Rufioh was ready. He stood tall, confident, something Nitrams weren't often known to be.
He had spent hours polishing himself, a gold prosthetic horn bolted and glued into proper placement, specifically made to his size, shape and tastes. It glinted and shined in the light, emerald and selenite decorating the gold rings around the rim where finely-crafted gold met the fire orange of his spur.
He rolled the bones cascading down along his leather jacket in his fingertips, contemplating his next move. Black rodeo boots clacked against the ground, beads and feathers shaking from the silver clips donning them, black jeans and an old buttonup making the rest of his 'spaniard necromancer' outfit. His style never much changed, only got fancier, and he decided to up the ante, pulling a large, decorated replica of a bull skull, big enough to fit comfortably on his face something akin to a mask with a lack of horns so that he could latch the lower jaw in the back together where his horn slid through; not an unusual custom for him, as even if trolls often despised the idea of fashion, he had cearly picked up the idea of cultral representation on his own.
The head piece was decorated in bright and colorful paints, red, turquoise, black, jade and navy lines swirling in colorful winding lines that decorated the entirety of the top piece and some of the lower jaw, embossed lines in silver and trailing diamonds and other various gems fastened around the teeth, also emphasized with gold caps and decor. Beads filled in some of the areas of solid color, reflecting under the light as the 'bone' clacked against strips woven with feathers that tied around the horn slots. Overall, it was a decorate, menacing look, flashy colors contrasting the black abyss beneath empty eyesockets, painted with shadows and dripping blood for emphasis. On that note, he grabbed a bright red, syrupy mixture on the table, a blended mix of wine and various other flush berries that made a thick liquid akin to coagulating blood, stuffing a handful of it into the nasal canal of the skull, making sure it leaked and dripped from the crevices within, certain to stain clothes and for a while, flesh, with the sour remedy he'd concocted. He drank down the rest it, pulling down the jaw so he could drink through the opening of it, spilling the red onto the rest of his outfit. Of course, it was all for play for the time being; the real blood would be shed later, he deducts, giggling to himself as he took a glance in the mirror, making sure everything was even and comfortably clicked back into place.
Wandering over to Damara, well-dressed in a long, seductive kimono and probably wrapped in other silky, expensive cloth as well, he made the noise of a kiss and brushed some hair away from her face.
"Light, Damz," he called, trekking out of her cloud of smoke with the blessing of her passionate support following close behind. Maybe he didn't have the right magic powerss of his own, but he had more than Simon could ever assume of him, and she would find that out for herself. Learning magic and asking for blessings and curses alike was tricky business, but he wasn't an idiot with his bargaining -- he had better defenses and what he would gain would be well worth it eventually.
"I'll be back in the morning."
His voice was gruff, a side-effect from the cigarettes he always stuffed in his mouth, the like one he did next; a small but thick cigar clenched in his teeth, smoke filling the cavern of his mask and leaking out through the gap between the teeth and from the sticky nostrils of the beastly mask, making the effect even more mystifying. Children screamed, and even some of the older neighbors fled from him, other trolls that knew better than to fuck around with him, anyway. It wasn't like he hadn't spent sweeps working on the 'weak, cowardly' front, after all.
He found her in the bed entwined with her lover, waiting for her to leave before making quick work of him with some kind of welding saw, red-hot, scalding metal slicing through the fake 'flesh' making up the blonde's neck, black locks thickly bunched in his hands as he sawed until he hit the power source, creamy, rotten wine dripping into the now-open circuits and hissing with more smoke, muddling with the smog he already exposed into the bedroom from thick tobacco leaves smoldering down the stick in his mouth, ashes falling onto the robot's face, now pale, eyes dim with the lack of power that once lit them up with a fine red glow. Once finished with that act, he folded away the weapon and tucked it into his sylladex.
The pervert within overwhelmed his personality as Rufioh ripped away at obviously pricey clothing the same way as the wires in his victim's neck, slicing through wires and thread just the same, a breathy chuckle erupting within him and another puff of smoke escaping his lips as he pulled his bulge free, already stiff and thick with metallic bronze genetic material, lubricating between the now-lifeless male's thighs before he slid himself in, hips trembling with the burst of pleasure he suddenly felt, tilting his head back from the thrill of it all. While he awaited the arrival of a vengeful vixen, he dug his claws deeper into the wires of the bot before him, now pulling chords and cables from deep within the protective cavities, gripping and tugging them as if they were reigns to a horse, using them as support for the body, hoisting it up onto his lap with another wheezing cackle. She'd just love walking in under assumption the other was riding his dick, wouldn't she? He slapped Corvid's cheek, rolling the now barely-attached head around in a fashion nigh on comical, clearly pleased with himself as he pumped his dick into the synthetic corpse quickly growing cold without the heat of running electricity, taking consolation in the fact that completely unsheathed, his bulge definitely outmatched this inferior son of a bitch's wrinkly mushroom. What a riot.
Once she entered the room, he was quick to turn and look, letting the end of his cigar drop through the dripping jaw, the splattered 'blood' leaking from her lover sizzling as it put out the scorching end. He didn't make any movement to get the messy chassis off of himself, bulge throbbing in its sticky mess and the sound beads clinking was all to be heard as he tilted the cow's head toward her as the lights flicked on.
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