#truly the economy in in shambles

[ofdarklands]

when you drink the wine jaheira offers you even though you know what she put in it to prove your intentions and you get this in the corner of your eye:

Astarion disapproves Shadowheart disapproves Lae'zel disapproves

QUIET DOWN BACK THERE TEAM CHARMLESS

[gingermintpepper]

Okay, let's finally talk about EPIC's Apollo

I feel very compelled to say, first of all, that I do not dislike Epic. In fact, I am very fond of Epic and have been following its production and status very eagerly! I attend all the launch streams, I watch all of Herrans' update videos; I am, at the end of the day, a fan and I want it to be known that my words are spoken out of love and passion as much as they are spoken from a place of critique.

So really, what my problem with Epic's Apollo?

In the briefest possible terms; the choice to have Apollo be defined by his musical aspect in God Games is thematically strange. And not in the 'oh well in the Odyssey, Apollo was important to Odysseus and his family so it's weird that that wasn't kept in Epic' strange, strange in the sense that Odysseus' character arc since My Goodbye has been getting more and more obviously Apollonian and so it is positively bizarre that when we get to meet Apollo, the god seems entirely disinterested in him and his affairs. So much so that he is not even defined by any station that would indicate that he has been watching over and protecting Odysseus and his family.

What do I mean by 'Odysseus has been following an Apollonian arc'? I'm so glad you asked!

Remember Them is the last song in which Odysseus explicitly uses his sword until Mutiny where he must use it to defend himself against Eurylochus' blade. He uses it to help enact the plan to conquer Polyphemus and, due to Polites dying in that battle, Polites who wished for Odysseus to put the blade down entirely and embrace a post-war life, Odysseus also retires his sword. This is an action that symbolically separates him from Athena - and the image of Odysseus as a traditional warrior set for him in Horse and Infant - as much as My Goodbye physically separates him from the goddess and her war-ways - from this point onwards, Odysseus will no longer be leaning on Athena's wisdom or methods to solve his problems. Likewise, he will no longer be able to rely on her protection.

Odysseus thusly solves most of his upcoming problems through diplomacy and avoidance. He approaches Aeolus - a strange and ambiguous god (both in gender and in motivation) and appeals to them for help. Circe too, he approaches not with wishes to conquer or for revenge, but for the safe returning of his men and an alternate way forward. In all of these scenarios, there is some Apollonian element which is subtly interweaved alongside the influence of other gods; it is with a bow and arrows that Polyphemus' sheep is slain (and thus it is this Apollonian element which is at the root of Odysseus' spat with Poseidon), it is a vision of Penelope that warns Odysseus that his men are about to open Aeolus' wind-bag, Circe's peace offering to Odysseus is to refer him to a prophet of Apollo who has since died.

In this way, Apollo is walking alongside Odysseus for all of his journey after Athena departs - even in the Underworld, he is guiding him. It is Tiresias' proclamation that is the last straw for Odysseus, it is by the power of a mouthpiece of Apollo that Odysseus decides to embrace his ruthlessness. It is with the bow and arrow that Odysseus subdues the siren who sought to trick him, likewise, Odysseus does not attempt to undermine or escape the fate of paying Scylla's passage price - he knows of the doom about to befall the six men and quite unlike the rest of the journey until this point, he does not fight against it. This all comes to a head on Thrinacia where it is a blade which sacrifices the sun god's cow and brings destruction upon the crew once more.

My point with all of this is that when I heard the teasers for God Games years ago, it made perfect sense to me that Apollo would be Round One - he is not Odysseus' adversary and has no reason to oppose Athena's wish to free him. From other teasers about what will happen in the climax of Epic, Apollo will still be walking alongside Odysseus - it is Apollo's bow that Penelope will give the suitors to string. Likewise, it is Apollo's bow that will prove Odysseus' legitimacy and identity. That bow will be the power by which Odysseus hunts his adversaries and cleans out his palace - it is Apollo who is the avatar of Odysseus' ruthlessness, not Athena.

So tell me, truly, what was the point of having Apollo raise a non-argument in God Games? Why have him appear unconcerned, aloof and slightly oblivious? Why have him appear in his capacity as the Lord of Music at all?? And if the intention was never to make Apollo an active player in Odysseus' life like he was in the Odyssey, why keep Odysseus as a primary archer?

The answer of course is that Apollo is inextricable from the fabric of the Odyssey - his influence and favour exudes from Odysseus just as much as Athena's. In Athena's ten year sulk, it would have been Apollo who kept Telemachus and Penelope safe. It would have been Apollo protecting Odysseus from Poseidon's gaze as he travelled the seas (according to the Odyssey anyway)

Forgive me for not being excited about something that I thought was being purposefully set up. I was extremely ecstatic about all of the little Apollonian details that litter the sagas because I know where this story ends up (loosely) but all God Games did was reveal that maybe those Apollonian details were not intentional at all, but merely the ghost of the Apollo who persistently haunts those he favours, even if he cannot explicitly come to their aide in an adaptation.

[pikaboops]

Sorry, but it looks like you'll have to be a girl from now on. Because of um the economy.

terrible terrible news (giggling laughing kicking my feet)

[breha]

i kinda feel like i can't reblog explicit m/m erotica on here until i start to see just as much f/f. won't get married until everyone can <3

[kindauglypikachuicon]

Arknights’ newest Witch Feast outfit series: Role-Playing Script ‘Dominions & Dogma’; Dorothy’s “Hand of Destiny”, Fiametta’s “Divine Oath”, Quercus’ “The Bard’s Tale”, and Whisperain’s “Priory of Abyss”

[izzysarchivedblogs]

happy birthday!!!

Thank you so much. I hope that you have a marvelous munday to you! 🧛‍♀️🦅💖✨️

[phinoli]

yesterday i splurged on a caramel apple and that mf was literally $8

[kitcat22]

I love, Love, LOVE the idea that at any given time Caranthir is committing 13 forms of tax fraud and 12 forms of tax evasion, cause like it’s his own family members he’s meant to be paying taxes to.

If he starts doing it in Valinor, he’s ripping of dear old grandpa Finwe, who really truly his happy that his angstiest grandbaby has a hobby, its just that he wishes that hobby didn’t involve depriving his own government of funding. Caranthir doesn’t think he needs the money anyway.

If he’s doing it to the high kings of the Noldor in Beleriand, he’s doing it to his father, brothers, uncle and cousin who do actually really do need that money,what with the economy being in shambles and would be very grateful if Caranthir would empty his pockets out at the earliest convenience, thank you.

Gil Galad turns out to be Caranthir’s favourite high king soley because he just doesn’t expect him to pay taxes and thus doesn’t chase him up on it.

[zenzaaaaaaaaaaaa]

when will my beautiful wife (ao3) return from the war (server updates). the children (gay people in my phone) are starving (no whimpering old men 😔). truly the economy is in shambles

[cerastes]

Hey. It's been a while. I think it's right to update you on stuff so tl;dr I'm probably not going to be around for some time, and if I am, it'll be in a diminished capacity, but if you're interested, do check under the cut. I'll also immediately state that I am not in any dangerous situation, it's other stuff, but I'll immediately dispel that before the cut just in case you just wanted to know that in particular.

Let's talk for a bit.

Long story short, the economy here is in shambles. The idea was for me to already have a new job, but that's not gone according to plan. I've been eating into my savings for a while now, and the people that told me that I had a job lined up for me September or at the latest October, meaning, this month, have been ghosting me. It seems to not be an option anymore, and no explanation was ever given to me. A shame, because it came from a place of relative trust.

This has eaten away at my nerves somewhat, and though it is the month of my birthday, I can't help but notice that, between the economy being this bad here, how hard it's been to land another job, and the fact that I'm eating into my savings, well, it's got me more than a bit worried. I'm not in any immediate danger of losing the roof over my head, or starving, or anything like that, but after a few months of "well, my savings take yet another hit this month with no end in sight", it's been rather rough, you'll understand, and it's compounded a bit. For just a second, and not as a primary, secondary, or even tertiary plan, more like a twenty-eighth measure if anything, I did entertain the dark idea of maybe asking for a bit of help here, and the moment that thought came up, I realized, "Ok, this is truly and well affecting me, I never want to do that", because, again, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger of homelessness or anything that grave, but it's been weighting on me enough that, even as a distant glint in the horizon of an idea, I did consider it. I don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own horn here, but for over a decade that I've had this blog, and the community/following/whatever you want to call it that has grown around it, I've never once asked for something like monetary help, because I think that can be a slippery slope. I've seen people far bigger than me, and some smaller, too, get addicted to asking for donations or help, or simply start taking it for granted when they ask for such a thing. My friends will tell you I writhe in agony when I receive a gift such as a game or something over the mail. My logic is that I don't need it, not in a proud way, but rather, in a "I wish you would spend this money on yourself instead, or on someone that truly needed it". With this in mind, I realized that, for me to even slightly consider that as an option, for the first time in my life, it meant that it was biting away at me far, far more severely than I thought. It's translated to other parts of my life as of late; I've not been depressed or anything, but I've felt this itch, this remarkably implacable feeling of "my man, you don't deserve to be taking it easy right now, something has to change, progress needs to be made".

I went out to wander for a few days, then arrived at my cousin's farm. He and his wife live a humble, hard working life, he invited me to stay for a while, I accepted, it was real nice, we hanged out, went exploring creeks and mountainsides while knocking back a few beers, the whole shebang for two guys that grew up in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow, it's true that the whole exposition that was the previous paragraph is something at play, but I also just... Haven't really wanted to be online at all. I don't want to check anything, read anything, and I feel a deep sense of alienation that I've not really felt in a long time. I suppose this is one of those good ol' Bro Is Going Through It, if we're to summarize it in a few words. It's easy for me to dispel negative thoughts and bounce back normally, because I've done a great deal of personal building and homework on knowing myself inside out, but not even this black belt in Drimobrain has helped this time around, and well, it bothers me, obviously, bwahaha. It's the first time in a few years that I really sincerely do not understand what's up with me, and while it's not really something I would consider me being rock bottom or anywhere near those depths, I do think I'm still below surface level, which is something I don't admit to easily, but have no choice to. I would love to be able to give this malaise shape and firmness through written or spoken word, but right now, it's a work in progress.

What bothers me the most is the sense of alienation I spoke of before: It makes no sense for me to feel this way, I'm treated with love and kindness every day, no one's silencing me in any way, I don't deal with barbs or hostility. So why is it that that's how I feel? Or perhaps it's something that feels similar, but I've no clue what it is, so I'm compounding it with alienation?

Regardless, it's all compounded into me just... Not wanting to be online. In the words of a friend of mine, "Dreamer has a fetish for self-development and growth", and, well, yeah, she's got that right despite the wording, I like to feel as if I'm improving every day and becoming better every day, even if slightly, and right now I feel like I'm just degenerating. Is it because my mood has been sour overall? Maybe. It might as well just be the fact that I Just Don't Want To Be Online For A While, and capricious clown that I am, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don't want to do something, I don't do it. I'm tied to nothing and no one except my desire and drive to do or not do things. I can't change that, nor do I want to change that. And in this case, my heart's said to me, "fuck going online, go out, do things, try to get a job".

I also almost got recruited into something fucking vile that I thankfully noticed in time to avoid, but that's a story for another time.

There you have it. Am I leaving the internet/blue website forever? No, of course not, I like it here. Are things hard right now? They are, to be honest. Are they the worst it could be? Not at all. Do I have complete clarity of what's up with this fog inside of my head? No, and that bother me quite a bit. Are things going to be alright? Yeah, I think they will be.

I do regret it's in October of all months that this is going on, because it's where my shitposting power is at its apex due to my birthday, but hey, things happen, not necessarily for a reason, but they can be handled in such a way that it gives them meaning. I'm a fervent believer in that. I'm sorry this isn't the update you may have been hoping for, full of Lucina cosplayer blowjobs and other such hijinks, but hey, they can't all be Rainbow Road, haha.

So in case we don't see each other for a while, I hope you're all doing fine and dandy. I'm alive, I'm trying to be well, and most importantly, most fundamentally, most quintessentially,

I stay silly.

[achaotichuman]

Okay i know I just sent an ask but pls HEAR ME OUT🤚🏽

Imagine....Tamlin at his lowest right? Crap has hit the fan, he's feeling awful. He finds this baby toddler, who's parents couldn't afford to take care of her because...the court is in shambles which means 1-economy is crap 2-its not a safe place to live in, without a leader, the country is basically a hazard

He feels bad but like, he can't even take care of himself so how is he going to take care of a TODDLER, which is arguably one of the worst stages for children. So he just decides to feed her, and you know, give her clothes and a shelter. The Manor is literally in shambles and Tamlin is a hermit half the time so he's only going to see her what, once a day to you know, make sure she's alive?

But you know what they say, give a stray food and they'll keep coming back. The girl gets attached and she starts yapping all the time whenever he comes to meet her, at first Tamlin was surprised because he's used to literally everyone treating him like either broken China or the most horrible monster, not a normal male. So little by little they get closer. And she kind of fixes him in a way.

(I'm so sorry If this made no sense my first language isn't English and its so late rn😭. Ily🫶🏾)

Helloo!!

Don't ever hesitate to send me an ask, I love them, send me a thousand a day I will read them all!

Okay, I have to have a moment, because I love this fic idea so much. This is frankly beautiful and has the potential to be so angsty.

I love fics that explore Tamlin's internal monologue and showcase the image he has of himself, and I think this absolutely has the potential to do so. One of my favorite things to write about is the character's internal conflict and showing how what they think of themselves differs from how the world views them.

And this would be so perfectly encapsulated with the fresh perspective of the toddler. A little kid who only sees the kindness of a big adult giving them love and affection when they have just had that removed by their parents abandoning them. They are too young to understand complex ideas, so they don't understand that they have been abandoned or why, they don't understand how Tamlin is the High lord or what he's done before. They just see this parental figure and understand that they are giving them love.

Take that perspective and put it next to Tamlin's image of himself. How he is filled with self-loathing and feelings of unworthiness. Riddled with guilt for what he's done and thinking there is no one in the world who doesn't hate his guts, and you have a beautiful contrast that has the ability to turn into Tamlin slowly seeing that there is more to him that just his past actions and slowly started to rebuild himself, along with that his Court.

This is truly a beautiful idea, I absolutely adore fics that explore Tamlin learning to understand and heal himself. And having dad Tamlin fluff is always a bonus.

Thank you for the ask!! I really enjoyed this one!!

[stupidrant]

angrboda: how do three people in their early teens not have 300 hacksilvers between them?

atreus standing with thrud and skjoldr: they're-- the economy is in shambles.

we already know the cause for any and all economic issues *coughcoughodincoughcough* thrud the only one thats probably truly wealthy and old pimp probably fucked that up too in the background 😭😭

[heavensickness]

overheard a 9-10 year old girl in the supermarket saying "we bought this just last week, and it is more expensive now" in a very judgemental tone. The economy truly is in shambles

[raisinchallah]

the evil gay people economy is in free fall truly the state of our society that matt damon could play ripley gayer in 1999 than andrew scott could play it in 2024.... literally the economy is in shambles

[owchie-wowchie]

Paul: I truly go into housewife mode when I'm someone's soulmate- like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning.

Wilbur: This is a lie.

Wilbur: I'm literally dating them. This is a lie.

Wilbur: THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A PANCAKE, WHAT IS THIS.

Paul: I have feelings for you.

Wilbur: Why? What's wrong with you? Are you sure you're okay?

Wilbur: I was going to suggest we do Marilyn Monroe and JFK roleplay, but I’d get way too into it.

Paul: What- how?

Wilbur: You’d be like “come to bed … Mr. President” and I’d be like, “I need to increase the amount of American military advisors in South Vietnam by a factor of 18.”

Paul: That was so hot, Wilbur.

Wilbur: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenterate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.

Paul: I'm so in love with you.

Paul: Talk dirty to me~

Wilbur: Inflation is a serious problem and lumber prices are at a high.

Paul: Wha-

Wilbur: The economy is in shambles.

Wilbur: I think we should kiss.

Paul: And I think you should die but we don’t always get what we want.

Wilbur: Are you ready to commit?

Paul: Like, a crime or a relationship?

[byrdstrolls]

Meet-Cute

(teehee, wil and melina belong to @dirgelwch!!)

Wilmar Roheir was probably the worst person you could have picked to investigate this case. This is not said as a detriment, but as a disclaimer. He was excellent at reading people. He was good with hard, physical evidence. His mind was as sharp as it ever was in connecting dots and finding patterns. But his damning flaw would be his lack of experience with technology. The key strings and pieces that tied together each of Tyler’s victims were purely digital. The pattern in the victims was clear. They were all jadeblood women, aged 20-25. They had similar horns, facial features, sometimes even clothes. They were all unarmed, killed by gunfire. His first guess would be some kind of psychosocial obsession with replicating perhaps the first victim. The pathos was the easy part to understand. How the killer found them? 

Er, He had no idea. 

The deaths weren’t pinned down by any one location. The killer traveled long distances sporadically. There was no physical trail of evidence, no repeated character or place in any of their lives. They came from different caverns, towns, backgrounds. Their homes were never broken into, the front door left open as if inexplicably, each and every single woman let the killer in. Several even had more robust security systems that were deactivated seemingly by administrator. Perhaps the killer had some kind of voodoos that made them pliant, or allowed him to track them down all across the country. 

But maybe he didn’t need to know that. Maybe he didn’t need to understand the complex digital web Oswell had enclosed around Alternia. Maybe all he needed to know was the pattern, because it was predictable, because it was concise and never varied. Because just maybe, he could find a troll that fit the exact profile before the killer did, and simply cozy down in a stakeout and wait. It was something he had put on the backburner. The private investigator worked several cases at once, and the time consuming work of looking through records for a jade with a similar horn shape was something he’d sometimes just knock out 30-45 minutes of at the end of a long day. 

It had only been last week he had found one. A librarian, a two to three hour drive from here. He had made the trip, and had the difficult conversation with her that he suspected she might soon be targeted by a murderer. He had given her his contact information, and told her to call if she saw ‘anything suspicious. Anything suspicious at all’. Monday through Thursday, radio silence. Friday morning, the woman had rung him up to tell him she had gotten a strange text, threatening her with blackmail and demanding to meet up in person. Incredible, that it had happened so fast. He wasn’t sure if he could call it lucky or unlucky. Just a little chilling. Had he been even just a week later, this lady could have died. 

The blackmail explained their willingness to meet with the killer, at least a little. He buckled up and made the long drive down to this woman’s hive again. The trap that could be laid from there was idiot proof. Agreeing to meet with the killer, Wilmar could hide in a nearby closet or something, and simply pop out once the troll was in sight and subdue him. He sat down at the kitchen table, and with the woman drafted and sent a willing response. The dots on the other side of the screen danced for a moment, disappearing, and appearing again. 

[Haha okay] the killer says. [Just one question! I noticed you made a phone call at 10:21 earlier tonight :> Wondering what that was about <3]

Wil stared down at the phone. Wondering how the hell they knew what kind of calls she was making. 

[was talking with my hive cleaners] he answers. 

[Wowwwww that's funny because I ran a search on the number and it actually pops up for a private investigator firm. The economy truly is in shambles if you’ve got detectives vacuuming your rugs.]

[Irenie, do you pretty please promise, that when I show up at your hive you wont send out some kind of guy with a gun in a wig, right? Like you’re not that stupid. And neither am I. And I would kill you and leak your sensitive images anyways.] 

“What’s he saying?�� Asks the concerned Irenie to him from across the room, and he sighs, squinting at the phone keyboard. Not wanting to scare her. 

“More threats.” Wilmar answers, and that's not a complete lie, is it?

“Are you sure this is safe?” She asks. 

“I’ll be right here the whole time.” He answers, trying to compose another text. 

[I promise]

Simple and to the point. 

[And I’m just supposed to take you at your word?] The killer answers. 

[you asked.]

[More as a demeaning hypothetical to illustrate my knowledge more than anything.]

[it's only been a few hours. You really think a detective was able to make the trip all the way down here for a minor blackmailing threat? Those assholes didn’t send me anybody.]

[They’re still gonna be poking around once things are over.] 

[when things are ‘over’?] He answers. Two can play at the game of catching someone one out. The typing bubble appears again, and then disappears. 

[Yes, when our meeting is over. You’re gonna call them again.] He responds, barely skipping a beat. 

[can’t we just talk this out, like civil trolls? I don’t even know you. Why are you doing this to me] 

[I need something from you. It will only take a second.] 

[then get over here already] he pleads. [Whatever you want, you can have it. Don’t leak my images.] 

[If there's a detective there you’re both dead, do you understand?] 

[I understand. It’s just me. I won’t call them again.]

The bubble appears, and disappears again. 

[okay.] The killer says, finally. [see you.] 

Wilmar sets down the phone, pushing up his glasses, barely able to believe that worked. And then passively scolds himself for celebrating so early. The troll could still not show. But judging from how the killer had spoken, he seemed to be missing a key part of the puzzle, that he was already working with Irenie prior to the call this morning. 

The good thing about not working digitally, is that things like Wilmars initial drive out and verbal conversation with the woman months were invisible to him. No phone record. Perhaps the story he had spun about the agency not being able to send someone out this early and quickly seemed reasonable to Tyler. 

.

.

.

.

.

He was not sure what he expected when he climbed in between Irenie’s sweater, squeezing himself just barely into a closet in her living room. He left the door ever so slightly ajar, not wanting to break the woman's doorknob by kicking it out, lifted his pistol close to his chest, and hunkered down. 

“Can you see me?” He calls out. 

“No,” Irenie answers, wringing her hands. “You’re a big guy tho, it can’t be comfortable.” 

“I’ll manage.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want snacks, or anything?” She says. 

Wilmar pauses, blinking incredulously. Of course not. He needed his hands free, and the killer would be showing up in only about ten minutes. But he should not be harsh. People say all kinds of silly things when they’re scared. 

“I’m fine.” He answers. “But thank you.” 

The jadeblood paces back and forth, and Wil stares at the wooden grain of the door. 

The previous victims had not been large, but there often seemed to be some kind of struggle. Judging by the autopsies, the killer was not that skilled a shot, seeming to rely on being the only one with a gun and just shooting it repeatedly. Best case scenario, he manages to quickly disarm him. He wasn’t expecting a huge troll here. Trolls who kill for pleasure usually only use guns if they have no other choice, if they don't have a physical advantage that would allow them to overpower and spend more time with the victim. His first guess had been that the Killer was some kind of jade, or highblood government official, who would have access to a vast amount of records that would lead him into finding these women. He had guessed he was small. 

But, glancing as the troll walks in, he had not thought he would be that small, that sickly looking. Ding Ding for highblood, though, he thinks, catching a glimpse of what sure appears to be fuschia eyes through the crack of the door. The guy has a gun in one hand, and a photograph in the other. 

“Hi” Tyler says, and bizarrely, holds the photograph up seemingly to compare it with the victim's face. 

He could ponder the implications of this later. The troll was distracted. This was his moment. Wil slams open the door, and fires a shot out the window, having a triple purpose both to distract, scare, and warn the attacker. Tyler jumps, and then he just rushes him, hands closing down on the man’s weapon, and after a moment's struggle, wriggling it out of his grasp. He was small, but he was definitely spirited, scratching and biting and letting out several anguished noises. 

“Hey” Wil says sternly. He had two guns, what did this guy think he was accomplishing here? He winces as the guy’s nails dig into him, and resolves to just reach over, and grab the serial killer by the scruff of his hoodie, lifting him up like a disobedient kitten, and holding him just out of reach. 

“Hey” He repeats, a little more loudly. 

“Kill him!!” Irenie exclaims suddenly in a random twist of vengefulness.

“Calm down,” Wilmar says. “Both of you. He’s disarmed.” 

The woman stares for a moment, rouses, before smoothing out her dress. 

“Sorry.” She says flatly. “Got carried away.” 

“I will make your life hell,” Tyler says. “I will send every nsfw text you’ve ever sent to your employer if you don’t set me down right now. You have no idea who you’re messing with. I could destroy you with the click of a button!” 

“N-s-f-w?” Wilmar answers, completely sidestepping this threat by a simple way of not understanding acronyms. 

“If you kill or arrest me” He says. “You and everyone you love will regret it until the day you die.” Tyler threatens, having another fit of trying to attack him and failing. 

“Uh huh” Wilmar answers, unphased. “Shaking in my boots.” 

He turns back to Irenie. 

“I’m gonna head back to the office” He says, tilting his head at the redhead. “I’ll keep you updated.”

The little guy continues to try punching him, maybe even landing an odd blow but not having a lot of force behind them. Eventually, Wil wants this to not be his problem anymore enough that he grabs the man’s arms, flipping him over and handcuffing them behind his back. He’s smaller than him, but this still requires a little bit of force. Suddenly, he squints, glancing down at a spot on the troll's wrist where, for the lack of a better word, the color of the troll's skin has smudged ever so slightly, like a well set foundation.

 He is baffled for only half a second, but unfortunately for Tyler, he has already met one of his kind before. This case only gets more confusing as it goes. The last thing on Alternia he expected was a human serial killer. Against his will, enough of a vague sense of pity encapsulates him that he decides not to inform Irenie of this discovery. 

“Are you gonna kill him there?” Irenie asks. 

“We’ll figure it out once we get there,” Wilmar answers. 

Tyler suddenly pauses his wriggling. 

“My photograph!” The alien insists suddenly. “Grab my photograph! I won’t leave without it!” He says, as if he still has any kind of choice in the matter.  

Irenie, possessed by curiosity, starts to walk over towards where the thing had dropped on the floor. 

“Stay back bitch!” The human insists, kicking his legs in the way, trying to drag the polaroid back near him with his feet to varying degrees of success. 

“I got it,” Wilmar says, leaning down to pick up the thing.

In the half a second he does not have a hand on him, Tyler immediately sprints for the door, only to be tripped by Irenie putting out her leg to trip him. Wil sighs. 

“Are you gonna be like this the whole way?” He says, pocketing the photograph. Tyler does not answer, only glaring daggers with his vibrant, sunken eyes, and Wil picks him up off the floor and throws him over his shoulder. It was probably going to be a long two and half hour drive. 

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By the time they got to the office, the murderer had changed his tune. In an almost ridiculous one eighty, Tyler had turned into a picture of politeness and kind hearted restraint perhaps in the hopes of sucking up enough to get out of this whole thing. He could easily tell he was lying with his pssionics, but he might not have needed them even with how the human was acting. Chronically online was not a term that was in Wilmar’s vocabulary nor sphere of reference, but he was able to surmise that the man’s social skills were sorely lacking. 

“Mr. Detective” Tyler says, as he had suddenly taken to calling him mid car ride. “This is all a big misunderstanding.” 

“How so?” He says, flipping through his desk for the paperwork he needed to finish filing this case. 

“You hunt murderers- that's the same thing I do! We’re on the same side, really.” Oswell insists, tilting his head. 

Suddenly, Wilmar pauses. Confusingly, the alien appeared to be telling the truth, or at the very least, he believed he was telling the truth. 

“What did 30-40 unrelated jadeblood women ever do to you?” He asks. 

“They- Mr Detective, one of them killed someone close to me. I’m just trying to figure out who.” 

Wil pulls the photo out of his pocket, the pieces sliding together, Tyler freezes as he stares down at the picture. Perhaps the human had just recalled his very not troll mother was clearly in frame. 

“This lady?” Wilmar says, pointing at Taylor,  taking the whole alien thing so nonchalantly it confused him. There is a long pause before he answers. 

“Yes,” Tyler says slowly. 

“So you’re looking for this woman” He says. “Trying to find this murderer, and just… killing every single woman with a vague resemblance to her just in case?” 

The Alien does not answer. 

“I am sorry to break it to you,” Wilmar says. “But that is not even remotely close to anything I do as a detective.” 

“Not even a little bit?” 

The cerulean cusp sighs, touching the bridge of his nose, trying to think of how to handle this. He couldn’t give him over to law enforcement, he’d immediately be culled. But he couldn’t just let him run around massacring people either. He continues to shuffle through his papers, thinking. 

“Okay” He says, straightening a pile of reports by taping it on the desk. “How about this? I let you go, you stop murdering people, and I take on this case and find this woman’s killer for you.”

Perhaps forgetting he was supposed to be being charismatic and demure, Tyler Oswell laughs out loud. 

“Are you deranged?” He says. “Are you stupid? Is it crack that you smoke? I have been looking since I was thirteen years old. I have an entire galactic empire to search and the hunt has consumed me for half a decade. You think you can just FIND the troll that murdered my parents? You think you can just FIND them???” He says. Then, he finally seems to recall he wants to leave this place, and get out of here consequence free. 

“I mean,” he says. “You must be very good at your job, Mr. Detective. Sure, that deal seems fair to me.” 

Wil squints back at him, and then exhales. “Alright” He says. “I still have some things I need to file regarding this. Wait out front and I’ll be there in just a second.” 

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It does not take long lingering in the lobby for Tyler to figure out he’s being watched. A minor debate happens in his mind on whether or not to turn his head and notify whoever was across the way he had noticed, out of fear of both violence and awkwardness. Eventually, in a series of slow, hopefully natural looking movements, he shifts his sight far enough that direction to notice the other troll in the room. 

She was a woman, standing calmly across the way in a long Victorian gown. She had long, platinum white hair that curled where it fell on her collarbone. Wasn’t that an unusual color for trolls? His mind went immediately to his own redheadedness, and then quickly dismissed the comparison as silly, but a misplaced feeling of solidarity did not fade. She was dressed modestly, which he liked. She had a smile that well, could not quite be called serene but there was something distant about it. She was taller than him, by at least four to five inches, and he could not decide whether this upset him or not. With a careful unease, the thought crossed his mind that, between a gender segregated boarding school, and male juvenile detention center on earth, and never leaving his hive on Alternia, Tyler had not really had a lot of chances to have more than passing conversations with women since he was young. His gaze slid away from her to the floor, suddenly frustrated by this. 

“Hi,” He says. “Are you the like, secretary?” Coming out swinging with a misplaced sexism that his teachers in Edinburgh would have been proud of but only confused Melina. 

“The what?” She answers. 

“You know, the lady up front who answers calls and does paperwork” he describes. 

For an elongated moment, the troll simply stares at him blankly. 

He begins to feel uncomfortable, suddenly. Knowing that this alien did not have the background on complicated gender dynamics of earth to understand that what he said had been demeaning, but inside some hidden part of him he was unwilling to admit, he knew its implications. 

“No.” She answers, finally, continuing to flash that smile. 

“Sorry” he says nonchalantly. “I haven’t talked to a girl in years.” 

“Ah” She answers. “That’s alright.” The troll takes a step or two closer.“My name is Melina,” She says. “What’s your’s, if you’re willing to share?”

Comforted by the familiarity of her politeness, he relaxes a little.

“I’m Tyler Oswell” He says, offering a small half smile. “It’s nice to know some people still have manners” He remarks, as if he himself had not just been asking Wilmar if he smokes crack and threatening to leak his nudes not so long ago. 

“I’ve known one of your kind before” She says, regarding him with an intense and possessed curiosity in her eyes. 

“You have?” He asks, made only mildly self conscious by it, curious as well. 

Suddenly, a darkness flashes across her gaze, as if remembering something unpleasant, or maybe painful. 

“Yes” She answers. “I didn’t know there were more of you around” She says, artfully sidestepping a deeper explanation regarding Vinh, the playfulness returning to her gaze. “Why are you handcuffed?” 

“Silly reasons” he dismisses, turning his hands in the cuffs. Suddenly, he is taken by a bizarre desire to do something impressive. 

“Wanna see a trick I learned in earth juvie?” He says. 

“Earth what?” She answers. 

He does not answer, instead deciding to put extravagant amounts of effort into trying to shim the cuff’s Wilmar had put on him, and frustratedly not being able to manage it. The more Melina gazed as this bizarre looking behavior with confusion, the more frantic he became, pushing his knuckles together more and more forcefully, until, with a tiny, upsetting little crack, he is able to pull his hands from the cuffs, having severely cut into his index finger. 

“Are you alright?” Melina asks. 

“I’m fine” he answers, blinking back tears.

She stares at him for a moment. 

“I’ll grab a bandage” She says, “The denizens of Earth Juvie do not appear to be as reliable a teacher as you imply them to be.” She says. 

“It’s- that barely hurt” he insists. But Melina does not seem to entertain this response, returning with a small bandage anyways. He winced as the purpleblood carefully cleaned and wrapped the wound. She lingered perhaps just a little bit too long at the sight of his bright red, human blood, which upset him. 

“Why are you here if you don’t work here? Also under arrest?” He asks. 

“No,” She says, with a slight tilt of her head. “I’m friends with one of the detectives.”

“The blue one?” Tyler says. 

“Do you mean Wilmar…?” Melina replies, ever so slightly confused. 

“Never asked his name” The human replies. “Is he blue?” 

“You may not know this, as an alien” Mel answers. “But that’s a strange way to refer to someone's blood color. Blue encompasses several castes.”

Yes or no question! He wants to retort. But in a remarkable show of restraint and slightly condescending ‘respect’ for women, an earth specialty that regarded the other gender as much too fragile for such things, he does not. 

“Sorry.” He says. “I couldn’t tell which.” 

“My friend is an indigo cerulean cusp,” She says. 

“That would explain it.” He says, slightly unhappy she was close with the man, Tyler did not have any real fondness for him.

“Have you been on Alternia long?” She asks. “How are you finding it?” 

“Pshh” He mutters. “Not very long” he lies. It has been five years. But he doesn’t want to tell her that, because it would make his cultural blunders harder to justify. 

“I could show you around,” She says. “If you’d like.” And then she pauses. “Perhaps also help you with a better disguise” She says. 

It’s not the first time someone had told him that, but the way she quietly sidesteps outright remarking on his stupidity pleases him. He glances back at Wilmar’s office. 

“I don’t know how long this will take.” he says, lifting up his left hand and glancing at the one cuff still attached, the other swinging below it. He pauses. Contemplating just dipping from here as he had many times attempted to do earlier. But, he did not feel altogether mentally prepared for an outing the likes of which Melina had described. It felt like the kind of thing he needed at least a day to convince himself to do at least. 

“Could I have your number?” He asks, pulling out his phone. “And maybe we could meet up some other time?” 

“Sure,” Melina says, taking out her phone as well to recite it to the strange little man. 

Tyler Oswell constructed the first non-murder victim phone contact he had made in years, writing down Melina’s name and number. The conversation was more friendly and curious than everything, but by the time made it home for the day he had already retroactively decided and imagined he had been quite suave.