#Writing: Inezra

[hubbery]

Patience

Title: Patience Characters: Inezra Thamus, Dialus Bolrik POV Character: Inezra Thamus POV: First Person, Present Tense Originally written in 2018 for @sleepytrolls.

—

She asks you a million and one questions from the barstool set up at your counter. Sometimes she swivels around with raised arms, or her nails tap against the laminate in time to your strumming. You’re more than a little lost when she asks you what you think of her, and the expression on your face reveals your struggle. 

The guitar has never felt so useless in your hands—and a string snaps. A part of you willing to see the humor in it thinks that tracks, but you don't have the heart to put it down. You need something to hold.

In the silence between words; she stops, she listens, and without hesitation she tells you, "Take your time."

You don't know how long it is before you give her an answer. 

You know the way your voice cracks and your face heats in shame on the first try. You’re intimately familiar with the emotions that surge forth afterwards, the mortification that has your hands clenching and skin pulling taut around your knuckles. The creaking and splintering wood in your hand is secondary. You owe her a response.

“I think I like you.” I think I like you—and you’re surprised that you managed to say it aloud. Your mouth shuts quicker than your eyes do at the ensuing nausea. Took you long enough. You’re thinking it's almost pathetic, and your internal monologue barely has a chance to get worse before you remember you don't really have an in-the-midst-of-schoolfeeding-wrigglerhood-crush to fall back on to compare against this embarrassing level of sincerity. You were too busy being violent to feel much.

Then you’re not thinking about anything at all, words spilling out in a rush while you finger the few unbroken strings your guitar has left. 

"I think about you too much, and I like that you listen and that you sit there and wait out the stops. I like the way you look, and the way you sound, and I'm sorry that sometimes I don't know how to say it in words."

She crosses the distance between you before another hour can pass in silence, peels your trembling fingers from the strings of your guitar and holds your hand like you'd always hoped she would.

[scumscuttlers]

eavesdrop :)

send me “eavesdrop” and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party

Instead of answering this prompt as written, I'm going to examine Lanota's relationship with Inezra instead. Examine used loosely.

Inezra doesn't:

Talk about Lanota with anyone.

Think overmuch about Lanota.

Have much reason or desire to talk to Lanota.

This wasn't the case during Inezra's relationship with Sefoni (at which point Lanota was a threat who had a clear and obvious distrust in Inezra). They are both very much on the edges of a shared social group but aren't really friends, even if Lanota has said they are. That was probably intended to annoy Inezra more than anything else.

Nothing has changed enough to warrant updating their relationship status again.

[hubbery]

4-Time

Title: 4-Time Character(s): Inezra Thamus, Talula Zahzii POV Character(s): Inezra Thamus POV: Second Person, Present Tense Originally written in 2018 for @thepolyrebellion.

Strictly speaking, you don't dance. You feel infinitely more comfortable dancing around your opponent in the ring than you do with your hands on someone else's shoulders, but relationships are about making sacrifices and having your toes stepped on.

Of course, the first time you mentioned dancing it was a euphemism for several something elses. If you knew anything about rhetoric you might find your current situation ironic, but you were a science major, and literary devices have fallen so far from your skull as to be nonexistent. What's stuck with you is the disgusting purple prose of sonnets dating back almost further than some of the currently living eldest trolls. You wonder if the writing was just as disgustingly flushed to them as it's considered to be now.

You let Talula lead and it’s strange to be secondary to someone else for a change. She’s nervous as always, even though you’d already explained you know nothing about formal dance. She’d helped you learn the steps but she hadn’t moved to do so much as touch you until you’d pushed, and her hands on your waist feel like anchors. Her shoulders are solid beneath your palms and you laugh. Not at her, clearly, but this reminds you so much of being unsure of yourself in the beginning, when you’d barely taken the steps to independence and evolved the ability to say, “I like you.” 

Being pressed against Talula feels momentous, but you keep your thoughts to yourself and reassure her when she inevitably steps on your toes. You can learn to live with this.

[hubbery]

Reverence

Title: Reverence Characters: Inezra Thamus, Dialus Bolrik POV Character: Dialus Bolrik POV: First Person, Present Tense Originally written in 2018 for @sleepytrolls. Content edited.

—

I wonder how she works.

I wonder what the underlying reasons for her actions are. I wonder why she smiles at me, teeth sharp but expression at odds with that display. Her expression is soft, the corners of her eyes divided into the smallest of wrinkles. It doesn't take me long to realize I'm taken with her.

It takes less time to catalog all the ways she's captured my attention, my love for her, and sent me falling down a hole I won't (can't, and don't) want to pull myself back up from.

i. Her music ii. Her movement iii. The quirk of her mouth iv. The snap of her wrist v. Her love for me

i.

She plays songs less for me and more for me to hear. She sits with her feet on the coffee table, fingering strings that will snap the next time she plays in anger. Her music is the only language she knows how to speak, and she speaks it well. She doesn't sit with the posture she should, back hunched as she plays chords I can only guess at, but that's part of how she plays.

My only guess is that sitting straight hurts when you never learned how to play the proper way—when you've never learned how to express yourself without contorting yourself and your feelings into odd shapes.

I know that beneath her shirt, on the arch of her back, are marks I've left. She gives me a mixtape the week after we play our first song.

ii.

I watch the way she walks with interest. She has a wide gait, slightly swaying shoulders, and a self-assured look that's only a small gateway to her inner confidence. I know the falter in her step when she's tired, the stiffness in her back from working all night, and the rhythm of her steps up the stairs she'd kissed me on. It wasn't the first time.

iii.

She smiles at me like I'm only a sweep younger. She smiles at me like I know all the secrets to the universe, like what I'd said was the funniest thing she'd heard all week. She smiled at me like she loved me, and it took me too long to realize that the feeling in my chest was the same I'd gotten when she'd played for me. She doesn't smile often, not with feeling.

iv.

She fights the same way she plays music, without pause and with a visceral quality that reveals her feelings. She never fights me how I see her fight others. She doesn't want to break me. She leaves her bite to her words and I leave mine on her flesh.

I'd asked for it the first time I'd met her and I hadn't known just who I was getting involved with; what kind of troll looked back at me over the blaze of a cigarette and tired eyes. Now I know it was the kind of person who could love me like she loved feelings she didn't have a name for.

(The first time we fought I screamed at her. I don't understand it. I don't understand her. I don't understand why she makes me feel this way, why she doesn't yell back, why she smiles, why the expression on her face and the emotions hidden in her eyes stops my heart in my chest. Why I stormed out.

For once in her life she leaves me be.)

v.

She loved me in stages, and she revealed parts of herself to me in the form of memories and friends, mix tapes and yellowing pictures, song lyrics and notes hurriedly scribbled on the backs of napkins. She loves me like she loves the way I make her feel. She loves me in the way she hesitates to hold my hand, to have her skin touch mine, to let the three words that stutter and stop in her throat reach my ears.

I know she loves me, and I know I love her, maybe more than I should.

Her world is a machine I want to take apart and understand. I want to know the pieces of her life as intimately as I know the marks on her skin and her emotions based on the sound of her voice; as intimately as the sound of her playing a song just for me.

[hubbery]

runtime.

Title: runtime. Characters: Inezra Thamus, Dialus Bolrik, Glynne Cacein (Mentioned) POV Character: Multiple Characters POV: Mixed POV, Mixed Tenses Written 2023 in collaboration with @sleepytrolls. Continuation of message begins.

=====> DIALUS: RESPOND?

When Dialus returned hive for the day, their routine was the same. They doff their hat, chuck their bandana, and ignore the mud they’ve trekked in for at least a few minutes. Their palmhusk is charging and their husktop laid amongst a pile of papers filled with diagrams, some scratched out and others balled into so many wrinkled piles. Their husktop’s dim screen displayed a bright red, bordered window, cursor flashing every so often as the message awaited for a response.

Well, not the message. The troll that sent the message.

They slid papers aside to sit and hunkered down in front of the screen, fully prepared to close the window in favor of dealing with it tomorrow night. Except they stopped midway, eyes drawn to the handle on top of the screen, the voice file that broke up a block of text they cringed reading back to themselves.

-- standoffishMalaise [SM] sent a voice file! --

They hit play against their better judgment, their previous contentment replaced with an overwhelming sense of dread as the play button spun and the audio started seconds afterwards. Their bloodpusher was loud in their ears, roaring and drowning out whatever fleeting thoughts they may have had. They hunched forward, hands balling into fists they pressed against their thighs. They only needed to breathe. They would be fine. They were fine. 

Except they weren’t. Inezra had that effect on them before, sweeps ago now. She tore through their carefully put up defenses by showing fleeting moments of honesty, vulnerability, the troll beneath the bravado. Dialus pushed up from their awkward position on the floor, steadied themself by placing a hand on the wall and started walking a ring around their living block. In time their heartbeat matched their footsteps. Their breathing steadying, mental fog clearing, but their emotions didn’t fade. Their nails dug into their palms, vision swimming before they angrily swiped at their eyes.

Inezra’s message was still waiting for them when they sat down.

-- standoffishMalaise [SM] began trolling bastillesActuator [BA] at 18:07 --

SM: . Not sure if you didn't get the lined yellow paaper paad or if you don't feel like chaatting baack, but I waanted to see how you were doing SM: . & I waanted to heaar you I guess . Not for aany reaal reaason SM: . I tried to caall you before but the number waas disconnected . By the time I figured I should messaage you it aalwaays seemed like too much time haad paassed so I kept doing whaat I waas doing SM: . I don't waant aanything from you to be aabsolutely cleaar . Except to taalk, if you're up for it, & you don't haave to saay yes Just let me know

Dialus’s cursor kept flashing, taunting them until they finally responded with shaking fingers.

You're facetiming with Glynne when you get a notification. You’ve got your phone propped up against a half-empty bottle you didn’t feel like topping off, sharing your screen through your phone only because you know the low resolution is annoying. Glynne is begging you not to purchase an outlandish piece of furniture you have in your cart when her expression drops, and with it your attention turns back to your husktop. You must look like broodmates in that moment.

Dialus’s response is staring you in the face.

BA: hey BA: long time no see i guess

The problem you think, as you click your jaw shut, is that you’re not sure you can read them anymore. It was awfully difficult even in person, but you’d had the time to figure it out. Now you don’t have time, you’re half drunk, and you don’t know where to begin. 

BA: is this important?

You take a deep breath, glancing back at your phone. Glynne’s disapproving gaze meets yours for but a fleeting moment, then she’s back to rolling her eyes. “Yeah,” You say aloud, answering Glynne’s unspoken question and the text. “It’s just small talk though. It’s important to me. Is that manipulative?” It’s honest, at least. Whether your sincerity comes through in your voice or expression doesn’t matter. The answer you got would probably be the same.

Glynne’s response comes after a short delay. “So long as you mean it.”

You sigh, and with the support of your intergalactic wingtroll start typing away, leg bouncing against the bottom rung of the barstool you’re sitting on.

SM: . It's importaant to me SM: . but it's not like I haave aanything serious to taalk aabout . I reaally did waant to see how you were doing

You purposefully don’t include any further apologies in your message. They never read well over text, and you don’t want Dialus thinking you’re just trying to butter them up.

SM: ? & caatch up I guess BA: why would you w4nt to t4lk to me

Your expression sours, leg bouncing slowing until you're sitting still again. What do you say aside from the obvious? You want to talk because you're sorry? Because you miss them? Because you gave them an ultimatum and fully believed you were right and you regret it? You've got a million and one contradictions floating around in your pan, multitudes of messages you type and delete with Glynne's silent encouragement, and the whole time you're wishing you had her way with words.

Whatever. Gods, honestly. Whatever. You backspace another paragraph, fingers flying across the keys. You can get to the crux of the issue.

SM: . becaause I waant to get to know you aagaain SM: . if you're willing to thaat is

Another time you’d have put a joke at the end, some last ditch attempt at humor to make being honest with yourself go over a little smoother. 

SM:  . aas friends, or aacquaaintaances . I'm not trying to spring something on you BA: this is sudden you know BA: trying to work b4ck into my life

You don’t have any way of knowing what effect your words have. The fact they didn’t immediately block you would be telling if it were something you wanted to take advantage of, but you’re not trying to push. You’ve got a manageable obsession with trying to right your wrongs so you don’t regret it for the rest of your incredibly long life.  Dialus has anger to fuel them. Sweeps of being knocked aside and left behind. Sweeps of wondering if things turned out the way it did because of them. Not that you have any way of knowing that. Just like you have no way of knowing that they’re counting now, doing their best to entertain this conversation against everything in their body telling them no.

BA: im not re4lly in 4 position to give 4w4y where i 4m 4t the moment SM: . You haave my haandle & I haave yours . You don't need to up & give me your aaddress so we caan taalk

You think for a moment, drumming your fingers on the laminate. After a while you admit the obvious.

SM: . It waas aa spur of the moment kind of thing SM: . I'd thought aabout it plenty before though, just didn't think you'd aappreciaate it

They probably don’t appreciate it now, but that comes to you after you examine your own discomfort. You’ve been staring at your screen for a while now, cheek pressed against your calloused palm and mumbling back and forth with Glynne as she picks your pan and you pick hers in turn. It reminds you of when you were getting schoolfed and had less pressing problems like grades and extracutriculars. Interpersonal problems weren’t something you had to deal with often. Too many superficial relationships with trolls you only shared classes and breezeblocks with.

SM: . I'll give you some spaace to think aabout it

[hubbery]

Blame

Title: Blame Character(s): Dialus Bolrik, Inezra Thamus (Mentioned) POV Character: Dialus Bolrik POV: Second Person, Past Tense Originally written in 2018 for @sleepytrolls.

—

You've shared every wriggling day for the last three sweeps with her. It's no wonder you thought this was real. You'd been so willing to forget that she'd left you without anything to your name. She'd packed her belongings along with yours in so many boxes, ghosted with the duffel bag you bought her (the only one she ever uses, because it's from you), and presumably closed that chapter of her life.

It made so much sense for her to be kissing you or for her to be saying so many nonsensical apologies. Inez doesn't apologize. Inez is righteous. It was what attracted you to her in the first place. Then, when you'd met in that corner between her world and yours, you had only an impression of who she was. Smug, certainly. You hadn't been expecting the intelligence or the ability to keep up with you or her understanding. You didn't know what you had until you lost it. You can only beat yourself up about it so much before there is no more anger left.

There isn't any anger when you wake to cold sheets and bleeding crescents in your palms. You're too tired, too defeated to feel ashamed of still wanting the person that had knocked you down below the worst you had ever been.

You feel ashamed when she shows up like you had been proselytizing in your dreams, but she doesn't hold you in her arms, doesn't kiss you with apologies on her tongue and a hope of reconciliation. She doesn't look like the her you knew. There's nothing roiling in the depths of her eyes, those emotions you used to be able to read. She looks better than you've felt in months.

She sounds better too. You would say she puts as much thought into her words as she always did because you come away hurting. This isn't a fight you can win. You lost when you entered this relationship, when she'd had the self-awareness to warn you before you became something she didn't want to let go.

She told you that you'd end up hurt and it had sounded like so many clichés. She was the big bad high blood in the situation and you? You were the weak low blood, an unimportant stain of excrement. She was supposed to protect you from everything that could hurt and she had, but you hadn't listened.

“It's fine. I guess it just wasn't meant to work.” Words fall from your lips as an afterthought. There is a roaring in your ears that you wish was anger, the sign that your world would turn red and you would fight and make up as you always had, but Inez is silent. There is no repentance hidden in the depths of her eyes. She came to give you closure.

She came because you hadn't listened, the first time, the second, as many times as she had given you chances. You hated it. You hated that she had been right. You hated that she had waited for you in the beginning, waiting for you to catch up to her and pledged herself to you even though you know she hadn't thought you ready. You'd asked her to. You could pretend it was her fault that she had listened.

If the woman at her door was the same as the one she knew there would have been hesitation when she was asked to leave. You're forced to acknowledge that she's changed when she turns her back to you.

She left like you asked. She didn't look back. She didn't glance at you from the corner of her eye the way she did before, when she hoped you'd change your mind about something. You are forced to acknowledge she's changed the same way you forced her to shut you out of her life.

You can almost blame her for your mistakes.

[hubbery]

Hive

Title: Hive Character(s): Dialus Bolrik, Inezra Thamus (Mentioned) POV Character: Dialus Bolrik POV: First Person, Present Tense Originally written in 2018 for @sleepytrolls.

—

I'm going hive. Despite everything I think I still have a chance at redemption. I'll forget everything that had me second guessing her devotion if it means she'll give one more chance.

I don't feel fear walking up the steps or when I get the key from its hiding place, taped to the underside of the handrail. I'm not anxious about putting the key in the door and turning the deadbolt. I'm worried when I am through the threshold to the smell of stale air. Things are not how I left them.

She is nowhere to be seen. 

I think that had she still been here with her things in hand I would have stopped her. I would have told her I loved her. I would have made her see all the things she meant to me and what I would do for her. Except she was already gone. 

The couch was pushed against the wall. The notes she kept on the coffee table had been cleaned and her folders of compositions were absent. Our hive--her hive (it wasn't mine anymore)--was empty. I took this all in with the key to the door loosely grasped between my fingers. I wanted to scream, to cry, to do something. The only one here to see it was myself and the boxes full of my things piled against the wall.

[hubbery]

Title: message begins. Characters: Inezra Thamus, Dialus Bolrik (Mentioned) POV Character: Inezra Thamus POV: Second Person, Present Tense Written 2023 for @sleepytrolls.

Message Begins

“I tried calling you a while back.”

There's static and rustling in the background. The telltale chime of public transport and a bored corporate drone speaking in monotone over tinny loudspeakers cuts through.

“Sorry—” And that's a first. “I would have sent you a regular message but it seemed impersonal.” 

Another delay, longer than the last. Metallic clunks. “Sorry— Again, I mean. I don't have a good place to record this and nothing else gets out. Reception is shit. Just… Look, if you get this, can we talk? No expectations. I'll try to message you when I'm on the ground.”

A click.

Message Ends

You've absolutely wrecked the sides of this plastic piece of shit palmhusk trying to keep hold of it while being knocked around. Turbulence, they said. You've probably shaved a couple sweeps off your life from the combined stress of reaching out and making it hive in one piece. You're not going to be groundside for ages longer than you'd wait for anything else. Customs are bad, bad around the homeworld now. The best thing you can do is stay mum about it until you get in. Then you can complain. 

Right now you're waiting, sending your compressed voice file out into the ether and hoping both that the reception is good enough to get it out and that Dialus will get it. That she'll listen to it. That she'll respond, even. You're not sure when you started having an ounce of hope for anything. 

You're not groundside for hours. You haven't let go of your palmhusk since you were greeted with a sent notification and a blank loading screen. It's still spinning when your boots hit the ground and halfway up the stairs to your front door when you stop, breathless. You nearly break the hinges off the new-used-and-abused husk when you hear the ding! of an active network connection. One hand is spent fumbling with your keys and the other flicking through icons on a pitiful 4.5” display while you try opening Trollian.

You get it after a couple of heartbeats—both the door and the bloody app—and stare at the list of incoming messages and missed notifications. 

=====> DIALUS: RESPOND?

You check your inbox.

There's a message from Glynne, a weirdly worded request from Juelie, a number of random assholes and trolls you barely talk to, but not the message you were looking for. There's no privacy invading message seen check for you to feel some type of way about when you tap on Dialus’ handle. All you've got is your voice message, a grey play button, and your somehow unexpected disappointment. You refresh the DM a couple of times just for the hell of it, not because you've got a problem with neuroticism. Yeah, no. 

You kick up dust in your trek around the room, scrolling every way but up (you don't want to read what you said sweeps ago) while you think. You could send another message, call, or—shocker of the evening—you could express a modicum of patience even though it's been worn out of you by wrigglers, and life, and this message you sent that hasn't been responded to.

You're taking a break. You are sitting your ass down on the mothballed-needs-to-be-replaced couch and considering your next move. You're waiting. Actually, you'll be honest with yourself. That's not going to last long.

=====> INEZRA: CALL HER

You message Glynne. 

-- standoffishMalaise [SM] began trolling wordsmithsAgent [WA] at 17:33 --

[05:34] SM: glynne

You get a response nigh instantaneously. Your thumb is hovering over the enter button on another message you don’t even get to send. 

[05:34] WA: :astonished:

You’ve progressed to chewing on your nail when your palmhusk beeps again. She’s sent you no fewer than five different blurry pictures and emojis your device absolutely does not support (there’s despondent question marks and blank boxes where her amusement would be). You sigh, pressing down on the rubber buttons with unnecessary amounts of force.

[05:40] SM: ? Where's Juelie's side quad I need something from them [05:40] SM: . They owe me

There’s another photo in response, this time of someone’s formal shirt clad back. You’ve got two guesses for who it is and suddenly you don’t care.

[05:41] SM: . This is serious

That gets an actual response out of her. Thank whatever god is listening.

[05:43] WA: I c@n only think of -One re@son why you'd be @ sking. [05:43] WA: I reckon you're cogniz@nt of the re@sons why th@t's @ poor decision.

You changed your mind. If you wanted a voice of reason you’d have asked Juelie, not that you’d have ever asked her at all about anything ever. You save the biting wit and swears you could lob for trolls on Chittr and tap out your reply one letter at a time with feeling.

[05:46] SM: . I didn't get aa response

Then you get to thinking.

[05:46] SM: . & I guess maaybe she didn't get it or she's busy [05:46] SM: . Or maaybe it's been too long to caasuaally strike up conversaation aabout some innocuous shit without context . Whaatever

-- wordsmithsAgent [WA] gave up trolling standoffishMalaise [SM] at 17:47 -- -- wordsmithsAgent [WA] changed their mood to OFFLINE  --

You start roaming again while you mentally cuss Glynne out, snapping your phone shut and trying to remember to unclench your jaw. You’d talked for ages when you were on your home turf. Glynne, as unhelpful as she could be, had a point. Even if that point was made by forcing you to slow down before you cooked your thinkpan over things you couldn’t control.

Nerves settled and mind made up you start typing another message.

=====> INEZRA: CLARIFY

-- standoffishMalaise [SM] began trolling bastillesActuator [BA] at 18:07 --

[06:07] SM: . Not sure if you didn't get the lined yellow paaper paad or if you don't feel like chaatting baack, but I waanted to see how you were doing [06:07] SM: . & I waanted to heaar you I guess . Not for aany reaal reaason [06:08] SM: . I tried to caall you before but the number waas disconnected . By the time I figured I should messaage you it aalwaays seemed like too much time haad paassed so I kept doing whaat I waas doing [06:08] SM: . I don't waant aanything from you to be aabsolutely cleaar . Except to taalk, if you're up for it, & you don't haave to saay yes Just let me know

--  standoffishMalaise [SM] gave up trolling bastillesActuator [BA] at 18:08 --

[hubbery]

Same Ends

Title: Same Ends Characters: Inezra Thamus, Dialus Bolrik (Mentioned) POV Character: Inezra Thamus POV: Second Person, Mixed Tenses Written 2023.

—

You learned forgiveness while you were away. 

You'd slung your bag—the one she'd given you—off your shoulder and against the dusty furniture in a room that was yours too many sweeps ago. You were fresh from the station; boots muddy and clothes damp from Conya-Marvyn's typical mercurial weather. You'd exchanged words with the old bat who managed the complex you lived in (and would live in again for a time), kicked an air-filled leather skin sack around with the complex’s wrigglers, and wondered if maybe you shouldn't have left after all.

Being back mostly gave you time to think. Being back also made you think leaving was the right thing to do—even though it ended in you being separated from your friends and alone on a planet you were convinced was good for you. Then you tucked those thoughts deep, deep into your thinkpan and went on living as best you knew how. 

You breathed a bit easier every night you woke up. You roll over, put your shoes on, go to dip your head into the empty room you used to keep records in until Di— Until you remember where you are again. You try to find some stability and ignore inquisitive texts from your old bandmate who heard you were back in orbit (if not in town. Who knew where they were or how they heard you were around to begin with). You settle in. You pick up the slack for an aging matron too old to be taking care of this many things at once. Then you start thinking again between all your new responsibilities (some of whom have a name, not that you bother using them), and everything starts unraveling.

You’ve got your hands in a sink full of dishes and the next thing you know you’re bleeding blue. The first thing out of your mouth is a series of curses that has the older kids hanging off your elbows howling and the younger ones scurrying; racing down the halls of the hivestem complex to find the matron (because as many bumps and bruises as they take, not a single one has managed to remember where the band-aids are). 

It takes a collective ten minutes of yelling and screaming, band-aid searching, towel-to-wound holding before you manage to get the hivestem back in order. Your nerves are another story. At the end of the night it’s not that bad, and honestly? You probably just needed to think that about something small before you started to get it, before the tightness in your chest finally eased up and you found yourself able to laugh again.

You ended up needing stitches. What you really got was a lecture that wasn’t so much directed at you as it was your audience of seven something adolescents who viewed you as a broodmate or something. If you’d come from the same clutch and weren’t several sweeps their senior it’d make a little more sense, but you won’t look a gift hoofbeast in the mouth.

Running into someone you knew was inevitable. Something about a small system and a small world would make sense if there weren’t an entire galactic expanse to move in, through, and around. Whatever. You’re still thinking about how you’re so over this when Glynne discards her lifelong objection to PDA to hug you, and at that point even you don’t know what to do. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, her horns are digging into your bicep—fuck. Your indignant huff gives way to some subvocalized chittering that you’re never going to repeat, ever, thanks. 

You hug her back and it’s cool. You play catch-up between cold cuts and trolls looking for the best deals and it feels almost normal. You stand basket in hand, a hunch to your shoulders to avoid catching your horns on the gaudy BIG SALE banners streamed across every aisle, and eyes only for Glynne. Yeah, you’re kind of taking up the aisle, and yeah you’re definitely in several trolls’ way. Fuck them, though. 

Glynne eventually gets a smile out of you, patting your arm and filling you in on what you’ve missed. It’s like you never left.

You’re anxiously rubbing the scar on your hand as the sun dips beneath the horizon and a singular moon rises to take its place. You’ve got a ship to catch, and layovers, and connecting flights at stations whose names were definitely picked at random by the general public. Right now you’ve got a couple of goodbyes that need doing before you’re laced up and stepping out of the complex's courtyard, gently pushing your loyal entourage aside with mumbled promises of writing and gifts. 

They don’t need you per se, and it’s taken you a while to come to terms with that and the fact they just want you around. They’re good kids, and they’d probably be far better off than you were with a role model, a healthy outlet, and an actual love for living. Not that you say any of that in so many words, you kind of squint at them as they wave you off, hooting and hollering as they clamber over each other and the fence you righted with your own two hands.

They’d be fine.

You would be too.

Worldbuilding

Conya-Marvyn is a bit of worldbuilding I did when I first started roleplaying in the fantroll community. It’s another world controlled by the Alternian Empire (along with several other unnamed planets and solar systems, owing to them doing imperialism). It comes up semi-frequently because several of my characters were either born there, went to school there, or have other nebulous ties to the institutions in the system Conya-Marvyn is part of, Newehelm.

The “world” my trolls inhabit is a mix between Beforus and Alternia in my mind. Beforus in the sense that adults exist on planet and have administrative roles and jobs like any functioning society, and like Alternia in that drones police and patrol. Compulsory military service is still a component of life, but it takes a backseat to literally everything else my characters have going on.

Context

Same Ends is a ‘what has this character been doing for x amount of sweeps’ since their last known character interaction was them going off-planet. A little bit of character growth, introspection, personal healing, whatever. This is mostly relevant to @sleepytrolls.

Recommended Reading Order:

Patience

Reverence

Hive

Blame

Same Beginnings

Same Ends

They’re more or less standalone though, seeing as stuff happened in-between that’s not documented. Super optional reading is A Piece of my Body, which was a hypothetical what if Dialus and Inezra met super far in the future and talked things out.

Some of these I've posted on my A03, which you can check out here.

[hubbery]

Same Beginnings

Title: Same Beginnings Character(s): Inezra Thamus, Unnamed Trolls POV Character: Inezra Thamus POV: Second Person, Present Tense Originally written in 2018.

—

Your name is Inezra Thamus.

You are 14 sweeps old.

You're going hive—to your home planet—to where you were hatched, raised up out of the caverns and deposited from the Mother Grub's womb. It doesn't make you feel anything.

It's not as exciting as leaving was the first time, when you left your lusus behind and brought boxes of your things with you into the future. Now you're just revisiting fuzzy memories and the vague impressions of trolls whose names you've long since forgotten.

There's no one of importance there to meet you at the station, with your bag slung over your shoulder and your expression dour. Things are so much bigger than you remember them being, more intimidating, but maybe you just feel small. You still tower a head over the trolls sweeping by you with their mumbled apologies at their jostling. You don't care.

You're too focused on taking in the things around you with a concentration that wouldn't have been possible if you were still two sweeps younger. You feel as though you've changed somehow in the time between leaving and coming back, but it's the kind of change that leaves your bloodpusher aching. You didn't bring any memoirs with you and you're glad you didn't. You don't need to fixate on some anchor that no longer exists.

You start walking. You sweep your eyes over the metal carcasses of passenger ships and the odd Imperial insignia. There are trolls of all shapes and sizes milling about, some with their heads bowed, others with their horns and their chins pointed upwards. You decide that you're somewhere in between. You push your way out of the station into the night and think about what you're going to do now that you're here.

You don't—didn’t—do have a goal.

You just don’t know how to accomplish it yet.

[scumscuttlers]

eavesdrop (if it's not too late!)

send me “eavesdrop” and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party

You're halfway through a cigarette, trapped in some drab, concrete building while you wait for the sun to go down.

You remember having this conversation before. Maybe it was a variation of it, a bit of thoughtless small talk flowing in one auricular sponge and out the other while you spat out equally meaningless responses. It had to have been sweeps ago, because you don't recognize the brown eyes staring back at you.

"No, but there's this... teal." You disguise the time it takes you to think of something else to say by taking another drag of your cigarette. When it burns down to the butt you let it drop and smother it beneath your boot. It's still a long, long while before you say anything else.

"She's kind of intense, older than me, got a lot on her plate." There's a second where you consider explaining the wriggler thing, but you don't. No one here does that, and you don't know the circumstances of how Advoca became a mother anyway. "She's like a, uh, professional. Smart."

By that point you're checking out again, sliding another cigarette out of the carton you keep in your jacket and lighting up. You could probably keep going, get more and more specific by the sentence, but you don't have the energy for it and you don't owe your coworkers a glimpse into your personal life (no matter how bored you all are). They can continue the conversation without you.

Notes

I had a great idea come to me for writing this and told myself I would remember it when I woke up. I went to sleep without writing anything down. Obviously, I did not remember.

I think Inezra is weirdly taken by how in love Advoca is with love because it resembles her own obsessions. She's gotten over how annoying she found it at first and actually listened to what Advoca had to say last night in the watch party. It struck a chord. Not consciously though. God forbid Inezra be aware of anything going on in the recesses of her own mind.

So far Inezra doesn't have a strong opinion on Advoca, positive or negative, but that will probably change. Their conversations are enjoyable, and Advoca gets her to think a little more than usual instead of disregarding everything.

[scumscuttlers]

A really normal person who is just an asshole.

— @coralcalypso describing my character, 2024.

Inezra as a character has been around since 7/28/2014. She doesn't have a super long history though because most of what I did have was lost to hard drive failure. So, lol. I ended up reconstructing things pre-2018, and have been trying to flesh her out by interacting with more people.

If you're curious what writing I'm referencing, her writing tag is over here.

Personality

Inez is obsessive. This isn't always a negative.

Inez is too smart for her own good and frequently thinks herself into knots (as evidenced from some of the conversations and interactions in recent / old stories). She is absolutely yanking on people's chain when she pretends to not know or understand some things. Key word: Some. Somewhat at odds with the brawns over brains presentation she has. It's easier not to think about things. Imagine how happy you would be if you stopped thinking too. (She's still not happy.)

That said, she's also allergic to being honest about herself and her feelings. She doesn't lie out of habit. It's more likely she'll omit information or deflect by making a joke. This makes it easier to slip in actual requests for information. You just never know if she's fucking with you or not.

Rarely does she reconsider whatever she thinks the "best" option is. Gleaned from Dialus' perspective in old writing and conversations with my friend @sleepytrolls.

She has a kneejerk reaction to new information, but will also keep asking for details until she's satisfied that she knows enough about it. She's then incredibly likely to turn around and make fun of your character for their perspective. This makes her not fun to talk to. She knows this. She also doesn't care (most of the time).

Has a penchant for violence that's hereditary and probably in part caused by brain damage. From all the concussions, your honor. She has poor emotional regulation normally. She also does not have a moirail or very many trolls willing to put up with her, so this is just bad soup. She's gotten better but not better fast enough.

She has standards and a conscience even if she goes to great lengths to pretend she doesn't. There are absolutely lines she won't cross and she's sensitive to people not being receptive to her bitching, but that's new. Notably, times in the watch party chats when she's switched tack mid conversation based on someone's responses. You won't catch her apologizing though.

She tries to tone down her assholery depending on the person, or tailor it specificly to them to make their day worse. It depends.

Likes

Fighting. As 5lux put it, Inezra was hatched to hate. She doesn't need much reason to fight people and will go so far as to injure herself to get another lick in during those fights. There's something going on up there in her pan. Don't ask what it is.

Being a dick. This is just a precursor to fighting. She doesn't really do blackrom or she'd be in a quad with the whole world. If you hate her she likes you.

A cool cigarette to ease the pain.

Reading, but only sometimes, and she doesn't like most contemporary writing.

You'd think music would belong in this list but it doesn't. No I won't be elaborating on that right now.

Quirks

You can earn her honesty. Ways this has been done so far includes: fighting her and making it fun, having a spine, making her laugh, or being upfront about feelings (that last one doesn't always work). This is usually only for a limited time. You get one glimpse into her functioning troll brain. Just one.

She smokes. A lot. If she were normal she would probably have had two types of lung cancer by now, but she's suspiciously okay.

Whatever

Stuff that doesn't have a specific place to go yet.

Inezra doesn't relate to anyone in her age group. She finds it very strange how Sefoni & co (how she mentally refers to that entire extended friend group) seem wrapped up in other alien's cultures. It's somewhat alienating to be the only "real" troll, which as we all know is a feeling normal people react to with anger. 😀 (She's not actually normal.)

She actually did dodge the draft. That piece of trivia isn't punk posing and will probably catch up to her at some point.

The game doesn't exist in her universe. Every time she sees somebody talk about the game and adjacent topics she thinks they're taking FLARPing too far. It's the cognitive dissonance for me.

Thanks for making it this far. Maybe I'll vomit words again soon.

[scumscuttlers]

eavesdrop. perhaps. if u feel like it

send me “eavesdrop” and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party

Every night at The Rig is the same shit. Too many trolls that don't know you think you're there as decoration until they don't have teeth anymore. Sometimes there's other shit involved, reports you never have to fill out yourself, witness statements, whatever. Tonight you're sliding onto a stool at the bar after washing the blood off your face. There's a cold glass of something waiting for you when you get settled in. There probably would've been a couple of words thrown in your direction too if Maerig had more time to give you anything other than a look and your drink.

They made their way around eventually, leaning across the bar in an effort to be heard over the din. Nothing they had to say was anything you hadn't heard before. The only thing of interest was news you'd expect fuckwits on dilapidated, decentralized forums to care about—Not Maerig. Another would-be-empress was dead. It wasn't not the end of the world as you knew it. Another one would crop up in a couple of centuries, maybe even a few millennia from now if their bloodline wasn't scraped out of every batch of slurry across a dozen godless planets.

The wording bugged you. There was only ever one Empress. Until the moment some pretender struck her dead they weren't worthy of recognition. The same logic applied to civilizations the Alternian Empire had steamrolled over. Alien or no, rulers of their own miniature fiefdoms or not, they didn't get a title. It didn't matter how good they were at pretending to be put together or whatever attempts they made to open some diplomatic channel or another. The result was the same.

One Empress. One Empire.

You've had variations of this conversation before. Nobody was going to get strung up in The Rig for little things like that, but the point still stood. It was something that got drilled into you when you got out of the caverns and started being schoolfed. Maerig, as usual, didn't feel like rehashing the same old argument with you.

You had your drink, they had shit to do, and you could keep an eye on things like you'd agreed to instead of bothering them pedantry for twenty minutes.

Notes

Inezra doesn't think poorly of Mara. She's curious about her, but her interest doesn't go much deeper than wanting to know how society on her planet (or planets) works.

I'm not sure if this comes across clearly, but Inezra doesn't call Mara by her name or title on purpose. She doesn't talk about Mara to other people either. It's a weird situation where she wants to be "polite" (by Inezra standards), but also refuses to break the conditioning that requires her not acknowledge Mara as a figure of any political importance. Obviously this doesn't stop Inezra from interacting with her!

Also it just stumped me trying to think of what to write that wasn't "lol she wouldn't talk about mara to a third party" which is lame. Hopefully this provides some amount of insight.