1st Trot

[frothymilk]

[Action - 945 Beulah St]

[Hey Beulah St. Hope you're enjoying waking up to sirens, because as soon as they fade, the screaming will start. Loud, high-pitched screaming that almost sounds like a panicked horse, actually, except that it doesn't stop right away.]

[Then a chair goes flying out the window]

[Phone]

What the fuck is this? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

[There may be a few who recognize the voice. In theory. It's far more emotive in a terrified sort of fashion than anyone ever has heard it before, and each outburst ends with a little whinny. The owner of this voice is also well known among his friends for being against swearing of all kind]

Highblood, please, oh god, are you there? What is this thing? Hello? Highblood, everything is wrong, where are you, oh gosh please tell me you're normal, oh, I can't bear the thought of your exquisite indigo... [he chokes] like this!

Please, come and kill me again, I don't want to be like this, I feel sick...

Comments

[nosigntospeakof]

[That wasn't quite the reaction he expected.] Pardon?

[frothymilk]

The Signless is a myth.

[nosigntospeakof]

Ah. So you're a troll. [He's not sure if he should find that reassuring or not.] And now I'm positive the Empress has been using propaganda to her advantage after my [A brief pause.] death.

But I assure you I'm very real.

[frothymilk]

That is the point of propaganda. To the victor go the spoils, and the ability to shape history in their image.

The fact that you were defeated only reinforces the truth of her word.

[nosigntospeakof]

It also means the entire truth isn't being told.

...May I come in?

[frothymilk]

Sometimes, that is the way it needs to be.

[hrrf] Fine. I guess.

[nosigntospeakof]

[He gives the door knob a small twist and slowly, carefully opens the door. He's short for an adult troll, standing about six feet even. His hair is thick, somewhat unruly and falls over his forehead, nearly covering his eyes from view. Two familiar nubby horns stick out like sore thumbs on top of his head. The beginnings of what will eventually be sideburns frame his face as dark stubble against grey skin.

Through his bangs a pair of eyes, irises bright mutant red, regard Equius thoughtfully before he smiles.]

Hello.

[frothymilk]

[.....Nope]

[Equius is not doing this.]

[That blond head and glasses poking out of his deskcoon? They're going back inside, and he is pulling the blanket closed.]

[He is not dealing with an adult Karkat Vantas smiling at him, or expressing anything other than shock, disgust, or annoyance. He's just not]

[nosigntospeakof]

[Too bad. Equius is getting loved and tolerated whether he likes it or not. He approaches the deskcoon, taking a seat next to it. He can wait as long as it takes. Klaus can handle the students for a bit if he's late to work.]

Do you mind if I ask your name?

[frothymilk]

Yes, I mind.

[he minds an awful lot]

It's Equius Zahhak.

[nosigntospeakof]

Equius Zahhak. It's nice to meet you. [He leans back against the drawers of the desk.] Welcome to Mayfield.

[frothymilk]

I am running away as soon as it becomes feasibly possible. I refuse to remain here a second longer than absolutely necessary. It is not nice to meet you. I find it rather horrid, actually. You need to go back to being something that does not exist, like fairies and magic and other such wriggler fantasies.