#risori soleil

[cotestuck]

In the infamous darkest hours before the dreaded Alternian dawn, most streets and lawnrings were empty, leaving the alleyways entirely deserted as a lone troll in a flowing blue moondress slipped between a pair of office buildings on silent bare feet.

Though her stature was an elfin four and a half feet, the troll's curvy build proved her to be no child.

Long, mobile ears twitched and angled in every direction as the sharp points of her claws trailed the wall, feather light.

After a few steps, she paused.

Both ears swiveled back to point in the same direction, followed by vivid blue eyes over her shouler.

The narrowing of warily slit pupils highlighted crystalline striation that proved them not to be contact lenses.

The glow behind them was subtle, soft as the cooing purr with which she spoke.

"The airr arroound yoou seethes."

[cotestuck]

Risori and Nurray are both aspects of me.

Risori is the embodiment of surviving abuse with the claws and teeth to do something about it.

I have fucking seen some shit, and she is cathartic to play for having hit the point of "Fuck yoou! NEVERR a-fucking-gain!!!" with the full capability to back that declaration up by force if she has to.

Nurray is a self love project.

My dysphoria is pretty severe. I'm sickened by the sight of myself in a mirror, but have no such reaction to anyone else built like me.

So Ray was based off my actual body type, with all the personality traits I like myself for.

Playing her helps me feel comfortable in my own skin.

which of your trolls do you most closely relate to? be it in personality, backstory, etc etc

[bastsoldtrollblog]

Here’s my end of the staff/visitors to the Crown clinic @cloudbattrolls:

Full-Time Staff

Cheran Zaurok: Mostly a receptionist and on-call surgeon; Also does mortuary work. Slowly moving away from reception work since he was only doing that due to being unable to stand for extended periods of time, and thus unable to perform major surgeries. Sometimes passes out for 18 hours on the clinic couch.

Cipher Tegiro: Resident mycologist; Hardly ever sees patients and mostly just fucks off making weird shit with their mushrooms. Also notably does not socialize with the other employees, so it’d be reasonable for some staff members to have never met him.

On-Call Staff (Ashe’s clinic)

Helios Fenjun: Receptionist and security if it’s necessary; Can fill in when Cheran’s off and Katrin didn’t show or is otherwise off doing something else, or work daytime hours. He knows better than to use his abilities at the Crown clinic.

Rotavh Suloch: On-call surgeon, urgent care doctor, and seadweller specialist. If he warms up to some of the other staff he might discuss some of his inventions and such. He’s technically Fleet, but he doesn’t give a fuck about the gang affiliations even if he does know.

Visitors

Arctus Izaril: Linnae’s mentor in magic. If you feel a Presence in a room but no one’s there, that might be him. He comes by sometimes to see how Lin’s doing or to pick them up for Magic School (aka going out in the woods for a few weeks/perigees)

Risori Soleil: ( @cotestuck ) A visitor to Cipher’s lab. Gently threatens him sometimes, though they don’t make this known to anyone else. He’s at least pleased about the samples she brings.

[cotestuck]

I'm noot surre what too make oof yoou, but yoou doon't rread immediately hoostile, soo I have noo rreasoon too be.

Jejune Judges

Hey so I just realized that I literally never made a judgement meme for them after finishing their sprites, so I think I’d like to do one finally! Disclaimer: Jejune can be mean and occasionally threatening, so just be aware of that. 18+ only, 1 chara per rb, but multiple rb’s and judge backs are super welcome!

[doctormothoid]

Doctor: Stop for fuel ==>

The Doctor paced to and fro in the console room as the TARDIS slowly scanned the nearby planetary system for possible refueling ports.

When his father had owned the ship, it could only refuel at a rift in the spacetime continuum, such as the one found in Cardiff on Earth, but since he'd had it, and had made some significant repairs and modifications during his eighth incarnation, he could power it off of any source of what might be termed 'positive' energy.

In most universes, forces tended to oppose each other.  Time was positive energy, space was negative energy.  At least, that was the Doctor's current theory.  He didn't quite understand it all himself.

The TARDIS went 'ding'.  The Doctor grinned, and dashed to the controls, manipulating them expertly, and landing right smack in the middle of a relatively young orange-blood's massage parlor. . .

[cotestuck]

At least once a day, for the last month and a half or so, you have been making the trek to visit this isolated bolt hole half a night's walk from town.

Your foster Lusus and your beloved hivemate shared both trepidation over your choice to shelter this other mutant, and having grudgingly allowed you to continue because he was another mutant, and you couldn't have abandoned him if you had wanted to.

Given that his response to being dug out from a collapsed pile of lumber, gravel, and rebar was an attempt to drug you, you feel you could have been forgiven for the temptation.

It wasn't like you had him locked in.

Well...

The door was hidden and locked, but only from the outside.

From his side, it was clearly visible and could easily have been unlocked without the need for any sort of key.

He'd finally stopped producing spores last week.

A few days ago, the fruiting bodies had withered.

You don't know how long recovery takes him, but he'd been hungry when he had gone under.

Losing this much of himself after rapid growth of new features was sure to leave him dangerously ravenous, whether from weakness or aggression.

So you arrive with produce, some roasted meat to tide him over, and a fresh kill to cook if he needed more.

As if to avoid waking a friend who was just sleeping, you ease the door open and bring the groceries in as quietly as you are able before checking his cushioned hollow to find him less tightly curled up amid shed dry fruiting bodies.

"Still dooing ookay?" you ask, not really expecting an answer, as you settle nearby.

[cotestuck]

Too close!

Way too fucking close!

Breathe...

You're okay still...

How was it that every troll that existed seemed to flock to this part of town, at this time of night?

It's nearly impossible to see the tiny lady being swept along in the middle of the crowd by what felt like a forest of bodies, with the top of her head level with most of their mid sternums.

Keeping up with everyone without being stepped on, jostled, or otherwise noticed had become something of a game, the score of which she sent periodically to her partner.

Just having another person to focus on sending coordinate updates to did wonders for nerves that normally frayed easily in a crowd.

And escape, when she finally wanted it, was a very simple matter of slowing just a little, politely begging a sweet voiced pardon, and stepping once to the side from which she wanted to extricate herself every few minutes or so until enough people cleared to just weave through.

Finally free!

She glanced up from her phone screen in search of a street sign to report back, for all the world like a lost visitor to the area.

@dawningdruidity

[cotestuck]

25. Sunlight

What a strange little grub...

The cavern's matron had seen a wide range of mutations in her time, but this one seemed so innocuous.

Had it only been a shade higher...

No one would have looked twice at a goldblood with eyes like that. They would only have been strange in being the same color.

Had that been all, she might have been tempted to let it slide.

But it wasn't the grub's carapace that was such a bright, fiery orange. It was translucent, showing what looked more like lava than bronze flowing through the web of vessels.

No way in hell it could hope to pass as a legal shade.

The kindest thing, she decided, would be to make it quick.

With her millennia of experience, she knew exactly where and how to cut to make it painless, and reached to gently lift the tiny mutant.

No reason to deny it the comfort of a gentle touch in its last few moments..

Before she could even make contact with it, it flattened down and began to vibrate with distress.

"P... pwweeEeeeEeeeeEeep!"

Not a defensive hiss, but the unmistakable cry of a mourning dove nestling...

For the first time in wipes, the Matron paused.

There was no way it would survive. It couldn't pass.

Wouldn't it be so much more cruel to let it out into a world where it would be culled the second it was seen?

The jade eyes blinked, startled by the thought that flit across her mind.

There was one way that a sufficiently innocuous mutant could potentially survive...

"Alright, little peep." she sighed, kneeling and offering her hand again.

The mutant grub ceased vibrating and inched closer, docily allowing herself to be scooped up.

.…....

She pupated almost before her care taker knew it.

No faster than any of the rest of her brood, really, but the process of growth worked a lot like boiling water in that it never seemed to happen under scrutiny.

What a relief to see grey skin...

And what a pain in the ass to contain such a curious, affectionate wriggler.

As long as she had her 'Grrandmootherr' in sight or earshot, she seemed perfectly content to do anything asked of her from helping pick up to working on her reading comprehension and penmanship.

But Risori walked on silent little kitty feet, and her Matron could hardly leave her block without the precocious toddler following just a step to the left or right from immediate detection.

So far, she'd always managed to catch the little mutant before she got to the surface.

And even now, in the broad light of day, the Matron found herself anxiously checking every shadow for the telltale glow of those bright blue eyes.

It wasn't until she reached the Mother Grub and got lost in the task of tending and gently conversing with her that a loud gasp alerted her to there being a wriggler outside.

Panic flooded her as she followed the sound, expecting to find her curious charge detrimentally burned...

Only to freeze at the sight of the tiny wriggler out in the open, heedless of the light; bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, nodding in fascination, and making her tiny curious peeping sounds at the white dove perched on her arm.

Those bright eyes raised wide with wonder to meet her stunned matron's, and with the biggest, most radiant smile, she waved and chirped

"Grrand-mootherr! I can see yoou!"

[cotestuck]

16. Wrath

(Warnings for a wide range of implied abuse and some gore.)

(Non explicit)

A docile little pacifist...

Between legal permission to exist dependent on being the property of someone blue or coolerblooded and viscerally feeling anything she could possibly inflict on someone else, Risori had not been aware of there having been any option other than that.

"Obey who ever owns you," her Grandmother had said, "and you will have the chance to be allowed to live."

Trying so hard to be the best match for the quadrantmates who had accepted her...

Mutants don't get to have descendants.

That was the entire mission statement behind culls: To avoid having an abomination mar an otherwise healthy gene pool.

That is what Risori was.

An abomination.

A stain on the gene pool that should not have come to be.

Should not still be alive.

But despite that, she was very much alive.

And free.

With full quadrants!

In and of itself, that was more than most trolls on the legal spectrum ever ended up achieving.

There could be no doubt of being indescribably lucky, and nothing was more important than just

not.

fucking.

this.

up.

You'll never get another chance for anything this good.

Don't fuck it up.

She'd go to hell for them.

She'd been already.

She'd go back as often as they needed her to, so they wouldn't have to.

Don't fuck this up...

You'll never get another chance.

She'd done so much harm and let so much slide, trying to be the best quadrantmate she could...

Her first moirail loved that she was bright, agile, and quick to pick up patterns. It ensured that she'd survive the next violent collapse of the pirate clown's sanity, and the clown would not break her favorite toy.

She won't show mercy if you can't out maneuver her.

She won't know your face.

Would she even notice you were gone after she'd eaten you..?

.............................

Her second moirail, another clown who'd hatched blind, was her first pail.

He vascillated through every quadrant with her, unable to settle on one, and demanded they fill a practice pail every light that rolled to help make up his mind.

He'd been so sweetly reassuring about everything leading up to that first time...

He'd even laid out boundaries he would never cross.

She could disengage at any time, for any reason she needed to. There would be no punishment.

He would never force or coerce or beg her, and her relief at how tangibly genuine that promise had felt like the weight of the world off her shoulders.

In practice, though, there was no way to decline that did not immediately result in a depression spiral that crushed her like being ground to paste under a millstone.

"Practice" was all she was intended to have been.

Settling finally, officially, on Red got her culled by the disapproving Church.

"Brrootherr, please! I oonly did what my Masterr asked!"

"Y'ain't no Sister 'a mine, y'disgustin' liddle vermin!"

There was no way of knowing how long it took to drag herself from that Corpsepile to The Cloverleaf.

…...................

But her new Master's welcome and the safety in which only a Brothel would allow a wounded slave to heal before being put back to work were not even the dubiously lucky break she'd gambled everything on them being.

That has been his sect of the Church.

The tone in which he reminisced to her was... wistfully conversational.

It began with an offhanded remark, while she sat nestled inescapably in the twelve foot tall sabertoothed giant's lap, tending to him, that he'd sereously considered finishing the job when she appeared.

And from there, cascaded into a sermon that waxed poetic about the capricious whimsy of the Messiahs being so perfect that even an abomination could be an instrumental vessel for that holiest of work.

Cute as a li'l button, sweet as cotton candy, so perfectly obedient that words weren't even required to direct you.

And his sect had been Blessed for their righteous care of a Brother in need by The Messiahs choosing to use him as the crucible by which you'd been purified and the mold that shaped your use.

His sweet, Good Girl~

Don't fuck this up.

Obey, and you will have the chance to be allowed to live.

"I've doone everrything they've asked me..."

........

The most important person in Risori's life had become that by being the first to treat her like a person.

A legal bronze with heroic dreams of rebellion.

Every time they crossed paths, she had to talk him down from trying to find a way to steal her.

Sweet as the thought was, there was no way in hell a bronze would be allowed to survive it if he got caught.

Best case scenario, the obviously unowned mutant would be collared again immediately, and the ballzy bronze workbeast with her.

"Please, Del, just goo back hive. I can't loose my oonly frriend..."

........

Perhaps it was the transferal that made it hard to see herself as a free troll, when it finally happened.

A moving mountain of a Blueblooded Knight in literally shining armor had not liked the way Risori's Master's hired handlers dealt with her.

Being Cerulean made the cull legal, and shifted the mutant's status frroom property to booty.

His genuine intent to free her didn't matter as long as she remained on the Churches cull list.

A literal knight in shining armor saved her from captivity, freeing her to walk unaccompanied by the collar he was willing to give her as camouflage.

He acted as her faithful guard dog and made her his Princess

Like a fairy tale...

A fantasy.

Kindly and considerately as he kept her, it was impossible to get away from feeling like an object.

A doll on a pedestal.

"Please stoop looooking at me like a damsel in distrress."

Don't fuck this up, you ungrateful little bitch!

Mutants don't get quadrantmates.

..….......

A lifetime of servitude made service by choice a love language, and there was nothing she would not have done for her quadrantmates and theirs.

Her kismesis had introduced himself by binding her in place with her own weapon, shredding the only clothing she had, and pailing her stupid.

That had... kinda been on both of them, though, and there was no denying it had been fun~

So was the introduction to his moirail.

Under the snark and aggression that got under her skin like an infestation of mites, he was intensely affectionate and could be so thoughtful it took her breath away.

Finding out that he made most of his income on video of his partners... by stumbling across one of hers... had been a shock.

But everything else was so good...

And he was supposed to hate her, right?

That's how this was supposed to go...

Don't fuck this up.

Mutants don't get quadrantmates.

.................

Moirailegance was fundamentally terrifying.

Not the idea of supporting another troll that way, in and of itself. Being so strongly Empathic made that easy to do without even thinking about it.

But if any quadrant could be considered a sacred one that you didn't mess around in, it was that one!

When every serious conversation with someone you care about even slightly sounds and feels like a feelings jam, their actual moirails can be forgiven for feeling envious and hurt.

Risori had thought that having her own to go to would make her very first friend's feel less threatened.

Being set up with his matesprit felt perfect.

They clicked immediately, and talking to her was such a blissful relief.

It was strange to feel taken care of.

Stranger still not to be called upon to take care of her moirail...

With no real point of reference for how that was supposed to go, she could only assume that those needs were met through taking care of her.

It wasn't until one of the horrors had come out through her moirail that the realization dawned.

Both of their unpleasant emotions were being fed to them...

But maintaining that relationship put the most important people in her life more at ease than it had unsettled her.

Don't fuck this up.

.................................

Shit!

Shit, shitshitshitshit!

You can NOT just start shit with fucking highbloods!!!

A nearly seven foot tall highblooded cannibal...

With a particular taste for mutants...

So emotionally dead that he felt like a vague cottony hollowness until he was upset.

THAT... was now one of her quadrantmates...

Because refereeing fights between him and her fucking idiot who could not stop himself from picking physical fights was the only compromise that wouldn't get him culled either by that cannibal highblood, or by the law for culling him.

That he favored a fucking NAILGUN!!! would have been NICE to know! Ahead of time!

He's going to die if you fuck this up!

....................

Of fucking course... the cannibal's curious moirail is a torturer who collects mutants.

Aaand a fucking Bellum...

Had she not acquiesced to go see him, he would most likely have sought her out.

And found her swarm of warmblooded quadrantmates.

Injuring him would give his beloved moirail not just an excuse, but a damn good reason to tear through everyone important to her like wet hygienic paper.

Welp!

Never gonna see the light of stars again!

Better settle the fuck on in for the long haul...

They're all going to die if you fuck this up.

.......................

That hero complex of his is going to get them both culled.

Even with the consequences for his tiny Ashen spelled out to him like a wriggler by the Matron who had raised them both, he still couldn't stop himself from mouthing off to her and their C.O. immediately after conscription.

It only cost her fangs and claws.

Claws, in her case, was no euphemism. They bedded in bone that bore her weight, with blood vessels and nerve endings along most of their length.

Although taking those and arrogantly forgetting how sharp her chisel-flat incisors were had immediately cost those two handlers their throats in a pain-maddened frenzy.

It took agonizing weeks to grow them back, during which she had to be carried everywhere.

Every time he left her sight, some painful consequence would follow for some failure on his part to mask.

Not that she was necessarily any safer with him in sight either.

Being overtaken by rage made him forget that bullets existed during a live exercise.

Both of them were hit, but the much smaller troll had nearly bled out before they made it back to their cell.

But the Sopor withdrawals were what finally broke her.

His inability to sleep without it made rest for her impossible.

Without that respite to recover in, the rage she kept siphoning the edges off of to keep him clear panned started to coat her ribs like tar.

And her own began to stick to it.

Don't fuck this up.

Everyone dies if you fuck this up.

Obey, and you might have a chance to live.

"When have I everr doone anything elsse?!"

"Wherre the fuck hass it gootten me?!"

"Wherre the fuck hass it gootten them?!"

Maintaining the moral high ground had only ever been a luxurious illusion covering a sopor laced glue trap.

How much more freely could she move unstuck from it?

[cotestuck]

Some ND and disability things I have noticed reading back over RPs with Risori:

She is on the autism spectrum.

She speaks very exactly about anything she considers important, to avoid it being unintentionally misconstrued.

Lots of textures severely bother her, despite being intensely tactile, so she is very stimmy with comfortable textures and borders clingy with safe people.

Being able to see comfortably during the day leaves her night blind.

She can only see in either a very bright environment or very close in a dark one, and navigates the world primarily through the emotional and tactile information her psionics feed her.

That aside, she has very keen hearing and is sensitive to vibration.

You'll often see her ears moving everywhere and claw or fingertips tracing walls, banisters, counter tops, ect:

Toe claws tapping rock or tile.

Nervous little twitches of one foot or the other that tap her claws a lot more rapidly on hard surfaces where she can't climb.

She has synesthesia.

Sufficiently melodic sounds are vividly visible.

And the right kinds of percussive sounds are tangible.

She will bliss all the way out during a thunderstorm because rain and thunder are two different kinds of pleasantly tangible.

It's been interesting to notice so many little commonalities that the oldest of my brain children shares with me.

[cotestuck]

Deep breaths, Risori, deep breaths...

As she exhaled the nervous tension that tried to build up in her shoulders, a quick check in the delicate little makeup mirror, as if to check her eyeshadow, proved that no hint of the tiny mutant’s bright orange blood was visible.

Cool as a green water-squash.

No hint of blush, even at her eartips. Despite the cold.

She had to walk the razor’s edge tightrope of being extremely cautious while appearing not to have a care in the world.

It was easy enough to redirect the rapid flutter of her vascular pump into expressing excited delight as she strolled with elegantly measured steps befitting one the shade of blue that her vividly striated eyes asserted that her blood must have been.

With a radiant smile of thanks, she shrugged out of the cloak and stole that kept her warm on the way over and passed it, wreathed in the sweet aroma of honeysuckle, to the troll at the door before sweeping into the ballroom in a fluttering swish of fabric.

[cotestuck]

"I am missing a gooood many peoople toonight..."

"Hoonestly, just trrying noot too let myself sink intoo the vooid."

[cotestuck]

I'd really love to start plotting interactions for my girls.

The two land trolls have been very lonely and bored.

Risori... Is secretive with good reason.

She has some ties to off world rebel colonies as a former strategist, infiltrator, and supply runner, and is extremely wanted by both the Church (Mutant; botched cull) and Fleet (Escaped from experiments involving berserker control).

Lots of space in the proverbial wood work for antagonists on the fleet side of things and allies on the rebellion side.

Love to see her make some new friends.

I'd rather let other trolls get to know her capabilities, limits, and very, very long history through interaction.

But other muns wanting theirs to have prior ties to her are welcome to pertinent information. <3

Nurray Unkari is getting to be a pretty famous lounge singer.

At hive, behind closed doors, she runs a dedicated network of pale escorts.

Because of how destructive higher bloods with out moirails can be, her organization has been granted the dubious boon of being empire sanctioned for their discreet management of extremely detailed psychological information.

(Snugglr is a rebel/mutant safe service. Nurray and her employees share a deadly serious commitment to Therapist/Patient confidentiality.)

Part of her job involves being called on trolls that did not want or expect a lowblood stranger butting in on their affairs, either by a genuinely concerned quad mate, or an antagonist for a laugh.

She is every bit as warm and gentle as she looks and is happy to accept clients from all walks of life.

The deep sea monster... doesn't... People... very well.

Yes, the tentacles are venomous.

Stomia rarely leaves the dark safety of the trenches.

Approach with extreme caution, if you can get down that deep.

They are active on Discord, for those uncomfortable with doing any actual RP on Tumblr.

18+ Muns and muses, please.

[cotestuck]

No one comes out here anymore.

The lusus eating monster that used to haunt the hills between the wood and grassland had not been here in sweeps, but no trolls had moved back into the area in part for the beast's increasingly exaggerated urban legend.

It was more likely, these nights, that lusi would return without their charges, if they trespassed.

You are the monster continuing to fuel the myth.

Your name is Risori Soleil.

Former rebellion strategist.

Wanted by the Church and Fleet, with a mile long rap sheet of violent crimes that grow more outlandish with each new addition attributed to you.

The bounty for bringing you in dead is impressive.

The one for bringing you in alive is astronomical to the point of comedy.

As neither like word of their mistakes to reach the general population on the Hiveworld, only high ranking church clergy or fleet officers know you exist.

After a spectacularly shitty few nights (that may still have ended in making unlikely friends or at least not-enemies), you are off to visit the place where no one goes.

Where the trees meet the grass.

Over the hill that was once a set.

Your name is H̵̢̧̛̛͍̘͉̫͙͍̗̭̳͕̠̥͙̠̃̓͂̾͂̉̅͗̇͐̈́͑́́͐͑͐̚ÿ̷̧̡̨̠̥̹̪̤̻͈̤͉̹͚̹̼̭̺̦̝͕͓͙̼̲͕̠͚̤͓̬̱́͊͑̏͗̿̉͘a̷̛̪̺̲͎͔̮̹̱̣͕̫̙̝̰̽͒̈́̉͂̎̄͋́̈́͗́̒͆́̓̔͗͐͒̀̄͐̾̚͠͠i̵̢̧̛̹̱̤̦̥̯̤͔̭͙̺̼̲̝̪̮͕̞̝͖̞̘̩͕͕̭̟̭̰͉̠̜͊̇̅͗̾̾̌͘͜͜͝ͅņ̵̧̧̟̭̤̤͔̪̻̥̠̖͍̱̺̝̝̝̼́̌̈̀̇̑̓̂̀̄̂̾̈́͌͌̇͑͌́̐́̉̚͜͝͠ę̷̧̫̲̼̳̠̼̱̯͚͕̙̤͎̥̦̭̖̳͈̞͉̝͖̹̮̘̱̜̺͉̬͍̝̄̀̈̌̑̌͆̍́͊̀̾̌́̓͒̈́̃̇̂̐̏̾͂̉̐͆̓̓͘͘̕͠͝ͅͅ ̷̢̡̢̨̨̢̨̟̣̪̤͇͉̻̤̤̗͕̳͔̘̞̤͎̻̯͕͙̬͎̱̼̰̮̤̘̲̤̘͔͕̟̮͚̤̠͔̲͋̊͒̽̽̒̅̏͊͛̍̐̊̍̇̂͛̒̌͒͌̏̒́̀͘̕͘͝ͅV̸̧̳̥̝̙̲̘͈̦̦̼̦̥̳̼͍̹̘̩̫̘̫̗̲̬̫͖̜̈́͗̂̍̓̽̽͑̿̾̀̈́͛̈̌̋̅̉͐͑͒̈̅̊͂̃̎̅̇̿̈́̑̐̏̾̓̍͘̕̕̚̕͠ḭ̸̢̛̼͎͋͌͐̐̿̽͒̓̈́̂͂͋̀͌̒̓͒̅͝͝d̵̢̧̨̢̜̱̯̤̝̜̣̲̹̣͎̺͉̬͉̳̙̟͕͔̜̻̰̍̅̀̊̀̋̇̎̾̿̄̀̿͑̈́̔̆̾̆̈́̄̓̓̇͆͜͠ͅl̶̨̨̳͖͔̭̙̩̼̞̙̭͙̝̯̹̠̜̩̹̯̰͂̈̾̓̋͋̓͑͊̿̌̅̈́͑̌͋̀̾̍̚̚͘͝͝͝a̶̺͎̹̗͙̯̱̠͓̮͂̎̚͜͠͠s̵̨̢̧̨̡͚̲̞̹̰̠̯̟͖̲̼͖̞̟̞͔̳̣̠͕͚͚͖̻̗̣͓̬̘̲͓͇̱̘̤̪͖̰͇͕͋̓̽̀̌̎̂̋̓̂͂̄̐̔̆͘̕͘̕͜͝͝͝ͅͅ Yataghan, the Slashician Yataghan, and this is your first time back on Alternia after you left sweeps ago to join the fleet and lend them your medical expertise.

Logically you're aware that you grew up on this planet, that this is where you were hatched and raised, where you lost your eye and fought for your life, where you became a cannibal and a doctor both and eventually achieved every goal you set out for. Yet... You don't really remember it. Your mind is fuzzy and blank, devoid of any emotion at all and most of the memories that would have had emotions tied to them.

You feel nothing being back here. It's a routine stop to pick up supplies, that's all. You wouldn't even have left the ship had your superior not insisted you "get some fresh air, take a walk, you look like a ghost".

So here you are, standing on Alternia, staring into the middle distance and wondering what to do with yourself. What was the point in any of this, really?

And then you see it.

A single, white, feather. Laying on the ground, caught against the grass in such a way it's yet to blow away. There's something about the feather that's interesting, but you don't know why. Your lusus had fur, there's no reason at all to be intrigued. You shouldn't feel anything, in fact.

But you do. And here you are, picking the feather up, holding it up in the light of the moons and turning it in your fingers. The tickling sensation of it against your skin is reminiscent of the tickling sensation in your mind as you struggle to think of what this feather reminds you of.

And then it clicks. A puzzle piece that stands out vibrant in your otherwise dull mind. Shades of orange and baby blue, flushed with pinks and reds, tinged with soft silvery gray.

"Ri... Risori."

@cotestuck

[cotestuck]

Out of Context Risori

[cotestuck]

🎵Risori