#uh i mighta made this post already. if i did. Sorry :)

[eclysia]

remember when i said mido never got any visual comparisons given to him? i lied. he was compared to the onceler

[believerindaydreams]

oh this got away from me

...*dang* it I swear that whenever I specifically say “no I ain’t gonna fic that” my subconscious goes right ahead and cooks up a story for me. (This is what I get for napping after reblogging all those Eastwood pics huh.)

Albeit, this is Rawhide through the lens of the 70s GBU filter, so uh....what can I say, I don’t like Gil Favor. I do like how that dynamic works with the distinctly screwed-up nature of 70s Blondie though. 

Retrospectively, mind. Post-canon fic, sometime during the trio’s first Christmas together. 

It’s a crazy thing the way he and Blondie have swapped off, Tuco thinks. Wishes for what seems like the hundredth time that he could wipe the sweat and snow off his face- it doesn’t seem fair, to get both at once. But even the small end of this pine tree is heavy and walking backwards is tricky, he doesn’t want to drop it. 

“Careful now,” Blondie says heartily. “We’re almost at the door.”

His partner’s beaming, pink-faced. Blondie’s taking a deep and lively pleasure in the seasonal festivities, boisterously enthusiastic about every snow-dappled tradition, while he’s been wearying his soul out for warmth and dust-strewn Texas roads. Tuco balances the tree on his shoulder, fumbles for the doorknob-

“You two are the height of absurdity.” Angel Eyes opens the door wide, placing one black-gloved hand on his shoulder to guide him inside. Hearing that wry familiar bewilderment, maybe it still doesn’t make it all worth it. 

Goes some ways, though. 

“Or I am,” Blondie says ruefully, as they wrestle the tree into the gatehouse’s blessed heat. “Mighta kept Tuco out too long- but I wanted this to be just right. A surprise for you, Angel.” 

“Why wouldn’t you think I’d want to be along to pick it?”

“Because there’s so little you’re willing to accept as a surprise,” Blondie points out. “A Christmas tree two days ahead of schedule, that seemed like it’d fit the bill nicely.”

“...that’s very nearly exasperating, if accurate,” Angel Eyes says. Genuine pleasure somewhere in there under the annoyance, and it makes Tuco feel a little lonely to hear it. Not feeling at home here of all places, that’s not right. 

“One, two, three- there we go,” Blondie says, sliding the tree into the holder with seemingly effortless enthusiasm. “Now I’ll brush the snow off, so it won’t get over the floor, then we can start decorating.”

“Blondie, can we- what if we put that off until tomorrow? Only I’m tired.” Tuco pulls off his jacket, dives deep underneath their knit sofa throw. 

“I’m sorry,” Blondie says, a little awkwardly. “I thought you’d be having more fun.” 

“Oh, it was all right at the start- but three hours walking! Santa Maria, you never know when to leave off.” 

“Well. It had to be the right tree, for Angel,” Blondie says, chin set with a charming determination. 

“...yeah, yeah, fair enough.” In response to Angel’s questioning look, he nods in quick reassurance- there’s nothing really wrong with him, besides exhaustion and maybe a little homesickness. “Maybe I’ll just have a quick nap, you two can get on with things.”

Angel balances himself carefully on the sofa arm, concern etched across his features. “If that’s what you need, by all means. Though I’m surprised you don’t want even a bowl of soup first.”

“Is it that late already?”

“Four hours walking, if I’m not much mistaken,” Angel says. Throws Blondie a dirty look. 

“In my defense, somebody insisted on chopping down a whole tree by himself just to prove that he wasn’t such a city slicker.”

“And who was teasing me about that, huh? Somebody who was happy just to stand around smoking cigarillos while I was busy working, that’s who-”

“I was hoping the woodchopping might- help cheer you up,” Blondie says hesitantly, sliding down besides him on the floor. “Last time you were this down-at-mouth during Christmas was Pennsylvania.”

“It wasn’t. That was Christmas before last, when you were so sick and I was- I was scared I’d lose you. That was much worse.” Not that he would have asked to be reminded of, but the thought helps put things in perspective. A little sadness tonight is nothing like that harsh, gripping terror, gracias a Dios.

“...it all seemed more cheerful from my perspective- chalk it up to the fever, I suppose,” Blondie says. He sounds a little quizzical. 

“Anyway, what was so wrong with Pennsylvania? It all ended happily. My cousin thought it was a riot.” 

“Happily? I’ve still got a warrant out!”

“So what? You’ve got one in Florida, too-”

“One story at a time,” Angel Eyes decrees, handing each of them a bowl of thick orange soup. “What’s this about a cousin, Tuco?”

“I mean I have one. Six of them, at that- what, did you think it was just me and Pablo? It’s a Catholic family.”

“So was mine,” Angel Eyes observes. 

“...not to be rude or anything, but your family, that wasn’t what anyone would call normal,” Tuco says delicately. He spoons down piping hot mouthfuls, faintly puzzled by the flavour- it isn’t anything quite like what Angel’s made before. “It’s not everyone who’s brought up by an assassin lady.”

The twist of pleasure to his lover’s mouth, he lives for moments like that. 

“What even was his name?” Blondie asks. “The number of ‘em he had, you think I’d be able to remember one...”

“I bet you remember Gil Favor though, eh?”

“You’re not going to be happy until Angel hears the whole stupid tale, are you,” Blondie mutters. “It’s not- god above, he doesn’t want to hear about my rebound.”

“We had to do something after Louisiana,” Tuco says impishly. “And it felt like a good idea to do something different- so we treated ourselves a little, spent my savings on a slow trip north. See, my cousin was working in a meatpacking plant, he always said he could get us in whenever we wanted a job- it seemed like a good time to take up the offer.”

“I didn’t believe him,” Blondie confesses. “Or- more like, didn’t want to believe it. Not my Tuco.”

“Not either of you, I’d have thought,” Angel says rather curiously. “You’re neither of you especially suited for violence.”

“...maybe I wanted to get the knack, in case you caught up with me again,” Blondie mutters. 

“Oh, is that why you- oh,” Tuco says. “Huh. Blondie was working with the live cows, I was mostly mopping and moving boxes, clean work like that. It was hard work though, I didn’t like it. Too cold. And nobody liked the way my cousin had pushed for me to get a cushy job, they said it wasn’t fair.”

“I had a punch-up with two guys who tried to lock him in a freezer the first week,” Blondie says heavily. “Brought me to the attention of the line manager. I figured he was gonna fire me, so I got a little cocky- Tuco could tell you how that goes, when I haven’t got anything to lose.”

“He hardly needs to. I was watching it for months, if you’ll recall.” 

“It’s sexy,” Tuco says, grinning. “I used to like watching him get fired.”

“Yeah. That sure never helped with us trying to settle down...okay. So I told the man what happened, figured I’d take my medicine for it, only Favor seemed to like it. Said I was spirited.”

“And one two three, next thing you know he’s fucking the boss,” Tuco says, licking his spoon. “They had a lot in common, actually- Favor had crazy dreams too. He wanted to be a cowboy like nobody’s business, but he had two daughters and an old aunt to look after.” 

“Lucky thing I had you,” Blondie says, looking up at him fondly. “Never got tempted to leave hostages to fortune like that.”

“Penny.”

“Penny didn’t want kids either, we’d agreed to that on the first date. Funny thing about that, actually-” 

“Blooooondie. Stop getting distracted.” 

“I’m not making you explain your last partner to Angel, am I?” Blondie gets up, holds his hand out for Tuco’s empty bowl. 

“But I already told him abut Trixie! He knows that story.”

“I should have seen that coming, huh.” 

“I’d say so,” Angel agrees, lightly sipping at his soup. “Keep going.” 

“Okay, well...it wasn’t the worst setup, or not for me. Course everybody else at the plant hated me playing suck-up, but I felt sorry for the man being so isolated. Or as sorry as I could be, for a complete kook. Had all these crazy notions about how the Confederacy was doomed from the start, because they’d all missed their chance supporting an independent Texan state.”

“Yeah. Lots of great ideas about how all the slave holders should have moved there and invaded Mexico,” Tuco says, rolling his eyes. “They used to chat about it in the office with the door wide open, anybody could hear them.” 

“It paid for a nicer apartment than we’d ever had before.” 

“And I hated it. And Pennsylvania. And Favor- I didn’t like the way he said his wife didn’t matter, just because they were separated. Or the way my partner doted on him,” Tuco says, cautiously taking the bowl from Blondie’s hands. “I mean, I guess a lot of that was Blondie missing you, I get that now, but he sure wanted me to be jealous of him for something and I was.” 

“What? That’s not how I thought- I mean, he was right that it was a short-term proposition. His wife did come back.” 

“In December, because it was Christmas and she missed her kids,” Tuco says. “I felt sorry for her. She’d run off to the big city, tried to make it on her own- if I’d known where she was I’d have tried to help her. But nobody knew where she was.” 

“When she did come back, I was in bed with Favor,” Blondie says. “I won’t say it was the most awkward thing that’s ever happened to me, Angel Eyes, but all the rest have involved you.” 

“Tell Angel what he said,” Tuco says, snickering. “Just tell him.” 

“...he looks across the blankets at his wife,” Blondie says. “And he looks at me, and he says as nice as you please, ‘Rowdy’- I was going by Rowdy-” 

“That I hated worst of all, the name. You know how Blondie gets into a part, well- you never saw anybody so wholesome!”

“He says ‘Rowdy, this is my wife Janice, and I think you two would get along’. And there I am with my shirt off and my ass bare,” Blondie says, sprinkling pepper on his soup. “Saying to myself, how the hell did I work so hard getting out of one disaster of a threesome just to end up in somebody else’s? So I excused myself, put my pants on and went home.” 

“...we had a pretty good fuck that night. After I stopped laughing at him.” 

“Tuco, why were you putting up with this?”

“You never saw Blondie dressed up as a cowboy,” Tuco says cheerfully. “Let me tell you, he’s pretty hot that way. We got a nice routine together at lunchtime- first he’d be with Favor in his office, and I’d be watching through the keyhole, then Favor would hurry off to do his three-martini deal or whatever it was that gave him such rotten ulcers- and then Blondie would let me in and I’d fuck him again, it was great.” 

“Yeah. Actually getting any lunch started to be a problem.” 

“Fucking an adulterous Confederate maniac, and he thought eating lunch was his big problem,” Tuco retorts. 

“...I’m at a complete loss now, whether you were enjoying this or not.” 

“I was and I wasn’t, you know? It’s complicated. It got more complicated when Janice said she’d fallen in love with Blondie- she said he was such a gentleman, and I figured with her husband anybody would look like one."

“She came to the plant to apologise to me for interrupting, of all things, and, uh, I was just trying to finish my lunch and before the hour was over she was trying to kiss me,” Blondie says. “Which is right about when I decided we should make tracks.” 

“So I skipped out on work that afternoon and went home to pack and get the car ready and everything. Somebody has to think of this stuff.” 

“And then...oh god,” Blondie says, and starts to laugh with helpless hilarity. 

“To think I played poker with you,” Tuco says, clicking his tongue. “We got to work the next morning, only the plant was still locked up tight- that was one of Favor’s jobs, he’d never give anybody else the keys. The whole herd of cows was milling around outside, and he was in the middle of them on a big white charger.”  

“And he says, god help us all, that he’s going to ride herd on them all the way to Texas, and anybody from the plant who wants to sign up as a trail hand is welcome to do so. And he wants me along as ramrod- are you all right?” 

“...perfectly fine,” Angel promises. Once Tuco’s patted him on the back a few times and he’s stopped choking. “Pray continue.” 

“Yeah. So. I asked him, isn’t it stealing to take these cattle from the plant, and he says no, he’s paid his life savings to buy this herd and by god he’s going to take them to a Western range, blah blah blah- did I mention he’s got his full cowboy fetish gear on? He has.” 

“His wife’s loaded up their pickup truck,” Tuco says. “It’s all packed, the kids are in it, even the old aunt. So when I saw that I knew it was serious business.”

“She was trying to reason with him,” Blondie says. “Hollering at him to please calm down, talk about this sensibly, and he whipped out a set of pistols and said he’d get the whole herd to Texas just to spite her if nothing else...anyway I figured I’d better humour him some,” Blondie says. “So I put on the vest, and the hat, and everything-” 

“I wanted to kiss him like that. But I didn’t want a bullet through my heart either- but I thought of something.”

“He taps my foot when I’m getting on the horse,” Blondie says. “And whispers to me to, um, get Favor away from the cattle...one more round in the office, for old time’s sake. I, uh, might have promised him something about a whip and a set of spurs.” 

“So they go in and when they come out, poof! All the cattle are gone,” Tuco says. “The whole lot. But the field’s a mess- you ever seen how fast a good butcher can turn a cow into hamburger? A lot of poor people in Philly got a lot of free steaks that day, they thought it was a Christmas miracle.” 

“...that was you? The Philadelphia fiasco? That made national headlines.”

“He’s fun like that,” Tuco says fondly, finishing off the soup in amused contentment. No malaise could hold up against a story like that; or not his, anyway. 

“And I had no idea what to say,” Blondie says. “So I just mumbled something about huh, they must have already started the drive without us...and he just broke down and started to cry like a little kid. He was still crying when the cops showed up and dragged him off for inciting a riot- and I wouldn’t have got out of it, only Tuco’s cousin had paid off the cops. Apparently he’d had his eye on Favor’s job for a long time, had been sort of chafing at the bit because he hadn’t been able to get the owners to notice him. They noticed him after that.” 

“And what of Janice?”

“Married my cousin and settled down very happily,” Tuco says. “Tell you the truth, I don’t know if Favor came up with that whole scheme himself, or if it was something they put into his head to try...but they never went after anybody for stealing all that cattle. And it was her money, so there wasn’t anything to be done about it. He hasn’t shown his face in Philly since, I hear.” 

“...I thought it was a shame, kinda,” Blondie says wistfully. “If there’d been any cattle when we’d come out, if we’d had a lot of city-worn men willing to ride out to somewhere better- but I guess I should have known. A man who couldn’t keep the respect of his men at work wasn’t going to be able to sell them on a dream.” 

“Would you really have gone for that?” Angel inquires. “If they had?”

“Hell, why not? Gil wasn’t a bad lay, and Janice was a looker, and with Tuco along I might have given that proposition a shot-”

“If you think I’d have followed some jumped-up racist like that, you’ve got another think coming.” 

“Oh. Then, never.” 

Like the four-hour hunt for a tree, it’s maybe not the most orthodox way for Blondie to say he loves them; but that’s what it means. Tuco leans down, tousles his partner’s hair affectionately. 

“Angel,” Blondie says. “You’re looking pensive.” 

“...all this time I’ve been perfectly convinced I always had the upper hand over you two,” Angel says. “To need to ponder whether my expertise is capable of surmounting your capacity for chaos is...an intriguing question. Possibly even an alarming one.” 

Which is Angel’s way of expressing affection. 

“You two idiots, I love you to death,” Tuco murmurs. 

Feeling very glad, that one of them can say it. 

[turtle-steverogers]

Coffee Ice Cream

Ship: Platonic Ralbert, platonic Sprace

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m sorry I’m posting so much today, I kinda just had a lot of ideas and decided to write em so here we are.

“I’m gonna make coffee ice cream,” Race declared, entering the apartment and placing a shopping bag on the kitchen counter.

Albert looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrows, “You’re gonna make coffee ice cream? Have you ever made ice cream before? Do you even like coffee?”

Race paused for a moment, before answering, “Yes, to your first question, no, to your second, and no, to your third.”

Albert opened and closed his mouth a couple times before saying, “So you’re gonna- wait so, why the hell are you making coffee ice cream if you don’t like coffee?”

Race shifted from foot to foot for a second, before saying sheepishly, “I don’t have a good answer to that. C’mon why are you even questioning this? You’re supposed to be my impulse catalyst, not control.”

Albert laughed and put his phone in his pocket, “Okay, I’ll hop off your dick. You got a recipe?”

“Do I ever?” Race asked, pulling a gallon of cream out of the shopping bag.

“No, I guess not. Okay, so what do you think we should do first?”

Race squinted around at the various ingredients he had purchased. Salt, cream, coffee grounds, a chocolate bar, marshmallows, sugar, and plastic bags were scattered across the counter. He hesitantly reached out to grab the coffee grounds and handed them to Albert.

“Here, make some coffee. If I remember correctly from third grade science, we need to put everything in a plastic bag, then put that plastic bag in another filled with ice and salt and throw it around.”

Albert scoffed, but got to work making the coffee nonetheless. Race added the cream, sugar, chocolate, marshmallows, and a pinch of salt to one of the bags. A moment later, Albert pulled the boiling pot of coffee off it’s heater.

“Do I just...pour it straight in? While it’s boiling?” Albert asked, hovering beside Race.

“Uh, yes? I guess?” Albert shrugged and poured the hot liquid in with the rest of the concoction. Race zipped it closed and waited while Albert put a good amount of ice and salt into another bag. Once finished, Race carefully put the ice cream bag into the other, then secured the ice bag.

“So now we toss it?” Albert took the bag from Race.

“Yeah, let’s go to the living room, though,” Race said, already walking away from Albert.

“If this explodes everywhere, I’m dipping and saying it’s your fault. I’m not about to face Spot when he’s mad that his couch is ruined.”

Race turned and frowned, “What a friend you are.”

Albert smiled and held out his hands, gesturing for Race to toss the bag. Race threw it underhand to him and he easily caught it. They quickly found a rhythm and soon, Albert could feel the ice cream mix solidifying.

“Dude,” He said, excitedly, “I think it’s working!”

As he tossed back to Race, the apartment door opened and Spot came in. He paused with his hand still on the doorknob as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Oh, hey, Spot,” Race greeted as he caught the bag, “We were just-“

Spot held up a hand and shook his head, “I don’t wanna know. Just don’t ruin my couch.”

Albert whipped his head to Race, “I told you so.”

Race pursed his lips, “We all know that Spot loves his couch more than me.”

Spot didn’t answer, but Albert and Race could hear him laughing as he walked towards the kitchen to find a snack.

They tossed the bag back and forth for another ten minutes, “Okay, I think it’s done,” Race said, poking at the ice cream. They excitedly ran to the kitchen, where Spot was now seated at the counter, eating cereal.

“What is that?” He asked around a mouthful of honey nut cheerios.

“Oh, now he wants to know,” Race said, taking out a large bowl while Albert took the ice cream bag out of the ice bag, “We made coffee ice cream.”

“You don’t like coffee,” Spot said, scrunching his face in confusion.

“I know,” Race said, simply, as he spooned the ice cream into the bowl.

“You confuse me,” Spot said, then turned to Albert, “Why’d you let this happen?”

“You weren’t around to stop us,” Albert said, matter-of-factly, opening a drawer and taking out three spoons. He gave one to Race and offered the other to Spot, who shrugged and took it.

They all scooped up generous spoonfuls, “Alright, on three,” Race said, “One, two, three!”

It was quiet for a moment as the three boys ate the creamy mixture, then Albert and Race started to laugh, Spot joining in a moment later.

“I think you two mighta actually done something right for once,” Spot said, taking another spoonful, “This is actually really good and the marshmallows are a nice touch. What recipe did you use?”

Race was practically glowing, “We didn’t follow a recipe. It’s a DaSilva-Higgins special.”

Albert nodded as he, too, took another bite, “This was all us.”

Race put his spoon down, “I still hate coffee, though.”

TAG LIST:

@bencookisagod

@we-dont-sell-papes

[chuckling-chemist]

A Pleasant Meet

((Don’t mind me​, only reposting this piece since I made some adjustments to it before I put it on Writscrib, and with Writscrib unfortunately ending well...guess this is my only platform again. As such, the original version of this has been deleted since I honestly couldn’t tell you where the edits were made and it’s a solid ~6000 words. This was originally written about 2 years ago, so if it feels like it, that’s why. Also I do apologise that the read more doesn't work on mobile app. I added the long post tag but that's all I can do))

Pallia expected a lot of things today. It was the last day of the summer festivities - the three perigees that made the weather feel unbearable even at the dead of night - so there was sure to be more drinking and partying than she particularly enjoyed. She anticipated plenty of injuries and a few fights, but not many trolls would stop by unless something life threatening happened. If that was the case, it would likely be a low or midblood stopping in, barely putting pressure on whatever wound they had or with a friend carrying them in a panic. She was used to most of them being perturbed by her habits and reputation of outlaws coming in for a spin. For all she knew, they thought she was a former outlaw herself. Which she supposed she was.

Or it would be one of the outlaws or pirates to run in, as they were far more wont to do, a knife or a broken sword piece shoved somewhere where it shouldn't be. All the pirates already knew each other and were likely aware by this point that her hive was a neutral zone. Nor were they put off by all the rumors of her being a necrophiliac or witch doctor that inevitably float around when you use dead bodies for experimentation. Word travels fast. She wasn't even sure how so many of them found out about her.

So she wasn't terribly surprised when she got two sharp knocks on her lab door and Aisral entered, thankfully making plenty of noise so Pallia was actually aware of her presence. Nor was she surprised when Aisral said Mayola, a fuchsiablood, had been in the front room for a full five minutes and had been trying to get Pallia's attention before starting to pester Aisral on Trollian. And with Aisral in the middle of making a unitard that doubled as a cloaking device, she was not happy with the interruption. So with a quick apology to Aisral, she swiftly took off her prescription goggles and replaced them with half-moon glasses to run out and see what Mayola needed. That was where the unexpected thing happened.

Mayola herself seemed fine. She was currently leaning on the wall, arms crossed and fins flared out. A scowl was evident on her face. On the table in the front room laid some sort of seadweller body, dressed in a black overcoat, though they couldn't have been comfortable. She had to figure at least a foot of them hung off the table. "Couldn' take more time, could ya short stuff?" Mayola asked irritably.

"Sorry! I had an accident recently and --"

"Yeah, yeah. Don' care," Mayola said, waving a hand dismissively. As she spoke, her fins seemed to be retracting. "Didn' come for me, anyhow." She pointed to the table.

"FLARP? Again?" Pallia asked sharply. It wouldn't be after the first time after all and as much as she liked Mayola, the troll had a tendency to forget her own strength.

"Nah, found 'em at the festival. Nearly stepped on the fucker had it not been for Eeks!" Mayola said.

Pallia nodded, all other thoughts gone, and crouched next to the body, doing a quick observation. They - no, they seemed to be he - was a gaunt violetblood swimming in a black overcoat with violet trim. Underneath the overcoat was a full suit with a violet bow tie and a rather filled looking leather messenger bag crossed his torso. His fins were large and drooping, the tops even curling downwards. Dark purple circles surrounded his eyes. Pallia gingerly took an arm that was hanging off the side of the table, rolled up the sleeve just enough to reveal a bony wrist and checked for a pulse.

"So?" Mayola asked.

"He's alive," Pallia said. "Do you know him? I can't imagine there's many seadwellers in this area."

"There ain't. Me and the princess. Oh, and Niehea? No dudes though." She shrugged. "And 's the first time I've seen 'em. Doubt the fucker's from here, else he mighta not been in such a heavyass coat." Mayola pushed herself off the wall and headed towards the door.

Pallia frowned. "Heading out?"

"'Course. Gotta reputation to hold up for bein' an asshole...and I'm needed for some fineass drinkin'," she said. With a final wave, she added, "I'm out, short stuff."

And so that left Pallia with the mystery violetblood. If she had to take a guess, he was probably dehydrated. She could hook him up to an IV, but she would have to move him to one of the side rooms, and while he couldn't be heavy, she was still only five feet tall while he was...well, taller. Nor did she want to move the IV to a room where strangers could see it. Witch doctors no one wanted to mess with, but real scientists might draw unwanted attention of a purple variety. She could theoretically feed water by pouring it, but when the patient is passed out, that could be dangerous. So logically, the easiest step at this moment was to wake him up and just grab a bottled water from the mini fridge underneath her counter space. Something that thankfully, she could easily do without arousing suspicion.

Without another thought, Pallia slowly ran a finger down the gills along his neck.

The result was immediate. The violetblood's eyes shot open and she darted towards the fridge to grab a water. She had learned from more than a few times of waking up pirates that they never took kindly to being woken up, even if it was from fainting. He didn't. He didn't even move. Had it not been for the fact Pallia had just woken him up, she probably would've assumed he wasn't awake.

Finally, as she was heading back to the table to give him the water, he slowly sat and said something Pallia couldn't decipher.

"So…how're you feeling?" Pallia asked.

"You must not have heard me. I said I feel terrible," the violetblood said, turning his head towards her. His voice sounded posh, something she didn't surprise her, but far from unfriendly, at least in her mind. Then again, after Mayola's faux-lowblood accent, anything sounded posh yet outwardly friendly. "Sorry, I must not have adjusted to how sound is on air."

She shook her head. "No, I'm sure you were fine." She crouched back next to him and handed the water. "This should help make you feel better."

"Water? This is not because I am a seadweller, is it?" He shook his head. "No, no. That sounds bad. I merely wish to assure you are not just concerned that I should return to the ocean immediately."

"Hm?" Pallia cocked her head to the side, processing what he said. "Oh no! You're dehydrated."

The violetblood blinked several times. "No, no. I am feeling perfectly alright. It was probably just another fainting spell...possibly an anxiety attack." He stopped to hold up a shaky hand to his face and gently returned it to his side. "I just need sleep, I assure you."

"Your fins are drooping and you're wearing, like four layers on a hot night. You need water," Pallia said.

"Excuse me?"

She sighed. "You don't know? Have you ever been out of the water?"

"I just fail to see how a landdweller would know such a thing when you do not even have fins. Er...no offense. Was that offensive?" The seadweller was pointedly avoiding eye contact as he spoke, seeming to find more interest in his fingers.

"You're not the first seadweller that's had this problem."

"Fainting spells?"

"Dehydration. It's pretty common with seadwellers coming up to the area, expecting it to be cold when it's really hot and humid," she said matter-of-factly.

"...Oh."

Pallia reached up to touch one of the fins again, just to push the curl up. The violetblood let out a sharp gasp and his head suddenly turned towards her. A hand went to push her own away, but she had already pulled away, face flushed.

"Don't!" he exclaimed, eyes wide and a faint tint of violet on his face. "Oh dear. Apologies, I did not mean to snap. That is just…" his voice trailed off and he looked back away from her to his fingers instead, "sensitive, so to speak. For most, anyway. And I am not above the natural law of seadwellers to be an exception to that rule."

"It is? I didn't know that," Pallia said.

"You did not? I would have suspected you did, considering what you were talking about earlier," the violetblood said.

"Nope! No mentions in any readings I've done, any seadwellers I need to wake up I touch their gills not their fins, and the only seadweller I really ever have to service normally isn't in too much harm physically. She's the one who brought you here," Pallia said.

The violetblood was silent for a while, before finally looking back up at her quizzically. "You did what to my gills?"

"Well, if you ever need to wake a seadweller up, all you need to do is touch their gills. Natural instinct, I presume, even though you have two functioning respiration systems, that since they likely started in the water they want to preserve their breathing. Landdwellers have a similar function if you try to suffocate them in their sleep. Seadwellers might have that too, but I'd rather not wake someone up by actually trying to suffocate them when I can just tap on their gills and get the exact same reaction," Pallia said brightly. "Though, normally I have to do more than what I did to you. I barely touched them and your ocu...uh, glance​...wait...eyes opened!"

The violetblood absently started touching his gills. "They...they do?" he asked.

"Yeah. Did they never teach you this stuff in schoolfeeding?"

"Ah...no. I suppose it just was not extremely important at the time," he admitted. "How do you know all of this?"

"Reading!" Pallia blurted out. It wasn't a total lie, as some of it she certainly had learned by reading the documents left in the building before it was her hive. The gross anatomy...not so much. "Lot of it."

"That is it? Just reading? Odd, one would have suspected we would have come across similar works," he said. He stood up and pulled the collar on his overcoat up, successfully hiding his gills and even his extravagant fins, to some degree at least, from the side. It matched the rest of his body: looking slightly too long and out of proportion with the rest of the coat. At least I know why he's wearing that thing.

"You should probably take that off," Pallia said. "It's crazy hot out there and daylight'll break soon. You're already dehydrated."

"I...are you sure? No one will attempt to rob me of any personal belongings I may have, or attack me simply because of my caste? Or something far worse. Not to mention I do not even know where to stay and...oh dear. What if--"

"You'll be fine," Pallia interrupted. "If anyone actually tries to rob you tell them you came from the clinic and they'll back off. Trust me. And there's a temporary hivestem you can stay at. It's in the richest part of the city, right up in the front where there's normally traffic. Tall building. Don't think you can miss it. It's a pretty nice place. And drink the water. Seriously, you'll feel better." She gave him the warmest smile she could muster for a stranger.

"And if I do not find it?" he asked worriedly.

Pallia paused for a while. She couldn't let him stay here, not right now at least. Then again...it would only be fair. She'd extend the offer to an innocuous lowblood to stay at her hive for a night, at least in the main room, so she should extend it out to a highblood or seadweller. But at the same time, she didn't have any actual sopor slime nor recuperacoon for him to rest in and if he did rest here in his condition, he wouldn't get any real sleep. She saw how irritable Aisral was when she initially stopped sleeping in it before levelling out. So the smarter decision would be to send him to the temporary hivestem, at least tonight. But if he couldn't find it, he may as well have some sort of contact for the place. "Do you have Trollian?" she asked.

"Erm, yes," the violetblood said cautiously. "Why?"

"I was just going to give you my account name, and if you had any problems you could message me," she said. "You don't have to give me yours. I don't really know any violetbloods personally who'd be messaging me, anyway."

He took a small sip of water before speaking. "Are you certain?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

"I simply wish to be certain, is all," he said. "You do not have to do this if you do not want to."

She shrugged and said, "It's only fair. I'd do it to anyone else." She ripped off a piece of paper that said calculatingAlchemist and handed it to the violetblood, who quickly shoved the paper into his pocket. "There you go. In case you have any trouble!" She glanced outside past the glass doors. "You should probably head out. It's getting late."

His head jerked away from her and he looked into a nearby window to see that dawn was just starting to break. "Yes, so it is. Thank you," he said with a small smile.

"No problem!" Pallia exclaimed. "And best of luck!"

***

Sure enough, Dontoc found the hotel - at least that's all he could fathom what she meant by temporary hivestem with his knowledge of landdweller slang limited to books - with almost no problem. It was an impossibly tall building with a smaller wooden edifice jutting out of the left side. Even without a sign, it had to be the hotel. It was the only building in the rich section, if not the entire city, that was nearly this tall. An impressive feat too, as he remembered several of the buildings appeared to have extra stories stacked on as an after thought. But here, it looked as if a strong wind would topple the whole building, yet it didn't so much as budge.

A hand absently went into his pocket as he walked and found the slip of paper. He felt bad for having her Trollian handle without using it, even though the more reasonable side of him gently reminded him he didn't have to use it if he didn't need to. Was she expecting a message? Even one to let her know he found it and got there safely? After all, if she said to message him if there was a problem, she would want to know if everything went smoothly. But then again, would she really care that much about some stranger dropped onto a table? He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to force the thoughts out. He would worry about that once he got past the necessary social interaction.

He walked up to the desk and gave a quiet cough. The receptionist, a male cobaltblooded troll with small horns, gave him a wide smile.

"Why hello, hello! What can I do for you?" he asked.

Dontoc froze. He looked down onto the countertop and took a long drink of water. It should buy him enough time to save face.

Finally, he choked out, "Ah...yes. I am...um...here for a room."

The troll gave him a quick onceover before nodding. "Really now? Don't get a lotta seadwellers comin' in. Where ya from?"

Dontoc opened his mouth and quickly closed it a few times, expecting a comment to looking like a useless fish that never came. He had to fight against the near automatic response of actually saying where he came from, which involved far too much explanation and socialization to a receptionist. It then dawned on him it had been at least a good seven seconds before he answered, and maybe just any answer would be good. "I uh...came from the tealblood's hive outside of this city," he said.

"The clinic?" the blueblood asked suspiciously. "You seem a little too clean cut to come from there."

"Cl...clean cut?"

"Well yeah," he said nonchalantly as he started to fill out some paperwork, "plenty of unsavories come outta there. Girl in there's weird, too. Don't trust her myself."

"Well I can assure you I am not an 'unsavory'. I just woke up there after a bit of a fall," Dontoc said.

"Ah! That's how. She probably thoughtcha were a dead body. She takes them in, ya know. Who knows what she does with 'em. Some talk about how she uses them for occult magicks or something. Did you know that's a common thing here? Fuckin' kooks." He flipped the paper over and pointed at the line at the bottom. Dontoc could only shift around slightly, thinking about the unusual book he found. "But you're alive and she don't want that so she letcha go. I'm sure. Anywho, here. Just sign at the bottom. Considering everything, I'll just give ya the room. Just make sure to tell your seadwellin' friends, alright? You're on the first floor, third door on the right. Room 133."

Dontoc nodded. Well now I have to talk to her, he thought as he signed the line. He didn't bother telling the receptionist he didn't really have any friends, let alone seadweller ones. He quietly muttered a small "thank you" as the receptionist handed him the keycard and pointed him in the right direction, and Dontoc found the room with little effort.

It was a standard room, as far as hotels go. The most impressive thing was a small bookshelf with a couple nonfiction books inside, and a laptop resting on the desk. He sat down at the desk, pulled out the slip of paper in his pocket and took another drink of water. Hopefully she was still awake, or else he might end up with another sleepless night.

He made a Trollian account back when he was still a kid in the vain hope that one of the other kids being schoolfed would at least talk to him outside of their classes. It never happened. Since then it had largely sat there, unused. Even though getting back on the website was like picking up a book even after not having read in sweeps, it still felt foreign to get on and see the red chatbox. With a quick search for "calculatingAlchemist", he managed to find her account and cautiously typed out "Hello?"

He'd never had a response so fast. Oh no, does this mean she was waiting for a response this whole time? And here I was not planning on messaging her until I needed some rather probing questions answered. Oh dear. His mouse hovered over the abscond button and he suddenly felt far too warm for the room.

No. You can do this. Deep breaths. You have already talked to her once. Perhaps too harshly, but you did. And you were hardly in a right state of mind either, but how much harder could online be? In fact, it should be easier.

algorithmicCollegiate [AC] began trolling calculatingAlchemist [CA]

AC: Hello?

CA: hey! CA: you've got to be the violetblood from earlier! CA: iss everything 0K?

Zero K? Wait no, "okay". It must be a quirk. Alongside the s. She did have a slight hiss accent, did she not?

AC: Yes, Σvery+hing Is "0K" AC: I Mαde It +o +he Ho+el Sαfely AC: Or +emporαry Hives+em As You Cαlled I+

CA: oh, awessome! :)~ CA: i antissipated a problem when i ssaw a messssage.

AC: No, No Problems +o βe Found AC: I Do Hαve Some Inquiries, However AC: +he Recep+ionis+ Seemed +o βelieve You Abuc+ed Me?

CA: he did? :o CA: wait no i think i know why. CA: what elsse did he ssay?

AC: You Were A Performer Of Mαgic, And I +ook +he Assump+ion I+ Wαs No+ Of +he Subjuggαlα+ion Vαrie+y AC: And You S+ole Deαd βodies AC: +hus Why He +hough+ I Wαs Abduc+ed

CA: yeah the lasst one'ss true CA: except for you being at my clinic becausse i thought you were dead, ssince ass I ssaid, another troll brought you in. CA: or maybe i didn't? CA: either way, i didn't drag you in becausse i thought you were dead CA: i couldn't even bring you into the proper room becausse i thought you were too tall for me to carry!

AC: Σxcuse Me?

CA: i have a valid reasson! CA: how long will you be in the area?

Dontoc stared at his screen blankly. He didn't know the answer to that question. The only reason he even left the comfortable island at all is that he realized he couldn't isolate himself forever, and from all his reading at home, Sandyhorn seemed a good place to start. So he responded the best way any absolutely confounded troll would.

AC: Whα+?

CA: i sswear i'll explain everything but i don't want to on the internet, even if trollian'ss ssuppossed to be pretty ssafe. CA: i know sseveral plassess where we can get ssomething to eat and you can meet me there or at my hive

AC: βut I Do No+ Σven Know Your Name

CA: you don't? CA: oopss! ^.^; CA: though to be fair i didn't actually antissipate talking to you again. CA: it'ss pallia. CA: sso lunch?

He hesitated. On one hand, he was genuinely curious what could possibly be going on, and he wasn't going to ever get over his anxiety unless he started socializing. But at the same time it was socializing, and in a public place no less. His curiosity won out.

AC: You Promise +o +ell Me Whα+ Is Going On?

CA: sswear on my life and my lussuss'ss life!

AC: +hen Yes, Pαlliα, I Shαll Mee+ You For Lunch +omorrow. AC: As I Am Afrαid My In+eres+s Were Piqued More +hαn I Σxpec+ed Upon A Forced Conversα+ion At A Ho+el.

CA: :D no issssues with that! CA: you know what? CA: that hivesstem you're at hass a resstaurant attached, we can jusst go there. CA: there sshould be sseating in the back and everyone'll be hungover from today sso we don't have to worry about any russh CA: ssound good?

AC: I Do Not See Why I+ Would No+

CA: fantasstic! :)~ CA: see you around twelve then violetblood!

AC: Erm, Actuαlly… AC: My Nαme Is Don+oc AC: +hough If You Wish +o Cαll Me "Viole+blood" I Will Not S+op You

CA: no no, dontoc'ss your name CA: calling you jusst violetblood would be rude CA: anyway, ssee you around twelve then, dontoc! :)~ CA: i'll be dressssed a little more fanssy than ussual out of sspite CA: may ass well pretend to be the creepy witch

calculatingAlchemist [CA] has ceased trolling algorithmicCollegiate [AC]

calculatingAlchemist [CA] would like to add you as a chump. Accept?

He clicked yes. Maybe out of hope, maybe out of desperation, or perhaps still out of the sheer wonder of who he managed to meet purely by accident. At least this would all be cleared up by tomorrow, and he could continue learning about land life.

He would just have to mentally prep for a possibly very long lunch.

***

Pallia arrived at the hotel five minutes early, wearing a black dress that touched the ground with a candy red cape, pointy hat snuggly in between her tall horns and a pair of shoes with just enough point to give the satisfied click on the tile floor.

"This is a place for honest folks," the receptionist, the usual cobaltblood she'd seen in here a few times, sneered. "And also, generally, trolls sitting higher than teal." She couldn't help but wonder if he ever actually slept or if he lived off of coffee.

"I am honest," Pallia said. "What, is this not honest to how trolls see me?"

"You know what I mean, tealblood."

"Not really. You said it was for honest folks. I don't think I've outright lied." She frowned. "Least as far as I can remember." Sure, leading other trolls on that she was a witch wasn't exactly honest and she could admit to that, but keeping the image up kept them from asking questions, especially when the image itself came out of a combination of calling what she did "alchemy" and her calling any medication she made for trolls "potions"....among other reasons. Only seemed fair she'd take the matter into her own hands and have control over it.

"You keep bringin' in all those pirates," he said. "I know you're working for them."

She rolled her eyes. "They were here before."

He muttered something - Pallia watched his mouth move - but she couldn't quite make out exactly what. All she could make out was something involving "keeping quiet".

There was a loud cough and she whipped her head over to the source, seeing the violetblood, Dontoc, from yesterday, walking up to her.

"Erm...hello," he said nervously. "I was afraid you would not completely remember."

"Nope!" She grinned, hoping it would calm him down somewhat. "And sorry about not seeing you there. I didn't hear you."

"You knew I was trying to call your name out?"

"I took a guess," she admitted with a shrug. "So shall we be off?"

He nodded. "That does sound like a good idea, yes. May I ask what you two were arguing about?"

"I'll explain when we sit down," she said as she started to walk towards the restaurant.

"Does it have to do with the outfit?"

"A little. Like it?" His mouth opened, but no sound came out. "You can be honest. No need to sugarcoat."

He did a once over of her, eyebrows raised in suspicion. "It is ridiculous."

She beamed at him. "Perfect."

They got seated almost immediately, all the way in the back corner as requested. And just as expected, they were the only customers present. Perfect. She just had to make sure the wait staff were tipped well and anything said here should stay here. That is, if it even got that far.

Dontoc looked relieved too. He sat down in the spot actually nestled in the corner. "Thank you for being willing to meet with me tonight," he said.

"Don't worry about it! You have questions, and depending on what they are, I'll have answers. Go ahead and ask whatever you need to," she said. With a smile, she added, "You look better, by the way. Your fins aren't curled in anymore. Still a little droopy, but they'll perk up. Try applying some water directly to them and your gills. I've heard that helps."

"You know a lot about seadwellers," Dontoc commented. "At least, for being unaware of the fin sensitivity."

Pallia laughed. "Comes with the job. That also wasn't a question."

He shifted in his seat. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not. I'm just trying to be funny and not quite succeeding." Her eyes darted away from him as she did a quick scan for any server, but found none. "Though note, I'm not going to answer anything when the server's nearby."

He looked at her, puzzled for a second, then nodded. "Okay. Yes, that...that makes sense."

"Just to get that cleared up. So, what's your first question? I'm not counting your earlier one as part of this whole thing."

Dontoc cleared his throat. "Well I guess to start, ah, what exactly do you do? To know enough about seadwellers - which, ah, apologies for perhaps sounding harsh the night prior about everything, as you were correct, it seems - and yet only know a pair of them. It, well, does not quite add up is all I am saying."

Well, that was fast. Certainly, Pallia anticipated having to explain to him what she did eventually, but she wasn't ready for it to be the first question. He seemed trustworthy, at least. He had some of those standard seadweller catches: the proper speaking style, the formal state of attire for casual daywear and assumption a landdweller wouldn't know the basics of seadweller function, but he didn't sound pompous and arrogant about it like Careen, more doubtful, much like she'd anticipate from someone spending their whole life underwater and told one thing their whole lives. And now, he didn't sound doubtful of her, but rather of himself. Plus, she trusted Glacin, a purpleblood - self-admitted former subjuggalator by force, no less - obscuring his face (to everyone except her and his matesprit) actively using chucklevoodoos just to communicate. One curious seadweller with obvious socialization issues (even to her) looked far more trustworthy than him.

Hopefully she wouldn't regret this.

Pallia whipped her head around the room again to make sure everything was clear. "What did they schoolfeed you about science?" she finally asked.

Dontoc raised an eyebrow. "Science? You mean the technology and military advancement done directly under the Empress or...?" His voice trailed of, uncertain. "Well, we did talk briefly about the various mass murders of--"

"Yeah. Those." She shuddered. "I'd rather not think about that," she said flatly. With a brief shaking of her head, she added, "But did they tell you what it is exactly?"

"Erm...no. Well, yes, they did, but it did not sound correct. Were they supposed to?"

"I don't know. Lusus didn't want me to get schoolfed so I self taught myself most everything. Poor Monty would block the door just so I wouldn't go! And he might've eaten a truancy drone. Do those exist?" She shrugged. "Besides, I had enough stuff I found around my hive I managed to teach myself a lot, or had a couple others come in and help me. One of the pirates taught me a ton about plants that I didn't know, and I found out way more about computers when Aisral taught me and -- I'm getting on a tangent. Anyway, it is-"

"Hello there dears, can I get you two some drinks?" a new voice asked. Pallia jumped at the noise and turned towards the source. Hopefully she hadn't heard too much, she thought.

"Just water for me and…" she turned to Dontoc, who was currently hiding behind the menu, "him too."

The server nodded and walked off. Dontoc muttered something too quietly for Pallia to hear and she cocked her head.

"You're gonna have to speak louder. Your voice gets really quiet," she said.

"You did not have to do that. Um...thank you," he said. Pallia still had to struggle to make out the words, but thankfully it was at least quiet enough everywhere else she could do that much. Dontoc swallowed thickly and gave her a sheepish smile from overtop the menu. "So, what is it then?"

Pallia nodded. "It's studying the natural world - or unnatural world - and figuring out why stuff is the way it is, and how we can make use of that, through rigorous research, questioning and testing. And that's what I do. Several others that work with me too, but I'm really the only one who kind of works with the public. Well, me and Aisral but no one's going to try and slaughter her for "breaking the miracles" or whatever." She grimaced. "The only trolls who call us scienstiffs are those subjuggalators and anyone under them."

"So you being a witch then…?"

"I practice chemistry and biology and apply it to a lot of medical work. Two of the big three practices that is extremely regulated by the Empress. So I call what I do 'alchemy' which isn't that far off anyway, use the right jargon and suddenly word starts going around that I'm a witch. The body snatching thing probably didn't help with that," Pallia said with a shrug. "But that didn't scare you off."

Dontoc ran a hand through hair that looked like he had done that a thousand times already tonight. Maybe he had. "I have had my fair share of presumptuous judgements that I at least wanted to hear your side first. You seemed nice enough at least," he said. "Oh, and here come our drinks."

The server handed them their drinks and asked what they wanted for food. Pallia rattled off her regular - grubshrimp overtop rice in a spicy sauce with all the fixings - and Dontoc just ordered a piece of fish and a couple sides.

"They really are taking their time." Dontoc asked.

"Well, yeah. Normally with me they're longer because they normally serve cobalts and indigos coming to and fro. They're probably playing nice because you're a seadweller, while moving slow enough to try and...I dunno, either deter me from returning or deter us from eating together," she said. She scrunched her face in thought. "Maybe both?"

"Oh. Lovely," he muttered dryly, just loud enough for her to hear again. "I was hoping to escape all of that."

Pallia giggled. "You haven't been on land for very long, have you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"If you thought being on land would make people care less about blood caste? Yeah, kind of. You'll see it for as long as you're on land, which I guess won't be long."

"Mm. Perhaps." He shifted in his seat again, moving so he was leaning forward on the table. "I have found seadwelling life may not be for myself and am, as such, attempting life on land. Mainland."

"Oh cool!" She beamed at him. "But that's off topic. I bet you wanna know about the uh...the body thing."

His fins fluttered lightly (leaving Pallia to make a mental note that they seemed to respond to different vocal stimuli than Mayola's or Careen's) as he answered, "Yes, if you could."

"Well, unlike some others in a similar line of work to myself, I like to hold myself to an ethical standard. So I don't practice anything on unwilling live participants. Thanks to a couple rumors I'm sure were started by subjuggalators after the last massacre, there's a fun idea out there that all doctors are amoral, torturing monsters," she said bitterly. "And lowbloods - well all trolls really, I shouldn't single one set out - just leave their dead there. Which is unsanitary. So I take the bodies and either use them for science or bury them. Sometimes they get fed to Monty. Keeps them off of the streets, at least."

"For science."

"Yeah. Normally for examining anatomy, but also for seeing what they died from. I'm trying to keep a record. It's especially good for seeing which diseases are more commonly culling and what should have vaccines made of them. Vaccines which are basically things you inject to let your immune system learn how to fight off diseases, either by giving you a muted form or -- oh look at me, I'm rambling. I should move on or we'll be here all night," she said.

Dontoc shook his head emphatically. His fins looked perkier than they were even a few minutes ago. Interest? That's all she could fathom. "No, no. I actually am quite interested. I feel like I have learned more these past few days than the whole time being schoolfed." His fins shuddered as his eyes widened. "Oh my, that came across not quite as intended."

"Well, it's not like I learned all of this myself. There's a lot of old books and diagrams back at my hive. I think they're from whoever was there beforehand."

If Dontoc wasn't sitting on the edge of his chair earlier, he was now, back straight and eyes focused wholly on her. "There are? Um, I mean, interesting. I could ah, keep them safe you know. Not like take them or anything! But transcribe them and keep transcribed copies at my hive. The old mansion is already a somewhat illegal library to begin with. Extra books are not going to hurt it in the slightest."

Pallia grinned. "I think I like the sound of that," she said. "Do you live close by?"

He slumped back down in his chair. "Not exactly," he admitted. "It would be quite the trip to come here daily."

Silence. Pallia knew what she wanted to do immediately, but she had to stop and think. Make sure this wasn't the worst idea she was about to proclaim. He already knew where she lived, so if he was some sort of inquisition, it was too late already. Aisral lived with her, and connections to everyone except Glacin and Sekier were easy enough to make, fuchsia protection from Mayola be damned. And if he wanted to transcribe her notes, that was always good. Even if he took them and ran off, so long as she snatched the originals and hid them back in the secret tunnel, they'd remain safe enough. Not like she had to tell him about that part of the hive.

With her mind made up, it was her turn now to sit on the edge of her seat, leaning forward with shining eyes and steepled fingers. "You don't have to if you don't want to, you know."

"But I want to!" Dontoc exclaimed. "What you are doing sounds fascinating and --"

"No not that! Goodness no! I have two whole floors of nearly empty rooms in my hive and already one other troll living with me. So long as your lusus can survive on their own I see no reason why I can't set up a room for you," Pallia said. "And if you want, we can get you a lab too. Plenty of those as well. You'll just have to meet all the others. Aisral does textile engineering. She lives in my hive on the fourth floor. There's a seadweller who's constantly commissioning pieces from her. Zanchi studies genetics and evolution. Volcor studies mechanical engineering. Those two live nearby and stop in periodically. And Glacin normally just throws himself up on videochat with his matesprit. He studies pathology and epidemiology and his matesprit studies…" Pallia paused for a while and tapped her chin a few times in thought, "necrobiology. Or something like that. It's unique. And like I said, I study biochemistry. I can show you what I'm working on when we get there. So how's that sound?"

The other troll was silent, but his fins were fluttering heavily. Happiness? Wait no, flustered, Pallia thought. It was all she could guess.

Dontoc then nodded. "You want...you want me to live with you?" he asked doubtfully.

She deflated slightly in her chair. "If that's okay with you, of course. If it's not--"

"No no. I ah...you caught me off guard." He let out his own laugh, though it sounded bittersweet to her ears. "Let us just say I am unused to such kindness and leave it at that."

"Then it's settled," Pallia said. "It'll be nice having someone else in there, even if it's just a warm body. Aisral doesn't count."

He grinned. It lit up his whole face, perking his fins further and lighting his eyes, and Pallia quietly hoped it could stay that way. "Your behavior is somewhat infectious, just so you know. Even if you are a tad strange."

"Is that a problem?"

He hummed. "I do not think so," he said. "Oh, and one last question. To ease my own anxieties."

"Hm?"

"He mentioned unsavory trolls coming to your hive for care. Is that true?"

She nodded. "There's a big pirate place pretty close and they know everything I do is safe and effective. But don't worry, they don't touch anything in that hive. One of them did and ended up getting eaten by a giant snake. He didn't initially, but giant snake is so much easier to explain than horrible acid burns....then giant snake. Word spreads fast."

"That is why you said if I had any problems with an attempted assault to let the troll know who sent me, is it not?"

"Exactly!" She saw him flinch at the sudden shrillness in her tone and added, quieter, "That doesn't change your opinion does it?"

"Pallia, I am afraid you got me far too interested in what I do not know and wish to know unless you said it was to end in my culling I do not think I could turn back. One one hand, they do tell us curiosity is what killed the meowbeast but…"

"But satisfaction is what brought it back," Pallia finished. She leaned back in her chair right as the server came over to give them their food. "And somehow I think living here will satisfy most of your curiosity for whatever you were looking for."

"Perhaps," Dontoc said. "It will if nothing else, be an interesting ride."

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Heroism is Subjective  - Chapter 4

Sorry for no illustration this time.  I was working on one but it wasn’t turning out well at all :P.  

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Ford and Fiddleford reunite despite overall perilous circumstances, Fiddleford shows off his newest creation, Stan takes a break, Mabel thoroughly enjoys herself, Tate mans the canon, Dipper takes control, and Celestabellebethabelle is less than happy about being here. Warnings: None for this chapter.  Major character death in a future chapter. Notes: Special thanks to @themadcapmathematician for co-writing this and the next few chapters with me!  We rolled a d20 to see who would write for which characters in the next few scenes/chapters.  For this one, madcap wrote Fiddleford and Tate's parts and I filled in the rest.  For the next few chapters, they’ll be taking over more characters as we roll the dice to see where the action takes us.  This chapter is more or less setting the scene for the next few chapters.  (See end for additional notes)

High above the burning crater which was once a small town brimming with oddities, a black castle shaped like its king floated against a sky of technicolor swirls.  A mechanical dragon, pieced together from parts of Fiddleford's Gobblewonker and a robotic pterodactyl, clung to one of its sides, its mouth still hanging agape after Dipper, Mabel, and Stanford had swooped inside to relative safety.  Between the monolithic fortress and the smoldering ruins of the town below, three cycloptic bats flapped skyward, drawing nearer to the mechanical dragon, their shrieks and squawks echoing through the charred remains of the forest and alerting their cohorts below. The dragon’s mouth creaked, closing to prepare for evasive maneuvers.  Ford held onto a rail set into to the arched wall of its mouth, the motion of it’s jaw tipping his balance.  All the while, he listened intently to Dipper and Mabel’s flurry of fragmented sentences telling the tale of a man who lost his home, his family, and his confidence as a scientist.  The erratic neon of the sky dimmed around them, replaced by the glow of light strips lining the walls near the floor, casting Ford's slackened posture in hues of blue.  A brilliant mind such as Fiddleford’s deserved better than contempt and mockery from the town and a ramshackle dwelling in the dump.  No, it was more than that.  It was personal.  His friend deserved better, regardless of his mental capabilities.  Pistons puffed and the floor rattled below his feet signaling that the dragon's mouth had fully closed.  Thankfully, the motion disguised his wobbly legs as nothing more than a loss of balance with its final jolt.   "I..." Ford began, "I have to talk to him..." "Um...  now might not be the time," Dipper said, his hand bracing him against the metallic wall, his feet spread slightly, trying to regain his balance. "Now may be the only time," Ford muttered under his breath. "Go ahead.  We got this," Mabel assured him, "I hope," she whispered to herself, glancing down at the tangled curls wringing through her hands. Ford turned to the spiral staircase situated in the back of the dragon's mouth giving it the appearance of a misshapen uvula.  He sprinted toward it, his boots squeaking to a halt as a click sounded from a canon mount centered in the metal cavern.  Its door slid to the side and Stan emerged, a smile stretching his cheeks despite the exhaustion etched below his eyes and the nausea bubbling in his stomach.  There was enough motion while riding in the command center’s passenger seats in the dragon’s belly, riding in the head was ten times worse than the rickety attractions he’s rented for the Mystery Shack carnivals over the years. He groaned each time his knees bent to climb down the three metal steps, his back snapping and popping as he stood upright.  "Stanford!" more joy than he'd intended erupted with his greeting, as did a hiccup from the flip-flopping of his stomach.  He snorted, settling into his typical grumble, "I can't believe I got talked into helping to save your ungrateful a-, I mean, butt again." "Stanley," Ford breathed, allowing a warm smile to cross his lips.  He stepped closer, resting a firm hand on Stan's shoulder.  Their eyes made contact for a split second before he spoke again, his words weighted with more sincerity than a simple expression of gratitude, "Thank you."  Incapable of untangling anything else from his knotted thoughts, he turned and continued his sprint. "Erm...  You're welcome?"  Stan stammered as Ford reached the stairs and began his ascent.  He turned to Dipper and Mabel, an uneasy feeling tugging at his gut, and asked, "Uh, anyone know what that was all about?" "Um...  not really.  I guess he’s just glad we helped him?" Dipper answered, steadying his stance as the dragon's head lifted skyward, its neck easing into a gentle curve. Mabel clutched her hands below her chin and sang, "I do!  It means you're on your way to hugging it out and being best bro's again!" Stan pressed a hand to his mouth, appearing, at first, as if he was mocking Mabel's enthusiasm with a suppressed gag.  Before she could react,  paleness washed over him, the upward motion sloshing the contents of his stomach to near-eruption. "Uh, guys," Dipper interrupted, “I think we all need to get back to our posts and get this thing moving again before we end up as the main course for Bill's pals out there."  He waved Gideon and his sister over to the arch leading down the dragon's neck and into its stomach.  ���Grunkle Stan, are you going to be alright with the canon up here?  You…  Don’t look so good and you’ve kind of already done a lot,” Dipper asked. “Yeah, Don’t worry about me,” Stan replied, a cacophony of pops sounding out as he stretched his back and immediately bent forward as another gurgle of nausea rose from his stomach to his throat.  “Ugh,” he belched, “On second thought…  getting the entire town’s worth of people into this contraption then cramming them all into the Mystery Shack mighta’ taken a bit more outta me than I thought…  Maybe someone else should take over here.”   “Yeah, you look exhausted.  You don’t have to keep pushing yourself,” Dipper said, sitting at the edge of the curve leading down the dragon’s throat.  “When we get down to the central control room, I’ll radio for someone else to take over up here.” “You sure?”  he asked with a raised brow. “Absolutely!” Mabel answered, “You’ve done enough and you’ve taken care of us all summer.  Let us take care of you now.” “Yeah.  Families help each other, right?”  Dipper said, gesturing for Stan to join them. “I… a-alright.” With that, Dipper ushered Stan into a seated position at the edge of an inflatable slide leading down through the dragon’s neck.  Stan held his breath, closed his eyes and pushed off, sliding down into the dark, his exhaustion-dampened yell siphoning into the cavernous control room situated in the dragon’s belly.  Mabel followed, letting her hoots of thorough enjoyment echo through the metallic tube.  Gideon slid down next, whimpering a little along the way.  Lastly, Dipper slid down silently, eyes closed and teeth gritted.   He slid to a halt beside an enclosed gunner’s mount occupied by Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Derland, whom everyone assumed had volunteered for their jobs simply to get the alone time the wood and corrugated metal chamber allowed them.  To his other side, Grenda sat at a semi-circular control panel constructed from old barrels and a piece of pegboard fitted with stove dials, and what looked like a microwave control panel which was responsible for moving the robot’s arms.  Her hands gripped two joysticks as she awaited a signal to release the front claws’ grip on the fearamid.  Near the back, Candy’s feet swung back and forth, tapping against a tattered bus seat at a mirror image version of Grenda's console which operated the robot’s feet. Mabel darted to her post, the console beside Candy’s which was responsible for the tail’s movement.  Constructed from a dented and rust-splotched stove, it sported a single joystick, a panel of television dials, and a remote control soldered to the stove top.  Waddles plodded alongside her and laid beside her feet. Stan and Gideon side-eyed each other and sat on opposite sides of the first row of passenger seats surrounding a central control platform.  Pacifica, Soos, Wendy and her father, and Mayor Tyler sat on re-purposed bus and stadium seats between them.  The remaining rows upon rows were partially occupied by gnomes.  Near the central platform, an utterly unimpressed Celestabellebethabelle laid on the floor, her front hoof tapping against the metal every so often.  Her horn lit up with her mumbled, “Why am I even here?” “Because we didn’t know whether or not we’d need you to make with the tears again and un-stonify more people,” Wendy answered, her arms crossed, ax gripped in one hand. "Well, it's a good thing I'm a great actress who can cry on cue!" "I'm sure you were thinking of squished dandelions or crushed children's dreams or something," Wendy mutter, rolling her eyes. While Wendy bickered with the frustrated unicorn, Dipper climbed three steps up to the command post, a round platform crafted from a stack of tractor tires topped by a metal tabletop and surrounded by rails made of old pipes.  Monitors stacked two on top of each hanging in a circle around him.  He sat in the salvaged office chair, swiveling a bit as he landed, and donned his headset just in time to send out a warning, “Evasive maneuvers!  We need to get airborne!  Candy, Grenda, get ready to let go of this floating, equilateral, hunk of garbage.  Grunkle Stan needs a break, any volunteers for someone to man the main canon?” **** Ford heard neither the conversation between his brother and the younger twins nor the departure of his family through the haze clouding his thoughts as he climbed a spiral of propeller blades, his hand gripping a railing fashioned from copper pipes.  Far more than the impending reunion with his old friend weighed heavy upon him.  How am I going to tell them?  Should I tell them?  Maybe it would be better if I didn't.  They're my family...  I have to tell them.  But I just...  don't want to do this...  There must be another way!  I...  I need...  I need to talk to Fiddleford...  And this time...  I'll listen.  If he'll let me.  Fiddleford...  I'm sorry. Half-way up he stopped, bent over as anxiety wrung the breath from his lungs and pounded through his chest.  He pushed one foot forward and up, steps protesting under his boots each step feeling as though he was walking through a haze on autopilot.  Reality seemed to waver as he reached up to a hatch in the ceiling made of a rusted car door.  As if without conscious command, his hand pressed up and the hatch lifted.  His feet carried him up and forward in a haze until he stood behind two torn and grease-stained airliner seats. "F-Fiddleford," his voice rasped in his throat, half of the syllables catching on his breath inaudibly. "Stanford Pines," a warm twang greeted him among the flipping of switches and beeps, boops, and clicks of buttons. "Fiddleford, I'm so sorry," he blurted. The sounds of the controls being operated began to dwindle, until the noise and motion faded into inactivity and silence. Fiddleford shuffled in his chair and stumbled out of the side, facing his guest. Fiddleford stared in stunned silence. There was plenty about Ford that differed from the worn scraps of memory he had recovered - his greying hair, the exhaustion riddling his face, an unfamiliar wear and age to him - and yet it was eerie how exactly he matched the images in his head. A flood of emotions Fiddleford couldn’t hope to separate or restrain washed over him.   He’d thought about what he was going to say upon reuniting with him, just about every day since they planned the rescue, yet in that moment, he didn’t recall any of it. He closed the gap between them in a single leap, reached out, and pulled Ford into a tight hug. Stanford could do little more than stare at the lanky body hurtling toward him.  He caught a glimpse of a long white beard tapering off behind his old friend and a wide, snaggletoothed smile before a pair of thin arms wrapped around his middle with the strength of a boa constrictor.  He blinked, taken aback by the response, standing with wide eyes and a slackened jaw for a moment before wrapping his arms around him, nearly lifting him from his feet as warmth filled his heart, brimming over and rushing into every limb. “Fiddleford.  Really.  I’m sorry.  I should have listened to you,” he said, squeezing his arms around him once more  before releasing him.  As Fiddleford stepped back, Ford could see his familiar blue eyes, fringed with age and crowned by tufts of grey, beneath a frayed and torn scarecrow’s hat.  Though his hair had all but vanished from his head and his beard had faded to snowy white, there was no question that this was his best friend from too many decades ago.  He was finally standing right there in front of him, not in some dimension far away and unreachable. “I-”  And just like that, it felt as though a spear shot through his heart, “I should have listened,” he repeated, a melancholy sigh underscoring his words.  “You tried to warn me…  And now…” Fiddleford patted Ford’s arm in reassurance. “There now...we both made some mistakes way back when…” His own had haunted him ever since the memories had begun to return. They had been muddled, but the underlying guilt had been ever-present.  He gave Ford’s arm a squeeze. “But enough of that. I’m just glad you’re all in one piece!” He smiled, looking up at Ford fondly. “Yeah…  one piece…” Ford parroted, his mind chanting in an anxious loop, for now, but for how long?  For how- Stop!  Say something back to him, you self-centered fool.  He coiled his thoughts into a tight ball and shoved them aside, focusing on the memories they’d shared together, allowing a genuine smile to shine through.  “I’m glad you’re still in one piece, too,” he replied, patting Fiddleford’s shoulder. Fiddleford grinned, pulling on the strap of his thread-bare overalls. “Well as much as I can be anyway, heh heh...” He tugged on the sleeve of Ford’s sweater. “Ah, where are my manners?” He patted the back of the seat beside his. “You remember my little tater-tot, don’t you?” Tate had been preoccupied with the controls, but he turned and peeked around the seat back at his father’s prompting. He started, saying nothing for a time. He finally gave a tentative nod. “Mr. Pines.” Ford couldn’t manage anything more than staring for a moment.  Was this really the baby he’d held over thirty years ago?  He certainly had the same shaggy brown hair, still obscuring his eyes as it had even before he turned one.  And he’d definitely inherited his father’s prominent yet distinguished nose and his mother’s rounded chin.  Ford took a step back as Tate’s chair wobbled.  The younger man stood and turned to them, his stature slightly taller than Ford’s and all he could muster at the sight was, “My, you certainly have gotten taller since the last time I saw you.” Tate nodded again. The conversation lulled before he adjusted his headset and said, “Radar says eyebats are incomin’.” “Evasive maneuvers!,” Dipper’s voice buzzed through Fiddleford and Tate’s headsets, so loudly that Ford could hear every word, "We need to get airborne!  Candy, Grenda, get ready to let go of this floating, equilateral, hunk of garbage.  Grunkle Stan needed a break, any volunteers for someone to man the main canon?" Fiddleford put his hand on Tate’s arm. “You’ve been a big help, Tate! Would you be ok workin’ the cannon…?” Tate was already handing Ford his headset, a ghost of a smile on his face. He rested his hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder for a few seconds, then opened the hatch and disappeared into it. Fiddleford stared at the hatch for a few seconds, a melancholic but affectionate smile plastered on his face. He looked up at Ford abruptly, suddenly aware of the situation. Ford fumbled with the headset until he managed to adjust the mic and ear pieces to fit him.  Though, his voice was a bit wobbly and uncertain of the team’s protocols, he lowered the mic and spoke into it, “Looks like Tate is going to take over the canon.” “Perfect, thanks, Grunkle Ford!”  Dipper replied. “Ah, you must be tired after all you’ve been through!”  Fiddleford said, resting his hand on Ford's back.  He guided him over to the copilot’s chair and settled him into it. “Have a seat, copilot!” “Oh,” Ford answered, inwardly resentful toward the blush rising in his cheeks at his new title, “Thank you.”  He took his seat, staring in awe at the radar screen embedded in the window of a car door acting as the console’s top.  His gaze lifted, following the rounded pane of glass in front of him up, craning his neck as it curved overhead.  Beyond it, dark forms flapped ever closer, silhouetted against a swirling sky of magenta and yellow. Fiddleford jumped into his own chair, toggling more switches. “I’m just gettin’ the DDRD3000 warmed up for the next attack! We’re liable to hafta fight our way outta here after all, and i hate for us to be unprepared.” “The what?” Ford asked, tearing his attention away from the incoming barrage of eye bats to raise an eyebrow at his old friend. Fiddleford grinned, “Ah well it’s just an acronym, ya see this contraption’s full name is,” his grin turned positively fiendish and he wiggled his fingers, “the DOOM-DRAGON-REVENGE-DACTYl-A-TRON-3000!” He cackled at this maniacally for several seconds before clearing his throat and smiling cheerily again. “But that’s sort o’ a long name, so I thought we all just might use somethin’ a wee bit shorter!" Ford’s grin beamed at his old friend’s enthusiasm, the familiarity radiating from Fiddleford seeming to melt a clearing in his mental haze.  It hadn’t fully dawned on him how much he had missed him over the years, yet, in that moment, it was as though they’d never been apart at all, as if they'd created scientific marvels together with the odd Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons campaign between them just a few days ago...  Aside from thirty years worth of mess they desperately needed to discuss with each other. Fiddleford glanced out at the eyebats. He gave Ford another warm smile. “‘Sides, we got a lot to catch up on! a whole uh...well...a real long time’s worth! Now’s as good an occasion as any to start!”   End Notes: We probably have enough material for another chapter with what we put together last week but we've hit...  an interesting conundrum where a few rolls might take this whole thing in a very different direction.  For now, all I'll say is that the dice did not favor our heroes and at one point Bill rolled a nat 20.Also, our document notes are kind of amusing and we're considering posting a shenanigans version of these next few chapters that include all of the planning and commentary.  Would anyone be interested in reading something like that?