IC - Verak- Pala-Koro ruins
Verak waved jauntily to the busy ILF as they monumentally vanished from their home. He felt energized, and invigorated. Things were happening on the island. The ILF was moving. Mata-Nui was dying.
Okay, maybe that last notion sort of chilled him to his very soul. The idea of a world without it's god... It seemed wrong. Makuta was a usurper, not a deity- he could only send Mata-Nui into a slumber. And there were rumors of prophecy, notions of Mata-Nui's still active hand in the land, trying to free the island from the darkness. But this threat, to wipe out the islands culture, was infinitely more severe. It might kill the god.
What was he thinking? Verak didn't care about that stuff. Gods? Evil? Verak could fit right in with evil, or even a conquering army. If they had no need for mercenaries, he was fast enough to run and smart enough to find a good place to hide with the inevitable rebel group. Fun fact: oppressive, conquering, governments are the best environment to foster a group of rebels bent on overthrowing the government. That's what the ILF was, and that's what happened in all the stories, and that's what was going to happen when this invading army took over.
So what? This island was getting boring anyway. Verak blew a kiss at one of the more attractive members of the Island Liberation Front, and turned to walk away.
Oww, karz, mother of heaven. That was sort of painful.
What followed was a long, pitiful, and excruciating climb back onto the support of his wooden beam turned walking stick. He remained very glad the ILF was gone, and he was left to suffer and look weak in peace.
His wounds, although cauterized, were not improving. If anything, they hurt more than ever. Even involuntarily moving his toes sent tremors of firey pain up his body, and the leg couldn't support even one of those anorexic Ga-Matoran super models. His makeshift crutch wasn't helpful either, since it bent and creaked ominously if Verak put too much weight on it. He was lightheaded, and his vision was all wobbly and weird. His torso, also, didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to send out pain into Verak's athletic body. This is all not to mention the awful bruises, cuts, and miscellaneous wound he had acquired from soaring through a house at around 50 miles per hour.
He took a step.
He forced his leg to support the tiniest fraction of his weight yet again.
Mata-Nui, please gift me with a curse strong enough to express what I'm feeling here.
And another step.
Makuta? You got any choice swear words you use?
Look, I didn't mean it when I flipped off your idol that one time.
Okay, okay! Five times! It wasn't a big deal!
What if I call you Lord? That make it better? Lord Makuta?
Verak continued his slow, excruciating walk, letting out a new expletive with every step. By the time he spotted Ankt, he had gotten to very obscure obscenities such as 'fiddlesticks', or 'ratmuncher', none of which were quite as satisfying as his favorite ones, which all followed the phrase 'son of a...'.
"Son of a friggin' munchkin..." he muttered, slowly approaching his ally. He muttered a far more colorful version of the phrase: "This wound is going to kill me." then followed by the sentence: "Got any painkillers?" with a couple more four letter words sprinkled in there.
IC - Alyo - Cultured gentry meeting hut, outside Le-Koro
Alyo paused as he struggled to grasp his mind around the complicated structure of the Gentry. There was a lot he wasn't told- an executive board? It seemed that most decisions in the club could be easily made by those three elders- he was sure they were corrupt, and wondered who else was paid to agree with whatever they said.
His eyes drifted over the Ambages, and he watched the architect for some time, wondering what devious machinations lay behind his white mask. Ambages was a smart one, Alyo could tell- probably smarter than he was. Ambages also had very little respect for the Gentry, as if it was just secondary to his real goals. He was mysterious. Alyo ripped his eyes away from the secretive Matoran when Ambages looked over and almost made eye contact.
Niici was back from whatever mysterious thing had held her up, with a new outfit. Alyo felt almost ashamed- he still wore the one from the concert, which was now a little wrinkled.
But he sat back and considered, letting another member take their turn to speak. He always seemed to be the one to talk first, and always seemed to dominate the meeting with his half-baked opinions. Perhaps in the club, it was expected to give a healthy silence between statements?
His random thoughts were interrupted by a faint glow through a window, accompanied by a hissing sound, a popping sound, and a buzzing one, like a huge, burning insect had flown past their window. That seemed ridiculous. A bug on fire?
Still he he kept an eye on the window, trying to spot what was going on, while wondering if anyone else had noticed the faint disturbance.