11-16-2015, 06:58 PM
Her newfound compatriot is a human of the bearded and leather jacket-wearing variety. He also happens to have a talent for speaking grandiosely about everything at once, excitement and curiosity rolling off of him in almost palpable waves. Kanaya finds him to be fairly boisterous, if to an almost grating degree, but she is accustomed to this sort of behavior.
Patience is the key, she thinks to herself, taking careful mental note of his questions which are as difficult to pick out from the rest of his words as a needle in a haystack. Although Kanaya cannot imagine why anyone would even attempt to pursue a needle at that point. Would it not be more prudent to instead locate another needle? Whatever the case, this bearded human sure talks a lot.
“There are people there, yes,” Kanaya replies, starting off towards the gate. She waits a moment for him to realize that he should be following along, and after an awkward start they soon fall into step next to each other. The jade-blooded holds herself with poise as they walk, arms splayed non-threateningly at her sides; she notes with some belated interest that a faint glow from her skin passes through the fabric of her sleeves.
Taking some time to formulate a more elaborative, detail-filled reply, Kanaya continues, “The adversary, Count Dracula, has been terrorizing the citizens of Darkshire for quite some time. I arrived in this universe a while after his original ascent to power, and I fully intend to remove him from the Moors. Everything that he does is steeped in debauchery— the undead under his guidance are as much of a victim as you and I could very well be. They require proper direction, not vague militant orders. I'm sure you will agree once you have seen the situation there for yourself. I do agree that there are many research opportunities available, but I fear that they could only be seriously undertaken with the removal of Dracula.”
The rainbow drinker glances at him out of the corner of her eye, watchful. Once or twice, Kanaya catches him balking rather obviously at the purple sash tied securely about her stomach. She deems it best not to tell him about how this thin piece of cloth is keeping most of her innards, well, in.
After walking together for several minutes in the general direction of the gate to the Pale Moors, the man has not ceased to prattle at her about the nature of the Omniverse and some human ancestral figure. While Kanaya listens attentively, expression befuddled but in an indulgent way, she finds his frequent apologies to be off-putting.
Still, she smiles pleasantly and nods when they come across instances in their conversation when it seems suitable to do so. It has been such a long time since she has been in kindly, breathing company; she had almost forgotten what it might be like. The jade-blooded troll would do well to befriend this one during their journey across the far reaches of the boorishly white Nexus, as well as work to inform him of the obstacles they will no doubt come across in liberating the Moors.
But, first things first— she has to nip this frequent repetition of apologies in the bud. She might not fully understand what he has to say, and she has a distinct feeling that this human will be a source of frequent bemusement on her part, but this man is obviously uncomfortable and feels the need to check himself. This will not do.
Adjusting the buoyant satin bow that is tied in place at her back, Kanaya cuts him off before he can launch into this newest topic of one-sided conversation. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
The hairy man stops babbling away, looking her full in the face as if startled. This kind of direct eye contact isn’t necessarily appreciated amongst her quarrelsome species, but Kanaya is willing to overlook it. Cultural differences, aliens, all that mess.
All around them, the Nexus flows by at an imperceptible pace, the specks of portals slowly shifting in the distance. Kanaya’s yellow eyes briefly flit to the armored Kingdom soldiers at their backs before she speaks.
“The apologizing. It’s detracting from everything else that you are saying, which is actually very interesting, in case you were not certain of that. Who is this King Arthur, then, and was he as noble a warrior as the current King Aragorn?” she asks, genuinely interested.
Kanaya thinks that she perceives his posture loosening somewhat from relief— the two lapse into a half-silence that lasts until they can see the gate to the Moors appearing more unmistakably in the distance. By Kanaya’s estimate, it is roughly a stadium’s length away, now.
The man is still talking as they come up on the decrepit grey stone gate, covered all over in dappled growths and moss. Kanaya marvels at his ability to speak almost nonstop, with only short intakes of air in-between to signify that he is breathing at all. The instant he stops to take a breath, however, Kanaya interjects. She would rather that they got to know each other before this arduous journey began, anyhow.
Slipping her green and white tube of lipstick into the palm of her hand, Kanaya turns to address her fellow Prime in arms. They are still a fair distance from the gate; it will only be a moment or two before they have reached it. “What is your name, if I might ask? Mine is Kanaya Maryam, if you were wondering about that at all.”
Patience is the key, she thinks to herself, taking careful mental note of his questions which are as difficult to pick out from the rest of his words as a needle in a haystack. Although Kanaya cannot imagine why anyone would even attempt to pursue a needle at that point. Would it not be more prudent to instead locate another needle? Whatever the case, this bearded human sure talks a lot.
“There are people there, yes,” Kanaya replies, starting off towards the gate. She waits a moment for him to realize that he should be following along, and after an awkward start they soon fall into step next to each other. The jade-blooded holds herself with poise as they walk, arms splayed non-threateningly at her sides; she notes with some belated interest that a faint glow from her skin passes through the fabric of her sleeves.
Taking some time to formulate a more elaborative, detail-filled reply, Kanaya continues, “The adversary, Count Dracula, has been terrorizing the citizens of Darkshire for quite some time. I arrived in this universe a while after his original ascent to power, and I fully intend to remove him from the Moors. Everything that he does is steeped in debauchery— the undead under his guidance are as much of a victim as you and I could very well be. They require proper direction, not vague militant orders. I'm sure you will agree once you have seen the situation there for yourself. I do agree that there are many research opportunities available, but I fear that they could only be seriously undertaken with the removal of Dracula.”
The rainbow drinker glances at him out of the corner of her eye, watchful. Once or twice, Kanaya catches him balking rather obviously at the purple sash tied securely about her stomach. She deems it best not to tell him about how this thin piece of cloth is keeping most of her innards, well, in.
After walking together for several minutes in the general direction of the gate to the Pale Moors, the man has not ceased to prattle at her about the nature of the Omniverse and some human ancestral figure. While Kanaya listens attentively, expression befuddled but in an indulgent way, she finds his frequent apologies to be off-putting.
Still, she smiles pleasantly and nods when they come across instances in their conversation when it seems suitable to do so. It has been such a long time since she has been in kindly, breathing company; she had almost forgotten what it might be like. The jade-blooded troll would do well to befriend this one during their journey across the far reaches of the boorishly white Nexus, as well as work to inform him of the obstacles they will no doubt come across in liberating the Moors.
But, first things first— she has to nip this frequent repetition of apologies in the bud. She might not fully understand what he has to say, and she has a distinct feeling that this human will be a source of frequent bemusement on her part, but this man is obviously uncomfortable and feels the need to check himself. This will not do.
Adjusting the buoyant satin bow that is tied in place at her back, Kanaya cuts him off before he can launch into this newest topic of one-sided conversation. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
The hairy man stops babbling away, looking her full in the face as if startled. This kind of direct eye contact isn’t necessarily appreciated amongst her quarrelsome species, but Kanaya is willing to overlook it. Cultural differences, aliens, all that mess.
All around them, the Nexus flows by at an imperceptible pace, the specks of portals slowly shifting in the distance. Kanaya’s yellow eyes briefly flit to the armored Kingdom soldiers at their backs before she speaks.
“The apologizing. It’s detracting from everything else that you are saying, which is actually very interesting, in case you were not certain of that. Who is this King Arthur, then, and was he as noble a warrior as the current King Aragorn?” she asks, genuinely interested.
Kanaya thinks that she perceives his posture loosening somewhat from relief— the two lapse into a half-silence that lasts until they can see the gate to the Moors appearing more unmistakably in the distance. By Kanaya’s estimate, it is roughly a stadium’s length away, now.
The man is still talking as they come up on the decrepit grey stone gate, covered all over in dappled growths and moss. Kanaya marvels at his ability to speak almost nonstop, with only short intakes of air in-between to signify that he is breathing at all. The instant he stops to take a breath, however, Kanaya interjects. She would rather that they got to know each other before this arduous journey began, anyhow.
Slipping her green and white tube of lipstick into the palm of her hand, Kanaya turns to address her fellow Prime in arms. They are still a fair distance from the gate; it will only be a moment or two before they have reached it. “What is your name, if I might ask? Mine is Kanaya Maryam, if you were wondering about that at all.”
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Gamzee Makara Wrote:S’aight. After all, dogs have a tendency to motherfuckin’ bite.