wicked-ones-grin-blog

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

Game Grumps — Wind Waker  {Sentence Starters} { contains swearing }

“You must be lonely.”

“Throw it for money!”

“You gained self-loathing!”

“Is it possible to snort meth?”

“I’m gonna drink the whole sea.”

“I let my twerking do the talking.”

“I’m sorry I fucking ruined your life.”

“Don’t take that out of context, please.”

“I love you… but you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t let your default setting be ‘asshole’.”

“NO, DON’T TAKE A SELFIE RIGHT NOW!”

“Swiggetty-swooty, I’m coming for that booty.”

“I hope I’m not gonna be murdered by a child.”

“I told you never to interrupt me while I’m RICH.”

“If someone’s giving you a sass… blow them up.” 

“Oh, that thing is NOT happy about being murdered.”

“Are you thinking it? You LOOK like you’re thinking it.”

“You’ve never killed someone just to see how it feels?” 

“It’s like… what if a turnip just came alive off my plate?”

“I’m easily blinded by bright lights… and punches to the face.”

“You ever wanted to be with a guy who used to eat Chapstick?”

“It’s like somebody running up to you and punching you in the face.”

“I can add ‘bonobo orgy’ to my shameful list of google search terms.”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

Any sort of fleeting inhibitions were long gone the instant Alistair saw Josephine's face light up over his suggestion, his own features following suit. He hoped that he wasn't imposing on the woman with this request, he was just certain that if anyone was to fully understand the circumstances and his intentions, it would be her.

His head tilting someone as the woman went on, the Scotsmen's smile softened into one much more sentimental. "No need fer thanks, leannan." He assured, the redhead hesitating a brief second before reaching out to lightly take one of Josephine's hands. "Long ago...I was in his shoes. 'M not gonna sit by n' let another child suffer as I did..." Alistair hadn't meant to put a damper on the mood, but thankfully Josephine was easily able to bring it back to life.

"A'course!" The Scotsmen's smile grew, elated to see just how enthusiastic the other was. "Brilliant idea. I gots plenty a' old clothes."

"Josephine!" A voice called from outside of the women's tent. Seeing as the tents had no sort of bells attached to them and knocking on fabric would do nothing but waste a few seconds the circus staff usually resorted to hollering for each other outside of their make shift homes. Either that, or simply walk in. But, Alistair wasn't about to barge into a lady's tent without permission, the former was his only option. "Ya in there? There's somethin' I wanted ta ask ya."

At the voice, Josephine quickly placed the bookmark in the pages she had stopped at, placing the novel aside before quickly making an effort to flatten down the flyaways of her hair; it was currently down and a little more wavy than usual.

Beginning to move to the entrance, she called back, a wide smile breaking onto her face, “come in~ what can I do for you?”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

"Haha..." Alistair muttered dryly with a roll of his eyes, clearly not amused by the doctor's little quip. "If laughter really is da best medicine then yer jokes should do yer job fer ya." Alright, Alistair. The good doctor was only trying to lighten the mood, no need to whip out the sarcasm.

"Probly not...Da prick didn't seem all that fazed by it. N' he got it in the shoulder." To be honest, Alistair really didn't care if Gillen got his own injury fixed up or not. Answering Markell's question with a short living sigh, the redhead shrugged. "Nah. Just wanna get it patched up n' over with."

"Oi! Doc!" Alistair called as he entered the medical tent. Usually he was adverse to seeing the staff doctor but seeing as he had used any remaining supplies back in his own tent taking care of the wound Viktor had given him, he didn't really have any other options. "Could ya clean up my hand here?" With that he lifted his right hand, blood trailing he side of his arm from the small gash on near his knuckles.

Markell was quick to frown when he looked over at the other before gesturing for him to come over. “Yeah, I can do that. What did you even do to get that? It looks a little…angry.” He had a feeling of maybe what could have, though accidents did sometimes happen. “You can take a seat at that table there so we can get things fixed up.” He pointed to the table in question then grabbing gauze and stitching in case.

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

"Tales a' these tings come from all over da British Isles." Alistair explained, keeping a keen eye on the bit of blue floating ahead. While not as malicious as regular fairies, whil-o-whisps had the potential to cause danger to those naive enough. "Used ta see loads'a them as a kid. But...we be a long way from Scotland now."

Alistair wrapped a finger around his chin, studying the creature for a moment or so. Whil-o-whisps were known for living in trees and leading unsuspecting travels off their course while going through the forest they called home. Sometimes just letting them become lost and other times...to drown the. But as far as he could recall,the spirits were respectful of thier fellow fair folk.

"Stay close..." He muttered towards Damek, gesturing for the man to follow as he slowly began to approuched the blue entity.

"Tell me you see that too."

“Hm?” Alistair glanced over, barely even batting an eye at what he saw; Just near the thin tree line of the campgrounds was what looked to be a small glowing orb of purple light floating through the air. A Wil-O-Whisp so it seemed, either that…or one of Abel’s escaped illusions. “Aye.” He nodded, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

If Alistair wasn't so ticked off he probably would have snickered at the others remark. While some of the circus staff were quite pleasant people, a majority fell along side being the equivalent to duck droppings. "Befriend?" The redhead scoffed, a quiet noise of success following as he finally pulled a lighter free from his pocket.

"Not likely, Houdini." With that bright the small flame of his lighter to life, the small object returning right back into Alistair's pocket as he took a long drag. "Fowl n' me have never gotten along well." The Scotsmen would easily and gladly befriend any other kind animal, though throughout the years he had taken a particular liking to dogs, but never any sort of bird, especially a duck.

"Gods, I fuckin' hate ducks, they got no business bein' so cocky."

Flinching, Abel recovered quickly and then frowned deeply, feeling the sting of the word slowly wear off. Dammit. Teeth gritted, he agitatedly dug into his pockets and yanked out his lighter and cigs. Momentarily going without answering the other, he lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag from it before becoming calm.

“Yeah, ducks. They’re cocky, /obviously/.” His skin was still stinging a little. He offered s cig to the other, “want one?”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

"Not exactly..." Sure, Alistair was aware and acquainted with the circus's on staff tailors, he felt that, given what he wished to have made, that Josephine was the best one to do it. That...and he wanted to spend some more time with the woman.

"Ya know Örjan?" He asked, certain that the boy had mentioned talking with Josephine more than a few times. "Well...the lads birthdays' comin' up soon n' I wanted ta give him somethin' useful." Aside from a new shirt Oliver had made for him, the boy had very little clothing. "I can gather up some old clothes a' mine fer fabric fer a shirt or maybe even a pair a' short?"

"Josephine!" A voice called from outside of the women's tent. Seeing as the tents had no sort of bells attached to them and knocking on fabric would do nothing but waste a few seconds the circus staff usually resorted to hollering for each other outside of their make shift homes. Either that, or simply walk in. But, Alistair wasn't about to barge into a lady's tent without permission, the former was his only option. "Ya in there? There's somethin' I wanted ta ask ya."

At the voice, Josephine quickly placed the bookmark in the pages she had stopped at, placing the novel aside before quickly making an effort to flatten down the flyaways of her hair; it was currently down and a little more wavy than usual.

Beginning to move to the entrance, she called back, a wide smile breaking onto her face, “come in~ what can I do for you?”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

i was made to be strong physically, yes                 but                    emotionally                          my heart still bleeds like any other

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

Alistair was stuck in a fit of snickers for a few moments more, his body bent over slightly by the time he began to settle down. He'd been laughing so hard his stomach was starting to hurt, but it was more than worth it. "Ahaha...Alright...Alright..." The redhead managed as he caught his breath, sitting back up properly, his cheeks a bright red from all that amusement.

"Sorry." He said, gripping the hilt of the knife with one hand. "This'll...probably hurt like a bitch." And by probably he meant definitely. Without much warning Alistair gave the knife a sharp tug, pulling it free from Gilbert's hand

"Are you any good at five finger fillet?"

“Any good?” Alistair rolled his eyes, as if almost insulted by the audacity of the question. “Practically invented da game, mate.”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

“Pranks ya say?” The Scotsmen disinterest disappeared in a split second, his green gaze shimmering with a bright, mischievous glint. And here he thought Tina had dragged him away from his down time to do something she could easily do for herself but was just didn’t feel like doing. It had happened before. But this was something he too could actually enjoy. “What sorta pranks do ya have in mind?

"Why did ya bring me here?"

“Well I needed help setting up a couple pranks. Well you’re the first one I saw and I’m sure you know who would be the best ones to prank.Unless you’re chicken then I find someone else I guess.” Valentina had been growing a bit bored so she needed to entertain herself somehow so she though why not.

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

The sound of the woman's voice like that of the sweetest of bells to his ears, Alistair smiled as he moved aside one of the tent flaps. "This, eh...might sound like a random question..." He began, first playfully poking his head into the tent before stepping in completely, doing anything it took to ignore the fluttery feeling in his gut.

"Do...Do ya know how ta sew?"

"Josephine!" A voice called from outside of the women's tent. Seeing as the tents had no sort of bells attached to them and knocking on fabric would do nothing but waste a few seconds the circus staff usually resorted to hollering for each other outside of their make shift homes. Either that, or simply walk in. But, Alistair wasn't about to barge into a lady's tent without permission, the former was his only option. "Ya in there? There's somethin' I wanted ta ask ya."

At the voice, Josephine quickly placed the bookmark in the pages she had stopped at, placing the novel aside before quickly making an effort to flatten down the flyaways of her hair; it was currently down and a little more wavy than usual.

Beginning to move to the entrance, she called back, a wide smile breaking onto her face, “come in~ what can I do for you?”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

Alistair stopped his search upon hearing the boy’s voice in the distance, arms crossing over his chest as he waited. “Up to old tricks again?” He heckled, knowing much to well about the child’s mischievous tendencies. Despite getting his ass royally handed to him, Viktor still had it out for Örjan so Alistair liked to keep a close eye on the boy, especially when it started to get dark out. Alistair knew that he wasn’t the only one in the circus looking out for the lad, but it put his mind at ease to see the boy safe and sound.

"Örjan!" The Scotsmen called for the boy as he walked through the camp. The sun was setting and Alistair didn't want to have to wind up rescuing him from that gods awful cage again. You think Viktor would learned not to even bother anymore. "Örjan! C'mon, lad. Gonna be dark soon!"

Nighttime, in Örjan’s opinion, was the best time for prowling. He could see well in the dark, but other’s couldn’t see him. Currently, he’d been stalking some poor staff member of the circus when he heard Alistair call his name. His ears perked up, and he morphed back into his child form, surely scaring the daylights out of the poor staff.

“Coming!” he yelled, and bounced off in the direction of Alistair.

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

“Aye…France was breathtakin’ n’ da tower is no exception.” Alistair recalled with a fond sigh. Granted, he hadn’t been to the country in over a century, the Scotsmen was certain that it was still just as amazing as he remebered. “I lived fer a while there meself. Spent some time in Paris though I’ve…really always been a more rural sorta person.” Alistair smiled to himself, knowing all to well where his love of isolation lied. Growing up he and his mother might not have had many neighbors, but they had peace and all they needed.

“French country side is beautiful…n’ from what it seems that loveliness rubs off on its people.” The Scotsmen grinned, his mind urging him to do whatever it took to see that look of flattered flusteredness spread across Josephine’s features,

"Real fairies ain't anyting like Tinkerbell. Real fairies are fuckin' terrifyin'!"

“Aw,” she pouted, at first seemingly unphased by the content of Alistair’s sentence, “that’s a sham- /wait/.” With a narrowed gaze, she watched the other for a moment, before she asked, tone a little bubbly, “they’re real?! I-I thought they only existed in books and folklore.”

Ah- but…they were terrifying. She deflated a little, “so Peter Pan is surrounded by awful fairies in reality.”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

“I didn’t do anyting.” At least, that’s how Alistair saw it. The sentiment that Gillian got what deserved was cemented in the Scotsmen’s mind. That being said, his own injury was merely seen as an irritating attempt by Gillian to screw him over, not something he deserved for his own actions. “Bat boy was stalkin’ me all afternoon n’ when I tried ta get him ta leave me alone da damned loon lobed ma own knife at me.” Alistair explained in a low grumble as he made his way over the table.

"Oi! Doc!" Alistair called as he entered the medical tent. Usually he was adverse to seeing the staff doctor but seeing as he had used any remaining supplies back in his own tent taking care of the wound Viktor had given him, he didn't really have any other options. "Could ya clean up my hand here?" With that he lifted his right hand, blood trailing he side of his arm from the small gash on near his knuckles.

Markell was quick to frown when he looked over at the other before gesturing for him to come over. “Yeah, I can do that. What did you even do to get that? It looks a little…angry.” He had a feeling of maybe what could have, though accidents did sometimes happen. “You can take a seat at that table there so we can get things fixed up.” He pointed to the table in question then grabbing gauze and stitching in case.

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

"Ah." Prussia...another empire claimed by history. Alistair had never visited but during his time living in France he heard a great deal about the place. Mostly about how powerful their military was. But now that land was apart of another, forgotten by most living today. Sad, really.

Being pulled from his thoughts as the girl went on, Alistair nodded in understanding, grinning a bit as this Nibi reminded him of a creature from his own childhood. "Never had anyting like dat but our forest did have a few tree n' river spirits." One of the helpful little spirits even living in the tree where his home was. "Our best neighbor had ta be Duncan. He was a Wulver."

"Never insult the fair folk. Talk about them with respect, unless you're just dying to be cursed."

“Bah!” The Scotsmen snorted, the genuine warning actually seeming quick…amusing to him. As a child, that was a golden rule he lived by, having known of and seen just what fair folk did to those they disliked or disrespected them. But now, despite still wearing iron earnings for protection, he them feared hardly at all. “Me thinks t'at rule don’t really apply when ya technically are a type a’ fair folk.”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

"Pfft." Alistair bit down in his lip in a feign attempt at controlling his laughter. The man only lasting a few seconds before busting out in a fit of smug laughter. "Haha! I fuckin' knew it! Ahaha!" If there was one thing Alistair enjoyed more in this world it was burst someone's bubble. He may have been a old man but he was far from gullible. One couldn't put the wool over his eyes easily. "Pro my me sweet scottish arse! Hahaha!"

"Are you any good at five finger fillet?"

“Any good?” Alistair rolled his eyes, as if almost insulted by the audacity of the question. “Practically invented da game, mate.”

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

“Hm?” Brow furrowing at the sudden sensation of a foreign warmth against his skin, Alistair blinked back at Josephine for a moment or so, an almost dumbfounded look in his eyes. Though simple, the woman’s touch was unexpectedly mild, the warmth it provided as calming as the heat of a roaring fire place. Alistair had found himself fancying many women, and men, through the centuries but…this was the first time in so very long that he had been shown…such compassion.

The sensation of butterflies erupting in his stomach, Alistair, as always, did what he could to preserve his pride. Grinning over the woman’s compliment he moved to lift his own hand, having planned to place it over the one resting on his face. However, before he could lift a finger, the wonderful warmth fled him, Alistair unable to help but smile fondly as Josephine grew all the more flustered.

“I understand, leannan…” He murmured on the tail end of a quiet chuckle, the grip he hand on the other’s hand tightening a bit in assurence before gently pulling her along to walk again. “Fer you…I’ll smile every wakin’ hour.” With that their walk continued towards the personal tents, Alistair making sure Josephine got back to her own safe and sound.

Closed: show time

Her gaze settled on his features, and in that moment of silence, Josephine could read the worry laced in his features. Gently tugging him to a stop, she took a deep breath, “don’t look so worried, chéri, okay?”

Without a though, she’d let her free hand come to rest on his cheek momentarily, adding, “as reassuring it is to have you worry about me, a handsome smile suits you much better.” This was her only way of reassurance, but upon realising her actions, she felt her cheeks heat up once more, as she retracted her hand, “w-well, I mean-” ha ha. Josephine let her words die on her tongue, unable to quite pull herself together. How strange, she’d never quite been that bold before - that was a first for her.

[wicked-ones-grin-blog]

“Ah, piss off. Ya know what I mean?” It was clear that Alistair wasn’t in the greatest of moods at the moment. Yes, perhaps lashing out at mindless ducks for thinking they were hot shit was a bit ridiculous, not to mention rather hypocritical. Speaking of shit, Alistair had already stepped in a great deal of it this morning, which was the root of his grievance.

“Damned things use da camp grounds as thier personal dump.” The man grumbled as he snagged a cigarette from the box, fishing around in his pocket for his lighter. “They got a whole fuckin’ forest back there n’ yet they just /gotta/ shit here.”

"Gods, I fuckin' hate ducks, they got no business bein' so cocky."

Flinching, Abel recovered quickly and then frowned deeply, feeling the sting of the word slowly wear off. Dammit. Teeth gritted, he agitatedly dug into his pockets and yanked out his lighter and cigs. Momentarily going without answering the other, he lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag from it before becoming calm.

“Yeah, ducks. They’re cocky, /obviously/.” His skin was still stinging a little. He offered s cig to the other, “want one?”