#valeba

[chuckling-chemist]

12th Perigee Extra 1: Don’t Think Twice

((This is a of an homage of the #TumblrLogOff protest. Served well with the new KH III song Don’t Think Twice. Kept short and sweet.))

3 a.m. All was still in the temporary hivestem. Mayola finally managed to strip down into a sleek pair of warm sleepwear, perfect for lounging for another solid hour before even thinking about getting any sort of sleep. Unlike Valeba, who somehow managed to conk out on the couch without even making it into the actual respiteblock of the suite. But for Mayola, between the time zone shifts, the odd hours of the dance (they still had hours left in the night, yet brunch was coming at 11 a.m. for those who wanted it? What kind of schedule was that) and the general mood of the whole festivities succeeded in making it impossible for her. Not that such was bad, but any sort of value judgement didn’t change a racing blood pusher.

Ideally, she needed to sleep. That’s what the recuperacoon is for: calm a troll in any emotional state and force them to rest. Were Icasui here, that’s what she’d tell her to do, at least.

Her pink palm husk buzzed loudly on the table, blaring out the lyrics to Cherry Bomb. Valeba jerked awake, grabbing around uselessly for anything on the couch. Mayola snatched it up in one quick swoop, hurriedly approving the call and putting the thing up to her ear before Valeba did something stupid. Like stab her palm husk for waking her up. That would be bad.

“Mayola?” a frantic voice over the phone asked. “Mayola are you there? Pleasssse tell me you’re --”

Pallia? What the hell was Pallia of all trolls doing calling her? Did Aisral need something? “God, yeah. Yeah. I’m here.” Mayola shook her head. “The hell’s going on? Why d’ya sound upset?”

“Is Dontoc sssafe? He hasn’t anssswered his phone in hoursss and I’m getting worried”

Oh. That was all she was worried about. No big deal. “Are you just worried ‘bout him again? Cause like, Valley’s got it handled. She put a --”

“No Mayola. You don’t….fuck.” There was a pause on the line, followed by Pallia swallowing thickly. “Turn on the TV.”

She looked over at Valeba, curled up tightly on the couch and, hopefully, asleep. “Uh...I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“No Mayola you need to see thisssss. Put the newsssss on. Now.”

The sudden authority in Pallia’s tone threw Mayola through a loop. “But Val--”

“Valeba needs to, too.”

Mayola groaned. She sauntered over to the couch, pushing Valeba’s legs out of the way just enough so she wasn’t sitting on them. Not that it mattered. Valeba pushed herself groggily into a sitting position. “The hell’s going on?” she rasped.

Mayola turned the TV on with a helpless shrug. No point keeping it quiet now. “Just Shorty. I’m placating a fucking…oh.”

As the television screen flickered to life, she saw exactly what Pallia was talking about. Images of cities, some she recognized and some she didn’t, in literal chaos. Lowbloods with obscured faces with molotov cocktails marching through the streets. Midbloods evacuating from a burning officeblock, some perfectly safely through the door, others jumped out of top windows, shattering glass just to end it before it collapsed on them. Lusii rampaging through city streets, bulldozing everything and everyone in their path. Drones cutting down anyone who got close to them. Blues and greens of the upper castes painting the streets as frequently as the browns, yellows and reds of the bottom. No matter which city, the same carnage.

Distantly, she recognized the reporter’s voice speaking over top, but registered no words. Hell, the titles of cities that flashed over and over again looked like symbols on a screen until one of them looked distinctly like a symbol set of the city not far from them. And here they were, sitting ducks in a hivestem ignoring the whole fucking thing. How pathetic.

Mayola gripped her phone with a clammy hand. She dared not look over at Valeba.

“Is...how’s--”

“Sandyhorn’s fine,” Pallia said quietly. “We turned on the newss before going to ssssleep. I just saw one of those cities, ssstumbled upon the name and…”

The looming silence between them only broken by muffled, choked tears from the other end told Mayola everything she needed to know. Who knew how long she’s been freaking out.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Perfectly safe. Just some cancelled plans it’s soundin’ like.”

“Sssssorry.”

“Ain’t your fault. But yeah, let Ace know the two of us are fine and if this somehow hits our shores, we sure as hell ain’t goin’ down without a fight. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Can do.”

“And get some fuckin’ sleep. Please.”

“Mmhm.” Mayola heard something shuffle around on the other side as she added, “But ssseriously, if you see Dontoc can you...can you text me? He hasn’t answered me in hoursss and if it weren’t for all of thissss, I probably wouldn’t be conssssserned but I am he’ssss not like you and Valeba and--”

“Right, yeah. I get it. Val and I got this. You go sleep.”

Pallia hung up the call without another word. Mayola’s gaze flickered back up to the screen. It cut away from the violence back to the reporters, a couple of unfazed bluebloods who spoke coldly about the whole topic, how callous these trolls are for putting undue stress on Alternia so close to the holidays.

“So this is how it feels being a highblood, huh.”

She jerked her head over to Valeba. The brownblood’s gaze was affixed to the screen, unfocused. At some point, she must’ve readjusted herself into a sitting position, knees tucked underneath her chin. “Getting to sit comfy in your ivory tower while the world falls apart around you.”

Mayola grimaced. She wanted to rebut, but what could she say? That it wasn’t true? That Valeba was overreacting? Everything would be okay, because they would be safe, she could trust the man running it was hemoloyal enough, no one would want to touch him? With a sigh, she said, “Yeah. That’s about how it works. Everything goes to shit around you while you’re in the only sunny spot and there ain’t nothing you can do about it. I doubt they’ll touch here though. Her Imperious Sunshine ain’t one to fuck around with galas that sing her praises.”

“We’ve fought them before,” she pointed out. “I get we can’t do it now cause it’ll look bad. I do. Teals talk and all that shit. But we already weren’t going home until after 12th Perigee. This city’s so close it’d be easy, and the both of know riots like this last until the damn city is decimated. That shit takes weeks. And no one else here’s gonna give a shit.”

She wasn’t wrong. Mayola fought drones for target practice. Valeba’s aim with a bow was the result of sweeps upon sweeps of honing it into deadly precision and aim. The two together, as she’s found out more than once, were lethal together. So long as the chaos stayed mostly under control, they might be able to knock the drones off without word getting out off-planet of a seadweller assisting.

“You realize Eeks would tell me no, right?” The words sounded hollow in Mayola’s head. She might’ve said it sweeps ago, but now Mayola wasn’t so sure. She might end up saying that she’s upholding tyrian leadership and showcasing her power as possible Empress by standing up to the drones of the current one. More importantly, Mayola desperately wanted to slice and dice on in true 12th Perigee revelry and mayhem tradition. Combined with becoming a living, breathing incarnation of karma in at least one city toward a bunch of perfect targets for such and it all made it difficult to tell herself no.

“I’m not Icasui,” she said flatly. “They deserve justice.”

“You’ll worry your moirail.”

“Dontoc’s got bigger things to worry about than me right now.” Valeba’s gaze turned to her. Even in the darkness of the room, Mayola felt the angry, determined gaze burn holes into her soul. “You fucking know you want to stick it to those goddamn jackass, no good, hemoloyal fuckers. And what better way to do it than jumping out of that stupid, mile high tower and into the fray that’ll dirty their claws?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d never meet another troll who could speak to her like Valeba. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

The screen flipped back to the city. Mayola caught blood castes of all kinds fighting back. Bluebloods and yellowbloods pushing back in tandem. Olives and jades and rusts and teals taking advantage of their strengths for a common goal. All together, as if this were Sandyhorn and not a zone of high Empress control, cooperating. All except one caste.

Mayola couldn’t see a single seadweller among the dissenters.

She placed a hand on Valeba’s knee, grinning silently. Now wasn’t the time for words. She didn’t need them. Valeba understood. There would be hell to pay, and the regular trolls weren’t the ones in debt.

[veryfictitiousdemons]

File this one under “silly ficlet ideas that’ll never get posted anywhere else”, except this time it’s OCs instead of Persona. And by ficlet, for once I actually mean it. 

Because sometimes right now, I have thoughts other than the Goro Akechi brainrot and shuake attic trash thoughts over on AO3

When Valeba talked about “knowing a place” to rest while she traveled with Mayola and Dontoc through Alternia gaining political allies, Mayola should have expected a place like this. Valeba wasn’t like her and Dontoc. Brownbloods, especially brownbloods unable to escape the Alternian meat grinder through stardom, struggled to gain access to most places midbloods had regular access to, much less high-profile seadwellers like a bastard heiress vying for the throne and former matesprit to the Heiress Apparent. Sure, Mayola preferred seedier places to a degree (they kept their head down about someone like her making her presence known – sure the potential positive attention was nice, but they had a customer base that preferred not seeing seadwellers at every opportunity), but that hardly meant she ended up visiting them much. Especially not anymore, with cameras and reporters paying far more attention than they ever did before she announced her attempt at the throne.

Still, when Valeba took them into the dingiest, dirtiest, emptiest bar possibly anyone could possibly find in some backwater town on the way to Gusthollow, all while promising it’s not that bad, trust me, it took all of Mayola’s little self-restraint to not tackle Valeba straight into the nearest dilapidated stickball table and demand to take her to some place not infested with termites.

Self-restraint, which of course meant Dontoc putting a hand on her shoulder and giving a fuming Mayola that obnoxious please do not fuck your kismesis in public while I’m here look. “I’m her moirail, not your auspistice,” he reminded her gently.

As if Mayola pinning her kismesis onto the table to knock some sense into her meant anything was going to happen past that.

Valeba, seemingly unconcerned, plopped herself down in the creaky barstool closest to the bartender.

“You know the best thing about places like this?” she asked as Mayola sat next to her, shooting daggers the whole time. Dontoc chose not to sit at all, opting instead for standing behind the both of them.

“A guarantee no one listens in on our potential conversations?” he said.

Mayola rolled her eyes. “Donny, who the hell’s gonna fucking eavesdrop on us?”

“Mayola, you are going to try to take down Careen. Do not be so arrogant to think Femrey does not have connections everywhere.”

Valeba shook her head, ponytail rattling between her horns. “Don’t worry. We’re fine here. I know the bartender. Wouldn’t have suggested it while we wait for the 4-wheel device otherwise. You also,” she paused, heralding the bartender over with a wave of her hand, “got it wrong. The best thing about places like this is if you kill the bottle with your shot, it’s a free drink.”

Mayola sneered, “Val, that is the dumbest piece of shit to ever come out of your food chute—”

“—Oh like you’re suddenly some eloquent silver tongue—”

“—Like, maybe I’d geddit if was some kinda thing for a specific bar, but all shitty places like this? Completely—”

“—Maybe if you got drunk at places other than Shipwreck Cove—”

“What’re you having tonight, Huntress?”

The gruff voice of the bartender cut straight through their argument. He’s a rustblood. Old, with horns cracked and jagged at the edges and frayed short hair. He also called Valeba by a title and not a name, which piqued Mayola’s curiosity, but not enough to pry.

Behind her, she’s almost certain she heard Dontoc mutter something about how he never should’ve offered to come and get Icasui stuck between the two of them.

Valeba turned away from Mayola to face the bartender. “Single malt barely alcohol. Whatever’s cheapest. Neat and short, preferably.”

Mayola scowled. “Hey hey, you don’t gotta go cheap I’m right—”

“Mayola, you don’t have to pay for me. We’re in loosely defined, casual kismesis where I also happen to be your lowblood ambassador for this whole fucking trip.” And did Mayola hate every second their kismesis remained casual, but she wasn’t about to go into all her weird blackrom insecurities after the Gliden clusterfuck. “If you started paying now that’d be weird.”

“It ain’t weird to be--!”

She was interrupted by the sound of glass thumping against something hard and plastic. In front of the two of them was a small glass of whiskey. “You culled the bottle, so this one’s on the hive,” the bartender said.

Valeba laughed, that stupid light and airy sound that was so counter to her usual deadpan. “Told you.”

Mayola responded by moving to push Valeba straight out of the chair. But naturally, Valeba was always a step ahead of her and braced herself against the counter, making Mayola’s attempt useless. “Shut the hell up.”

[myris-doodles]

This is exactly how this would go once Vodnik meets Navios and it’s exactly the reason why Niehea’s Vodnik’s moirail, and not Valeba!

[blogofaninexpertartist]

Drawing emotions

Hello one more time, in this post I wanted to talk about the emotions but with a different focus, I know that sometimes when we are sad we don't know how to express this emotions and just some of us considerate the art one way to let it out all that we feel, so my objective today is let you know that draw is a really good way to express your sadness, happines, depression or anxiety it makes you feel calm and serene and with addition it helps you to disconnect of the virtual world and be more centered in yourself. I just wanted to say this because I passed for bad moments and my best scape is the art, draw, paint and the music so I want to give you my support if anytime you feel like that, art can be your scape too. If anyone that read this feels bad I have some words to you; everything will be okay, you can get over to any situation and I hope that you do it.

With love Valeba.

[desipixer-blog]

Valeba Raja – Official Theatrical Trailer

[chuckling-chemist]

Kismet, It’s Cold Outside (2/14)

((No music set to this. Also short. These were supposed to be fics of any length, after all))

“You look freezing.”

Mayola bared her teeth at her. “I’m fucking fine,” she hissed. Her fins were pressed tightly against her face, unmoving aside from the occasional violent shudder Mayola gave when the wind blew too harshly and pushed her floor length cloak away. “I’m just a little...just a little cold ‘s all.”

“You’re shivering.”

Mayola grabbed at the edges of her cloak, pulling in both ends as close together as possible and making her look somewhat like a pink fish burrito. “And you’re not?”

Valeba looked down at herself and shrugged. Unlike Mayola, in her long, flowing blue dress with a slit up the mid thigh and light ruffles that gave the impression of the ocean waves on the moonlight and strappy sandals, her evening wear outfit managed to keep her warm. Rather, hers was two pieces so carefully blended with the jumpsuit underneath as to look like one. The long skirt brushed against the snow-covered ground to hide the combat boots underneath her dress. The billowy nature of it allowed for fluid movement in emergency situations, and by virtue of it being a skirt made it easy to tear off in an emergency. Her top, complete with a thin, hooded cloak made to be worn indoors or outdoors, stopped right at her waist. The fully covering sleeves of the top were made to look like regular sleeves with little more than wing accents on the forearm, but in actuality were bracers to protect her in the event of a skirmish. (Not to mention it helped hide the rather unfortunate scars around her wrists from where the ropes dug in.) And the high collar, accented in small feathers, kept the wind off her neck.

“I came prepared.”

“Oh ha-fucking-ha. You’re just gonna mock me looking cute as hell and a bit cold by--” Valeba put her bare hand up against Mayola’s cheek, silencing her instantly aside from an overly long, drawn out sigh. She chuckled.

“Warm?”

She nodded. “Just never move and I’ll be fine for the rest of my--hey!” Mayola’s head snapped to attention the second a giggling Valeba jerked her hand away. “I was usin’ that!”

“You’ll live.”

“The hell I will!” She made a motion to grab Valeba’s arm, not stopping until the brownblood pulled her arm away to rub at her wrists. At which point, Mayola’s arms immediately went behind her as she babbled out, “Right. Shit. Your thing.”

Valeba shrugged. “It’s uh...it’s fine. You forgot. That’s all.” She reached into the inner pocket of her coat and pulled out one of the small plastic bottles labeled for some kind of cinnamon whiskey to hand out. It’d work better than any further reassuring Mayola she didn’t do anything wrong. Kismesis or not, her legitimate sensitivity to Valeba’s issues is why she was happily willing to partake in some more unusual indulgences. “Here. Should warm you up while we wait.”

In the blink of an eye, the full bottle disappeared from Valeba’s hand and ended up, completely empty, in Mayola’s. She shuddered again, exhaling a shaky breath that smells somewhat like alcohol and mostly like cinnamon and cold. “I needed that.”

“Yeah I noticed.” She smirked. “Don’t worry, we should get in soon. After all, when does this open?”

“Seven.”

Valeba nodded as she pulled out her palmhusk. “Okay, and so now it’s…”she trailed off as she scrolled past the numerous alerts: a couple day-old texts from Dontoc, a blurry picture from Ardeen of his lusus, and calendar reminders. Eventually, she reached got to the actual time, revealing a violet glowing 6:58 in the center. “It’s 6:58,” she said finally.

She threw the plastic bottle on the ground with a strangled yell, letting it bounce off the pavement and somewhere into the falling snow around them. “Goddamnit it!”

[chuckling-chemist]

All I Want For 12th Perigee Is You (12/14)

((I didn’t exactly have a song set in mind for this, but I figured when the bar was open is when there would be a transition from traditional ball music to some other stuff. As such, something like Harlem Nocturne seems to be as good as anything else))

Calm.

That’s how Valeba felt. After such a vicious blow up, it was a weird feeling. Generally threatening the Heiress, at least whenever she threatened Mayola, got her thrilled. Jittery with a horrible combination of glee and adrenaline that she couldn’t feel anywhere else. And getting in fights with highbloods otherwise only gave her the second half. The fact that such a peaceful sensation came about after plopping herself in one of the plush bar stools only equated to a couple things: not having to continue staring at the inhuman blight named Careen, and finally getting to threaten the stupid bitch the same she way she’d done to Valeba on numerous occasions while getting away with it.

And no one had stopped her. Sure, Dontoc reminded her that Careen might try to get her thrown out if Valeba jumped her, but other than that? Nothing. Hell, even if she were to die today to drones, she’d die happy, living at absolute max satisfaction. She threatened a highblood. A seadweller. An Heiress. No one got to do that every day and live to tell the tale, especially at some fancy shindig where her major weapon had be hung up against a wall. That alone helped the anger boil away the second she walked away from the whole scene. Now, if she could follow through on those threats tonight, she’d probably be in nirvana, but she could settle for her current serenity given the circumstances.

A cold hand touched her shoulder briefly, long enough to alert her of someone’s presence, accompanied by a soft, familiar voice. “Valeba, it’s Dontoc.” She grinned. She hadn’t expected Dontoc to get out of that mess. Hell, she didn’t expect herself to get out so cleanly. The holidays must make Careen soft. Valeba couldn’t think of any other reason. “How are you doing?”

“Let’s just say, every second I don’t have to look at her brings me closer to those stupid purpleblooded Messiahs.” She gestured toward the empty seat to her left for him to sit down. When he slid into the chair, she gave him a reassuring smile. “Seriously, I’m doing alright. Just needed a second to breathe.”

He frowned. “Are you certain? Valeba, I don’t want you telling me you’re okay just to make me feel better. You were ready to murder Careen. Not that I blame you, really, I don’t, I just also very don’t want you to die. That would be on my head and--”

“I’m serious, dude.” She gave him a playful, light punch on his shoulder. “I just got to say things lowbloods only get to say in sopor-induced fever dreams to her goddamn face. This has been a long time coming.”

“I figured. It’s why I didn’t stop you until it began to leave the realm of empty threats. I don’t want to see you get thrown out because she’s being unreasonable. And anyway…” he trailed off with a chuckle and a shake of his head, “You should’ve heard me after you left. I managed to get her to shut up about me wishing to talk to you.”

“No worries. I get it.” Valeba shrugged nonchalantly. Actual culling Careen hadn’t been on the forefront of her mind when she made those threats. No more than usual, at any rate - rarely to never, all the way until she was forced to see the seadweller again. “I think I only got so pissy because it’s not the first time this happened tonight, ya know? Fuckin’ fish named Siroet.” When she saw Dontoc’s wide-eyed shock, she hurriedly added, “I didn’t do anything, mind you. It just happened.”

“No, no it’s just...Siroet? She threatened you?” Dontoc exclaimed. She heard a groan from next to her and she swiveled in her chair to find his head in his hands on the bar stool. “God, of course. I can’t believe. Do you think it was planned? I hope it wasn’t. I don’t think I could take the rest of tonight if it was. She probably knows I’m planning on getting out and is--”

“Look, as glad as I am to hear that--” She placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the small trembles of his body.  “--I don’t think the chumbucket knew who I was.  If that helps.”

“Only marginally,” he groaned. “You heard her. Careen’s barely hiding what she’s doing anymore. She tried pulling this shit again right around Atenic. I’m just...exhausted. I need out.”

“And you will. She smiled warmly. “I’m in Sandyhorn now. We’ll get you a solid out.”

He looked up quizzically. “We?”

“Yeah, you know, me and Mayola. The only two so impulsive it might rub off on you.” She laughed. “Anyway, you said you told her the fuck off tonight. Who knows, maybe it’ll be easier for you to see me now.”

“Yes, that is...that is true. And I think after this she will be on good behavior.” He sighed in relief. “Thank you, dear. And also, my apologies. I came here expecting you to need calmed and not…well…”

“No problem.” Had they not been sitting down just far enough away, or had the bartender not been eyeing them the longer they went, Valeba would’ve hugged him. For now though, she just patted his shoulder. That’s smarter than arguing with some random troll about pale PDA. “Now, how long is Careen expecting you?”

“I actually did not give a time. And Atenic is keeping her distracted in the VIP room, so probably some time from now.”

Valeba furrowed her brow. “Atenic?” How many trolls did Careen drag along? She met Siroet already, and she knew according to Mayola, Careen’s other seadweller friend was around here somewhere, but she didn’t have a face for Atenic. The only two options were the big indigoblood, or the much more petite cobalt in the snowflake dress. “You mean the one that looked kinda like--”

“Pallia?” Dontoc grimaced. “Yeah. But I do not wish to think about such. I think I just want a distraction.”

She smirked. “Good. Because Mayola’s holding back until the orchestral stuff ends. Plus, I think I’d like to ask my moirail for one last dance before he gets stolen from his wicked quadrant for the rest of tonight and tomorrow.”

He laughed, fins twitching against his face. It sounded sharper than usual against Valeba’s ears, but still genuine enough that she could say he felt better than before. “Well Valeba,” he said cheekily, “you asked just so nicely I hardly think I have the heart to refuse.”

[chuckling-chemist]

You’re A Kind One, Miss Elsker (11/14)

((Aside from “Dance of the Fuchsiablood Fairy, this is my most clever title. Doesn’t get better than this. And if bad friendships are a squick or trigger for you, please skip.))

Some trolls lived the high life. Swinging off chandeliers with seadwellers, drinking the finest Faygo with clowns, feather boas and pretty trolls lounging on pianos as servants in tuxedos played rhapsodies on the ivories. This was true of Atenic’s friends, all of whom adored it. Pereon loved the dark, slinky dresses in elegant masks where she’d take business partners for mysterious affairs. Siroet loved the colors and entertainment scattered abound for her to find. Careen reveled in the atmosphere, the dancing and overall aesthetic of flaunting her infinite wealth. She didn’t know much about Dontoc, but anyone who comes from the underwater City of Twinkling Lights must enjoy the high life. And Pothos...well...Atenic mostly avoided thinking about him.

Did Atenic enjoy the high life? That’s a hard question. On one hand, not only did the high life enjoy Atenic; but she also hated all the boisterous, drunken, bloody parties found among lowbloods where she couldn’t even wear a pretty new dress from Kordof. She loved going out and enjoying time with her beautiful friend, Careen, which made these events fun despite the crushing anxiety that occupied her thoughts the minute Careen went away. A shame that was guaranteed at any socialite event. And when Careen was absent, Atenic felt a crushing emptiness in her bones unlike no other. It made the same nights she’d adore now impossible to enjoy. Trolls like Siroet or Pereon didn’t fill the hole the same way Careen did. So at best, she’d file her answer down with little more than a solid maybe.

This also meant tonight was no exception to the rule. This time, Careen finally managed to convince her unwilling matesprit to go out and actually enjoy the night with her for once in his life. Judging by their lack of return to the table, he succeeded at such. Siroet already left off in one of her usual Siroet-tantrums some time ago. And Pereon disappeared some time after Careen to discuss business with well-to-do highbloods in snug outfits. Only Atenic remained at the table to sip expensive punch and pick at crumbs of triple moobeast milk crumb pastry. Unlike the rest of them, she’d prefer to stay in the VIP room away from general populace lowbloods. Lowbloods meant trouble. They jeered at Atenic, despite her caste, when she couldn’t hear. Careen was adamant of such.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, pushing around crumbs in complete silence to keep away her dejection, before a chilly hand rested on her shoulder. She looked up to see Pereon standing behind her, smiling politely down. Another troll, a rather toned and meek-looking indigoblood who stood taller than Pereon’s own hair, stood next to her. The indigoblood’s arms rested behind her back. “Atenic,” Pereon said sweetly, “you should enjoy the ball. It’s not every day you’ll see a landdweller host like this.”

Atenic glanced down at her food, nodding absently. She liked Pereon, but Pereon didn’t understand. No one here did. None of them understood the impossible challenges Atenic experienced when Careen wasn’t around. She was...what was the word? Antisocial. Atenic was antisocial.

She craned her neck up again. Pereon was dressed as beautiful as ever, dressed in a two piece dress with a long, two tiered purple skirt and short, lacy halter top. “I am enjoying the ball. The food is very good. And I love wearing this dress! It makes me feel like an eight pointed snowflake!”

Had she been standing, she may have swished her dress for emphasis, but she settled for squirming around in her seat. It might’ve been a shorter dress, but the cute snowflake pattern on the skirt, pale blue ribbon and sheer, sparkling cape made Atenic feel like a true lady of winter. Kordof never failed in making her feel she danced around in other troll’s daydreams.

The indigoblood next to her snickered behind her hand. Pereon, though, she was too respectful for that. She merely quirked her arched eyebrow high enough to blend into her hairline. “Atenic, you do realize snowflakes have six sides, right?”

“Oh.” Where did she learn that? Must’ve been from some cheesy novel. “Sorry Pereon. You’re so smart.”

Pereon patted her shoulder. “It’s fine, little one. Anyone in your position would’ve made the mistake.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Pereon ruffled Atenic’s hair, right between the small, curved horns on her head. “Perfectly normal mistake for landdwellers. It’s why Careen took you in out of the goodness of her soul.”

“Yeah...she did.” Atenic smiled bashfully as warmth flooded and added the barest amount of blue to her face at the memory. Long ago, probably at least ten sweeps at this point, Careen found Atenic hanging around the lower castes and brought her in. Careen brought Atenic into the light of seadwelling society. Atenic learned everything Careen put in front of her, lapped up the praises and criticisms in equal fervor, remembered and internalized every facet until she perfected it to get where she stood now.

“And I’m sure Careen would appreciate if all the help she gave you was put to use.”

She frowned, kicking her legs underneath her chair as Pereon’s hand disappeared. She didn’t like it, but Pereon did have a point. Standing around here waiting for Careen disrespected the hard work she did, not just for the work Careen did in the past couple perigees for her, but for all the work Careen’s done for her in her life up to this point. “Yeah…maybe you’re right.” Atenic stood up, smoothing the skirt of her dress down. “I think I’ll go out on the ballroom.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” She patted Atenic’s head a couple more times before taking the indigoblood’s hand. “You’ll know where to find me if you need me.”

Atenic nodded silently, eyeing them as the two sauntered back toward the orchestra. She wouldn’t need them. Atenic was an adult troll, long past her seventh sweep ordeal and everything. Anxious tendencies or not, she didn’t need Pereon’s help just to go find a specific troll, especially when she knew exactly where that troll would be.

Atenic scuttled her way into the main ballroom in a hurry, rushing past all sorts of lower casted trolls flitting in her way. The music’s quick tempo spurred her footsteps faster, faster toward her eventual goal. She had to be here somewhere important. Find someone important. But where was she? Amid the twirling capes and glittering adornments, she couldn’t make anything out. Nor could she find an easy way in. Not with the sheer volume of trolls. If she wanted to do anything without making a scene, she would have to wait until they thinned out.

“I simply cannot abide this betrayal of my sensitivities!!”

The voice rang out above everything else in the room, clear as day. Atenic didn’t have to see the source to know who it was.

Careen.

All worry of causing trouble washed away. She squeezed between a couple greenbloods doing some odd dance to get into the dance floor proper, frantically darting her head around to look for the voice’s owner. Surrounding trolls, mid and lowbloods mostly, danced on, blocking off Atenic’s line of sight. The curse of being a smaller troll: even when the trolls were distinctly younger and lower casted, she couldn’t see past them. But then again, she knew Careen. She knew Careen better than any other troll knew her. She knew how Careen needed to stay in the public eye in these difficult times, what with that other tyrian pink troll making a calculated effort for Empress.

She pushed her way toward the orchestra. A few trolls resisted, but she was a cobaltblood. No reason not to take advantage of such. Especially when the trolls who pushed back looked like nosy tealbloods thinking they deserved better for being a higher midblood. Someone had to remind them of their standing. May as well be her.

When she arrived, she found herself standing on the edge of what looked to be some kind of standoff. On one side stood Careen, in all her beauty, next to a tall highblood in a rather fru-fru FLARP suit. On the other side was Dontoc in that odd suit with some rust dressed in blacks and bright reds Atenic didn’t recognize. Despite the lack of trolls paying attention to them, none of the four appeared to notice her arrival to the scene unfolding in front of her.

“I just can't fucking fathom why you're being possessive over the pale quadrant!” the brownblood exclaimed. She threw her arms in the air for emphasis as she added, “ The hell do you think you are?”

“Last I checked, I am the Heiress--”

“Yes, Careen. We know.” Dontoc sighed in exasperation. He looked tired. Moreso than before they left, anyway. “That being said, heiress or not, I am allowed a dance or two with my moirail of five sweeps.”

“I was your first quadrant!” Careen stamped her foot on the floor. “I deserve to have him for the event. It's what I deserve after everything I've given him.”

With a shudder, Dontoc looked down at the floor in silence. He almost appeared to curl inward on himself, drooped fins and all.

At the same time, every aspect of brownblood bristled. Her posture straightened, her gaze angry and hateful, the fingers at the side of her body that didn't take his hand twitched violently.  “If I'm being honest, I think you deserve to have me shove my boot up your frilly waste chute but you see me parading around like I own the place,” she said darkly.

Finally, the indigoblood standing next to Careen registered the conversation. He pointed at Dontoc and said, “Control your moirail! She should realize who she speaks to.”

With a huff, Dontoc pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ignoring how wildly inappropriate you are every time you speak, especially now, why are you here? This does not concern you.” He jerked his head up. “Unless you are attempting to get something from us.”

The brownblood seemed to mutter something under her breath, but Atenic couldn't make it out over the indigoblood sputtering, “I would never do such a thing! I feel only that I give my Heiress what she deserves!”

Careen craned her head up to the indigoblood with a particularly indignant look. “What I deserve is my matesprit and I don’t know why you’re so insistent on anything otherwise.”

Atenic frowned. She deserved so much better than Dontoc. She deserved a troll to be there for anything and everything. Dontoc didn’t have the emotional energy to live with her full time and be there at any minute when she needed him. He lacked the patience. The gentle temperament she showed towards those lower than her needed to be returned to her in full.

She cautiously nudged herself out of the edge and into the center of the four of them. Her focus fell only on the Heiress. She didn’t care about any of the other three of them. “Hey, hey Careen?”

She didn’t have to look at the other two trolls to feel the daggers on her back. Careen though, Careen watched her with curiosity. “Atenic, I’m surprised you made it out,” she said. Her gentle tone soothed Atenic, calmed her anxieties the same way a good cup of hot chocolate does.  “What is it you need?”

“I just want to say I agree with whoever the big scary blueblood is. I think you deserve better too!”

Careen sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “That’s great you feel that way, but really Atenic what I deserve is well...you know.” She gestured toward the two trolls behind her. “Someone like Dontoc.”

“A damn shame that what he deserves--”

“I would silence your tongue before I cut it myself,” Careen sneered. “Remember who you speak to, rustblood.”

“Bold words for someone trying to look pretty and nice for the cameras,” the brownblood threw back. “If you want to fight me, actually come over here and do it. Otherwise? Just shut the fuck up.”

“Oh please I have a sense of self respect. Unlike yourself,” Careen scoffed. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “Truly, Dontoc should have a troll who actually cares about what he wants.”

“That’s rich considering--”

“Valeba,” Dontoc sighed in defeat, “stop.”

Atenic whipped her head around behind her to Dontoc and the other troll. The lowblood looked upset, but the glint of murder in her eyes faded into a general glare directed toward her moirail. Dontoc took her hand as he leaned over to whisper into her ear. She frowned deeply, but the her expression softened into...something. Or maybe it didn’t so much soften as return to a neutral state. With the resting bitch face, Atenic couldn’t tell. “Right. Yeah. You’ll know where I’ll be,” she said quietly, quietly enough Atenic could barely hear it. She looked up to Careen with a scowl and before she left, growled, “Do understand though, if it weren’t for the restrictions put upon me for tonight and tomorrow, I would have culled you here and now. She sharply turned on the heel of her foot and walked out before anyone could stop her. The sea of trolls nearby them parted like an ocean as she moved.

Careen made a motion toward Dontoc, but he stepped back. “Careen? I suggest you let me go talk to her.”

“But Dontoc, this is your fault! You let that nasty lowblood into your life, and see how it’s turning out? I should just end it--”

“I don’t think she cares,” he snapped. His fins grew, making already large fins take up a good chunk of his face.

“Well maybe I care!”

“And perhaps, the last time you cared that I danced with a troll who holds no interest in women, you got possessive despite cavorting with…” he looked over to the indigoblood with a raised eyebrow “...numerous curiosities. So do what you will tonight, but understand unless you plan on making this drawn out, you are rather limited to tormenting me like last sweep, and such is a bullet the both of us know I will take. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to speak to her and calm her down proper before you must deal with the beloved kismesis of the only other Heiress competing. The same one looking for an excuse to cull you. Who is also here tonight.”

She stepped closer, seemingly unaware Atenic was in front of her as she only focused on her matesprit. “And what about everyone else? About--”

“Then maybe this time, you should have thought about someone other than yourself. Because I have. And this is, quite frankly, possibly the path of absolute least resistance for you, and yet you still threaten me. This will take a whole five minutes, and then I shall remain with you for the rest of tonight and tomorrow.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Do you not understand that?”

Atenic looked frantically between the two of them. Should she...should she do something? She’d heard Careen complain about Dontoc before, but she’d never actually seen them fight. And what did Dontoc mean by threatening? Careen hadn’t threatened him. She hadn’t threatened anyone.

“Uh...Careen, maybe you can spend some time with me!” she blurted out. “Until Dontoc’s back, at least.”

Dontoc’s fins shrunk as he stared at Atenic, flabbergasted. “Um...if you wish, I suppose? Erm, thank you. Assuming it is, ah…” he looked up at Careen. “Is that a suitable compromise?”

She released her crossed arms with a huff. “That can work, yes. And if this doesn’t come back to me, Dontoc, I guess I’ll make sure your little quadrant doesn’t get thrown out.”

He nodded, and as he turned around to walk away, Atenic could have sworn she saw him roll his eyes. “Of course, dear. Always so forgiving,” he remarked dryly. “I will meet you in the VIP room when I’m finished.”

Careen’s face brightened up. Dontoc was right: she was just so forgiving. “Okay darling! See you there! Come on Atenic, we shall dance in private. I know how you dislike crowds.”

Dontoc nodded, but Atenic wasn’t sure he completely heard, otherwise he might be happier about the whole state of affairs. Their fight was over, and Atenic managed to solve it herself! Maybe she could even slide into being an actual quadrant with Careen. Moirail? Or... auspistice. If it was possible to auspistice a matespritship.

But when Careen shooed away the rather confused-looking indigoblood and took Atenic’s hand, she realized she didn’t care. For this one moment, she was the Heiress’ world. It was all she needed.

[chuckling-chemist]

Let’s Start The New Sweep Right (10/14)

((Opening starts with Careen, so again, if bad relationships upset you I advise just skipping down. Song referenced this time was Libertango. Love me that Libertango))

“Darling, I’m going to dance with a very important political troll. I do hope you don’t mind, because frankly I don’t think you can change mine.”

Dontoc nodded absently. It hadn’t taken particularly long for Careen to end up getting bored of him after the first couple dances and had pretty much left him near the wall for her to flit about the ballroom. He offered to go with her out of obligation, but she declined, citing improper dress for the kind of politicking she needed to do at this event. Not that being told he can’t go with her upset or disappointed him in any way, but it did lead the way to having nothing to do. Initially he tried looking for Mayola or Valeba, but the search ended rather quickly when the crowd in the main floor thickened and his anxiety took over. Dontoc ended up hanging on the wall next to a bowl of unfortunately mediocre punch kept cool by an ice sculpture of some sort of bird.

“Dontoc? Are you even listening to me?”

He jumped, inhaling sharply. A shaky hand ran through his hair, trying to calm himself. “My...my apologies. Did you say something? I am afraid I may have become lost in my own thoughts there.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m going to dance with another troll, and you can’t stop me from doing so.”

He blinked owlishly and furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh...yes. Yes. You just said that. Was...was there nothing else?”

“You’re not going to try and stop me?”

“Careen, you are your own troll. I am not going to become upset and possessive simply because you wish to dance with…” he trailed off as he looked around for whoever she was talking about, but found no one amidst the sea of trolls, “with someone political.”

She tapped her foot with tightly pursed lips, making soft clicks with enough fervor Dontoc thought it might go through the floor. He steadied his breath, bracing himself for the worst. They were not about to have this fight. They were not about to fight because he let her do what she wanted.

Another troll appeared out of the crowd: a towering indigoblood, taller than Dontoc by a good few inches, in a pair of pantaloons and puffy white shirt who’s pompadour made him instantly recognizable to him. He wrapped an arm around Careen’s shoulders with a noticeable smarmy grin. “I see we meet again, seadweller.”

Dontoc gave the troll a lazy once over before turning back to Careen. He hadn’t noticed the tight boots going overtop his pants, up past his knee and tight enough it hugged every crease of his body to the ankle, and to be frank he wished desperately he hadn’t. “Please, do not mind me,” he told her, amiable smile plastered on his face. “I can entertain myself for a few songs.” Not as if you have not already led me to do such a thing.

“But are you sure?” Careen asked. She patted the indigoblood’s hand. “You’re not upset or anything?”

He shook his head. “We have already had this conversation. That would be--” Dontoc stopped as Careen whipped her and her partner around wordlessly away from him to mesh in with the waltzing dance partners. “--idiotic,” he finished softly.

Well, it wasn’t a fight.

He filled his champagne flute up to the top with more punch. He held no desire to return to the VIP area where Atenic likely still sat in perfect silence to stare vacantly until some other troll thought her mannerisms were cute or endearing and not deeply, deeply disturbing. And while the area was certainly less populated, the closer quarters made it feel just as busy as the main floor without the benefit of being able to easily escape outside without passing by burly bouncers in suits far too tight for them, nor was it possible to really disappear into a crowd when there wasn’t technically one to begin with. Hanging on a wall here to watch the orchestra musicians switch out between sets made him look no different from the other rainbow of castes collecting near the wall for whatever reason. Staying near the wall in the VIP area, where every troll appeared to have brought a date or have the charisma to snag another troll going stag, actively made him look lonely.

Another song started up, this one opening up with the director leading others into a steady clap in time to the staccato hits of the piano. Many of the trolls closer to the orchestra dancing picked it up immediately. Some of the more clever ones even worked it into their tango. Dontoc watched a few trolls not far from him that also wallflowered to the wall give half-hearted claps. He didn’t himself, but he also didn’t wish to set down his glass.

“Too good for a few claps?”

Now there was a voice he wasn’t soon to forget. A voice like good chocolate: smooth, familiar and reminiscent distinctly of late mornings on the computer in comfort. He didn’t even need to look over to check who was talking. He could never forget the voice of his moirail.

“Perhaps one should look in the mirror, for I at least have justification,” he said cheekily. He lifted up his glass, taking the smallest sip before setting it down gently on the table.

“Well I do too.”

He turned to her, quirking an eyebrow. “And what, my dear, would that be?”

“This.” With a laugh, she took his arm and pulled him into a tight embrace. Dontoc let his head bury itself into her shoulder. The warmth from her body radiated from her, from the arms wrapped around his back and the hair tickling his face that made his fins twitch and flutter. “God Dontoc, never knew you were one for PDA,” she joked.

“I think the troll world at large will manage to accept a brief moment for two moirails who have not seen each other in...oh goodness how long has it been?” He pulled his head up to look at her, letting his arms fall down to her hold her hands. Valeba was radiant. Now that they were close up, he could see every intricate piece to her outfit. And was her eyeliner winged? Did Mayola convince her to wing eyeliner? “Goodness you look fantastic. And Ardeen is not even here to watch.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine Ardeen here?” She turned around briefly as the accordion swelled to take a look at all general populace. “He owns like...one suit. Maybe. I’ve never seen it. I think he’s fucking with me.”

“Does it still fit?”

“Did yours when we first met?” She smirked.

Dontoc smiled sheepishly, purple blush inflaming his cheeks. “Ah...well I had yet to phase them all out, yes. Ace...ace...Aisral is a very busy troll, you are aware, and well, she had to fix all of my suits due to the lack of care I had given them and... oh you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah.” Her smirk fell. “Everything okay?”

“As okay as it can be when you are stuck with Careen. And her company. And the crowd. And....” He sighed, shaking his head. “I should be glad she abandoned me some time ago, but...well, you know. Afraid it is rather limiting.”

“Yeah, I do.” Her smile returned in coupling with gently squeezing his soft hand in her calloused one. You need to take your thinkpan off things, or do you wanna talk?”

His fins fluttered furiously to match the deepening violet. “Here? Valeba, a hug is one action, but we are moirails and this is not a Sandyhorn party. For the two of us to curl and talk so brazenly at this would be frowned upon. Normally, I would not care so much, but you’re Mayola’s kismesis now and--”

She chuckled. “Okay, I get it.” With a pat of his shoulder, she added, “Doing it at a formal ball with your moirail is eons different from doing it at a diner with a crush.”

Dontoc’s mouth fell open. “Valeba that was your idea!”

She wasn’t wrong by any stretch of the imagination. Valeba was one of the only few trolls who knew how his and Pallia’s relationship existed in a dubious red area, seeing as it was her advice that backfired.

She grinned. “And did it make things feel better, after the awkwardness faded away?” Dontoc wanted to answer to try and refute it, but his phone got to him first. Lying and saying he wasn’t texting anyone was one thing. Trying to convince his moirail he was texting anyone other than Pallia was another story entirely. “That’s her isn’t it?”

He slid his phone out just enough to see Pallia’s name flash over top the words “glassin’s utterly trasshed lol” along the top of the screen. He held back a grin as the mental image of what Glacin could possibly be doing to necessitate a text flooded his mind. Hopefully there was a picture attached to it. Pallia wouldn’t just hang him out to dry.  “Of course.” He slid his phone back down to look back up at her. Checking it around company was impolite. “You know me too well, Valeba.”

“Well first off, I’m your moirail. Pretty sure that’s expected.” 

“This is true, yes.”

“Second, I’d like to think you’re pretty easy to figure out.” She shrugged nonchalantly. She paused to push a loose strand of hair that fell from her bun behind her ear. “You’re a geek who does geek things with anxiety, so sometimes you don’t do geek things. Like now, you’re hanging on the wall because there’s a lot of people and these types of fancy shindigs really aren’t your thing.”

Dontoc nodded. His hands slid into his pockets, pushing the tweed jacket back behind them. “So you can predict, theoretically of course what I shall do next with a relatively low margin of error.”

“Probably.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I am afraid, your calculations are off.” 

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “And where would that be, oh wise seadweller?”

The song ended in a flurry of sixteenth notes running about the scale. Anyone watching, on the dance floor or out of the corner of their eye, could catch the bowstrings of the violins moving about furiously all the way until the finale. Trolls, dancers and onlookers alike, stopped what they were doing to applaud the orchestra musicians. A couple doing the solos even stood up and bowed. Somewhere in that crowd was Careen and that ridiculous indigoblood, possibly laughing and judging him for something now that he was away. Careen undoubtedly also told him more, about his choice of moirail and “unwilling” attitude about dancing. He wasn't sure if Careen was trying to send some kind of message (what that would be, he couldn't begin to fathom) or if she was attracted to men in ill-fitting clothing. It certainly explained her initial draw to him, much as that thought it really was that shallow left a bad taste in his mouth.

But Dontoc shut all that out. Focusing on the crowd led to nothing good, especially now of all times where doing such led to the desperate want to leave. Not when he wanted to do something unexpected. He let out a slow breath, silencing his thoughts and forcing his shaky hands to steady long enough to take hers again. A sly smile played on his lips. “From the sounds of it, you do not anticipate for me to request an official dance. And yet, I would like to ask my lovely moirail if she would like to dance. Crowd be damned.”

He watched with amusement as Valeba’s expression morphed from surprise; looking about the room to hide the rising blush on her cheeks; then confusion, then playful. She mirrored his own smile with shining eyes. “Well…” she said lightly as she shifted to the balls of her feet to ready herself, “since you asked nicely, I just don’t think I can refuse.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Pitch Perigee (8/14)

Valeba couldn’t say she didn’t expect this to happen. Even if the ball had restrictions on the level of blatant hemospectrum supremacy, to assume every name-calling, obviously hemoist, stuck-up-their-own-ass high and midblood avoided the ball was ridiculous. Even Sandyhorn -- a city almost wholly composed of low and midbloods -- had major issues. She walked in anticipating the weird looks and hushed whispers she got walking alongside Mayola toward the VIP area. And if she were being honest with herself, they seemed more respectful here. Back in her first village, she had to deal with accusations of pailing up the hemospectrum due to her choice of quadrants - first Dontoc for a moirail, who gave the immediate impression of a stuffy highblood; then Ardeen, who barely counted if you ignored his access to normal cooking ingredients. The insults darkened her outlook on others, but it did also thicken her skin.

That all being said, the douche hadn’t called her rust, or gutter, or fudge, or dirt or even mud. No, they went for shitblood. They yelled shitblood down a ballroom, over top the music, overtop everything. If her bow were readily available, there wouldn’t even be a pretense of civility at this point. Dontoc may hold the idea of do no harm, but Valeba stood by the idea of take no shit first and foremost.

But she didn’t. Valeba settled for spinning rapidly on her heel toward the sound of the voice. One fist balled itself, but the other held steady right at her waist, ready to grab a knife if the moment called for it.

She found herself standing face to face with a smaller seadweller with equally small, basic looking fins and impossibly spiky horns. All her long, shaggy hair parted off to one side to give that shaved look on the other and only kept out of her eyes by virtue of the star clip in her hair. Her dress was portioned off into two sections thanks to an absolutely gaudy amount of garland around the waist: the top being relatively normal with a plunging, v-neckline held only together by yet more golden plastic-looking beads, and the bottom being a complete mess of what Valeba swore were real tree branches to make a spiky, painful-looking asymmetrical skirt.

“Oh goddamn, I cannot believe.” Valeba raked her eyes up and down the monstrosity of a dress. “I honestly thought a living tree was walking my direction, but no. Trees don’t have fins.”

The pointy thing crossed her arms around a barely covered chest, upper lip curled in a distinct sneer to show off a full row of miniature fangs. Her fins flexed in rhythm. An intimidation tactic, and not even a good one at that. “Yeah, says the troll wearing what? Black and brown? You know the rest of the rainbow exists for a reason, right?”

Valeba drummed her fingers on her belt. “Last I remember, your kind doesn’t exactly appreciate me wearing colors outside the my caste, but sure. Let’s assume it’s my lack of fashion sense. Now, are you just here to test my patience or are do you actually have something…” she paused, freeing up the balled fist only to gesture into the air “...worth what little time I have on this planet?”

“Yeah, I do.” She stepped closer to Valeba, making the brownblood reflexively step back. “I don’t appreciate the gutters like you being so up close and personal with the rest of us.”

Valeba narrowed her eyes. God, did she wish for something to tie her loose hair back in. Her own wasn’t down by any means, but despite being pulled up in a tight bun and held with bladed hair chopsticks, Valeba still felt loose strands tickle the side of her face. It meant in the event of altercation, this troll held the apparent advantages: sharp claws and short hair. Valeba wasn’t planning on pulling the knife out unless this troll touched her. She was going as the Heiress’ kismesis. The last thing she needed to do was reinforce negative stereotypes right now. “Then step away,” she said. “Or is that too hard for you?”

The seadweller pointed a sharp, noxiously pink claw in Valeba’s direction. “You’re the one who should be leaving,” she said.

She almost couldn’t believe it. She’d ran into plenty of true hemoists in her time. She’d pailed a hemoist or two in acts of desperation to avoid the drones, played dumb and submissive to get them to take her in for a day. They generally had a smug aura about them that set them apart from your regular trolls who just listened to what was spoon-fed to them or straight up lied and said they went with it, despite privately following their own system. Some, she’d venture to say, might even get this dramatic. But this? Valeba may as well be in a cartoon.

“And you’re going to, what? Cull me?” Valeba let out a harsh laugh. “Seadweller or not, that’s gonna be a harder one to do quietly with no weapons.”

The seadweller took another step closer, curled lip giving way to an increasing amount of menace and teeth. Valeba took another step back. Was anyone paying attention to them? It was hard to tell. Probably not. Trolls already get wrapped in themselves pretty easily without their quadrants and decadent food nearby. “I don’t need weapons to get you thrown the hell out like you should be,” she said. “I just need to remind everyone here of the gutterblood’s barbaric nature--”

“Barbaric nature?” she snapped. “It’s not lowbloods who have violent tempers, last I fucking recall. And it’s certainly not a fucking lowblood who yelled a slur across the room.”

The seadweller leaned in close, pointing that stupid claw closer to Valeba. Valeba balled her fist tighter, her own claws digging into her skin. “Don’t you compare us to those filthy Faygo drinkers. We’re far more pure and like, way more sane than any air breather.”

“Then if you’re so sane, I suggest leaving me the fuck alone,” she snarled. “There are plenty of other fucking lowbloods to pick on.”

“Yeah, but like, not all of them just give off that feel of trouble like you do.” She put her claw down, but came closer to get up in Valeba’s face. Valeba could smell the distinct fishy smell from the troll’s dinner as she breathed cold air up. “Who tips their hair mutant red for a highblood ball? Filthy hemorebel extremists looking to bomb a place she doesn’t belong in, that’s who.”

“I suggest you get out of my face now before you do something you regret,” she growled. A flash of brightly colored movement caught in the upper corner of her vision and she flitted her gaze for the briefest second up, but it was gone by the time she looked.

“Oh yeah, like what? You can’t even look at me when you threaten me. Bet you’re all talk and no actual game like the rest of you filthy rusties. Bet I could just…” The seadweller’s gaze went up and down, studying Valeba like a piece of meat on display. She slipped a hand underneath the waistline, tightening the grip around the nearest knife. She let out a slow, silent exhale. Only a matter of time now.

It never came. That flash of color returned to her vision, closer now. It wasn’t a flash anymore, but a tall man in a patchwork suit and dark sunglasses looming over the seadweller. He had an odd set of horns: one curled tightly around his ear like Vodnik’s, but the other hooked up and appeared broken off right where it would have curved downward. He gave the two of them a wide grin as he fished around his upper pocket to pull out a white case.

“You must be Siroet,” he said pleasantly. Before she had the chance to say something nasty, he opened up the case and hastily pulled out a small card out. One of them he handed out to the seadweller. Another one fell right on the floor. “Gonzor Tenerg, Trolling Stone. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Siroet’s face melted into calm passivity. She gave Gonzor a dainty-looking hand to shake. “Oh yeah, Careen mentioned you. You were the one looking to talk to her,” she said sweetly.

Valeba scowled. Figures this troll seadweller was somehow wrapped up in the Heiress. It certainly explained the outfit, anyway. She’d seen more than enough of some of the outfits, between the pictures on her Chittr she posted nonstop and the photos Dontoc texted her when they stopped paying attention to him.

He gave Siroet a pleasant, if empty, smile. “You could say that, yes. I’m looking to write a story on the Heiress. Really get a feel for not just her, but the people she keeps around. Helps give the people a whole sense of who may one day take down the Empress.”

She nodded vigorously. She took her free hand in his, delicately clasping it.  “Oh, yes. Yes. I understand completely Mr. Tenrig. Please, come with me. Let’s sit! I’ll give you everything you need to know.”

“Oh yes, oh yes.” He glanced at Valeba to give her a quick nod before sliding his hand out from Siroet. Right when he tipped her head up to look at him better, she slinked silently back into the crowd. She only just caught the oliveblood looking back toward her direction with a knowing grin as the crowd engulfed her.

Time to go find her kismesis.

[chuckling-chemist]

Silent Night (7/14)

((Seeing as this takes pretty much at the same time as the other one, obviously this means also would have Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy))

“Did you see ‘em?”

“Yeah. I did.” Valeba shook her head as they walked through the ballroom. “Can’t say I’m surprised. This seems exactly like her kind of shit.”

“Oh it totally fucking is. She was here last sweep too, just fucking…” Mayola shuddered. “God I hate that little puffball’s guts.”

She grimaced. “That about sums it up,” Valeba said wryly. She turned around, hoping to catch another glimpse of her and Dontoc, but they had disappeared into the crowd. “You know about everything right? Involving--”

“Lover boy fessed everything up last sweep to me, yeah.” Mayola’s fins fanned out, not incredibly, but just enough Valeba could see the darker pinks normally hidden. “I can’t believe I’m the nicer one outta the two of us, ya know? Least I fuckin’ know how to treat my goddamn date.”

The two stopped at one of the far walls, next to a huge, arched window covered with rich looking blue drapes. Mayola slumped against the wall with a groan. “Have I mentioned how much I hate her?”

Valeba shrugged. She found a nice open spot on the wall to lean on as well and let herself rest. She may not be wearing heels, but the hard flooring was still a heavy change from the forest floor she normally spent her time on. “I’m not gonna get upset at you saying something that’s true.”

She slid further down the wall with a groan. “I don’t wanna ruin your first real night doin’ fancy shit with all my bitching though. That just seems selfish.”

“I can’t believe you care about the well-being of your kismesis.” Valeba let out a high pitched giggle. With a kick back off the wall to face Mayola, she held her hand out to the other troll. “Come on now. May as well repay the damn favor.”

Mayola stared at Valeba’s gloved hand, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This a trick?”

“Mayola, you know me.” Valeba smirked. “If this were a trick, this is far too obvious.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

The only answer she gave was a widened smirk and taking her arm, leading her effortlessly through the crowded forest of trolls gathering in every which direction to the sound of trumpets and violins. She let them get swept up in the rising crowd of gowns and suits coming to the dance floor, never keeping her hand off Mayola’s. It led them to the back of the ballroom, back to spare tables against the back wall covered in white tablecloths that brushed against the floor. The music from the main ballroom was still audible, but rather than the distinct blare of trumpets she could only hear a faint tinkle of...something. She didn’t know what.

No windows. No orchestra. No trolls.

She did a quick double take, making sure no staff or highbloods were watching them. With that affirmed, she gave a quick tug on Mayola’s sleeve and dashed underneath the table. With her tall horns, it was undoubtedly a tight fit, but she managed to get into a comfortable enough lying position to minimize any sort of unpleasant scraping by the time Mayola followed suit. It didn’t quite work. Mayola decided squatting, even with her own curvy horns, would be more comfortable. Never mind the little thunks they made every time she readjusted, or the pained expressions every time it happened.

“If this is you tryin’ to seduce me, it ain’t workin’,” she said. She shifted again, scowling. “God I feel like I can’t even--”

With a sigh, Valeba leaned up just enough to grab the collar of Mayola’s dress and pull her down into the space next to her. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes.” She rolled over onto her side right as Valeba slid an arm under her top. Despite being in such a compromised position, she could still reach the plastic bottles effortlessly. Not like Mayola had put the pieces together yet. “Oh fuck you really did bring me here to seduce me,” she breathed. “You goddamn minx. How did you know I--”

Valeba bent her head the short, short distance to give Mayola a quick kiss. “I’m not here to fill your exhibitionist dreams. I’m here so we can do this.” The hand underneath her top snaked back out with her plunder: seven different mini plastic bottles of darkly colored, expensive rum that they had carefully snuck in using one of the pouches underneath her dress. The one next to the knife holster. “We’ve still got some time until the bar opens.”

Mayola bolted upright, banging her horns again on the table. The whole thing lifted for a brief second along with her. Had it not been Valeba was currently hiding underneath it, she was sure it was a sight to see.

“Easy!” Valeba barked. “We don’t wanna alert the staff we’re hiding out underneath a table.”

“Says the troll yelling,” she said. She rubbed the top of a horn gingerly. “Fuck that hurt.”

“Well yeah. It would. Hell, watching it hurts my pan.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Least it won’t affect your intelligence.”

“Hey, hey, hey --” she accented each word with a real snap “--I actually need this thinkpan to be usable if I’m going up against Princess Staypuft.”

“Yeah, because you can’t just stab her and call it a night.” Valeba sighed. Having seadwelling quadrants did have its boons. Namely, she knew the intricacies that went into Mayola’s bid for Heiress. Trolls were a long standing violent, murderous race, yet the acquisition from bastard to Heiress, and then from Heiress to Empress, held enough pomp and circumstance to last a sweep. She couldn’t just cull the other troll right then and there.

No, first she had have the other Heiress abdicate their bid. Any Heiress that didn’t willingly abdicate would enter publicized single combat with the other. No other trolls. No assistance from quadrants, or a recommended highblood consort. Just you and the other troll. From there, she’d have to find some way to call out to Her Imperious Beguiler and repeat the whole process. In between all of this, Mayola would also have to find time to win over the planet’s currently divided support and gain control of the multitudes of industries Careen, Niehea or the Empress watched. It’s why Mayola went to these formal events in the first place. She couldn’t gain support if trolls far outside Sandyhorn didn’t even know of the Bastard of the Beaches.

Valeba always thought it was a stupid amount of politics for what effectively boiled down to single combat Duel Strifers.

But she didn’t express all of that to Mayola. Why would she? Mayola hated all the ceremony just as much as Valeba did, it’s part of why she ran from the position in the first place. She was all about killing and being done with it. You didn’t need a procession to convince the Empress to arrive on planet for the first time in however-many-sweeps.

So rather than sharing that, she tossed a bottle up to Mayola and said, “Here. Have the first one. It’ll be the only one you can take anyway.”

Mayola let out a choked laugh. “You wanna bet?”

Valeba propped herself up higher. “I can bet you hm...loser’s gotta be on bottom tonight. No fighting for it.”

Mayola gave Valeba a toothy grin as she whipped the cap off and downed it in an instant. The distinct, pleased noise escaping from her mostly-closed mouth. “Oh hon, you’re gonna lose so bad.”

Valeba nabbed a bottle next to her, uncapping and shooting it with a fluidity Mayola lacked. It was sweet. Almost too sweet. It didn’t so much hide the alcohol taste as it tried to bury it in spice and sugar. Enough so she wasn’t wholly sure she could feel her throat. She was just glad it wasn’t viscous as well, or else she’d lose this for sure. “You say this as I’ve consistently beat Ardeen in doing single malt soporific shots.”

Mayola grabbed another one. “Rum ain’t whiskey. You’re gonna fuckin--” she paused to drink the whole thing. Valeba watched her fins flutter, face flush, as she shuddered. “--gonna fuckin’ lose.”

“Yeah I bet.” Another shot. Valeba felt this one crawl down her back, almost pleasantly, warming up every area around her spine. “Though I’ve only got seven.” She tossed one up to Mayola. “Or uh...two. What’re we gonna do after that?”

“Eh, we’ll figure it out.” She opened up the bottle to do another shot, though slower than the previous times. It gave Valeba time to watch the array of faces she made as the liquid touched Mayola’s tongue and slid down her throat. Her face shifting from a grimace, to a mostly neutral expression, to complete pleasure in only a few seconds. “Oh wait! Why not get some shots when the bar opens?”

“Yeah, because that doesn’t look completely terrible.” She rolled her eyes and took another shot. One left. “Just a fuchsia and her kismesis casually getting shitfaced.”

“Yeah but we’re like...actually at a bar.” She paused, gaze darting down between at the scattered empty bottles surrounding the singular full bottle. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Uh...how many have we had between the two of us?”

“Well, you had one…” she pointed her left arm up at Mayola as she counted, “then me. Then you. Then me. Then you. Then me?” She frowned. “Yeah, it’s gotta be that. Next shot will be ahead of--hey! Fucking cheater!”

As she spoke, Mayola leaned down to snatch the final bottle and empty it. Valeba glowered the whole time, but Mayola avoided it by looking at her bottle. “You call it cheating,” she said, twirling the empty bottle between her fingers, “I call it getting ahead or winning.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Sure. You gonna take care of these bottles then, winner?” She hyper-enunciated every letter at the end, letting the sourness of her tone really curdle. Truth be told, no matter what Mayola said, Valeba was going to clean them up. She had the option of possibly playing stupid if they caught her -- just cleaning up for some highbloods, no, she can’t reveal the name because they threatened her, you know how seadwellers get...it was a song and dance she knew all too well.

“...Nah.” Mayola kicked a few of the empty bottles into her open arms, where she scooped them up into her the bracer-sleeves of her top. “You know where to find me?”

She kicked back. “Course I do. You’re easy.” Valeba gave her one last grin as she rolled out from under the table, making careful sure not to bang up her horns.

The music and trolls had changed. She walked in on a slow, methodical waltz-sounding wholly comprised of clarinet and oboe with little variation and trolls spinning in equally methodical, dizzying circles. But they were distracted, and that’s what was important.

She scooted along the wall up to the dessert tables. The silver platters of cookies and cakes were picked clean, but the neon green trash can sitting against it was empty. Nobody even surrounded it to throw away their dainty, see-through plastic plates for cookies. She managed to get every single one of the little bottles dumped and covered in napkins without a soul paying enough attention to her to notice. Another successful mission.

She stretched her arms out, hearing the bones crack along the way. Maybe holing up underneath a table wasn’t the best idea, but damn if her and Mayola didn’t need the brief moment alone. They were much harder to get here for some reason than the Feast of Fools, or at her own damn Night of Frights party that she hosted. Apparently highbloods just couldn’t get enough of checking out the newest Heiress and her rustie of a date.

Just wait until they figure out just how many pies she’s managed to get her fingers into.

Valeba pocketed her hands into her skirt (oh thank God Aisral knew how pockets worked) and started down to the dance floor. Mayola should have made it out by now. She might be able to coax the fuchsiablood into doing one kind of highblood dance as a warm up before they started playing anything either of them cared much about. Not that Valeba was much good at either of them, but she was a quick learner and Mayola was a good partner. It couldn’t be that hard. And if not, she might be able to catch Dontoc and pry him away from Careen for five minutes. They were moirails. Moirails that Careen had made a careful point of making sure didn’t see each other the minute Valeba actually stayed in the city, enough so they didn’t know much about their own lives since Dontoc took her “just flirt with Pallia a little, not like she’ll notice” advice way too far and ended up further in the romantic-frustration hole than he would’ve liked. And that was still summer. She hadn’t even decided to dye her hair bright red at that point.

“Hey, shitblood!”

Valeba’s blood boiled. She didn’t recognize the voice behind her, but she sure as hell didn’t like the tone.

Fuck.

This is what she gets for drinking before eleven.

[chuckling-chemist]

Now Give Me Some Figgy Pudding (4/14)

((It’s lacking a “name of song” title because I ran out of clever ideas, very fast. Also, the song I imagined for this sequence was Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2))

“Goddammn Val, you realize they serve dinner too, right?”

Valeba glanced down at her small plate of food grabbed from the buffet tables, absolutely filled to the brim with fancy slices of raw fish and other small appetizers. The extravagance of the food matched the extravagance of the whole venue perfectly: it looked richer and more expensive than Valeba would ever be able to afford on her own, and was largely enjoyed by the masses, but she knew in her head it wouldn’t quite live up to what she imagined and would probably need some soy sauce.

Okay, maybe this analogy needed more thought.

Could anyone blame her? After being swarmed by press eager to get the first major look at the up-and-coming Heiress -- never mind not only had she been here last sweep, just not in any sort of specialized area -- neither of them had a chance to breathe, let alone get any food. They hadn’t been able to sit down for some time, not until they finally made their way into the VIP area. And despite Mayola’s numerous attempts to help Valeba dip out, the press were so interested in a fuschiablood not just having a lowblood quadrant, but a lowblooded quadrant she wanted to take with her to a formal event, escaping to their little table for two against the wall was next to impossible.

“What?” She popped a scallop wrapped in bacon in her mouth. “I’m hungry now. Besides, it’s only about seven-forty-something. We’ve got twenty minutes before our food gets here and I can’t wait that long. Besides,” she paused and grabbed a piece of lox, “it’s free. I’m poor. I’m taking advantage of this guy shilling out as much money as possible to feed us.”

“Mm. Fair.” Mayola’s hand snuck up to the plate, but Valeba caught it first. She planted a dining knife square in between her the fuschia’s forefingers.

“Get your own damn plate,” she growled.

Mayola’s eyes glinted against the hazy blue lights. “You sure you wanna go down this path?”

“Maybe later.” She retracted the knife in an instant, quickly pocketing the knife. Not like it was hers, but Mayola didn’t need the upper hand. She carried enough knives on her. “If you gotta slobber over me, I’d like to think it can wait until after dinner.”

“Before or after they’re done with the uh...fuck I dunno what song this is so I can finish the thought.” She stopped, scrunching her whole face. Soft piano arpeggios filled the room. They almost sounded familiar, a chord set she must have heard somewhere else even if she didn’t quite recognize the current song. “Maybe you and your highblood fuckery recognizes it?”

She paused all motions to stare at Mayola, incredulous. “Highblood fuckery?”

“Oh come on, you know.” She folded her hands underneath her chin, letting her shaggy hair fall in front of her face. Valeba had to admit, Mayola probably shouldn’t have cut it right around Night of Frights for a costume, but telling her otherwise would have been an impossible mission. “Me. That awkward blue boy. Some fish--”

Valeba gasped. “I don’t pail my goddamn moirail you--”

“Relax!” She cackled loudly, clapping her hands against the table. “I was talkin’ ‘bout Niehea’s current fling. Coulda sworn he mentioned you once. Or maybe that was some other lowblood. Man’s pailing lifestyle is a goddamn revolving door that Niehea just kinda...stands in the center of.”

“Good to see you really think all lowbloods are the same,” she remarked dryly. The corners of  her lips curled into a smirk. “Knew it’d come out of you eventually that you’re just playing.”

“I most certainly aren’t!” Her fins and eyes went equally wide as she pointed a sharp claw in Valeba’s direction. “Ain’t! Fuck. Damn it. I’ve been fancy for too long.”

“It’s only been forty minutes since we walked in.” She leaned back in her chair. “You’re probably just getting affected by the area around you.”

“It can’t be that fancy.”

Valeba rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been able to look very well at the whole VIP room, not after their dash into the room only a couple minutes before the servers came in to get dinner orders. That being said, between actual having an actual troll stationed to take her coat (and failing to notice the sheer volume of weapons she carried) and having two cobaltbloods push a red carpet down a snowy road already indicated this event was at least on par with similar events Careen held, the same parties she seemed eager to remind Valeba weren’t for “her kind” when she thought Dontoc wasn’t listening.

“Sure. I’ll just check to just confirm that’s stupidest thing to come out of your foodchute yet.”

She caught Mayola’s mouth opening to rebut, but Valeba was already twisting around in her seat. She’d been looking for an excuse to get a thorough look around the room since sitting down and this gave her the first proper excuse to gather her bearings and see what she was theoretically up against.

True to her belief, the whole place looked like a textbook definition of fancy. The room itself was a more reserved, upscaled version of the larger ballroom, complete with a second - albeit smaller- musician pit and elegant bar stocked in liquors she’d barely ever seen. Instead of the large tables set for eight present in the main room, most of these ones were all smaller tables for twos, threes or fours. Each mahogany table was covered in rich cloth of the color and accent representing the VIP guest in question. Valeba’s own table was covered in tyrian pink with a glass vase, but just a cursory glance revealed abstractified sculptures of everything from violins and television props to dangerous looking lusii and glass symbols propped on stands. Most of the table cloths were in cool colors, but occasionally she’d catch a hint of brown or red that felt like sucker punches to the face. Soft lights wrapped around garland and silver tinsel hung from the white walls accented in gold walls to give off an ethereal glow. It matched the potted evergreens and purple flower bushes precisely positioned around elaborate glass tables covered in appetizers.

And to say nothing of the people. She hadn’t quite yet gotten the chance to observe all the trolls in the main area, but in the VIP area showcased the absolute most famous and pompous of the bunch she’d never be able to see anywhere aside from idly watching television with Ardeen. Highblooded women in tight corsets and long, flowing gowns mingled with seadwellers in smoking jackets holding champagne flutes of what she figured - unless VIPs got special privileges on alcohol, which she wasn’t willing to throw out - were no more than sparkling juice currently. The real surprising thing about the whole event were the sheer number of seadwellers: Dontoc and Mayola both complained endlessly about how rarely seadwellers came to landdwelling highblood events. For them to come to a formal event on the mainland ran by a landdweller - a midblood no less, if all the pre-preparation she did holds any merit - was a testament in and of itself. It made her wonder how many of the seadwellers were actually VIPs interested in going and how many were just high-society dates to landdwelling celebrities. It’s not like she could much tell the difference between the two anyway.

When she turned back around, she popped a small cheese-covered cracker in her mouth. Her plate seemed...emptier than it should have. Either Valeba was hungrier than her thought, or Mayola stole a couple pieces. “This is literally the most extravagant, most elaborately designed room I’ve ever been in. I fail to see on any singular level how you could mistake this for being ‘not that fancy’. Unless you’re fucking with me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I dunno.” Mayola clasped her hands on the table and gave her a sharp, toothy grin. Valeba could see the small pieces of raw fish stuck between her teeth. “I think I might be.”

Valeba scooted up to sit on the edge of her chair, elbows on either side of her plate. “You’re an ass.”

Mayola leaned further on the table, gaze quite pointedly not on the plate, but on Valeba. “You can’t share your goddamn food. Think that makes you the true ass.”

“Says the troll stealing from the poor.” She leaned in further. She could feel the light breeze from Mayola’s twitching fins. “Even if I’m the true ass, you’re not too good yourself.”

She smirked, eyes dark with what could only be described as pitch adoration. “But you hate every fuckin’ second of it.”

“Hate it so much I’m getting my goddamn food back.” She leaned further in for a kiss, cut off only by a loud cough reminding her of where they were. Valeba shoved herself back into her chair, grinning sheepishly at the yellowblooded server standing next to the table, deftly levitating their food with psionics. “Sorry for making you wait,” she said.

“Flirting - pitch, pale or flushed - at such an affair’s not uncommon. You get used to it.” The yellowblood gave them a cool smile. “I imagine the dignity of the Heiress would prevent it from getting too out of our fronds.”

Mayola laughed awkwardly, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder.  “Yeah...no. I am fuckin’ shameless. Hungry and horny do start and end the same way after all.”

Valeba sighed. “Mayola that makes no sense.” She looked back over to the yellowblood. “Also sorry about her. Seadwellers, ya know?”

“I do indeed.” The smile that came over him as he placed the covered silver platters to the floor felt more genuine than before. The lid on Valeba’s lifted first. “The bronzeblood asked for our breaded gamefowl resting on a mat of rice, seasoned in our finest herbs and served with a side of tangy, yet spicy, grubsauce.”

The next lid raised. Mayola stared down at it, licking her lips like a starved hyena all the while. “And for our Heiress, just as you requested: steamed oversized scuttlebug stuffed with yolk from our cluckbeasts and brandy, served with a side of green stick vegetation and risotto. Otherwise known to seadwellers as ‘lobster thermidor’. A heavy dish, but perfect for warming you in the weather.”

“Hell yeah it is.” She stretched her arms over her plate. Valeba could hear nearly every single one of her fingers crack. “Hey, goldie. Indulge me a little.”

The yellowblood froze in place. The plates he held up with psionics shook. It wasn’t a stretch to say the poor troll was probably terrified. She wished it were possible to telegraph that of all seadwellers, Mayola was the least likely to harm him anymore than a sympathetic smile. “Yes...my Heiress?”

“You guys allowed to accept tips?” She frowned. “I forget if that’s technically a no-no. Swear to fuck tippin's different across the ocean.”

He relaxed instantly, so much so Valeba actually thought she might have to steady him. “Yes. Yes. It’s allowed,” he said as he took both the lids out of the air, stacking them over each other before tucking them under his arm.

“Good.” She shoved her hand into her pocket, pulling out wrinkled pink dollars. “Sorry for the appearance, but I don’t like fru-fru fucking little handbags.”

“Not a problem,” he said politely. He opened his free hand to allow Mayola to drop the dollars and he tucked them into the pocket of his vest without another thought. The yellowblood gave the two a short bow. “Enjoy your food, ladies.”

“Oh we will,” Mayola said. She winked at Valeba. “We fucking will.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Fancestor Week: Serendipity Prompt

((Inspired by this prompt to make this, which is funny seeing as the only ancestor I’m posting is Aluala, and yet here I am doing this for Dontoc’s ancestors. Ah well. Literally just wrote it and posted it since it’s a prompt thing, so I went with whims as opposed to anything else. So yeah. Enjoy!))

Nieche Leiniz stared at the blank wooden wall. In his rampant imagination, he admitted that being taken prisoner by ravaging pirates seemed more exciting after the fact than it was. He got to watch scores of lowbloods - and a purpleblood? Did he see a purpleblood or was that his imagination? - overtake the military vessel he happened to have passage on. Writers learn best with experience after all, and there was no better way to write the adventure novel questioning everything commonly accepted about the military without knowing exactly how the military functioned. He hadn’t forgotten piracy was seriously starting to pop-up in the waters seadwellers didn’t keep in a tight stranglehold, but he wrote it off. They were just barbarian midbloods trying to act like royalty. Nothing less, nothing more.

Then The Empress’ Majesty became overwhelmed by the singular ship to fear. The Seadweller’s Curse. The one ship even Nieche, glorified violetblooded hermit that he was, recognized and feared. Everyone knew about the terrifying Lady-O-War, even if they never saw her by face. One by one, as a yellowblood and purpleblood offered quarter to the soldiers, they lashed out. One by one, the yellowblood and purpleblood killed them. But he didn’t. He accepted becoming their prisoner, offered his arms freely to become bound, let the pirates gleefully strip him of his weapons and now sat in a miniscule empty room with wet wooden walls. Alone.

The door opened. Nieche’s gaze flitted over, watching as a tall brownblood in a long, decorated coat striped in reds and purples and fitted swashbuckler hat covered in dyed brown feathers sauntered in. She shut the door behind her, leaning on it with a cocky grin.

He didn’t know much about pirates, but there weren’t many others aside from the captain who dressed like that.

Nieche cocked his head in curiosity. “Wasn’t expecting the Lady-o-War to be a gutterblood,” he remarked. “I heard she was...what was it? Olive? Teal?”

The brownblood seemed unfazed. She shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help it you’re slow to the uptake. Nor can I help that somehow a violetblood like yourself apparently is worthless for ransom.”

Nieche gasped. “Inconceivable!”

Not that he really thought it was inconceivable. Well-established writer or not, he wasn’t much for promotion. He hadn’t even so much as shown his face in the past thirty sweeps since his first book. Nor did he write with his real name or symbol. He wished establish credibility without his status, not because of it.

“Please save the fake drama for later. I don’t have time for it. Because now, I have the singular royal fish on my ship who’s useless to me. So I’ve got a conundrum here. Cull you, or find a purpose for you. Which I’ll be fair, someone else with classic booksmarts and a pretty way of talking works well for a ship filled with escaped slaves.” She crossed her arms. “So what’s it gonna be, fish boy? Choice is yours. Death... or piracy?”

***

Inaeis Leiniz stared at the blank wooden wall. There wasn’t much else he could do, not really. Not anymore. Where once a glorious research facility stood, now only broken glass and bent metal existed in its wake. Ashes, all of them from books he once burned collected like grains of sand on the beach around the counters and medical equipment. He could still hear the screams as trolls got murdered. Still could see the vicious look on Fospha’s face as she was held down and violetnly culled. Could still smell the blood spilled and the distinct scent of charred paper that he never could wash out of his clothing. Once upon a time, this was his fault. But that was a hundred sweeps ago.

And in all those sweeps, nothing changed.

Aluala smacked him on the head, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Hey! Alternia to chumbucket, you dragged me to your fuckup so you wouldn’t be alone in this place. You don’t get to go all 1000 yard stare and force me to do all the heavy lifting.”

Inaeis blinked harshly, her mental voice reverberating loudly in her head. He’d never truly get used to such a mental power. “Excuse me, this was your idea after I briefly mentioned I had a fling with an actual scientist.”

“You call your fifteen sweep kismesis with a tealblood you murdered a fling? Fucking hell, what’s that make me, a casual hatetoy who you only pail because it pisses off your matesprit?”

“I don’t have to answer that question,” he sneered.

“You do if you want any help finding these books.” She scowled, letting out a guttural groan. “And how do I know you’re not just fucking with us? How do I know these books even exist?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know! I don’t know if they really do. But whenever I started my...relations...with Carica, Fospha got insistent I was making a mistake,” he said. Inaeis shoved a hand in his suit pocket, pulling out a crinkled note written in impecable teal handwriting. Aluala snatched it out of his hand, hurriedly scanning over the thing with an increasingly large smirk on her face.

“Oh she is absolutely delightful. Shame I couldn’t meet her. Did she wink when you culled her? Please tell me she did.”

“You are finding far too much joy in this,” Inaeis said grimly. “So are you going to help or not?”

Aluala shrugged, dropping the note on the floor as she made her way out of the lab room. “I’ll think about it. Feel like I’m honoring her legacy more leaving them here instead of finding them.” She turned around swiftly on her heel, dress twirling as if its own beast, and gives a small princess-like wave. “Good luck Inaeis! I feel like you’ll need it!”

***

Dontoc Leiniz stared at the blank wooden wall. He seemed uncaring about the troll sitting against his back, head lolled onto his shoulder and antler-like horns right in next to his face. Her wrists were bound - he had done it himself, however loosely - and he could only describe her slight shaking and unsteady breath as distress, but hadn’t told him to stop yet. He trusted Valeba. He trusted she might also end up pushing herself too far, but they had been moirails for a few sweeps now. If she threw herself into a panic attack, he knew how to deal with it.

Still, checking up wasn’t a bad idea.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “I’m okay. How long has it been?” she said breathlessly.

“At least four minutes.” He frowned. “Are you sure you are okay? You sound stressed.”

“Oh I’m most definitely stressed,” she said. Her voice sounded strained, more so than before. “This is still freaking me out pretty badly. But at least four minutes without throwing myself into a PTSD-fueled panic attack is a huge improvement from last time.”

He sighed. “Valeba…”

He knew her well enough to know she threw him a grin that was partly to convince himself and mostly to convince herself, though the extended pause in her speak told him otherwise. “I got this.” She swallowed thickly. “I...I…”

That was all he needed. In an instant, he broke away from Valeba, using the knife she gave him earlier to cut away at the ropes. She turned around herself, throwing him in a tight embrace. He could feel his the shirt of his suit go damp from her tears and could feel her body shake, but no tears came out. He let a hand go up into her hair, petting it as gently as he could.

“It is okay,” he said softly. “You are just with me, alive and well. No one else. And it was not a seadweller who did those things to you.”

He felt her nod. “I know.”

“And you said it yourself, you improved.”

She sighed as she looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Not well enough.”

He shook his head, moving the hand from her hair straight to her cheek. She shuddered again, violently, before her whole body calmed. “Valeba, you are doing fine. Some would never try to work past this.”

“Still…”

“You are being too hard on yourself. Think of it this way. Last time, we only made it a minute or so, and I did not catch you until you started to return to your trauma. We are both improving.”

“Mm. That’s fair. Thanks for that.”

“Valeba, you are my moirail. And certainly, you have pulled me out of more panic attacks than I can think. Doing something like this is only the natural course of events.” His fins twitched and he stroked her cheek. If it were someone else, someone who didn’t have a fear of being restrained, he might initiate the hug. But not now. Not with her. “But I suppose, if you are looking for it, a ‘your welcome’ works just as well.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Valeba Medala

(art done by @deadmen-art-no-tales) Name: Valeba Medala Handle: audaciousAntiquity Blood: Bronze Gender: Female Height: 5' 7" Symbol: Adinkra Hye Won Hye Lusus: Nightingale (deceased) Psychic Ability: Unawakened 1 way telepathy Weapon of Choice: Bow, Knife Modus: Inventory Modus Ancestor: The Valkyrie Quirk: m/M => ^^ otherwise good grammar Voicecanon: Meg from Hercules God Tier: Rogue of Light Lunar Sway: Prospit Extended Zodiac: Taurpio - Sign of the Student

(bio under the cut)

Your name is VALEBA MEDALA.

You are a HUNTER by trade, an ADVENTURER at heart and a STUDENT by accident. You have a love for all things DANGEROUS and HISTORICAL, and enjoy exploring and acquiring anything of VALUE. You don't view yourself as a thief, but rather a bit of a TREASURE HUNTER as well as a CURATOR of the forgotten facts of your world. You would store it all in your LESS THAN IDEAL hive - and you do - but it doesn't leave with much in the way of elbow room to work with. Sometimes, items with less historical value such as GEMS and SCABBARDS get sold alongside the pelts and meats you sell to make room and to get some EXTRA POCKET CHANGE. This was somewhat rectified when your old NIGHTINGALE lusus finally passed into oblivion, but that mostly just aided in giving less excuse for your LITTLE SLEEP when you're in your hive and not off adventuring, or staying the day at your MATESPRIT or MOIRAIL's hive instead.

Unlike most brownbloods, you actually seem to LACK A PSYCHIC POWER of any sort. You haven't quite decided if this is a good or bad thing yet, as while you are a COMPETENT FIGHTER, any sort of assistance aside from flat TECHNICAL SKILL and DEXTERITY when it comes to fighting would be appreciated. Especially since your preferred weapon is the same weapon revered by the ARISTOCRATIC ELITE of your society, something that has gotten you in trouble more times than you can count. That being said, you've also SWIFTLY REMOVED yourself from said trouble with the weapon. It hasn't stopped your CONSTANT PARANOIA towards those in high castes - in particular the capricious subjuggalators you artfully avoid - but it gives you a SMUG SENSE OF SATISFACTION to defeat them in any sort of combat.

Sometimes, you get online. Mostly to contact your MOIRAIL, who always frets over you when you're around, or your MATESPRIT, who you adore dearly despite his multitudes of verbal typos. You think it's cute. Your tag is audaciousAntiquity and you speak pretty well for a lowblood without ^^uch in the way of schooling.

[chuckling-chemist]

20 seconds into SEA and

hold on

Can’t believe my own OC is derivate of a game I wasn’t able to play until now

[chuckling-chemist]

Victoria Malloy

((That’s right I’m doing these for my OCs. Slowly. Really slowly))

Name: Victoria Malloy Alternate Title: N/A Race: Scottish Heritage, American Hair: Red Eyes: Blue Height: 5′8″ Important Items: Her various magical artifacts she uses for defense Occupation: Treasure Hunter and curator of a small museum Birthplace: Scandia, PA Home: Pittsburgh, PA Age: 35 Time Period: modern day Close Relationships: Her student, Samuel Thomas

Likes

History

Mythology

Traveling

Teaching/Learning

Magic

Dislikes

Sitting still

Throwing things away

Having nothing to do

Sleeping

Personality

Intelligent

Crafty

Protective

Frugal

Blunt

Stubborn

Paranoid

Strict

Backstory:

Victoria has been part of the Organization ever since she can remember. Which is to say, since she had been a kid and accidentally managed to find an adder stone while skipping stones. That day, she learned the world was just as filled with magic as the stories would have you believe. They, specifically a kindly old lady from the nearby city, found her shortly after that and helped her along her way to who she is today. Now she works for them as their ace treasure hunter, reclaiming artifacts being misused by others for selfish or immoral gain and holding them in their museum safely in the city of Pittsburgh, PA. It’s bigger than Scandia, and just as easy to hide in the winding roads as it was the dense Allegheny National Forest of her old home. She curates the museum (whenever she’s not away “for business” or “recovering from an ailment” of course) when she’s not hunting, giving her both something to do in her downtime and keep teach people about the truth and history, once stolen, now recovered.

However, these days she’s not alone. A young man, no taller than her, is under her care and instruction now. And as little as he looks to be suited for fieldwork, she hasn’t met much of anyone as excited as him. It reminds her of herself when she was younger. But before he goes anywhere, she has to teach him the basics. Everyone’s got to start somewhere.

Fun Facts:

She’s an aromantic asexual. Her lack of romantic attachments makes her very viable to the Organization, as she’s harder for enemies to target