Delkko's Hive 1} Fairyl and Delkko

Fairyl played by Kiwi, Delkko played by Dodo

Fairyl stalked through the city, she was calculated, cool, and silent. She wasn't in her normal fancy garb, as she didn't want to attract attention tonight. The job she was assigned by the princess was not going to be an easy one. Purple bloods, especially this one , were important and killing them wasn't always in best interest. Normally she opted for olive or lower, it was safer that way. The hive she was looking for came into sight and and smile danced it's way onto her face. It was almost day so many weren't around, most had started heading off to bed. She slipped her way to the back of the hive. She had studied the hive yesterday from the outside, and knew how to get in. She picked the lock of the nearest window and slipped into the livingroom.
She quickly locked the window again moving to be out of sight. Humans would be out during the day sure, but she would have time before anyone found this clown. She pulled her knife out and made her way to the bedroom. She was mindful of all sounds she made, from her silent footsteps to the way she breathed in and out slowly. This woman was a murder machine. She stood in front of the door, taking a moment to let her bloodpusher slow down. She couldn't be to excited, not yet, first she had to be calm. She skillfully opened the door, she was ready to attack if the purple hadn't gone to sleep yet.

Delkko wasn’t exactly having the best of nights, and that wasn’t even counting the assassin breaking into his house. While to many who listened to him he seemed naturally gifted at speaking, someone who’s passionate words flowed from his mouth like a river, he did in fact put a great deal of thought into his addresses beforehand. This was not to say he always stuck to the script, in fact he rarely did in the hearty frenzy of an excited room full of purple bloods, but having a general outline in his head had always been something he’d appreciated. Normally this wasn’t so much of an issue, as writing his own speeches came to him pretty naturally for the most part, but this time he was feeling rather stumped. Delkko had recently come upon some information that suggested there could be more fuchsia bloods roaming Amalgama than anyone realized, but finding a way to work that information into his current speech evaded him.
Pacing in circles around his room, the juggalo held his arms behind his back as he walked, face paint having been washed from his visage to reveal his frustrated look more clearly. Occasionally he’d stop by a desk with several messy piles of paper on top of it, digging through them to read a line before setting it down once more with a displeased grunt. While he was considered a rather valuable speaker to the Church, the loyalties of the average subjugglator were extremely fickle. Delkko had personally witnessed his own tear each other apart over even the pettiest of disagreements, something he both had a great deal of distaste for and rightly feared himself. As a clown of below average size and psionics, the only thing that he had was his words. And the last thing that Delkko Netwok wanted was to be ripped limb from limb by a displeased crowd. Eventually, the writer's block began to really irk him. With a guttural grumble of irritation, the purple blood threw himself onto a nearby office chair, causing it to creek and spin around several times before coming to an eventual halt at his desk. He truly loved his work, but when he was struggling to put his words together, it bothered him more than anything else short of some gutterblood running their mouth about the Church. Rubbing a hand across his face, Delkko looked at one of the papers he had previously discarded for a second time, using his other hand to hold it up to view. He mumbled its contents to himself in a slightly feverish manor, trying to see where he could improve. It was mostly standard fare for the most part, Delkko rarely deviated from his preaching about how wonderful the church and how nasty the fish breathed nook sniffers who thought they could control it were. After a moment of consideration, though, the juggalo abruptly perked up upon realizing a good way to segway into the rumor. Letting out a gruff, short chuckle to himself, Delkko slapped his hand against the desks surface several times before it found a pen to write with, beginning to scribble the additions onto the paper before they left his pan. It would be then that Fairyl would find him, hunched over his work desk as he scribbled like a madman, a passionate glint in his eye as he worked on his words. In such a position he looked entirely unassuming, the lack of face paint and the unassuming bedtime wear making him look like any other troll. But just as Saonji so eloquently put it, he had been far too loud lately about his ideas to abolish the Empress based system of governance. Not bothering to look up as the door creaked open, Delkko instead began to address her as if she was someone else he expected to be in his hive, focus mostly diverted to the page. “Mekeze? I told you, you can go home already.” The purple blood grumbled, though his voice was softer then most of his caste. “If you lost your boxing gloves again then they’re not here, go check the guest room or something.” Delkko added a moment later, scoffing as if he’d told a joke before returning to his silent state. Little did he know, his morning was about to get much more interesting then he’d bargained for.

A smirk dawned the Oliveblood. This was her chance, and she hadn't expected it to be so easily handed to her. He thought she was someone else, possibly a friend, maybe something more? Whoever the person he was talking about was, it didn't matter to her. She slipped in through the door knife in hand. She still didn't let her guard down, as she as silently as possible made her way in. Once the Olive was close enough she attempted to drive the knife into the purples back. If this worked she knew it would be easy from there.
Not much fun would be had this kill because she didn't want to take any risks. Normally she would at least mess around with her prey, but this was a job. It was a very important job, one she could not risk to fuck up. While she had full faith in her ability their was no point in spicing things up. If she were to fail it would be detrimental. Fairyl was not planning on dying, especially not today, and especially not like this.

It wasn’t the sound of steps that prompted Delkko to turn and look in the direction of his attacker, but instead the lack of a response. Of course Fairyl had no way of knowing such a thing, but the individual the clown spoke of was the brash, cheerful sort of type. She was more likely to literally shout about how wonderful a day was and how good it was to be alive then keep quiet for any extended period of time. This “uncharacteristic” silence was what made the speaker of the church eventually turn from his desk to ask what was wrong, the words on his lips dying as he saw the figure of the olive blood brandishing their knife at him. He was too slow to avoid being stabbed, but he managed to somewhat reflect the slash with his forearm, raising it to protect himself as the metal blade gouged him. Delkko’s nightwear was torn as deep purple blood began to well up from the fairly large wound, the sticky substance dripping to the floor as he let out a confused and pained cry, stumbling to his feet as he yelled.
“Argh- Shit!” The surprised clown cried out, taking an unsteady step backwards as he looked around the room frantically for some way to defend himself. Although he had both fought and culled before, this sort of situation was akin to being caught with one’s pants down. While the prospect of facing an olive with the proper equipment wouldn’t have phased him all that much, one cornering him in his respiteblock before he went to bed for the day was an entirely different ball game. Quickly yanking out one of his desk drawers in a flurry of papers, Delkko grabbed a switchblade from within before unceremoniously chucking the object towards Fairyl. He brandished his own smaller knife afterwards, looking at her with wide eyes as he prepared to defend himself, not yet making any further moves.

She wasn't expecting the move but no matter. She backed up as he started to stand because she couldn't get a good angle in. The desk drawer hit her, there was no way she could dodge that fucking drawer. She hissed and stumbled but didn't let herself fall. She licked her lips and let out a laugh. "wow nice throw." he laugh increased in volume as she lunged past him attempting to cut his side on her way.

While Delkko was by no means the most adept subjugglator when it came to senseless culling, he wasn’t exactly a pushover by any means either. All highbloods were both strong and durable, and while some seadwellers might outstrip the average purple in this regard, the clowns were famed for their strength and viciousness for a reason. Fairyl’s target wasn’t going to roll over onto his belly and let her kill him. Far from it. In fact despite how refined he had seemed initially by the standards of his caste, the crimson pigmentations of a raging highblood were already curling within his pupils. The phenomenon known as ‘blood rage’ was well documented among purple bloods, in which during stressful situations (or just murder sprees) they would oftentimes disregard their inhbitations in favor of savagly attacking an enemy. This could make them easier to work around, since they weren’t thinking straight, but at the same time, fending off a juggalo was easier said than done. Or in this case, culling one at Saonji’s behest.
Delkko was again a bit too off kilter to avoid a glancing blow to his side, another stream of purple beginning to dribble from his damaged form, his attempt to pull himself out of the way had also put him in prime position to make a counter attack. With a resounding, deep pitched honking sound, the defendant would grip his weapon with both hands, trying to drive it into the shoulder blade of the aggressing olive blood. While the weapon itself was not exactly going to win any prizes, the force behind it would make it deadly nonetheless if it landed true.

Fairyl wasn't stupid, she knew how dangerous this mission was going to be. Purplebloods were not to be fucked with, and usually she wouldn't. However she had a mission and she wasn't keen on failing. After she slashed she knew she was vulnerable. The knife was going to hit her but she needed to make sure it wasn't drove into her. She made her knees give out, it was the only way she could get enough out of the way.
The knife made a deep cut on the top of her shoulder, blood begging to spurt out of the wound. She hissed as her knees hit the floor. She didn't have time to think as the blood dripped down her shoulder. Soon the clown would be coming back for more. She spun around on her knees, pushing the pain to the back of her mind. She lunged at the clown's leg and went to drive the knife in the back of his knee.

As Fairyl slid out of reach and under Delkko’s legs, so did the switchblade, now embedded up to nearly its hilt within the shoulder of the olive blood. This victory wouldn’t be something the purple could be proud of for long, however, as his would be assassin then immediately slashed at the back of his knee, causing him to stumble forwards and nearly fall down on his leg. However, true to the reputation his caste had, the purple blood did not fall where a rust might have collapsed due to the pain a wound in that area might cause. Instead Delkko was frighteningly quick to right himself, whipping around as he attempted to make a grab for the arm that held the knife. If he could wrestle it out of her control, then he might have a chance of killing her himself, or at the very least driving her off.

She took the opportunity to pull the switchblade out of her shoulder, not her best move because of blood loss, but she needed that extra weapon. Her arm was in fact grabbed, but she used this to her advantage. Fairyl pulled her self back to her feet and used the extra blade to try and stab Delkko's wrist. She wasn't going down without a fight, and in this fight she wasn't going down at all.

All this being stabbed and cut wasn’t doing wonders for Delkko’s temperament. The purple blood hissed like a feral beast as the switchblade sank cleanly through the flesh of his wrist, stopping only as it landed against bone. Unsurprisingly, though, this didn’t do a great deal to impede him. As if the pain was more of a suggestion then a constant bother, the subjugglator dug his claws into Fairly’s arm as it continued to brandish the knife towards him, forcing it away from his body as he did so. The other arm, which had been stabbed, jerked backwards, causing the switchblade to clatter to the floor, its surface slick with his grape colored blood.
Despite how many wounds he had sustained, however, it now seemed as if Delkko was beginning to gain the upper hand. While he had been surprised initially, now he had the olive’s weapon at bay, and her arm within her grasp. With another bellowing honk, he attempted to rake the claws of his free hand against her face, aiming for the eyes in particular. If he could blind her by damaging him, then he should be able to close out the fight cleanly with a few more well placed stabs. That was, if he could land the blow anyways.

Fairyl was stuck in a tough spot but this wasn't going to deter her. She let out a laugh as she felt his claws dig into her skin. She threw her head back his claws cutting her lower cheek and neck. She laughed again at the pain and she grabbed onto his wounded wrist digging her fingers into the wound in question. she attempted to slam one of her boots down on his foot, they were steal toed and often one of the things she used to get upper hands in fights.

The fingers clawing at Delkko’s flesh didn’t seem to do all that much to impede him, despite the grape fluid which now slicked the olive’s claws, but the steel boot crushing his toes definitely appeared to have an effect. A satisfying crunch was interlaced with a screech from the clown, who’s grip on Fairyl’s knife wielding hand slacked in response to the breakage. Although he had seemingly lost focus, the subjugglator made another wild slash with his free hand, this time seeming to have his sights set on tearing his would-be assassin’s throat out with them. As Delkko’s eyes boiled with crimson wrath, and his pointed teeth formed into an uncontrollable grimace, he seemed to lose further and further control of his mental faculties. But his will to fight remained, if not redoubled in the face of Fairyl.

More giggles erupted from her mouth when she felt the bone. She held onto the skin tightly and licked her lips. She ripped her hand free from his grip and she attempted to use the knife to stab the hand that was coming at her neck. Her eyes were crazed and an evil smile was spread across her face.

The swing of the knife performed exactly as Fairyl had hoped, slashing across Delkko’s palm and narrowly preventing him from ripping her vocal cords out with his bare hands. It was starting to become clear though that these glancing blows, while they were penetrating the clown’s skin and causing a great deal of purple ichor to stain the floorboards, were not enough to put down the clown. Highbloods were notoriously difficult to kill, and if the olive blood wanted to make sure that her target were to be dead, she was going to need a more serious wound then the relatively shallow slashes she’d inflicted thus far. Although one of his hands had been deflected, the other now reached for the switchblade from the floor, making a stab of its own towards Fairyl’s knife holding arm in retaliation. Delkko was going to fight until the bitter end, and even if he did die, the midblood was going to walk out of this encounter scarred and bloodied.

She laughed as the knife made a slit in her upper arm. The blood trickled down, and she smiled grabbing a hold of his wrist skin tightly. She grabbed and tugged on the the skin attempting to pull it off. With her now cut up arm she went to stab him in the chest. She knew that she needed a better hit, she needed to kill this clown. She was beginning to get hungry in the presence of all the blood smells.

At this point, Delkko seemed just as frenzied as his attacker. His eyes were nearly completely drowned out by the splotches of red that had originally appeared within them, almost seeming to glow slightly as he kept up the fight. Now rather than defend himself, the clown seemed to be going on the all out offensive. Fairyl’s knife embedded itself between his ribs, and her claws tore his skin rather noticeably, but the subjugglator barely reacted outside of his facial expression curling further. He was hopped up on highblood rage, and wouldn’t be settling down any time soon. With a thunderous honk, he slammed the switchblade downwards towards the olive’s throat, once again trying for a killing blow. His other hand began to claw into Fairyl’s as she tried to peel away his skin, holding her fast as he tried to make it harder for her to avoid the strike.

The knife was coming at her and she had to think fast, time was of the essence. She gritted her teeth and huffed, she ripped the knife out of the wound. Since Delkko had her arm, she threw her self to the right to avoid his knife. She felt pain in her wrist, but that just drove her foward. Still holding onto his skin she tried to stab him in the shoulder.

Once more, the stab landed true, the knife burying itself into the purple blood’s hide and causing more of his violet ichor to bubble up between the newly opened gaps of his grey skin. And once more again, Delkko seemed barely halted by the newly sustained wound. While the lower bloods that Fairyl had usually hunted may have been downed rather easily by a few well placed stabs, it looked as if it was going to take more then some skin being torn alongside the aforementioned slashes to bring down the purple blood. Or maybe it was possible, although the struggle dragging on longer and longer was probably not what the assassin was looking for. Honking twice in quick succession, Delkko swung his switchblade to the right after he whiffed, pursuing his enemy’s movements as he continued to grip onto their wrist as if for dear life. He wasn’t quitting any time soon, that was for sure.

While she would like the job to be done, as long as it was done before night she didn't really mind. In fact to her the back and forth was fun, she would have liked less damage to herself but oh well. She pulled her knife out of Delkko ans she felt him slash her back. Again a crazed laugh erupted from the Woman, blood starting to seep through the wound. She let go of his skin, peices of it falling off. His arm had been mangled from her claws, and you could see bone and other parts of the inner wrist. She had damaged a vein from the way she was holding it. She stomped on the highbloods other foot attempting to rip her hand away from her target.

Fairyl managed to free her arm from Delkko’s grasp, but the clown was quickly beginning to wisen up to the olive blood’s tricks. Before she could bring her steel toe down on his foot, it kicked up to meet her own. The purple blood’s strike would serve to deflect his attacker’s own, hitting the midsection of the shoe where there was no metal plating in order to avoid breaking more of his toes. Distracted for a moment as he looked at the mangled mess that was now his arm, Delkko let out another one of the violent shrieks he’d been emitting for most of the encounter, truly sounding like the crazed animal that he had become. Pulling the switchblade from Fiaryl’s flank, the subjugglator aimed higher up this time, his blade looking for the midblood’s ear. Not the most lethal area to aim for, but it was starting to seem more as if Delkko was wildly stabbing rather than thinking clearly about what he was doing.

With his more frenzied and uncalculated attacks, Fairyl would have a much easier time avoiding them. Or at the very least they wouldn't be as effective. She was use to dealing with the frenzied fighting styles of her own caste and often other lower casted individuals she took down. While this clown was a trained killer, in this state she had a major upperhand. Quickly moving her head to the side to doge the knife, she knew what she needed to do. She raised the knife and went to jam it inbetween the two bones of his elbow,

Although the troll nervous system wasn’t an exact analog to that of a human’s, due to the interconnected nature of their universes, they were actually quite similar in a fair few ways. The knife digging into that location on Delkko’s arm seemed to have the desired effect, causing his grip on the switchblade to seize and prompt the weapon to fall to the floor with an audible clattering noise. However, this sound would be nearly indiscernible from the wild shrieks and honks of the subjugglator as he swung his other arm around barely a moment later, fist tightly curled as it seeked to slam against the side of Fairyl’s head. While pain still seemed to affect the purple blood somewhat, it also seemed to barely impede him at all. The highblood rage that pumped through his veins allowed him to all but ignore it and continue plowing forwards as he sought to inflict as much pain to his attacker as possible.

He landed the punch to her head but it caused her knife to move around in his elbow. She pulled it out and wobbled a bit, but she held on and made a swing to drive the knife into his upper chest, specifically into his heart area. She was playing games.

As he had already begun lunging forwards to attack Fairyl again, plunging the knife into the clown’s chest wasn’t too difficult at all. The blade found a clear purchase, piercing both dress and skin as more purple blood began to well up from the newly added gouge, but whether or not the strike had penetrated his pusher was not immediately clear. Delkko seemed not to get the memo that he had been possibly mortally wounded, simply emitting another low pitched honking sound as his hands moved for the olive blood’s throat, attempting to find purchase there and begin to strangle her. Attacks with the knife were proving to be less and less effective, so it was time to make things a bit more personal.

She felt hands wrap around her throat and she pulled the knife out and stabbed again than one more time.

At first, it seemed as if the repeated plunges of the knife into Delkko’s blood pusher had done absolutely nothing to injure him. His eyes completely flooded by crimson rage, now naught but twin gloves of red, the clown continued to apply his crushing strength to Fairyl’s neck, digging his claws into her skin and causing olive blood to begin trickling down her body where they had pierced her. The pressure he applied was immense, and it almost felt as if he would simply snap her neck from the sheer amount of force that was being pushed onto it. But, after around thirty seconds, it seemed as if the severity of the purple blood’s wounds caught up to him. Grip slacking to the point at which he eventually dropped Fairyl like a ragdoll, Delkko began to sink downwards, his battered form stained with cold blood that dripped from both his wounds and lips. A few moments later he lost consciousness, crucial oxygen no longer being brought to his pan due to the immense damage applied to his blood pusher and causing him to fall in a splatter of purple. Fairyl had felled her target, but only barely.

Fairyl wheezed as she was dropped, she hit the floor with a thump. She sat there for a minute taking deep breaths. She wasn't going to try this again soon that's for sure. Quickly she walked over to a closet grabbing a shirt, she ripped pieces off of it and wrapped her wounds with it. She stretched out, slowly making her way out of the hive. once she got home she would do a better job with her wounds. She slipped out the back window and scampered off to her house.

While Delkko’s death was not immediately following his collapse, there was also nothing that could be done to avert its inevitable advent. With no doctor on hand, and no source of oxygen to keep his pan functioning due to the immense damage his blood pusher had sustained, the purple blood would only have a short few minutes of unconsciousness before properly expiring. The battered body of the subjugglator simply lay as it did, purple blood pooling beneath it as all of his body’s ichor began to leave him. The various slashes and scraps he’d sustained continued to emit a stream of blood as his corpse lay there, with the fluid failing to clot on account of its owner's demise, but a curious change was about to occur.
Sometimes when a troll or human still had unfinished business, or vengeance left to carry out, their soul would manifest once more in the form of a ghost. Though it was something of a rare occurrence all things considered, and assassinations were usually considered sufficient means to silence someone who you’d rather not speak even if their specter did come into being, it just so happened that while both of the criteria for a ghost to form would be met, the gheist would be far from ineffective in its task. Perhaps now the subjugglator would be even more effective in his will, having become a living martyr of sorts. The first few moments of becoming a ghost were utterly alien to someone who had lived inside of their body for their whole existence. Delkko’s vision blurred heavily as his head felt disarrayed, instinctively raising an arm as if to block out the harsh light of the Alternian sun. Memories of the brawl which had taken his life still fresh in his mind, the previous purple blood realized that he must have passed out at some point during the confrontation, glancing downwards to inspect himself. However, as he did so, he saw himself in more ways than one. (blood and injury A few feet below him lay his blood soaked remains, his corpse strewn out unceremoniously and left to be discovered by whoever would next bother to check up on him.
Delkko didn’t realize he was dead, though. Despite the sorry state of his body, the clown’s first instinct was that he was having an out of body experience. Maybe the messiahs were pulling him from his own form, attempting to bring him to the Dark Carnival for all of his dedication to spreading this ideals across first Alternia and then Amalgama. Waiting for a few moments though, Delkko realized that he wasn’t going anywhere. His soul simply lingered as it was, hovering above his own corpse like a moth attracted to a purple light. Frowning slightly, the subjugglator began to descend, reaching out to his own body. Maybe he just needed to wake himself up was all. Reaching downwards, the clown’s spectral hands made contact with his collapsed form, and suddenly everything went black once more. When he awoke once more, Delkko found himself inside of his body again. Immediately the purple blood rose into a sitting position as if awaking from a nightmare, once more looking down upon himself. (blood and injury) Although he was bleeding in several places, particularly his wrist and chest serving to stain his nightwear a deep purple, he wasn’t in any pain. In fact, even as he gingerly brushed the exposed flesh and bone of his left wrist, he didn’t feel so much as a pinprick. This confused him rather greatly, but he decided to chalk it up to the endurance of his caste for now, rising to his feet again. Delkko would need to clean his study after that mess, but for now treating his wounds seemed more poignant than hive keeping.
Taking a note from Fairyl, the subjugglator used the already torn outfit to bandage up his wounds as best as he could, before sauntering to the bathroom to clean himself up a bit more. The trail of purple fluid he left in his wake as he limped was bothersome indeed, but once more, his thoughts were more on patching himself up so that he would not expire rather than the tarnishing of his floorboards. Little did Delkko know, however, his actions would be far too little too late. Though for now he seemed to be surprisingly healthy still, chewing through most of a package of gauze as he cleaned the slashes and stab wounds before putting on some real bandaging. The clown spent a moment inspecting himself in the mirror, frowning slightly at how horrendous he appeared, but was just happy to be seemingly alive right now. Well, he wasn’t that happy. He still didn’t understand why an olive blood had broken into his hive, and definitely wanted to settle the score for her mauling him like this. However, those would be concerns for another night. Easing himself into a sitting position atop his closed load gaper, placing a hand over his damaged blood pusher carefully as to check to make sure it was still functioning. Although the beating felt abnormal and weaker then normal, it still seemed to be operating fine otherwise. Delkko elected to put that up to blood loss for now, letting out a sigh as he closed his eyes. The purple blood would have thought he would be in a world of hurt right now, or at the very least light headed, but instead he felt nothing but a vague feeling of chills. One of the perks of being a highblood, he thought to himself with a small smirk, it would take more than some olive roughing him up to put him down. The clown considered rising to go clean his hive, but decided not to for now, instead easing his eyes shut as he rested. He still had a big speech to give tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to let a few scrapes silence him.

Scene End