#also fair warning belamy makes some shitty weight-related comments in this one

[raitrolling]

The Mighty Fall

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

It had been some time since Viltau last caught up with Belamy - at least a perigee, to be exact. Their lunches used to be every couple nights, then weekly, then every second week and so on. The tyrianblood had all the free time in the world, nothing but the occasional high society events to make an appearance at for a couple hours, or at times he would have students to tutor who would only last a few lessons until either they quit or he dropped them. The indigoblood, on the other hand, had been busier than ever: There was the whole debacle with Eichio and his lusus, a quick job providing the catering for another seadweller’s Fleet induction party, attending Velour’s fitting sessions for his 12th Perigee Ball suit, and all the time he has been spending with one of his other friends recently.

A friend Belamy loathed to hear about. His only friend has apparently decided that a midblood’s company was better than his. A cigarette-smoking overgrown tub of grease of a troll, who should’ve hardly been worth the indigoblood’s time. And yet, there Viltau was, chatting away about his current scheme about - literally who the fuck cares - with stars in eyes, enchanted by his own delusions of having some semblance of taste. Just looking at him made the tea in Belamy’s cup taste positively bitter.

“Viltau, with all due respect,” the tyrian interrupted, with a syrupy passive-aggressive tone that implied he had no respect to give at all, “I’d rather break my hands a second time than have to hear about your fuckugly boytoy yet again. Don’t you have any interesting conversation for once?”

He took a sip of his too-bitter tea, and Viltau paused mid-sentence. Then, without missing a beat, the indigo continued:

“Oh, I thought you enjoyed listening to other people’s romantic endeavours?”

Belamy spat out his drink.

Viltau covered his mouth with his hand, traces of a toothy grin visible between his fingers. With his other hand, he plucked a napkin off the table to offer to his friend. Belamy squinted at him suspiciously, unable to tell if the indigo was deliberately trying to disgust him for his own entertainment, and snatched the napkin out of his hands.

“Wow, and here I was, under the impression you despised being a clown! How did this change of heart occur so suddenly, helium fumes from blowing up balloons have gone to your head? A festering head wound clogged by a bucket’s worth of hair gel? Early onset dementia?”

Viltau resisted the urge to roll his eyes, using the side of his fork to cut a piece of cake from the larger slice on his dessert plate and then popping it into his mouth.

“Hardly. I can assure you that I am perfectly mentally sane, actually.”

“There is nothing sane about eating out the gutter! Have some class, Viltau. Honestly, courting a lowblood? I thought you were better than that.” The tyrian smirked.

“And I knew that you were not. A shame, truly, perhaps you would enjoy yourself more if you didn’t limit yourself to such a tiny box, no? To be obsessed with highblood romance, but only approving of same-caste relationships while also despising other seadwellers. Truly, which one of us is the insane one?” Viltau spoke calmly, and did not look up from the cake on his plate.

“It is called having standards, which I was under the impression you had. But, I suppose you seem hell-bent on disappointing me as much as possible. I don’t know why I bother!” Belamy shrugged. “And, besides, I am not so desperate for any sort of meaningful relationship that I would kowtow to any fat slob who called me pretty.”

He looked over the indigo, saw how much of that slice of cake had disappeared between sentences, and clapped his hand to his mouth in mock recognition.

“Ohhh! That’s it! You wanted someone to make you feel less guilty whenever you pack on the pounds! That makes perfect sense!” Belamy grinned, fully aware of the pure venom in Viltau’s glare.

The indigo’s grip on his fork switched to one perfect for stabbing, as a warning. His expression was calm as usual, but there was nothing but rage behind that smile. They both knew how sensitive Viltau was about his weight, which was precisely why Belamy went for the lowest-hanging fruit. A reminder of how easily the lower-blooded troll could be put in his place. Viltau also knew of how easy of a potshot that comment was, and knew that he had to be the bigger man. He’ll have to let it slide.

“Ah, you have quite the wild imagination! It’s a shame your hands no longer work like they’re supposed to, I think you would have done well as a fantasy author. Although, with your obsession with other people’s weight you may end up attracting the wrong type of crowd, no?”

Well, he could settle for being only slightly less venomous with his words. Just as Belamy could never truly hide his bitterness, Viltau was not immune to firing back those same remarks out of spite.

“Says the chubby chaser.” The seadweller calmly sipped at the remainder of his drink, emanating a decidedly smug aura.

There was silence, except for the sound of Viltau returning the plate with a quarter of the cake left to the table, the fine china clinking against the surface.

“I think we are quite done here, actually.”

The rage was once again building up in the pit of his stomach, and while his facial expression stayed the same the look in his eyes was now seething.  

Belamy was unfazed.

“Aw, did my little joke hurt your soft little heart? Has little doughboy Espino finally developed genuine emotions? I never thought I’d see the day! A shame they’re wasted on defending someone with pond scum coursing through their veins.” He rested his head in one hand casually, looking over at his conversational partner in amusement.

“I said, we are quite done here.” Viltau’s grip on the fork tightened, knuckles whitening. “Yes, you are quite correct, I have no issue with someone’s caste or appearance, which may be rather shocking to someone as self-centered as yourself. The problem does not lie with me, but with you. And, personally, I think it’s rather pathetic that you care so much, and about a troll you have met scant few times, no less!”

The tyrian had honestly not expected his friend to get so worked up over this, and his smirk turned into a full-on sneer.

“Oh please, Viltau. As if you have never judged anyone based on appearance alone. I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I was friends with the Patron Saint of Tolerance!” Belamy stood up so he could tower over the other troll, looking down at him. “But, if you truly wish to ditch me over some gutter trash, so be it! You’re certain to regret it later.”

“Am I?” The indigoblood also rose from his seat, although his head barely reached Belamy’s shoulder. Hardly an imposing figure, even with the fork still firmly in his hand. “Actually, if I am to be perfectly honest, spending time with my so-called ‘gutter trash’ friend made me realise something. I don’t need to tolerate your company. In fact, I don’t need you at all.”

He narrowed his eyes.

Belamy laughed out loud, and then realised he was serious.

“Excuse me? I didn’t need you, you needed me. You’ll be without a loyal client, and who is to say I won’t start badmouthing you to dissuade others from seeking your services? Parties are hardly a lucrative business, anyone could pull off a half-decent event!”

“Hah! As if that will stop me!” Now it was Viltau’s turn to smirk. Did Belamy really consider that a threat? Did he truly know him? “I built up my contacts and client base from nothing, and I am perfectly content to do it again. And I will certainly find someone more appreciative of my craft than someone who chases an impossible standard of perfection to make up for their own failures!”

“Just as you are giving up any royal taking you seriously pouring your heart over a slovenly midblood?”

“Better a slovenly midblood than the deadbeat seadweller in front of me. Only one of these has a bright future ahead of them-”

Smack.

Viltau staggered sidewards slightly from the force of the seadweller’s slap, pressing his hand to the now bright-indigo handprint on his face. Of course, he should have known Belamy would get violent, the music tutor had a reputation for beating the students who failed to meet his standards. But to assault him over the threat of ending an already-precarious friendship seemed almost absurd, especially when he took all the times Viltau had stabbed him over uncalled for remarks in stride.

Did this friendship mean much more to Belamy than it did Viltau? The look of pure fury and betrayal present on his face seemed to suggest as much. It would almost be funny that it took this long for it to click with the seadweller if it wasn’t so sad. Yet another troll lost to his own bitterness and inability to let go of whatever scraps of superiority he still had.

The realisation was not lost on Belamy either. Viltau was right, it was pathetic that he cared so much about his friend loving a damned tealblood instead of a proper highblood. It was not his business at all, but the fact that someone below him both in status and appearance could be loved when he was not angered him beyond all reason. It wasn’t even a matter of him having any feelings for the indigo either, that never crossed his mind once. He thought he’d found an equal, someone so close to his ideal of perfection but just kept missing the mark, and if he’d just pushed him in the right direction he could have lived vicariously through the indigoblood’s successes that he helped perfect.  

Instead, Viltau glared at him, and silently made a lunge with the fork in his hand. And instead, Belamy made a grab for a knife on the table - the knife Viltau had used to cut himself a slice of cake, to be exact.

Neither trolls were trained in combat, but where Belamy lacked in experience, he made up for with his precise aim.

The fork pierced through his shirt, barely piercing his flesh. Belamy winced from the pain, but his reaction paled in comparison to Viltau’s. The indigoblood’s eyes widened and he grit his teeth to prevent a grunt from escaping his mouth, and he looked down to find a knife buried into his side, with Belamy’s hand still grasping around the handle.

The seadweller yanked out the blade with a slight twist of the wrist, and Viltau gasped and dropped to his knees, clutching at the now-opened wound as indigo blood began to pour out. In the heat of the moment, he neglected taking his pistol out of his strife deck in favour of making a mad grab for any other cutlery left on the table - a fatal mistake. Fueled by both rage and adrenaline, Belamy saw the perfect form of revenge: Driving the knife into Viltau’s hand with enough force to keep it pinned to the table.

Belamy was silent as his now-former friend yelled out in pain, the indigoblood unable to move lest he risk further damage to his hand and needing to use his remaining hand to press against his other stab wound to feebly prevent himself from bleeding out too quickly. He cursed in a manner unlike his usual gentlemanly self, sweeps of vocal training failing to prevent his natural rough accent from slipping out. When he stared up at Belamy, pain in his eyes, he could not get a read on the tyrian’s expression. The seadweller’s adrenaline had worn off, the rage had subsided, and all that remained was a bitter emptiness that pervaded whenever he could no longer keep up his passive-aggressive front.

But then the two saw that glimpse past one another’s facade, that peek into their real feelings, and clammed back up. They exchanged defiant looks at one another, Belamy smirked, and Viltau attempted to smile through the obvious pain.

“Well, now you know that’s what happens when you toss your friends away like a subpar dessert! Don’t come crying back to me once you get bored of your ‘romantic endeavour’ and have no more toys to play with. You’re the one who ditched me, remember that.” Belamy’s tone was back to its usual sickly sweetness, yet dripping with aggression.

Viltau had no further words to say. Belamy gave him one last glare, then rounded the dining table to make his way to the front door.

“Good luck!” With a wave of his hand as if saying a cheerful farewell to a friend, he left the indigoblood to bleed out.