Doombringer and iTrapped should go on a date without killing each other
NAH CHAT YOU DONT GET IT THEY LIKE IT THAT WAYYYY 💔💔💔
it's vitally important for their dynamic to be composed of them nearly killing each other for the dramatics.
Which meant it was, objectively, a false mask. Trying to hide what it was really from the moment he said it outloud.
“We should… go out,” he had said, casually, as if suggesting a minor adjustment to a supply route, a simple stroll around Robloxia, as if they were mere Robloxians and not a wanted ex-admin and hacker combo KNOWN for their deadly rebellion against the admins. “Publicly. Outside the den.”
Doom had stared at him like a horse fly dared to try it's luck with a bull instead. Mildly perturbed. Insulted. As if he were that stupid to nod along and agree.
“To observe civilian patterns, blend in a little more when we have to go back to the banlands for saving missions” Itrapped replied smoothly.
“That’s not what you mean.”
Itrapped tilted his head, you could hear the smile despite his mask. “No. It isn’t.”
Then, grudgingly, almost out of character for the bullheaded knight: “Fine,” Doom said. “One evening.”
Itrapped clapped his hands together, a sign of finality, like a deal with the devil honestly. They chose a marketplace in a much smaller experience, far enough from admin patrol routes to be tolerable, busy enough to blend into.
Itrapped looked much like his usual self, all things considered. The man was already pretty fancy on his lazy days. His usual navy attire was colored a more modest brown, yet still noble, cloak pristine, jewelry catching light in subtle glints. Tail feathers folded neatly, controlled, combed, every inch of him composed and intentional.
Doom... also looked like himself, but never in any world like this was that a good thing...
He’d left his armor behind, even the iconic helm that covered his face and made his horns more prominent, but his hair was a freaking mess. Like a fluffy, recently buzzed, bedhead that had grown out just enough to annoy the bird who had invited him out. And there was no disguising the size of him, the horns, the galaxy sheen of his skin. Even dressed down, he drew attention like gravity.
People moved out of their way instinctively, whether they recognized the two or not.
“Subtle,” Itrapped murmured.
“You said no weapons and armor,” Doom replied. “You didn’t say I had to shrink.”
“I assumed you would have worn something a little more covering to make up for it.”
They walked. For a while, it almost worked.
They passed stalls of avatar accessories, glittering and pretty things, glowing, detailed, worn and untouched. The air smelled faintly metallic from robux coin, threaded with warmth and movement from the traders and Robloxians around them.
Itrapped paused at one stall, picking up a small charm. It appeared to be a necklace of some kind, blue, his favorite shade of icey, cold, crystal.
“Overpriced,” he said immediately with the click of his tongue.
“You haven’t even asked the cost.” The knight had growled a bit, his hooves shaking the table as he came to stand beside him.
Doom leaned down, inspecting it with the eye of someone who had worked with metals for a long time, and knew a good, sturdy, trinket or weapon or armor when he saw one. “It’s well-made.”
Itrapped shot him a look, offended at his undermining attitude no doubt, though it's not as if anyone could see under that mask. Doom knew. “You would say that.”
“And you would complain about it.”
“That's because Im right.”
The vendor, wisely, said nothing, and Doom… bought it anyway.
Doom shrugged. “You kept looking at it.”
“I was evaluating its flaws.”
“You can do that while owning it.” The knight had said, as he carefully held the prince in place and clipped the new necklace under the folded collar of Itrapped's white shirt, dangling just under his cravat.
“And yet,” Doom said, watching him closely, “you’re not demanding a refund?”
Then… perhaps came the first REAL problem of the night, both sparing Itrapped from needing to reply and also fucking both of them over in the process.
A moderator check In, just a casual stroll through the stalls- clearly it wasn't meant to be anything strenuous. Perhaps a pull of some items- a tap to a merchant to tell them their shop license has expired. Nothing big. But…
They noticed Doom immediately.
“Hey,” one of them called, stepping into their path. “You look…familiar.”
Doom didn’t stop walking.
“Dunno what you mean moderator...”
The enforcer bristled, obviously not liking the way the larger man brushed past him, as he and his 2 other law enforcers stepped back into their path quickly “Do you have a form of ID? Account number perhaps?”
Itrapped sighed softly. “Handle it quietly,” he muttered, still following at the bull's side.
“I am,” Doom replied, trying to whisper down to the bird who was quite a ways down from him. Not very subtle.
“Your version of quiet involves structural damage, and a need to cancel the rest of our night…”
“Only if they continue asking me these dumb questions.”
A hand reached for Doom’s arm.
It was subtle, a shift, a step, a flick of his wrist- and suddenly the moderator was on the ground, disarmed and confused.
Doom looked down at the fallen figure, then back at Itrapped.
“You said quietly.” no longer whispering at how blunt the other was being.
Itrapped tilted his head, and then looked back at the other two with the man, again, unable to see his face…but you could practically FEEL the malice dripping off him. “Prove it.”
The remaining moderators backed away, and the one Itrapped tripped scrambled to his feet and followed after.
“Not worth it,” one muttered.
Doom exhaled slowly. “Was that escalation nessicary? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
“That is not justification.”
Itrapped turned to face him fully now, tail flicking once.
“No?” he asked softly, innocently, nothing like the hatred filled voice he had used before. This was a voice he used to get out of trouble, a sweet, thick with fake worry and medicine-like burn that left most breathless.
Doom stepped closer, undeterred. He'd seen, heard, felt it all before.
“You’re picking a fight,” he said.
Itrapped’s voice was light, pushing on, piling on the innocent act “I am setting boundaries.”
“By provoking me? Telling me not to fight snd then doing so yourself?”
“By observing how you respond to conflict and acting accordingly.” Dragged out. Long. Complicated.
Doom’s eyes glowed faintly.
A blue eye blinked into view the void of Itrapped's mask to meet Doom’s, confessing the real reason for tonight's little outing.
The point where the date stopped pretending to be anything else.
A shove- not hard, just enough to test footing.
Itrapped tried again, sharper this time, aiming for balance rather than force.
Too fast for most to track.
Itrapped twisted, slipping the hold, stepping inside Doom’s space instead of away from it.
Doom’s grip shifted- from restraint to something more deliberate, hand settling briefly at Itrapped’s arms.
Too long to be accidental.
People had started noticing.
A small circle formed- cautious, curious, sensing something volatile brewing. A fight. Itrapped struck again.
A quick, precise movement aimed at Doom’s center. Doom blocked easily, but instead of ending it, he stepped into the momentum, grabbing hold and lifting the bird up and over him- nearly trying to throw the man into a table. Only for Itrapped to catch himself on the arm itself and try to choke the bull out with his legs
The fight kicked up 3 notches instantly as the growing crowd of people saw Doom back up and nearly slam the man into the wall of a building to get him to let go. Itrapped responded by stepping up and over the other’s head, sliding across the ground, feathers just barely missing getting caught between the rock and the hard place that is Doom’s terrifyingly sharp horns.
The wall nearly breaks- cracks at minimum from the force of the impact, and the soles of Itrapped’s shoes surely suffer from the slide he has to endure to catch himself as he lands from Doom’s height in front of him.
“You’re smiling,” Doom said, as rocks from the wall fall off his shoulders
Itrapped’s tail flared, flicking up with a mesmerizing breath that cascaded across the growing group of onlookers.
The next movement wasn’t clean, obviously spurred on by the emotions that the Bull had pulled from him. Itrapped drove forward, Doom met him, and suddenly it wasn’t controlled anymore- it was motion, pressure, contact, far from harmless. A table overturned as the tackle happened- people rushed to get out of the way- and the shattering of wood actually frightened most of the crowd into fleeing.
Doom’s hands- despite the tackle- had found purchase on the Prince’s hip and against the ground to avoid fully crushing him. Itrapped looked rather disheveled, his hair had fallen out of its braid from the tackle, and laid splayed underneath him.
Itrapped’s breath hitched as Doom leaned in. Stopping the bull just short.
“People are still watching-”
Itrapped went very still.
Not sharp. Not mocking. Genuine.
It rattled his thin body from underneath the bull- as they laid in the street, broken table underneath them- their shoulders shaking. Boisterous laughter filling the street as people moved around them.
“That was terribly corny!”
He choked out between his laughter- causing the bull to grin.
“Well you're a terrible date!”
The two laughed now. Thunderous. With the fight over, most street goers paid them no mind- like the most interesting part of their night had passed and it was getting late. Leaving the two of them alone on an empty street when they collect themselves and dust their clothes free of any woodchips.
“We're never doing this again.” the bull complains gruffly.
“Once a month shall suffice." the bird counters, adjusting his vest.
The two definitely share a look. No one else would get it. But it seems…this was a perfect date for both of them.
