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Inside, Forera stuck out her tongue and made the best, most awesome faces at the camera. Kissy faces, winking... And a ton of other ones, rolling one right after the other. Finally, as she was about to do her last, SPECTACULAR pose, she felt him grab her suddenly. For some reason, she tensed. She felt— well, she felt like something dangerous might've happened. But when he pressed his lips against her cheek, she was startled, for once, and in her surprise, she flushed a light teal. With a wide, overgrown smile, she couldn't help but giggle loudly at his words and let out an unintentional snort while playing with her hair. Her eyes darted to the side and she regarded the outside before letting a devilish smile spread across her face. "Nopers, I, ahem, definitely didn't expect that...!" She managed to squeak, looking up at him shyly. The nervous giggle released right after her weak words seemed hesitant, almost distant. But he would see her intentions soon enough. Grabbing him a little stiffly with her normal hand, she pulled him into a sweet, delicious kiss. She was flushed for him(both literally and figuratively), and right now— right now, in this booth, nothing could change that.

Hearing a thump on the machine and a protest about 'damn teens taking too long,' the tealblood, startled, broke the kiss. She simply rolled her eyes in annoyance before sticking her head out and giving the a*****e a loud and very offensive string over curses, as well as jamming a few more beetles into the machine and pulling back. "What an assshooollee. C'mon, let's go one more time!" This time, however, was way more touchy feely, with a lot of kisses and blushing faces. They both looked incredibly happy, even if Vulpin was only showing it a little. And with their second round of photos done, Forera giggled obnoxiously and allowed herself to be pulled out, grinning widely and snatching the photos, showing them so both could see. "We'll breakem up later!" The tealblood tugged Vulpin all the way to the rings stand before laughing extremely loud and writing up a slip, even if it was all in bold from her manner of writing. "Mmmn, awright, here're ya gooo!" She exclaimed, stuffing them in the box before wiggling her eyebrows at Vulpin and smiling brightly. Her piercings seemed to glint into the moonlight, the more she giggled. "C'mon, there's another booth out there I saw and really liked!!"

So Frossa...looked like a kid, right now. That didn't mean she was one, even if she acted like she still was. He guessed...after what little Alifax knew of her life, he guessed she deserved it. It wasn't like she couldn't be responsible, when she thought whatever she was taking responsibility for was cool or exciting or whatever. And it wasn't like she wasn't...mature? Perhaps that wasn't the right word. But she was a ferocious fighter and still somehow kind. Okay, okay - that wasn't necessarily true. Frossa was a brat who wanted to be a magical cannibal witch princess fairy thing, and she thought it was right that she sit on his lap, and that he carry her places.

Was that such a bad thing, for a highblood? The thing about her was that she'd always kept his secrets and sometimes even absorbed his mistakes. She paid for their group to go places, sometimes, and she fed Hazzan when the girl was trying to starve herself on a meal of measly green things (even if she tended to feed Hazzan with cake stuff). She took a lot of joy in them, if only because she had some inflated sense of their importance compared to other trolls'. Alifax would protect the group's right to that any day.

Maybe it wasn't something that was there yet...but these stupid metal rings looked pretty valuable, and they were also shiny, which Frossa liked. And it wasn't like it'd cost much to enter this raffle. He approached it and filled out a small slip, nodding at the troll manning the booth. Carefully, he dropped it in, and then retreated, without a glance back at the photobooth.

It was on Alifax's third anxious pass through the various booths assembled at Bloodfest that he noticed it, small and worn-down but still undeniably worth thousands of beetles to any vintage collector.



It was an ancient FLARP manual. Alifax was pretty shocked to see it, actually - this thing was pretty rare. It was one of those treatises to specific stats, a love song to min-maxers (also known as good fighters, in Alifax's opinion), but generally considered to be pretty out there when it came to statting out your character. After all, mawwage assessed a character's ability to use a weapon most trolls considered inferior, especially in the modern game meta. It was...well, it was a lowblood character's stat. Why would a wealthy highblooded character even bother with putting points in a statistic that evaluated the strength and flexibility of your maw and its muscles when they could simply, you know, purchase better and fancier-looking weapons? Even modern-day lowbloods hesitated to spend points in it. It just wasn't done, and weapons were freely available to anyone in the military now. "I can't believe you have that," he breathed.

It hearkened back to a time when mawwage had been considered an essential stat for any trendy roleplayer - even seadwellers. Apparently it reminded them of some especially large lusii, or something. Either way, it'd been intriguing because it had been intrinsically linked to the Wreckers' Undulation Voracity save, which could protect a troll from certain poisons (explained flavorwise as an immunity built up through years of ingesting them in small, non-lethal amounts) as well as from consumption of foods that might otherwise make them nauseous, or from recovering from venemous bites. In other words it was useful for a troll like Alifax, who had a hyperactive purpleblood for a friend who liked feeding him cake.

"I-is...there any way I might be able to read that?" It was just so hard to find!

[hi! i already have an adorable gaian wife. i just wanted to post this; please don't pick me Q_Q]

Of course he didn't listen.

Byakko threw her head back let out a slithered hiss when Zeffer released her and darted away laughing, grabbing the back of her sunhat to steady it as it started to slip. She looked wildly to Aprife for support, who naturally, kept grinning. Zeffer moved swiftly, and before the mutant could lunge over and stop him from signing their names he had already slipped two ballots into the box.

a*****e! She seethed internally, glaring at the scarred blueblood under her sunglasses. They weren't official. That wasn't a thing. They were not blackromming. Akko thanked her disguise for covering whatever vague pink blush was creeping on her cheeks. "I told you no." the growled reiteration was fairly moot now, but Byakko darted over to try and slap Zeffer upside the head anyway.

"I'm done here," she spat bitterly, before promptly turning on one heel back in the direction of their hotel, fists balled as she stormed off.

[+] Kursha Vidari

Kursha snorted at Luxara's response, but otherwise let it go. He had meant it as a general statement, but then of course she reminded him of her woodland hermit status, devoid of any technology. He had seen her hive. There was nothing there but the bare essentials. It was a little embarrassing and a lot depressing now that he thought about it. No wonder she was so weird.

Flicking the curtain open, Kursha hopped into the booth and yanked Luxara in after him. Though more spacious than he expected, the booth was still fairly cramped. Cosy even. He turned to Luxara, grinning. “Your face is good enough as is, dontcha think? I'll have to work to keep up,” he teased. Plopping down onto the bench against the back wall, he began to check through the various settings.

After a moment he spoke again, as an afterthought. “Hey, good thing there's a place to sit, or your face wouldn't make it into the frame.”

"Nooo, no, I think you do fine on your own, all," Luxara put her forefingers up next to the sides of her head as if mimicking a bull, "I'm Kur! I get into pissing contests with little seadwellers n' I like to annoy violent cultists. Because making terrible life choices about highbloods makes me think I look cool! Or something." She sassed right back. Luxara paused. "Ohhh, I should do that for one of the pictures! It'd be hilarious! You could try to be me if you wanted to get even or something." With that, she dropped her hands back to her knees. She had sat down when Kursha had, but was letting him take the wheel otherwise. The apparent comment about her height didn't get to her, though. Obviously she could've stood on her toes if she had to. "What color are you gonna make the photo strip? Probably pink, right?"

[+] Kursha Vidari

“It's not about looking cool,” Kursha snapped. “It's about making a statement. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Miss I-am-a-mindless-drone-and-support-the-imperial-war-machine?” He sneered. Regardless of whether Luxara had since changed her opinions, he could not resist rubbing in her face her previous alliance.

“Don't you even dare! I will leave right now.” Scowling, and looking for all the world like a petulant child, Kursha crossed his arms and leaned against the corner of the booth, glaring at Luxara. He was half-tempted to kick her.

At her next question, he raised an eyebrow. He stared at her for a long hard moment. When he finally spoke again, it was in sulky tones. “Currently, I'm thinking something closer to black... Why don't you do it?”

[+] Kursha Vidari

Even while sulky, Kursha picked up on the subtle mood shift. Brow furrowing, he blinked at Luxara. He had meant it in fun, just the usual gloating, but his comment had dug a little deeper than he intended. The corners of his mouth twitched. He felt bad about that. Actually, sincerely bad. Some subjects it seemed, were still better left untouched.

He made a great show of rolling his eyes. “Well geez. Sorry. Shots were fired, mistakes were made.” A mistake on his part he meant. Not hers. He paused, making eye contact with Luxara. For a brief moment he tried to communicate his sincerity behind his half-assed apology; then he was back to his typical indifferent bravado.

There was a hum as the machine started up. Arms still crossed, he slouched lower on the bench. He was the picture of teenage rebellion. Casting a mean glare towards the camera, he grumbled, “I'm not forgetting. This is deliberate.”