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byrdstrolls · 5 months ago

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Mysteries Are Like Onions Part One

Somewhere, deep in the western plains, dotted with sparse farms and gas stations, cottonwood and tumbleweed, a young boy steps off a train. He is dressed like a respectable six sweep old in his sunday best, though it was friday. He wears a brown overall dress with a short light red button up. A pair of dark red fingerless gloves and bows in his hair signify his blood color. On his back is one of those tall camping backpacks, nearly the size of the entire kid, yet it had to be lightweight enough, because he navigated the dusty old station with balance and ease, though perhaps a bit of slowness. Clasped in his hands is a yellow lined notepad, the kind where the papers tear off, that he has a pen leaned into at the ready. In his mouth is a tiny gold sunflower necklace he gnaws on absentmindedly, thinking. Anyone who knew him would know it rarely left that place in his mouth.

Strangely, he is alone.

Down the way, an older tealblood woman in a long dress and cardigan paces up and down the station's platform. Anxiety radiates off of her even from ten or so feet away, but the child, with a glance around, quickly deduces she is the only other troll at the station. He walks over, red shoes clacking on the grain of the old wood, and, as gently as he can, attempts to interrupt her nervous march.

“‘xcuse me miss,” He says. “You have a moment?”

“Hmm?” She answers, blinking. “Oh-” She says, glancing at the teenager as if seeing him for the first time.

“Sure” She says, her gaze softening.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a map of this area, wouldya? I’m tryin’ to make my way to the umm. Express train station but I might’ve gone the wrong way.”

The woman pats her pockets, finding them empty.

“Well- not with me” She says, apologetically. “But it’s not far to my hive. Do you have somebody waitin’ on you?” She continues, hoping the answer is yes. It’s dangerous to travel alone, especially with a caste that low and especially for a troll that young.

“No m’am” He says, and her heart sinks ever so slightly. “Lead the way.”

And so the two of them began to walk back towards the direction of the town.

“I’m Laryan” She offers.

“Nice to meet ya Miss Laryan” Says the teenager, as polite as ever.

“What’s your name?” She asks. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Barely” He answers, electing to only respond to one of the questions. “I’m Barely Shyeck.”

“That's… an interesting name” She responds.

“I’m a detective” He says, as if this somehow justifies something.

“Is that so?” She replies.

“All detectives” he says, “Have silly names”

“Can’t say I’ve met enough detectives to know.”

“Sher-lock. Pie-rot. The silly name” He says. “Came free with my notepad.”

She snorts, unable to help from laughing at this assertion, and judging by the grin around his necklace on Barely’s face, he had intended it that way.

“This is me,” She says, pointing to a cozy little one story hive, and unlocking the door.

“Nice place” Barely says, looking around.

“Oh- don’t pay attention to anything, it’s so dirty” She sighs, shuffling through piles of papers on a crowded dining room table. Eventually, she pulls out a rail map, sweeping out a place on the table and unfolding it out. Barely inches closer, looking over her shoulder.

“You and I are right here” She says, circling the town of Baskertop. “Over by the Fleetrail, (but that’s not a passenger train) and the Eastbound. You can take the Eastbound train” she says, hand going further down the map, “Up to Shercattle, and take that up to Creekturn, and the Express to the city is right there”

He nods along, his brow furrowing, tracing the journey she’s laid out for him several times with a finger.

“Could I have this?” he asks. “I��ll work to pay you back.”

“How so?” She asks.

“I’m a detective” He again asserts, clearly having a lot of pride in referring to himself as such. “Give me a mystery and I’ll solve it- and I’ll not ask for a fee if you let me stay the day and have the map.”

She had already become endeared to the strange little young man to the point she might have offered him those things freely. But the little rust seems to take himself so seriously it was hard not to play along.

“Alright,” She says. “I misplaced my wallet this evening- If you can find it, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Barely pauses for a second. “Miss Laryan,” he says. “I’d gladly do that for you, but you’re sellin’ me a lil short” he huffs. “I really can handle a mystery more mysterious than that.”

“If I can think of another one,” She says. “I’ll let you know. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes miss, thank you” He says, giving one last look at his map before setting down his notepad.

“Why were you at the train station, Miss Laryan? Were you waitin’ on someone?”

She laughs, in the floaty, self deprecatory way some trolls do, putting a kettle on the stove.

“Not exactly. I was tryin’ to build up the nerve to make a visit to Shercattle myself. But it doesn’t matter- misplaced my wallet. I couldn’t find my train ticket, I’m sure it was in it.”

“Why were you goin’ there?” He asks.

“To visit a friend of a friend- if he could be called that, and ask him a favor.” Laryan sighs, tapping her finger on the counter.

“My moirail” She says. “Is a cowboy out on the plains. A bunch of his cattle, and the other cowpokes too, have been going missin’. All of them are at their wits ends about the whole thing.”

“Really?” Barely says, perking up, scribbling down on his notepad. Drawn to these kinds of puzzles like a moth to a flame. It’s like trying to fish salt out of water, to separate a detective from their nosiness.

“All of them” She frowns, exhaling. “Are out there blaming the other cowpokes, or a thief. Think someone takin’ more than their share.”

“Makes sense,” Barely nods. “But what’s that got to do with Shercattle?”

“Well,” Laryan shrugs. “I figured if somebody was stealing the moobeasts, they’d probably have to be selling em, or the meat, somewhere, right? And the cowboys know most people in Baskertop. It’s a small town. They’d know if somebody was buyin’ em here. Shercattle, though, it’s a little further out- mostly dairy farms. They’d have just as much of a reason to buy cattle as we do.”

“So you were gonna go there, and ask your friend of a friend if he’s seen anything?” The rustblood extrapolates, thinking, that perhaps, Miss Laryan was a whole lot smarter than she trusted herself to be. The kettle on the stove goes off, it’s screech like a final ding to the end of his sentence.

She takes the thing off the stove, going to pour the tea.

“Yes,” She confirms. “This friend- well, you didn't hear this from me-" She qualifies, before beginning something like gossiping. "He's a, well- I don’t want to say a fling- of my moirail- Vekeso- Well, maybe he would be if they stopped pussyfootin’ about. I knew him through Vek. He’s a dairy farmer. I probably forgot my wallet someplace, because, well, I was so nervous, I think there’s been some kind of fallin’ out between the two of them these past months. I don’t know if he’s still fond of me, knowin’ how tied up I am with Vekeso. Sugar?” She asks.

“Yes please!” Says the teenager, swinging his feet under the table. “Honey, if you have it. Are you sure you don’t want me to solve all that mystery instead?” He offers.

“Trolls can turn nasty about these kinds of things when there’s money involved” She sighs, setting down his teacup. “I’d rather you stay out of it, for my peace of mind.” She continues, sitting down with him. “Don’t you wanna ask me questions about my wallet?”

The young man picks up the tea, blowing on it, a tiny huffy little frown on his face, as if he still considered this beneath him.

“Where’d you last have it?” He concedes, starting with the basics.

“Well,” She says, pausing to sip her tea. “I usually keep it in my coat pocket. I wear this coat everywhere, you see. I’ve never lost it before.”

“Is there anyplace you hang up your coat? Did you buy anything this evening or last morning?”

“There’s a rack at work and at my hive” She says, touching her cheek with her finger as she thinks. “I don’t think I bought anythin’- but, oh!” She squeaks suddenly, paling.

“What is it Miss?” Barely inquires, a look of concern flashing across his face, he turns the necklace in his teeth.

“I shan’t say.” She frowns, her shoulders sinking.

The young rust stares for a moment, and then reaches across and takes the woman's hand, giving it a gentle pat.

“My loyalty is to my client, Miss. That’s you. I won’t tell anybody.”

She frowns, glancing to the side, but the boy really does seem so earnest.

“Don’t tell a soul” She says, biting her lip. “But… I’m a clerk at Baskertop’s Municipal office. My eyes aren’t as fast as they used to be. Sometimes- I’ll get a little behind.” Laryan sighs. “On the paperwork. And- it’s not supposed to leave the archives. But, some days, I’ll take something and fold it up and stash it away- so I can work on it before opening next evening, and not fall behind.” She groans. “I can see it now. I was probably foldin’ up something frantically, puttin’ it in the wallet, rushing around to close up on time- and I probably left it right there on my desk” She says, with a guilty, sad little smile.

He nods. “See?” He says. “Too easy.”

“I work again later tonight, I can check when I clock in then.” She muses. “Thanks anyways, Mr. Detective.” She says fondly. “Want me to show you to the guest room?”

“No thank you, Miss Laryan.” he says. “I might wanna go around town for a spell.” Barely says, standing up to rinse his empty mug.

“I told you,” She frowns. “Don’t go pokin’ around that moobeast thief nonsense.”

“I won’t” he says, with a smile. “I promise” He says, heading out the door to go start pokin’ around that moobeast thief nonsense.

He starts, as any reasonable troll would, a ranches, moseying about for cowpokes down the road. It’s not long before he finds one. Barely’s eyes light up, and he walks over to a tall beanpole of a jade sitting up on a wood fence.

“‘xcuse me sir,” Barely says. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Vekeso, wouldya?”

“Who’s askin’?” The man mutters, lifting the brim of his hat.

“I’m Barely Shyeck” He says, offering his hand. “Detective”

“Detectin’ what?” The stranger huffs, staring down at the hand but not taking it. “Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, no, I’m just tryin’ to find some missing moobeasts, mister…?”

The jade stares down at the still offered hand for a moment, before finally conceding to take and shake it. He releases it, leaning back.

“Mister Vekeso to you.” He says.

Barely grins, glad to have found him so quickly.

“Mister Vekeso” He says, “Could you show me the fields where the cattle are?”

“You fine with horses, kid?” Vekeso says. “Dunno what you’ll find that the rest of us haven’t.”

“I’ve been riding horses since I was four, mister.” Barely says, climbing over the fence to where Vekeso kept his stallion. Suddenly, the Jadeblood pauses.

“The other cowpokes didn’t send you, did they?” He asks.

“Miss Laryan did, in a way.” He answers.

“Of course” Vekeso sighs, plopping down on the horse, and offering a kid a hand up. But he does seem to relax upon hearing that his moirail was the source of Barely’s investigation. “She’s always meddlin’ in cowpoke business,” He mutters, but in the fond kind of way in which a troll teases someone they’re close to.

“She means well, Mister.” He replies, leaning into him as the horse begins to trot in earnest.

The plains were beautiful this time of night, a great rolling ribbon of greens, pinks and blues that stretched out into a star filled sky. The plants were tall and thriving in the moonlight. It’s quiet, and a little serene, but the detective's eyes are not on the view, but on the ground.

“You graze your herd here often?” Say’s the boy.

“What’s it to you?” says the jade, as forthcoming on information as ever.

“It just doesn’t look very grazed, is all” He answers, gesturing at the lush vegetation.

Vekeso is quiet for a long moment before he decides to answer this question.

“We used to go further north.” He says. “But since the Fleetrail went in half a sweep ago, all the construction, there just isn’t enough land anymore. I’d have been outta a job if the Mayor hadn’t rented us the Redgrass Ranch he’s been sittin’ on.”

“I see,” Barely says. “The cows sure must be happy about it.”

Vekeso snorts. “Yeah, I bet” He says, a tiny half smile appearing on the jade’s face for a moment, before being swallowed, and disappearing into a look of barely withheld bitterness. Barely waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Do you like the new lands?” The child prompts, finally.

“That’s neither here nor there.” Vekeso murmurs under his breath.

“Any information, really” Says Barely. “Might help with the case.”

“This’s got nothin’ to do with the cattle” He says, still prickly.

“Motives” Barely retorts. “For trolls bein’ upset, might have a lot to do with the cattle.”

“I thought I wasn’t in trouble.” Vekeso replies.

“You’re not.” The teenager reassures.

“Well, I’m the only one who’s upset,” Vekeso complains. “And I didn’t steal any damn cattle about it. I’m too grown for that. The mayor was nice and all to rent us these grounds.” He huffs. “But he’s still fleet, so there’s all sorts of stupid regulations on it. How long you can stay, who you sell cattle too, who you gotta answer to. The other cowpokes don’t care, because we’re making more money than we ever have, sellin’ out to factories who want that free range sticker ta put on their packages” Vekeso says, pulling the horses reins, bringing the two of them to a halt, in a little area on the edge of the woods that overlooked the herd.

“Me I’m not fond of anybody lookin’ over my shoulder.” He exhales, sliding off the horse, and crossing his arms.

“And there’s the disappearances” Barely adds.

“Yeah, and there's those.” The cowboy sighs. “Not fond’a those either. But I wouldn’t be stealin’ my own damn moobeasts.” He adds.

Barely hops off after him, stumbling a little as he lands on the ground. “I understand, Mister Vekeso, really. I don’t think it's you. But that helps, anyway.” He attempts to reassure him, again. The child smooths out his dress, and begins to take a closer look around the property. Turning in circles once or twice with his notepad, biting into that necklace.

“Mister Vekeso” He says, suddenly. “Do these woods go down the whole property?”

“Pretty much” He answers. “They follow along the river.”

A contemplative expression rests on the rustbloods face, and he turns and begins walking into the trees.

“Hello?” Vekeso says, watching with mild confusion, gesturing at the herd. “The cattle are over here, “detective”?” he says, gesturing at the field.

“Don’t airquote me, “cowboy”” Barely bites back. “What kinda animals do you usually get out here, Mister?”

“Nothin’ bigger than a fox or deer, kid. I mean, nothin’ that’s gonna wanna eat a moobeast.” He says. “What’re you on about?”

“How far north does the Fleetrail go?” Barely asks, bustling around the forest floor as if looking for something.

“What?” Says Vekeso with a sigh, before finally following Barely into the woods, not wanting to lose sight of him.

“You said the new segment was built earlier this sweep” The detective clarifies, wandering around glances under bushes. “Does it go back far?”

“It’s a train,” Vekeso says, struggling to keep up with the child. “Of course it goes back far.”

“They probably developed,” Barely says, climbing around some rocks. “A lot more land than just your old ranges, didn’t they?” He continues, his voice muffled by distance.

“Probably” Vek says, frowning.

“Well, what kinds of animals live further up north?” Barely says, continuing his strange search. “Their habitats woulda been destroyed. I reckon they’d be upset, and starving, and wandering around further out than they’d ever been havin’ nowhere to go.”

“I see where you’re goin’ with this” Vekeso says, finally catching up. “But what’d be big enough to take a whole cow?”

“In my travels” Barely says. “I’ve seen howlbeasts, nearly as big as elk, up north.”

The cowboy stares, dumbfounded. “They’d be a long way from home” He answers.

“Couldn’t hurt to look, could it?” Says the rust.

Vekeso walks over to him. “What’re we lookin’ for?”

“Tracks, scat, big hole or cave in the earth that might be a lay or den.” The child says. Vekeso stares for a moment, before exhaling, rolling up his sleeves and going to help the detective with his search.

The two of them cover a lot of ground, in about an hour. With every step he takes further into the property Vekeso starts to feel a little bit more anxious about the whole thing. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the kid to be right. It’d make him feel mighty silly, if he and the other rangers had all been pointin’ fingers everywhere about a problem caused by some displaced wild animals. Just when he opens his mouth to tell the kid maybe they better give up and head back, Barely calls from across the way.

“I found one, Mister!” He exclaims.

“A what…?” Says Vekeso, heading over trepidatiously.

“An old den!” The kid says, peeking out of a large hole in between to big pieces of rocks, holding a tuft of hair triumphantly.

Vekeso walks over, and takes the coarse chunk of fur from his hands.

“I’ll be damned.” He huffs.

“It was wolves.” Barely asserts.

“Well” Vekeso frowns. “I guess I’ll be removin’ yer air quotes, Detective Barely.” He says.

The child beams. “Thank you Mister Vekeso.” He says. “Couldya take me back to town?”

It was hard to ride the satisfaction of having solved the case for long. Vekeso didn’t even seem too happy about it, and all the lengthy way back to town, Barely was haunted by the feeling it had been too easy. As easy as a misplaced wallet, wrapped up in a single day. Maybe he shouldn’t wish a harder life on himself, but he longed to stretch his legs and mind further than this. He couldn’t help but think there was a shadow of an even bigger mystery enclosed around this place. He couldn’t see its form, couldn’t determine its nature just yet. Too many loose questions and pathways, ends that hadn’t quite been tied.

Vekeso ran off, presumably to talk to the other cowpokes, to talk strategy. That’s something Barely didn’t like, either. He had given him an answer, but not a solution. The land taken by the Fleetrail wasn’t coming back anytime soon. They might just have to kill the wolves, which was it’s own headache, for both moral and logistical reasons.

At least, Barely resolved, he could head down to the municipal office, and hopefully share with Miss Laryan the joy of finding her misplaced wallet.

But it was not so. As Barely approached the office, a tiny frown curved around his necklace as he began to notice the place was swarming with officers. He glanced between them, attempting to determine the intricacies of their rank, before walking over to the youngest, who was putting crime scene tape over the doors.

“‘xcuse me sir” He says, “What happened here?”

“There was a robbery.” The man sighs. “Someone broke in last day.”

“I don’t mean to be trouble officer, but what’d they take?”

“Government papers. A couple old county estate exchange receipts. Stop nosing around.” The officer says, more sternly.

“I can’t help it, Sir,” Barely answers. “I’m a detective.”

The man pauses for a moment, and then flat out laughs at him.

“Go play somewhere else” He says.

“Can I look inside?” Barely pleads.

“Of course not” The officer huffs.

“Can you describe it to me?” He asks.

“Will that make you leave?” The man says. “It’s a fucking mess, kid. They tore the damn place apart, real desperate for that crusty old paperwork. Piss off.”

Barely’s brows furrow, and he finally takes the hint, walking away. He tries to view the scene from different angles, as best as he could from a distance. He wanders back and forth, before, with a slight frown, pulling out his notepad to write down that none of the doors or windows seem damaged. Besides, he assumes, the sorry state of the office and archives, it was difficult to tell someone had broken in at all. The robber must have been let in, or had a key. He contemplates this for a long moment. Before spotting Miss Laryan down the way, and speedwalking down the road ask fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Miss Laryan” he says, “could I pull you aside for a moment?”

“Barely, I have work” She chides, as the child drags her off into a nearby alleyway. “What’s going on down there?”

“I need you to stay calm, and answer some questions for me” Barely says, with as much assertiveness as he can muster.

“Who else works at the municipal office? Who has a key?”

“Why-” She frowns, “the security? I’m the only clerk, you see. It’s why I gotta work so hard”

Barely’s heart sinks.

“What was the paper,” he says. “That you snuck into your wallet last night?”

“Oh, it was so late” She frowns, struggling to remember. “It was… messiahs- I think… maybe some old land sale?”

“Are you sure you left your wallet on the desk?” He says.

“I mean- not really” She backtracks. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check, right?” She says, flustered by the child's seriousness. “Why do you ask?”

“You can’t go to work,” Barely says.

“What? Why?” Laryan says, biting her nails.

“There’s been a robbery” The rust frowns. “And if the fleet sheriffs got any kind of head on their shoulders, you’re a prime suspect.”

Miss Laryan pales. “But- I didn’t! I was- I take paperwork home all the time! There just- weren’t enough hours in the night- what’re they saying? What should I say?” The woman panics, starting to hyperventilate.

“M’am,- m’am it’s okay, just breathe-” Barely tries to assure her to little avail.

“I can’t go to jail!” The teal squeaks, and then, suddenly, falls to the ground, as if stressed to the point of honest to g-d fainting.

Barely’s eyes widen, and he stares around helplessly. “Miss,” he pleads, on deaf ears, staring at her collapsed form, frozen. A little time passes, as he struggles to figure out what to do.

Eventually, a shopkeeper walks by, turning and peaking into the alleyway with concern. Barely makes a half effort to step in front and block the view of the unconscious woman, but he’s too small and too slow for it to do any real good.

“Ah,” The stranger says, not even seeming to notice this attempt “She having one of those again?”

“‘Xcuse me?” Barely says, shyly.

“Don’t worry about it son,” the man says, rolling up his sleeves. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Laryan gets this spells every time she gets nervous. Must be havin’ a hell of a night.” He sighs. “Help me carry her back to the mart, and get a cold towel, she’ll be up in no time” he says, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Of course” Barely says, shaken up but glad to be of help, the rust hurries to grab Miss Laryan’s legs, following the man in front of him’s lead into a convenience store, it’s neon sign spelling out the word DUNNERMART. They brought her over to a bench, and set her down. The young man catches his breath, shaking out his arms.

“What’s your name, kid?” The shopkeep asks.

“I’m Barely, Mister.” He answers.

“I’m Dunner” The man grins. “You want a milkshake?”

Barely pauses, as if, caught up in the excitement of it all, he hadn’t realized he didn’t have much to drink or eat today.

“I don’t have any money” He says.

“First one’s on the hive” Dunner says, turning around to make one in the machine.

“Thank you, Mister” Barely says, gnawing furiously on his necklace, leaning on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t used to such graciousness, especially from a highblood. The man hands him the drink. Barely pauses, wondering if it would be safe to question him.

“What’s going on down the road?” The detective says, baiting him by feigning ignorance.

“Someone broke into the government office,” Dunner shrugs.

“Any idea who?”

“Beats me- I wasn’t here all yesterday. Didn’t see anybody suspicious. I hear the cowpokes are fightin’ over somethin’ or other.” He shrugs.

The kid glanced downwards. None of this information was new to him.

“You know anything about a land sale in town?” He asks.

“Nope,” He answers. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’” Barely says, sipping his milkshake. “Just curious.”

“Stay safe, kid,” Dunner says. “Shouldn’t be messin’ around about things so serious at your age. Be careful” he continues. “Where you put your trust.”

Does he imagine it, or do the shopkeeps eye’s flicker over to the unconscious Laryan for a moment?

“Of course, I’ll be careful Mister Dunner” Barely says, a guarded expression crossing him.

The shopkeep heads to the back of the shop, presumably to go work on something or other, and he’s replaced by a bored looking cashier. Barely continues to sip his drink at a snail's pace frowning. He’s nearly an inch from finishing it before Miss Laryan’s eye’s flicker open. The rust’s gaze goes to the cashier glued to her phone, and then back to his friend.

“Stay calm, Miss,” he whispers. And she freezes. “I think you’re innocent- those officials shouldn’ta been workin’ you to the bone in the firs’ place.”

“What should I do?” She mutters back in hushed tones. “I can’t return the papers, I still can’t find em” She chokes.

“I think you and I should go up to Shercattle, and visit your friend of a friend.” Barely says.

“Barely,” She pleads. “I told you to not go pokin’ around about the cattle.”

“Not about that” He retorts. “I just think it might be smart for you to skip town a couple a nights” He says.

The woman pales. “Okay” She squeaks.

“Someone else,” He says. “Was lookin’ real hard for those papers, and I don’t think they found em. You don’t tear apart an office like that if the papers are right on the desk peakin outta a wallet.” The rust continues, thinking out loud.

“You think so?” Miss Laryan whispers.

“Yes, Miss, I do.” Barely whispers, determined. “I wanna know who wanted em that bad and why.” He asserts, offering a hand to the woman.

“So how about on that long train ride, you tell me-” He says, pulling the woman to her feet, picking up his notepad. “In as much detail as you can- every single thing that happened from when you closed last morning til you met me at the station this evening” He says, his sunflower necklace making slow circles in his mouth as he and Miss Laryan walked outside, as the detective concedes that just maybe, just maybe,

youtube

This wallet thing might be a mystery of the scale he was interested in after all.

#barely writing #<---kind of a funny tag out of context #my writing #drabbles #fantroll #fantroll rp #homestuck #homestuck oc #homestuck rp #hiveswap #friendsim #pesterquest #Youtube

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windy-trickster · 7 months ago

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OUGH. Sooooo.... Decided to do this myself :3c

In order:

@wormstuck @ketchfantrolls @jaded-daydream

@knavestrolls @ase-trollplays @miks-fantrolls

@lashysdomain @memurfevur

Fuck you *shitty doodles your fantrolls

#homestuck #hiveswap #fantrolls #i would tag them all but like #i'd lose my mind writing “guest star” 8+ times #windy arts

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sunlitewhispers · 1 year ago

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Marvus and his money headcanon

(Been surfing through the marvus tags and I've got some thoughts to share regarding this clown)

To start off, I personally think troll currency is more digital than physical. Like everyone uses a card to trade or get items (and its only due to the empresses restrictions on things when she removed the adults from the planet) but physical money is still real, it's just a fun thing that highbloods and high midbloods use to flaunt and to trade amongst each other.

To signify the value of the bills, they have a strip of color from the cast they were made for. For example, Teals =80, Cerulean =90, Indigo =100, etc.

(There were coins that were common amongst lowbloods and low midbloods, but that got discontinued when moving to cashless/digital. There is evidence preserving the old currency existence such as in museums showings of the old times and extremely old paintings in the clown churches.) (You can think that these coins are caegars or not)

With that out the way! On to Marvus and his money 💰

I imagine Marvus doesn't really care about money nor feels that it has a heavy connection to his identity compared to performing/entertaining. Marvus just knows that people wanna see him and lose their shit at his concerts and are willing to drop stacks to be there even with the risk of being culled.

With that, Marvus can be loose with his money, quite literally throwing it around to which some highbloods would critique the act as 'disrespectful' and 'rebellious' since money is one of the ways ancestors can provide to descendants and give them a clue to their existence. (If they want or have left a will if they died, regardless, the empire still sets them up with a small fund)

I dont know if philanthropy would be an actual thing or just be a thing highbloods (like Zebruh) say they do for approval points. But I imagine Marvus would be the type to do so in the most unconventional means.

He probably stopped his tour bus once to grab a grubshake or a handmade sandwich from a small cafe and threw a fat band on the counter saying, "Keep da change lol." Leaving the workers there in awe and fear cause damn he just weirdly blessed them, and damn they now gotta fight off his fans from stealing the marvy money. (If Marvus is there, his fans are certainly gonna be there too.)

Marvus definitely buys his crew lunch or, if he's hanging with someone, offers to pay for them when he's out and about. He stresses tf out of his accountant because he doesn't keep track of how much he spends in a day. You know his ass absolutely has a money gun to use at his concerts.

Bascially when you're Marvus, you're a baller who is a big spender.

When interacting with Marvus, depending on his quadrant, you're gonna see how he moves with his cash.

•♡ Matespirit ♡•

if you got this man in this quadrant, good luck on getting Marvus not to spoil the fuck out of you. Trust and believe he'll take any chance to drop some stacks on you. If you guys are out and you say or point out some items, you can bet that Marvus is buying them.

Oh, you think that clothing line is cute? Guess what? He's ordered the entire line to be sent to your place.

Big fan of video games? No problem! He is getting the newest console out on the market in your favorite color with your name on it.

Love sweets? Bam! He's gonna invite you over to his crib and have you watch a team of trolls bake the best desserts of Alternia.

Money ain't a thang to this man. It gives him a chance to show his love through the material means and show that he wants you to enjoy yourself and time with him. Small part of him uses money to be a temporary fix when he has to go on long tours. If he can't spend time with you on troll FaceTime or in real life, he'll send gifts to show that he's still alive and thinking about you.

However, if large displays of affections through money don't appeal to you or you start to feel overwhelmed by the purchases or think he's being disingenious in his affection, he'll pull it back.

He'll likely give you a card that's connected to his account so you can have the control to buy what you want without feeling like you have to ask him. (And such an act will give him a small piece of security to know you'll have the means to survive financially on Alternia, especially if you've expressed times of financial hardships to him)

Also doesn’t matter if it's public or private, He's gonna randomly place bills on your person, i.e., stuffing them in your pockets, slipping them in your shirt pocket, pinning them to your jacket. If you ask him why he's doing that (or wonder where he stores his cash)(btw he literally has no pants pockets) Marvus is gonna give you a saucy wink and smile all dumb and say "a mf gotta pay dem feez 4 havin a wicked mate lik u b ;0)" than he'll place a smacking wet kiss on your forehead and be all noisey about it while doing so.

•◇ Moirials ◇•

In this quadrant, his spending habit might look casual to outsiders, but with you, they'll be a tad more personal. Still be extra af like in matespiritship but he'll be spending money to clear his mind or yours.

Feeling stressed about some unfinished work? Don't worry. He'll reserve a spa service just for you.

Need to cry out some hard feelings? He's gonna get some matching pajamas and grab some emergency blankets to get that session on.

You know that one ring that SpongeBob and Patrick have to show off their friendship? He's gonna get something like that to represent your guy's moirallgience. Anything involving moirails, he will buy and send them to you.

You're definitely gonna be his merch tester and probably be brought to his trips to the galleries when he goes to buy art pieces. (Need your support and opinion when bidding for art pieces.)

Like with matespiritship, if you feel like he's being insincere or rather prefers more handmade gifts. He'll try to schedule days to create personal gifts. He might pay someone to tutor him about your interests just so you can rant without having to stop and explain what you're talking about.

Marvus will remember what your favorite snacks and favorite meals are for when you're hanging with the crew or just him. Compared to where he won't care about what someone orders, you don't gotta worry about an order mess up or reminding him. He got that locked in, unless you want something different, then just point him to it.

If there is a fucked up order for you, he will raise hell. Typically, he won't care if something he orders is messed up. He'll pay for another one. However, on behalf of his moirial, this mf gonna walk up to the counter like that meme saying they asked for no pickles. The first and hopefully (in his opinion) only time you'll ever see him asking for a refund.

A thing that'll be a routine of your relationship is him swinging by your place late af in the daytime to grab you and get some breakfast before he has to start his night.(Unless you spend the day at his hive than he'll order said breakfast and catch some more Zzzs with you.)

•♤ Kismeses ♤•

Now in this quadrant, compared to the other two, Marvus is a clown who's mischievous as hell. This bitches antics are gonna be up to 100 when it comes to him.

Honestly, you're gonna be on your toes for buying things. It'll become a back and forth of him randomly, not having money than to him having it though being really annoying and lazy with it.

If your someone who's well off, you better hide your wallet. Marvus will snag your card and make an excuse how he left his cash in his other pants/trailer/hive and buy the most stupidest shit under your name. (He'll troll cash app you back but do it so tediously that you hope your account crashes)

If he catches a single hint or a word, even a wrinkle of disgust on you, Marvus will make it the bane of your life.

You dislike the residue of his paint left on your face after a hate-makeout session? Marvus now has to buy this one face paint that is known for being messy. what? His manager told him, too. :0)

You think cowboy boots are clunky and tacky? Guess who's strolling up in some bedazzled purple lined boots that jingle when he walks.

You make a comment on how creepy troll beanie boos plushies are, he's gonna get a brand deal with them and send you a crate of his new designs. A note will be attached saying "4 my numba 1 fan ;0)~".

Similar to moirallgience, you will be a merch tester, yet you won't know if he's being serious or wanting to rile you up. Regardless, when you shit on the design he's showing you, that's how he'll know his fans will love it! Doesn't matter if it's the simplest design, an eyesore to the public, he'll promote it to the point that even your small-time friends will surely mention the product to you. Might even send a shout-out to you on Chitter for your 'help'.

Don't ask him for a bill if you want something from a vending machine. Marvus will pull the most crumpled weirdly stained bill you'll ever see in your lifetime and smile at you plainly like, "Here u go buddi dats all I can find on me atm lmao." Additionally to this, he will slowly count his bucks out if you all are in a line somewhere. (Marvus knows no one will rush him and if you complain, he'll pretend he lost count and start over)

To conclude this, watch out for when he's feeling more petty. He'll make a habit of sending you items in loud peculiar packaging that suggest to those handling it that there's something inappropriate in it when there really isn't.

•♧ Auspistice ♧•

With this one, Marvus doesn’t fit the vibe of where he might truly kill his kismeses. Nor does he seem to want to be in a situation to be aggravated enough to join in murdering someone (Going off his response to MSPA reader when the clown fight happened). However, Marvus may strive on not becoming active on those emotions. Close calls can exist.

A tiff among his roadies about best faygo flavors is a good way. His manager hassling him, and trying to change up his brand is close enough. Groupie sea dwellers trying to follow him back to his trailer and not taking a hint is a real close call.

If you mediate for Marvus a few times, he'll certainly be grateful (and a bit embarrassed) he'll grant you a gift card of some shop of your choice as thanks.

On the other hand, you've been around long enough to spot a murderous Marvus, then you're undeniably a part of his inner circle. With the exception of being his paid emotional bodyguard coach.

As business-like, it might seem in the beginning, you're a trustworthy and skillful individual in Marvus's eyes. He knows dealing with irritated trolls, particularly enraged highbloods, is not a fun nor easy task.

Other trolls may feel like this relationship is wandering into moirallgience territory.(which might be) Marvus won't really care about those opinions and possibly offer to meditate for you in the event he catches you in a tense position.

You’ll be called for his long tours when he has to do shows for sea dwellers and, without a doubt, be put through the ringer. It'll end with you guys munching on loads of the troll version of ice cream in silence.

At any point, you're too stressed to de-escalate a situation. He'll give you a paid vacation and make sure you don't come back until you are entirely stressed free.

He may tell you once he calms down that you should open a private business due to your and I quote "motherfckin dopeazz obzi-va-tional skilz."

Small note : Marvus has dealt with people trying to form a quad with him just for the fame/money, as we seen with Zebruh. So if he catches signs that what's happening, he's going to be acting distant and extremely scripted around you, then like ghost you. You'll be blacklisted from his concerts (unknowingly), and future clowns might keep a close eye on you if you hang at the churches.

Welp, that's all! Hopefully, this was entertaining to read! I do apologize if some parts feel rushed or that there were more details in some quads, I tried to keep them around the same length.

#whistalk #hiveswap friendsim #marvus xoloto #hiveswap marvus #marvus x reader #Hiveswap headcanon #hiveswap #friendsim #reader insert #Quadrant talk #hs marvus #long post #Small mention of Zebruh #Small mention of sea dwellers #Would Marvus be a Troll Mr. Beast in spirit?#Trying to summon the xoloto vibes when writing speaking parts in this #MSPA reader mentioned #homestuck

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relaxxattack · 6 months ago

Note

Do you have headcanon/ideas about cobalt/ceruleans as a class that you think hiveswap gets wrong?

you know, it may surprise you, but i actually don't have many.

i actually really like all the ceruleans in hiveswap. none of them are insanely interesting or anything, and obviously none of them cold even come close to holding a candle to vriska-- but who could, really? vriska is supposed to be a stand-out character. it makes total sense that other ceruleans would seem boring in comparison.

i like that most of them are just conniving bitches. that's about what i would expect from the blue-blooded caste. in fact, i wish more of the indigos were like that-- it's weird to me that the indigos seem so carefree and less cutthroat. maybe wealth will do that to you. but it's not as if they're seadwellers...

i think my one note would be that i hate this remark mallek makes in his route where he basically acts like a little pissbaby and tries to claim that ceruleans have it really hard compared to indigos.

yeah of course indigos have it better than ceruleans-- they are on the rung above them. but ceruleans are not "barely blue". ceruleans ARE blue. ceruleans are bluebloods. they are well off little fuckers and it's so strange that hiveswap acts like bluebloods need to scrounge to get by... because they don't.

i mean, casual reminder that vriska lived in a fucking castle. one that was nearly equal to her neighbor equius next because they're both... bluebloods.

however did you know there's a caste that IS on the edge of blueness? who has to work hard in their field to be respected and treated well? because, while they are technically blueish, they sit on the line of it and will get a side eye about it?

that's right, tealbloods. i mean teal is literally the fucking intersection between green and blue anyway so you'd think that would be more obvious.

as you can see in this quote terezi gets grouped in with bluebloods frequently because she counts as one (perhaps especially in the POV of rusts like aradia). aradia even has to clarify that she means no offense to terezi specifically when she calls bluebloods "hateful snobs".

you can also see here that terezi literally uses blueblood slang and is mocked somewhat for that. this is because she does, again, technically count as a blueblood.

so yeah that's my one issue with the hiveswap ceruleans. it's weird that they try to go with the "ceruleans have it really hard within the blueblood group" when there was already a setup for that with tealbloods in homestuck proper. it just sort of makes it sound like mallek is a whiny little bitch lol.

making the eye mutations thing common is also a little silly to me personally, (yet another case of using the personality traits of the betas to account for the entire caste), but it's cute so whatever.

other than that though i'm a big fan of them, they're a really fun amount of awful when they aren't boring.

#'i don't have any issue with the hiveswap ceruleans' (proceeds to write an essay)#this could have been like 1 sentence... sorry everyone i just love citing my sources too much when i make points :(#hsmeta #op #hiveswap #bluebloods #alternia

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byrdtrollsunoreversearchive · 7 months ago

Text

Hunters and Prey

(Teehee, Matteo belongs to @contrastparadoxx !! who helped edit this drabble)

Here's the thing- Loneliness had never been a question from which he expected an answer. It was a presuit predator. It followed him at a steady, constant pace. His thoughts were only ever on moving fast enough to not be caught, right now. He did not imagine a life where he was not being hunted. Sweeps later trolls would say to him, it must have been so boring, living alone on that planet for sweeps. But he had never been bored. He could not afford to be. There was always food to be gathered, hunted. There was always more ruins to explore. There was always books to devour and skills to practice and more work to be done. If there was no work, there was nothing to think about. If there was nothing to think about, loneliness would hit him like a derailed train, an animal too big to fight or escape. It would throw him around in its jaws as if he were a toy, it would leave him bloody and bruised with a consuming dread that something was missing. His body knew something was missing before his mind.

When he was younger, Papparav had visited. He had appeared at the doorway and took Lakrav in his arms, he taught him to read, and to speak. He would tell him funny stories about far away places and mystical things, words he had to write down to look up in the dictionary later but sometimes still failed to understand. It has been sweeps since Papparav came. Lakrav thinks of him all the time. He could not conceive of a universe bigger than the gentle safety of his ancestors arms. When he hoped it was always for his return. There was no way, he could have predicted what was right in front of him. The foxtroll stands still for a moment, before slowly peeling his snow goggles off his face. The winds were low.

The snare had been set off, but not by a deer, or a moose, or even a rabbit or bird. It was easy to tell what had been upended by the rope was not an animal. His clothes were a dark, fleece-y gray that was not suited for this weather. He was shorter than him, but not by much. It was hard to tell when he was suspended upside down by a single leg. A trail of oddly colored blood dotted sparsely on the snow showed he had come from the east. He had already been bleeding when he was caught in the snare. It was likely the blood loss that rendered him unconscious. Lakrav circles the hanging troll, wide eyed, as if he could open his eyes wide enough to suddenly understand what he was seeing.

The caught troll had weird ears- they were not pointed like his, but instead sprung from his head in a strange pink fan, like an angry, oddly beautiful lizard. The blood was very, very pink. The wound was unlike any he had seen from a scratch or a bite or a trip or even frostbite. It was like a tiny little circular punch through the person's side, made easily visible by how his shirt hung down backwards towards the forest floor. Lakrav circles him, he looks through his pockets. There are some things he recognized as useful. A pen, a knife, a small piece of paper. There were some he immediately discarded. A tiny leather pouch full of plastic squares, one with a photo of the troll's head and writing on them. A little metal box with some buttons. He did not know what a phone was, and, not knowing how to turn it on, tossed it. He takes more time than perhaps he should have, before gently lowering the troll back to the earth. The candyblood thinks for a moment, before wrapping the sleeping body up in a sheet, and loading him onto the sled as if he were any other kill.

Lakrav probably didn’t need to have dressed his wound so thoroughly, (he had no idea of the troll’s regenerative powers) but he did. He didn’t have the sense or the know-how to try and remove the bullet from the body, he probably could not have guessed it was there. But he had carefully disinfected the wound, and stitched it shut with three well placed vertical mattress sutures, interrupted. He had switched him into clean, dry clothes, fleece and wool pants and a colorful t-shirt, leaving only the man’s undamaged jacket wrapped around his shoulders. He had set him by a fireplace, and put on a pot of stew and tea, guessing the troll should probably eat after the amount of blood he lost.

And then he had left him there, going to work on his other chores while the fushia’s body slowly warmed and healed. There were still animals to be cleaned, more prepping to be done for the cold season. He could not afford to lose an entire day to this strange circumstance. An hour or two passed before the man started to stir, his eyes blinking slowly in a strange, sleepy half squint at the warm tones of the place that surrounded him. He took in the smell of herbs and meat, the crackling of the fire, the softness of fabric on his skin, the faint and distant pain in his side. A strange feeling of safety overtook him for a long, half awake moment. But slowly, his eyes started to actually process what surrounded him.

The sight of the room he was laying in makes so little sense that Matteo briefly wonders if something bad happened when all the blood went to his head. The place sits at an ever so slight tilt, snow up to chest height stacked up in the windows. Some parts of it bore the marks of a hunter- animal pelts, bones, weapons and ropes glinting sinisterly in the firelight. But right beside them, there are stuffed animals- colorful and garish fabrics hung like decorative drapes on the wall. There are bright pictures of plants, some more well done than others. A little down the hall, there is a massive map. It seems to show the whole of the long abandoned colony where Lakrav had spent his entire life. A good portion of it was marked by a long, meandering trail of Xes. The Xes at the end of the trail are quick, steady, and decisive. The ones at the beginning are shaky, overlarge and colored, as if made by a child. The room is littered with half finished art projects. There is a corner of the room where, inexplicably, five long rows of various minion and spongebob plushies are hung like a watchful jury. He would laugh, if he was not so scared.

Suddenly, the man in the adjacent room perks up, perhaps having heard him shuffling with a very attuned ear. Lakrav steps out of the animal cleaning room, hanging up an apron and some gloves on the wall. The bloodstains on these items seem to do little work to ease Matteo’s anxiety, even with the childish and curious look on the man's face. Lakrav walks over, leaning over the fushiablood, who recoils ever so slightly. He does not seem to have a great idea of personal space.

“Hi!” he says. “You’re awake!”

Matteo does not answer, not sure if he could find a way how to, even if it weren’t for the months-long period of going non-verbal he was already enduring. Why is this guy so close to his face?

“Do you speak standard?” The man asks. “Do you want soup? Do you want tea? Who are you? What's your name? Why are you here? Did Papparav send you? Do you know him? Why do you have a crown? Why are you dressed so weird? Do you want to be friends? Are you good or evil?” He asks in succession, his social skills clearly a little rusty from lack of use. And then continues to stare as the fushiablood proceeds to answer none of these questions.

“What did this to you?” He says, pointing at the bullet wound. “You fell over on a pointy rod, heh? A perfectly circular bee?” He asks.

And the question itself is so bizarre that without even thinking, the word,

“What…?” Escapes Matteo’s lips.

The foxtroll lights up.

“You do talk!” He exclaims.

“It… seems I do” Matteo says slowly, as if just as surprised to discover this as his companion is.

“You should really have soup” Lakrav decides, stepping back to ladle some into a bowl from the pot. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s- I’m-“ He begins to object, but then as the smell gets closer his body seems to realize that he is, in fact, hungry. He takes the bowl in his hands, warming them.

“I’m Lakrav,” Says Lakrav, pouring himself a cup of tea. “What’s your name?”

“…Matteo,” The fushia says, short answers still easier.

“Who hurt you?” The other troll asks, blowing gently on his mug. “What’s this?” He says, pointing to the crown on his head. Repeating his earlier questions as if he did not grasp the man may have had a reason not to answer them.

“I was, attacked” Matteo says, in between soup spoonfuls. His hand going to the little golden band that wrapped around the Heir's head. “It’s- a sign of royalty.” He sighs, “I’m a Prince” He says, not sounding that happy about it.

“Heh,” Lakrav says. “I didn’t think it was real! Wow! A Prince!” with incredibly genuine enthusiasm for a turn of phrase that would have lent itself so well to sarcasm anywhere else. “I hoped you were a chef, heh” He admits, touching his beanie.

“Wha- why?” The fuchsia stutters.

The mutant leans over and presses a single metal finger to his shoulder.

“You have a fork on your shirt” He jokes.

Matteo pauses, and looks down at the trident stitched onto his uniform’s jacket, then back at the stranger. “…I think it’s actually a threek”

“A three-k” Lakrav echoes, with a blank expression, silent for a moment, and then suddenly bursts out into vicarious laughter, like a man who has not heard a joke from someone else in a long, long while.

“Eheheh!!! That’s not a real word” He says, jovially lightly punching the other guy's shoulder, before suddenly frowning, remembering his wound.

Matteo winces ever so slightly, but cannot help but let a tiny smile tug at his face for a half second. He takes in the strangely hard and cold feel of the punch, and the shininess of the mutant's hands.

"Sorry" Lakrav says.

“What happened to your fingers?” Matt answers.

“Hmm?” Lakrav says, holding up his hands. His palms are flesh, but the digits themselves are clearly metal, held in place by a bony little exoskeleton that rested on top of the skin.

“Frostbite” he says, his tone still light and easy. “When I was six. You are lucky I found you so soon, ya? You might have lost some too” He grins, with all the casual tone of someone talking about their breakfast.

“Right” Matteo replies, thinking about attempting to explain his deepdweller traits that allowed him to survive lower temperatures, but quickly surmises it would likely be more trouble than it’s worth.

“How did you get here?” Lakrav asks, ever curious. “I’ve never seen anybody besides Papparav around here.”

“My ship,” He explains. “To observe the planets state”

“A ship!” Lakrav says. “Like a pirate? Are there more of you?” He seems very thrilled. He’s very close to Matt’s face again. It was hard enough to wrap his head around one troll- a whole ship of them! Who would have thunk?

“Yes,” Says Matteo, his fins pinned back in discomfort. “But-” He starts, his hand going to his wound, probably in an indication that he and the people on his ship were perhaps not quite on each other's sides right now. But he is interrupted.

“Can I meet them?” Lakrav says, with unbridled enthusiasm.

“I don’t think… that’d be wise” He deflects, staring at the troll across from him.

“Why not?”

“For the…” Matteo trails off. He attempts to figure out how to answer, gesturing in hopes the candyblood will pick up on his subtext. “Obvious… reasons?”

“The reasons?” Lakrav answers, his eyes still wide with more curiosity than hurt. “They are not obvious to me.”

The Fushia paused as he stared into the open trusting eyes of the troll across from him. Pupils like deep weights that were unwillingly dragging his heart down lower into his chest. Did he really- have to be the one? To have this conversation with him?

“You don’t… know…?” He says, slowly.

“Know what?” Lakrav answers.

“You’re a mutant?” Matteo says, his mouth almost wincing around the words leaving him, fins now both back and down. At least there was no one to be mad that he was showing his emotions on his sleeve.

“You know what?” Lakrav says. “I don’t. Let me go find my dictionary.” He says, with a joyful thumbs up, setting down his tea and walking back to his bookshelf, pulling an old, old standard dictionary off the wall, and leafing through it. The man reads the definition, and then frowns, reading it again, once, twice over, his brow furrowing in confusion and upset.

“This is a bad word” He says, sounding a little hurt.

“It’s-” Matteo stutters.

“Listen” Lakrav says, that trace of pain in his voice turning to righteous anger. “If we’re going to be friends. You can’t be calling me these kinds of things.”

“It’s- no, uhm” Talking was starting to hurt, after months of doing none. “Not… meant as an insult. Just- just a descriptor.”

“Well” The troll huffs, closing his eyes. “I think you are a mutant.” He says, clearly still caught up in his misinterpretation of the definition that this was an insult that could be applied to just about anyone, like idiot, or freak.

“I think you are being a total mutant to me right now” He says, crossing his arms.

“Im… a Fushia?” Matteo attempts. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

“It doesn’t?” Lakrav asks.

“Its-“ he worries, biting his lower lip, careful to not let his sharp teeth draw blood “Uhm, okay. Maybe it's a bad word. But it’s only ever used to refer to people like you- with strange blood colors or traits outside of the norm.”

“Why isn’t there a nicer word for that?” Lakrav asks, with seemingly genuine curiosity.

Matteo stares at him for a long while, before breaking eye contact, his face turning to the wall.

“I can’t answer that,” he says.

“Hmm” Lakrav says, picking up some of his subtext all the same. “You say this to me like it’s a very bad thing. Does it mean I am sick or something? Why wouldn’t somebody want to be one? I like my blood. It’s one of my favorite colors.”

“There are a lot of people” The fleet troll says slowly. “Who really hate mutants. They don’t think they should exist. They will likely treat you harshly. It’s dangerous for people like you.”

“I’m sure they would not feel this way,” Lakrav says, with unabashed confidence. “If they got to know me.”

“Many won’t try.” Matteo answers. Lakrav stares at him for a long moment, before his shoulders fall, disappointed.

“Are you one of these people?” He asks.

He opens his mouth to answer, but there is a sudden bang on the door, and Matteo goes deathly still.

Another bang, and it falls open, a whirlwind of ice cold snow overtaking the room instantly chilling both inhabitants. The fire dims in its place, and Lakrav stands up immediately.

“Hey!” He says. “Could you close that!” He pleads.

The perpetrator of this break in steps forward, glancing around the room.

“What kind of fucking circus is this, Princeling” She says dryly, glancing around at the strange decor, resting her chin on her hand. She does not bother to answer Lakrav’s question, her eye’s immediately locking in on the other highblood in the room. “Do you have any idea how much time and money we just wasted, me and the crew wandering around in sub zero looking for you? I’m going to write to the higher ups. Thought you were over this nonsense.” She complains. The neutrality of her tone does not mask the venom of its intentions. She then looks away, pressing a button on the black earpiece that clings to her pointed ears.

“This is Habitt Ferawn back to the Raptor. I have him. In some kind of underground lair with a possible hostile. Call back the scouts onboard, I can handle it.”

Lakrav pauses, wary, not knowing much about technology, he is hopelessly confused about who she is talking to. He glances back at Matteo. “Is she a prince too?”

Matteo only looks back helplessly, seeming to have lost the words that had been quietly making their way back to him.

The purpleblood turns to him. “Who’s your friend?” She says.

Matteo drags himself to his feet, not saluting the woman, because, of course, she was of slightly lower rank, but all of the sudden standing like a soldier, his mildly baffled tone turning into a reserved one so fast and hauntingly it was like a switch had been flipped. Lakrav squints at his new friend.

“Officer Habitt,” Matteo begins. “He found me when I was injured. He took me here and nursed me back to health. He is not hostile.”

Habitt tilts her head. “Of course you’d find your voice now.” She says. “Of all times. You better not have snuck him in on the convoy, there haven’t been trolls on this planet for thousands of sweeps.” She accuses.

“There have been trolls on this planet for ten sweeps” Lakrav asserts. “Because that’s how old I am.”

Habitt stares at him for a moment, not dignifying this with an answer either. Nor asking the mutant any of her own questions about his situation, because well, she truly cared that little. It would not change how she thought of him. The cerulean pulls a short range pistol from her holster.

“Wait! M’am!” Matteo exclaims suddenly, his eyes widening, the man snaps into action, and tackles her just before she fires the shot, successfully deflecting it into the nearby wall.

Lakrav pauses. His hand going to his knife in his pocket. He glances at the circular hole in the wall, and the loud noise, and Matteo’s reaction, and quickly pieces it together.

“She hurt you with that,” He says, taking a step back, remembering the Prince’s wound.

“He lived.” The purpleblood answers. “He heals.”

“Listen,” The Fushia pleads. “Respectfully, Officer Habitt, we could-”

“You can’t expect me” Habitt frowns, but seems more mildly surprised by this development than anything. “To leave him here? A random unregistered Candyblood on an empty planet? Just you wait, Princeling, they breed like roaches.” She says, hitting him hard and square with her elbow, and Matteo lets go, and she re-aims the pistol.

Lakrav draws his knives in answer.

“Officer Habitt!” Matt cries, again, knowing how a knife brought to a gunfight ends. “Habitt, M’am, We could take him with us! We could- we could escort him back to the ship and acquire him. He could be of use to the fleet.” He begs, probably the longest string of sentences he has formed this night. “He has skills.”

“Well if you’re going to be a bitch about it” She says, a surprisingly crude response for how put together Matteo’s plea had just been. “Fine.”

Lakrav pauses, never having been asked his opinion on all of this. Part of him, in his overconfidence, truly believed he could take that woman in a fight.

“Go back to your ship?” He asks Matteo “With the crazy lady?”

“Please,” Matteo whispers. “She’ll kill you otherwise.”

“Not the right way to treat a guest.” The foxtroll answers.

“We can go anywhere in the galaxy” The man says. “Just come with me”

That, at last, finally seems to grasp the mutant. Anywhere. With a desperate tug, his feelings on the situation pull in a landslide the opposite direction. Anywhere?

Here it is, the moment he had heard about in storybooks since he was but a child. He had not imagined it coming quite so literally. Come on Lakrav, you know how this one goes. A Prince finds a Princess in a tower. Happily ever after. Why does he hesitate to step forward? The dreamer in him wants to lunge. The hunter in him wants to wait, is too familiar with traps not to recognize a shiny bit of meat on a stick. This cannot be safe. This was the very woman who hurt his new friend.

But… he cannot stay. He cannot fit the leviathan of this friendship back into the tiny box he called home now that it had been taken out. The moment the world got wider is also the moment these walls started closing in.

And he knows, from the hairs rising on the back of his neck, in the shadows of this tiny well-loved cavern of trophies, Loneliness waits. Loneliness lowers its weight to its haunches, loneliness softly treads across the floor, silent and deadly as a ghost, its lips watering and its eyes fixed. Caught up at last. An animal that could never have been more rabid, could never have been more hungry, could never have been more terrifying, more ready to kill him than it was at this very second. So it was a trap- it might not be one he would have to escape alone. Slowly, Lakrav steps forward.

“You will protect me?” He says, more of a demand than a question, even in a voice as open and passive as his always was.

“Yes,” Matteo says. And maybe he could, with his rank and his status.

And Lakrav stares back, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side with the questioning glance of a troll who had never, that he knew of, been lied to. He breaks eye contact, turning away. He gives one last glance to the room he had spent his whole life coming home to behind him. The mutant pauses, walking just over to the side, staring forlornly at his minion and spongebob plushie wall. He seems to debate between them for a second before grabbing a medium sized, slightly fuzzy one, and tucking it under his arm. He walks back over, and with his free arm, takes the fushia’s hand in his.

“Okay” He says, “Let's go.”

And he follows Fleet Officer Matteo Nyxxus out the door.