s combatants difficult, he feels no hesitation in judging this man capable enough of being a threat.
Even so, when Set turns to look his way, Demeisen is still lingering quietly where he’s been the whole time, observing with interest but no particular excitement. At the pointed question, he only smiles a cool little smile, uncowed.]
Not done frolicking in the sand? [He gazes down into the arena, regarding the signs of violence still etched into the sandy floor.] A small spectacle, for a god of war. Don’t tell me I’m meant to be impressed…?
no subject
[ Wagging his finger at Demeisen, Set soon launches himself from arena floor into the stadium stands with a leap; his thighs flex, his body sails in a skilled arc, and he alights with the delicateness of a bird coming to roost — upon the seating just before the newcomer. Crouching, Set dangles his wrists off his knees and tips his head ( a very teen-thug style posture, thanks to Gen's influence? ) and his mouth twists, thoughtful even in his continued confidence. ]
Kenos constrains even the greatest of us, though we regain power the deeper into its embrace we step. It is a clever system to control us, but one we can game nonetheless. I am far from my true might, but I am still one of the grandest in this land. As a warrior, and as a intellectual.
[ And then he sits, right on the edge of the seat. Below him, one of his little fanclub sighs and tries to tug on his pale shendyt, asking him to sign their little sha-ear headband. Rude, how he ignores them. Weird, how they seem to love that he does. ( Fans of heel-characters dig it. #WWE ) ]
If I am to impress you, it would be over time and through proof of my claims, not in an arena for show and sport.
no subject
[Demeisen agrees easily, leaning back in his seat as the red-haired god sits before him. Just as Set’s focused attention seems to discomfit him not at all, so too does he resist the sudden interest of the surrounding members of the crowd, who are shamelessly listening in on the conversation between their beloved heel and this blithe stranger. It’s not like he’d expected to be private, after all.
He is a little changed from the days he spent fresh from his pod beneath the Tree. His spine is a little less humped, his legs slightly less gangling. Though he still looks a little odd upon inspection, the strangeness is less immediately apparent than it was two weeks previously. Most significantly—at least for his purposes—his dark curls have sprung from his scalp like energetic weeds, now resting in a generous tousle against his forehead and the back of his neck. Not coincidentally at all, this obscures the shard there from nosy onlookers.]
Happily, I didn’t come here hoping to be impressed.
[A few of the surrounding fans jeer, which he pretends not to notice.]
Wasn’t expecting to meet one of Springstar’s heaviest hitters, though. Just came to take in the sights. Soak in the violence a bit, tame though it is.
no subject
[ The Coliseum is a violent place, rife with blood and life, but it is also a stage. The day he had first joined up to unleash upon it, they had attempted to establish that his theme was that of a mad villain, and had set up heroes to oppose him. He'd never enjoyed it, instead preferring to let loose against the lucha libre skills of his fellow god. The Coliseum could not afford the damages incurred by them, time and again, and so asked them to be a little more — specifically observed. Highlights, not main shows.
He sweeps a hand through his hair, and by the way his brows rise and mouth curls, he's had an idea. One that leads him to reach out and scrub his hand through Demeisen's curly hair, ruffling it as his lips spread into a toothy grin. ]
I will ensure you soak in it, then! Why watch, if you think it so tame? Why not —
[ With that, he reaches for the front of the man's clothing with one hand, as the other fists in his hair — and Set attempts to roll backwards across the seats, planting a foot in Demeisen's belly to fling him ass over teakettle into the Coliseum's arena itself. ]
Enjoy the experience, instead!
no subject
But he is still far from human.
The hand ruffling his hair catches him slightly by surprise. It’s almost possessive, the sort of thing he’d done just weeks ago to men eager for his attention; it’s also bolder than he’s used to anyone being with his person. His expression turns distinctly unimpressed, and he lifts a hand to sweep the offending touch away.
Then Set reaches for his shirt.
Demeisen’s hair is convincingly soft. The hand that contacts Set’s wrist is warm, almost feverish, and dry like paper. But the body the god pulls with him as he rocks back cannot possibly be human, because no man this thin, no matter how leanly muscled, ever weighed as much as the avatar does. A human trying the same maneuver likely wouldn’t even be able to get him to clear rail at the edge of the stands.
But he sails into the Coliseum pit, flipping through the air to land like a cat on his feet, already turning to look mockingly up at the red-haired god in the stands above.]
Well now—attacking your own spectators? That’s not neighbourly at all.