[COLOR=GRAY][hr][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/4TsfIrH.png[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=#D90037][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]The Minotaur/Trial Campground - Southern Plateau, Dundas Island[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#D90037][b]The Homecoming Trials #1.73:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Cum Bye Yah[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=#D90037][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]Katja [@Zoldyck], Calliope [@PatientBean], Banjo [@Hound55], Cass [@Lord Wraith], and Everyone Else by the Fire[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#D90037][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]It's Like if WWE just Braided Hair and Sang[/I][/right][/SUP]
[INDENT][center][i][color=#B8860B]“And every joke I could fucking hit would take a backseat to the one that God, the fates, Provenance, call-it-what-you-fucking-will played on you already, doesn't it?”[/color][/i][/center]
Banjo said he didn’t want to punch down, but there he did. He quickly tried to cut himself off and steer in an entirely different direction. One that had a joke that petered out like a flaccid fart. Trace didn’t care about that. They didn’t hear it. Their fingernails bit into their pale skin so much so that the bluish blood started to pool before it dripped from those crimson claws. But they said nothing. Instead, they rolled their eyes when Banjo walked away, taking with him any spark of interest. They turned on their heels and saw Katja. Their tent mate would notice the smug grin absent from their lips. They cleared their throat and plastered it back on. [color=#D90037]“Bloody fuckin’ wanker,”[/COLOR] they said over their shoulder. Though there was no one there to hear it. [color=#D90037]“Sorry, Katja. I was bored and… decided to—what’s the Yank phrase—poke the bear. Well, the bear left to shit in the bloody, fuckin’ woods.”[/COLOR] 

They didn’t wait for Katja to say anything, instead pressing past her and passively surveying the tent. There was really nothing to look at. Just a slowly expanding domicile with all the fixings. It was apparent that they had hit a nerve with Banjo. True. They’d laid it on far thicker than they should have. It was just boring being a social pariah as everyone laughed and joked around them but not with them. But they didn’t focus on that. Instead, they wondered what they said that had set Banjo off. Just some light ribbing, dick jokes, and fucking jokes. It was nothing that they hadn’t said before. Maybe it had more to do with who they said it in front of. Trace looked up to see Banjo and Calliope sticking close together. Oh boy… that had to be it. But it was strange for Banjo to give a shit about his personal image. He hadn’t seen a comb since it broke off in the tangled mass called his hair. So—was it the fighting comment? Or the fucking comment? [i]Oh no…[/i] it was the fucking comment in front of Calliope. Well, if that riled him up then he really needed to evaluate why it did. People shouldn’t equate worth with sexual conquests. Then again society didn’t care to uphold that notion—especially for the male gender. It was a shit move for Trace to say that out loud. They knew better. But it wasn’t a measured response for Banjo to say they were a joke—an abomination—cursed by the powers that be. Yeah—they fucking knew.

About that time, Bill whistled loud enough that every dog within twenty kilometers could hear him. He stated something about a team swap and not to fuck in the middle of the night. Trace shrugged. Like that would be an issue for them. Then it was time for them to gather around, sing kumbaya, and eat.

Traced stared at the kebabs and then sniffed them. They weren’t [i]bad[/i] but there didn’t seem to be a sprinkle of seasoning on them. Or maybe there was, and they were just used to the kebabs back home that were practically dripping in curry. They chewed on the chicken slowly as everyone gathered around and started yammering. It seemed that within the past couple of hours, Calliope had decided that she was de facto leader. Then again, she probably hadn’t had to follow anyone a day in her life. Trace didn’t even look at Banjo when he spoke, they gave Cass a skeptical look, and offered Katja their rapt attention as she did. There were a few people sitting away from the fire not uttering a single word. Trace couldn’t decide if that was what they wanted to do, or if they wanted to dive right in. 

[color=#D90037]“Bloody, ‘ell,”[/COLOR] Trace grumbled. [color=#D90037]“I’m Trace Whitlock. [i]They and them[/i] for the lot of you that didn’t get the memo. I’m from Sutton London. My dad is British Military, my mum is dead, and I was scouted for a professional football league before all [i]this[/i] happened. And by football—RORY—I mean your fuckin’ soccer. Except better and with less bullshit.”[/COLOR] They shrugged. [color=#D90037]“As much as my power goes. It’s easier to show you."[/COLOR]

They pulled the back of their shirt up, which caused the front to ride up as well. Their torso was finely muscled, though far from the definition of Katja’s, and as pale as the rest of them. Their deep blue veins were obvious underneath. At first, it would be hard to tell what was happening in the light of the campfire, but it became apparent that a long limb started to form underneath the back of their shirt. At the end was a hand with fingers. The arm extended longer than a normal one should, lengthening out six feet in front of them. It was as pale as their flesh but didn’t seem to be made of skin. It looked to be denser and made of marble. While it bent in the middle, as if it had an elbow, there was nothing natural about it. The hand splayed its fingers and dove into the fire. It picked up some smoldering coals and held them there as if just holding a handful of rocks. It crushed them into a cloud of fine dust—easily—before dropping them back into the pit. The arm then crumbled away, landing on the ground like chalk before bubbling up as if someone doused it in vinegar before disappearing entirely. [color=#D90037]“That’s it. And I can produce six of those things.”[/COLOR] They could do more with it, but they didn’t care to elaborate. Surprises might be fun in the future. Not to mention, they were already braced for whatever shit Banjo was about to spew.[/INDENT][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]