Stick a Fork in It

Independent RP/Ask blog for Meenah Peixes from Homestuck.

[jckerskind]

Strife!

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

You’re laughing, you don’t want to aknowledge why but you’re motherfucking cackling. You try and succeed in not thinking about the sick part of you that missed this, that misses the familiarity of locking yourself up in your hive, of dealing with seadwellers every week. Back when things made sense, back when things were simple. 

You’re facing her while still keeping up the same position from before. Your horns poke at the floor while she struggles to get it back. There’s something so very hilarious about seeing a fuschia thrash and slip on slime like all the royalty’s been taken from her.

“SURE”

You let go of the trident, your palms hit the floor and you manage not to fall. You flip onto your feet again, kicking her on the side of the head while you go through the motions.

Your clubs are in your hands again. Your laughter’s dying down, becoming low, barely audible cackles.

His heel cuffs you on the head just as you get your foothold, and you stumble back into a lamp as your head spins, your grip still tight around your trident; there’s a faint print there now, and definitely bruising.

The guy laughs like the happiest joker in the comedy club. You didn’t know what to make of it before, but you think—no, you’re pretty sure he’s having fun. Even though he’s bleeding like hell, he’s still up and howling like a gigglebeast. Nice strifers, man. Real thematic and shit.

What planet is he from, again? You need to go there. Hell, maybe you belong there—because even though you’re bleeding from your temple and your clothes are stained, you’re grinning like a piranha in a fishery. 

“whatchu laughin for, suckah?” You fix your stance and your grasp on your trident. “you aint won nothin yet.”

You sweep your trident back, catch it on scatterings of empty bottles, pans and fallen horns, and fling it all forward at him. That won’t do much damage, if any—but you mean to, when you bound forward after them and take another long swing at him in their wake.

[renegade-royal]

{ Juuust takin’ a bit of a writing break from Meenah. I’ll try to be around tomorrow! }

[renegade-royal]

candypariah‌:

“Yes.” He deadpanned. He continues. “I D9. If It’s S9me9ne I D9 N9t Exactly C9nsider Myself A Friend 9f. What W9uld Y9u Expect? Have Y9u Never Seen Me When Miss Serket Is Ar9und?” He curiously tips his head. “While This Is N9t T9 Say I Hate Her, Because That Is An Awfully Str9ng W9rd, And S9metimes I C9nsider Her C9mpany Alright. H9wever I D9 N9t Like T9 Entertain Her Privileged, and Pard9n My Triggering Language, But Pretenti9us Ideal9gy. |” He finished. 

He through his rant about his disdain for Aranea, maintained a placid and expressionless face. His eyes closed. Once opening them, there was a slight look in them, very faint, but it was Most Definitely, hatred.

“Anyways. Yes. Tune Pe9ple 9ut If Y9u Need. And If They Ask If Y9u’re Listening Just N9d Y9ur head and dismiss them. Like Y9u Usually D9.”

Yep, this sure is some truth he’s droppin’, here. She wrinkles her brow. She thinks... she thinks she’s being bald-face vented to? Yeah, that sounds right. Every other thing he says still has to have some sort of soft-horned qualifier (for real, how is ‘pretentious’ offensive?) and he’s keepin’ that stupid snob-look, but he’s uh—yeah, he’s doin’ that. Not even trying to blanket it with fake-concern, there. Wow.

Does she... does she feel some kinda respect for Vantas, here? Like, a pinch of it. A sliver of it. Maybe. Fuckin’ surreal. 

Can’t say she’s feelin’ the Aranea talk, though. Her face tightens and she snorts harshly. ”you sure it aint cuz she your competition in the windbag depo? least she tells stories. borin stories, but—” Yeah, about 90% of them. “whatevz. legit advice, homes. kinda obvious but not lame. cool.”

[jckerskind]

Strife!

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

You’d just chuckle at the question, the only answer being a shrug and a wicked grin. 

You’ve got your eyes set on her, and you know for a fact that you could dodge her next attempt, but you’ve got a much more fun idea. You recaptchalogue your clubs and you let yourself be hit by the side of the trident, and it fucking HURTS. The second hit is not as bad, the third hit and you manage to grab the end of the trident.

You pull it closer to you, strong enough to pull, but not strong enough to break her grip. 

You stab yourself with the trident, three prongs now halfway into your gut. Blood starts to leak out.

You give the seadweller a smug look when you use the moment of surprise to lean your entire body back, still holding onto the trident. If she’s still holding on she’d be supplexed, if not, she’d be dissarmed as you use the momentum to get back onto your feet again.

If you’d expected him to do that—ya know, straight up fuckin’ skewer himself?— you might’ve thought to run him through right then. But you didn’t, and in the shock, you lock up for just a moment.

That’s your mistake, ain’t it? Because the spit second he’s got a good grip, he’s haulin’ your ass over his head like he’s flippin’ a pan, and all you think to do is keep a grip on the trident (because nobody, and you mean nobody gets your trident in a fight) as you land on the other side and into a tangle of junk that scatters when you land. The impact hurts and it pounds straight through you as you bark a shout of pain—you know its gonna bruise. But you need to get on your feet. 

You twist around on the floor, and your heels slip on wet puddles of half-dried sopor slime as you thrash to pull your trident back into you, to get back from him. “Let—go—!”

[renegade-royal]

candypariah‌:

He can’t help but laugh a bit at her claims. Cronus pestering her again. Well he was rather desperate for attention, so him vying for her attention wasn’t too surprising. He personally never let Cronus get too many words in their conversations for that reason. Otherwise all he would talk about is the drama with the humans.

“What I W9uld Rec9mmend Meenah,Is Learning The Fine Art 9f, Tuning him 9ut. 9r-” He pauses for a moment,”Just D9n’t Let Him Speak. Speak L9uder Than Him, And 9verride The C9nversati9n, And N9t Let Him Speak. That’s What I D9. 9r Av9id Him. That’s Als9 What I D9 - Since He Never Listens T9 Me 9n My Celibacy V9ws. He C9nsistantly Flirts And Figuratively “Attempts T9 Get In My Pants.” “ He sighs.

“Nevermind That. That’s Just My 9pini9n Th9ugh.”

Meenah stared at him.

Then she squinted at him.

Squinted real hard.

“kankri.” And you know she’s being serious because she’s using his first name. She puts her hands on her hips and leans forward. “are you straight up sayin to my face that you tuna people out and i should, too? like you can physically make your word flap do that?”

And like, duh, who doesn’t do that? And there ain’t no way he never used his bottomless bellowsacs to get out of listenin’ to somebody. But she’d been all ready to hear him tell her to high road this b.s. S’why she never asked him anything she didn’t absolutely have to. So... yeah.

[jckerskind]

Strife!

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

You’re moving fast, too fast to see the leg in your way. However as you fall, instead of freaking out, your body goes entirely limp. You move your head down, your horns facing the floor. 

When they hit ground you’re able to use them flip the rest of your body onto the direction you were facing using the momentum. Your body looked as if it were made entirely of rubber from how you moved, and would’ve called into question your reality were it not for the bone cracking sounds that came as you flipped onto your feet. 

“honk”

As soon as you’re on your feet again you turn briskly to scan the room for your opponent. 

The swing misses. You spin around just in time, rolling the trident around your shoulders and scattering several things from a shelf, to see him flip right back up again. Just—head over heels flip back up on his horns. You snort. You almost lose your focus. “da fuck was that?” 

Was this guy real? ‘Cuz anybody who made sense would’a snapped their own neck doing a stunt like that. It’s like he doesn’t have bones or something.

You might admit it’s pretty hardcore, in the freaky way.

Whatever, you got no time to gape. You got your bearings, so it’s your turn to get on the offensive—the fun place to be in a fight. You know how to go at it, here; you bolt forward. Not to barrel into him, ‘cuz you don’t need to; the trident’s got a long reach. you stop short of him to swing at him with the prongs once. Twice. Three and you’re gaining momentum, four times in a sharp, whirling flurry of arcs---

[jckerskind]

Strife!

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

Of course she’d ask for a fight. If there’s anything you know about seadwellers is that they WILL find a reason for confrontation. Something familiar boils in your blood, like rage finding its way back onto a cozy home. This is the rage you’ve dealt with your entire motherfucking life, the rage that pushes you to wake up and fight another night.

You might as well give her what she wants.

You throw your club, not at her but a few feet on the sand behind her. You’d quickly reach to the roof of the door and grab it. Your legs sink and your knees poke your stomach, making you suspend in the air. In one quick swing your feet press against Meenah’s shoulders, kicking her into your hive as you use the momentum to let go of the doorframe and roll onto the sand. 

You pick up your club and another one materializes on your other hand. A wicked grin shows up on your face as you charge towards the seadweller. 

“HONK”

“Fuck—!”

Okay, he moves pretty fucking fast. But so do you; even as his weight forces you back past the doorway and into the room, you pivot back around and shift your stance to mind the clutter around you. You’re still on your feet and bent at the knees, your trident slicing groves into the floor as you spin one end up and forward.

Yeah. That’s what you thought.

He’s already come at you again and you’re ready for it. You bank out of his path with a duck to the side to try letting him pass you, keep one leg out to trip him and whirl the trident up to slam the flat side into his back. Knock the weirdo flat on his face early. Why not?

[renegade-royal]

candypariah‌:

@renegade-royal​ | original

“While I D9 N9t C9nd9ne Y9ur erh,…Triggering v9cabulary, we 9f c9urse can c9ntinue 9ur c9nversati9n, 9f pard9n my triggering language but “ Shit Talking “ As y9u put it.” Kankri sighs.

Now by no means did he want to stop the conversation. He was quiet curious of her views and opinions of their friends. He wouldn’t say he was one interested in gossip, but he wasn’t exactly opposed to it either.

He just had to maintain a face of neutrality, and play off his obvious enjoyment of the practice of trading their opinions and tales about their friends and others, as neutrality and mild resentment. Which he had liked to think he had become quiet good at.

‘Triggering vocabulary’? ‘Triggering language’? Meenah rolled her eyes (which is just for her own benefit, she guesses; no pupils or nothin’). Look at this guy and his tight-assed everything. Could Vantas even shoot the breeze like a normal person? It’s been how long since he’s been popped off and he still sounds like this?

She wasn’t about to make this conversation about that, though. She folded her arms, shifted her weight and pressed on. “i was sayin crone-dome is fo reel testin me here. i dont think i can take the human drama on top of the desperate shit bag flirting and the weird music thing. you pretend to be aight with him all the time, so tell me how im s’posed to not break his face.”

Because apparently, she needs to work on getting along better with people or whatever. If Porrim hadn’t said anything, she wouldn’t have bothered. And like, yeah, she doubted anything Vantas could tell her would be her thing—her thing was always kinda the opposite of his thing—but if there was anybody who could make a federal case for literally anybody, it’d be him. Not like he could complain about shit talk with a purpose. Right?

[jckerskind]

Strife!

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

@renegade-royal​

You remember this place. You remember a home that felt like it never was. You remember the tense sense of faux safety that this place was supposed to bring. It was less a hive and more of a fort, one that only felt bearable to stay in once you got high on your motherfucking clown ass. 

There’s many things to look at in here. The religious imagery in every poster, the horns littered around carelessly, the slime dripping onto and staining nearly every surface. It’s disgusting. Your hive’s always been bad but it was never this bad since the day you first overdosed. You’d rather not look at anything right now.

Instead you focus on the door.

Your gaze fixates on the exit to your hive so long that you think you’re dissociating almost. You’re unsure if you’re dreaming, or dead right now. It scares you to think that you may actually be awake.

You hear steps outside, and a single club materializes on your hand from your sylladex. You open the door, and when you see her, that seadweller, you know where this might go.

“not a motherfucking good time to bother me, pisslungs” 

Being dead is boring as hell; everybody, every place, they don’t change much. Everybody mellows out when they get to live forever. There’s no urgency, no clash to sink your teeth into. You ain’t never been shy about saying so. Dying? Sucked. 0/10. Too much wandering around and shootin’ the shit with random people.

But something new showed up tonight, if there’s a such thing as nights out here. A new, drifting dream you didn’t usually see. And you’re always looking for shit like that—new shit, any new shit. Maybe somebody who gave a fuck about being decent wouldn’t have just barged into a memory like this. But you don’t care enough about people you don’t know or like to think twice. Besides, if nothing actually matters out here, there ain’t no point in wussing out to spare somebody’s feelings or whatever. Let’s see something different.

So, that’s why you’re on a beach now, which you dig, even if the dream ocean doesn’t go far. That’s why you’re on the doorstep of a hive you might’ve broken into if this douche hadn’t opened it first.

Oh, yeah. You didn’t mention it, but you kinda already knew who this thing belonged to already. No big. Just thought something might actually go down if you fucked around in here. And you’re pretty sure you’re right on the boons, because clown douche doesn’t look happy to see you. You can see his place behind him. It’s a slimey, mucked up dump. You don’t expect everybody to be rolling in gs like you—somebody’s gotta be the biggest fish— but seriously, not even one hot thing in there? 

His weapon is already out. Now, so’s your trident. You have it slung across your shoulder, but that don’t mean it ain’t ready.

“im botherin you? thats pretty rich, seein you throw your weight around so much.” You grin. You wouldn’t call it a friendly one. “put yer dukes up or deal.” 

No, really, he should fight you. That would be way more fun.

[candypariah]

“I’m

           tired of everyone                               And that includes 

                                                             myself”

Indie Kankri RP Blog//18+//Multi-selective

[renegade-royal]

“As much as I hate t9 interrupt, y9u Meenah 6ut — y9u’ve g9t s9mething in y9ur teeth.” Kankri point to his upper left canine, in between his teeth. He hated to interrupt anybody while in the middle of their sentence, more-so out of slight terror of Meenah's wrath, but also out of respect for others, no matter *who* they were. - candypariah

She was just trying to control this conversation before it went to the lame zone, man—and yeah, she hated being cut across. But she didn’t have to find out this way.

“whut? theres nothin—”

—oh, hell no. If she’d been walking around for the past hour with shreds of lunch in her fangs the entire time, she had words to trade with Aranea. Especially if Kankri had to be the one to point it out. And how the hell didn’t she herself notice? Whatever, just gonna twist away from him to get in there with her claw real quick. There we go, that’s gone. Just gonna go ahead and flick that off somewhere before fixing Kankri with a flat look. Play it off. She don’t care.

“’kay, we done pointin out inane shit? I’m runnin an investigation here.”

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

“any day i get to get high and piss off a seadweller at the same time is a good day”

“For reel? That’s where you get off?”

“Man, you ain’t the worst, but you up here.”

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

He’s eating more of the slime. He’s eating it as slow and grossly as possible, if he didn’t present himself so dumb one might say he’s doing this to piss her off.

Her face is wrinkled in every possible way. Oh, no, that’s nasty, that’s just—nope. Nope, she’s not gonna watch whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing right now.

“a’ight imma head out”

[renegade-royal]

jckerskind‌:

renegade-royal

“yo imma let you finish, but do you take constructive criticism”

“nO”

“nope i hate it”

[renegade-royal]

“I’m alive, bitches.”

“...Or dead. Whatever.”

[renegade-royal]

{ It’s a Meenah blog, I know, but since I’ve been quiet today, I decided to share some of the sappy things I scribbled in the effort to teach myself better drafting habits. Is Tavros and Aradia being a pale item still Valid™, or---?

[renegade-royal]

That side-long look Meenah gives @rdknght might just be concern. A hint of it. Maybe.

“Reel talk, Nubs—you ever gonna stop poppin’ your pan over stupid people?”

She’d been watching him out of the corner of her eye as she picked at the prongs of her trident, her back against the wall, her ink-black braids slung lazily forward over her shoulder. Yeah, that came out before she’d decided whether she wanted to. But she was committing to it now, she guessed. Couldn’t pin down the reason; something about his eyes, maybe. Some kind of existential exhaustion that sleep couldn’t shake.

So, she took a shot at what it could be. It felt like she knew it. Better to try now, while they were still alone.

“I mean, I dig you bein’ all shouty and extra—” She twirled the down-turned spike of her trident into the pastel concrete. The metal turned up tiny, bright pink pebbles in its wake. Stupid ass choice of colors; looked like something from the old palace grounds, all blended between vague memories of mis-remembered trees, half-crumbling tower walls, and a field of nothing. “—but you gotta cut some probs loose, ‘specially when they over and done. Stop carin’, leave some suckahs behind. You’re runnin’ outta gas.”