ļ½ļ½ļ½ļ½ćļ½ļ½ļ½ļ½ļ½ ļ½ļ½ // kharis // closed: jaraga
Well. This was new. Most people just listened to her put words together.
Kharisā fins automatically twitched at the other womanās admission ā then she stared up at her with an archetypically stony look. A complete stranger (which, at this point, they all reasonably were to each other) might have mistaken the look for one that was about to precede an immediate culling, but being the undoubtedly cybercultured troll she was, what it really was was a look of deep consideration. If only there was some kind of virtual information desk for dilemmas like these.
āā¦I apologise,ā Kharis said finally, a strange earnestness shining through her haze of avant-garde emotionlessness almost as brightly as the ominous pillar behind them. Unfortunately, the actual point had also missed her by about the height of said pillar.Ā āI must have been hella wrong about the pose you chose symbolising trollkindās foray into the cyberfuture. I shouldnāt have tried to impose my artistic meaning on your work. From one innovator to another, please forget I said anything.ā
For a moment, she looked deeply repentant that her interpretation of Jaragaās muscle-flexing hadnāt made artistic sense to the other woman ā even if she hadnāt quite realised that literally nothing she was saying made any sense. Then, she closed her eyes for a half-second and turned away, as though wishing to also forget her own mortification.
āAnyway,ā Kharis segued, pocketing the photographs and letting the camera hang around her neck again. It was almost possible to hear the Ć on the edges of her accented āaās, if you tried. She glanced up at Jaraga again, this time taking in more detail besides her possession of muscles whose existence Kharis hadnāt even been aware of until today.Ā āYou donāt seem to share their unfortunate aesthetics, but. Were you a subjuggulator. I mean, beforeā¦ā
She trailed off, gesturing to the barren landscape around them as though to finish the sentence.
Jaraga simply stood and stared, slackjawed, at the seadweller who stillĀ was going on and on about cyberfutures and art. Jaraga was no stranger to art - she liked Troll Drake and sometimes made things that could be considered art or art-adjacent - she was certainly into gardening! That can be artistic, right!Ā But all of this... Holy shit, she had no idea what was going on. Now she was an innovator. What did that even mean? What was Jaraga innovating? She was literally just flexing. Thatās it. She flexed pretty often, in fact, so to do so now, something so regular as to be mundane to her, and to be called an innovator...?Ā
She was definitely thankful she didnāt choose to show off how limber she could be. Holy fuck. Sheād have to live with the stress of being some sort of super visionary or some shit.
ā...I was just flexing,ā Jaraga mumbled, still astonished.
All this for flexing. If it wasnāt one of her favorite things to do, she figured sheād might as well stop for a while. But no. Nothing would stop her from flexing - not as long as she had either a mirror or the capacity to take and send pictures of herself to people.
Then... The seadweller had to bring up theĀ āsā word. NotĀ āseadwellerā orĀ āshitblood,ā which would totally be viable and understandable words to call theĀ āsā word. But... Subjugglator. A shiver went up Jaragaās back as her face gave away her feelings - her features contorting in disgust.
āFuckĀ no. Fuuuuuuuuck no. Absolutely not. I mean, I know they, like, they do... They do stuff like keeping lowblood rebellions under control and thatās totally, like, whatever, fine and good, I guess, whatever, but, like...ā
She shook her head.
āFuck no. They wanted me to, like, really bad? A lot of people thought I could totally be a really good leader of them. But I didnāt even want to get involved. The facepaint shit? Do you know what they use? That shit dries out your skin so fucking fast. And ever since I was like,Ā āget lost, fucklords,ā theyāve been basically trying to fucking kill me. That or make me join. By sending people to kill me. I mean, itās never worked because Iām so strong and fast and generally amazing, but they try pretty regularly to kill me. And even worse, I swear Iām not fucking making this up. They donāt bathe. They just donāt fucking bathe. They literally donāt, never. I mean, maybe if they get enough, like, blood, but they donāt bathe otherwise. Itās fucking disgusting. No chance Iām getting caught up with that bullshit, nope, nuh-uh.ā
Jaraga folded her arms, shuddering. They were seriously so gross.
