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inksandpensblog · 1 year

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Azure's Reception: a bug!Purple OC story

Purple is only in the warrior’s courtyard because he’d just managed to catch the trailing end note of his dame’s song remarking something about him getting to see Cobalt at training today. In his alarm at this unexpected turn of events, he hadn’t thought to ask why his sire would be there, only grousing over his ruined plans for the day and quietly thanking his luck that Orchid had mentioned it at all.

So he’s already frustrated and wary when he notices the newcomer standing off to the side of the courtyard.

Something is…off, about him.

It’s not that he’s a stranger. It’s not that his bristles are shorter than Purple is used to seeing, nor that they gleam with a dull, waxy shine that makes him look almost slippery. It isn’t the half-erased markings of smudged brown powder on his chest and arms that isn’t grey enough to be mud and smells too sweet to be dirt.

Purple’s antennae flick at the scent, reaching toward it despite himself. It’s not unfamiliar. His memory attaches the smell to a brown, pebble-like item that the foraging masters had introduced to their apprentices.

He tuts, irritated that he’s been prevented from shadowing them, and does his best to put the thought out of his mind.

His attention returns to the stranger. A cotton-candy-blue, brighter than one would expect in this forest, almost as if he’s been saturated in the saccharine hue. The fronds of his antennae are thin and jagged, angled from his head in mild interest.

It’s not that he’s the only mature beetlestick in the courtyard without any armor on.

Because he isn’t; even as Purple observes this, he catches sight of another unarmored beetlestick. This one looks familiar, at least, down to their ceremonial garb.

Purple’s frown shifts to one of confusion, as his attention returns to the stranger once again.

It’s not that his hands are tied. It’s not that the trailing lead is held by one of the two guards flanking him.

It’s not that Cobalt is the one holding the lead, and that he has yet to acknowledge the presence of his offspring.

Purple’s breath catches. Doubtless, his sire has noticed him already. But aside from a lightning-quick glance and the redirection of one antenna, Cobalt doesn’t address his son’s recognition.

Gradually, Purple unfreezes, trying to soothe his frayed nerves by reoccupying his mind with the mystery of the stranger. Because something still isn’t right.

Eventually, he picks up on it: it’s the complete silence.

Everyone else is lightly humming or buzzing to themselves as they go about their business and get into their positions; even Purple’s wings had been quietly droning behind him a moment ago. But this cotton-candy-blue stranger? Nothing.

It’s only then that some other trainees notice the look Purple is giving the stranger, and take it upon themselves to explain that he was handed over as tribute from another clan. Apparently, his silence is attributed to this state of affairs, as tributary custom forbids him from vocalizing during the reception.

When this clarifies nothing for Purple, the trainees roll their eyes and elaborate further: the clan had threatened to launch a war over some offense committed by a different clan, and cotton-candy had been offered as tribute in an effort to pacify the court. The exchange had already been completed, but the warriors got leave from the council to perform the reception ritual for the trainees to witness. The ceremony would magically and diplomatically subsume the tribute into their clan, where he would act as a representative of his own clan as a whole, who had given him away to bargain. Cotton-candy’s presence in the clan would also act as an incentive for his own former clan to not upset the court further.

The conversation continues, one trainee wondering whether or not cotton-candy is in fact the beetlestick who committed the offense or whether he’s a stand-in, and another remarking that this distinction doesn’t actually matter; but Purple tunes it out and stares at cotton-candy-blue, taking him in with this new context.

He looks…

…he looks kinda bored, honestly. Like the lot of them are a rabble of riffraff that he’s deigned to grace with his presence. Not at all like a criminal delivered to justice at the hands of his enemies. Not like a scapegoat handed over by those he’d considered his people. Not like a hostage whose life depends on the compliance of people who are far away and can’t reassure him.

As Purple keeps looking, two mulberry-red eyes meet his. He gets caught in their gaze, and it isn’t until he notices the one cotton-candy eyebrow raising that he realizes the tribute caught him staring. He looks away hastily.

When he glances back, the tribute’s attention is elsewhere. But there’s a lingering smirk on his face. It’s a sneering, self-satisfied thing. Purple scowls to himself.

Then attention is called, and the guards move, and the trainees cease chattering to disperse about the courtyard in formation, and Purple remembers that his sire is here, and he straightens up and gets in line and wipes his face blank.

He spends the next few minutes trying his darnedest to run through the routine he hadn’t been present for nearly enough times. He’s memorized the steps, but his sire would hone in on any poor technique in a heartbeat. Fortunately, it seems Cobalt’s attention is occupied with keeping the tribute in line.

Not that it’s taking much work. Cotton-candy just stands there, weight back on one leg, hip cocked slightly, and surveying the trainees like he’s waiting for them to do something worth his time.

Finally, everyone stills, the master of ceremony steps forward, and the rites begin.

Purple…honestly does try his best to follow along, but his attention keeps being drawn back to cotton-candy-blue, whose half-lidded look of faint amusement hasn’t left his face.

When the master of the ceremony calls the tribute forward, he obliges. There’s no other way to describe the manner with which he lifts his chin as he shifts forward to approach. He strides forward like he’s humoring them, a swagger in his movement, and all Purple can read in his posture is confidence.

The tribute is bade to kneel, and when his head bows and his knee touches the floor it’s like he’s doing them all a favor. The corner of his mouth twitches in time with one antenna as he closes his eyes, both eyebrows rising almost tauntingly, and Purple wonders if the master is blind to how they’re being indulged or if they’re aware that the tribute is merely playing along.

The master of ceremonies raises their hands over the tribute’s head, and says the final words.

“The tribute hereby relinquishes his ties to his clan, until such a time as the court considers the debts of his clan repaid. We hold him and his clan to their promise. We accept this tribute, on behalf of our enemies, and welcome him as one of our own.”

The master of ceremonies raises their voice, spreading their hands wide.

“Welcome, Azure.”

There’s a slight delay, and then— cotton-candy shoulders go rigid. A head darts up, antennae curling tightly, mulberry eyes flashing with something Purple can’t identify.

And that’s it. The ceremony is over.

Except…Purple is still looking at the tribute. At Azure. Whose elytra had lifted, a movement so natural that Purple almost hadn’t noticed it until it stopped, and he remembered in the same moment as Azure that no permission had been given for him to speak.

And then everyone is talking, and moving, and the trainees have somewhere to go, and the warriors have somewhere else to go, and Azure is being beckoned to his feet by the guards.

“If you have any questions, ask them now.” That’s his sire’s voice. Purple turns to see him untying Azure’s bonds.

“That’s not my—”

“Questions,” Cobalt emphasizes, turning away slightly to toss the coiled rope aside, his eyes moving from Azure’s newly-bared wrists to his piercing glare.

Azure’s nostrils flare, irate, face tilting downward and stance widening as his antennae lay flat down his head.

“My name is—”

His wings are still moving, but their song goes quiet suddenly.

Something like uncertainty steals across Azure’s face for the first time in the brief moments Purple has known of him. Mulberry eyes blink once, then rapidly, then dart over the ground as the tribute shakes his head and shifts unsteadily, teeth bared in agitation.

“…is Azure,” Cobalt finishes, something final in his song. “Come now, your quarters have been prepared.”

Purple can’t stay to witness any more. The crowd of trainees is herding him away.

But as he turns to catch one final glimpse of Azure, it’s to see a wary tension that had been absent for the entire ceremony finally appear in the tribute’s frame.

#bug!Purple AU #bug!Purple #avm oc #bug!Purple oc #Azure looks different because he's a different variant. his clan is in a different biome #so you've got multiple clans #if there's anything I know about clans of stickfigures #it's that they tend to fight a lot #so what happens when a clan doesn't want to fight?#anyway this is Azure now #he's not really gonna feature in the AU proper but he's...around. while the main story is happening #does this count as whump?#it's sort of like the preliminary lead-up to what COULD be whump

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