#when they stopped with their fts altogether i was given some and given permission to copy/paste others

[chuckling-chemist]

((It's 4/13. Time to dig my fantrolls out from underneath the piles of calling cards and make something with them))

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“Femrey Cablus?”

Femrey’s sharp gaze fell onto the bored looking violetblood sitting at the table. He was older, clearly off-planet with dark hair neatly trimmed to sit underneath a helmet and the plainest, perfectly pressed black T-shirt Femrey’s certain he had available. if the wide and flat fins were indication, he was merely a northern seadweller found in deeper water. Generally speaking, they lacked an interest in much of their physical appearance. If only he could stand, see if his towering height was due to the chair, then she’d know for sure.

Femrey was a flashing beacon by contrast. Thick, long, fluffy hair was the only thing making the horns that circled partway around her forehead look small, and able to hide her fins altogether most of the time. Fins that, despite being smaller than average for a tropical fish like herself, still dwarfed his own while showing off their vibrant violet hue. Where he wore only plain clothes giving away almost nothing of his occupation, she wore a tight dress with a skirt barely getting down to her mid-thigh underneath her purple lab coat.

Then again, there might be more to their differences than mere geography. Being an adult violetblood, he was likely a military man. Most violetbloods were – if they weren’t politicians and delegates working to keep the system steady, they became lofty generals in the Empress’ glorious army, conquering and colonizing planets beneath them.

For someone like him to end up stuck here, proctoring a crop of fresh violetblood’s ordeals, meant either this was a requirement for all those in his squadron (unlikely), or he was being punished for something. What that was, Femrey didn’t particularly care. So long as she received her result.

In front of him was a digital tablet pulling up all of Femrey’s credentials. Credentials she had more than proven during her Ordeals. She whizzed through the exam portion, blazed through the experimental phase, and turned a draft regarding her preliminary experimentation involving grafting and mutating trolls during their adolescent and adult phases of life. If she somehow didn’t get what she wanted, it simply meant the results were rigged.

“Yes?”

The violetblood scrolled through a couple pages on the tablet. “Looks like you scored top out of everyone in your bracket.”

Yes. Yes of course she did. Femrey was born to be a royal scientist. She was inquisitive at heart, daring to push the envelope for the sake of discovery, not afraid to get her hands dirty, but simultaneously not afraid to do the proper research before diving in. A thinker and a planner as much as a doer.

The Empress would cull her finest to have her.

“Oh,” she said instead, twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger in a bid to look modest, “I had no idea.”

The violetblood didn’t bother looking up. “Yeah, lots of trolls struggle with the exam portion. The nitty gritty isn’t something most of them are good at, you know? But looking at your results?” He whistled. “You don’t see a perfect every night.”

Yes. Yes, she knew. She studied for months to get this perfect. Almost a whole perigee. Ruined her social life. Pulled favors and ignored numerous texts. All for the chance to get off this rotting shithole of a planet.

The violetblood flipped to another screen. “You’ve got good connections too. Background checks via drone indicate you’re well acquainted with the current Heiress Apparent?”

The smile vanished from Femrey’s face.

She knew Careen, yes.

It was a chance encounter. Careen was a northern seadweller visiting Sindaria on a political trip, and Femrey happened to run into her. They had a pleasant enough conversation, and Careen insisted on giving Femrey her contact information to continue the conversation. Since then, the heiress all but shoved herself into Femrey’s life, talking incessantly of quadrants and romances and every petty squabble she’s ever gotten in with every troll in the world.

If she wasn’t the heiress, the only troll higher on the totem pole than Femrey herself, Femrey wouldn’t have bothered continuing to give her the time of day.

(In fact, Careen was the exact troll she spent most her study-time pointedly ignoring. It’s a wonder she didn’t try to pull some heiress-only trick to force Femrey to take a break outside of whining.)

Though, granted, neither heiress was exactly star quality. Petty, passive-aggressive bitch or hyper-impulsive aggressive bitch. Much better to play it safe with the one directly descended from the current Empress while she was stuck on-planet.

“We’re friends, yes,” Femrey said dismissively.

As if she bothered thinking about the other woman so much to consider her a friend in any sense of the word. The relationship was onesided in the purest form.

The violetblood nodded. “What I wanted to hear. Means you’ll be perfect for what you applied for. Royal scientist.”

Femrey’s pusher soared.

This was it. Her ticket out of here. Her ticket to working alongside the glorious Empress, one of the most successful fuchsiabloods of all time, the only one to make it so hundreds of sweeps with nary a challenger -

“To the Heiress Apparent, Careen Elsker.”

Everything crashed immediately.

Rage bubbled up in Femrey’s gut, but she pushed it down. Now was not the time for rage. This man was more than likely a military man, after all. If she got upset, tried to cull him for his idiocy, he’d stop her. No, this was a time for planning. Plotting. Military men of all ages made mistakes, and if he’s stuck here running this, he’s already had at least one. One or two more, and maybe his rank would get stripped, he’d get sold on the market to the highest bidder. From there, he might make a good snake, slithering around on the floor, using his newly forked tongue to -

“Femrey?”

She blinked innocently. “Yes?”

“Is that satisfactory?” His violet eyes met her own splotchy amber ones.

“Well...yes. But…” Femrey shook her head delicately. “I believe I marked I desired to work with the Empress? Her Imperious Beguiler? The famous Car-”

He shrugged, a quiet dismissal with the intent to cut her off. Because of course all of this was worth a measly shrug to him.

“Few trolls get hired in directly to work under Her Imperious Beguiler. Generally they’re put on a ship and perform contracted military work before anyone even considers working for her,” he said evenly. She received another shrug. “Helps prevent the assassination attempts.”

The Empress hadn’t received an assassination attempt since the betrayal of the first head of her inquisition, Informer Duskfire.

That was easily a thousand sweeps ago at this point.

Femrey’s sharp teeth razed the inside of her cheek.

“Yes, of course, but-”

“But nothing, Femrey. With this option, you’ll be on planet, working with a troll you already know and trust-” trust, oh how she wanted to laugh “-safe and away from the front lines. It’s a dream for most other trolls.”

Femrey walked up to the table, laying a well-manicured hand onto it. She chose to get one just for the occasion. What a joke. “I’m not most other trolls,” she said.

“I’m aware.” The violetblood looked unimpressed, though she was able to make out a tinge of weariness in his tone. “As I said, I can observe that in your test scores.”

“Then why not let me be work with the Empress directly?” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t tell me it’s all because of a singular attempt on her life.”

“Because-” the violetblood sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, like I said, nobody starts working with her directly. You know the Heiress, and while there’s no documentation of your ancestor working with Her Imperious Beguiler, there isdocumentation here stating she’s willing to fund your experiments. It’s only natural.” She bit down on her cheek harder, now able to taste the blood pooling in her mouth.

Did they ask her while she tried to drag me away from important research, or did she tell them after I rejected her for the hundredth time?

“And,” he added, as if he could read into her dissatisfaction, “you’ll become her head royal scientist. Not like you’re starting out as a grunt tech filling beakers and swatting at clowns.”

Her blood pressure cooled.

Head scientist. Only bound to the rules of Careen – a troll who could likely be assuaged with waving a toy in front of her face if needed. Able to hire her own staff. Explore her own directions. That’s a start, at least. Slightly better than just a royal scientist stuck under Careen.

Slightly.

“And if she’s culled?” Femrey asked coolly. “Hypothetically.”

It’s bound to happen. If that brute of another heiress doesn’t cull her, Careen’s expressed a desire to eventually attempt to surpass her ancestor’s shadow. That shadow will undoubtedly raze through Careen like butter.

He scrolled through two more screens. The one he rested on let off a pointedly pink hue.

“If the Heiress has any trolls directly under their employ and finds the Heiress culled, her remaining staff will be evaluated and potentially hired by the Empress. Anyone the Empress doesn’t like can either find new employment, or become assimilated into the surviving Heiress’ employment,” he read. He looked back up at her. “If you keep yourself up, you’ll work for the Empress soon as she’s culled.”

“And does one happen more frequently than the other?”

“Does one—what? Do you hear yourself?” His fins twitched harshly, matching the flush of purple reaching his nose.

How difficult would it be to irritate a troll to death? The lowbloods already ran so hot, their pusher rates likely soared compared to highbloods. One small push, and they might keel over from the sudden work. Or would it be the opposite? A highblood, so unused to additional stressors, culled by their inability to win an argument? Doubtful, considering a highblood’s overall higher constitution, but the beauty of science was discovering something seemingly completely contradictory to your original assumption.

“Surely you know,” he added, pulling her out of her thought experiment, “with your perfect score and all, exactly how rare it is to have two Heiresses hatch at about the same time?”

“The prior knowledge there are two Heiresses existing simultaneously is precisely why I ask,” she said. “No offense, but I’d rather send myself off-planet to fend against a horde of brain-dead squids than work alongside…” she smiled politely, “what is her name?”

The violetblood flipped another page with little more than a grunt. Apparently he forgot about the other one’s existence too. Not that there was much to remember outside her boorish demeanor. “Mayola Yoscan.”

“Yes. Her.”

“Well she’d get the first claim, but it’d depend on if she has any interest in you. Which’d mean she needs to hold interest in leading. And between you and me,” he paused, peering around his screen to look at Femrey directly, “from what I heard of her, she’ll have no interest in the scientific pursuits a royal scientist could give her. Assuming she even goes after the crown.”

Femrey raised a delicate eyebrow. “So…?”

“So, you impress Her Imperious Beguiler while working for Careen, and if Careen gets culled, then there’s no competition,” he said, sighing. “And if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll have enough money go to make your purrbeasttrolls on the moon or whatever the hell your research was about.”

She bit back a huff. Not like she expected someone like him to understand her research, but he could be less obvious about it.

“It sounds like you didn’t read my report on the theoretical uses on-”

“I’m not here to read anything except your scores and qualifications, Femrey. But, I caught the word tail and barbed bulge skimming and figured that’s all I needed,” he said flatly. “Now, do you accept the position or not? You’re free to deny, but if that’s the case we need to start now on getting you set up with a qualified lead who’ll line up well with your own interests, which means requiring enlisting, and that will-”

“Yes,” she said curtly, feeling her fins fan in irritation. “I accept. Hand everything over and I’ll sign.”

The violetblood nodded, rotating the tablet toward her. He muttered something under his breath, but she couldn’t tell what as she scanned through the document and everything it entailed.

Royal scientist. Able to employ whoever she wanted, with only the Heiress Apparent’s approval (easy, just promise spending time with her in exchange). Able to conduct her own research without the approval of anyone. All caveats and special rules working for the Heiress included, all of which the violetblood already spelled out for her.

With one exception.

Work for the Heiress will continue until the Heiress is either culled or rendered of unsound mind via her closest subordinates to continue operation, whichever happens first.

“I’m afraid sir-” she resisted the urge to smirk at the beleaguered noise of defeat that escaped the violetblood’s mouth “-you didn’t explain this.”

He snatched the tablet out of her hands, squinting at the screen.

“That?” His fins expanded, taking up a sizable portion of his face now. “You need that explained? After everything else I had to spell out”

“I would like clarification,” she said, “that’s all.”

“Mm.” He shoved the tablet back toward her. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s the point of a scientist, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. Or an annoying, stuck-up legis-” He frowned, shaking his head. “Whatever. Which piece needs clarification?”

“The piece about being ‘of unsound mind’.” She smiled sweetly. “Preferably.”

He grunted. “Seems straightforward to me,” he said. “Unsound mind is to catch if she’s still alive but pandead or mindfucked for any reason – sudden injury, permanent amnesia, irreversible damage – ” irreversible damage that perhaps a hybridization gone wrong could cause “-that makes her unable to rule. And closest subordinate is just that. Self appointed, likely her violet delegate or a quadmate.” He rotated the screen back toward her. “Can be anyone though, really.”

She didn’t misinterpret.

Interesting, considering the defense against the Empress herself.

She smiled again, giving him a polite nod when she was finished signing.

Long before she was hatched, the Empress’ closest subordinate was Informer Duskfire. The very same one who turned traitor and determined she needed to die. But the Empress found out about this before he was ready, and managed to eliminate both him and the small insurrection her former head of the inquisition had managed to whip up.

What was fascinating about Informer Duskfire was how he was, in fact, the Empress’ closest subordinate for the longest time. She gave her most sensitive missions to him, and for sweeps he carried them out without remorse. She was the face, and he worked in the shadows to keep her face serene for the public. They were matesprits for hundreds of perigees. And he still betrayed her. To this day, no troll quite knows how or why someone could turn at the drop of a hat.

But, as the gears turned in her head, as the formation of her new goal rotated in her mind, she knew why.

It was the same thing she desired.

The promise of freedom.

What that freedom meant to a troll long since dead and rotting in a trench at the bottom of the ocean, she had no idea. Surely, he had some kind of freedom. He was a violetblood, working for the Empress. He had the money and influence to do whatever.

Then again, this deal she had gave her plenty of freedom. Her own employees, her own schedule, her own lab with the ability to research whatever and on whoever she wanted. But not enough.

She was still attached to Careen. Worse, instead of being casual acquaintances who she already insisted were friends, they were coworkers. Careen was now pretty much her boss. Before, she at least had some kind of excuse to not talk to her. Now,she was going to have to answer to a troll constantly trying to drag her away from work to socialize and blind date and force herself into every obnoxiously large gathering she held.

So, as she signed her life away and walked out of her Ordeals, the gears turning in her head as the phrasing played back in her head, she wondered.

Why stop at lowbloods? Or midbloods? Why even stop at highbloods, erasing a line most researchers and scientists would never dare cross. She’d been thinking of turning this own man into a slitherbeast after all. She held no qualms over the perceived restrictions of one’s blood caste. And yet, she still thought too small.

Why, with all this freedom she had, and enough time, maybe she could one day experiment on a fuschiablood. A very specific fuschiablood. One who already viewed her as a friend and confidant.

And if that fuschiablood so happened to declare Femrey to be her closest subordinate – or, if not her, someone Femrey could keep wrapped around her finger – and that fuschiablood is no longer of sound mind? If she’s now a writhing mass of tentacles due to a graft gone wrong? It’ll be trollkind’s first attempt at recreating a Horrorterror using a troll’s body.

“You look like you know exactly what you’re going to pursue,” he said.

She gave him a pleasant smile. “I do, yes.”

She exited out of the building with nothing more than paperwork outlining her contract and a budding plan in her head.

It would take sweeps. She’d undoubtedly be well into her time as an adult troll.

But Femrey was nothing if not diligent, patient, and privileged to be hatched as a caste able to live for thousands of sweeps without a single sign of aging. She had plenty of time to lay the groundwork for her magnum opus.

And well. At least if she got caught and culled, Duskfire wouldn’t be so alone in his endeavors.