#mayola writing

[veryfictitiousdemons]

File this one under “silly ficlet ideas that’ll never get posted anywhere else”, except this time it’s OCs instead of Persona. And by ficlet, for once I actually mean it. 

Because sometimes right now, I have thoughts other than the Goro Akechi brainrot and shuake attic trash thoughts over on AO3

When Valeba talked about “knowing a place” to rest while she traveled with Mayola and Dontoc through Alternia gaining political allies, Mayola should have expected a place like this. Valeba wasn’t like her and Dontoc. Brownbloods, especially brownbloods unable to escape the Alternian meat grinder through stardom, struggled to gain access to most places midbloods had regular access to, much less high-profile seadwellers like a bastard heiress vying for the throne and former matesprit to the Heiress Apparent. Sure, Mayola preferred seedier places to a degree (they kept their head down about someone like her making her presence known – sure the potential positive attention was nice, but they had a customer base that preferred not seeing seadwellers at every opportunity), but that hardly meant she ended up visiting them much. Especially not anymore, with cameras and reporters paying far more attention than they ever did before she announced her attempt at the throne.

Still, when Valeba took them into the dingiest, dirtiest, emptiest bar possibly anyone could possibly find in some backwater town on the way to Gusthollow, all while promising it’s not that bad, trust me, it took all of Mayola’s little self-restraint to not tackle Valeba straight into the nearest dilapidated stickball table and demand to take her to some place not infested with termites.

Self-restraint, which of course meant Dontoc putting a hand on her shoulder and giving a fuming Mayola that obnoxious please do not fuck your kismesis in public while I’m here look. “I’m her moirail, not your auspistice,” he reminded her gently.

As if Mayola pinning her kismesis onto the table to knock some sense into her meant anything was going to happen past that.

Valeba, seemingly unconcerned, plopped herself down in the creaky barstool closest to the bartender.

“You know the best thing about places like this?” she asked as Mayola sat next to her, shooting daggers the whole time. Dontoc chose not to sit at all, opting instead for standing behind the both of them.

“A guarantee no one listens in on our potential conversations?” he said.

Mayola rolled her eyes. “Donny, who the hell’s gonna fucking eavesdrop on us?”

“Mayola, you are going to try to take down Careen. Do not be so arrogant to think Femrey does not have connections everywhere.”

Valeba shook her head, ponytail rattling between her horns. “Don’t worry. We’re fine here. I know the bartender. Wouldn’t have suggested it while we wait for the 4-wheel device otherwise. You also,” she paused, heralding the bartender over with a wave of her hand, “got it wrong. The best thing about places like this is if you kill the bottle with your shot, it’s a free drink.”

Mayola sneered, “Val, that is the dumbest piece of shit to ever come out of your food chute—”

“—Oh like you’re suddenly some eloquent silver tongue—”

“—Like, maybe I’d geddit if was some kinda thing for a specific bar, but all shitty places like this? Completely—”

“—Maybe if you got drunk at places other than Shipwreck Cove—”

“What’re you having tonight, Huntress?”

The gruff voice of the bartender cut straight through their argument. He’s a rustblood. Old, with horns cracked and jagged at the edges and frayed short hair. He also called Valeba by a title and not a name, which piqued Mayola’s curiosity, but not enough to pry.

Behind her, she’s almost certain she heard Dontoc mutter something about how he never should’ve offered to come and get Icasui stuck between the two of them.

Valeba turned away from Mayola to face the bartender. “Single malt barely alcohol. Whatever’s cheapest. Neat and short, preferably.”

Mayola scowled. “Hey hey, you don’t gotta go cheap I’m right—”

“Mayola, you don’t have to pay for me. We’re in loosely defined, casual kismesis where I also happen to be your lowblood ambassador for this whole fucking trip.” And did Mayola hate every second their kismesis remained casual, but she wasn’t about to go into all her weird blackrom insecurities after the Gliden clusterfuck. “If you started paying now that’d be weird.”

“It ain’t weird to be--!”

She was interrupted by the sound of glass thumping against something hard and plastic. In front of the two of them was a small glass of whiskey. “You culled the bottle, so this one’s on the hive,” the bartender said.

Valeba laughed, that stupid light and airy sound that was so counter to her usual deadpan. “Told you.”

Mayola responded by moving to push Valeba straight out of the chair. But naturally, Valeba was always a step ahead of her and braced herself against the counter, making Mayola’s attempt useless. “Shut the hell up.”

[chuckling-chemist]

31 Days of Fanstuck Day 4 Mayola: Enter

“Alright. We’re good. I’m in. Man that was fucking weird.”

Mayola spoke into the voice-enabled chat service to her server player, but the quick ping she gave meant it immediately went to received. She let out a long, irritated breath through her nose. Okay. So Pallia was busy. Big deal. She’d get to it eventually. Right now she had to focus on more important things.

Like, was it freezing fucking cold here all of a sudden, or was she just shivering for no reason?

Mayola walked over to the nearest window, the one that looked out from her kitchen into the rest of the world. Back on Alternia, it was one of the best looks out onto the very ocean where her hive precariously sat above. Every step of her bare feet against the wood of her floor sent another rack of shivers through her body. Her shoes, her favorite pink pumps with the knives hidden away in one of Aisral’s mechanisms, still sat inside her strife specibus. At some point after knocking out a bunch of pink gremlins, she accidentally unequipped them and never had the chance to put them back on. 

Something she should ideally do. After she figured out where the hell she was.

She heaved herself up onto the countertop, sitting on her knees just so to cover them up with the thick fabric of her dress as opposed to exposed to the open air and looked out with despair.

Her hive still sat over water. It sat over the white ice of what looked to be some sort of massive frozen lake. Out in the distance she could just make out the barest hint of snow drifts, complete with the powdery bullshit falling gently onto the ground.

A growl grew in the back of Mayola’s throat. Snow. Cold. Hell. 

There was a reason she lived in the south. Not like Sandyhorn’s bizarre weather patterns ever fixed that particular problem.

She took her shoes out of her specibus and slid them back onto her cold feet before getting back onto the floor. It wasn’t much, but even the small comfort was enough to get her from the kitchen into her bedroom and switch out her clothes to something warm. It took some time, but she managed to whip together an outfit to keep her warm from an old cloak she alchemized with a scarf to make a fur-lined black coat, as well as a relatively plain long-sleeved dress that Aisral made her once out of cold-resistant, waterproof material. Just to be safe, she alchemized her heels with a pair of snow boots to make a pair of fuzzy pink boots with retractable knife-heels. 

Finally warm, Mayola tramped out onto ice, coat bundled tightly around her to stop the wind biting through it. Abaiasprite, previously meandering somewhere in the hive with her newfound ability to explore land, flew up to her the second the door opened and followed closeby. 

“Are you sure you’re warm enough, my child?” she asked.

Mayola smirked. “Warm as I can be,” she said.

The great ghostly eel nodded. She might have the ability to verbalize, at the end of the night it was still her lusus. Abaia never questioned her more aberrant qualities. 

To both of their benefit, the ice covering the water was thicker than she envisioned earlier. Thick enough it did not crack as she shuffled onward through the wind. It also, for whatever reason, wasn’t accumulating much snow. Which was good for her. If she had to suffer through the “one step forward, half a step back” experience of walking through the snow, she’d have to turn back now just to make some trail mix.

She tapped the mic to turn it back on for a second. “Hey Shorty, how cold does it have to be for a whole goddamn lake to freeze over?”

MESSAGE RECEIVED: ??:?? STATUS: Unread

Goddamn it. 

“A lake freezes at less than 32 degrees, with layers of ice adding for every fifteen days it stays below frozen temperatures. A world like this has probably been frozen a long time,” Abaiasprite noted. “That said, I do not believe this is a lake.”

Mayola laughed. The chilly wind hurt the inside of her mouth. And were her nostrils freezing? That’s what it felt like. “If this ain’t a lake, what is it?”

“We will find out when we reach land.”

For both of their sakes, when was less time than imagined. The surprising flatness of the land threw off her ability to judge distance, and the snow banks collecting on portions of the ice made the first true island of actual land filled with real snow virtually impossible. So when she stumbled upon an igloo that only came up to her waist off to the side, sitting atop a mass of brighter white than the off-white of the ice she’d been walking on, Mayola nearly missed it. It had only been thanks to Abaiasprite poking her with that ghostly tail and pointing toward it that alerted her to its presence.

(Remind me to combine her with something that has fucking arms.)

She didn’t need to announce her presence to any residents. The loud crunch of the snow managed to be heard even over the whistle of the wind against the lake. It alerted the owner of the tiny little igloo, and an equally tiny bright blue basilisk hobbled out onto the snow. He held a curious looking cane, one with a pink-looking serpent twisting around from the base for the beast’s head to form as the handle.

“Uh...hello?”

The basilisk looked up to the heiress with a friendly smile. “Greetings, maiden. We’ve been waiting for you. How do you fare on our beautiful planet?”

Mayola couldn’t help herself. “I’m fucking cold is what I--ow!”

Abaiasprite smacked her with her tail and, despite the limited facial expressions she could have, managed to shoot her a glare that could kill. 

“I ain’t used to this fuckin’ weather’s all. Which, where the hell’m I?”

The little basilisk chuckled, cane tapping into the snow for emphasis. So at least he had a sense of humor. “Ah, maiden of the winds, servant to the breeze, you have finally landed where you should be. You are the Land of Frost and Chimes, the planet eternally in winter.”

[indy-the-lone-rider]

“Did you know?”

INDY:She originally was a canine type of nekomimi sporting a pair of wolf ears and tail. She had a different design to go along with it. Much different from the one that I’m currently developing to add to the Glade Rangers fanlore.

Today, I reused her classic design and made another character out of it. Named “Ilona”.I gave her name based on one of the instances when my childhood friend would call me nicknames out of spite, ‘Ilona’ being one of them. This went on from when I was 11 to 13.

Speaking of past experiences, when I was still in that school at the time, and also sucking terribly at drawing/writing comics and manga, Classic Indy/Ilona, had a clone. Despite a sample of her extracted as a 14 year old, (I made her older than me by two years) her duplicate is twice as old as her, about 28 years of age in human years. Her name was “Viola Knight”, (her last name was deliberately ripped from @claraknight) 

A scene was planned in IIV where she eats a fruit (which the design is ripped off of the Devil Fruits from One Piece) that grants her the capability to procreate with ANY living organism based on their level of intelligence. This was scrapped for these reasons. One, it wasn’t original. Two, it’s not credible. Third, it seemed stupid, thus I left it out of the script. 

In IIV, she was going to have a older brother named ‘Alex’. I got the idea when I looked back on the times where I had a imaginary elder brother who’d teach my brother manners if he dared to hurt me. Alex still is present in the IIV verse, but he’s dead. His soul was torn from his body by a Shadow Phoenix manifested by Indy’s ancestor Mayola. It’s unknown if I’ll use him again or not.

Classic Indy/Ilona had a humanized form of the Pokemon Vaporeon for some reason. Whatever I was on during that time, I have no idea what drugs I took then. That page and a few drawings depicting this form are burned. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I used to be like one of those young artists. (Got nothing against them personally)

UTIE/STIRRUP:Utie, otherwise known as ‘Stirrup’ these days, he went through several minor changes from markings to the way I draw him. His color scheme was based on one of the adoptable animals that you can select in Zoo Tycoon 2 - Extinct Animals. The animal was Utahraptor.Sometimes I switch from a cartoony raptor to the one that came straight out of Jurassic Park.

He was once going to be the main villain in Indy’s life story.I was JUST getting into Spyro that time, in which I was introduced to the fandom’s favorite, Evil Cynder from The Legend of Spyro - A New Beginning.Hence, why I had the idea of him being the villain. 

He was going to have a love-interest named ‘Greenie’. Not to be confused with @greenysoliatre, Greenie is a raptor creature like Utie/Stirrup, except she has no mane or markings because sexual dimorphism. She was scrapped when I eventually shipped him with a friend’s OC.

He breathed fire at some point. This concept didn’t last very long. And I also scrapped the idea that he was a dragon hybrid.

That is all for now :3

[chuckling-chemist]

You know what? While I’m totally procrastinating on writing two short stories awake when I probably shouldn’t be, reblog with a troll to have their fortune read by the Valkyrie, Aluala Medala! (I haven’t played with my deck in a while, and I’m sure I need the practice anyway)

(All readings will just be 3 card readings through my dragon deck which like, i can take pics if you’d like but it’s nothing special ^^”)

[chuckling-chemist]

First and Last for that no excuses writing meme

First

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

Last

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

[chuckling-chemist]

12th Perigee Extra 1: Don’t Think Twice

((This is a of an homage of the #TumblrLogOff protest. Served well with the new KH III song Don’t Think Twice. Kept short and sweet.))

3 a.m. All was still in the temporary hivestem. Mayola finally managed to strip down into a sleek pair of warm sleepwear, perfect for lounging for another solid hour before even thinking about getting any sort of sleep. Unlike Valeba, who somehow managed to conk out on the couch without even making it into the actual respiteblock of the suite. But for Mayola, between the time zone shifts, the odd hours of the dance (they still had hours left in the night, yet brunch was coming at 11 a.m. for those who wanted it? What kind of schedule was that) and the general mood of the whole festivities succeeded in making it impossible for her. Not that such was bad, but any sort of value judgement didn’t change a racing blood pusher.

Ideally, she needed to sleep. That’s what the recuperacoon is for: calm a troll in any emotional state and force them to rest. Were Icasui here, that’s what she’d tell her to do, at least.

Her pink palm husk buzzed loudly on the table, blaring out the lyrics to Cherry Bomb. Valeba jerked awake, grabbing around uselessly for anything on the couch. Mayola snatched it up in one quick swoop, hurriedly approving the call and putting the thing up to her ear before Valeba did something stupid. Like stab her palm husk for waking her up. That would be bad.

“Mayola?” a frantic voice over the phone asked. “Mayola are you there? Pleasssse tell me you’re --”

Pallia? What the hell was Pallia of all trolls doing calling her? Did Aisral need something? “God, yeah. Yeah. I’m here.” Mayola shook her head. “The hell’s going on? Why d’ya sound upset?”

“Is Dontoc sssafe? He hasn’t anssswered his phone in hoursss and I’m getting worried”

Oh. That was all she was worried about. No big deal. “Are you just worried ‘bout him again? Cause like, Valley’s got it handled. She put a --”

“No Mayola. You don’t….fuck.” There was a pause on the line, followed by Pallia swallowing thickly. “Turn on the TV.”

She looked over at Valeba, curled up tightly on the couch and, hopefully, asleep. “Uh...I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“No Mayola you need to see thisssss. Put the newsssss on. Now.”

The sudden authority in Pallia’s tone threw Mayola through a loop. “But Val--”

“Valeba needs to, too.”

Mayola groaned. She sauntered over to the couch, pushing Valeba’s legs out of the way just enough so she wasn’t sitting on them. Not that it mattered. Valeba pushed herself groggily into a sitting position. “The hell’s going on?” she rasped.

Mayola turned the TV on with a helpless shrug. No point keeping it quiet now. “Just Shorty. I’m placating a fucking…oh.”

As the television screen flickered to life, she saw exactly what Pallia was talking about. Images of cities, some she recognized and some she didn’t, in literal chaos. Lowbloods with obscured faces with molotov cocktails marching through the streets. Midbloods evacuating from a burning officeblock, some perfectly safely through the door, others jumped out of top windows, shattering glass just to end it before it collapsed on them. Lusii rampaging through city streets, bulldozing everything and everyone in their path. Drones cutting down anyone who got close to them. Blues and greens of the upper castes painting the streets as frequently as the browns, yellows and reds of the bottom. No matter which city, the same carnage.

Distantly, she recognized the reporter’s voice speaking over top, but registered no words. Hell, the titles of cities that flashed over and over again looked like symbols on a screen until one of them looked distinctly like a symbol set of the city not far from them. And here they were, sitting ducks in a hivestem ignoring the whole fucking thing. How pathetic.

Mayola gripped her phone with a clammy hand. She dared not look over at Valeba.

“Is...how’s--”

“Sandyhorn’s fine,” Pallia said quietly. “We turned on the newss before going to ssssleep. I just saw one of those cities, ssstumbled upon the name and…”

The looming silence between them only broken by muffled, choked tears from the other end told Mayola everything she needed to know. Who knew how long she’s been freaking out.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Perfectly safe. Just some cancelled plans it’s soundin’ like.”

“Sssssorry.”

“Ain’t your fault. But yeah, let Ace know the two of us are fine and if this somehow hits our shores, we sure as hell ain’t goin’ down without a fight. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Can do.”

“And get some fuckin’ sleep. Please.”

“Mmhm.” Mayola heard something shuffle around on the other side as she added, “But ssseriously, if you see Dontoc can you...can you text me? He hasn’t answered me in hoursss and if it weren’t for all of thissss, I probably wouldn’t be conssssserned but I am he’ssss not like you and Valeba and--”

“Right, yeah. I get it. Val and I got this. You go sleep.”

Pallia hung up the call without another word. Mayola’s gaze flickered back up to the screen. It cut away from the violence back to the reporters, a couple of unfazed bluebloods who spoke coldly about the whole topic, how callous these trolls are for putting undue stress on Alternia so close to the holidays.

“So this is how it feels being a highblood, huh.”

She jerked her head over to Valeba. The brownblood’s gaze was affixed to the screen, unfocused. At some point, she must’ve readjusted herself into a sitting position, knees tucked underneath her chin. “Getting to sit comfy in your ivory tower while the world falls apart around you.”

Mayola grimaced. She wanted to rebut, but what could she say? That it wasn’t true? That Valeba was overreacting? Everything would be okay, because they would be safe, she could trust the man running it was hemoloyal enough, no one would want to touch him? With a sigh, she said, “Yeah. That’s about how it works. Everything goes to shit around you while you’re in the only sunny spot and there ain’t nothing you can do about it. I doubt they’ll touch here though. Her Imperious Sunshine ain’t one to fuck around with galas that sing her praises.”

“We’ve fought them before,” she pointed out. “I get we can’t do it now cause it’ll look bad. I do. Teals talk and all that shit. But we already weren’t going home until after 12th Perigee. This city’s so close it’d be easy, and the both of know riots like this last until the damn city is decimated. That shit takes weeks. And no one else here’s gonna give a shit.”

She wasn’t wrong. Mayola fought drones for target practice. Valeba’s aim with a bow was the result of sweeps upon sweeps of honing it into deadly precision and aim. The two together, as she’s found out more than once, were lethal together. So long as the chaos stayed mostly under control, they might be able to knock the drones off without word getting out off-planet of a seadweller assisting.

“You realize Eeks would tell me no, right?” The words sounded hollow in Mayola’s head. She might’ve said it sweeps ago, but now Mayola wasn’t so sure. She might end up saying that she’s upholding tyrian leadership and showcasing her power as possible Empress by standing up to the drones of the current one. More importantly, Mayola desperately wanted to slice and dice on in true 12th Perigee revelry and mayhem tradition. Combined with becoming a living, breathing incarnation of karma in at least one city toward a bunch of perfect targets for such and it all made it difficult to tell herself no.

“I’m not Icasui,” she said flatly. “They deserve justice.”

“You’ll worry your moirail.”

“Dontoc’s got bigger things to worry about than me right now.” Valeba’s gaze turned to her. Even in the darkness of the room, Mayola felt the angry, determined gaze burn holes into her soul. “You fucking know you want to stick it to those goddamn jackass, no good, hemoloyal fuckers. And what better way to do it than jumping out of that stupid, mile high tower and into the fray that’ll dirty their claws?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d never meet another troll who could speak to her like Valeba. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

The screen flipped back to the city. Mayola caught blood castes of all kinds fighting back. Bluebloods and yellowbloods pushing back in tandem. Olives and jades and rusts and teals taking advantage of their strengths for a common goal. All together, as if this were Sandyhorn and not a zone of high Empress control, cooperating. All except one caste.

Mayola couldn’t see a single seadweller among the dissenters.

She placed a hand on Valeba’s knee, grinning silently. Now wasn’t the time for words. She didn’t need them. Valeba understood. There would be hell to pay, and the regular trolls weren’t the ones in debt.

[chuckling-chemist]

Kismet, It’s Cold Outside (2/14)

((No music set to this. Also short. These were supposed to be fics of any length, after all))

“You look freezing.”

Mayola bared her teeth at her. “I’m fucking fine,” she hissed. Her fins were pressed tightly against her face, unmoving aside from the occasional violent shudder Mayola gave when the wind blew too harshly and pushed her floor length cloak away. “I’m just a little...just a little cold ‘s all.”

“You’re shivering.”

Mayola grabbed at the edges of her cloak, pulling in both ends as close together as possible and making her look somewhat like a pink fish burrito. “And you’re not?”

Valeba looked down at herself and shrugged. Unlike Mayola, in her long, flowing blue dress with a slit up the mid thigh and light ruffles that gave the impression of the ocean waves on the moonlight and strappy sandals, her evening wear outfit managed to keep her warm. Rather, hers was two pieces so carefully blended with the jumpsuit underneath as to look like one. The long skirt brushed against the snow-covered ground to hide the combat boots underneath her dress. The billowy nature of it allowed for fluid movement in emergency situations, and by virtue of it being a skirt made it easy to tear off in an emergency. Her top, complete with a thin, hooded cloak made to be worn indoors or outdoors, stopped right at her waist. The fully covering sleeves of the top were made to look like regular sleeves with little more than wing accents on the forearm, but in actuality were bracers to protect her in the event of a skirmish. (Not to mention it helped hide the rather unfortunate scars around her wrists from where the ropes dug in.) And the high collar, accented in small feathers, kept the wind off her neck.

“I came prepared.”

“Oh ha-fucking-ha. You’re just gonna mock me looking cute as hell and a bit cold by--” Valeba put her bare hand up against Mayola’s cheek, silencing her instantly aside from an overly long, drawn out sigh. She chuckled.

“Warm?”

She nodded. “Just never move and I’ll be fine for the rest of my--hey!” Mayola’s head snapped to attention the second a giggling Valeba jerked her hand away. “I was usin’ that!”

“You’ll live.”

“The hell I will!” She made a motion to grab Valeba’s arm, not stopping until the brownblood pulled her arm away to rub at her wrists. At which point, Mayola’s arms immediately went behind her as she babbled out, “Right. Shit. Your thing.”

Valeba shrugged. “It’s uh...it’s fine. You forgot. That’s all.” She reached into the inner pocket of her coat and pulled out one of the small plastic bottles labeled for some kind of cinnamon whiskey to hand out. It’d work better than any further reassuring Mayola she didn’t do anything wrong. Kismesis or not, her legitimate sensitivity to Valeba’s issues is why she was happily willing to partake in some more unusual indulgences. “Here. Should warm you up while we wait.”

In the blink of an eye, the full bottle disappeared from Valeba’s hand and ended up, completely empty, in Mayola’s. She shuddered again, exhaling a shaky breath that smells somewhat like alcohol and mostly like cinnamon and cold. “I needed that.”

“Yeah I noticed.” She smirked. “Don’t worry, we should get in soon. After all, when does this open?”

“Seven.”

Valeba nodded as she pulled out her palmhusk. “Okay, and so now it’s…”she trailed off as she scrolled past the numerous alerts: a couple day-old texts from Dontoc, a blurry picture from Ardeen of his lusus, and calendar reminders. Eventually, she reached got to the actual time, revealing a violet glowing 6:58 in the center. “It’s 6:58,” she said finally.

She threw the plastic bottle on the ground with a strangled yell, letting it bounce off the pavement and somewhere into the falling snow around them. “Goddamnit it!”

[chuckling-chemist]

Silent Night (7/14)

((Seeing as this takes pretty much at the same time as the other one, obviously this means also would have Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy))

“Did you see ‘em?”

“Yeah. I did.” Valeba shook her head as they walked through the ballroom. “Can’t say I’m surprised. This seems exactly like her kind of shit.”

“Oh it totally fucking is. She was here last sweep too, just fucking…” Mayola shuddered. “God I hate that little puffball’s guts.”

She grimaced. “That about sums it up,” Valeba said wryly. She turned around, hoping to catch another glimpse of her and Dontoc, but they had disappeared into the crowd. “You know about everything right? Involving--”

“Lover boy fessed everything up last sweep to me, yeah.” Mayola’s fins fanned out, not incredibly, but just enough Valeba could see the darker pinks normally hidden. “I can’t believe I’m the nicer one outta the two of us, ya know? Least I fuckin’ know how to treat my goddamn date.”

The two stopped at one of the far walls, next to a huge, arched window covered with rich looking blue drapes. Mayola slumped against the wall with a groan. “Have I mentioned how much I hate her?”

Valeba shrugged. She found a nice open spot on the wall to lean on as well and let herself rest. She may not be wearing heels, but the hard flooring was still a heavy change from the forest floor she normally spent her time on. “I’m not gonna get upset at you saying something that’s true.”

She slid further down the wall with a groan. “I don’t wanna ruin your first real night doin’ fancy shit with all my bitching though. That just seems selfish.”

“I can’t believe you care about the well-being of your kismesis.” Valeba let out a high pitched giggle. With a kick back off the wall to face Mayola, she held her hand out to the other troll. “Come on now. May as well repay the damn favor.”

Mayola stared at Valeba’s gloved hand, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This a trick?”

“Mayola, you know me.” Valeba smirked. “If this were a trick, this is far too obvious.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

The only answer she gave was a widened smirk and taking her arm, leading her effortlessly through the crowded forest of trolls gathering in every which direction to the sound of trumpets and violins. She let them get swept up in the rising crowd of gowns and suits coming to the dance floor, never keeping her hand off Mayola’s. It led them to the back of the ballroom, back to spare tables against the back wall covered in white tablecloths that brushed against the floor. The music from the main ballroom was still audible, but rather than the distinct blare of trumpets she could only hear a faint tinkle of...something. She didn’t know what.

No windows. No orchestra. No trolls.

She did a quick double take, making sure no staff or highbloods were watching them. With that affirmed, she gave a quick tug on Mayola’s sleeve and dashed underneath the table. With her tall horns, it was undoubtedly a tight fit, but she managed to get into a comfortable enough lying position to minimize any sort of unpleasant scraping by the time Mayola followed suit. It didn’t quite work. Mayola decided squatting, even with her own curvy horns, would be more comfortable. Never mind the little thunks they made every time she readjusted, or the pained expressions every time it happened.

“If this is you tryin’ to seduce me, it ain’t workin’,” she said. She shifted again, scowling. “God I feel like I can’t even--”

With a sigh, Valeba leaned up just enough to grab the collar of Mayola’s dress and pull her down into the space next to her. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes.” She rolled over onto her side right as Valeba slid an arm under her top. Despite being in such a compromised position, she could still reach the plastic bottles effortlessly. Not like Mayola had put the pieces together yet. “Oh fuck you really did bring me here to seduce me,” she breathed. “You goddamn minx. How did you know I--”

Valeba bent her head the short, short distance to give Mayola a quick kiss. “I’m not here to fill your exhibitionist dreams. I’m here so we can do this.” The hand underneath her top snaked back out with her plunder: seven different mini plastic bottles of darkly colored, expensive rum that they had carefully snuck in using one of the pouches underneath her dress. The one next to the knife holster. “We’ve still got some time until the bar opens.”

Mayola bolted upright, banging her horns again on the table. The whole thing lifted for a brief second along with her. Had it not been Valeba was currently hiding underneath it, she was sure it was a sight to see.

“Easy!” Valeba barked. “We don’t wanna alert the staff we’re hiding out underneath a table.”

“Says the troll yelling,” she said. She rubbed the top of a horn gingerly. “Fuck that hurt.”

“Well yeah. It would. Hell, watching it hurts my pan.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Least it won’t affect your intelligence.”

“Hey, hey, hey --” she accented each word with a real snap “--I actually need this thinkpan to be usable if I’m going up against Princess Staypuft.”

“Yeah, because you can’t just stab her and call it a night.” Valeba sighed. Having seadwelling quadrants did have its boons. Namely, she knew the intricacies that went into Mayola’s bid for Heiress. Trolls were a long standing violent, murderous race, yet the acquisition from bastard to Heiress, and then from Heiress to Empress, held enough pomp and circumstance to last a sweep. She couldn’t just cull the other troll right then and there.

No, first she had have the other Heiress abdicate their bid. Any Heiress that didn’t willingly abdicate would enter publicized single combat with the other. No other trolls. No assistance from quadrants, or a recommended highblood consort. Just you and the other troll. From there, she’d have to find some way to call out to Her Imperious Beguiler and repeat the whole process. In between all of this, Mayola would also have to find time to win over the planet’s currently divided support and gain control of the multitudes of industries Careen, Niehea or the Empress watched. It’s why Mayola went to these formal events in the first place. She couldn’t gain support if trolls far outside Sandyhorn didn’t even know of the Bastard of the Beaches.

Valeba always thought it was a stupid amount of politics for what effectively boiled down to single combat Duel Strifers.

But she didn’t express all of that to Mayola. Why would she? Mayola hated all the ceremony just as much as Valeba did, it’s part of why she ran from the position in the first place. She was all about killing and being done with it. You didn’t need a procession to convince the Empress to arrive on planet for the first time in however-many-sweeps.

So rather than sharing that, she tossed a bottle up to Mayola and said, “Here. Have the first one. It’ll be the only one you can take anyway.”

Mayola let out a choked laugh. “You wanna bet?”

Valeba propped herself up higher. “I can bet you hm...loser’s gotta be on bottom tonight. No fighting for it.”

Mayola gave Valeba a toothy grin as she whipped the cap off and downed it in an instant. The distinct, pleased noise escaping from her mostly-closed mouth. “Oh hon, you’re gonna lose so bad.”

Valeba nabbed a bottle next to her, uncapping and shooting it with a fluidity Mayola lacked. It was sweet. Almost too sweet. It didn’t so much hide the alcohol taste as it tried to bury it in spice and sugar. Enough so she wasn’t wholly sure she could feel her throat. She was just glad it wasn’t viscous as well, or else she’d lose this for sure. “You say this as I’ve consistently beat Ardeen in doing single malt soporific shots.”

Mayola grabbed another one. “Rum ain’t whiskey. You’re gonna fuckin--” she paused to drink the whole thing. Valeba watched her fins flutter, face flush, as she shuddered. “--gonna fuckin’ lose.”

“Yeah I bet.” Another shot. Valeba felt this one crawl down her back, almost pleasantly, warming up every area around her spine. “Though I’ve only got seven.” She tossed one up to Mayola. “Or uh...two. What’re we gonna do after that?”

“Eh, we’ll figure it out.” She opened up the bottle to do another shot, though slower than the previous times. It gave Valeba time to watch the array of faces she made as the liquid touched Mayola’s tongue and slid down her throat. Her face shifting from a grimace, to a mostly neutral expression, to complete pleasure in only a few seconds. “Oh wait! Why not get some shots when the bar opens?”

“Yeah, because that doesn’t look completely terrible.” She rolled her eyes and took another shot. One left. “Just a fuchsia and her kismesis casually getting shitfaced.”

“Yeah but we’re like...actually at a bar.” She paused, gaze darting down between at the scattered empty bottles surrounding the singular full bottle. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Uh...how many have we had between the two of us?”

“Well, you had one…” she pointed her left arm up at Mayola as she counted, “then me. Then you. Then me. Then you. Then me?” She frowned. “Yeah, it’s gotta be that. Next shot will be ahead of--hey! Fucking cheater!”

As she spoke, Mayola leaned down to snatch the final bottle and empty it. Valeba glowered the whole time, but Mayola avoided it by looking at her bottle. “You call it cheating,” she said, twirling the empty bottle between her fingers, “I call it getting ahead or winning.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Sure. You gonna take care of these bottles then, winner?” She hyper-enunciated every letter at the end, letting the sourness of her tone really curdle. Truth be told, no matter what Mayola said, Valeba was going to clean them up. She had the option of possibly playing stupid if they caught her -- just cleaning up for some highbloods, no, she can’t reveal the name because they threatened her, you know how seadwellers get...it was a song and dance she knew all too well.

“...Nah.” Mayola kicked a few of the empty bottles into her open arms, where she scooped them up into her the bracer-sleeves of her top. “You know where to find me?”

She kicked back. “Course I do. You’re easy.” Valeba gave her one last grin as she rolled out from under the table, making careful sure not to bang up her horns.

The music and trolls had changed. She walked in on a slow, methodical waltz-sounding wholly comprised of clarinet and oboe with little variation and trolls spinning in equally methodical, dizzying circles. But they were distracted, and that’s what was important.

She scooted along the wall up to the dessert tables. The silver platters of cookies and cakes were picked clean, but the neon green trash can sitting against it was empty. Nobody even surrounded it to throw away their dainty, see-through plastic plates for cookies. She managed to get every single one of the little bottles dumped and covered in napkins without a soul paying enough attention to her to notice. Another successful mission.

She stretched her arms out, hearing the bones crack along the way. Maybe holing up underneath a table wasn’t the best idea, but damn if her and Mayola didn’t need the brief moment alone. They were much harder to get here for some reason than the Feast of Fools, or at her own damn Night of Frights party that she hosted. Apparently highbloods just couldn’t get enough of checking out the newest Heiress and her rustie of a date.

Just wait until they figure out just how many pies she’s managed to get her fingers into.

Valeba pocketed her hands into her skirt (oh thank God Aisral knew how pockets worked) and started down to the dance floor. Mayola should have made it out by now. She might be able to coax the fuchsiablood into doing one kind of highblood dance as a warm up before they started playing anything either of them cared much about. Not that Valeba was much good at either of them, but she was a quick learner and Mayola was a good partner. It couldn’t be that hard. And if not, she might be able to catch Dontoc and pry him away from Careen for five minutes. They were moirails. Moirails that Careen had made a careful point of making sure didn’t see each other the minute Valeba actually stayed in the city, enough so they didn’t know much about their own lives since Dontoc took her “just flirt with Pallia a little, not like she’ll notice” advice way too far and ended up further in the romantic-frustration hole than he would’ve liked. And that was still summer. She hadn’t even decided to dye her hair bright red at that point.

“Hey, shitblood!”

Valeba’s blood boiled. She didn’t recognize the voice behind her, but she sure as hell didn’t like the tone.

Fuck.

This is what she gets for drinking before eleven.

[chuckling-chemist]

Now Give Me Some Figgy Pudding (4/14)

((It’s lacking a “name of song” title because I ran out of clever ideas, very fast. Also, the song I imagined for this sequence was Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2))

“Goddammn Val, you realize they serve dinner too, right?”

Valeba glanced down at her small plate of food grabbed from the buffet tables, absolutely filled to the brim with fancy slices of raw fish and other small appetizers. The extravagance of the food matched the extravagance of the whole venue perfectly: it looked richer and more expensive than Valeba would ever be able to afford on her own, and was largely enjoyed by the masses, but she knew in her head it wouldn’t quite live up to what she imagined and would probably need some soy sauce.

Okay, maybe this analogy needed more thought.

Could anyone blame her? After being swarmed by press eager to get the first major look at the up-and-coming Heiress -- never mind not only had she been here last sweep, just not in any sort of specialized area -- neither of them had a chance to breathe, let alone get any food. They hadn’t been able to sit down for some time, not until they finally made their way into the VIP area. And despite Mayola’s numerous attempts to help Valeba dip out, the press were so interested in a fuschiablood not just having a lowblood quadrant, but a lowblooded quadrant she wanted to take with her to a formal event, escaping to their little table for two against the wall was next to impossible.

“What?” She popped a scallop wrapped in bacon in her mouth. “I’m hungry now. Besides, it’s only about seven-forty-something. We’ve got twenty minutes before our food gets here and I can’t wait that long. Besides,” she paused and grabbed a piece of lox, “it’s free. I’m poor. I’m taking advantage of this guy shilling out as much money as possible to feed us.”

“Mm. Fair.” Mayola’s hand snuck up to the plate, but Valeba caught it first. She planted a dining knife square in between her the fuschia’s forefingers.

“Get your own damn plate,” she growled.

Mayola’s eyes glinted against the hazy blue lights. “You sure you wanna go down this path?”

“Maybe later.” She retracted the knife in an instant, quickly pocketing the knife. Not like it was hers, but Mayola didn’t need the upper hand. She carried enough knives on her. “If you gotta slobber over me, I’d like to think it can wait until after dinner.”

“Before or after they’re done with the uh...fuck I dunno what song this is so I can finish the thought.” She stopped, scrunching her whole face. Soft piano arpeggios filled the room. They almost sounded familiar, a chord set she must have heard somewhere else even if she didn’t quite recognize the current song. “Maybe you and your highblood fuckery recognizes it?”

She paused all motions to stare at Mayola, incredulous. “Highblood fuckery?”

“Oh come on, you know.” She folded her hands underneath her chin, letting her shaggy hair fall in front of her face. Valeba had to admit, Mayola probably shouldn’t have cut it right around Night of Frights for a costume, but telling her otherwise would have been an impossible mission. “Me. That awkward blue boy. Some fish--”

Valeba gasped. “I don’t pail my goddamn moirail you--”

“Relax!” She cackled loudly, clapping her hands against the table. “I was talkin’ ‘bout Niehea’s current fling. Coulda sworn he mentioned you once. Or maybe that was some other lowblood. Man’s pailing lifestyle is a goddamn revolving door that Niehea just kinda...stands in the center of.”

“Good to see you really think all lowbloods are the same,” she remarked dryly. The corners of  her lips curled into a smirk. “Knew it’d come out of you eventually that you’re just playing.”

“I most certainly aren’t!” Her fins and eyes went equally wide as she pointed a sharp claw in Valeba’s direction. “Ain’t! Fuck. Damn it. I’ve been fancy for too long.”

“It’s only been forty minutes since we walked in.” She leaned back in her chair. “You’re probably just getting affected by the area around you.”

“It can’t be that fancy.”

Valeba rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been able to look very well at the whole VIP room, not after their dash into the room only a couple minutes before the servers came in to get dinner orders. That being said, between actual having an actual troll stationed to take her coat (and failing to notice the sheer volume of weapons she carried) and having two cobaltbloods push a red carpet down a snowy road already indicated this event was at least on par with similar events Careen held, the same parties she seemed eager to remind Valeba weren’t for “her kind” when she thought Dontoc wasn’t listening.

“Sure. I’ll just check to just confirm that’s stupidest thing to come out of your foodchute yet.”

She caught Mayola’s mouth opening to rebut, but Valeba was already twisting around in her seat. She’d been looking for an excuse to get a thorough look around the room since sitting down and this gave her the first proper excuse to gather her bearings and see what she was theoretically up against.

True to her belief, the whole place looked like a textbook definition of fancy. The room itself was a more reserved, upscaled version of the larger ballroom, complete with a second - albeit smaller- musician pit and elegant bar stocked in liquors she’d barely ever seen. Instead of the large tables set for eight present in the main room, most of these ones were all smaller tables for twos, threes or fours. Each mahogany table was covered in rich cloth of the color and accent representing the VIP guest in question. Valeba’s own table was covered in tyrian pink with a glass vase, but just a cursory glance revealed abstractified sculptures of everything from violins and television props to dangerous looking lusii and glass symbols propped on stands. Most of the table cloths were in cool colors, but occasionally she’d catch a hint of brown or red that felt like sucker punches to the face. Soft lights wrapped around garland and silver tinsel hung from the white walls accented in gold walls to give off an ethereal glow. It matched the potted evergreens and purple flower bushes precisely positioned around elaborate glass tables covered in appetizers.

And to say nothing of the people. She hadn’t quite yet gotten the chance to observe all the trolls in the main area, but in the VIP area showcased the absolute most famous and pompous of the bunch she’d never be able to see anywhere aside from idly watching television with Ardeen. Highblooded women in tight corsets and long, flowing gowns mingled with seadwellers in smoking jackets holding champagne flutes of what she figured - unless VIPs got special privileges on alcohol, which she wasn’t willing to throw out - were no more than sparkling juice currently. The real surprising thing about the whole event were the sheer number of seadwellers: Dontoc and Mayola both complained endlessly about how rarely seadwellers came to landdwelling highblood events. For them to come to a formal event on the mainland ran by a landdweller - a midblood no less, if all the pre-preparation she did holds any merit - was a testament in and of itself. It made her wonder how many of the seadwellers were actually VIPs interested in going and how many were just high-society dates to landdwelling celebrities. It’s not like she could much tell the difference between the two anyway.

When she turned back around, she popped a small cheese-covered cracker in her mouth. Her plate seemed...emptier than it should have. Either Valeba was hungrier than her thought, or Mayola stole a couple pieces. “This is literally the most extravagant, most elaborately designed room I’ve ever been in. I fail to see on any singular level how you could mistake this for being ‘not that fancy’. Unless you’re fucking with me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I dunno.” Mayola clasped her hands on the table and gave her a sharp, toothy grin. Valeba could see the small pieces of raw fish stuck between her teeth. “I think I might be.”

Valeba scooted up to sit on the edge of her chair, elbows on either side of her plate. “You’re an ass.”

Mayola leaned further on the table, gaze quite pointedly not on the plate, but on Valeba. “You can’t share your goddamn food. Think that makes you the true ass.”

“Says the troll stealing from the poor.” She leaned in further. She could feel the light breeze from Mayola’s twitching fins. “Even if I’m the true ass, you’re not too good yourself.”

She smirked, eyes dark with what could only be described as pitch adoration. “But you hate every fuckin’ second of it.”

“Hate it so much I’m getting my goddamn food back.” She leaned further in for a kiss, cut off only by a loud cough reminding her of where they were. Valeba shoved herself back into her chair, grinning sheepishly at the yellowblooded server standing next to the table, deftly levitating their food with psionics. “Sorry for making you wait,” she said.

“Flirting - pitch, pale or flushed - at such an affair’s not uncommon. You get used to it.” The yellowblood gave them a cool smile. “I imagine the dignity of the Heiress would prevent it from getting too out of our fronds.”

Mayola laughed awkwardly, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder.  “Yeah...no. I am fuckin’ shameless. Hungry and horny do start and end the same way after all.”

Valeba sighed. “Mayola that makes no sense.” She looked back over to the yellowblood. “Also sorry about her. Seadwellers, ya know?”

“I do indeed.” The smile that came over him as he placed the covered silver platters to the floor felt more genuine than before. The lid on Valeba’s lifted first. “The bronzeblood asked for our breaded gamefowl resting on a mat of rice, seasoned in our finest herbs and served with a side of tangy, yet spicy, grubsauce.”

The next lid raised. Mayola stared down at it, licking her lips like a starved hyena all the while. “And for our Heiress, just as you requested: steamed oversized scuttlebug stuffed with yolk from our cluckbeasts and brandy, served with a side of green stick vegetation and risotto. Otherwise known to seadwellers as ‘lobster thermidor’. A heavy dish, but perfect for warming you in the weather.”

“Hell yeah it is.” She stretched her arms over her plate. Valeba could hear nearly every single one of her fingers crack. “Hey, goldie. Indulge me a little.”

The yellowblood froze in place. The plates he held up with psionics shook. It wasn’t a stretch to say the poor troll was probably terrified. She wished it were possible to telegraph that of all seadwellers, Mayola was the least likely to harm him anymore than a sympathetic smile. “Yes...my Heiress?”

“You guys allowed to accept tips?” She frowned. “I forget if that’s technically a no-no. Swear to fuck tippin's different across the ocean.”

He relaxed instantly, so much so Valeba actually thought she might have to steady him. “Yes. Yes. It’s allowed,” he said as he took both the lids out of the air, stacking them over each other before tucking them under his arm.

“Good.” She shoved her hand into her pocket, pulling out wrinkled pink dollars. “Sorry for the appearance, but I don’t like fru-fru fucking little handbags.”

“Not a problem,” he said politely. He opened his free hand to allow Mayola to drop the dollars and he tucked them into the pocket of his vest without another thought. The yellowblood gave the two a short bow. “Enjoy your food, ladies.”

“Oh we will,” Mayola said. She winked at Valeba. “We fucking will.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Happy Freedom Festivals, Pregame Edition! ((1/2))

((A 4th of July inspired piece for fantrolls. It’s in 2 parts to break up the story a bit, the first being the set up of the event/morning thereof and the second part involving the festival will be posted later. Also I split it up since, on its own, this still works as a cute, fluffy slice of life piece, so like, I feel less bad if I don’t finish it completely.))

((forward==>))

“Good morning Dontoc! How’d you ssssleep?”

Dontoc glanced over to the sound of the voice as he walked in the kitchen, smiling wryly at the petite tealblood pacing around the kitchen, wrapped granola bar in her hand. Her hair, normally pulled back in some kind of messy bun, fell down past her face and bounced around her head. She hadn't changed into any sort of casual wear, opting instead for a purple night shirt and black sweats.

“Would you like the honest answer or the nice answer, dear?” he asked.

They both knew the honest answer. Dontoc had found Pallia working in her lab upon his return from Careen’s in the daytime hours, watching a clear liquid overtop a viscous purple one bubbling inside a round bottom flask. He had to coax her to get any kind of sleep whatsoever, eventually winning her over with reminding her she's done the same for him...after requesting to assist her.

He’s almost certain it was past 3 pm by the time they went to their respiteblocks.

She stopped pacing to look at him threw askew half-moon frames. “Well you're sscertainly chipper for no ssssleep.”

“I could say the same for you,” Dontoc said as he took a seat. He sniffed the air, resisting to frown at the lack of breakfast smells.  “Unless...coffee? But I do not smell it.”

“Oh no I'm steadily running on sleep deprivation and excitement.” She grinned. He tried to ignore the small warmth it sent him. “Coffee sounds good though. Want some?”

Dontoc took a seat in a rickety chair, watching Pallia dart around the kitchen looking for everything needed. “Such a drink sounds exquisite. Though perhaps we should wait for Aisral. I do not wish to see her in the mornings without caffeine.”

“Aisral can make her own coffee,” Pallia huffed. She pulled down two ceramic white mugs from a low cabinet, setting both next to him. “It's not my fault she's decided to spend the morning of one of the biggest festivals of Sandyhorn this side of anything vaguely related to 12th Perigee working,” she said.

“I feel like they are all the biggest festival,” he said. 

“Oh no. You haven’t seen this one,” she leaned on the counter to face him, arms crossed. “The night Sandyhorn celebrates the turnaround from a slaver’s plantation hellhole to a landdwelling haven for tealbloods and down. What it is now.”

He did know, somewhat. Sandyhorn was a strange location for such a city of lowbloods, existing right off the coast in a surprisingly good location for tobacco and sugar trade, even with the extreme weather. While too sandy for most seadwellers too live comfortably (most seadwellers preferred complete underwater living to anything to do with the land), undoubtedly highbloods could and once lived comfortably. He could identify it even by the architecture. And now they just...didn’t. Sure, occasionally you’d run into a cobaltblood or indigoblood, but purplebloods were unheard of, and Dontoc could count the seadwellers living there on his fingers. But he never got much in the way of a finer description for what happened and how it stayed, only that it involved multiple slave revolts and the formation of a free port somewhere in the sand bar.

“To be fair, I have not yet seen the 12th Perigee festivities, what with Careen’s ball. And the one after that - the Feast of Fools? - the two of us were out of town for a whole week.” He ran a hand through his hair, guilt washing over him in waves. He had wanted to go to those events he just had...prior engagements. “Why did you not go to her ball, anyway? I never asked. Ah, if I can ask, that is.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Not my thing. Can't dance. No one I like there. Drunken debauchery sounds more fun.” She climbed up onto the counter top and sat on her knees, now only just barely able to reach the top shelf. “All we have is a dark roast. That okay?”

“If it has caffeine, honestly I will be satisfied,” he admitted. “Just watching you is exhausting me.”

“Oh, uh...right.” She slowly slid off the countertop, bag of ground coffee beans in hand. “Sorry. I'm just excited.”

“As do many things,” he said.  “And normally I enjoy it but…”

She let out a short laugh as the coffee pot started up, bubbling just loud enough for Dontoc to register it started up. “When you're not running on three hours after working?”

Another wry smile, this one seen and returned by Pallia. “Something like that, yes. If you constitute what we did as working,” he said. His fins fluttered lightly at the memory of the day prior. It was working in the most technical sense. If that counted.

“As much ‘working’ as Aisral is doing right now, I'm sure,” she said. She slid into the chair across from him, making a face at the statement. “The casual version, of course. I just realized that sounded far worse out loud than in my head.”

Dontoc quirked an eyebrow. The air quotes, while not mimed out, could certainly be heard in her voice. “Mayola?”

It felt almost planned, the way the other seadweller, wrapped up in a fluffy teal bathrobe that barely covered her, pranced into the room and plopped herself next to him, sprawled between two chairs despite being smaller than Dontoc. Her mid-length dark hair gathered in wet clumps that left a trail of water droplets behind her. Aisral shuffled shortly behind, dressed in her standard pants suit outlined in accents of teal and fuschia. She walked immediately toward the kettle and started boiling water, grabbing a few teabags and ramen packets nearby it.

“The one and motherfucking only,” Mayola said.  She sniffed the air. “Oh and coffee! Perfect start to gettin’ drunk in the name of freedom.”

Dontoc had to resist rolling his eyes. Pallia didn't even bother. “You guys can have the next brew. I only put enough in for the myself and Dontoc.”

Mayola snorted, all interest suddenly gone. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. I'll just go buy some lemon squeeze juice at the festival anyways.”

“You can still have coffee--”

“I gotta meet up with Nivs anyhow. Seein’ as I'm seadwelling, I need some kinda excuse t’be down there.”

“You never needed an excuse before,” Aisral muttered, still not looking up. “Unless you feel a sudden urge of responsibility?”

The coffee pot let out a soft ding, signifying its completion. Something Pallia didn't notice at all.

“Responsibility? Nah. Just settin’ a good example for our new seadwellin’ friend here.” Mayola roughly clapped him on the shoulder, thoughts of coffee suddenly gone and replaced with Careen's warnings of volatile lowbloods roaming the streets to attack nobility and how he should stay inside.

“Uh...really? I, ah, well...from what I was told that does, that does not make--”

“Oh come off it. Mayola you're gonna psssych him out and Valeba'sss not here,” Pallia said. With a kind smile his direction, she added, “You'll be fine. Culling of highbloodsss would make the event too high profile.”

He nodded, anxiety only somewhat quelled. “Ah, yes. Right. Right. Thank you, Pallia. Which, by the way-”

“Hey wait who the hell’s Valeba?” Mayola asked. She shifted positions to only take up one chair now, but lounged as if it were a full throne.

“Valeba is my moirail.” He looked over, noticing the obvious confusion with her fins twitching violently enough they seemed to shudder and added, “You did not possibly think Pallia and I were--”

“No, course not,” she said airily. “I know Shorty’s quad situation like the back’o my hand--” he looked at Pallia for confirmation, who just shrugged noncommittally “--name sounds familiar 's all.”

“Excuse me if that sounds well ah...vague,” he said. Looking back at Pallia, he said, “Also, you should know--”

“Goddamnit!!”

Everyone swiveled their head toward the sound of the commotion. Aisral slammed down a large teacup, dark liquid sloshing all over the counter. “This is the last time I run on no sleep!”

Without missing a beat, Pallia called out, “I'm not cleaning that.”

“What even did you do?” Dontoc asked. “You were brewing tea correct?”

“Tea does not have ramen inside it!” Aisral snapped, flailing her arms about wildly.

Oh.

Dontoc couldn't resist a quiet chuckle at the angry troll in the corner, exchanging a glance at Pallia as he did so. She snickered behind her hand, but it was still plainly audible as a distinct hiss. Mayola didn't even bother hiding it, chortling loudly in the chair.

“Oh my God, I cannot believe you did it again!”

“Says the troll who is the reason I did not sleep because she just realized I am one of the only trolls in existence who actually files her claws,” Aisral retorted.

“And I'm out,” Pallia said. She stood up, leaving her mug on the table. “I'll get some breakfast at the festival. Do you wanna come, Dontoc? I'm guessing you don't have plans for the night.”

“I ah...well, yes, Careen is refraining from the celebrations,” he said. “She believes it to be dangerous for highbloods.”

Her exact words had been, “I for one refuse to partake in something so beneath myself if it's already a danger to my physical, social and mental health,” followed by chastising him for even showing any interest, but there was no reason anyone in the room had to know that.

“Princess thinks engagin’ with a hiveless troll professionally is 'dangerous’,” Mayola sneered. With a noticeable glare from Pallia, she hastily added, “But maybe she's different 'round ya, since you're not another heiress 'n shit. And still a seadweller. Ya gotta get a circle of friends like that somehow.”

“Perhaps,” he said. She probably wasn't. A little under a sweep in their relationship had soured it greatly for him, and if her lack of affection over the winter until Red Quadrant Appreciation Day in spring indicated anything, she likely felt the same. But there was no reason to dump that here. Really, breaking things off now would result in the least amount of hurt feelings for both parties. “She is quite friendly to those in her circle. All five or six of them”

Pallia cleared her throat loudly. “Uh, right. Well, whether you're coming or not, I need to get into actual clothes. I'm not gonna force you to go if you don't want to,” she said. She turned on her heel, hair swishing behind her as she started walking off.

Dontoc sighed, scurrying after her as she strode down the hallway. Was she...upset? Probably not. Pallia had generally been open with him, down to mentioning anything between her and Careen was personal and had nothing to do with him. He loved (liked, he told himself, he liked) that about her: he knew where he stood with her and never really was stuck guessing the way he was back in schoolfeeding.

Maybe he just struck a nerve. He could only imagine how annoyed he'd be if Pallia engaged romantically with someone who tormented him in his younger sweeps -- in particular a red or pale romance. Sure, he's polite enough in general and he could hold his tongue, but even he could only go on for so long talking about them before he'd have to leave the room.  

And that was ignoring the flush crush. He couldn't even imagine how the introduced variable would affect things

“No, no, do hold on! I would love to go with you. I-I, well I quite frankly, I do not know when I last went to such an event? There was one some time...some time ago. It was some sort of seasonal one. If this one is bigger, well, it would certainly be an experience,” he said breathlessly. “Also I truly am sorry, I do hope I did not upset you.”

She shook her head with a sharp-toothed grin. “You're fine. Had to get dressed anyway and Mayola always hogs the meatblock when she's here,” she said.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he held. “Oh. So it was not me?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Good! Oh I was afraid I, ah...well...it is obvious I suppose.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “So ah, this festival then? Is it bigger than the one when I arrived in early summer?”

“Well yeah of course! That was the…” she stopped in place, right in the middle of the hallway, putting an enclosed hand over her mouth. “Oh God you've been here for over a sweep now and I barely even noticed.”

“You forgot about the flowers I gave you?” he asked. “Those were for our ah....well, anniversary is a bad term, I suppose, but...yes. That” 

She shook her head as she started to walk again, slower now that Dontoc followed her. “No. I remember those. I just didn't realize...huh. That long.” She stopped in front of her door, swinging the door open and stepping inside. “Guess I'm just pleasantly surprised how long you stuck around.”

Dontoc’s fins twitched pleasantly and he smiled. “I am glad I stuck around,” he said. He took a step inside, immediately stopped by a gentle hand on his chest.

“Unless Careen is somehow okay with you seeing me change, I'd suggest no,” she said, a light smirk playing on her face. “Plus I'm not sure I want you watching.”

His face burned. His gaze dropped from her and right to the floor, while his hands went to fiddle a non-existent bowtie. “I, ah, oh yes ah...right! I uh, my apologies for, well, not--not thinking and--”

“Dontoc?” Pallia said, her voice light. “It's fine. Go get dressed. I'll meet you at your room.” With a reassuring smile, she slowly shut the door as he turned away. He was only a few steps away as the door softly clicked into place.

Dontoc stopped. Something was missing. “Pallia?” he called out, hoping she could hear him.

No answer. He walked back up to door, giving a few, louder-than-usual raps so she could hear. “Pallia?”

He could hear swift footsteps, then a crack in the door as her head poked out. He kept his gaze pointedly at her eyes, refusing to even possibly look any further down and entertain the possibility she wasn't dressed appropriately. Such wouldn't be proper.

“Hm?” There was no annoyance in her voice, only curiosity.

He gave her a sheepish smile as color tinted his cheeks. “I am sorry to say, but I do believe we forgot the coffee.”

((1/2))

((Like what I write? Buy me a coffee!))

[chuckling-chemist]

Me Right Now

[chuckling-chemist]

31 Days of Fanstuck Day 13 Nivell: Examine

“Excuse me, you need me to what?”

Nivell stopped tramping through the snow of Mayola’s land to stare incredulously at her. She ended up being one of the first to jump through the gates and end up traversing through three of the gates. Not much of a surprise when anyone puts their nose to the grindstone the way she does. Her and Icasui combined managed to get more than enough build grist to supply the rest of the group just through grinding through hordes of enemies. Hers in particular, the Land of Myths and Monsters, was absolutely crawling with underlings. That time in LOMAM had been an absolute treat for the both of them, fighting side-by-side like back in their duel strifer days. 

Did that mean she solved whatever puzzle was to be solved on her own? Not exactly. More pressing matters needed taken care of first. Like now. Apparently.

Mayola rolled her eyes, a gust of wind wracking her body with shivers. “You heard me. I need to you translate some fuckin’ hell script and turn it into not-hell script. Simple.”

“Mayola I don’t speak hell script, you know that.” Nivell sighed. “Eastern Alternian, yes. Ancient Alternian, yes. Manx Alternian, yes. Hell script? No.”

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Mayola huffed and pulled out her palmhusk, finger furiously sliding before whipping it in front of Nivell. “Yes, you do,” she repeated.

Nivell’s whole face scrunched up while she examined the black writing in the Dersian bedroom. Whoever wrote it had an absolutely elegant script, that was for sure. Elegant, and yet appropriate for what looked like, at first glance, ancient Alternian. Many of the root words looked to be exactly the same as Ancient Alternian. Or well, not exactly the same. That was wrong. But close enough the words looked somewhat familiar.

She didn’t know the language. But she knew enough about language to know it well enough.

Mayola clapped her on the back hard enough to make her stumble forward. “Told you ya knew it!” she exclaimed excitedly. 

She sighed. Normally Mayola’s enthusiasm toward her knowledge worked as fantastic encouragement. Right now it was just tiring. 

“I don’t. Knowing a similar language doesn’t mean I know it!” She snapped. Nivell stopped and shook her head furiously.  “Sorry, Mayola! I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Mayola’s face fell. “You sure? Cause it sounded like you did.” 

“No I--” she stopped again, another breeze wracking through the both of them. There was no point lying. If she knew Mayola -- and this was a troll she’d known for sweeps at this point, whether either of them wanted to know each other or not -- she knew Mayola hated it as much as she did when someone else treated her like she couldn’t take the answer.  “Okay, yes I did. But I’m also sorry for snapping. It was immature.”

“Eh, we’re stressed. I’m expectin’ it.” Mayola gave her a supportive grin. “Still though, if you ain’t thinkin’ you can do it--”

“Oh no!” Nivell hopped up in the air brightly, kicking snow around her feet. “I can definitely translate this. And it’s going to take some time. I can dig around, do some research on LOCAW and see if someone happens to know. You’ll need someone else to fight Typheus’ minions, unfortunately.”

Mayola answered with a thumbs up. “Nah, you do what you gotta. I’ll grab Eeks. I’ll see ya whenever?”

Nivell mirrored her grin with one of her own. “Whenever sounds right.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Music Meme

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

1.  Come Together - The Beatles

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

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

2. The Greatest - Alabama Shakes.

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

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

“Uh….I dunno. Keep you on your toes?”

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

“We’re fucking kismesis, you know.”

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

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

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

3. Tetris Theme - Powerglove

Vodnik could see the wind move.

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

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

4. Young Man Dead - The Black Angels

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

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

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

5. Flickers - Son Lux

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

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

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

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

6. For Free? (Interlude) - Kendrick Lamar

Marching.

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

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

7. Hypnotize - White Stripes

“Fancy a drink tonight, doll?”

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

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

8. El Scorcho - Weezer

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

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

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

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

Fuck yeah

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

I mean yeah. Just yeah. No fuck involved.

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

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

9. The Great Gig in the Sky - Pink Floyd

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

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

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

10. Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater Revival

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

[chuckling-chemist]

12th Perigee Extra: There’s No Place Like Home For the Holidays

((It took me all the way until Christmas Eve, but I finally managed to end something not on a dissonant note. No this is nearly tooth-rotting.))

Dontoc always loved the feeling of returning home.

It was likely no more than his anxiety needing to return to some place familiar. A place where he didn’t feel like putting on airs of caring about whatever the other highbloods were talking about, when in reality he just wanted to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and a good book. It wasn’t even the event itself, just the trolls. Highbloods trying to schmooze their way into the pockets of a seadweller. Pompous seadwellers with gaits far too awkward from too many sweeps in the ocean to give them any room to talk. They only increased his desire to return home more than ever.

But this time, it wasn’t exclusively the desire to return home. This was the first sweep where he’d make it in time to see any part of Sandyhorn’s celebration. Every sweep, something always came up that forced him around longer. This sweep however, he managed to keep Careen satisfied enough there was no fight to leave early. He agreed to leave his trunk there (he could regret the decision later), and had her drop him off just close enough to Pallia’s hive he wouldn’t have to listen to her complain too much.

He swung the glass door open, sudden smell of warmth and pine filling his nostrils. Her hive certainly hadn’t been as overly decadent as the host’s of the ball, but he loved it anyway. A rainbow of genetically engineered poinsettias circled a tree that barely avoided the top of the room. It was lit up by small bulbs holding fireflies, their bodies letting off a faint, twinkling glow to the whole thing.  It wasn’t the usual troll tradition, but the both of them agreed the tradition was unsanitary and made the hive smell awful for weeks.

As he ran upstairs and toward his respiteblock, the decorations only continued. Garland and silver tinsel wrapped around the railing to the spiral staircase and followed him down the hallway, all the way down to his respiteblock. Underneath each entryway hung some kind of plant, small with bright red berries poking out of sharp leaves, the same one Mayola once pointed out to him had all those quadrant-related traditions. Sekier must’ve put them up. His love with the holidays had always been one bordering on full on obsession.

“Dontoc?”

He stopped in place, backing right into the open doorway of his room with a poorly contained grin. Pallia bolted down the highway, looking like a gray and white blur all the way until her arms wrapped around Dontoc’s waist for a tight hug. “Oh I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re safe,” she said. “I was starting to scare myself.”

Dontoc chuckled. “Pallia, I am not quite the same troll I was when we met. I can actually hold an intelligent conversation now with a stranger.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It’s just…” she sighed and buried her face in his chest. He pulled her in closer, feeling the warmth from her emanate from her. She might have been shaking. He wasn’t sure what exactly got her so distraught, but he also didn’t care. He knew her well enough this is all she’d need.

“Tell me later?” he asked softly.

She pulled away just enough to look up at him with a resolute nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow morning. I don’t wanna ruin your first 12th Perigee back here. Especially not before you get your present.”

“Oh! Goodness, speaking of such, Pallia if you do not mind for a second, I got you a gift. If you want it now, of course. Ah...if not--”

“Right!” She broke away from him, face turning teal. Dontoc tried not to miss the  “You uh...I’d give you my gift but it’s buried with everyone else’s.”

“Then we shall take care of it when the time comes. But for now, let me grab yours.” He grinned. “Wait here.”

It didn’t take him long to slide into his room and shut the door to prevent her curious stare for what the present could be. Nor was it difficult for him to find the gift, a lone bouquet of shimmering roses inside a short vase on top of his desk, underneath a tall heat lamp single handedly lighting the room. It stood out like a sore thumb among the shelves of books and stacks of papers that decorated most of his room. Dontoc carefully took them out of the vase and bundled them loosely with a spare purple bow tie before hiding it behind his back. Keep it a surprise, if only barely.

He opened the door, relieved to see Pallia hadn’t moved an inch. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, and when the door opened craned her neck to try and see past his frame, but hadn’t actually moved. He shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Pallia, patience is considered a virtue, you know.”

“So’s curiosity last I remembered.” She crossed her arms. “I cannot believe you’re making me wait. Like, I know how hypocritical that statement is because I’m too lazy to grab yours right now, but still.”

Dontoc gave her a playful smile. The anticipation of giving it to her probably killed him more than it ever would her, but at this point it’s just how they spoke when they were alone. The teasing helped put both their minds at ease. “You could try giving me the magic phrase.”

“Oh, right. You mean the phrase, ‘the longer you wait, the more questions Glacin’ll have’.” She put a finger to her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. “Or was it ‘holding back a present only holds back the inevitable endgoal?’ I’m not sure.”

Dontoc hummed, fins twitching. “Not the answer I was looking for, but you make a fair point about Glacin. So here.” He pulled the flowers out from behind his back, the smile on his face quickly turning sheepish. If he’s lucky, she would accept it and let it go without much conversation. The mere thought of giving her this already made his heart pound. “Happy 12th Perigee.”

Pallia’s eyes widened. She gingerly touched one of the petals, swiping a finger across to find the iridescence remain. No paint needed. “Dontoc...they’re….” she looked up at him, equal parts curious and conused, “not naturally found in the wild. Did you…”

“I ah...well...erm…” he paused to swallow down the feeling of his heart pounding in his throat painfully, “do you remember when you taught me how to implant genetic data into another species to turn it fluorescent? Sometime last sweep, actually. Before everything ah...happened. Well, I did that. But with flowers! After all, Vodnik gets you flowers all the time for holidays so it was a safe guess to say you enjoyed them, but that’s just Vodnik so maybe I was wrong but who knows! And so anyway, I asked Zanchi if I could possibly perform what we did with something other than fluorescence, and well...it spiraled. So yes. Your 12th Perigee gift. It’s flowers.”

“It’ssss rosessss,” she clarified quietly.

If Dontoc’s cheeks weren’t burning before, they certainly were now. “Yes. Roses. Iridescent roses. You ah….you…”

“You remembered me teaching you that? All of that?”

“I...well of course. The steps are in my room, still taped to my desk.” His fins fluttered harshly against his face. “I even remember writing in my notebook if it was at all possible to impart other nature of fishes into microbes, however we had been interrupted by Mayola and Volcor before I had a chance to ask.”

She brushed her hand over the petals again absently. They turned from greens and blues to deep violets with no more than the barest touch. Her other hand rested overtop his, making no real attempt to take the flowers away. “And you kept it secret for perigees.”

“Not so when we barely see each other,” he said lightly. “Hopefully you like it? I-I mean, you haven’t uh...haven’t said--”

“Dontoc, this might be one of the single most thoughtful gifts anyone’s ever gotten me. Seriously. There are no words to properly...wait. No. I know.” She looked up at him with a shy grin. Her expression seemed not entirely on him, but above him somewhere. “Can you um...lean down? Just for a second. It’ll make this easier.”

Dontoc laughed. It was an odd request, sure, but hardly a difficult one to appease. “Make what easier? Giving me a proper hug?”

She smirked. “Not quite.” In the blink of an eye she leaned up, a feather-light touch of warm lips pressing against his cheek for the briefest second. And just like that, it was gone. She was back in front of him, face as darkly teal as his must’ve been violet. “But closssse.”

“Pal...Pallia, that ah, well, uh--” he swallowed thickly, failing to push down the lump in his throat.

“No worse than giving me rossses for 12th Perigee,” she said cheekily. She took ahold of the roses this time -- actually the roses, not just his trembling hands -- and pulled them gently out of his grasp. “Gimme a sec to get sssome water for these, then we can meet up with everyone just in time for the next wave of celebrations. Sound good?”

“I shall await your return with bated breath.”

“Good. I’m honessstly ssso glad you're home.” With a quick nod, she took the roses and seemed to prance down the hallway toward the kitchen. Dontoc waited until she was out of view to press a hand to his flushed cheek. That...that happened. Somehow. Initiated by her. On 12th Perigee, no less. It didn’t sound real in the slightest, yet were it a dream, he would’ve been violently ripped away from the scene at this point. But he wasn’t. This was real life. He wasn’t sure if it boded well for the two of them, but it was the 12th Perigee. He could focus on it tomorrow.

After all, he had a countdown to make his way to tonight.

[chuckling-chemist]

Extra 2: Crowning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how wrong he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chuckling-chemist]

Pitch Perigee (8/14)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to go find her kismesis.