#gonzor

[chuckling-chemist]

Green 12th Perigee (5/14)

((Songs referenced are Londonderry Air and the beginning of the Nutcracker Suite))

Gonzor took a slow drag of his cigarette, pinching the writhing yellow bug to get as much nicotine as possible. It was still too early for him to really get into the festivities. Slow, traditional dances with twirls and dips interested him as little as dessert did. Of course, this whole event to him distinctly seemed like an excuse for low and highbloods alike to pretend like their seadwellers -- cream of the crop in society's eyes -- and ignore the injustices of the world. Yet it was one of the few events he’d attended displaying a true level of equality. It wasn’t perfect obviously: the VIPs were disproportionately highbloods to an almost unbelievable degree in the same way serving staff and orchestra pits mostly comprised of lowbloods, and certainly you were more likely to receive positive attention if you had the money that came naturally to higher castes, and of course Gonzor felt it wasn’t a stretch to say the guards were more likely to suspect a lowblood acting out than a highblood, but so long as you weren’t a VIP, the level of decadence was effectively equal. He wasn’t terribly surprised, as a tealblood ran it, and Gonzor’s met just as many tealbloods (both and in and outside the justice system) who actually gave a shit about true equality as there were those who drank the proverbial Kool-Aid. Far from perfect, but a start.

Needless to say, the whole thing left Gonzor unable to place how he felt about the whole thing and in desperate need of another cigarette.

The orchestra transitioned from whatever piece it was playing before to a much slower, somber one heavy on the brass. Gonzor actually recognized the piece too: in his time working for Trolling Stone it was a common one lowblood folk artists covered when a studio required album filler due to its popularity and solemn sound. The melody rested overtop the accompaniment so well he could almost hear the singer’s lament to about leaving to join the fleet. A strange song to play at what’s supposed to be a joyous time, but Gonzor wasn’t about to complain. He’d take anything before the swell of mid-tempo waltzes and ballads about to come.

A few trolls began to step out on the dance floor. Most of them were of lower castes right now. He recognized them instantly, if not by the colors they wore, but by the silhouettes of the outfits. The only ones that broke the pattern - trolls with detailed forms and frequent variations in color, even from a distance that he presumed were the highbloods - seemed to be their dates.

There was another concept that still reeled in his head. For many events on Alternia, especially ones not actively suppressed by the Empress or her drones, fraternization on such a personal level was taboo. It didn’t stop everyone, but he knew well enough the number of trolls it did stop was more important. Alternian highblood society looked down on you if you didn’t treat a lowblood matesprit or kismesis akin to a slave at such events. Not even most midbloods were exempt. And if you didn’t, at least in public? Unless you had the ability to intimidate or talk yourself out of the situation, you were right on the path to becoming Social Pariah Number One. It all set up a situation where the status quo is rigidly upheld. Where quadrants die in every sense of the word.

But here? Here he saw purplebloods in face paint ask yellowbloods to dance in the same frequency that a rusts and yellows might dance with each other, with the same distinct lack of casuality. Trolls walked in carrying another on their arm more than two castes down without shame. Again, not perfect, but it helped put necessary support structures on a slowly collapsing building, and Gonzor respected that. Even if he felt it would be easier to burn the whole damn building down.

He let out a slow, long exhale out of the partly opened window. “Thank fuck for smoking areas,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted to do was smoke outside.

A server troll in a simple black vest and skirt with an large tray holding drinks walked by. Gonzor left his position just long enough to snag a clear, plastic cup of sparkling water. If he was lucky, this event would also surprise him in serving something other than La Croix.

He grimaced the second the taste hit his tongue. No such luck. Just the distinct taste of static, essence of essence of coconut and utter disappointment, courtesy of Her Imperious Beguiler herself.

When did the bar open? He wasn’t wholly sure. More importantly, he wasn’t sure he could keep putting up with the Empress’ piss poor attempts at making healthy Faygo being served for a whole night. Gonzor rested the cigarette between his lips so he could pull out the green palmhusk and check the schedule. Sure enough, he still had hours until the bar opened, which translated to more La Croix than he could handle. At this rate, he’d just go get regular water. Or maybe there was actual soda, but he had to ask.

Alas, such harkened the time to actually do his fucking job.

He pinched off the last of his cigarette, dropping the withered empty husk into the tray on the table. He meandered his way over to the bar on the other side of the ballroom, sidestepping suited guests on their way to the cookie tables. Not a long walk, and thankfully with himself and everyone around him stone cold sober, he didn’t have to worry about the drunken clopping of heels or his own unfortunate sway when he got too bad off. He managed to make it to the row of plush, empty barstools and grab the only seat far enough away from tables he could get a clear line of sight toward the actual dance floor without having to wallflower.

“I trust you understand the bar opens at eleven?” the bartender asked. Gonzor rotated in his seat to get a good look at them: a blueblood not much shorter than himself with curly horns and a loose tuft of dark hair, cleaning glasses in either preparation or boredom.

“Surely you've got some non-alcoholic shit back there. Preferably not La Croix too.”

“Certainly.” They set down the glass being cleaned. Gonzor watched as the bartender deftly mixed together some Faygo ginger ale and grenadine. Gonzor glanced at him suspiciously.

“Faygo?” he asked doubtfully. “Isn't that alcoholic?”

The bartender gave him a toothy smile. “Not all, sir. We only serve the non alcoholic variety. Wouldn’t want our lovely patrons to ruin themselves only so early in the night.”

Gonzor chuckled, letting his dark aviator sunglasses fall down his face. “I guess that’s true. I’ve been to my fair share of events ending in blackouts.”

“Eastern Alternia animation convention?”

“...Something like that, yeah.” At the telltale sound of one song ending, he turned back around in his barstool. The next song picked up a more jovial tone, relying on strings and woodwinds over everything else. It was the first piece of the night that gave him an actual feel for the weather outside without also slapping him in the face about it. A few bluebloods not far from him stood up to move to the dancefloor. They were three wildly different heights, but all the same Gonzor could see the thematic similarities in their dress style: high-low skirts made to showcase off their decorated black and silver boots and hemmed in gold. The tallest troll had what looked like a glittering starfield going along the bottom of the skirt and a strapless, plunging neckline. The short cobalt was adorned with white fur, accenting the v-neck cut rather nicely without looking too tacky. The other, shorter indigoblood was the most covered with her draped neckline and long sleeves. “Do they always look like this?”

“Look like what?” the bartender asked quizzically.

Gonzor’s gaze swept the room. He couldn’t help but notice the huge amounts of stylistic variability in what he could catch right there in the women: elegant gothic dresses, slinky evening gowns, poofy tutus, flowing medieval skirts. But when she got up, the partner in question always made a set. It was something he’d never much seen outside of contrived plots in romantic comedies dead set on proving why the leads should get together. His fingers twitched, longing for his camera to memorize the scene for him. “Matching.”

“Just the newest thing. Fads come and go. As we settle in for a new respect for our fated quadrants, our fashion shows.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender shrug. He was admittedly more interested in the increasing volume of trolls leaving their chairs, with or without dates, to enter the floor as they wrapped up the last desired sweet treat. “You should have been here sweeps ago when naked dresses - or bare rumpusrobes, whatever your kind calls them - took the forefront. This sweep it’s much tamer. A more fantasy style. I like that.”

Tame was one way to describe it. Gonzor could think of numerous better words, none of them connecting to the concept of tame -- ostentatious, flouncy, overzealous or and occasionally bordering on costume-like -- but maybe in comparison to trolls hardly wearing clothing, this was tame.

“Hm.” Gonzor finished his drink in a single gulp and placed it back on the table with a solid thunk. The bartender picked it up immediately, placing it underneath the table in a quick motion reserved for those with experience mixing drinks. “Thanks for the company, but I think it’s high time I finally mingled in. Truly experience what there is to experience.”

“But of course.” He looked over just in time to catch the bartender give him a quick nod. “Good night to you.”

Gonzor grinned, eyes shining behind dark sunglasses. “Oh don’t worry. My job can only keep me away from my vices for so long.”

[veryfictitiousdemons]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Gen

Fandom: Homestuck

Characters: Original Troll Character(s) (Homestuck) Gonzor Tenerg

Additional Tags: Drugs Alcohol tobacco Canon Typical Classism 1st person perspective Fictitious Gonzo Journalism Troll terminology Excessive Swearing drug mention Slavery mention headcanon heavy Alternate Universe - Adults on Alternia Loosely Inspired By Studio 54 no beta we die like men Plot? What Plot?

Word Count: 5951 Language: English Chapter: 1/1

Summary: 

Gonzor gets into the most exclusive club on this side of the hemisphere, the exclusive and extravagant Club 76 in the seadwelling city Sindaria, for the purpose of writing his newest article for Trolling Stone. And while he wasn't sure what to expect, with rumors from everyone in the out talking about how it might be inside, it still wasn't what he was expecting.Standalone piece in the Alternian Snapshots series.

Additional Notes:

Written for the “Drinks, Smokes, Swears” prompt for @bannedtogetherbingo2020 because you know, I have plenty of characters that I haven’t written much for but let’s do the guy I made like last year. Linked back over here for archival purposes

[abandonthecar]

Been quiet on the music front, but here's something I've been up to in the meantime. This is a YouTube series created with San Francisco comedian Jordan Cerminara who writes and plays Zēblō Gonzor, a little blue alien newscaster who talks about how crazy things are down here on Earth.

The show is created and recorded entirely in a virtual TV studio called Flipside that I help create.

[chuckling-chemist]

Music Meme

So you know that “put your music player on shuffle, and draw only when it’s playing then stop for 10 songs”? Yeah I did that but writing. Went and fixed up the typos plus a bit of quirk stuff, but otherwise it’s about how I wrote it. Stuck under a read more for reasons

1.  Come Together - The Beatles

Dumaas was not a small troll. Dumaas never would be a small troll. He stood, a full 7’3” flat footed with tall, imposing horns that stood straight up for what seemed like miles, with a body frame that was all bulk and little else. Every step he took forward was heavy. Other trolls were scared of him. But that’s okay. He was a purpleblood. A subjuggalator. A terror to society both inside and outside the forces of the Inquisition. They should be scared of him. Such was his purpose.

Did that upset others? Perhaps. Certainly upset the pansy-ass little violetbloods he was forced to work with. They didn’t cower, but they held their noses up and looked down on him despite being shorter. One of them in particular, a tall skinny thing who needed more food in particular, might look him down in the eyes whenever they met up, but Dumaas could smell the fear when he arrived on the scene. He hated Dumaas with a passion. That’s how it should be. That was their destiny as purple and violet.

2. The Greatest - Alabama Shakes.

Mayola flopped down onto the couch where Valeba slept on the other end. It woke the lowblood up instantly, who shot a glare over in the seadweller’s general direction.

“What the hell’s that about?” she snapped groggily. Someone was pissed. Not like it was Mayola’s problem.

“Uh….I dunno. Keep you on your toes?”

Valeba rolled her eyes and groaned. She started to settle back into a comfortable sleeping position, stopping immediately as Mayola grabbed a foot to pull her closer and get the lowblood on top of her.

“We’re fucking kismesis, you know.”

“You assume I fuckin’ give a shit.” Mayola grinned, running her tongue over too-sharp teeth. “‘Sides, I wasn’t lookin’ to do anything more than sleep right now anyway. Busy day ‘n’ all.”

“That makes one of us. I fucking hate going with you on these stupid politic meetings. Take Aisral.” Valeba shook her head, long hair getting all over Mayola’s chest. “Or Dontoc. Someone qualified.”

“You’re fuckin’ qualified on lowblood shit, ya know.”

3. Tetris Theme - Powerglove

Vodnik could see the wind move.

A strange concept, if you thought about it. You shouldn’t be able to see the wind move. The tree tops quaking when the breeze went too fast, sure. The coats and hats of trolls whip off in a windstorm, of course. Or the sails on his ship move on a pleasant day, naturally. But the wind? To see the jet streams as what they were - streams, like leaves moving about the air as if they floated down the current of a stream - was an unusual ability indeed. A shame of all the people in the universe to thank, it was the damn fairies.

He’d have to thank them for his manipulation of it too. How, if he focused and actually tried, he could push the wind into different positions, shape it like it were blocks, move it effortlessly back and forth to whatever he needed at the time.

4. Young Man Dead - The Black Angels

Gonzor took a slow drag of the cigarette in his mouth, feeling the bug scuttle about in his hand during its final moments. This one wasn’t completely dead. He didn’t exactly prefer it that way, granted, but there was something cathartic at his caste to feel something actually die for once in his life. Not just to feel it, but to see it. As a limeblood, it was so rare to even go out and explore the world as however unholy god the purples happened to worship -- which is to say, violent and messy -- that he reveled in the rare moments he could do so in such a way that didn’t simultaneously make him feel like he engaged in society the way the bitch of an Empress and her insufferable little twee-twat of an Heiress wanted. It was just a bug.

A bug that gave him a pleasant tingle in his fingertips and calmed his craving for something harder, but still just a bug.

If anything, it’s good Gonzor finally managed to get off the more dangerous shit. He always knew that would end up killing him someday if he weren’t careful, and even with that knowledge he wasn’t exactly keen on stopping. But after it knocked out one of his coworkers….

5. Flickers - Son Lux

The darkness shifted around Dontoc. It stopped him from moving, bound his feet to whatever unholy floor he stood on now. He could move his hands, but what good did it do? There was nothing to reach, nothing to grab at. Just darkness surrounding every fiber of his being like a blanket. Smothering him.

And yet, it didn’t aim to kill. It just bound him. That was new.

A figure appeared in the darkness. It looked like him, except it wasn’t him. It was twisted, warped, the cheeky smile he showed Pallia or Valeba on good days replaced with a warped grin, gnarls around an otherwise perfectly unnaturally smooth face. He held a light, a candelabra that forced his face to look somehow darker still despite it. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Not as the figure gazed into the darkness, his light opening a hole.

But Dontoc couldn’t go down the hole. Couldn’t use it to escape. No, this wasn’t the time. Even without the bindings, he knew instinctively as such.

6. For Free? (Interlude) - Kendrick Lamar

Marching.

In all her life, Valeba had probably never marched. She ran, she stalked. Marching was something done by the fucking military in the conquest of useless planets to ravage. Yet here she was, marching her happy ass up to Careen’s dumbass oversized mansion to give the Heiress the first piece of a rust’s mind she’d probably ever heard in her fucking life.

Who’s bright idea was it to give that bitch her Chittr handle? A chittr that, mind you, was only made so Mayola could tag her in every pic she ever took. Certainly hadn't been Dontoc. Boy probably didn’t even have a chittr. But either way, Careen found it.

7. Hypnotize - White Stripes

“Fancy a drink tonight, doll?”

The cobalt rolled her eyes at Meroin, giving a short good-natured laugh as she walked away. Ah well. Another loss. No big deal.

He heard a chuckle from across the bar. Niehea. The fuchsia was everything Meorin dreamed of in a seadweller: tall, adventurous and down to get her hands dirty. To say he was smitten with her was an understatement. “You’re striking out tonight.”

8. El Scorcho - Weezer

Hey uh….you free? I’m making extra dinner tonight.

Ardeen mentally kicked himself. That sounded dumb. Extra dinner? Who the hell makes extra dinner? Certainly not someone he was trying to impress. Who might have been a lowblood that obviously needed to eat a little more than the jerky he often saw her with. Certainly not her.

He sat around on his husktop, dinking around for what felt like hours before he got an answer. Ardeen nearly jumped at the notification ping playing loud and clear over his speakers. Had his sound been that high? Guess so.

Yeah I got nothing going on now. Happen to be in the area. Want me over?

Fuck yeah

Oh shit, now that--that sounded desperate. Horribly so.

I mean yeah. Just yeah. No fuck involved.

Well shit, and here I was thinking I could fuck my ^^atesprit who i’ve fucked already. Joke’s on ^^e I guess.

….Right. They were matesprits. That’s a thing. He was seeing someone.

9. The Great Gig in the Sky - Pink Floyd

The bar was quiet when Inaeis entered. As it should be. He’d never walked into a lounge bar at 4 in the morning and found it packed with trolls. Happy hour hadn’t even began. Trolls this early were still at work, or fumbling around with whatever esoteric interest they wanted to at the time. They weren’t drinking their souls away. They had better things to do. Unlike Inaeis, who after centuries of burning and pillaging rebel troll’s belongings just wanted to drink and forget it all. Forget his atrocities. Forget the inquisition. Forget the stupid highbloods and the Empress and his library. Just zone out to the sound of the soft chords of the piano as she played some sorrowful song for an audience of one.

But he couldn't. No matter how much he drank, it only forced him to remember it all. He still smelled the smoke of his first burnt hive. Still remembered the screams of the trolls. The glare in Fospha’s eyes as the sword ran clean through her belly. The look of absolute disgust. He felt still, so much later.

He could’ve just shot her. Made it quick. But he didn’t. His own fault.

10. Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater Revival

The trolls that gathered at the gates were not the ones expected. The leaders of the revolt expected lowbloods. The trolls most likely to be cannon fodder to the ugliest fights only, the ones ensured to never see the light of the moons or step foot back on Alternia after their first tour with the fleet. But it wasn’t. Every landdwelling caste, save the purples, gathered on the front steps with a spark in their eyes that indicated they were finished. Some of them came armed, but many others only came with angry words and furious stares. It was a wonder how they expected to survive at all.

[chuckling-chemist]

First and Last for that no excuses writing meme

First

“Okay, so you’re gonna be shackin’ it up with a lotta highbloods this week, so just keep calm, kay? But not too calm, cause these guys ain’t your usual highbloods.

Last

Mayola only caught the air in front of them. “It ain’t my fault Gonzor decided to transcribe me exactly as it came outta my foodchute.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Extra 2: Crowning

((This was the already planned extra, as like last year I wanted to actually write something to have to do with the crowning. I realize it’s late but I finished it at like 1:30 a.m. and wanted to actually sleep. Honestly pretty straightfoward in all sense. Like I said in the tags of the last one, not nearly as dark.))

“Esteemed guests of the 12th Perigee Ball, may I please have your attention for the moment I’m certain many of you have waited eons for!”

It took some time, but with the quieting of the band, so too did the crowd of trolls scattered throughout the ballroom. A flashy tealblood dressed poet’s shirt decorated in a teal, double breasted vest and ascot, pranced up to the stage. The faux feathers attached to the vest moved the barest bit, enough so no one watching them too close would make unfortunate presumptions about the construction of his suit. Zamiir Paradi, the host. Who else deserved to announce the prestigious winners?

The stage lights centered on him. He pulled a gold-adorned envelope out from his sleeve dramatically, flourishing it underneath the bright lights to give it a shimmer. A wide smile graced his face as he scanned the letter.

“It appears this sweep, our winners are the gorgeous model Ferroc Lutris and stunning Grubtube star Kinesa Mamono!”

The crowd exploded into uproarious applause before Zamiir had the chance to request it. They were celebrities, well-liked and even better-known. For them to win was only natural.

Still, a seadweller and brownblood hung against a wall, eyeing the winners graciously taking center stage suspiciously. The brownblood wore a short, loose bright red dress that draped around her knees with a black tie around the back holding the whole thing together. Mayola wore the same outfit. She’d gotten too attached to the dress.

“You know who they hell they are?” Valeba asked. She hated to admit she focused on such a frivolous crowning as much as she did, but after the events of the early morning she needed the distraction. If she focused too much on the world outside sanitized highblood life, she might go crazy.

“Uh...the tacky jade’s a model. Think I’ve heard Ace drop his name once or twice whenever she bitched about them. No idea about the other jade though. Guess she’s Internet famous? For whatever that’s worth.” Mayola shrugged helplessly. Valeba could tell Mayola was doing the same as her, trying so damn hard to ignore the stupid riots. “Then again, guess if she weren’t famous we wouldn’t be seein’ her here, huh?”

“Guess not.” She crossed her arms. Dontoc had told her all about last sweep, when two lowbloods won. She’d even drummed up some excitement to see it happen again. Oh well. Who knows, maybe the rebellions scared them.

The two watched silently as the whole crowning ceremony started up. No matter how much she focused, the only things returning to her vision was what she saw on the screen. Did they not know here? Or did they just not care?

Mayola glanced slyly over at Valeba. She must’ve been thinking the same thing. “Ya know...if we dip now, everyone’ll be too busy to notice royalty slip away.”

Those were the best words Valeba heard all night. “Oh God, yes.”

The two trolls accepted their crowns, both equally decorated in diamonds that sparkled underneath the lights. Zamiir managed to slide Kinesa’s on without much work, the two trolls being almost matched perfectly in height. Ferroc’s crown troubled them more. The jade ended up taking a kneel, dipping his head to let the host place it atop his head. It rested just above his horns. The two crowns weren’t identical, but they were close enough.

“Two jades, eh? Interesting. They even look matching, just like everyone else. Maybe I can get in and talk to them. Get an interview about why they think they won,” Gonzor said. Not a single piece of his attire from last night changed. He liked it. The colors looked good on him, he thought. They drove attention away from other, less Empire friendly aspects about himself. Not even his position much changed. He sat at the bar, away from all other trolls to observe the spectacle safely from a distance.

The bartender gave him a cold smile. “Good luck with that one. I’m sure once they realize who you are, any interest in drumming up notoriety will disappear in a snap.”

Gonzor laughed. The longer he was here, the more he relaxed. Better than the alternative, anyway. “Ah, they’ll never know. Trolling Stone’s pretty underground all things considered, and my artist isn’t here to completely fuck up my chances.”

The bartender smiled coldly at him. “Perhaps. But they’re smart. Business trolls tend to be, of course. I’m sure they’d pick up on whatever intent you have.”

“Eh, maybe. Who knows. Most trolls don’t if ya think about it.” Gonzor pushed his sunglasses up, keeping light green eyes obscured from the bartender. “Do you know?”

The bartender only took a cursory glance at Gonzor before he answered. “You’re a reporter. Paparazzi most likely. An oliveblood looking to write a juicy article on the celebrities here to achieve a blip of fame. They’re the only ones who come here.”

He grinned. “Sounds about right. That’s all Trolling Stone is, after all. Just another plain tabloid.”

Oh, how wrong he was.

The band started softly, with little more than the percussion tapping off a basic rhythm to keep the tealblooded singer on tempo. Dontoc glanced up from reading a host of frantic messages from Pallia on his palm husk just long enough to catch the Ball King and Queen collect on center stage to dance. That was something they did, apparently. A cute concept, even if it wasn’t much his thing to try to win himself. The whole thing also kept Careen off his back, which let him message Pallia to affirm he was perfectly safe sorry for taking so long, ask what on Alternia she was talking about, and if she was okay or if he placed undue stress taking so long. He only hoped she saw it soon.

“They’re just so deserving, don’t you think? Better than last sweep, anyway.” Careen sighed, resting a cheek in her hand. “How fitting that a glamorous fashionista and a model get paired up to feel like seadwellers for a night. Sure they’re jadebloods, but jadebloods are just so special in our society.”

Dontoc chuckled. “I suppose I shall take your word for it; however, I am afraid I do not know who they are.” Careen’s disappointed expression made his own pleasant one evaporate immediately. “Ah...forget I said anything,” he added.

“I didn’t think you voted for them though. Or wait, did you?” Atenic asked curiously. “After all, you’ve always preferred two trolls of the same or similar caste together!”

Careen answered with little more than a scowl thrown in Atenic’s direction. She turned back toward the scene at the center of the floor, enraptured by the glittering gold and colorful patterns the two had. The perfect distraction for him to catch his palm husk’s message from Pallia before it buzzed. don’t worry about it. you’ll be at ssandyhorn tomorrow right? I can explain then. jusst glad you’re ssafe :)~

Yes, I Should. For Once, I Shαll βe Home For 12+h Perigee.

Dontoc paused with a frown. The message felt like it...missed something. He looked up for a brief second to scan the table. Whatever he wanted to send, he didn’t want them watching. Careen, naturally still seemed completely unconcerned with him. Atenic stared longingly at the two trolls on the dance floor while she absently pushed crumbs around her plate with a fork. Sireot and Pereon were nowhere to be found. He only imagined Pereon had somewhere better to be. No one here noticed him. Not that he could blame them, all the glittering gems and gold jewelry reflecting from the lights managed to distract for a second until he remembered there was something more interesting.

Reαlly, I Miss You +erribly, Pαllia. I+ Shαll βe A Relief +o See You Once More.   

He stared at the message. Was it too much? He hoped not. It felt right to say, but he’d been wrong before. Then again, in direct concern with Pallia, they’d been mostly on the nose as of late.

With a slow breath, he hit send. No point going back now.

Her response was equal parts instant and gratifying, slowing down his already racing heartbeat. Figures of all trolls, Pallia would know better than to leave him in wait.

missss you too. leasst i get to sssee you ssoon?

Sooner +hαn βo+h Of Us An+icipα+e, If We Are Lucky.

The song ended on a few gentle piano notes. Spotlights turned back off, letting the usual 12th Perigee colored lights take hold of the room again. He looked up to see the two jadebloods laughing as they parted, making a joke of some sort most likely.

Zamiir tapped the microphone on the lapel of his vest. “That’s it for the 12th Perigee King and Queen. Thank you to everyone for participating in the vote! You’re the reason this stunning event stays alive. Happy holidays to all of you!”

The song shifted from a pleasant, upbeat tone to a soft piano piece. Whatever hold the song and dance had on Careen released her, and she turned back around to the table. “Dontoc, dearie, we should dance! We only have until midnight.”

“Indeed we do, Careen.” He thought back to Pallia, imagined her here with him right now instead of Careen, and the smile on his face almost felt genuine. He’d be away from Careen and with Pallia soon, anyway. “May as well take advantage of it while we can.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Pitch Perigee (8/14)

Valeba couldn’t say she didn’t expect this to happen. Even if the ball had restrictions on the level of blatant hemospectrum supremacy, to assume every name-calling, obviously hemoist, stuck-up-their-own-ass high and midblood avoided the ball was ridiculous. Even Sandyhorn -- a city almost wholly composed of low and midbloods -- had major issues. She walked in anticipating the weird looks and hushed whispers she got walking alongside Mayola toward the VIP area. And if she were being honest with herself, they seemed more respectful here. Back in her first village, she had to deal with accusations of pailing up the hemospectrum due to her choice of quadrants - first Dontoc for a moirail, who gave the immediate impression of a stuffy highblood; then Ardeen, who barely counted if you ignored his access to normal cooking ingredients. The insults darkened her outlook on others, but it did also thicken her skin.

That all being said, the douche hadn’t called her rust, or gutter, or fudge, or dirt or even mud. No, they went for shitblood. They yelled shitblood down a ballroom, over top the music, overtop everything. If her bow were readily available, there wouldn’t even be a pretense of civility at this point. Dontoc may hold the idea of do no harm, but Valeba stood by the idea of take no shit first and foremost.

But she didn’t. Valeba settled for spinning rapidly on her heel toward the sound of the voice. One fist balled itself, but the other held steady right at her waist, ready to grab a knife if the moment called for it.

She found herself standing face to face with a smaller seadweller with equally small, basic looking fins and impossibly spiky horns. All her long, shaggy hair parted off to one side to give that shaved look on the other and only kept out of her eyes by virtue of the star clip in her hair. Her dress was portioned off into two sections thanks to an absolutely gaudy amount of garland around the waist: the top being relatively normal with a plunging, v-neckline held only together by yet more golden plastic-looking beads, and the bottom being a complete mess of what Valeba swore were real tree branches to make a spiky, painful-looking asymmetrical skirt.

“Oh goddamn, I cannot believe.” Valeba raked her eyes up and down the monstrosity of a dress. “I honestly thought a living tree was walking my direction, but no. Trees don’t have fins.”

The pointy thing crossed her arms around a barely covered chest, upper lip curled in a distinct sneer to show off a full row of miniature fangs. Her fins flexed in rhythm. An intimidation tactic, and not even a good one at that. “Yeah, says the troll wearing what? Black and brown? You know the rest of the rainbow exists for a reason, right?”

Valeba drummed her fingers on her belt. “Last I remember, your kind doesn’t exactly appreciate me wearing colors outside the my caste, but sure. Let’s assume it’s my lack of fashion sense. Now, are you just here to test my patience or are do you actually have something…” she paused, freeing up the balled fist only to gesture into the air “...worth what little time I have on this planet?”

“Yeah, I do.” She stepped closer to Valeba, making the brownblood reflexively step back. “I don’t appreciate the gutters like you being so up close and personal with the rest of us.”

Valeba narrowed her eyes. God, did she wish for something to tie her loose hair back in. Her own wasn’t down by any means, but despite being pulled up in a tight bun and held with bladed hair chopsticks, Valeba still felt loose strands tickle the side of her face. It meant in the event of altercation, this troll held the apparent advantages: sharp claws and short hair. Valeba wasn’t planning on pulling the knife out unless this troll touched her. She was going as the Heiress’ kismesis. The last thing she needed to do was reinforce negative stereotypes right now. “Then step away,” she said. “Or is that too hard for you?”

The seadweller pointed a sharp, noxiously pink claw in Valeba’s direction. “You’re the one who should be leaving,” she said.

She almost couldn’t believe it. She’d ran into plenty of true hemoists in her time. She’d pailed a hemoist or two in acts of desperation to avoid the drones, played dumb and submissive to get them to take her in for a day. They generally had a smug aura about them that set them apart from your regular trolls who just listened to what was spoon-fed to them or straight up lied and said they went with it, despite privately following their own system. Some, she’d venture to say, might even get this dramatic. But this? Valeba may as well be in a cartoon.

“And you’re going to, what? Cull me?” Valeba let out a harsh laugh. “Seadweller or not, that’s gonna be a harder one to do quietly with no weapons.”

The seadweller took another step closer, curled lip giving way to an increasing amount of menace and teeth. Valeba took another step back. Was anyone paying attention to them? It was hard to tell. Probably not. Trolls already get wrapped in themselves pretty easily without their quadrants and decadent food nearby. “I don’t need weapons to get you thrown the hell out like you should be,” she said. “I just need to remind everyone here of the gutterblood’s barbaric nature--”

“Barbaric nature?” she snapped. “It’s not lowbloods who have violent tempers, last I fucking recall. And it’s certainly not a fucking lowblood who yelled a slur across the room.”

The seadweller leaned in close, pointing that stupid claw closer to Valeba. Valeba balled her fist tighter, her own claws digging into her skin. “Don’t you compare us to those filthy Faygo drinkers. We’re far more pure and like, way more sane than any air breather.”

“Then if you’re so sane, I suggest leaving me the fuck alone,” she snarled. “There are plenty of other fucking lowbloods to pick on.”

“Yeah, but like, not all of them just give off that feel of trouble like you do.” She put her claw down, but came closer to get up in Valeba’s face. Valeba could smell the distinct fishy smell from the troll’s dinner as she breathed cold air up. “Who tips their hair mutant red for a highblood ball? Filthy hemorebel extremists looking to bomb a place she doesn’t belong in, that’s who.”

“I suggest you get out of my face now before you do something you regret,” she growled. A flash of brightly colored movement caught in the upper corner of her vision and she flitted her gaze for the briefest second up, but it was gone by the time she looked.

“Oh yeah, like what? You can’t even look at me when you threaten me. Bet you’re all talk and no actual game like the rest of you filthy rusties. Bet I could just…” The seadweller’s gaze went up and down, studying Valeba like a piece of meat on display. She slipped a hand underneath the waistline, tightening the grip around the nearest knife. She let out a slow, silent exhale. Only a matter of time now.

It never came. That flash of color returned to her vision, closer now. It wasn’t a flash anymore, but a tall man in a patchwork suit and dark sunglasses looming over the seadweller. He had an odd set of horns: one curled tightly around his ear like Vodnik’s, but the other hooked up and appeared broken off right where it would have curved downward. He gave the two of them a wide grin as he fished around his upper pocket to pull out a white case.

“You must be Siroet,” he said pleasantly. Before she had the chance to say something nasty, he opened up the case and hastily pulled out a small card out. One of them he handed out to the seadweller. Another one fell right on the floor. “Gonzor Tenerg, Trolling Stone. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Siroet’s face melted into calm passivity. She gave Gonzor a dainty-looking hand to shake. “Oh yeah, Careen mentioned you. You were the one looking to talk to her,” she said sweetly.

Valeba scowled. Figures this troll seadweller was somehow wrapped up in the Heiress. It certainly explained the outfit, anyway. She’d seen more than enough of some of the outfits, between the pictures on her Chittr she posted nonstop and the photos Dontoc texted her when they stopped paying attention to him.

He gave Siroet a pleasant, if empty, smile. “You could say that, yes. I’m looking to write a story on the Heiress. Really get a feel for not just her, but the people she keeps around. Helps give the people a whole sense of who may one day take down the Empress.”

She nodded vigorously. She took her free hand in his, delicately clasping it.  “Oh, yes. Yes. I understand completely Mr. Tenrig. Please, come with me. Let’s sit! I’ll give you everything you need to know.”

“Oh yes, oh yes.” He glanced at Valeba to give her a quick nod before sliding his hand out from Siroet. Right when he tipped her head up to look at him better, she slinked silently back into the crowd. She only just caught the oliveblood looking back toward her direction with a knowing grin as the crowd engulfed her.

Time to go find her kismesis.