[PRP] - Bouncing off the walls - (Mercer + Nefren)

[Buzzwulf]

When an unstoppable force meets a very strange object

 

[Buzzwulf]

"This world is fleeting!" Nefren yelled at a group of grublings who scurried away from him across the park. This time, the purpleblood told himself, this time he was going to make them listen. Whisperdad's ear flicked at the base of the small platform Nefren had set up to preach to the masses, as if trying to rid the beast of some incessant, needling dream. He muttered something sibilant and turned over in his sleep, ignoring his charge entirely. Nefren grinned at the assembled trolls that continued to give him a wide berth. Time to bring the righteous speech to em, see who had some open spongeclots.

"You got blind eyes, little grublin's,
clear out that gunk and let's make a run
can't stop what you're feeling, it's all chosen for you
might as well give up and have some fun

You ain't #&@!ing listening, so I'll say it slowly
rip that mask off and just go to town
take what you can while we're all still living
cause sooner or it all tumbles down."

A troll or two paused to watch the purpleblood gyrate as he slammed at the top of his lungs, but wandered onwards. Whisperdad looked up at him for a moment and whispered something quietly, and Nefren recoiled. "No! Ew! I don't wanna wear their mother#&@ing skins!" Gog, that sounded disgusting. And squishy. The cat-thing shrugged and went back to sleep, leaving Nefren to his own devices. He spied a blueblood across the park, hurrying towards... something. Who knew how bluebloods thought.

"You! Hey! YEAH, YOU!" Nefren said, running after the blueblood. "Hey! I wanna know! What REALLY makes your chestpusher gogdamn thump?"

Green Minuet

Please save me from myself

 

[Green Minuet]

Mercer Entura

Coach Morceu Oleand was inexorable.

Hurrying across the grass, Mercer made a beeline for the edge of the park and the street's beyond. All the while, he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. So far he had managed to give the older, belligerent greenblood the slip, but there was no telling when he might catch up. For it was a matter of when. The coach had proven craftier and more perceptive than he initially let on, and that had been Mercer's undoing. It was a mistake he was not keen to repeat. The moment he looked back and met the coach's bloodhound gaze, that would be the end of it. So in the meantime he played dumb.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Mercer increased his pace. Any faster and he would need to break into a jog. Still, the footsteps drew closer. Mercer did his best to ignore them, but then he heard the voice calling after him.

“You! Hey! YEAH, YOU!”

Unless the coach recruited his team mates, it was a case of mistaken identity. Mercer hesitated before turning. Rather than meeting Coach's swollen, green face freckled with froth, he stared into a mask of white face paint belonging to a purpleblood. Though young he shared a likeness to Coach Oleand by the rabid fervour in his eyes. Mercer could not help but stare. It was his first time seeing one up close. Juggalos were a mysterious lot, notorious for being volatile. Their occult fanaticism went beyond any ordinary troll's understanding, and rumours of their deeds were wide and varied.

After a moment, Mercer remembered himself. He surveyed the park behind the juggalo. In the distance, near the treeline, he could make out the distinctive cubic life form that was Coach Oleand. He was not out of the woods yet.

“Uh, a good run... I guess?” Mercer answered, playing confused. He needed to establish a plan of attack (or rather retreat), and had the feeling this juggalo was his ticket out. He only had to figure out how. He feigned a look of concentration. “Sorry, have we met?”  

[Buzzwulf]

"In another life, maybe. Who knows what comes before or after these broken remains of paradise. Only the hints that spring from messianic miracles give us any glimpse into what we can expect." Nefren gave the blueblood a long look, cocking a single eyebrow. His grin widened slowly at the uncertainty on the other troll's face. Nefren leaned forward, whispering for only the blueblood to hear. "Honestly, it's looking pretty @%$&in' grim."

As he pulled back, Nefren spotted what looked like some kind of greenblood crossbred with a refrigerator approaching from behind the blueblood. The troll looked like he would stick in the frame of a doorway, and he also looked pissed. "Oh." Nefren said, eyes widening. "A run. Gotcha." Then he bolted, yelling over his shoulder. "Follow me! I know a shortcut!"

A short time later, the two found themselves panting in an alley outside the park after ducking under several rows of hedges. Twigs stuck out of Nefren's dreads like antennae, poking this way and that wildly, but he couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice. "Did you see... his mother^*#@in... face? When I tossed that... trash receptacle at him? I thought... he was gonna... cull me!" The juggalo leaned against a nearby wall and laughed like crazy. Plus, he'd managed to ditch wrinkledad for a second, which was a nice. less creepy whispers, more unsupervised fun.

"Nefren," the juggalo said, extending a prong to his new friend with a grin. "And s**t, you were right, that did get my chestpusher goin'. but that was't really what I meant. What i mean is: what really makes you feel... you know, &!#$in' alive, bud?

Green Minuet

 

[Green Minuet]

Mercer Entura

That settled it. Coach Oleand would have his hide if he ever caught him.

Mercer collapsed against the wall beside the juggalo, panting with exertion. In truth, he had hardly broken a sweat from the short run, though the thrill of the chase did excite his pusher. He wondered how he would explain that one away. That was a problem for another night though, for another Mercer.

“He probably would. Still might actually,” the blueblood corrected with a laugh. “The coach has a good memory for faces, so you see him again I'd...” He let out a two-tone whistle and jerked his thumb across his shoulder.

“Mercer and nice to make your acquaintance,” the blueblood replied, shaking the juggalo's hand. In the long-run the juggalo had only gotten him into more trouble, but for the time being that trouble was a ways off. And there was no denying that the escape had been more fun than the alternative.

“Does not being dead count?” Mercer asked, more cheek than sincere. He had yet to decipher what the juggalo wanted with him. Best to indulge him and see where it led. “'Cause death defying stunts are pretty rad.”

Buzzwulf