The End of The Pirouette (Traveling)

[Gamzee Makara]

The slightly glazed over yet cheerful look that usually inhabits Gamzee's eyes is gone. His eyes; they keep threatening to overflow with that menacing orange. The corner of his mouth twitches, his wicked smile cracking his face.

And then it stops. Gamzee can think again, think clearly. His eyes revert back to their usual yellow, and lose any form of malice. He blinks, and then remembers where he was, and the situation he was in. He steels himself for a strife.

The orcs were watching this whirlwind of emotions and changes, somewhat terrified, but somewhat interested as well. As he spoke, the orcs took several steps back - okay maybe they were a bit scared. But, his next change was noticeable. He no longer looked terrifying, no longer looked vicious, no longer looked downright sadistic. He just looked like some weird kid, threatening the two large orcs with a pair of circus toys. That's when they took the initiative.

Gamzee let them make the first move. That whole...whatever it was threw him off. He plastered on an uneasy smile, because a strife isn't fun if you can't fight in a good mood. The green beasties charge him, both at the same time, both shouting primal battle cries. They both raise their weapons, the one on the left raising a rather crude looking axe, and the one on the right carrying a hammer of stone. They bring their weapons down in vicious arcs, hoping to tear chunks out of their foe. Alas, the Clown was having none of that. Using an extreme burst of speed that an unsuspecting enemy wouldn't expect from such a lazy looking enemy, the troll does a front flip, landing on top of the Orcs' heads, one foot on each.

"Like my wicked balancing act?"

He chuckles, and hops to the left orc's head, raising one foot in the air, as if he was balancing on a tightrope. The indigenous warriors of the tangled green didn't take too kindly to this mockery, and attempt to lash out at the balancing buffoon, but the orc who's bald head is currently being occupied only manages to make contact with air, and his flustered buddy succeeds merely in smacking his brethren in the forehead with a hammer. Gamzee has somersaulted through the air once again, but this time lands on his feet in a crouch, arms and clubs held out. He rises to a stand and looks over his shoulder at the scene on display; the unharmed orc is trying to apologize to his brother-in-arms for the friendly fire. It's not working very well. While they stand there unguarded and arguing, their combatant calmly walks up to them, unnoticed. He listens to them for a moment, but can't really understand what it is they're shouting at each other about. He shrugs, raises up a club, and-

*CRACK*

brains the nearest orc, which happened to be the one wielding an axe. Er, formerly wielding an axe. Gamzee blinks. As the hostile orc's body slumps to the ground, the troll comes to the realization that the wet, red stuff coloring the grass ain't dew. Aw shit. He killed him didn't he? Damn... He didn't mean to go all up and do that kinda nasty stuff. Just meant to KO the asshole. The remaining orc stands, mouth agape, looking at his partner dead on the ground.

"Uh. Sorry."

Silence.

"You uh...Want me to say some words?"

The formerly very angry, very hostile creature slowly turns his head to look at our regretful hero, jaw still on the ground. It stays that way for a few moments, the Orc staring at Gamzee, Gamzee with a straight, but impossibly stupid look of apology on his face.

"..."

"Yes please."

And so then, the troll-turned-preacher tries to stay on a personal level with his former enemy, and puts some degree of effort at a strange, strange eulogy.

"Ah, yes. We er, have gathered here on this beaut of a night to celebrate the miracle of- whoaholyshit!"

The moving, emotional sermon is interrupted by a war cry, as the surviving warrior's hammer smashing into the ground where the troll was moments before. The pissed off green motherfucker yanks his weapon away from the cracked ground with a sneer. The former preacher of the moment had rolled away just before the weapon made contact. The off-guard Gamzee regains his composure and makes for a swift toe-kick to the side of the orc's kneecap, effectively bringing the enemy down to a kneeling position. Wasting no time, our hero brings his knee into his foe's chin with a satisfying crack.

Shouldn't have had his mouth open crying out in pain.

The tribal falls backwards, his eyes lolling into the back of his head. The ring announcer voice in his head shouts victoriously, "KNNNNNOCKOUUUUUUT!" Thus, the last thing standing is Gamzee Motherfucking Makara.

The victor sighs as the adrenaline leaves his system. Weird. He's never really felt such a rush from combat. Then again, he's never had a real fight without sopor in his system. With a chuckle, our odd hero decides its a pretty great feeling. He takes a moment to glance back in the direction of the lake. Hm. No sign of the little dude. It sucks, because he kinda wanted to apologize. He reminded him a lot of those weird little guys called imps back home. Gamzee had made friends with them, why not make friends with THESE little dudes? Oh well. Another miracle to be thankful for when it presents itself.

The highblood looks at the juggling pins in his hands. One with a still damp bloodstain. One free and clean, save the colorful stripes that adorn it. He looks down at the orc, it's chest rising and falling slowly, before gazing once again at the unsoiled club. He stands there, looking at the clean weapon for what seems like hours but could only have been a minute or so. He contemplates much in those passing moments, before turning away from the site of battle and walking into the Tangled Green.