#nepwrites

[nepsah]

okay okay i was like 'what if i post a chapter' yesterday and i'm gonna do it just bc........ its obvs still heavy WIP so not everything is like. there, y'know? also tumblr kills the formatting, rip.

Despite his best effort to avoid having to travel with anyone but the Guardian, Kaigo found himself in the company of Junin during the journey back to Kalypo. How or when Nenian had found the time to get Junin to join him was a mystery that the man was unwilling to reveal. He was, at least, good enough company. Junin elected himself as the wagon lead, which allowed Kaigo to ride separately on his elk. The distance allowed him to escape most of the nausea he had been dreading. It also allowed him to keep an eye on the other horses the refugees had brought with them. They hadn’t bothered trying to find space for them on the small boats that traveled up and down the [river name], and so they had been tied together in a train to be led back to the city with the Guardian and any supplies they couldn’t fit on the boats either.

Keeping the Guardian alive was the true challenge. His fever worsened slightly as the day went on into night. Kaigo changed his bandages two more times, mostly out of an abundance of caution and due to the poor quality salve that was meant to help with the infection rather than a need to deal with blood. He’d bled very little, which was odd. His wounds hadn’t healed quite as much as Kaigo would’ve expected for there being so little blood coming from them. It was a blessing though, and Kaigo would take any blessing he could get for a man he couldn’t really heal, and felt nauseated any time he had to touch.

Junin drew the miniature caravan to a slow stop once the sun began to well and truly dip beyond the horizon. Kaigo hopped off the back of his elk once Junin’s wagon had come to a stop. Wordlessly, Kaigo set to work unsaddling his mount while Junin tended to the cart horses. Between the two of them, all of the animals were tethered safely in the grass just off of the road within a few minutes.

“How’s our Guardian?” Junin asked as the two of them made their way back to the wagon.

The last time Kaigo had checked on him had been a few hours prior, for the last dosage of willow bark tea to reduce his fever. “He’s… still alive. He’s not really getting any better or worse,” Kaigo shrugged. It was a relief that he wasn’t getting worse, but the fact that he wasn’t getting better was also troubling.

“You can’t just burn the infection out of him?” Junin asked as he wiggled his fingers in the air, as if he planned to literally burn the infection out.

Kaigo simply stared at him until he dropped the finger wiggling in favor of a playful pout. “You know how it is. Too much healing and it will only do the opposite. Better to let the real medicine do its work.”

“Well, we’ll just have to hope he lives then. I think that group will riot if he dies before we reach Kalypo,” Junin said.

Oh, Kaigo had figured as much. Bijiu’s intense stare filled his mind’s eye, followed swiftly by the sight of the other villagers being held back by Charunan scouts. It was clear that they were extremely fond of the Guardian, which only added to the pressure of making sure he didn’t die. “It… won’t come to that, I think.”

Junin set up a small fire pit using rocks left behind by previous travelers or other scouting groups. This particular spot along the road from Kioule was a popular area to rest overnight for those who hadn’t opted to stay at one of the established waypoints along the road. Junin rubbed his hands together, intensifying his body’s natural heat until he could light the kindling he’d placed inside it, a small fire started up in the pit moments later. Kaigo opted to busy himself with giving the Guardian another assessment while Junin dealt with the fire and getting an evening meal ready.

The Guardian, Kota, was still unconscious. Even still, getting within arms reach of him made the hair on the back of Kaigo’s neck stand up. When he braced himself to lift the man’s shirt to check for blood coming through the bandages, he felt a wave of disgust pulse up through his hands. The Guardian did not react. He was blissfully unaware of everything, it seemed, and likely would remain that way for a while. Another blessing, in Kaigo’s opinion. The last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment was a conscious Guardian. He could see no blood showing through the bandages, and so he forced himself to place his hand against the man’s sweaty forehead. His temperature was still high. Kaigo pulled his hand away, shaking it a little as if to remove the tingling sensation of wrongness from it. He dug out the tea container the refugee healer had given him, then climbed out of the wagon to go brew it along with the dinner Junin was making for the two of them. It wasn’t going to be anything fancy, the meals they had on the road never were, but it would be good and filling and that was all anyone could ask for wasn’t it? Kaigo commandeered the small teapot they all carried with them to brew the tea, much to Junin’s dismay.

“That stuff tastes so bad,” he whined.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Kaigo replied.

“It’s going to make the whole teapot taste bad.”

“You can take mine, then.”

“Yours will taste even worse.”

Despite how dour he’d been feeling for most of the day, Kaigo laughed, and shook his head. “Well, I suppose you’re doomed to have bitter tea contaminate everything you drink for the next day or so.”

Junin rolled his head back and let out an exaggerated groan. Kaigo repaid his theatrics by gently shoving his shoulder. Junin had a way of making the people around him feel a little less heavy, without trying, it seemed. It wasn’t long before the tea was ready, and Kaigo excused himself to coax the still unconscious Guardian into drinking some.

By the time he returned from that chore, Junin had finished cooking their dinner. The two of them ate quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of a decent meal. By the time they were finished, the sun had well and set and the moons were rising high overhead. Since Junin had cooked, Kaigo cleaned up the meal. They had water to clean things with, but a walk to the river wasn’t that long and it would give him some time to be alone for a while.

He gathered the dirty dishes, teapot included, and made his way across the prairie. The end of summer was coming, and most of the plants were either ending their blooming season or just beginning a new one. They filled the air with the scent of growth and sweet pollen, two of Kaigo’s favorite smells. He took his time as he walked, eyes focused on the stars overhead as they blinked into better view. With each passing year as more and more of humanity gathered together, it sometimes felt as if he had less and less time to admire them in peace. This far out in the middle of nowhere, the sky was a rich tapestry of color and light, unhindered by night market fires keeping streets well-lit.

The small riverbank was overgrown with tall grass here, too. Kaigo settled himself on a mostly flat, protruding rock to work on rinsing out and scrubbing the cookware. He took his time doing it. Junin had a bolstering effect on his mood, but he still sort of wished he’d been able to make this journey alone. Nausea-inducing effects of the Guardian or no, it would’ve given him more time to be less… less… He couldn’t think of the word. What was it he was trying to be less of? He got so caught up in trying to tease out that line of thinking that he soon found himself finished with his task. He’d utterly failed at procrastinating, and had no reasonable excuse to stay away any longer, and so he made his way back to the campfire.

Upon his return, Junin had already set up his bedroll and was snoring. He could’ve taken all the time in the world after all, it seemed. Kaigo put the dishes away as quietly as he could, then settled onto the ground just outside of where the fire’s warmth would reach him. The weather hadn’t quite turned to being cold at night, so he felt no real need to set up a bedroll for himself. He always slept better in direct contact with the plants and dirt around him anyway. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and tried - unsuccessfully - not to think about the events of the day.

By the time Junin was stirring from sleep the next morning, Kaigo had managed to drift off once or twice, but every time he found himself drifting deep enough into sleep to begin dreaming, the looming presence of the Guardian jolted him back into consciousness. He was already packing things away by the time Junin tossed his own sleeping gear into the back of the wagon. The scout paused to stare at him for an uncharacteristically long time, which Kaigo tried to ignore.

Junin decided not to let him do it. “How much did you actually sleep last night?”

“Enough, why?” Kaigo spared him a glance and noted the furrowed brows making creases on Junin’s forehead. It was an odd look for someone he normally saw smiling.

“I think there are circles under your eyes,” Junin said.

“There’s never circles under my eyes,” Kaigo paused to fish out a breakfast roll from one of the packs and held it out for Junin to take. “You’re imagining things.”

Junin’s eyes narrowed, but he took the roll and dropped the subject, thankfully. While he was more bold and would press Kaigo where Nenian wouldn’t, he would drop things before she would, at least. Truth be told, he did feel tired in a way he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever felt before. At least, not in a very, very long time. The two of them brewed tea for the morning, Kaigo checked on the Guardian once more, and then they were off again. Junin took up the lead, allowing Kaigo to trail behind the wagon with the train of horses, and think.

He sipped his tea, taking a moment to do some internal processing. It was true that his eyes did feel a little dry, and perhaps he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he was used to. He twisted his free hand in circles, flexing the wrist and then the elbow, finally up to the shoulder, and found that the joints felt stiff in some way. Frowning to himself, he switched his tea to the other hand and repeated the process with the other arm. When was the last time he truly felt stiff?

The vague memory of the first time he’d dispelled Malischa from a local farmer’s field bubbled to the forefront of his mind. While his father negotiated with the farmer, Kaigo had wandered off to the woman’s field in search of something that kept nagging at his senses. A bundle of bad energy, a seed that was extremely sick. He had found it based on an instinct he could not name, and dug the pulsing black thing up from the earth. The woman and her family had come shouting upon realizing what he was doing, but he could not hear them over the wrongness of the seed in his hands. He remembered closing it between them, though it was so large he couldn’t cover it completely, and how it had left him feeling breathless and dizzy when he poured what felt like his very life essence into it. The blackened shell cracked, letting loose a bright and shining plant that quickly reached out and down for the ground to take root, the tiniest shard of light held within them. He could not let go of the seed pod as the plant grew exponentially. The light of it made the farmer and her family freeze, fear clouding their faces as they watched something that none of them could understand.

The plant, or rather tree, was still there even now. Kaigo’s father had managed to talk the village into leaving it be, but even if he hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t have wanted to approach it anyway. When it blossomed with flowers, they lit up like stars in a way that made them all too nervous to get closer. Over the years, that farmer’s crops flourished, and it became clear that the nameless tree was doing something to the earth where it was planted. Kaigo decided that it must be filtering Malischa out of the soil. From that point onward, things had begun to look up for him. For the sole Mekkai that lived amongst humans, it was a boon for his survival, and theirs. It was the day after he had freed the plant from the blackened seed that he had felt this way. Tight, tired, entirely too mortal. That was the way he felt now, and it confused him as to why that was the case.

[alternianative]

[actually i did finish the dei thing - still unsure if i like it but it does the job @ u @ CW for gaslighting and medical trauma]

The orderly flipped the lights on in the room Deimos had been put in for the duration of his stay at the CRCC, earning a groan from the tealblood. He’d only been asleep for a few hours - uncomfortable hours, but hours nonetheless. The troll charged with getting him up on time did not seem to care about that, though. None of them really did. He’d learned after the first two evenings that it was generally a bad idea to resist being forced out of the recouperacoon. They did not take kindly to disobedience here, even if it was disobedience in the interest of self-care.

So, he pulled himself from the ‘coon, groggy and unhappy, but bit back any biting remarks he might have for the orderly who was still standing there, watching him. He hated that, hated that the feeling of eyes on him at all times never stopped. If it wasn’t actual, literal eyes like it was at the moment, it was cameras. There was no such thing as privacy at the rehab clinic, and to suggest that one might be granted even a modicum of it was out of the question. He’d seen someone else make that mistake on night… three? He was losing track of how much time he’d been confined here.

He dressed, still under the watchful gaze of his babysitter, then filed out of his room to join the rest of the unfortunate fucks that had ended up here in the cafeteria for another evening of bland breakfast. The schedule for that night had him participating in another arts and crafts activity, a P.E. exercise, and then a one-on-one therapy session. It didn’t seem like a lot on paper, but these activities were long and each one was its own unique form of torture.

After eating, he and the other patients were all herded out of the cafeteria and to their respective first activities. Deimos entered the arts room and nearly keeled over upon reading the instructions. Draw a map of a place you used to gather for a sense of community that may have led you to making the bad choices that brought you here tonight. His heart quickened as an edge of panic began to settle over his mind. Faking things had been mostly easy thus far, they’d never asked him to do anything he was particularly good at or known to be good at.

But he was good at making maps.

And he knew that they knew that. They’d told him so many things about himself that he wondered if he’d been watched his entire life, but no, it was probably just that fucking traitor that had told them everything he knew about Dei’s life. Every little thing that wasn’t quite right about him, or could be used to make him do what they wanted.

He settled into a chair - needlessly plush, soft and not at all useful as a weapon. All of the furniture here was like that. There was no way to fight back, except with your own hands, but even if there was it’d be foolish. Everyone could see that the security guards were armed. No one who started anything was going to get out of it unscathed.

He picked up his pen, mind racing. What could he draw? What could he fake..? What place would he not mind throwing under the bus? The sensation of eyes on the back of his head did not help him think. He couldn’t refuse to cooperate, doing so would just make his life in this hellhole more miserable. He’d tried denying that he’d done anything wrong in the first place when he’d first arrived– no, he didn’t want to think about what had happened. So he pressed the pencil to the paper and began to scribble.. Something, anything, eventually it took on the shape of a museum he’d frequented in Marropolis. He’d been there so many times he had the displays he liked best memorized, it would be no loss to him if he couldn’t go back there any more. Wouldn’t go back there any more.

The rest of the activity was much the same. A doctor wandering by to ask him questions that were too pointed to not have ulterior motives, pressure to draw more, the constant feeling of an orderly staring at the back of his head. When the bell finally rang to signal that it was time to move on, he had to force himself to wait until others began to stand up - if he bolted for the exit like he so desperately wanted to do, it would look bad.

The recreational area outside was decent, if he ignored the high fences and barbed wire that kept the patients confined within its borders. His heart was still pounding in his ears, making it hard to listen to the instructions for what they were supposed to do. Something about dodgeball? He wound up on some redblood’s team, not that he cared much. All he had to do was dodge, right? That or potentially get sent to the nurse’s office. The other patients were not shy about causing actual harm if or when they could get away with it. Deimos preferred to just not make any excuses for them to notice him.

But perhaps it was because he was trying so hard not to be noticed, that they seemed to notice him more anyway?

They were fucking with his head in more ways than he could keep track with. Whatever choices he made always seemed to backfire in some way. He could feel them corral him into behaving exactly how they wanted, and it made him sick. Made him want to explode, to tear into the next troll that looked at him, that spoke to him, that made a noise he didn’t like in his vicinity.

The rehab clinic was everything that he hated about Alternian society wrapped up into one perfectly crafted personal hell.

The dodgeball game went about as expected - some of the higher blooded patients got way too into it, and the lowbloods were more or less expected to take it, even though they vastly outnumbered them. The disparity of color placed Dei himself among the higher hues, leaving him floundering for whether that meant he was supposed to blend in by being an asshole to people who didn’t deserve it, or not. He wasn’t one of them, rebellion or no.

The signal that the activity was over came after what felt like another eternity. They were all permitted to go shower and change into fresh clothes, though this too was its own special form of discomfort. He showered and changed in a hurry, eager to escape as quickly as possible. The less time he spent in the locker rooms, the better. Not because he feared anything from the other patients - no, they were mostly docile when not playing sports…

He just hated being in an even more vulnerable state knowing that the orderlies were just outside, knowing that any sound they didn’t like coming from within the locker room would bring them barging right in. Privacy was a luxury that his hue did not afford him here. Was he high enough to have to play along with highbloods in the recreation area? Probably. But when it came down to individual privileges, he wasn’t one of them and that was made abundantly clear.

The line between blue and teal was thin, but it was obvious to everyone else.

Dressed, dried, and ready to go, he was led down one of the corridors toward the therapy wing. This was probably the worst “activity” they had here. Mental gymnastics was not his strong suit, he’d never had the patience for it and never enjoyed dealing with it in his personal life. It was simpler just to take things at face value, and leave no room for paranoia. But here? Paranoia was the ruler here, and he hadn’t built the right mental scaffolding for himself to keep his mind from falling right into an endless pit of it. One misstep and his friends would be in danger. One misstep and he might never, ever get out of here.

If that were the case he’d–

He shut that train of thought down as the door to the therapy room was opened for him. Deimos shuffled inside, reluctant, but settled onto the plush chair across from the doctor.

Dr. Phamen looked up from his desk and flashed Deimos what was probably supposed to be a friendly smile, but with the way the light glinting off of his glasses hid his eyes, it just came off as creepy. Deimos shifted in his seat, settling his right leg over his left knee, and threaded his fingers together in his lap. Attempt to look calm.

“Deimos, good to see you. How was your week?” Dr. Phamen asked. The tealblood began to shuffle some papers about on his desk until he uncovered his notepad, which he placed in front of him. He then picked up a pen and waited for Dei to answer.

Dei hated that. He didn’t know what notes the doctor was taking, and probably never would. “Has it been a week already?” He asked, head tilting to one side. The nights really had blurred together.

“Oh yes, I suppose you’re just having so much fun it’s hard to keep track of time.” Dr. Phamen offered the attempt of humor but it really just fell flat.

Deimos forced his expression into a half smile nonetheless, despite wanting very much instead to launch across the desk and choke the man to death with his own bare hands. He knew nothing here was fun. He should answer, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t come out tinged with aggression. Dr. Phamen cleared his throat.

“I noticed that you seem to be having trouble getting along with the other patients. Notes from the other doctors indicate that you tend to avoid group activities and don’t seem to have any friends here… could you tell me more about that?” He tilted his head downward just enough to gaze over the top of his glasses at Deimos. A direct enough question, though Dei struggled to think of all the ways it could end badly if he didn’t supply a good enough answer.

“I…” he hesitated, eyes flicking to the side - oh, that was bad. “I don’t feel like I really belong here with them.” Dei finished slowly. It wasn’t a lie, he didn’t feel like he belonged there at all.

“Why is that?” Dr. Phamen asked as he scribbled something on his notepad.

“Well I’m still not really sure what I did to come here in the first place. They’re all here because they’re defective or somethin’, right?” He didn’t really want to say such things but it had been the story he’d been running with. Mostly because it was true. He had no idea what he’d done to give that coward any ideas about his true stance on the hemospectrum. He’d kept his mouth shut about anything rebellion related.

“Defective is such a strong word, Deimos. Misguided, made poor choices, were led astray… all those things, but they can be fixed and reintroduced to society in a way that will ensure they don’t hurt themselves or anyone else again.” Dr. Phamen mused. He glanced up at Deimos and pursed his lips for a moment before speaking again, “you checked yourself in, remember?”

Deimos felt his heart sink. A cool sensation tingled at the back of his head, running down his spine until it too sank into his core. “I don’t remember, no,” he answered automatically.

“Yes… you checked yourself in for…” Dr. Phamen paused to flip back in his notepad to older notes. There were so many pages, Dei could not remember there being so many pages last time they’d spoken. “Ah, here it is. Rebellious ideations. You’d made some contact with some unfortunate propaganda and were having doubts but did the right thing and came to us for help.” Dr. Phamen flipped back to his current page, then looked back to Deimos with a smile. “Isn’t that right?”

The wheels in Dei’s mind picked up again, churning into high speed as he tried to figure out just what the game was here. Was he supposed to play along? Reiterate the truth? He’d been brought in here against his will— no, he couldn’t play along.

“I remember a different reason for my being here, actually.” He said softly, but firmly. “A potential kismesis apparently took issue with our courting, and instead of talking to me, he brought me here. There’s a lot of notes there, maybe you’ve gotten me mixed up with someone else?” Dei nodded at the notepad. He was certain he remembered the events clearly. His mind was not that broken yet.

Dr. Phamen clicked his tongue, giving Deimos a disappointed head shake before flipping back to the page he’d just been on. He then held the notepad up for Dei to look at. Clear as day, inserted into the pad, was an intake sheet filled out in Deimos’ own handwriting listing the exact reason Phamen had just given.

“Deimos, I’m not sure where you’re getting that from but the reason you gave us when you checked yourself in was this, as you can see.” He leaned forward to let Dei get a better look for all of half a second, then settled back into his chair.

Deimos was at a loss for words. He remembered the capture. They were on a date. He’d said he’d wanted to show Dei something, they had to cut through the alleyway - drones blocked them in, he’d had to be treated for pepper gas because they’d used that to keep him from running away. He knew all of this had happened, yet he’d also filled out that intake form…?

“Deimos?” Dr. Phamen prompted.

“Sorry, I…” Dei shook his head, and cleared his throat. “I really don’t remember filling that out. I must be… tired, I think.” He felt clammy, and too hot at the same time. How long had he been here?

“Understandable, you’ve had a long night haven’t you? How is your insomnia?” Dr. Phamen settled his notepad and jotted a few more notes down. Dei watched, without really taking it in. Not that he could see what was being written anyway. He wanted out of here. Needed out of here. Needed to be with people he could trust to correct him if he really was wrong.

“Not good.” He answered.

“Still not responding to treatment? We’ll have to up the dose again, I suppose.” Dr. Phamen frowned, “it’s for the better. You’ll be less easily led astray if we can get that head of yours working right. This memory problem is a new one, very concerning…” He hummed, writing a few more things down.

The panic won out. “Will I be able to go home soon?” He blurted the question, too full of hope an desperation, before his brain-to-mouth filter could stop himself.

Dr. Phamen looked up over his glasses, expression melding into a sickening kind pity. “Oh Deimos, you’re still struggling I’m afraid. Do better in your activities and make some progress with your insomnia and I’ll feel more comfortable sending you home again.” Dr. Phamen sighed, as if this truly was a shame. “Can you do that for me? Can you behave and get along with your peers?”

Deimos nodded once, then twice, a stiff and forced gesture. “I… I can do that.”

Dr. Phamen’s gaze turned slightly critical for a moment, but eventually he nodded. “Very well, let’s work out a new plan then since it seems you’ve lost sight of the original reason you came here.” He flipped the notepad to a new page and began to write again.

“Now then, I believe it was a brownblood that introduced you to these rebellious ideations… can you tell me more about that?” Dr. Phamen glanced up briefly, to see his reaction, Dei was sure of that.

He’d made sure that his moirail had gotten away. Yes. Right. It was a triple date. He needed to remind himself of the true facts of the situation. His moirail had gotten away, but was it safe to disclose any information? What if they caught him later?

What if this was the only way he could get out of this place?

The rest of the appointment dragged on, though in reality it had only lasted an hour and a half. The rest of the night was supposed to be free time to socialize with the other patients, but Deimos wanted nothing more than to return to his room and just curl up in a corner or something. Weakness like that was not permitted here. He would be watched. They would know.

So instead he made his way to the community room, where several other trolls were playing games together or holding some sort of club. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to any of them. Maybe he didn’t need to just yet, maybe all he had to do was just exist around them for the first night. He made his way over to a collection of plush bean chairs and fell into one, exhausted mentally and physically. Dr. Phamen’s words kept echoing in his mind - he’d turned himself in. There had been no date.

He stared blankly at the wall across from him, letting the words repeat over and over until an orderly declared it was time for lights out. No other patients had come to talk to him, or at least if they had, he hadn’t noticed. How long had he been sitting there, staring at nothing?

He pushed himself up and made his way back to his room, robotic and disconnected from his own body. The route was memorized (when had he memorized it?) so it wasn’t like he had to think that hard about finding his way back. He went through the motions of preparing to sleep mechanically. Floss. Brush teeth. Take sleep medication, three pills now instead of two. Crawl into the recouperacoon. Wait until he heard the door lock from the outside.

Despair settled over him the moment he felt it was safe to let it do so. Inside the recouperacoon, they couldn’t see his face on any cameras. At least, he had to tell himself they couldn’t, or he really might lose his mind. Dr. Phamen’s words echoed again in his brain, but no.

No no, he needed to reassure himself.

Deimos Somnus had not turned himself in for cognitive reconditioning. He’d been betrayed by someone he’d almost fallen for, for no reason that he could conceive of. He’d been set up, ambushed, taken in violently and forced into this program.

He wasn’t crazy. His memory wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t crazy.

[galacticclimax]

Sometimes, you think you'd like it soft. As exciting and exhilarating as it is to be bent- held down, put in place and then plowed until you feel like passing out there are times you'd prefer to be held differently. Cradled, maybe. Cherished. The kind of slow, gentle affection that makes your insides wriggle with discomfort or is that what butterflies feel like...?

Vulnerability doesnt come easy to you so its no surprise you have a hard time expressing this want - or is it a need? You've cut yourself off from certain aspects of introspection because its just easier not to reflect. Its easier to act tough - to be bigger than you actually are. To demand space and agency and demand that people work to get you.

But sometimes you'd like to let go. Let someone else inside those walls and see what's underneath. At times you catch your mind wandering - a soft kiss to the neck, gentle fingers tracing over your body-

You panic. Too tender. Too exposed. Too embarrassing. You don't need that. You divert your mind to less emotional fantasies and swear it off.

Until it inevitably wanders again. To be made safe in the arms of another, relaxed enough to let your eyes droop as they gently rock you to sleep - hips on hips - so warm you can't help but drift off--

No. Its dumb. You know its possible, logically, you just have to speak up but your throat feels like closing up at the very thought.

Its hard to be vulnerable. Too hard for someone like you with so much heart hidden behind walls. You've gone and sabotaged yourself for the sake of safety and in doing so rendered yourself unsafe. You don't know where to begin undoing what you've done or if you even want to. Would it be worth it?

Unanswerable questions like this are the bane of your existence. You crave solidity almost as much as you crave sleep. You dont know... And you wont know.

But sometimes... You really do think you'd like it soft.

[alternianative]

The crunching sound of yet another trap going off filled the night air. Deimos stared in annoyance at the contraption - something he, himself, hadn’t set up in the woods surrounding his hive and yet here it was. A device meant to trap small-to-medium animals that were stupid enough to stumble upon it. There were many, he’d come across more than one trap already that still had a kill inside it. That pesky neighbor of his was encroaching on what was technically his territory.

He supposed this was what happened when one was away from home for extended periods of time. But it didn’t make it okay, as far as he was concerned. He stooped to dismantle the rest of the trap. Took it apart, bit by bit, and tossed it into the hovering wagon he’d brought along. This hadn’t started out as a clean up trip, but that was what it was becoming. Initially he’d come out to find a clearing bordering the area that was technically his property that he’d often visited as a child. Who’d have thought that he’d end up spending a few hours clearing out the results of his neighbor’s slow and steady encroachment?

The latest trap made his stomach sink. A pitfall, one he’d very nearly fallen into himself, at the base of which sat spikes. He would’ve been severely wounded if he hadn’t noticed the odd look of the ground in time. If he hadn’t already been looking for traps. Did he really take the time to dig this thing out? Deimos poked at the edge of it with a stick, as if doing so would make the spikes below disappear.

”I wondered who was wrecking my traps…” A voice drawled from behind him.

Deimos stiffened, then slowly turned to look over his shoulder. The last time he’d seen Phobos, the blueblood hadn’t been that much taller than him, but apparently in his absence the blueblood had shot up like a weed. He frowned- just when had he snuck up behind him? Deimos did not consider himself to be an especially unobservant person, especially out in the murderwoods.

”They’re on my stretch a the woods,” he finally answered with the same casual tone.

Phobos’ mouth twitched into a smirk, but those eyes of his… there was no amusement there. Nothing but blank darkness that seemed to search beneath Deimos’ very skin - looking for something. ”You aren’t using these woods, why not let them go to actual use?” He asked after a moment of silence.

Deimos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Phobos was the type of highblood to be careful around. The type that wouldn’t hesitate to cull a lowerblooded troll in an environment like this- where no one was around to hear screams. He couldn’t quite say how he knew that about Phobos, despite not really knowing the man, but it felt like an instinctual knowledge he would be extremely foolish to disregard.

”Well I’m usin’ it now, an’ this shit’s in my way. You got plenty a land, don’t you?” He waved a hand at the rest of the forest around them. Land borders were… blurry, sometimes, but this section of woods he knew was definitely attached to his hive. He hadn’t wandered that far away from it, after all. The knowledge of that made something inside him shudder. Just how close to his hive had Phobos been going? Should he be worried about Thypion?

”Using it for what?” Phobos quirked a brow, eyes dropping to the hover wagon- fixing on those dismantled traps, laid out in pieces. Useless.

”I don’t really think it’s really any a your business what I decide to do in my neck a the woods.” Deimos replied, perhaps a bit more snappy than he should have. Something glinted in Phobos’ eyes. Dei gestured to the pit. ”What purpose is this s’posed to serve? You’ll wreck your kills.” He hadn’t known Phobos to do… this, exactly. From what little he knew of the blueblood, anyway.

”Oh, it’s not for animals, clearly. It’s for the Hunted.” He laughed, a hollow and harsh sound. ”They’ve been encroaching on this part of the woods. You’d know that if you were around more often.” He shrugged, nonchalantly revealing that he knew quite a bit about Deimos’ long absences.

The reveal earned a shudder traveling up Dei’s spine. He should… invest in an outdoor security system, or something. He wasn’t ready to fully give up his hive, after all. ”Well, you let me deal with that. No need to trouble yourself over it.” He waved a hand to dismiss the idea.

”You were gone almost… three perigees this time, isn’t that right?” Phobos asked, counting out the perigees on one hand as he spoke. He glanced over to Deimos, that one eyebrow still cocked questioningly. ”I wonder what could keep a troll away from his hive for so long…”

Deimos bristled, wanting to go off on this man, but- no. He was clearly being watched for some reason. He needed to find out what exactly had caught Phobos’ attention. ”Project. Why were you watchin’ my hive?” He gave up the first reason he could think of that wasn’t a complete lie. He’d been with the Phoenix Initiative for two solid perigees, working on the Frozen Facility, and then spent another sort of… recovering at Underworld. He hadn’t thought much about not going home - not really.

”Oh I was just concerned, you know, as a neighbor… There were a few near break-ins, you know? And your lusus was just… wandering about, unsupervised.” Phobos waved a hand, his explanation coming smoothly and without any hesitation. Deimos could not decide if he was being genuine, or was simply that good of a liar. For safety’s sake, he banked on the latter.

”Thy can take care a himself, and he knew where I was. Real nice a you to keep an eye on things ‘round here but really, you don’t gotta trouble yourself.” Dei shook his head, ”I’d ‘preciate it even more if you’d get your traps outta here, since you’re around. Since I’m here ‘n all, they ain’t necessary anymore.” Dei glanced at the ones he’d disassembled, then returned his full attention to Phobos.

Phobos who had moved a few steps closer in that small window that Dei’s eyes were not on him. Silently. Dei jumped slightly, eyes widening slightly, and took a step or two backward.

There was that flash of light in those dull, dead eyes again. Interest? Something else? Whatever it was, it made Deimos shudder uncomfortably. He did not like that, not one bit.

”Of course,” Phobos said with a grin that showed far too many teeth. He leaned over to pick up one of the disassembled traps. ”Good of you to take them apart correctly. I’d surely hate to find them broken. There’s been a vandal going around doing just that lately, you know.” He mused, turning the bit of metal over in his hands. He flicked his eyes up to stare at Deimos, even as he continued to manipulate the trap in his hands.

”Right. Well. They ain’t my traps. Sorry to hear you’re dealin’ with a vandalism problem.” Did Phobos think he’d done it? No, surely not… ”How long will you need to clear out the ones you got in this area? Up to the clearin’.”

Phobos hummed, set the trap back down on the wagon, straightened up- (did he get taller?) ”Give me two weeks and I’ll have them cleared out… Aside from the pits, you surely understand. It would take far longer to get those taken care of while also having to disassemble the others.” He flashed another smile - this one clearly meant to be pleasant.

”Two weeks. Got it.” Dei nodded stiffly. He wanted out of this interaction. Now.

”There aren’t any in the clearing, if you were wondering.” Phobos offered the reassurance without any prodding. Somehow that did not make it very comforting. ”Escapees don’t typically like being out in clear view, after all.”

Dei nodded again, glanced off to one side- toward said clearing. It was at least another fifteen minutes trek through underbrush. All in all the walk from his hive to said clearing should only take an hour. It wasn’t that bad a trip, as far as he was concerned. When he returned his attention to Phobos, the blueblood was up in his space this time. Leaning down, all smiles and dead eyes.

”Planning a stargazing party?” He asked, as if the idea of it were funny.

Deimos stumbled back a few steps, heart suddenly racing a mile a minute. ”I- it’s a good spot, I just want the path to it cleared. We got it settled so that’s that, right?” He floundered to regain his composure- this troll was scaring him. He didn’t like it. The idea of returning to Underworld and just never leaving again suddenly seemed very, very appealing. Cerpin wouldn’t mind, would he? But Tevini…

”Understandable. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” Phobos leaned back, still smiling. ”In the meantime…” he looked down at the wagon, ”I’ll take it from here. Your wagon will be returned safe and sound, rest assured.” He reached for the handle, which Deimos was still holding.

Dei immediately released it, letting it drop to the ground with a soft thud. Phobos’ eyes flicked up to his face, amusement clear in his own expression. Dei could not bring himself to care much about the lapse in politeness. Everything about his body was screaming to get away from this troll.

”Right. Yeah. Thanks.” He sidestepped Phobos, intending to return to his hive as fast as he reasonably could without revealing how freaked out he was. (Alas, he’d already done that, hadn’t he?) ”Just leave it on the porch, I prolly won’t hear you.” He said as he began to leave.

”Oh I know.” Phobos replied casually, with a shrug. That nearly made Deimos stop in his tracks. What did he mean he knew? ”See you later, Deimos.” Phobos waved, then stooped to pick up the handle of the wagon. He didn’t bother waiting to hear anything else from Deimos before he began to tug it further into the woods, headed for the traps he’d scattered within them.

Dei did not risk prolonging the conversation. He’d dissect that little comment later. He made his way, slowly at first, back toward his hive… until he was sure that Phobos could no longer see, or hear him pick up his pace. It made travel more clumsy, but he didn’t care. All he cared about in the moment was putting a solid door with a lock between him and that troll.

[alternianative]

Time seemed to move like molasses. Slow, heavy, it weighed on his body in ways that made moving around feel difficult. His hands lagged, slow to grasp the cup of hot cocoa he’d just finished pouring - mixing? yes, mixing - but the sensation of heat on his palms was soothing and for a brief moment, he thought he might be able to shut out all other sensation and just focus on that.

The warm, comforting heat in his hands.

When he opened his eyes next, five minutes had passed. The cocoa was cooler, but still warm. If he had the energy, he might think it funny how time refused to march forward when he wanted it to, but the moment he stopped paying attention, it zipped by.

He took a sip.

Moving back to the living room took a little more concentration. The pathways built between piles of discarded projects, comfort items, and used dishes were narrow now. It brought some sense of shame to him, honestly. Static had tried to tidy up, but it had only lasted a few perigees before the disarray was worse than it had been before. Though his mind was wide awake (and pointedly mocking his inability to keep things straight), his body was anything but… He did make it to the couch, though. He settled onto it, more or less collapsing, only just managing not to spill his drink. Sleep would probably not be coming here, but he could at least close his eyes and drink.

Normally he tried to avoid sugary foods. Avoid caffeine. Avoid cold foods. Avoid this, avoid that, add this, add that – none of it really did anything, though. The tea from Sephos helped sometimes - it at least eased his mind in the right direction of winding down - but he was, admittedly, afraid to use it too much. Afraid his body would adjust, like it had to the other things he’d tried - and that when he needed it most, he’d find it useless.

So the cocoa would do, for now. Removing one hand from the mug, he felt around for one of the many blankets strewn over the couch, fingers eventually grasping the edge of fleece fabric and then tugged it over himself… and then felt out once more for another - and another - until he was effectively cocooned in warmth.

Still, his mind raced. To nothing in particular, though. Thoughts flitted through his mind faster than he could really decipher them. A half-baked idea on where to go mapping next - a gift idea for Mahmud - what was that sound outside? - there was an ache in his left ankle - cepheid: a star whose brightness is used to measure the distance of neighboring stars - why was the tv screen blank?

He blinked - that last thought more prominent than the others. He’d forgotten to turn it on, that was why. He felt around for the remote, eventually finding it among the blanket catastrophe around him. He’d left a documentary in his playing device - a comfort film, really. He’d memorized it by this point, but it was nice to listen to something familiar while he tried to drown out his own mind. Let someone else do the thinking and talking - he could just listen.

His eyes slid shut, feeling heavy and like they might never open again - wouldn’t that be something? - and he sipped again. Warmth pooled within him, and he sighed. It wasn’t sleep, but it was restful. The narrator droned on about solar systems and far away galaxies, and Deimos really did try to listen - but it was difficult to hear over the volume in his own head.

That’s not right - must be some kind of mockingbird - was that a horn? - nadir: a point on the celestial sphere directly below the observer, diametrically opposite the zenith - the ache in his ankle was growing. He shifted so that his legs weren’t curled up nearly as much beneath him, alleviating the ache, then resettled his head back against a pillow leaned over the armrest of the couch… another sip.

When they’d first met, Cerpin had asked if his trouble with sleep was physical, or mental, more or less. He’d answered both, but really he’d just not had the words, perhaps. Now that he was older he knew it was a mental thing - how could you sleep if your mind never shut up? But what was a safe way to make it shut up? Nothing that would lead to dependency - he loathed the idea of being dependent on something outside of himself. It was difficult enough to put so much trust and weight on the relationships he’d been forming. Mahmud smiling - a bright halo behind his head - safe - Cerpin laughing at his own joke - the thunk of his mace connecting with an ally, unintentional friendly fire - blood spraying as shears sliced off the head of a drone standing before him, Ephias’ dead-yet-frenzied eyes coming into view–

He sat up, suddenly wide awake in every sense, eyes wide and searching the hive - his every nerve on edge. It took a moment before he calmed, both hands now gripping the mug, almost desperate for something concrete. Shadows moved in the corners of his vision - he ignored them, pointedly. The room was silent - how long had he been not-dreaming? The documentary was back on its menu screen.

He sighed, feeling his rapidfire pulse slow as reality sank back into him. Was he meant for this? Fighting, really fighting, dealing a life-ending blow or witnessing such a thing, to someone that probably didn’t even have a choice in what they were doing. No, very likely did not have a choice. It gnawed at the back of his mind, surfacing in moments like this, when he’d thought perhaps he was fine.

But really, was he meant for this?

He had known what he was signing up for, at least in theory, Forera had not sugar coated her experience for him. She almost seemed to have been trying to talk him out of it, upon reflection. Was he meant for this? He sipped again, now finding his drink to be cold, he made a face and set it aside on the coffee table that barely had any space left for such things. What if you aren’t? - It’s too late now, you’re in too deep –

“I wouldn’t want to leave anyway.” He spoke aloud, to himself, no one else was around after all. Whether or not he had the stomach for direct violence - more than just playfighting, wrestling for fun - for practice - for growth - nonlethal injuries – didn’t matter. He was in now and had no intention of leaving, of abandoning- this train of thought was stupid. He grabbed the remote, starting the documentary over again, intentionally derailing it.

Maybe that tea would be a good idea, after all. Maybe a dependency on something would not be so unbearable, if it let him turn his mind off for a few blissful hours of nothingness. Maybe processing would be easier if his mind weren’t constantly stacked with things to go through.

Maybe he would give in, and go to a doctor.

[alternianative]

The intricate rituals he performed before sleeping would probably look ridiculous to anyone else.

An hour before he actually tried, all lights in the hive were turned down, leaving only minimal warm lighting to help him navigate the hive for the rest of the preparations. Contrary to what some might believe, he was serious in his attempts. Deimos settled his book down the moment the lamp next to him shut off. That time already? He wasn’t sure tonight’s rituals would be successful. His body ached with the need for sleep, but his mind felt as alert as ever.

He stood, stretched, then padded downstairs to the kitchen. The process of making the somnolent rose tea was easy enough- he could probably do it with his eyes closed. Pour the water into the kettle, place the bud into the infuser, wait… pour the hot water over the bud… wait. Pour the tea into a mug, wait. It was at this point that the rituals could vary - tonight, he carried the mug back upstairs and to his bedroom.

He sipped at it while he felt around for the bottle- a sleep aid, meant to boost the chemicals the body was already supposed to make on its own. He remembered when this was enough. These nights though… He set the mug down to open the lid, fetched three of the pills - paused to think - popped out a fourth. Far above the dosage that was recommended for prolonged use, but the regular dosage simply didn’t do anything for him anymore. He’d long since grown tolerant to it, or something like that. He wasn’t sure why it was that normal medicine didn’t seem to work anymore. He set them on his tongue, one at a time, swallowing them down with mouthfuls of tea. That settled and mug emptied, he began the process of pulling off the little bits of jewelry he’d chosen to wear that night. The crowns, a few necklaces, a few pins… then the clothing.

If the next part of the rituals worked, he’d be in no condition to remove anything before crawling into his recuperacoon. Deimos tossed the dirty clothing in the vague direction of his hamper, then turned to settle in the large malleable chair he’d recently gotten. It was something akin to a beanbag, but more gel-like, and the area where his head rested had a pocket of sopor in it. He sighed, willing his body to relax, and closed his eyes. This would not be where he slept, no. He’d linger here for about half an hour, just trying to coax his mind to slow down and let the tea and medications take effect.

There was, of course, no alarm for this process. The only sound that lingered in his room was the background hum of a fan (white noise was good, after all). It was when a soundscape machine turned on the soothing sounds of a light storm, and the room began to smell of lavender that he knew it was time. Groggy, Deimos pulled himself up from the chair, swaying in place. Maybe it would work this time. Maybe he had completed the rituals correctly. He felt around for the shelf he’d put things on earlier, hand making contact with an eye mask. He pulled it on blindly, feeling its heavy form rest against his eyelids. Another item that could be, and was, filled with sopor.

He didn’t have to move far to bump into the 'coon, and all but fell into the slime in his attempt to climb in. Extra strength, the kind of sopor that came with labels about extended use. The numbing and soothing sensation of it was relaxing- the aches and pains he felt smoothed out into nothing, until he felt soft and malleable and like he could just drift away…

On good nights, when the rituals worked, he did drift away. On bad nights, he simply laid there for hours and hours until the sheer boredom of it all overrode his patience.

Tonight, it seemed, sleep was going to bless him with a visit.

[alternianative]

Good Enough

Apibom heaved the last of the booth supplies into their hive with a groan - the setup this sweep had been much more sophisticated, thanks to Chiara’s help, which meant way more work to pack it all down… but it had been worth it. Trolls seemed to like the dance-off portion of the booth at least, and a few of them had enjoyed the dance communication aspect with the few drones they’d been permitted to bring. Getting Fluff’s okay on that had been a hassle and a half, but in the end she’d relented.

One last thing… they fetched the bronze trophy they’d been awarded from one of the containers, taking a moment to admire it once more. They hadn’t expected to win anything, let alone place in the top three. To them, it was a sign they were doing better. Fitting in more. A good yellowblood, right? Working with Buffel had certainly helped.

They settled the trophy onto a shelf in the livingblock, out in the open - a clear display of this accomplishment to look at when they were feeling lost or unsure of themself as they often were these nights. With the trophy settled onto its new home, all they had left to do was unpack the rest of the supplies and leftover prizes. Getting a booth was expensive for a lowblood, but since they’d featured Death Dancers this sweep, Chiara had graciously helped cover some of the costs. It had taken them ages to recover from the first sweep they’d gotten a booth. They hadn’t even placed that sweep. Fluff disapproved of the spending without really having all that much to show for it aside from a participation trophy.

As they began to sort through the containers, a loud buzzing sound started up from behind the hive. Api paused, listening for a moment, before going back to what they were doing. Fluff did not often emerge from her own hive these nights, but inevitably she would come inside. There was tension between them, these nights. More than had been in the past - ever since they’d signed on to officially work for Chiara, the queen bee had become more and more distant and disapproving. It left Api wanting to interact with her as little as possible. She was still their lusus, though. There was nothing to be done about that.

The buzzing sound grew louder as the oversized bee made her way into the hive, eventually coming to land on the table in Api’s kitchenblock. They did not immediately look up. “The festival ended today. I placed for team Yellow this sweep.” Api said as they continued to gather leftover candles into a bundle.

’Where did you place?’

Api paused, glancing over to the trophy, and then to their lusus. “Third, in underwater orienteering. I mentioned I was going to do that, right?” They shrugged, then started to pull out jars of honey. They could restock these items - no real profit lost here. They started to stack them on the table next to her.

’You took valuable time away from your duties and did not even manage to win?’

The disapproval was palpable.

Apibom stopped what they were doing and straightened up, placing their hands on their hips as they regarded Fluff. “I thought you’d be pleased I placed at all.” They were, anyway. Why couldn’t she be, too? Wasn’t the fact that they’d gotten a trophy proof that they’d improved?

’If you must insist on slacking off, you should at least put your full effort into it.’

The bee began to clean her antennae as she spoke. The motions read as dismissal to Apibom. A sour feeling cropped up in their gut.

“It isn’t slacking off if it’s officially sanctioned, is it? The Empress herself came up with Bloodfest, didn’t she?” Api folded their arms across their chest. This was ridiculous. Were they not even supposed to have fun, now? “Besides, you weren’t even there. You don’t know how hard I was or wasn’t trying. We were swimming in stormy seas!” It had been a lot of work - a few times Api had worried that they were going to drown out there or something. The lack of support here hurt, deeply.

’A good drone does not cease their work.’

Api rolled their eyes, “well it’s a good thing I’m not a drone then. We’ve been over this, Fluff. I’m not one of your worker drones. I have a job. I have several, actually.” They scoffed, “I think I deserve a little downtime. It wasn’t even really downtime! I was working pretty much the whole time there, too!” Even if they hadn’t really sold anything, it still got their name out. People could seek them out later to purchase honey, or wax, or maybe some of their knitted items.

Fluff remained unimpressed.

’Your job is to be as productive as possible.’

“I was being productive!” They snapped, temper flaring. “I put together this whole thing! Decided the prizes, the dances, I requested the music playlist-- Chiara only helped with some of the equipment and funding. The rest was ALL ME!” They waved a hand as they spoke, pointing to the various pieces they had worked so hard on. “Why can’t you just be proud of me for once?! I work all the time, I never take breaks.”

Fluff seemed to stare at them passively for a few moments before returning to preening herself.

’Doing the bare minimum is no cause for celebration, Apibom. You have gotten it into your head that you will be different from the other workers again, haven’t you.’

It wasn’t a question - it was an accusation.

’You have had this silly idea in your head ever since that ridiculous competition you threw yourself into. When will you accept your place in society?’

Apibom balked, emitting an offended huff as they threw their hands up. “Which is it!? Do you want me to excel, or do you want me to keep my head down and do as I’m told? You just chastised me for not getting first place, which WOULD make me stick out.” They could not comprehend what she wanted from them.

’If you are going to keep up with these silly ideas you should at least be capable of living up to them, but the evidence thus far shows that you are not. Cease this behavior. Accept your place.’

Fluff rose into the air, wings buzzing as she hovered closer to their face. Apibom hesitated, mouth forming a thin line of a frown as they backed up at her approach.

’I am not wrong, and you know it.’

She remained in place for a few moments as if to challenge Api to speak out again - then turned to fly off, back to her own hive. Api stayed in place, staring straight ahead without really looking at anything. This… wasn’t what they wanted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, right…?

They looked back to the statue- was it a sign of accomplishment, or just another reminder they weren’t really anything special after all?

[alternianative]

It’s almost over. The end draws closer in stretches of time that don’t feel real to him. It’s hard to feel time passing when so much of it is spent awake and desperate to distract himself. A night passes. Three nights pass. Two weeks pass- no, a glance at the date on his husktop shows only four nights passing. Each day-to-night cycle blurs together in an endless onslaught of sleepless hours. He is aware of the present moment- yesterday feels like a month ago and tomorrow simultaneously comes too slowly and too quickly. He is also aware that at some point, the program he is in ends. It’s almost over.

Measuring time in hours feels useless, so instead he measures in completed projects. Maps, charts, essays - they demand so much of him to finish but he chips away at the work dutifully. In especially incoherent hours he stops, lies down and stares at the ceiling for an immeasurable amount of time until that sweet creeping feeling of sleep crawls into the back of his mind… When he wakes it always feels too soon. He finishes a project, and sets it aside. He picks it back up later and rechecks it for errors, for coherency, for any sign that it might be obvious just how bad he’s gotten lately.

It’s almost over, but not yet.

He dreads the end almost as much as he craves it. To finish is to graduate is to be one step closer to leaving this horrible planet -

To leave is to almost certainly stumble immediately into the grips of the Alternian military. Snatched up, twisted and commanded and controlled. He rejects this fate with all of his being - he will not allow himself to be controlled by another. And yet… he is powerless to do anything about it. Middle class is still just middle class, and he’s stretched the tolerance for disobedience so far already.

The chances that they may overlook him are slim, and he knows this. Because even if it weren’t almost guaranteed for all trolls, even if he’s stepped out of line by entering a field unrelated to law (his designated Place as a Teal), his scores are among the highest. Despite the ire and flack  he gets for not complying, the work he produces is sound, accurate, and hard to find fault in. The knowledge that he does so well fills him with pride… and a dread so deeply unfathomable he cannot bear to think about it.

Of course he’s good at it. Better than good, if truth be told. The stars practically sing to him with how easily he aligns them- the math comes easy, the understanding of the way spatial bodies work comes easy. Somehow, no matter how twisted and confusing the models become he always seems to know where he’s going, and where he’s been. He was practically hatched for this.

But he was not hatched to take orders or be commanded and controlled. His wonder and curiosity for space holds no desire to conquer it, merely document. He holds no interest in war or conquest, only discovery of what hasn’t yet been seen by anyone else. Despite how he may like to play at fighting he doubts he has no real interest in killing. He is not meant for warships, and not meant to have his mobility confined to what some other person wants of him.

Often, he wishes he had been hatched somewhere else. Anywhere else. Perhaps even that he wasn’t a troll at all- just some other alien species that didn’t base its entire being on an endless expansion of an already exhaustive empire. These wishes are not things he allows himself to spend much time thinking about - to do so only feeds the ever growing pit of despair in the back of his mind. The longer he stays awake, the harder it is to corral his mind into focusing on more productive things. It isn’t like he had any control over where he was hatched, or as what. 

It’s almost over.

The closer the end comes the harder it becomes to ignore these things he’s done so well at pushing aside. The anger, frustration, fear, anxiety - all things he pushed away and bottled for some undecided “later” - it threatens to all come undone when he runs out of things to do and lies awake, sleepless, attempting to count down the hours until “the end” finally arrives. He does not know how to unpack it, how to sort it out in a safe manner. He is just one troll staring down the merciless machine of an intergalactic empire that always hungers for more.

To be vulnerable is to risk being culled, and despite all his dread and rage at the way things are he has no desire to die.

He gathers his projects. He dresses nicely, makes an effort to control the curly mess of hair on his head… he puts concealer under his eyes to hide just how bad they’ve gotten. These things hold him together like thread keeping an overstuffed plush toy from bursting at the seams. He looks presentable, normal even. Like nothing is wrong at all.

The end is here. It’s all over.

[nepsah]

Green in all shades surrounded him- intermixed with deep browns and patches of bright blues and reds. A world of color that seemed so different from his home planet. So lively, fresh, and new. Keii fought the feeling of being overwhelmed by so much life in one place - so much natural life. Things just grew like this here, didn’t they? Hesitantly he padded his way through the forest, trying oh-so-carefully not to crush any plants under his feet lest he disturb the natural order. Surely it was fragile, right? Fragile like home where things struggled to live more than a few months at a time. Rain was so foreign but here- he brushed his hand against a dark green plant. Its leaves were like many tiny blades, edges cut like teeth but the texture was so soft. Water had collected on the edges of such teeth and now coated his hand. How strange- how foreign. This was what it looked like to live in a healthy place?

His ears picked up on the sound of running water in the distance. Not too far, he figured. A branch snapped underneath his foot on the next step - he jumped a little, startled and then immediately worried he’d killed something. Lifting his foot he inspected the snapped branch - it had already fallen. Completely detached from the tree it once belonged to. He sighed in relief, one hand resting against his chest - he could feel his heartbeat through the skin. 

A few moments spent walking lead him to the source of the water sounds. A small stream, clear and filled with colorful rocks lay before him. He’d never seen anything like it before. How miraculous - a strong source of water just out in the open. Unprotected. Left to flow its natural course. No threats that it might dry up - no, everything here was so lush it seemed impossible that the water might someday stop flowing. He shouldered the bag that he wore off, gently setting it upon a large gray rock. Opening the top, he reached inside to pull out a small teal box. The insignia that marked his family was on the front- a simple yellow-to-red diamond with two curved lines on either of the bottom edges. He opened it up, then retrieved the instrument used to test water quality from inside. Squatting, he stuck it into the water and waited. A moment later it chimed, flashing an unnatural green light to signal that it was safe to drink. Another marvel, safe water just out in the wild.

He replaced the instrument into the box, then put it back inside the bag, exchanging it for a small bottle. He removed the lid, then stuck it into the stream to let it fill, then brought it to his mouth to taste. Clear, cold, a taste but yet no taste at all. So different from home- even with all of the filtering the water still tasted of some unnameable thing. He couldn’t resist nearly finishing the bottle - he hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was until that moment. Too busy gawking at the life around him to pay attention to his own needs. He refilled the bottle, then capped it and stored it in his bag.

The only trouble would be figuring out a place to sleep. He hadn’t been given much in the way of camp supplies. He hadn’t really been given much at all, honestly. This was a side mission- something to get him out of the way, he was aware of it but was still determined to perform correctly. To please, to succeed, to be worthy of some praise… or perhaps die here. Alone, unwanted, unneeded-- he shook his head, as if it would banish the train of downward thoughts. This was a nice planet, a pretty one, he’d find a way to survive and perhaps he’d be the one to report back to his father with successful news. A place for them all to relocate and start again- this time better. This time they’d take care of the planet.

He stood, putting his bag back into place. This planet was so much colder than his during the day- but he doubted it would be as bad as it was at home at night. Still, a chill could be deadly. He would need to find a place to set up and keep warm. He’d seen on the way down that a village was not far from where he landed. Perhaps the inhabitants would be friendly enough to let him stay in one of their inns, or something. He had no money, or knowledge of their language, but they didn’t seem too bad from the brief observation logs he’d been able to read.

Finding his way took time, as he was reluctant to step on things if he could avoid it. By the time Keii emerged from the forest, the sun was setting on the horizon. The sky glowed with pinks, purples, and reds in ways that reminded him of home, almost. If this place were to experience a drought as bad as his home planet was experiencing he supposed they would look fairly similar.

People were still bustling about in the village, though as he neared it they slowed to a stop, one at a time, as soon as their eyes found him. Or perhaps it was as soon as they spotted the four fluffy ears atop his head. He didn’t understand their language, but he understood the expressions they wore: fear. Unease… distrust… perhaps even disgust. It wasn’t long before one of the taller, more muscular villagers approached him with a pitch fork raised for defense.

Keii had expected some level of defensiveness, but not quite this. He stopped, having just reached the road, and raised his hands until they were level with his shoulders. A universal sign of submission, he assumed. The villager didn’t stop. It wasn’t until the tip of the pitchfork was within striking distance that Keii felt pressured enough to step back a few paces. The villager followed, jabbing the pitchfork forward a few inches. Keii backed up again.

The villager continued to press him backward, away from the village. Keii did not really understand why - he hadn’t done anything after all. He didn’t understand anything the villager was yelling at him, either. His ears hurt, all four pressed down against his skull in an effort to muffle the sound. Eventually, he jogged back a few paces to put more room between him and the pitchfork. The villager responded by quickly leaning down to pick up a stone, then hurled it at him.

It seemed to bounce off the air next to his head - on reflex he had raised a barrier to protect himself. The villager shouted something else. Keii decided this was not worth the trouble - he would just have to find a way to camp in the forest. Turning, he darted back inside, only stopping when he could no longer hear angry shouts behind him.

So the native population was unfriendly. Or at least that one had been. He slowed to a stop, lungs aching from how much he’d run. A rock formation nearby provided some cover and seemed stable enough when he prodded it with his mind. He decided he would just stay here, and revisit his plans in the morning. Perhaps there would be another village with more friendly occupants elsewhere. Or perhaps it was just another sign that he was never supposed to succeed on this particular mission.

Tired, hungry, and feeling rather blue, he settled himself onto the ground beneath the rocks, using his bag as a pillow. How pitiful he must look. How typical it was that he’d been unable to communicate- driven off with harsh voices and the threat of violence. His mind wandered over what his siblings would have done in that situation. No doubt it would have escalated, but they wouldn’t have been chased off, at least. If he could just get close enough to one of the villagers to connect then he could understand them, but it seemed unlikely. He would have to try elsewhere, provided he didn’t freeze overnight.

[alternianative]

Unforgivable

Consciousness came first as a terrible ache that radiated from their collarbone and head, and out along their arms. Then it solidified itself as confusion, why were they in so much pain…? Apibom opened their eyes, blinking sluggishly as they struggled to recall just what had happened. Weren’t they working on a project…? Just when did they get into their recouperacoon? They shifted, trying to get up, and let out a whimper of pain as their body protested the movement.

Sopor had some healing effects but not enough to take care of whatever had happened to them. They managed to tumble out of the recouperacoon - dizzy and disgruntled. They’d gone to sleep with their clothes on…? No, no, they hadn’t done that. The shutters that covered the windows when the sun rose were open, it was still night time but what night was it? They carefully peeled off their sopor-soaked clothes, inspecting the damage done to their body - nasty yellow bruising where they’d been struck by powerful fists…

Fists. It was starting to come back, now. The sound of shattering glass, rushing to get their daggers before going outside to confront whoever or whatever had done it… a tall, anonymous troll that wouldn’t reveal the reason he’d come, just that it was a lesson for them to learn. They’d  been winning, hadn’t they? He’d… he’d knocked them out, a blow to the head and that was it. Fluff… Where was their lusus?

They redressed, moving as quickly as they could with the damage, then went out back to assess the damage. Except… there was no damage out back. The bees’ hive remained perfect, untouched. Drones were buzzing in and out like normal, as if nothing had happened at all. Apibom stared in confusion for a few moments before turning to make their way to the front of the hive. Had it been a dream? But that didn’t explain why they were so beat up.

No, it wasn’t a dream- the windows were still shattered. Two now, he must’ve broken the other one after knocking them out. What a petty, stupid thing to do. They went out front to see if any further damage had been done only to find that no, aside from the windows, their hive was completely untouched. He’d obviously taken the time to put them into their recouperacoon and nothing on the inside was damaged either. Apibom’s confusion only grew. They were supposed to learn some kind of lesson from this but the lesson had not been specified, and they didn’t even know who had sent the messenger.

They went back inside, to the bathroom to inspect their wounds from a better angle. It took some effort to strip the top off again but this was… important. It would impact their job performance no doubt. The bruising was pretty bad. Judging from the pain in their collarbone, it might be cracked at the least. The medical bills would no doubt be astronomical. A strange mark on their face lingered from a blow he’d doled out with that ring of his. Api leaned in to try and inspect it but it was difficult to make out what the shape was.

They leaned back, redressed, and then went to clean up the glass shards. The troll hadn’t given a name or a sender, but Api at least knew that he was a greenblood… and there was another color, wasn’t there? They tried to remember… a kick flew past their head - pink laces flashed before their eyes. Seadweller pink. Philip had said that the group he was tracking was involved with a seadweller, right? Maybe that’s what this was – they’d been seen with him when he was tailing that troll and therefore they were now wrapped up in this thing, whatever it was. They didn’t want to be involved. It had been pure chance, hadn’t it? They would need to talk to Philip, they supposed.

As they swept the remnants of their windows into neat little piles, the familiar loud buzzing sound of their lusus began to fill the air. Apibom did not cease their cleaning, instead focusing more on it. They weren’t sure they wanted to speak to her - they’d called for help, hadn’t they? She’d been watching, hadn’t she?

’You are awake.’

Api spared a glance to her - she’d perched on the now empty windowsill. She looked… completely unharmed. Exactly the same as she always looked - not one thing out of place. Api wasn’t sure if they were relieved she’d been spared, or angry that she hadn’t suffered a similar fate.

“How many did we lose?” They asked, returning their gaze to the floor.

’I lost none.’ Came her reply. Cold and distant like always, and corrective. They were her drones, not Api’s.

They stopped sweeping, tried to breathe in deeply and winced from the pain it caused. “Why didn’t you help me? I called for you.” They turned to stare at her, and tried to sound even… almost as detached as she was.

’This was a lesson that you needed to learn, that I have not been able to teach you.’ She replied simply.

Apibom wondered if perhaps they misheard her. “Could you run that by me again? A lesson I needed to learn?” What could possibly be learned by being attacked randomly!

’You need to learn your place, this was an opportunity to learn that. Have you learned?’

Ah-- so she… she thought they deserved it. For what? What had they done to deserve that? “Why, because he’s green you wouldn’t step in? He’s one station above me. One.” They could feel the anger rising - mixed with hurt, betrayal, a profound sadness.

’Did you not see the royal hue adorning his shoes? You have clearly acted out of line enough to garner the interest of those far above you, Apibom. This is a lesson you needed to learn.’ She was unmoved. Apibom hadn’t expected her to care, but it hurt nonetheless.

“So you’ll just assume that a troll wearing purple shoelaces is automatically tied to royalty. You just assume that I did something terrible enough to deserve having my hive trashed.” Their voice was shaking now - it was hard to maintain control over their words.

’You have been disrespectful, Apibom. Did you forget that I hear about everything you do? Everything you say?’

Yes, Api knew that the drones they had on them reported back to her when they returned home. She couldn’t - or maybe wouldn’t - accompany them whenever they left the hive so it was only natural that she sent eyes and ears for her instead. And the drones couldn’t really think for themselves, all they could do was report back anything they’d witnessed. Still - this was too much for them to take lying down now.

“You’re unbelievable. Would you have just let them cull me, if that was what they were after? You’re my lusus - we’re supposed to take care of each other. I take wonderful care of you, your colony never goes hungry. You never want for anything. And what have you done for me?” They tossed the broom aside, anger clouding their mind with each accusatory word.

’A drone that cannot properly serve the hive cannot be permitted to continue using up valuable resources. It must fall in line, or perish.’

All at once the anger dissipated, replaced by the terrible cold of betrayal. Despair. Was there a word adequate enough to describe this? “You don’t care about me at all, do you…” It wasn’t a question, more of a realization. Fluff did not immediately respond. “All my life you’ve never once approved of anything I’ve done - never once have you had my back.” Their voice was shaking, straining with the effort not to burst into tears.

’I do not have to love you to sculpt you into the best tool for your purpose.’ Came her reply.

“Get out. Get out of my hive, now.” They didn’t want to hear any more. She did not immediately move from her place on the windowsill.

’You still have not learned, have you.’ A statement, not a question.

Apibom ignored the protest of their body to lean over and pick up a fallen decorative vase, then threw it at her. She immediately rose up into the air, hovered in place for a few moments, then returned to her hive. She couldn’t make expressions, not really, but Api was certain if she could she’d look disappointed.

She could be disappointed all she wanted. Api didn’t need her anymore - not really. They’d gotten by so far with her only negatively influencing their life. And sure, she was right. A drone that only dragged on the resources of the colony had no use. No purpose in sticking around… but,

What Fluff had done was unforgivable… Apibom was no longer willing to ignore her constant sleights, disparaging comments, and attempts to control their life. A queen that was bad for the colony could also be replaced.

[alternianative]

Sometimes, you’re down, and you struggle to pull yourself back up again. You’re so used to pushing yourself all the time that when you have nothing else to do, your head swims with thoughts. When you’ve gone too long without sleep, they creep up and consume what lingers of your consciousness. It’s times like this that you wish you were comfortable enough with reaching out - but you’re not. No matter how close you are to anyone in your life, you’re scared.

It’s been a few sweeps since he was in your life, but his influence still lingers. Every time you’d reach out to him for help, he’d hold it over your head. One more thing that you owed him. Any time you’d ask for anything and he’d oblige, it’d be one more thing he’d hold over your head.

So you sit in your thoughts and they drown out the logical side of your mind, pulling you further and further down in a spiral you have no control over. To reach out would be to ask for help, for an ear, for some understanding and patience… for some light in your dark place. To reach out would be to owe, and what would the price be? He would never tell you until he demanded something from you. Back then, the things you needed were small in comparison to what you have now. What would the price be? Too much for you to pay, you’re certain of it.

They aren’t like him - your mind reminds you of this now and then - but still… You didn’t think he was like that in the beginning, did you? He was nice, genuine… or was he actually always awful and you just never noticed? Maybe it was your fault that he-- no.

You’d decided after him that companionship was not for you. You’d always wanted to go be among the stars, but it further drove you to leave this awful planet with these awful people on it. You wanted nothing to do with anyone ever again - you’d do this by yourself. You’d find a way to escape and never, ever have to be near anyone like him ever again. It’s the reason you never ask for help furthering your plans. You stubbornly do it by yourself, even if it’s foolish and probably impossible for someone like you.

But being divorced from other trolls didn’t work out for you, did it. You’ve become hopelessly attached to several, and their presence is both a soothing and terrifying experience for you. The more time you spend with them, the more you just want to be around them all the time. You still want so badly to be among the stars- to be free to come and go as you please- but the more time goes on and you spend time with them, the more you realize how lonely you’ll be out there. Each visit with them is like a breath of fresh air, and the longer you’re apart the more suffocated you feel.

Still, you’re vehement in your access to freedom - to the ability to come and go as you please. You don’t want to depend on anyone else, you want to be as self-sufficient as possible- it’s stupid and you know it. You’re stupid, and you know it...

[alternianative]

They’re small, but still there. You stare at yourself in the mirror, disappointment swelling with every passing moment. It snakes its way around your neck, settling deep in your throat before sliding down to your stomach. You trace your fingers down your sides- small, delicate… soft. Disgust rises - your hands reach your hips, tracing over the piercings. This is not what you want. This… this person in the mirror is not you, but he is, you’re just not sure how to accept him. You bring your hands up again to press the small breasts in- flattening your chest. Relief is there- but not completely.

You hate them - but you do like them, at least sometimes. Enough to not want to get rid of them, most of the time anyway. But then the fact that you don’t upsets you as well. Which is it? Are you small and delicate, or are you powerful and capable of destruction? Which do you want? Which do you want?

Can’t you have both? Your throat feels like it's being squeezed- you turn away from the mirror to go find something baggy to put on. To hide this body- it’s not cooperating the way you want it to. You hate it- hate hate hate it- you want to be capable of defending yourself without having to rely on others. You want to be taken seriously. You want to be intimidating- powerful- feared. No… not feared. You don’t want to be like him, but you’d want him to second guess attacking you.

You pull a sweater on, thankful that its bulk hides you for the most part. You’ve put on some muscle mass since starting the space program - some, but not a lot. You’ll never be like Forera, you’ve come to accept that, but you wish you could be at least a little more intimidating sometimes. Trolls are supposed to be, aren’t they? Powerful, good at fighting, not to be messed with… You don’t feel like you’re any of those things- you’re not sure why you care.

At the same time, you like the pretty things that make you less of a threat. You’re at war with the things that you love and the image you want to portray. The reality you want your body to be. You know it's stupid- this black and white mentality is pointless, but still. Your eyes stray back to the mirror.

Disappointment swells within you.

[alternianative]

You’re three sweeps old and exploring the forest around your hive. Thypion follows you around, ever watchful for possible threats to your safety. You feel safe and secure with your lusus there- he’d never let any harm come to you. The forest is quiet, the Hunt had passed through shortly before your arrival scared all of the animals in the area away.

A cracking stick catches your attention- up ahead there’s a figure moving between the trees, hopping down from one of the large roots. Another troll, they can’t be much older than you. You didn’t even know you had a neighbor! You wave, excited, only to get knocked over by Thypion. Your lusus does not trust this troll, which you think is silly. They’re so far away! You didn’t think about the possibility of the other troll’s lusus being hostile. You have never met someone with a hostile lusus.

The other troll spots you, though. They begin making their way toward you. The closer they get, the better you see-- they’re a blueblood, one tier higher than you. You don’t see a lusus with them, though. Did they have one? You push yourself up off of the ground and dust off the dirt and leaves sticking to your sweater.

The other troll stops a few feet away, noticing that Thypion appears to be on edge. You pat at your lusus’ leg, trying to tell him to calm down. It’s just one troll! There’s no harm.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Deimos.” You reply.

“I’m Phobos.” He says.

The two of you hit it off rather well. As it turns out, he lives not too far away from you. He asks you to come back out this way tomorrow, because he has to go back to his hive. You readily agree. Thypion does not object. You part ways, and return to your respective hives.

-----

You’re four sweeps old, and Phobos is your best friend. He comes over a lot, usually whenever he wants. You don’t object much, besides, it’s like he says, “you’re not doing anything anyway right?” It doesn’t cross your mind that he is slowly pushing your boundaries inward until it seems there are none anymore. You think this is normal. He is your best friend, after all.

It strikes you as odd that he always asks what you’re thinking and feeling, but never really tells you what he’s thinking or feeling when you ask him in return. Still, you readily give the information. It’s what best friends do, right? You think the world of him.

Phobos is three sweeps older than you, and you admire him a lot. He seems so grown up for his age, always has an answer for everything. But sometimes, sometimes he gets angry. You tell him that it scares you when he does that, and he seems to quiet down. You mistake this for thinking he is taking your feelings into consideration. He is, but not in the way you think. When Thypion isn’t looking, he gets back to it. You don’t notice the connection.

Another half sweep goes by, and you haven’t really made any other friends. “You don’t need them, do you?” Phobos reasons. You suppose he’s right, you don’t. You don’t really like other trolls anyway. You spend all of your time on your puzzles, and exploring the forest with Phobos. Thypion follows. You have yet to see Phobos’ lusus. You ask him about it once, but he changes the subject without you realizing it.

Sometimes, he convinces you to sneak out while Thypion is taking a nap. At first, you refuse. You cherish your lusus and would hate to damage your relationship. Eventually Phobos learns that you are much easier to convince when you haven’t had a lot of sleep. He comes over more often. You don’t sleep when he does. Sometimes, he sets off loud sounds when you drift off, startling you into wakefulness. Sometimes, you cry, because the sound was so loud and so close.

Phobos tells you to stop being a wriggler, it was just a joke.

You nod, yes, of course… it was just a joke. You don’t tell him that it scares you.

He eventually convinces you to leave, its been three nights since you had a real day’s rest and you’re not in full control of yourself. You’re only four and a half, after all. He tells you he has something to show you, something you’ll really like. You try to follow him through the underbrush, but it’s just so hard to walk in a straight line. He takes your hand and tells you he’ll help you, don’t worry about it. He’s there for you, after all. You smile, and thank him. It’s so nice to have a real friend.

The thing that he wants to show you is not something you enjoy.

You feel sick at the sight of it- a body, strung up on sticks and strings, scavenged off of. Green blood oozes from rotting wounds, the troll doesn’t have much of a face left and their horns are gone. Phobos seems overjoyed… You just want to throw up. You do throw up. Phobos asks how you’re feeling- what you’re thinking- what does it do to you to see this?

You tell him, all of it of course. You don’t want him to show you these things anymore. You don’t want to see what happens to the trolls in the Hunts. You feel sick, and scared, and you want to go back to your hive. He’s smiling the whole time, but you can’t see very well through the tears. He takes you back to your hive, and promises he won’t show you those things anymore. You believe him.

------

You’re five sweeps to his eight, and he’s getting out of hand. He comes over more frequently and demands much more of your attention and time. You’re so tired, so tired, but he just won’t let you sleep. You tell him he needs to not come over for a while, you need to sleep.. You have to sleep. The face he makes frightens you. You’ve never really told him no before, just asked, or pleaded, but this time you did not give him the option to come over and just hang around while you nap. This time you told him you wanted him to not come over at all until you tell him he can.

You begin to regret having this discussion out in the forest. You really regret not making sure that Thypion was there. He was your friend, right? He wouldn’t do anything to you- you knew he liked to mess with the Hunt trolls (they were going to die anyway, right? That’s what he told you) but he’d always promised never to hurt you.

The promise does not appear to matter. He shoves you down, dangerously close to one of the traps he’d just been showing you. You try to push him off, but he’s too strong- he’s always been strong- stronger than he should be but he won’t tell you why that is. He says he’ll come over whenever he wants, you can’t tell him no, you’re just a tealblood and he’s higher than you, better than you, and you should be honored that he even spends time with you at all.

You’re having trouble breathing- his hand is on your neck- you kick, but it doesn’t seem to phase him at all. You scream, using up the last bit of breath you have in your lungs in a desperate attempt to attract Thypion’s attention. He has excellent hearing, after all. Phobos tells you to shut up, and hits you- really hits you. You see stars- and not the kind you like.

He’s dragging you to your feet, you can’t get your body to move like you want- you can’t make him let go of you. You gasp for air, desperate to tell him to stop this isn’t funny this isn’t something friends do--

He laughs, what do you know about friends? He’s your only friend, this is how being friends with him is. You know if you tell him he’s not your friend anymore he really will hurt you. He’s dragging you deeper into the forest, toward the place you’re certain his hive is. It dawns on you that you’ve never been to his hive. He always told you it was boring, your hive was much more interesting.

You try to pull away, hands gripping his in a desperate attempt to pry his fingers off your shirt enough to make a run for it- you’re sure you can get away if you can just run. His grip does not let up. You’re begging him at this point to stop- you don’t like this game, Phobos. You want to go hive, Phobos. You need your lusus, Phobos. It’s not safe in these woods, Phobos.

He ignores you. You decide there is no way to get free of his hand, and instead slip out of your shirt- or try to. Your horns get stuck on the collar of your shirt just long enough to delay your escape- he grabs you by a wrist and yanks. You scream again, how is it possible that his grip is so strong? He’s not much older than you- not much higher than you- he throws a punch for your gut, causing you to double over and gasp for air again.

Where is Thypion? You look around desperately for any sign that your lusus might have heard your screams, but you cannot locate him anywhere in the woods. Phobos grabs you by a horn and drags you up to your feet again. He’s so much taller than you are. He tells you not to pull anymore tricks or he might just do something more drastic. He has a sickle out now. You don’t want to know what drastic means, so you whimper in agreement.

He smiles.

The smile only fades when a loud crashing sound from behind you distracts him. Twin heads roaring with anger, Thypion finally emerges from the forest at a full on charge. He drops you immediately and makes a run for it. You crumple to the ground, all tears and shaking with fear. You never want to see him again. Thypion stops just before he reaches you, both heads leaning down to inspect you for any wounds. Aside from the bruises forming on your wrist, neck, and stomach, you are relatively unharmed. You pick up your shirt and pull it on, tearing a hole when your horns snag again. You wipe your eyes, and then climb onto Thypion’s back. You tell him you never, ever want to see Phobos again. He grunts, you think he agrees.

You never do see him again, but you never forget. It’s dangerous to let other trolls in so close. When you find another mentor, you try desperately not to get too attached, but it's hard not to be drawn in by her smiles and the way she talks. She says she’ll teach you how to fight. You need to know how, or maybe Phobos will come get you again. You don’t tell her about him- no one needs to know about him.

----

You are almost six sweeps old when the next bout of insomnia causes you trouble, but you refuse to reach out. You cannot bear to be taken advantage of again- you’re terrified that someone will realize you’ll do whatever they want in this state. Thypion does his best to protect you, but he needs his sleep too.

You learn maybe you should have asked for help after you lose a foot to one of Phobos’ traps.

[alternianative]

MS: - - - be sure tO stOp by On yOur way back this way if yOu have time~ →

MS: - - - yOu knOw i rather enjOy yOur visits →

MS: - - - maybe by then i wOn’t be sO caught up in… everything →

Eldrid’s ship has probably only barely left the atmosphere and you’re already messaging him. He likely won’t see the messages immediately but that’s fine. You’re not looking for an immediate reply - you’re about to be very occupied anyway. As if on cue, one of your attendants knocks on the door of your room to signal it’s time.

Anahii’s health has been on the decline, and as such, you’ve taken over running things for the most part. You aren’t officially ruler until he’s dead, but you think you’re doing a rather splendid job filling in his shoes even if it is… extremely stressful. You stand, and exit the room to follow the attendant.

DA: I’m sure we c△n swing by ;3

You glance at your phone and grin a little. That little face he does is cute. You reach the room Anahii is being kept in just as a loud alarm blares from overhead. You look up, startled, then look to one of the guards. He seems to be listening to communications through his earpiece- it takes him a moment to register what’s being said before he looks to you.

“Attackers, we can’t tell where they hail from but we’re sending our forces to engage. A large warship is approaching.”

You push aside your momentary irritation that they did not first ask permission before sending out what little troops you have, but you figure with a warship… Anahii had probably set that protocol in place. “Very well. If they touch down notify me immediately.”

MS: - - - please dO →

MS: - - - i may be delayed, it appears we have cOmpany Of the unfriendly variety →

MS: - - - scavengers. they hear anahii is On his way Out and Of cOurse they cOme tO see what they can take. →

You pocket your phone and roll your eyes. Your planet is not meant for military force, you don’t have a lot of defenses- it’s why Anahii hired Eldrid’s crew in the first place to escort shipments. You go to your ancestor’s side, even in his poor health he exudes a sort of command and distaste in his aura. The alarm must have stirred him. “How much longer does he have?” You ask the physician.

She looks up from her notes, glances over to him, then back to you… “A few days, weeks maybe? We’re doing what we can.” She offers you a sympathetic smile. Most of these people do not know you’d rather he just die immediately. You attempt to return her expression.

“I’m sure you’re doing your best. Let me know if his condition changes. I need to keep an eye on our visitors.” You give her a farewell nod, then turn to leave with your attendant.

DA: Unfriendly cΩmp△ny?

DA: YΩu dΩn’t sΩund tΩΩ bΩthered by it.

MS: - - - Our defense fOrces are already On it →

MS: - - - they shOuld be fine~ →

At least, you think so. You retire back to your room, switching instead to one of the many computers you have set up. From here you’re able to monitor everything. So far it seems that the battle is in your favor. Chatter is going on through the security channel- you’re not really concentrating on it, though. Something seems to be coming closer in the distance in one of the camera views.

You select it and enlarge, attempting to zoom the satellite camera to make out what sort of ship is approaching… Your cool demeanor about the whole thing dissipates. It seems your security force has noticed the ship as well- as second alarm goes off- a guard barges into your room without warning.

“They have a second warship. We won’t be able to hold them off. We need to evacuate.”

You blink- stunned.

DA: YΩu sure?

DA: P△sc△l?

Eldrid’s messages go unanswered. You don’t have time to reply. “Notify the citizens now. They need to get to shelter. Who’s banner are they flying under?” You push yourself up and walk quickly after the guard - the two of you make your way to the security tower.

“Maccha. His Majesty had mentioned that we should be keeping an eye out for that one.” The guard shakes their head, then pauses the open the door to the command center for you. You step through. Echoni Maccha is one of the many tyrian business tycoons that you do business with- it seems fitting that they would try to overtake your colony the moment the ruling power balance became unsteady. You haven’t yet proven your worth to the people you are supposed to be ruling but Echoni has a reputation for their iron fist. Not much different from Anahii. You don’t think this is going to end well for anyone involved.

Another alarm blares- ships are making their descent. It seems like time is moving much faster than you can keep up with. “The citizens are being gathered to evacuation points as you’ve instructed… What is the plan?” The guard who came with you is at your side again. The upper command is busy directing their remaining troops- you’ve suffered quite a bit of loss.

“Prince?” He urges you again. You’re not sure what the best move here is- if you surrender, Echoni may elect to spare your remaining troops… But if he doesn’t, they’ll still die but not in a way they’d consider honorable. Gathered up like cattle for the slaughter, no doubt. You will die either way, you’re sure. They’ll have no use for you.

Before you can give an answer, a terrible crash shakes the entire building, knocking trolls and objects alike over. “They’ve landed! They’re attacking the palace now. What are your orders?” A new troll - your head of defense - is shouting. When did they get so close?

“Send out a distress signal. We’re not backing down.” You push yourself up to your feet and then turn to run out of the room - a trail of guards follow. You’re not going to just sit idly while the rest of them fight- this is your colony. It would be wrong not to fight for it.

You make your way back into the main palace as one of the doors is blown open - you raise your hands to brace yourself as debris go flying down the hallway. Maccha’s troops pile in, from a quick glance you can tell these are just regular foot soldiers… have they not come to take things in person? No-- you notice a flash of something more regal passing behind them, headed deeper into the palace. Echoni would know the layout for the most part- they’ve been here on a few occasions.

You opt for a different path, aiming to return to Anahii. Echoni will surely try to take him out first, then force you to give up your right to the throne if they don’t kill you first. They may know the general location of where Anahii is, but you know the shortcuts to it. The sounds of weapons firing are getting louder as you navigate through the back passageways in the halls- you just hope that help will get the distress signal before there are too many casualties.

You reach the room and throw the doors open, panting - Echoni is already there, alone, and standing over Anahii’s body. You stare wide eyed at the other troll as they casually look back at you, a wicked grin spread over their face. “A little late, aren’t we? Let me do the honors.” They raise their hammer, spiked side facing down, then bring it down with all the force they can muster right into Anahii’s chest. The sickening crunch earns a shudder and wince out of you.

“Well. That ends that…” Echoni yanks the hammer free, splattering tyrian blood over the floor and nearby medical equipment as they turn to face you. They bounce the weapon in one hand, looking you over with a cold expression. “If you surrender now I’ll spare the rest. I’m not fond of waste.” They step closer. They aren’t much taller than you are but clearly more adept at fighting. Judging from the look of the hammer, it probably isn’t even just a hammer. You equip your halberd and move into a more defensive stance.

“You know I can’t do that, Echoni. This can be settled in other ways.” You try to keep your voice level. You’ve never been particularly skilled at fighting even if you did receive plenty of training. Echoni has the upper hand in both age and skill, and they know it. Without giving you any warning, they charge forward. You barely manage to get out of the way as they bring their hammer down in the spot you’d just been standing in. You swipe at them with the blade of your weapon, but they get out of the way fast enough to evade damage. Your movement left you off balance, making it easier for their next strike to hit.

You’re suddenly flung into the nearest wall as their hammer impacts with your left leg. You’re unable to hold back a scream- they’ve definitely broken it. Still, you struggle to pull yourself up again even as they advance. You can’t see anything out of your right eye- blood is trickling down your face. It feels as if one of your horns may be cracked as well.

“Give it up Pascal, you might make it out alive!” They strike again, you’re too slow to get out of the way and end up sailing into the bed Anahii was resting in. You struggle to pick yourself up, coughing up a little blood- In a last ditch attempt you hurl your halberd at them (somehow you’ve managed to keep your grip on it). It sails by, barely missing them. “Honestly, he spent so much time training and grooming you and he didn’t even bother to make you into a good fighter. What a waste.” Echoni rolls their eyes as they approach, leisurely now in their pace.

A new alarm blares - you recognize this one. Reinforcements. The sounds of fighting outside seem to have taken a change. Echoni freezes in place, one hand reaching up to press into their ear as they listen to something being communicated to them. Whatever it is, you’re sure it isn’t something they’re particularly happy to hear as their expression darkens. “Called for back up, hm? I suppose that means you aren’t entirely useless.” They sigh, seeming to weigh their options…

The doors burst open again- you both turn to stare at the new intruder. Your mind flickers with recognition- Eldrid, he must’ve been close enough to receive the call. Echoni glances between the two of you, calculating his odds. “Oh well, it was a worthwhile attempt.” They tap at something on their belt, then give a full fingered wave to Eldrid before disappearing.

You collapse back to the ground in mild relief, coughing up more tyrian- Echoni must have decided fighting off Eldrid’s crew wasn’t worth the hassle. You raise a hand up to cover your bleeding eye, taking in careful breaths as the adrenaline from the fight starts to wear off and you become aware of just how in pain you actually are.

[alternianative]

[2/3 parts of the..dei story, idk what to call it

gore cw, spider cw, death cw, uhhhhh i think? that’s everything?]

It’s been three days of packing with only a few hours of sleep. You’re starting to have trouble concentrating, finding yourself listless and easily distracted by the objects you keep finding. Honestly, you haven’t really cleaned this place out have you? But eventually, you finish. All that’s left is to move it all, and say final goodbyes. You should probably just leave, it would be easiest and maybe you could get some decent sleep - but sentimentality wins out in the end.

You exit your hive, possessions carefully catalogued away into your sylladex. You want to take one last walk through the woods, visit the places you favored as a wriggler. You don’t plan to come back here ever again if you can help it- so this really will be goodbye. Thypion follows as you make your way through the underbrush, occasionally pausing to stare at a tree you recall spending a lot of time in- or… that one place you fell into the stinging nettles that liked to grow nearby. That was a painful experience.

You eventually find yourself at your favorite outpost- you’d gone so far as to make a little makeshift tree house at the top of this one. You’d only shared it with a couple trolls- it was special to you. Many nights had been spent up there, just staring at the sky. You sigh, feeling a weight settle in your chest. This doesn’t feel very good, and you know you probably won’t talk to anyone about it. Why should you? They’ll probably just tell you you’re being stupid. Too attached to dumb things, all replaceable.

You turn, deciding you’ve had enough with reminiscing. It’s time to go now, for real this time. Your gaze is locked on the ground until you hear twin growls from up ahead- Thypion’s hackles are raised and his tail is readied to strike. You squint, looking for what’s made him so mad- you bring your mace out and ready yourself to fend off some wild animal. It’s not an animal that emerges from the shadows, though. It’s him.

Your blood runs cold - he’s much taller in person, and oozes self confidence from the way he casually walks toward you. Thypion lunges, twin heads snapping their jaws in warning. He seems unphased, instead jumping to one side with more power than should be normal for a troll- it dawns on you that maybe he isn’t normal- maybe that’s why it was always so hard to get away from him. You don’t bother speaking- not to him.

“Forget him! Run!” You charge forward, hitting one of Thypion’s rear legs with a closed fist to draw his attention before taking off yourself. You don’t want to fight him- you’d definitely lose. Thypion seems to listen and follows after you, trying to keep pace as you scramble over the large roots that litter the safe path back toward your hive.

One moment you’ve jumped from a root, the next a terrible crushing sensation hits your side milliseconds before the world spins as you’re thrown off course. You scream- voice cut off when you abruptly hit a tree and bounce off. Dazed, you struggle to push yourself up- what happened? What hit you? You look up just in time to see a hand reach down and grab you by the collar, hoisting you up harshly to stare eye-to-eye with him.

“Long time no see, Deimos. What a pity.”

Before you’ve managed to reorient yourself to the world, you’re spinning and clamped into place at this side- it’s almost painful the way he squeezes. You struggle, uselessly trying to pry the arm around your waist away enough to drop to the forest floor. He laughs as he squats, then leaps into the air just before Thypion reaches the two of you.

“I thought we could catch up! I never did let you see my hive, did I?”

You crash through the trees, landing several feet from where he originally took off. You’re still struggling to orient yourself between the blow and the take off- sleep deprivation has not made recovery easy on you. But it does sink in that he’s taking you somewhere you’ve never been before- you’d pointedly avoided going in the direction of his hive ever since the incident. Would you be able to find your way out before the sun rose?

Would you even get out? You desperately claw at the arm holding you again, legs kicking as you attempt to free yourself. He clicks his tongue, chiding you for your rudeness in not responding, and launches himself into the air again right as Thypion comes into view from behind. This time, when you both land, its at the edge of a clearing. You’re winded, the position he has you in forces air out of you when he hits the ground. Still, you strain to look around the area, feeling your body grow cold with fear as your eyes land on the bone sculptures littering the area. He’d mentioned liking taxidermy in the past, hadn’t he?

“I saw you packing! It would sure be a shame if you left before saying goodbye. So rude, Deimos.” He strides forward, path never wavering. You’ve drawn blood on his arm at this point but he doesn’t seem to pay it any mind. “Now that we’re alone I’m sure we can have a nice, long, chat can’t we. No pesky lusus to keep us separated. I’ve missed our chats, you know.” He pats your head harshly with his other hand, the impact practically feels like its bruising. Was he always this strong? You can’t bring yourself to respond.

You can see a hive in the distance- large and open, almost inviting despite the decor in the lawnring. Phobos sets you down but keeps a firm grip on one of your shoulders- you cry out, if he holds any tighter you swear you’ll break. “Keep walking straight, don’t try to run! I’d hate to see my good friend get hurt.” He hisses as shoves you forward. Not wanting to risk further damage, you comply. Your mind races as you try to figure out how to get out of this mess- surely there would be an opportunity to get away, right…? Your mace… it put itself away the moment he hit you before... Your mind keeps trailing off before you can finish thoughts- panic making it hard to think straight.

The two of you make it about fifteen feet before Thypion bursts through the trees, roaring with anger. You turn your head to look, but your voice gets stuck in your throat. Phobos sighs, as if he’s mildly inconvenienced. “Looks like I’ll have to deal with that. Be a dear and wait.” He shoves you to the ground. You crumple, right leg lighting up with pain as your prosthetic threatens to snap off at the ankle. You immediately attempt to push yourself up, Phobos is marching toward your lusus- sickles equipped.

“DON’T!” You scream, but Thypion doesn’t listen this time. He charges forward, tail raised high, twin heads snarling. Phobos throws one of his sickles- it sinks into Thypion’s shoulder, teal blood immediately spurts from the wound. The lusus screams but does not let up, bowling directly into the blueblood. One of his heads manages to grab an arm, the other goes for his torso. The troll barely manages to force the jaw to stop closing, but the one on his arm rips along his flesh.

Arm partially shredded, (shouldn’t there be more damage than that? You can’t believe your eyes) the head eventually loses limb to hold onto and has to let go- Phobos immediately seizes the opportunity to slam his bloodied fist into the head, disorienting the lusus. The one around his torso loosens up, allowing him to force himself free and shove the lusus to the side. Thypion stumbles, taking a moment to regain his balance before starting off again-

Suddenly the ground opens up from just behind him as massive spider launches itself out from the ground, legs immediately coiling around Thypion and forcing the lusus down. He claws desperately at the ground, but the spider sinks its fangs into his back as it forces him into the hole. You cannot believe your eyes- you refuse to believe your eyes-- what just happened? No, no, no you reject the events that just unfolded in front of you.

Phobos is walking toward you again, his arm is dripping with blue blood - the expression on his face reeks of malice. You tear your eyes away from the patch of ground Thypion disappeared under- it bumps, and you can still hear the sounds of struggle, but there’s nothing you can do. Absolutely nothing you can do. Phobos is drawing near- he’s almost within arm’s reach-- you can’t do this you can’t do this you can’t do this--

Your body acts on its own. Your mace equips, heavy in both of your hands- you focus on that, only that- and swing. It collides with his chest- he wasn’t expecting you to fight back. You never fought back before. He staggers back, barking a laugh- you can’t understand what he’s saying, you’re functioning on autopilot, almost watching from a distance as your body moves on its own. You raise the mace again, swinging hard and with the intent to kill if he gets to close. You miss, he’s staying out of reach, you take a step forward and swing again- he steps back.

Something seems to change in the way he carries himself after you swing a third time. He steps back twice, hissing as he clenches and unclenches his good hand. You take the opportunity to make a fourth attempt to hit him, but he just turns and retreats toward the hive a few steps. You’re not sure what’s making him leave, but you’re in no state of mind to question it. The sounds from the hole have died down, replaced with sickening crunches. Your adrenaline is reaching an end- you’re suddenly too aware of the world around you.

Phobos moves back toward you, sensing your shift in mental state. You don’t think- you just turn to run. You’re not sure where you’re going but you need to get out. The clearing shows the sky overhead- you at least manage to pinpoint a guid star and angle yourself to follow it. It’ll be hard once you hit the trees, but with any luck you’ll find yourself back in familiar woods. You can hear him calling after you, but you still can’t understand what he’s saying.

----------------

You come to awareness inside of your old hive- mace still in hand, door closed and locked behind you. When did you get here? You look around- no signs of life aside from your own. What time is it? You look at the clock- the sun will be setting in a few hours. Did you sleep? No… you couldn’t have slept, you’re standing, leaned against the door. You put your mace away and begin to pat yourself down. No wounds- aside from the scratches and bruises from your altercation.

Thypion.

You stumble around your hive, searching frantically for any signs that.. No- no he’s not here. That really happened. Your breath catches in your throat as it feels like something clamps around it- you shouldn’t have gone into the woods.. You should have just left. If you had, he wouldn’t have-- you cut the train of thought off. You need to leave. With no windows on the first floor its impossible to see if Phobos is waiting outside, but you doubt he would risk doing so while the sun was up. You still have the goggles Eldrid bought for you.

You pull them out of your sylladex and put them on, adjusting the settings to match what you figure the current light conditions are. You then make your way back to the front door- hesitation takes over as you reach for the handle. What if he is out there? You bring your mace out again just in case. You then force the door open as fast as you can - no one is standing on the other side. You’re alone. You make a run for it- ignoring the shooting pain in your right leg. Your prosthetic probably won’t make it past this venture. It was time for a new one anyway…

[alternianative]

[long ass thing about how dei lost his foot- he was about 5-6 sweeps when it happened

amputation cw]

Something had to give. Deimos had been able to work something out before, a way to trick his mind and body into sleeping. Running himself ragged, working his mind until he couldn’t think straight- neither of these things were working. He was exhausted, thoroughly exhausted to the bone and yet still when he closed his eyes the familiar sinking feeling of sleep did not come. In a fit of desperation, he’d gotten extra strength sopor slime - a truly expensive venture - but it didn’t seem to help at all. Even the most comfortable of pillow-and-blanket setups did nothing to bring sleep in. He was willing to endure the dayterrors just for a few hours of rest - fitful as it would be.

It was unbearable. Thypion was at a loss, watching his charge aimlessly stumble around his hive, bumping into walls and furniture, swearing they hadn’t been there a moment ago. He’d never felt so helpless - unable to lend a paw to ease his charge’s mind. Deimos did not usually like being touched, but he’d even gone so far as to try snuggling up to Thypion to see if perhaps it was a lack of contact that was doing it. He’d read - or was it heard? - in a book that sometimes a lack of contact with others made one… weird. But it failed, predictably. And things had been getting worse. The shadows that moved in the corners of his eyes were no longer just in the corners. On more than one occasion he’d walked down the stairs from his makeshift observatory and come “face to face” with a shadowy intruder. Several times he’d yelped and thrown something at the figure, only to realize that he was alone. There were no shadow people making themselves at home in his hive, no intruders messing up his papers… But what was perhaps worse than seeing people was hearing them. Whispers that sounded so real he was sure he was hearing someone speak. He ransacked his own hive, tossing things aside to make sure he was alone. The mess was horrendous, worse than he’d ever been before- but it was a sign that he’d checked, right? And because no one was there, surely he was making things up, right? But the longer he went with only pockets of rest, the more vivid the shadow people became- the more real their whispers sounded. To make matters worse, he had purposely cut himself off from the few trolls he associated with. He’d rather be alone than appear weak- especially in the eyes of his mentor. What would she think? He would rather deal with this bout by himself than risk further embarrassment or shame that could be brought on by having any of them see him in this state. Overly sensitive and paranoid was one thing, but so tired he couldn’t tell the difference between reality and figments of his thinkpan’s imagination was another. Thypion had begun to stay up with him. His lusus was worried for his well-being, he could still tell that much. Normally his lusus would sleep throughout the day and wake early as the sun began to set. Thypion was now pacing around the living block whenever he was in it, or circling the halls of the hive when he tried to sleep. He’d lost track of how many nights he’d actually gotten more than a couple of hours of sleep, but it had to have been a while based off of Thypion’s condition. Eventually it was too much. Thypion had to sleep. He had laid down in front of the door to Deimos’s hive- if Deimos were more aware of himself he might realize it was an attempt to keep him inside and away from danger. When he was younger Thypion had, on numerous occasions, barely managed to keep him inside the hive during sleepless bouts. But since he was not in his right state of mind, nor thinking about why his lusus would block the door when he wanted to so badly to go outside, he sought other means. A meteor shower was supposed to happen, and he did not want to miss it. From his observatory, he would be able to see small glimpses.. But it wasn’t enough, he wanted a clear view without the trees in the way. The light from Four Fronds still polluted the sky around his hive on particularly busy nights- but he knew of a good spot far in the forest where he could see it all. He was barely put together- one knapsack holding his supplies haphazardly placed over a shoulder, shoes loosely slipped on into place… he couldn’t maintain a straight path for very long but he was determined. His mind had been made up: he would not let a little sleep deprivation keep him from doing the things he wanted to do. He would make his body do what he wanted it to do. The back of his hive had no doors, he hadn’t thought to put one in place when he was younger (it would prevent intruders from coming in- or so he’d reasoned later) so he was left with the second floor of the hive. His readingblock window was easiest to open. He pushed it open, then climbed precariously onto its edge. Below, the forest floor was littered with piles of leaves… all he had to do was jump into one, right? It was the perfect plan. He’d even seen it in movies. He wobbled in place, reaching out to brace himself on the window pane as he struggled to calculate where to aim himself… How far would he fly forward if he leapt..? With his free hand he rubbed at one of his eyes, grumbling to himself. It was too difficult. All he wanted to do was see some meteors overhead, not… calculate the distance he’d be jumping into a pile of leaves. This was a distraction from his ultimate goal. He gripped his knapsack with one hand, then bent his knees and leapt from the window. One moment he was in the air, the next he was on the ground, pain shooting through his legs and the arm he’d reached out to brace himself with. He cried out, and rolled to one side as his mind struggled to catch up with where his body had ended up. Thypion was dead to the world- oblivious to his charge’s predicament outside. He laid still for a few moments, waiting for the better part of the pain to subside before raising his arm to examine his hand. A little bloodied, but not broken. Sore, moving his wrist hurt… but not unusable. Carefully he pushed himself into a seated position with his uninjured hand to examine his legs. Same condition, hurt, but not broken. One ankle seemed to be more sore than the other… But overall, he’d be fine. Carefully he pushed himself to his feet, wobbling in place for a moment as he regained his balance and figured out which direction he wanted to go. The clearing… Yes, the clearing deep in the forest- that was where he needed to go. He rubbed at his eyes, then wobbled off toward it. He would get to see that meteor shower, there was no question in his mind about it. He just needed to make it through the woods in order to get to it. Normally he would be more cautious about it- the woods were not some place to just waltz through on a whim. Between the hunts and traps that other residents of the forest put out, it was quite treacherous on a good night- downright deadly on a bad one. And that was before considering the strange trolls that supposedly lived in the forest. But he knew the pathway, didn’t he? He’d walked it a hundred times, navigated without any troubles before. He knew what places to avoid- what areas would make the most noise if he traipsed through carelessly… or where the stinging nettles liked to grow best. Yes, he could navigate the forest even with as difficult as it was to walk straight. The safe path wound its way through the trees and underbrush. Hard to keep track of on a normal night, but… harder to track at the current moment. Try as he might to stay focused, it’s delicate path seemed to twist and writhe before him. The by now familiar shadow figures lingering in the corners of his eyes were beginning to appear in the distance. They were drawing closer, twisted features becoming more and more real. What if they werereal? He hesitated on his next step, clutching at his knapsack as he debated continuing forward. A sound overhead caught his attention. He looked up, eyes straining to see through the canopy of leaves overhead- but he knew that’s where the sound had come from. Little bits of light as meteors streaked by were visible in small glimpses as the wind shifted the trees… The sound came again- a whisper, but he was sure it was his name. Were they calling him…? Could… could they do that? He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes again. Stars couldn’t speak. He looked around the forest again. The shadowy figures were creeping closer, arms outstretched ending in clawed hands. They were too real to be fake- each step they took creaked as branches snapped or twisted underfoot. The sounds were too real to be a figment of his mind. Panic set in. What should he do? He shifted his knapsack to reach inside, finding only paper and a couple pens. His hand brushed against something hard- the end of the mace he’d purchased on Busthind..? No, a marble, one of the display moons from his mobile setup. Had he imagined grabbing the weapon? The figures were closing in on him- he needed to act fast. He grabbed the marble and lobbed it at the figure. It flickered from view for a moment, but reappeared- closer and somehow more menacing than before. They couldn’t be fake. He had to go back- get Thypion. Something. He turned, wincing as he twisted one of his ankles in a painful way. Now was not the time to let it slow him down. He took off, running despite the growing protest in his legs to stop moving so quickly– where was his hive? Wasn’t it directly behind him? The trail he knew so well was gone- he couldn’t tell where he was going. The compass he’d normally bring with him on these ventures had been forgotten. The trees overhead were too thick to see the north star- how would he navigate his way home? He looked back over his shoulder at the shadow creatures- they were nowhere to be found. Had he made them up? Confusion set in as he slowed to a stop, wobbling in place while he took in his surroundings. This part of the forest seemed… vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall when he’d been there, or how he’d gotten back to his hive. He needed to climb one of the trees- see if he could pinpoint the star overhead and follow it’s path, or at least figure out the general direction in which he needed to start moving. He dropped his knapsack, then attempted to start climbing the nearest tree. Thankfully its branches were low enough to give him something to work with. —————- Back at his hive, Thypion stirred from his slumber. The hive was quiet- unusual for this time of the night. The massive lusus rose to his feet and began to pad around the hive in search of his charge. Had the little troll finally fallen asleep? Thypion could not find him sleeping in any of the pillow piles that were set up around the hive- perhaps he’d made it to his recouperacoon this time. He carefully made his way into the respiteblock, but stopped before even making it to the ‘coon. The window in the readingblock was open. Deimos never opened the windows. Thypion’s two heads exchanged glances before he backed out of the room and went straight for the door. Something was wrong. ———– Deimos had made it to the highest point in the tree that he could. Overhead, specks of light as meteors blinked by the planet were making it very hard to remember what he’d climbed the tree to do in the first place. The whispering sound of his name being called arose with each burst of light overhead - they were talking to him, weren’t they? They knew he wanted so badly to be up there- amongst them, learning everything he could about the universe. He’d almost completely forgotten what he was doing until his eyes landed on the north star. He was trying to find a way back to his hive. He looked down at the ground below, then back up to the star… He just needed to go northwest to get back to his hive… yes.. Carefully he began to make his way down the tree, only slipping on the last two branches and landing with a small thumping sound. At least it wasn’t has bad as jumping out of his readingblock window… He pushed himself up, abandoning his knapsack as he made his way through the thick underbrush toward where his hive should be. Vaguely in the back of his mind he was aware that he wouldn’t have this problem if he’d let someone know how bad he’d gotten. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone like he was in the forest- maybe Thypion’s attempt to keep him inside would have worked. He didn’t make it very far before a metallic clanging sound followed by excruciating pain in his right foot stopped him. Unable to help himself, he shrieked- this was worse than the window fall. He looked down at his leg, mind racing at the sight. A trap- meant for an animal, but it was digging into his leg just above the ankle. Sharp metal teeth were locked into place, but he wasn’t thinking straight- he needed to get it OFF of him. Panicked and blinded with pain and the tears that were forming in his eyes, he tried to kneel down and force the teeth apart. All that earned him was scratched fingers as they clumsily slid along the teeth. He’d never been in this much pain before- was he even thinking? Was he even part of himself? He looked around, gasping for breath as he tried to stop himself from making so much noise- surely something would come eat him at this point. He spotted a stick - carefully he extended himself toward it, trying desperately to reach it without jostling his trapped foot too much but it was too far away… he needed to move closer. Each movement sent new waves of pain from the wound, it hurt so bad he thought he might black out. As welcome as sleep would be, he did not want to die out in the forest like this… He felt the edges of the stick on his fingertips right as the pain in his leg was starting to overwhelm him. Somehow he managed to grab it, then slowly shifted closer to where the trap had been originally. Moving back to where he was did nothing for the pain- it anything continued movement had just made the trap clench tighter. Teal blood was oozing out from the wound, coating the trap and the ground underneath. He didn’t want to think about what this was going to do in the long run to his foot… would it be okay? If he were of sound mind he’d know that no, it wouldn’t- likely the bone had been crushed, but he wasn’t of sound mind and he couldn’t bear to look at it for very long to assess its true condition. He attempted to wedge the stick into the trap, finding that it was completely useless. It snapped easily as soon as he tried to pry the trap mouth open, causing another shooting wave of pain to erupt from his leg. He cried out again, struggling to maintain even a semblance of composure as he looked around once more. Surely there was something he could use? Again the back of his mind reminded him that he wouldn’t be in this predicament if he’d just reached out. ——– Thypion was searching. He could smell traces of Deimos’s scent on the wind, but traces were not that useful for tracking his charge down. He could have gone anywhere- how long ago had he left? A cry in the distance caused him to halt abruptly- both heads raised, ears flicking about to see if they could locate the source…. Silence, but soon enough, another pained cry. It sounded all too familiar. He took off through the forest, soon realizing that the source was deep in the woods that Deimos had given up trying to navigate due to the amount of traps that had been laid there. What was he doing!? Thypion slowed to a stop, realizing the forest had gone quiet outside of its usual ambient sounds. Where was he…? Both heads began sniffing, trying to pick up on the scent– what they did smell was not reassuring. Traces of blood on the breeze. Carefully Thypion worked his way through the underbrush, following the scent until he spotted what looked like a large teal lump on the ground. Something metallic and shiny was attached to part of– Thypion charged forward, worry taking over his instinct as he realized what had happened. It felt like it had been eons - the world was starting to spin. At least the pain had seemed to subside, or was he just getting used to it? Some part of him picked up on the sound of something large approaching, but the foggy weight of sleep weighing down on his head prevented him from moving to look at what it was. Vaguely he was aware of something large and white looking him over, twin noses sniffing, gently pushing him to see if he was alive. He raised a hand, half sure it was going to get bitten, half hoping it was Thypion. And then nothing. He dropped his hand, mind going blank as darkness seeped in. Alive- but not for very long if he stayed where he was. Thypion growled lowly as Deimos went limp under him. He needed to free his charge from the trap, but doing so would be hard for a lusus his size… And that was if he could even figure out how to do it. Both heads examined the trap- clearly he wouldn’t be able to figure out how to release it… and he wasn’t willing to try and do it with Deimos being at risk of bleeding out. He was sure his charge would be upset about it later, but… Better missing a piece than dead. The trap was just large enough for him to be able to dig a clawed paw in. The force of it had snapped the bone enough already, all he had to do was finish the job. At least the troll had passed out… if he had kept making noise, Thypion was sure he’d have to fend off other creatures. It was surprisingly easy to sever the foot- then it was just a matter of tugging the trap off the bottom of his ankle. Skin tore, but skin could be replaced. Feet could be replaced, he’d seen trolls with metallic body parts on many occasion. Carefully, he leaned down to gently push Deimos into the mouth of one head. Once he was secured, he picked his way back to the safe® part of the forest. He would need to go to the city. If not to get a replacement right away, at least to get someone with hands to look after Deimos. Fortune seemed to be in his favor as a familiar scent of another troll caught his noses as he returned to the hive. Yes… he knew this smell- this troll could be trusted. The mentor that Deimos had spent so long training with would surely know where to take him. Thypion approached the troll at a quick trot before she could get too close to the hive. If Deimos had not learned his lesson on his own, he would try to get this troll to help him teach his son that he could not continue to isolate himself in his times of need. This problem was beyond the two of them now…