#hivetown

[largesleeves]

The Honey Tower sleeps at night

The Honey Tower sleeps at night. In the morning, the buzzing of the building starts to vibrate slightly as the internal hives wake up and start working. On the outside, bees dance around flowers and fly in and out of the tower. The beekeeper has already woken up before any of the bees and put her all of her gear on. She has made her way down the tower and is looking out over Hive Town. Their eyes linger on it for a few moments before she heads back in for the morning chores. Urban collects the honey bottles from the Dandelion floor and puts them in her bag. She takes them up to the Cornflower floor and places the full bottles into the crafter. She moves the bottles from the nearby hive into the crafter as well then moves up to the Wither Rose floor, pulls the manual farm lever twice and collects the honey bottles from it and the larger farm next to it, returning to the crafter and dropping the full bottles off. She takes a few swigs of the tower's hard work as she makes her way back up to the Sunflower floor, the captain's quarters. Bees are buzzing around, tasting the azaleas and carefully potted flowers. She is listening to the bees, listening to The Hive.

The Hive sleeps at night. The Hive is something large, beyond eternity. It is a glue that keeps planes of existence together and universes in clusters. A layer between everything. An unfathomable amount of bees enter and exit The Hive. From each plane and universe there are unique honeys and unique keepers. In Etern1ty, there is a single keeper and they are experiencing a honey sweet nightmare. The Hive has unique practices in each setting but generally there is a system of Elders, Fieldkeepers and Drones. Unfortunately, this universe only has one and she must play all of the roles herself. Interpreting what the Queen wants, organizing help from the bees and executing the orders.

The Tavern sleeps at night. Urban is at the Honey Tavern staring at the bees buzzing inside. Some of the first bees she cared for and nurtured buzzing around behind the glass. So much history in these bees to her. She hasn't been able to visit much because The Hive wanted her at Hive Town but now it needs her to close these hives. As she stares, remembering, her eyes start to water. They eventually calm down and does her work. She waits until all of the bees are inside their boxes and quickly and carefully remove the glass, cover the hives with gates and put the glass all back. They wire up the gates to some redstone so hopefully she might be able to open the hives again sometime. She hopes. She then has to remove the bees from the Inn too but she takes her time, letting the bees move into new clean hive boxes and carefully moves them to Hive Town with her. She leaves the spawn Pirate Town, a fraction of what made it so special to her.

Urban sleeps at night. Urban walks the dim path up to the tower. Arms full of wax, honey and buzzing hives. She unloads her arms and bag onto the Dandelion floor. She sorts the honey away into a barrel, sorts the hives next to the rest of the unused hives and stores the wax away in her bag. She does a stretch then stomps up the stairs. She collects all of the empty bottles and honey blocks from the crafter and carries them down to the bottom floor and sorts everything away. She sits at one of the tables for a moment and notices the honey on her clothes. She stands up and goes too the sink. They rub warm water on the places honey still is sticking to and rubs it off. The bees are starting to go to sleep now as she washes the honey out. She is careful though, near the slime stains. She knows she could probably wash them out but she wont. Urban stomps up the stairs and climbs the ladders until she gets to her bed. They look out at the Catboy Casino tower then turns around and looks at the purple bed sitting on one of her lofts. She takes her mask off once she hears that the buzzing has stopped and tucks herself in for sleep.

[cloudninetonine]

Mhm. I know I haven't mentioned this in a while but do you remember when u was writing a fic about Hivemind in Hyrule? Where we attempt to fix the world after getting isekai'd?

AU where before we finish Breath of the Wild, the Chain shows up.

I plan on having us just take over where Tarrytown would be built (gonna call it Hivetown) and having a little community.

I am in a very fluffy mood and just wanna see the Chain meeting us and also enjoying a place to rest while we keep trying to hide that we're not from this world, also the thought of Wild realizing he's in his Hyrule before he wakes up and having that guilt of feeling like he could have stopped Zelda's suffering sooner and the shock of realizing "What the fuck do you mean the Divine Beasts have been calmed?! I'm not awake yet!" And Hivemind having to dance around that question.

-Fruit anon

This sounds lovely and I can't wait to see what you have Fruit salad!

[trollonfire]

i don’t generally like to post photos * but someone told me i looked like the lowblooded love interest who never left their hivetown from a movie by the hallmark * and it’s the holinights * so why not *|

[cloudbattrolls]

As She Made Us

Chimer Latrai | Dimasqa | Present Night

Heat soaks into your veins and bones like it’s trying to live in your cold body, nestle there like a meowbeast in a windowsill.

Civitrecce’s warm, but its tall buildings block out the sun. This place doesn’t have a thing over five stories; everything bigger got bombed all those sweeps ago, and whether through forbiddance or indifference, no one’s ever built things up again.

The city doesn’t need it anyway when it threads through the craters of the ancient blasts as well as on the surface around them. Bridges, psi-lifts, and riders on winged lusii calling out their fares are all happy to take a troll up or down if they can’t or don’t want to use their own feet.

I grew up in Dimasqa, after all.

A meaningless throwaway phrase, or maybe your ticket to figuring out more about the annoying little pissant of a blueblood and if possible, where they got their Chimera statue.

If your informants actually pointed you to someone helpful, that is, and if you don’t get trampled by one of the big beasts hauling supplies everywhere. Unlike your base city, this place isn’t much for tech, and you have to watch your step to avoid actual hoofbeastshit at points.

Disguised in a head covering, which thankfully doesn’t stick out much here (plenty of trolls wear them, especially women) you’re one of maybe five trolls above yellow you’ve seen so far, and three were greenbloods. It’s hard to imagine a pampered cobalt coming from a place like this.

But it wouldn’t make sense for them to lie in front of Yezule about their origin, not when Dimasqa’s about as well-regarded as toxic mold. No reputable troll ever admits to coming from here, and few do anyway.

If they’d wanted some primarily lowblood place to claim as their hivetown, there were infinitely better options.

Your periodic checks to see who’s following you through the winding, crumbling streets are rewarded with what’s probably a pack of muggers who aren’t doing a half-bad job as your shadows as they flit between living buildings and burned-out shells, keeping to the darkest shadows.

They’re smart enough to realize that someone of your height is almost certainly at least teal, and since there’s no identifying colors on your flowing gray and black clothing at all, it’s doubtful you have a higher caste quadrant who’d come looking for revenge.

Not bad at victim picking, girls and boys, but I’ve got better things to do tonight.

All blithe tourist curiosity and idle ease, you wander over to a weathered plaque with a trident engraved into it boasting about the Imperial eradication of the dangerous horrorterror worshippers and study its trilingual inscription intently.

“Turn around nice and easy, lady, and give us your caegers.”

You don’t bother turning around.

“Nah.”

With a flick of a remote you take out of your sylladex, a shimmering dome forcefield encloses the group of vagabonds -

- except the one placed on a wall several feet to the front of you, whose thrown dagger just clinked off your collarbone and bounced onto the stone with a clatter. Fortunately you’re covered with form-fitting body armor beneath your clothes, though the blade probably wasn’t tough enough to pierce fuchsia skin anyway.

You give them a look you know they can’t particularly well through the veil over your eyes, but it’s the thought that counts.

The stunned looking rustblood kid - you can’t tell if they’re brown or maroon, since they’re perched a few feet above you on that crumbling wall - scrabbles back down the blasted brick and runs until you and your long legs put a stop to that.

Picking them up by their shirt, you hold them out like a naughty baby meowbeast.

“Ok, I get this is a real disappointment for you, but if you could just - ”

A long string of curses in two different languages and spit on your face as they try to claw your eyes out makes you realize logic is only going to crash, burn, and leave behind more craters than the city has if you try it.

You shake them a little instead, not too hard, but enough to underline that you have highblood strength.

They go still, wide gray eyes frantically staring into yours. Sheesh, they can’t be older than seven. They’re a scrawny thing with flaky, stubby horns and clothing dustier than an abandoned basement.

You switch to Southern Desert Dialect from your usual Imperial Standard - you’re not very good at it, but you can get through a few sentences okay.

“Give me directions to the scribes’ market, and I’ll let you and your gang go. Or you can stay trapped.”

That’s probably the wrong form of that verb. The kid is certainly looking at you with a real sniffy expression.

You sigh. Everyone’s a critic.

They rattle off directions too fast for you to understand, and you have to make them repeat it twice - obnoxiously slow the second time  - before you can understand and write down what they said.

Once you’re a good bit away, trudging down a long, winding flight of stairs down the side of a crater, you release the field around them.

You didn’t actually need the directions, but keeping up appearances in front of any better class of stalker (a few of whom no doubt saw that exchange) matters, as well as not arousing too many suspicions; most trolls don’t just let aggressors off scot-free, even if their attacks had as much effect as a squeakbeast trying to fight a dragon.

If only you could’ve actually helped the kids, but any offers of money or food would be highly suspicious. With any sense at all they’d suspect poisoning or drugs - or counterfeit cash designed to get them arrested.

Even a small increase to the lowblood stipend system could reduce muggings so much. Trolls are violent, and some are assholes with no good reason to be, but you’ve had projections done by people who know statistics and economic caste inter-dynamics way better than you do. Your proposed growth of caeger allowances could cut maroon to yellow crime by 70% in most areas.

Wow that’s an ominous looking arch in the doorway of this building.

Your thoughts scatter as you gaze up at the black stone structure, which stands at least twelve feet tall. Weathered by time but free of the decay and ruin marking so much else around it, it’s covered by spiraling golden script.

Speak with care, say two of the script’s languages - you don’t recognize the third one, strange rough gashes and dots in dizzyingly complex combinations. Words bear the greatest weight.

Not an unusual warning, but your neck still prickles a little as you pass under its shadow.

You blink as you walk in, surprised by how bright it is - there’s a big hole in the roof three floors up, and in the floors between the ground and said hole - so pink and green moonlight is pouring through.

It takes a moment for you to notice the actual stalls stretching on the ground floor as far as you can see - it’s a big dang building, and while it’s much more subdued than where you’ve been so far, trolls still have quiet, heated discussions over paper or parchment, ink and printing molds. Most are covered up as you are, and it’s not hard to guess why.

In Dimasqa, owning the wrong texts is a death sentence.

Wait, doesn’t that gap let rain and wind get in, mess up the books? You look up, squinting in the light, since there’s no clouds to cover the moons. Then you realize - there’s a slight psiionic aura over the hole, white or yellow sparks. Someone must be controlling what passes through it.

“Looking for someone?”

You turn quick enough to nearly smack the person who’s sidled up behind you, your fins puffed up to the base of your horns.

“Jeez, could you give a lady a little warning? That’s my pumper calisthenics done for the night, thanks so much. I’m glad you care about my health, but next time, I could just do water yoga.”

Commodore Weirdo pauses as they appear to puzzle through this one, which gives you a moment to study them.

What you can see of them. Not only are they covered from head to toe, they don’t seem to have any horns, or else they’re the kind that curl down around the face instead of up. They don’t seem that big physically, but their clothing flares out behind them and to their sides so much it’s a wonder people aren’t tripping over them left and right.

Only the glint of white, glowing eyes behind the veil confirms it’s a person under there and not a really elaborate puppet.

“Sorry.” They reply, and while it’s fairly neutral in tone, it sounds genuine enough. “I thought you were more alert than that.”

“Got a little distracted.” You point at the hole.

They look up.

“Some texts can only be read in direct moonlight, or under certain stars. A few require the blinding sun, with dark lenses to protect the eyes. Yet others require special glasses to be seen.”

You’re about to give them shit for sounding like a video game character  - though their voice is oddly familiar in some way you can’t place - when they speak again in a more mundane tone.

“Also, we shoot the birds that fly in for food. So, how can I help you?”

“Are you the appointed tour guide? Where’s your dang name tag and badge, you fraud.”

They laugh, which is reassuring. If they’re trying to distract you while someone else sets up a hit, at least they enjoy your quality jokes.

A quick look around fails to locate any untoward interest in you. Everyone is occupied with their haggling or browsing, or curled up with a book in some corner. A few apprentices to what you assume is a master scribe are frantically copying down lines as their master barks at them, her monkey lusus adding its own mocking chitters.

You look up again for good measure, since any telekinetic worth their salt can float, but the higher stories are clear too.

“No one’s allowed to bloody up the stalls by attacking tourists. Bad for business, and the parchment sellers have skinned troublemakers before.”

Shit, are you that obvious? You glare down at the troll, who’s about a foot shorter than you.

They seem perfectly unconcerned.

“Pushing aside that telling some rando who I’m here to meet is really stupid, why do you want to help me? I’m flattered and all, but I was hatched a lot of yesternights ago.”

“I’m bored.”

“You are so valid, and yet I have to find it in my pusher to turn you down. It’s been real, peace.”

You turn around and forge onward into the crowd, looking for the section of the market that has fewer visitors and stands with armed guards, despite that doofus’s chatter about how fights are frowned on here. Maybe in the ordinary sections.

Books with powers lent to them by ancient psiionics. Books that talk about all the highblood castes’ weaknesses, politicians’ secrets and classified Imperial content.

Books of magic and viseralchemy.

Books written by the horrorterror worshippers who once ran the city, and if the stories are to be believed, warped and enslaved the people here to the point where the Empress herself sent her forces to save the last uncorrupted survivors.

By wrecking their shit! Happily ever after, ignore any and all better ways that could’ve been done.

Dimasqa’s never recovered in the millennia since, even if its black market obviously has. But hey - small victories.

After some sign deciphering, you see the one you’re looking for - Suppressed Religious Artifacts for Sale. Even illegal fencers have to be poncy with names, apparently. Does anyone think an Imperial spy would be fooled by a longer label?

Wait a second, isn’t that - oh come on.

The dope from earlier waves at you with what must be an artificial hand, made of some sleek dark gray material with glowing green lines on it.

“Ok, I’m a fan of playing practical jokes, but why didn’t you uh, I don’t know, say you were my contact?”

“You play around so much, I thought you'd enjoy another game.”

Good; they answered in the pre-arranged code.

With a sardonic smile and a flick of your fins, you gesture to the bolted waist-high (to a normal troll anyway) gate leading to the inside of their stall. With a flick of their fingers, it unlocks itself and you step through into the yet warmer confines of wood and tarp.

So they’re at least a telekinetic, and their control is very fine. You keep a wary eye on them while browsing their wares.

There's the usual horrorterror stuff - blatantly creepy monsters and warped troll-like figures standing side by side on the shelves - and more subtle things, everyday objects that make your neck prickle or cause nausea when you look at them directly.

Curled up angels share space with beasts and gods that probably come from minor, mostly forgotten religions. Cups, plates, and weapons engraved with extinct languages and ancient creatures are hung from various-sized pegs, all carefully polished.

Maidel would give his left arm for some of these. Too bad you can never tell him you were here.

“I don’t see what I’m looking for.”

The skepticism and question in your voice is plain.

“I locked it up for safekeeping.” They retort, the ‘duh’ in their voice plain.

If your face weren’t veiled, you’d stick your tongue out. Immature, yes, deserved, also yes. Especially because the heat is really starting to get to you, sweat running down your face and limbs.

You keep both eyes on them as they kneel down, reach under a table and take out a carved wooden box, inset with gems and buzzing with the same kind of feeling you got when you walked under the arch.

It’s not psiionic energy. It’s not any kind of magic you can immediately identify, though you’re not an expert.

It, and their voice, are still tantalizingly familiar. This is gonna bug you so bad.

The box rearranges itself into a small shrine, pieces flicking apart and re-aligning themselves in an upright shape. For the first time there’s a faint hiss and a wisp of white energy as they seamlessly re-align.

That can’t just be plain telekinetics. Matter manipulation? Tyrian tits, who is this troll?

If they’re a troll.

A look at the shrine - and the two figurines in front of it - makes you swear quietly.

Carved from rose quartz, one can only be you, except the face is intricately carved to be more cruel and imperious than your own is (at least, you goddamn hope people don’t see you that way).

You’re aiming a trident at another figure, a blueblood with their arms raised defensively who looks an awful fucking lot like Cherie...but they’re thinner and taller. The face is clearly meant to be more aged, and the horns are bigger.

Unthinking, you reach out a hand to touch them until the vendor swats you.

“Come on, Chimer, you’re smarter than that. What if they’d been cursed, or psi-affected?”

“Yeah, that’s fair - ”

You stop short.

They were never supposed to know your name.

Suspicion over your network and the possibility of being betrayed flares, but then you smile lazily.

“Soooooo. How’d you get ahold of these?”

Eat a dick, eat a dick, eat a barrel of dicks, you mother grub sphincter-sucking asshead.

If they’re a mind reader after all, that ought to get a reaction.

They shrug.

“Is that important? You just want to buy them, right?”

Not a twitch. Either they’re a hell of an actor, or they can’t really see into your head.

You know what? Fuck it.

With a click of your remote, a forcefield springs up around the pair of you, this one trapping all sound inside it and blocking the view of anyone watching.

You grab at their head covering -

- and get swatted down by a feathered wing reaching out, landing flat on your ass.

“Srevni.” You growl when you get your breath back.

They take their veil off, revealing a face that isn’t quite how you remember.

It’s not quite the beast they were before, but not their troll disguise’s either.  Some strange hybrid of the two, their second pair of eyes smaller and angled under their primary ones. Their mane has become green tendrils sprouting from their head, and the big ring floating around their neck now rests around their collarbone, a snug fit.

Their orange throat eye blinks at you.

“I didn’t think you’d be pleased to see me, Chimer. I failed you, after all.”

You roll around your feelings in your head, trying to decide how not-pleased you really are.

“Look, I’m a lot more mad at Cherie right now than I am at anyone else.”

They nod, and while their face (less mobile than a troll’s) is hard to read, the drooping of their large pointy ears seems to indicate remorse.

“I figured if you were tracking down Liehde’s cult, it could only mean they’d resurfaced.”

“Hold up, who?”

They blink, and you can see the feathered tip of their tail poke out of the long clothing swaths. No wonder they bundle up so much.

“I thought you knew. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m here because Cherie popped up and had this in their hive.”

You stand up and take out the damaged Chimera figurine from your sylladex, handing it over to the hybrid creature.

Srevni takes it with careful fingers, their sharply pointed nose - almost a muzzle, really - nearly touching it as they lean in, poring over the thing.

“Only a replica, but they probably have an original somewhere.”

“You will score so many more points with me if you don’t put me through the same cryptic garbage as last time, pal. Please tell me you can talk normally now.”

“I’m getting there.” They huff. “Besides, I don’t know what you want to know because I don’t know how much you know.”

You blink.

“That's a trainwreck of a sentence, but fair enough.”

With a deep breath, you tap your fingers together and think.

“Cherie’s back, and they’ve made noises about trying to help my political aims - lowblood rights, all that jazz. Pure bullshit, you were there during their little timeline stunt and you saw all those helms suffer too. They couldn’t give less of a fuck about anyone below them - or above, given they janked Coloth’s shit up and down.”

As the words leave your mouth you realize this makes Cherie’s claims of teaming up with him weird, given they had no problems taking his stuff behind his back before. If there’s one thing you feel sure of about how they operate, it’s that they never deal directly with anyone unless it’s strictly necessary; the blueblood basically said as much during your last chat.

“Anyway, that’s about it. I mean, I know their bloodline was given their powers by Chimera, and one of them had been involved with making the rift, but beyond that...nothing. I didn’t even know they existed during the whole Echthros business. They almost don’t seem to fit in the picture at all.”

Srevni smiles - or well, you think it’s a smile, hard to tell with that jagged maw - and snaps their fingers, having put the figurine down.

“That’s exactly what drives Cherie. Their bloodline came before you, long before Chimera and Miruka found Tabula and Priori, before the razing of this very city. When the immortal influences found those women after their long search, they abandoned the original bloodlines they made. Those trolls’ only purpose had been ensuring that Alternian bodies could handle such power, so they were useless once they’d found the perfect hosts for their soul fragments.”

Your fins flick up and down, trying to understand, and then you snort.

“Are you saying Cherie feels ignored? Shit, they should be grateful the Dolcez line got left alone! Fat lot of good it did me or Tabula to be the center of attention. I’m glad pangosheep isn’t like that, one is bad enough.”

Srevni, to your surprise, doesn’t join you in mocking the cobalt. It’s weird, given their prior hatred of the troll (and what you suspect was a mega-weird pitch crush on them, in hindsight).

“Cherie’s silly, their original ancestor less so. Liehde - “ They gesture to the blueblood, carved out of what you think is lapis lazuli. “ - seems to have been raised by Chimera from grubhood, if the surviving accounts can be trusted. He took it pretty personally when she left him for you.”

You take off your dang coverings because no one can see the pair of you behind the field anyway and you can’t stand suffocating anymore. Beneath, you’re only wearing swim gear (a fuchsia crop top and black knee shorts, along with a half-skirt) so you don’t die of heat exhaustion, and Srevni looks at the ground for some reason.

Why would a non-troll creature care about modesty, especially when plenty of silly fuchsias wear less than this all the time? They make no sense.

“That’s real sad and all, but I swear Maidel said Cherie did have a lusus - a sugar glider. Why'd Chimera need to raise him? Why did she even care? She fucked right off after making my deal.”

You’re not jealous of this long-dead blueblood with some screws loose, but it does stick in your craw that the fluffy asshole apparently spent sweeps around some guy she was always going to abandon, and then left you with zero explanations or tips about what she’d stuck you with.

They shrug, hands splayed outward.

“I don’t have all the answers, Chimer. Why he had a real humdinger of a grudge doesn’t matter, only what he did about it.”

“Which was...?”

“Remember that cult I mentioned?”

Your mouth pulls back into a very annoyed frown.

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Remember what Cherie did with the helms? Multiply that.”

A breath gets sucked in through your fangs.

“...he killed a bunch of people by draining them of power to do what, exactly?”

Srevni turns, and taps at the shrine.

The worn, painted images depict light beams coming out of trolls and into the man you now know as Liehde Dolcez. He’s holding up a clock - one that resembles your dear old tick tock.

Dude really was fixated. Must be genetic.

“His temple’s been searched, but no one’s ever figured out what he accomplished - if he managed it at all. There must have been a record somewhere, but it’s been so many sweeps; could be lost or destroyed by now.”

You stare at the images with growing unease.

“What did you mean when you said this was a replica, that Cherie probably had an original?”

“It seems they’ve visited Liehde’s temple themself and nabbed a few things - probably feel like they own them. This is a granite replica of a rare artifact. Originals are made of a material that can hold a low psiionic charge of almost any kind indefinitely. That, and that kind of stone being impossible to find now, makes them so valuable.”

“Ohhhh no.”

They wave a placating hand at you, their wings rustling.

“There’s not enough intact ones around for Cherie to do damage with even if they had them all. They can’t hold much anyway.”

You grit your teeth.

“Remember how Civitrecce is full of tech a million times fancier than anything here, Srevni? I’d bet my ducks Cherie’s trying to find a way to copy it somehow.”

“Even if they did, their actual power level is low, remember? Liehde’s writings whine that it was a way Chimera kept them from wreaking havoc.”

“She should’ve tried harder.” You mutter.

Looking at the creature in front of you is another reminder of why Chimera’s safeguards are worse than worthless.

Their expression hardens, you think, as they must catch yours.

“She didn’t force the Dolcez line to make their bad choices, Chimer. Any more than she forced you to make decent ones. You can’t blame her for everything.”

“Actually,” You drawl, sitting on the floor because you’re tired of standing. “Considering I wouldn’t exist without her and all of this is her fault, I can.”

Srevni sits as well, shedding their own clothing, wearing their more familiar leotard underneath, high-hocked doglike legs crossed and long feather-tipped tail curled in their lap. Their wings extend, fanning out and around the pair of you.

White wings tipped with bright teal. Echthros’s wings.

Your arms wrap around yourself as that night of the reset comes back to you.

“You still have trouble trusting me.”

The barest wisp of hurt runs through the words.

A few fangs sink into your lip, guilt blossoming.

“...does it help if I feel kinda bad about it?”

They laugh a little.

“Blanca stole my body and I had to flee the city. I found an energy source and restored myself to a solid form, but I’m stuck this way now. I’m always going to have her face.”

“Yeah.” You mutter, thinking of Tabula. “I know the feeling.”

“Look on the bright side; people don’t scream or shoot if they see you without a dozen layers on.”

Thinkpan catching up, you raise a finger to stop them.

“Waitasecond, Blanca stole your body? Why?”

They shrug.

“She thinks I’m Echthros and decided revenge would be fun. It was really annoying, but this form’s better than my original, even if...well, it could be worse.”

An uncomfortable pang of platonic pity strikes.

“How can you not constantly blame Chimera and Miruka for everything?” You marvel.

Srevni pulls their clothing back on, hiding their non-troll features again, and gestures for you to drop the shield.

The kid who threw the dagger is shifting from foot to foot at the front of their stand and launches questions at Srevni in Southern. From what you can understand they’re a girl, and also...an apprentice?

She points at you proudly and then gets what sounds an awful lot like a (fairly amused) scolding.

“Hadija says she’s sorry, but next time you should pretend to be hurt - it makes people feel better.”

You squint.

“Did you sic a child on me.”

Their jagged mouth is hidden, but you can feel the creature smiling behind their veil. Then you frown, mild indignation replaced by seriousness.

“...does she...know?”

You wave a hand vaguely.

“Hadija -” They ask her in Standard. “- what am I?”

“Weird woofbeast!” she replies in it proudly, tossing her horns.

“And?”

“Teacher!”

“What do I do?”

“Keeps the weather out!”

They toss her a coin and she snatches it, running off who knows where.

All you can do is blink as you watch her weave off among the stalls and roving trolls.

Srevni looks back at you.

“It’s not that I never resent them, Chimer. I’ve just moved on.”

With a blink, the shrine and figurines are hovering in front of you.

“These aren’t really cursed or anything, right. I won’t start coughing up frogs?”

“They could’ve been.” Srevni retorts, amused. Little shit.

Grumbling, you put them in your sylladex, then take out a suitcase from it.

“So, what do I owe you?”

“Five thousand.”

You take out enough stacks for ten thousand, putting them on a table.

“Feed Hadija and her friends a little more, try to keep them out of trouble.”

They snort.

“I can’t do miracles. I’ll see about the food and some better showers.”

Their sigh well speaks to how much trouble it must be to keep these gremlins clean.

You wouldn’t think a eldritch monster/troll hybrid would make a decent lusus, but this night’s been full of surprises.

An idea strikes as you put your own layers back on.

“If Cherie’s been to old Dolcez’s temple before, maybe they’ll come back. Could you set a trap in case they do? I’ll pay you.”

Srevni shakes their head, but then they speak, it’s with vindictive glee.

“No need. You get that on the hive.”

You grin and clap them on the shoulder.

They look away again, but now that you know what to check for, you see their tail wagging underneath their clothes.

What a bizarre creature.

“It’s been real, Srevs. I’ll contact you if something else comes up.”

“I can’t leave Dimasqa.” They warn. “My power source is here; beyond the city limits I wouldn’t be able to think, or keep my form.”

“I get you. Thanks, by the way.”

They tilt their head.

“For what?”

“Helping.”

They’re quiet for a minute, then speak in a slightly resentful tone.

“I'll always help you, Chimer. Not just because I was made to.”

A couple things finally click in your head and you feel kinda stupid, but also, why would you think they’d feel that way?

Now it’s you who doesn’t know where to look.

“Jeez, Srevs. I swear I never realized.”

They sigh.

“You never did, in all the time I knew you before.”

Then they laugh, and nudge you back.

“It’s fine. Go back and stop Cherie from whatever they’re cooking up.”

Before Srevni can turn away you give them a hug, feeling their wings trying to flare in surprise beneath your arms.

Then they hug you back.

You wave to them as you walk away, then turn, making your way back through the market’s crowds with the moonlight shining down behind you.

END

[what-is-wanshis-catsona]

When I Grow Up -> Start.

Wanshi yawns, adjusting the buttons on her blouse. The planet famous Soleils were in Outglut! A rare appearance, but they had to miss their hivetown. She looks at her purple-painted nails and grabs her purse, overdue for a break from the caverns. She missed the wind in her hair and the hustle of the cities, but most of all, she missed her friends! They all had VIP tickets, of course. Close to the front, but not close enough for her to be in danger. She hardly worried about that, a fierce best friend and a loyal moirail by her side. She closes the door behind her, looking out the stars.

@ask-amisia-the-artblocked-indigo @ask-the-purple-runt @ask-the-clown-twins

[parsippanylibrarykids]

By: Miss Jen, Miss Katy, & Miss Melissa

Picture Books 

Barnett, Mac. The Wolf, the Duck, and the Mouse. ​(Grades K-2)  This clever picture book begins with a mouse that is quickly gobbled up by a wolf. Fortunately his new accomodations AKA the wolf’s stomach include a duck with kitchenware and jam. The duck states “I may have been swallowed but I have no intention of being eaten.” Award winning illustrator Jon Klassen’s artwork add to the charm of this folkloric tale. 

Colleen, Marcie. Love, Triangle.​ ​ (Grades K-2) Square and Circle have been best friends since they were first created. Triangle arrives on the scene and brings new ideas. Both Square and Circle want to be friends with Triangle which causes a split between the two buddies. This common friendship problem is resolved at the end of this geometric story.

 Daywalt, Drew. The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors. ​(Grades K-3) The origins of the classic schoolyard game are explained in hilarious detail. Will Rock, Paper, or Scissors be victorious? Rock is searching for a worthy opponent. Paper leaves the Empire of Mom’s Home Office after conquering the Computer Printer while Scissors defeats Dinosaur-Shaped Chicken Nuggets. Wacky inanimate objects come to life under the expertise of illustrator Adam Rex. Fans of Daywalt’s The Day the Crayons Quit will be equally as charmed by this book. 

Denos, Julia. Windows. ​(PreS-1) In this story, a boy of color dons a read hoodie, leashes his dog and ventures out into the twilight, where the windows are “blinking awake as the lights turn on a neighborhood of paper lanterns”. The reader gets to peer in at the small figures dancing, making dinner or throwing a party and watch as the color of the sky changes. The compositions are rendered in ink, watercolor, letterpress and digital collage. The narrative ends with a story shared and a snuggle. Readers will want to revisit this story over and over. Everyday routine turned to wonder on an evening walk filled with discovery. 

Dykman, Ame. Read the Book, Lemmings!​ (PreS-2) Another delightful collaboration by the team behind Wolfie the Bunny and Horrible Bear! Lemmings don’t jump off cliffs. It says so in the book that Foxy is reading. However, the three lemmings on the boat have not read the book and keep jumping into the water. After trying unsuccessfully to get the lemmings to read the book, Foxy realizes he is going to have to actually teach the lemmings to read before he can stop them. A funny read aloud! Children will love this book at storytime and at home. 

Jory, John and Benji Davies. Come Home Already!​ (PreS-3) The third hysterical picture book about Duck and Bear, unlikely pals. In this book, an excited Duck wants to hang out with Bear but Bear has left to go fishing for a whole week on his own. Bear is relieved to have some time alone. What will Duck do while Bear is gone? How will he survive without his best friend? 

Lamothe, Matt. ​This is How We Do It: One Day in the Lives of Seven Kids from Around the World. ​(Grades K-3) Seven children from Italy, Japan, Uganda, Russia, India, Iran, and Peru describe one day in their lives as they eat, play, and learn. An author’s note, a glossary, a map, and photographs of the families are included at the end of the book. This is an informational picture book that could be used in a social studies unit. 

Shannon, David. Bizzy Mizz Lizzie​. (Grades 1-3)  Lizzie is the busiest, buzziest bee in Hivetown. She longs to impress the Queen by winning a spelling bee contest, but she studies to the point of exhaustion on top of trying to juggle all of her other activities. When she dozes off in the middle of the competition, the only solution is rest. Lizzie finally learns to stop and smell the flowers. A book with a good message and wonderful illustrations will appeal to young readers. 

Tsurumi, Andrea. Accident! ​(PreS-2) When a little armadillo named Lola knocks a jug of red juice all over her family’s white sofa, she flees to the library to hide. But as Lola run through town, she is joined by many others who have also made a mess and want to hide at the library too, avoiding conflict. Fun and colorful illustrations are found throughout the book and children will be drawn to the intricate details. This book teaches that a mistake can happen due to thoughtlessness, carelessness or bad luck and that it is ok to call it an accident but also necessary to “make it better” and “own up to it.” 

Easy Readers 

LaReau, Kara. The Infamous Ratsos are Not Afraid. ​(Grades 1-2) Brothers Louie and Ralphie Ratso plan to clear out an abandoned lot in their neighborhood and create an arcade. The problem is that the house next to the vacant lot might be haunted. ​This is the second book in the series that began with the Geisel Honor Book, The Infamous Ratsos. 

Shea, Bob. Ballet Cat: What’s Your Favorite Favorite? ​(Grades 1-3) Ballet Cat and her cousin Goat are preparing a show for grandma and both want to prove that they are the best. Ballet Cat will come up with a fancy dance routine and Goat will perform tricks at his magic show. Which one will be her FAVORITE favorite? Terrifically fun third entry in this series. 

Snyder, Laurel. Charlie & Mouse & Grumpy. ​ (Grades K-1) This picture book/easy reader hybrid is the sequel to Charlie and Mouse. Charlie and Mouse are brothers who are spending time with their grandfather AKA Grumpy. In four short chapters, the trio discuss what it means to be “medium”, enjoy a special night while the boys’ parents go out, and choose the proper goodnight song. 

Yoon, Salina. That’s My Book! and Other Stories. ​(Grades K-1) Big Duck, Little Duck, and Porcupine are a sweet trio of friends that find the best use for books, plan a talent show, and dress like a pirate. The latest addition to the Duck, Duck, Porcupine series contains three short chapters with bold text in large speech bubbles. 

Juvenile Fiction 

Bartok, Mira. The Wonderling. ��(Grades 4-6) Number 13 is a groundling (half human/half animal) who lives in an orphanage run by Ms. Carbunkle. He is named Arthur by a fellow groundling when he saves her. The pair of new friends escape the “Home” and set off on an adventure full of danger, magic, and mystery. Fans of Erin Hunter’s Warriors series will enjoy this lengthy fantasy novel. 

Bradley, Kimberly Brubaker. The War I Finally Won. ​(Grades 4-6)  Picking up right after 2015’s Newbery Honor book The War That Saved My Life, this very worthy sequel continues the story of Ada, her brother Jamie, and their guardian Susan. Set against the backdrop of World War II (which is felt much more immediately in this novel), Ada struggles to deal with the aftermath of years of abuse by her mother. An emotional, yet rewarding book for fans of the first book or for readers who love excellent historical fiction. 

Broach, Elise. Trouble at School for Marvin & James. ​(Grades 1-2) This is the third book in the Masterpiece Adventures series featuring best friends, James and Marvin. James is a human and Marvin is a small black beetle. James decides to bring Marvin to school so he can experience James’ art class taught by beloved teacher, Mr. Chang. Mr. Change has blue hair and often quotes, “There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.” Marvin enjoys school until a sneeze separates him from James. This book is an excellent choice for new chapter-book readers. 

Clements, Andrew. The Losers Club.​ (Grades 3-6) Alec loves to read -- so much so that it gets him in trouble at school and at home. Even the head of the afterschool program at his school says he can’t just sit around by himself and read; he has to join a club. So Alec comes up with a plan to create his own reading club, which he names The Losers Club to deter other kids from joining. His bright idea backfires when it turns out to be the most popular club at school. There are tons of great books referenced throughout, and there’s a helpful list at the back of the book for bookworms who want to read them all! 

DeStefano, Lauren. The Girl with the Ghost Machine.​ (Grades 4-6) Emmaline Beaumont was 10 years old when her mother died; two years later, her father remains so consumed with grief that it’s almost as if Emmaline has lost both parents. In a desperate attempt to bring his wife back, Monsieur Beaumont tinkers with his “ghost machine” night and day. When Emmaline’s attempt to destroy the machine doesn’t go as planned, she and readers are left wondering if precious memories of loved ones are worth trading for the chance to interact with them one more time. Emmaline’s twin best friends, Oliver and Gully, represent the push and pull between hope and logic that plagues Emmaline and offers her new ways of understanding grief. Readers should be prepared for heaviness and sadness throughout. A story of loss, friendship, and resilience. 

Farrer, Maria. Me and Mister P.​ (Grades 2-5) Arthur is tired of his younger brother Liam’s behavior. He can’t even watch television with volume since it upsets his brother. Arthur decides to run away from home but he meets a friendly polar bear named Mister P. who alters his plans. Mister P. helps Arthur accept his brother’s differences. This quirky story is bibliotherapy for siblings of children with autism as well as a good read for children who like fantastical animal stories. 

Krishnaswami, Uma. Step Up to the Plate, Maria Singh. ​(Grades 3-5) Maria Singh lives with her family in Yuba City, California during WWII. Most of the community members are adha-adha (half and half) with fathers from India and mothers from Mexico. Maria’s teacher forms a softball team which Maria wants to join but she is not sure if her father will let her. Maria and her family struggle against discrimination from kids and adults. 

Middleton, Dana. Open If You Dare. ​(Grades 4-6) For Birdie and her best friends, Ally and Rose, the joy of finishing elementary school is overshadowed by their dread of summer’s end. With Rose unwillingly moving back to England, and Ally and Birdie attending different middle schools, their long, close friendship is coming to an end. In the meantime, Ally deals with problems on and off the pitcher’s mound, while Birdie follows the trail of mystery, and Rose rebels against her parents in a creative, yet destructive way. The story is set in Atlanta with well-drawn individuals from different generations. Tween issues are addressed from first crush to first steps toward independence. A rewarding chapter book. 

Morris, Chad. Mustaches for Maddie.​ (Grades 4-6) Maddie is a 12 year old girl who has a big imagination. When she is diagnosed with a brain tumor, she faces surgery and possible negative outcomes from the operation. She also faces middle school friendships and even jealous classmates with humor and bravery. Maddies loves fake mustaches so her supporters wear them. This book is based on the authors’ daughter and will appeal to readers who liked Wonder by R.J. Palacio. 

Pennypacker, Sara. Waylon! Even More Awesome​. (Grades 2-4) A Clementine series spin off which features another likeable kid. Waylon and Baxter are classmates who have to share a dog who lives in a shelter. The two boys can not be more different. While Waylon loves everything about science and following rules, Baxter is always in trouble and close to being a juvenile delinquent. When their dog, Dumpster Eddy, is going to be thrown out of the shelter he is living in, the boys come up with a plan to save him. A book about friendship, family, perseverance and hard work make this a wonderful book for reluctant readers. 

Schlitz, Laura. Princess Cora and the Crocodile. ​(Grades 1-3) Princess Cora never has a moment to play or relax as her parents, the King and Queen, are constantly training her to be perfect. She writes a desperate letter to her fairy godmother asking for help. A pet crocodile arrives the next day and he impersonates Cora so she can have a day off. Caldecott Medalist Brian Floca’s illustrations add to the humor of this story. 

Swanson, Matthew. ​The Real McCoys. ​(Grades 3-5) Moxie McCoy is a fourth grade detective who faces her biggest challenge yet in this fun chapter book. When someone kidnaps beloved school mascot Eddie the Owl, Moxie is on the case-but she is forced to solve this new mystery on her own since her best friend, and fellow detective, has moved away. Moxie finds clues and points fingers but she needs help to find the owl mascot. Enter Milton, Moxie’s smart little brother. Can the real McCoys solve the crime of the century? 

Wilson, Amy. ​The Lost Frost Girl​. (Grades 4-6) A modern day fairy tale about a girl who discovers that she is Jack Frost’s daughter. Owl is a twelve year old girl with a quirky mom, a dad she has never met, a cool best friend named Mallory and a boy who gives her weird looks at school. When she finds out that Jack Frost is her father, she is determined to meet him and delves into Jack’s wonderful and wild world of winter. She realizes she is part human/part fay and has special powers of her own. A tale of family, friendship and magic and embracing who you are meant to be. 

Zemke, Deborah. The Curse of Einstein’s Pencil. ​(Grades 2-3) This second story about Bea Garcia will appeal to fans of Judy Moody. Bea is initially excited when the smartest girl in school, Judith Einstein asks her to be a partner in the geography contest. Then Bea wonders if the secret to Judith’s intelligence is her pencil. Bea takes Judith’s pencil when it rolls on the floor but the effect on her life and friendship is not what she expected. 

Graphic Novels 

Hale, Shannon and Pham, LeUyen. Real Friends​.​ (Grades 3-6) Shannon Hale, author of the bestselling Princess in Black series, debuts her first graphic novel: a memoir of her childhood friendships from kindergarten through sixth grade. Friends, rivals, and frenemies drift in and out of Shannon’s life, but her mean older sister remains a constant menacing presence. Readers will find much to relate to: neighborhood friends who move away; the dread of finding out that all of your friends have been assigned to another teacher. Hale as an adult narrates the story with a welcome perspective, acknowledging when she herself was a bad friend or seeing the dynamics of a situation more clearly in hindsight. Fans of Raina Telgemeier will love this. 

Jamieson, Victoria. All’s Faire in Middle School​.​ (Grades 4-8) From Victoria Jamieson, who won a Newbery Honor for Roller Girl, comes another middle grade graphic novel. Imogen has been homeschooled her whole life; her world revolves around the local Renaissance Faire where her parents work. But now she’s ready for her biggest challenge: middle school. Imogen’s unconventional background makes it difficult for her to fit in, but is she willing to do what it takes to conform? Recommend to fans of Raina Telgemeier. 

Siegel, Mark. The Sand Warrior. ​ (Grades 3-5) The Five Worlds is a galaxy of five planets filled with different species. Oona Lee teams up with An Tzu, a boy from the poorest slums, and Jax Amboy, a lonely star athlete. They discover that they may be able to light five ancient beacons and save the Five Worlds. Hand this fantasy story to fans of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the Amulet series. 

Biography 

Guglielmo, Amy and Tourville, Jacqueline. Pocket Full of Colors.​ ​(Grades K-4). Mary Blair is remembered today as one of the greatest and most influential Disney animators, but at the time, her use of color was considered “too vivid, too wild.” When her all-male colleagues at Disney reject her ideas, she strikes out on her own, where she finds huge success as an illustrator and set designer following her own vision. Finally, Walt Disney himself asks her to come back; she’s the only one he will trust to design the now-classic ride It’s a Small World. Gorgeous brightly-colored illustrations evoke Blair’s distinctive style. An author’s note is included at the end of the book. 

Meltzer, Brad. I am Sacagawea. ​(Grades 1-3) Sacagawea’s story is the latest addition to the Ordinary People Change the World​ best-selling biography series. Sacagawea was the only Native American to join Lewis and Clark’s expedition. Children will learn about the traits that made Sacagawea a trailblazer and the significant contributions she made to the world. A timeline and photos are included at the back of the book. Christopher Eliopoulos’ illustrations reflect his origins in the comic industry. He recreates lively scenes from Sacagawea’s life. 

Rosenstock, Barb. Vincent Can’t Sleep. ​(Grades K-2) This picture book biography of Vincent Van Gogh explores his life especially his troubles with insomnia. He had trouble sleeping as a child, an adolescent, and as an adult in the hospital. The text is short but lyrical while the illustrations in acrylic, pen, and watercolor reflect the night sky and his iconic work, The Starry Night. An author’s note and sources are included at the end of the book. 

Nonfiction 

Burcaw, Shane. Not So Different. ​(Grades 1-3). Shane was born with a degenerative muscle disease, and he’s never been able to walk. People always seem to ask him the same ten questions, like “How do you eat?” or “Why is your head so big?” Answers to these and more are accompanied by funny photographs. Through Shane’s funny and frank stories--he once broke his expensive motorized wheelchair by using it to lift his brother to dunk a basketball--readers will learn that they’re not so different from him after all. A nice introduction to disability for younger kids. 

Burns, Loree Griffin. Life on Surtsey: Iceland’s Upstart Island​. ​(Grades 4-7) In 1963, an underwater volcano off the coast of Iceland erupted, creating a new island formed from rock and ash. Scientists realized they could use this new island to study how life takes hold in a new environment. What are the first plants to grow on the bare rock? When and how do birds, insects, and other animals arrive? The book follows a team of scientists who return to the island every year to study the changes; full-color photographs document their journey and the changing island landscape. It’s a great introduction to how scientists really work, full of details that kids will love. (On a deserted island, how do you go to the bathroom?) A glossary and bibliography are included at the end of the book. 

Chin, Jason. Grand Canyon.​ (Grades 3-5) Some may think of the Grand Canyon as just a “big hole in the ground,” but through gorgeous and detailed illustrations, Chin reveals the complex ecosystem it hosts and what it tells us about our geological past. As a father and daughter hike through the canyon, the reader learns more about what makes each level of the canyon unique. Die-cuts reveal fossils in the modern-day, and when readers turn the page, they are transported back millions of years, to what the landscape looked like when each fossil was formed. Further scientific information, an author’s note, and sources are included at the end of the book. 

Eggers, Dave. ​Her Right Foot. ​(Grades 3 and up) A beautifully illustrated book about the history of the iconic statue along with humor and interesting trivia during the first part of the book. The second part of the book talks about the statue’s feet and how the back of her right foot is actually lifted as if she is going somewhere. No one ever seems to talk about the fact that the statue of liberty is walking; she is on the move. If the statue of liberty is a symbol of freedom, if the statue of liberty has welcomed millions of immigrants to the United States, then how can she stand still? 

Harris, Chris. I’m Just No Good At Rhyming.​ (Grades 3-8) Fans of Shel Silverstein, Ogden Nash, or Jack Prelutsky will enjoy this volume of humorous poetry for kids. Lane Smith’s hilarious illustrations add to the fun.

Rose, Deborah Lee. Beauty and the Beak. ​(Grades 3-5) An Alaskan bald eagle lost most of her beak after a poacher shot her. She was unable to eat, drink, or preen without her beak. The eagle later named Beauty was sent to the care of biologist Veltkamp at a raptor center in Idaho. Since Beauty’s beak did not regenerate, Veltkamp enlisted the help of a dentist and an engineer. Together they fashioned a beak for Beauty using a 3-D printer. This nonfiction animal rescue story has similaries to stories by the Hatkoffs including Winter’s Tail. 

Roy, Katherine. How To Be An Elephant. ​(Grades 3-6) A stunning look at how a newborn elephant matures into a capable member of the herd. This book emphasizes how an infant elephant learns through her family herd an array of skills that are necessary to keep up; from learning to walk and swim right away, projecting her voice, using her nose to eat and smell and keeping cool with her large ears. Large illustrations of calves with their herd are interspersed with captivating diagrams and smaller images work well together. A carefully researched book and a must have for all elementary school collections.  

[glumrocker]

blazing star; share a secret.

Ah... I once started a bit of a riot back in mY old hivetown.

Didn’t reallY mean to, but well... Those were wild nights, heY.

[largesleeves]

again

It had been some time since these two had talked. They were both lost in time --- had been lost. They were nostalgic and she wanted a restart of sorts after she fell back asleep. They toured the impressive centerpiece on the land, walking around it, showing off every feature and quirk it had to show. She imagined with Them what it could be, what the whole place could be. Buzzing busy, full of life, full of beautiful things. Urban saw untapped potential. Flowers and life, like how it was when she was awake.

Outside, when they were talking for a bit longer, a corruption peeked over to peer at Them. It peered at Urban and everything that was around. It wasn't known to be a corruption, yet, just a distraction, something passing by. Eternally foolish, Urban wanted to enjoy it's company. She welcomed it and showed the guest --- the corruption --- around. It seemed to be a normal encounter and it was. It was, until they stayed, until the presence grew larger and warnings were issued. She let them all into her quarters --- into the bee's quarters. Urban had wanted it, They were fine with a guest, not the corruption.

They turned to their protecting tendencies as it started to show itself. Protect as many as possible, especially Their keeper. Anxiety continued to rise as she ran, warning others as stress spiked, They went across Hive Town, littering the cliffs, hills and buildings with warning cries --- with defense. The ground buzzing with worry --- her worry, her trembling. Panicked, she leapt through the night rain to the other she cared for --- the one They hadn't spoken to recently. He was calm. He was comforting. But then the ooze, the sickness, the plague started to seep through again. Reminding Them --- reminding them all --- that she had to leave and she had to take care of the problem on her own.

She pondered how she would get rid of the corruption. Then slowly, it became an if she would. They were mad and maybe this is what They deserved. To let it in even more. Let the corruption further take over.

She heard a whine at the bottom of the tower. They wanted to ignore it but it was familiar.

The corruption: a person --- A person: someone to help contain the corruption. She --- They --- rejected him --- but she didn't want to --- They did.

Droning. Swarming. The buzzing coming in waves again. The intensity almost the same as before. It feels like she is going to be stuck in the madness; forever. They keep reaching out to her. They keep directing her around, holding her mind in Their Brood.

--- She was in agony again. Writhing on the ground. The waves of violent droning quieted down enough for her to start cooling down and feel longing. The Hive was still there and she was thankful for that.

Stop the corruption. Urban knew there could be more of it around and she could finally take care of it now that The Hive wasn't spiking into her head. She would need help.

She welcomed herself into it's tower. It was worried and tired but supportive. The two worked into the night to seal where Urban knew the corruption to have been.

--- They were nearly unbothered. It was just one Keeper, They had universes to hold together and They could find another here if this one had to forfeit. This place only needs a single dedicated one, none more. Though, this one had a habit of being difficult.

Allow the corruption. She wants people around, distractions. They let her have them all. Hive Town was supposed to be just Urban and the bees, she needed to be fully dedicated but They had a sufficient tie to this world. If it faded they could just replace her.

She welcomed the distressed, the worried, the tired, the conflicted. More and more visited, then stayed.

She woke up early before the rest of the town like usual. Listening to the waves get louder; again.

[largesleeves]

One night

Urban and Catboy just got back from what Urban kept calling "plundering". Catboy was rowing the two of them around the Hivetown-Monarchy Ocean looking for loot and they came back somewhat successful. Now, they were putting their loot away. Catboy putting its shulkers away into the Ender Chest on the Sunflower floor and Urban had already put their booty away into their very empty storage. She went down to the rest of the tower to do her nightly chores. Catboy is somewhat used to this which is, for a moment, alarming to him but they shift focus to getting ready for bed. They head up to the loft Urban let him decorate and put a bed in. He sits on the bed for a moment, remembering what they talked about before getting to the tower. Catboy was about to leave through the portal but Urban was too polite to refuse. As he was lost in his head, he heard the trapdoor open from the bottom of the floor. Urban was coming up after completing all of her chores. She climbed up to the first loft and as she walked across it, Catboy listened to each step. Her heavy boots stomping up the lofts, getting closer to him. Every other night she would walk past him but this time she stopped. She almost starts walking again but asks before she can think again,

"Do you want to come up with me? Just for a moment?"

Catboy analyzes her motions for a few moments. She is ridged as she stands there. She is tense and her grip on her own hand grows tighter. Catboy nods with a slightly concerned face "Okay."

The two walk up to Urban's bed. Urban sits on the bed an invites Catboy to sit with them and they do. Urban's head turns to face out her balcony and gaze. Loadstone. Purple candle. Stray Casino. The Spawn mountain range. They both look out for a minute. Urban's look goes from the world to her hands. She looks at them for a few moments. One of her hands moves, hesitates but eventually pulls her sleeve out of their leather glove. She pulls the glove off. They stay concentrated, taking the next glove off. She reaches over and puts the empty gloves onto the loadstone. Urban looks over at Catboy to see his reaction. This would be insignificant if it was anyone else but Urban. Her hands. Catboy doesn't know what to say or how to react, it's eyes darting at her hands and at her mask and at the floor. Urban scoots closer to him, and raises her hands for him to inspect. He slowly reaches up and feels them with his paws. Her hands are trembling very slightly but they try to hide it, trying to relax. Catboy holds one of her hands in both of his paws. His paw pads feeling them and their warmth. He sets her hand down and slides his gloves off with much less effort than hers. It looks for a place to put them but Urban takes them and places them on top of theirs on the loadstone. Urban goes to hold Catboy's hand and gently feel it, the fuzzy fur on the back, it's paw pad and toe beans. She carefully and gently feels its fingers and claws. Rain starts to pour down. Catboy started to trace lines in Urban's palms, careful to not accidentally scratch her even though she wouldn't mind. Urban gently pressed her thumb into Catboy's paw, making his fingers spread out. Lightning struck the lighting rod just outside. The whole tower shook. Catboy jumped off the bed, onto his feet. Urban too was startled but she stood up because Catboy did.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes just… startled."

Urban hums in reply. A pause before she speaks again, "That was all. I just… I'm trying."

"Th-thank you, Urban."

"Mhm. Night Catboy."

"Good night."

Catboy steps softly on the wood back to his loft. He hears the rustling of Urban taking her boots off, then her mask. This was routine. And like usual, he didn't look back to see her. He waited for the sound of her taking her gloves off but remembered what had just happened. Then they realize it doesn't have his gloves anymore. They get in their beds separately. Waiting for it to pass.

[cloudbattrolls]

pyrotrolls​:

“Your hair’s rad”

“…”

Kinsra and Yersin? :) Grubtuber and fellow…. “doctor” 

“...my hair? Oh. Thank you.”

It’s odd getting complimented by a highblood. Especially when your hair is just pulled back into its usual ponytail behind your head. But you won’t argue, even if it’s strange.

“Never seen a hat quite like yours. Or horns, unusual coloration around bases. Unusual eyes as well, nice septum piercing. Like your jacket. Unusual bunch of colors but works. Why the name tag, I wonder?”

That yellow’s close to yours now that you think of it, but that would be self-centered to say. 

“Another Musca docterrorist, hm? Maybe you’re more sensible than Lovely. Like your hat, even if it reminds me of wretched witches from my hivetown. Good hair as well, unusual teal gloves but must have reason. Teal’s a good color anyway...am biased, but still. Mask could use a wash, perhaps, but know feeling of not having time.”