I nominate Tuuya/Shiver as the most fundamentally uncomfortable yet on some level marginally plausible relationship.
I hate you for being technically right.
Honestly, it’s more likely Tuuya would just adopt Shiver. Worm parent feels bad for you, you weird awkward nerd, come and have blood smoothies and paint together.
I would’ve said Tink/Tuuya for max awfulness, but I don’t hate Tuuya that much.
Man, now I’m thinking about how I’d write Shiver if I made them now. Probably as less passive in their vampiric disasterousness - BNHA’s Midoriya has truly inspired my about the sheer degree to which one can be an endearing social fuckup.
This is a bit inaccurate to how he currently looks given it’s been sitting in my WIPs for months, but better late than never!
It’s @anontrolls‘s Lionel Prince, but don’t call him that; that’s his ancestor’s name. He goes by Lee. He’s charming, suave, and…broke due to a horrible scandal that got him thrown out of his hive. It’s hard to be royalty sometimes.
OH HECK I DID NOT SEE THIS EARLIER BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN AWOL FROM 90% OF MY CHATS. TYSM CLOUDY, this looks absolutely fantastic and I love it! >:D What awesome posing and expression, this is so Lee.
@activatingaggro asked about this in chat, but I kind of wanted to make a post out of it to have all of it consolidated in one place, because before now its just been random tidbits scattered everywhere.
But, yeah! Lee's a pretty messed up character, but I created him with some specific character growth arcs in mind.
His major problems boil down to the following:
Self-esteem: He isn’t as actively self-deprecating as I’ve had some characters be, but it’s because he assumes his own uselessness outside of specific spheres (self-described as ‘looking pretty’) is just a fact. This manifests as learned helplessness a lot of the time: Oh, no, he can’t do that, he’d screw it up - he’s no good at any of those things, he’ll definitely need help.
Lack of coping mechanisms: Lee never really had a parental figure, lusus, or particularly close friends when he was younger, and his ancestor largely reacted to ‘Lee has an issue’ with ‘Lee needs to get his shit together and get over himself like a real seadweller,’ so dude never learned how to deal with things emotionally. He prefers distracting himself and putting his problems off for another day, which first manifested as rebellious partying and eventually evolved into favoring the numbing effects of alcoholism.
The goals for addressing those things are:
Independence: A lot of Lee’s self-esteem issues come from having been a long-term dependent of an emotionally abusive caregiver who was convinced of Lee’s shortcomings. Being forced into independence by getting kicked out of his ancestor’s place is ironically a positive first step for character growth, because Lee will be forced to actually exercise independent autonomy. He’s not entirely incompetent, just inexperienced - and gaining experience and acting to support himself more is important if he’s going to be able to eventually acknowledge that, hey, he’s capable of a lot of worthwhile stuff and isn’t literally useless.
Healthy relationships: Lee’s clingy and a mess in ways that contributed to driving away his previous big relationship largely because he has no healthy outlets for his emotions and tends to pour them out to whoever will listen. More than a good matesprit or kismesis, he needs to learn how to have healthy friendships where he can communicate properly when he feels hurt or overwhelmed instead of clamming up and reaching for the nearest wine glass. Having an actual support system will help him... actually need less support!
Mostly I want to reach those goals by developing more CR with him with various characters, both healthy and unhealthy, because even bad or short relationships can result in character growth - especially in terms of establishing his own independence.
His character themes revolve greatly around being (the formerly wealthy equivalent) of an everyman compared to all the rebels, helmsmen, and government assassins running around, and subsequently ending up in over his head as he stumbles into entirely abnormal situations. Unfortunately for him, he actually has a pretty solid moral compass, so generally feels compelled to help when he can - which sets up a lot of situations where he can prove himself to himself! Also, it’s fun to have his growing CR network be, like, rebels and superspies when he’s sitting around here like, “Haha, yeah, did you see my last Insta post? New hair!”
💎💎💎 I forgot earlier but wanted to send you some of these too
MOST EXCELLENT.
💎 @anontrolls is still one of my most favorite partners in the world. Their worldbuilding and dynamic characters (even the NPCs) mean that things are always fresh and exciting in rps, and I never know what exactly will happen next.
My favorite troll of theirs is probably Kit, because I’m predictable, but while I love her for her depth, kindness, and the way her powers are handled, I’m also very fond of Lee and Hope. The former because his terrible coping mechanisms combined with his wacky adventures and bleak upbringing make for rp that simultaneously makes me laugh and fret, and the latter because her anger that could fuel a thousand suns is Relatable.
I also love their NPCs, like Proper, whose backstory and design are great, and Tink, who is Worst Zombie but also Best Horrible Joot Wearing Radio Host.
💎 @activatingaggro is ALSO one of my favorite partners in the world even if they are a Big Fucking Dork. Before I started rping with mar, I thought characters had to be “likable” and have more good traits than flaws to be fun and make sure anyone would want to rp with them. Rping with mar cured me of that and made me realize I could diversify my characters so much more and still have them be playable and interactable.
My favorite character of theirs ever is Riccin, because I find them personally relatable (not as a fucking murderclown, obvs, but with some of their anxieties and issues) and hilarious. However, I also love Sipara for being ostensibly on the side of good but ruthless as hell, and to my surprise I even wound up liking ID despite him being a character type I usually hate.
I also like Pheres, but anyone who’s followed me any length of time knows I Love Pheres.
💎 @kidskylark a.k.a YOU. I like YOU. Which is really funny because at first I thought “oh no, I’m too rough for them, we should stay separate” but I was a fool! You are resilient and sensible and fun, and we share interests outside fantrolls too that make you great to talk to.
Again: I didn’t expect to like Aleida, but now I love Aleida? A lot? They’re a beautifully done colorblind character, possibly the best I’ve seen in fantrolls, and now that I know their backstory I feel for them and I cannot wait to see more of their political career.
Ghurab is great fun as well, I’d love to learn more about her culture and see her interact with more trolls of mine some day. Shupaa is also wonderful, her character development is great to follow and I’m glad I get to be a part of it!
The rest is just going under a cut in one big thing.
SHUPAA
Metal and circuitry is visible under your skin, with lines of hardware where normal trolls have veins. When he touches your hand, you freeze.
... But you do not freeze him, not completely. The last time you touched someone with your bare hands, you froze their flesh. His fingertips only get a slight chill.
As soon as he lets go, the gloves go back on. As soon as he tries to get up, you are there, trying to either support him or stop him, whichever comes first.
"It is somewhat out of place to insult skills which have rendered you very injured," you point out, as you lift him under his arms. This angle is easier to work with, and you are able to help him back to his feet. You still do think that he should be on said feet, but he does not seem to agree. "Your survival is indeed due to your 'dashing mug.'"
Once he is standing, you help him find a hold on the bookshelf. Then, without being asked, you unclip your belt, and shrug off your coat. The belt rests beside your neck, for the moment, as you re-adjust. The coat is not glamorous, because none of your clothes are. Your clothing is made for function-first, and it is hardy, resistant material, with jade-green trim and your sign emblazoned on one shoulder. This will survive any blood he gets on it, and it will probably outlive both of you, if he continues to follow strange dogs into dark alleys.
"Shelter and occupation is being found with a member of the Scimitars, on-planet."
Your coat is also too big for him, you note, as you put it around his shoulders, because not only are you taller than him, you actually have substance on your body.
You almost ask him about his diet, as you intended to do, but you are interrupted by the flutter of paper and plastic. At a new and awkward angle, the pouch at your belt has fallen open, and your small collection of mementos has fallen out. In short: A note from Cress, with her number and a heart on it, written in blue glitter pen; A handkerchief from your contact, Crista, with pastel blue florals embroidered on one corner; and his number, written on a paper from several sweeps ago, paired with a smiley face. This one is enclosed in a small plastic bag.
Your face flushes green, and you quickly retrieve the items. This was not intended for anyone to see.
LEE
Shupaa pulls away almost faster than you can let go, and you're actually a little glad for the blood loss excusing the way your smile goes wan. You end up leaning where she places you against a bookshelf, breathing harder than such an exercise should have left you, but at least keeping on your feet through Shupaa's assistance. You're left wrapping her jacket more tightly around you, inordinately pleased and grinning like an ass. There's just something fundamentally nice about wearing other people's jackets, even if you're swimming in it just a little.
It throws you for a moment, that the iron cast of her hand is reminiscent of your ancestor's handshake grip pressing into yours - except you suppose there's the key difference of Shupaa's a marvelous cyborg super-spy and he's a pusherless lizard wearing a troll skinsuit. Honestly, she has more excuse than he does.
"But not dead, yeah?" you shoot back, "And what're the Scimi- oh!"
Lugging you around and removing her coat has done a number on her belt, and as she straightens the jacket on her shoulders and leans back, one of the pouches finally gives up the ghost. The zipper on it has slid open in the chaos, and the contents flutter to the floor.
You lurch forward before catching yourself. It's definitely got to do with how leaning over to help her pick it all up would hinder more than help right now, and not at all with the jade green flushing across Shupaa's face, a depth of color you've never seen her produce before.
It's... mementos. You think. Two numbers, one familiar, and a handkerchief done up in a style far from her utilitarian tendencies. You wrote that ages ago. Warmth trickles through the cold grip that has taken hold of your pusher. And here you were, thinking she didn't care.
The whole thing is clearly very personal and revealing, by Shupaa's standards. So, obviously, you blurt: "Why's mine in plastic?"
SHUPAA
If possible, the color in your cheeks goes darker. A flash of yellow runs across your tech, and the sudden peak is enough that you need to cover your face and just breathe for a moment. It would almost be more embarrassing to trip your override again, for this.
"It is... for stealth purposes," you mumble, when you recover. "Your perfume is very strong."
He put perfume directly on the paper. You do not understand the choice at all. What you do understand is that, if you carried it with you, you would be noticed quickly, and you needed to stifle that somehow.
LEE
You stare up at her, genuinely baffled for a good moment.
You've been wearing that cologne for so long that it never occurred to you that it's particularly noticeable for other people. You suppose it is a signature scent - it's a courtesy of your longest-standing and most fruitful modeling contract. You've done every single campaign for the company since they first scouted you, and they're the reason you started getting paid enough to actually be worth something as a model.
"Oh," you cough, and then: "Oh, no, sweetheart, don't do that - I'd hug you if that wouldn't KO me, really!"
She's gone and covered her face, too shamed to even look at you. You really bungled that first reaction. You know Shupaa is shy as hell, what were you thinking?
Not very much at all, but that's par the norm for you.
"Steady on," you tell her, fumbling through the remains of your jacket. The front lapels have mostly avoided laceration and a new dye job, and you fish out the pocket square that now has no jacket to match. There's a bit of embroidery with your (former?) initials. "Here, uh-"
You proffer it halfway, and pause, hesitating. "I mean," you start, "A token for my knight?"
It's a little harder to gaff off when you're half-limp over a book case and wearing her jacket.
You smile anyways, raising your eyebrows. "Won't have a limited selection scent on it, but might be better for super-spy purposes. Plus, gods, it's been sweeps - I don't think that's even my number anymore."
SHUPAA
You take the cloth. As promised, it lacks the scent you tried to avoid. You trace your thumb over the letter L, examining, briefly, how the embroidery thread looks in the light.
"This is a royalty joke," you recognize, looking back up at him, "because you are named 'Prince.'"
You do not think you would be a suitable knight. The thought is amusing, though. You are a stealth attacker at best, unsuited to any kind of real battle - but aside from his blood, Prince is not royalty either. Maybe it fits.
You replace your mementos inside your belt pouch, accompanied by the new pocket square, and zip it shut. You'll have time to sort through those later, when you've started covering your tracks. You have a lot of tracks to cover.
"Do not repeat what you have learned tonight," you say. It comes out harsher than intended. You are simply not a gentle person. "All information from the drive, and information you have learned through conversation, should not be spread. Do you understand this?"
LEE
"I was thinking more damsel in distress," you admit, relaxing into a proper smile, "But that works, too."
As long as she's not recoiling from you, as long as a moment of openness around you isn't somehow the most emotionally taxing part of tonight.
Still, you've clearly not quite passed muster, because when Shupaa next looks at you, it's with the accompanying bark of an order. You flinch before you can help it, breathing in slowly and deliberately.
It's Shupaa. Short (next to anyone but you), green, usually quiet. Could do with a little more product in her hair. Shupaa.
"Yeah," you tell your cuffs as you button up her jacket, "Yep, ten-four, no implicating some other poor sap in rebel sympathies, unless I hate them, I guess."
You let that sit for all of half a second before you add, "Er, that was a joke. I'll keep mum."
SHUPAA
Is the flinching new? Or have you simply never noticed it? Is he flinching from you, or is he flinching from something you can't see?
You reach for his hand, then think better of it, and link your arm with his.
"Then you will arrive at your shelter safely," you promise. "We should go."
LEE
Shupaa winds her arm around the crook of your elbow, and you lean into her gratefully. Jadebloods are warm, by your standards, and you've been very, very cold for a minute, now. The warmth radiating against your side is a nice contrast to the shivers still running through your fingertips every once in a while, and -
You're worried about the sun outside, for a minute, but you trust Shupaa to get you home.
@anontrolls ‘Discorpse’ was such a genius name, we’re using it in the webcomic I’m a part of.
'Bitch’ is just funny. No thought put in to it.
I fucking love ‘Discorpse’ and would like to petition to change Discord’s actual irl name to that. I’m so glad it’s going in a webcomic.
Questionable thing re: ‘Bitch’ is less design and more my discomfort with the word itself, esp the soul-sucking void I was trapped in for a moment imagining the reactions of the larger portion of Twitch’s actual population to it.
"To your friend's hive," you correct yourself, at his note. You take the offered jacket, and start removing the ice from your skin. Seeing your own bare skin is uncomfortable. You cannot pinpoint why.
"You can learn to wash things. It will be possible to teach you. However, wherever you go, you should not go alone."
When your hands are clean, you put down the coat, and pick up your gloves. These, too, smell of iron and blood, but you can clean them later. You know how.
"And you should not go yet. Excessive movement at this time is inadvisable." A beat. "Apologies for your coat. Repayment will be given when possible. Current circumstances are also at a crossroads."
LEE
Ice sluices off her skin, and you shudder as flakes of purple fleck onto the library carpet. It occurs to you that this is the first time you've seen her without gloves on, and you reach forward to take her hand.
"Seriously," you tell her, squeezing lightly. "Thanks. And I'm not just saying that 'cos I'm about to ask to borrow your coat."
You grin, sheepish, and wince as she releases you to support yourself more properly and the motion tugs at your wound. You would really, highly prefer that going back to Hiriko's hive not run the risk of dropping implications of rebel activities on her lap, and you have no other way to explain your new piercing and the new prevalence of purple all over the side of your outfit. At least if you show up in someone else's coat and swaying, she can... assume you got drunk and slept with someone, you suppose.
It would hardly be out of character.
"'M glad you're the one that found me," you tell her grabbing the bookshelves on either side of you. "Knowing the old man, you're probably not the only one looking, and... I figure you're the only superspy I know that finds my dashing mug worth rescuing, darling. That, or you're just the worst shot with a shiv."
Your attempt to pull yourself up is only half-fruitful. You manage to heave yourself to your knees, and promptly keel over forwards on to your hands, gasping.
"Ohhh," you decide, "That was a bad idea. New plan: Help me up? And, um, and tell me what you mean by crossroads, maybe?"
You do not laugh. Still... he seems better. He is saying more words. If he can speak at his usual tempo, he must be recovering.
"There will not be a next time," you inform him. It sounds ominous, because everything you say sounds ominous. What you mean is that you are not going to stab him again. You could say that. You do not.
Instead, at long last, you tear your eyes away from him, and look at the library. It's a nice place. The nearby shelves are filled with nonfiction books, on every subject imaginable. You spy books on tennis, painting, dance... Your eyes linger on that book, briefly, before looking away again.
"When you have rested, time will be taken to accompany you home, and ensure your safety. Stained clothing should be soaked in cold water, and hand-washed. Do not take the same route you took today until we receive word that the assignment has officially failed." You are trying to remember anything else you should tell him. Stress is turning the blood on your hands into ice crystals, encasing your fingers first
LEE
"I, uh." Empress, she really doesn't follow the news. There is no way to say this that isn't absolutely humiliating, and you can't quite meet her eyes as you do it.
"I don't really have a hive anymore?" you tell her, fins fluttering awkwardly. "As such. I've, er, I've been staying with a mate. Kind of a friend? I think."
Definitely a friend, you tell yourself. But it's a little hard to say it when you're imagining bringing this trouble to Hiriko's door. That won't leave you friends for very long at all.
You chew on your lip. "And I don't really know how to wash things. Um. Sorry, that's all - TMI, probably. I'll figure it out. Not like I can head over to super-spy headquarters with you. D'you want to wipe that off?"
You shift the remains of your jacket off gingerly, shifting a clean edge over to her, and loosen your tie a little while you're at it. "Coat's ruined anyhow. Great big hole and all."
You lift your hand to his mouth. It's not in a way that restricts him completely. You simply want to signal that you will do the talking.
"Understood," you tell the drone. "The library will not be disrupted again."
You hope you can keep that promise.
You do not wait for the drone to leave before resuming your work. You are aware of the danger, but Prince is violet. You are more likely to be culled, between the two of you, so it is not a threat pertinent to your current objective - saving him.
He still feels cool to the touch, but he does not feel like ice anymore. He should be warming. As he warms, blood starts to flow more freely - again, a fact you had forgotten. Most of your victims do not bleed very much.
"If you think you may scream again, you may wish to cover it with your coat," you suggest. It is a late suggestion, but you never know. "However, the worst is past."
He is going to bleed on everything. You wonder if he knows how to clean out blood. It is a tactic most trolls learn early, but you know he is not "most trolls". Should you tell him? You will, when he can remember.
"If you are still alive now, it is likely you will heal, barring future complications. It will be ensured that your wound has adequate care." When you're certain the gauze won't freeze him again, you try to remove as much moisture as possible, and replace it. You replace his shirt over his back, and work again on the bandage. "Do not perform strenuous activity while you are healing. It is wise to remember that, even though you have survived, this wound was intended to kill. You are simply luck-y."
And when, finally, you can take your hands off him, they're still covered in his blood. It's... gross, honestly.
"Prince. Are you able to breathe more easily?"
LEE
"Mh," is what comes out of you next, mostly courtesy of Shupaa placing her hand over your mouth. Right. Shutting up. You talking right now would probably only make this situation worse.
The drone skitters away in short order, satisfied with the promise of quiet - but you can see it lurking, carapace gleaming lightly in a dimly lit ceiling corner. It's watching for repeat offenses.
And Shupaa doubles down on the warning, so you fumble slowly to get your left arm closer to your face, leaning onto her shoulder. You can bite your own damn self, you suppose. You're not sure you're in a state to wrestle your coat the rest of the way off - and, to be honest, you're hardly in a mood to see the damage done to it. You've got one nice jacket left, after this mess.
You really hope you can pick up a modeling contract sooner rather than later. Payment in clothes is a trap that is sounding better than ever.
"Maybe, uh-" You cough once, muffling it in your sleeve. "Warn a man next time, Shu?"
And that sounds harsh given the limb she's going out on for you, so you stumble straight to babbling more, still half-slurred. "And, Empress, whaddaya take me for? 'Ve never done a night of strenuous activity in my life. Now, a day, maybe-"
Laughing was a terrible idea, and you wheeze into your arm. "Ow. Ow. One night'll follow your advice. Eventually. Ow. Thanks for not letting me die. Breathing's -" Not okay, actually, but not as bad as before. Your heart's still beating a mile a minute, and it feels close enough to panic that you're fucking exhausted. "Better?"
Easy to get undressed. You were aware of the rumors that circulated about him. You simply never realized he believed them. When he touches your arm, it freezes, but you don't pull away.
"Data is insufficient," you admit, which is your way of saying "I dunno." "Situations do not often arise which require such maneuvers."
As you steel yourself to look at the wound itself, you suggest, "Perhaps you can assist an attempt to 'skate on it,' in the future."
The wound is bad. You knew it would be bad. That does not mean you were prepared. The gauze is water-logged and cold and the ice is melting, yes - but you had forgotten that ice freezes water around it, in this case, water in the tissues of his body.
You fix your hand around the icicle, and try to ignore how the crystal structures reinforce under your hands. Damn your powers, damn their malfunctions, damn it all. At least, you think, cold numbs pain. Maybe that will make the extrication less painful.
"These powers were not innate. They are artificial. The intention of the technology is to mimic natural psionics, and its attempt is somewhat fruitful, barring minor complications."
Your removal of the icicle is unsympathetic. Once you have a steady hold on it, you pull it out in one motion, without warning. Its rounded point is stained violet. At least this means there are no broken pieces inside the wound. That could become messy. Now, you just need to figure out how to warm him. That will unfreeze the frozen wound, you think, won't it?
"Much experimentation with these powers was overseen directly by the research team. Experimentation focused on precision, primarily, and the ability to shape water into necessary tools. Recreational experimentation was not common. Additionally, ice is somewhat unreliable, with regards to supporting body weight. However, an attempt can be made nonetheless."
What you end up doing is rubbing your hands together, rapidly, and touching them to his skin. Yes, this requires bloodying your hands further. It is a necessary hazard. You try to center yourself, attempting, carefully, not to let fear take hold of your thoughts. If it does, you know you'll freeze him more.
You try to think of something that isn't the threat of him dying.
"There... will be more time, in the future," you say. "It is possible that there will be more freedom to contact you outside work. Since we are 'friends.'"
It works, you think - because instead of fear, your primary emotion becomes a strange sort of sadness. You do not have a name for this sadness. If you had to name it, you might call it melancholy, for its pensive nature, but even that might not fit. It is a sadness of recognizing missed opportunity, and lost time you cannot recover.
"Apologies," you say, quieter, "that there was no presence or contact, prior to now. It is understood that this is not the ideal reunion. ... Your absence was noted."
LEE
"Aw," you say, with more voice than you've managed in the past few minutes, "That's sw-"
And the rest of your words are lost, as Shupaa pulls the ice shank out of your back without warning. It hadn't really hurt, before now. The initial experience was one hell of a pain, but most of the trip here you've just been... numb, more than anything. Now, there's a split-second where you genuinely fear she has ripped out more than just the weapon, as the motion drags an inelegant, choked-off scream out of your throat.
You freeze, shaking, and try not to dig your claws too deeply into Shupaa's arm. You're not sure when you grabbed her, or when your other hand got wrapped around the remnants of your own jacket. It takes a moment before the ringing white noise suffusing your senses fades back into the soft cadence of her speech.
You absolutely do not have enough of yourself put together to figure out what that many syllables mean strung together in a sentence. A bead of sweat runs down your temple - Empress, you must look like a mess - and you eventually figure out how to breathe in again. To your eternal gratitude, Shupaa is still talking.
"It's a date," you rasp, and you hardly sound like yourself for a moment. You clear your throat, and the next bit comes out sounding a little bit less wrecked. There's a glimmer of blue in your vision, and for a moment you worry that you've started hallucinating, too.
But, no. It's just Shupaa's lights. You rustle up a smile for her, and it's the easiest expression you've made all morning.
"Better than nothing, darling," you tell her, "'N I missed you, too."
The moment doesn't quite last, and you tense up again as something clatters around the corner of the bookshelf sheltering you from the rest of the library. It's scarcely a second before the chitinous carapace of a library drone peers from the top of a shelf, craning to look over the both of you.
You hold your breath.
"This is a library," it chitters at you, half-hiss and half-resonance. "Indoor voices only."
You would roll your eyes, if you were not sure he would miss the action.
"Focus on breathing," you tell him. "This means, do not talk as much. If you are concerned about silence, there will be speech to fill it."
This is a big promise to make, because you do not talk very much, ever. If you can say something the short way, you do it. If you can get away with being totally silent, you try.
But... you do not want him to speak, when he is struggling like this.
You kneel with him, moving until you have a clear view of his back. You would apologize, but you do not do that, because it is not necessary - but, oh, you promised to speak more. "Apologies." Starting off strong.
You are not familiar with the wounds you cause. Usually, when you try to kill people, they die. You do not have to worry about the consequences. Perhaps this makes you sloppy. Now, it is certainly regretful. You move his coat, using it to cover his front instead, and start un-doing the work you did.
"A visual on the wound is required. This is the reasoning for the current course of action. Action will be taken as quickly as possible. However, your patience and understanding is requested."
With the bandage off, you can start to move his shirt out of the way. The precision of your bare hands is necessary. Reluctantly, you take off your black leather gloves.
"You inquired with regard to the nature of the 'ice shank.'" It is not a "shank." You do not correct him. "Primary abilities include psionic cryokinesis. These psionics form the usual weapon set, which allows the ability to take any present water and weaponize it."
LEE
You're not an anxious wreck, but you've never been great with awkward silences, inasmuch as this even counts as one. Your hive is one empty cavern of quiet nothing when you're not blaring music through it, sometimes for weeks on end as your ancestor visitations drag out the gloom, and drawn out quiet with others leaves it harder and harder to estimate their changing moods. But you wouldn't have guessed that Shupaa would pick up on it so easily, and it sends a rustle of pleased embarrassment through you. Sure, maybe you were obvious, but - well, she cares enough to keep you up to tabs.
It is particularly notable, you think, given that in your relationship you've been soundly established as the more talkative of the two of you. She's not a quiet sort so much as a withdrawn one, and even now you can see the tinge of discomfort showing through on her face.
You reach out and - well, you were aiming for her hand, but it's moving much too fast to keep track of. So you squeeze her upper arm, instead. "Thanks," you mumble, and do as instructed.
She moves you around like a particularly graceless doll, and you're boneless enough to let her. You could move of your own volition, you're certain, but considering the prospect is utterly Sisyphean.
"S'fine, y'r fine," you say from where you've ended up tipped into her shoulder. "Prob'ly. Y'watch the news? 'M easy to get undressed."
That joke didn't come together as coherently as you necessarily wanted it to, but you're short on the energy to correct yourself - especially when Shupaa informs you that she's a jade psionic.
In retrospect, that makes a lot of sense. You still feel like an idiot. What, did you think she was a cyborg for funsies?
"C'n you skate on it?" you ask, staring determinedly away from the spotting of violet that comes up on her hands as she works. "Like Frozone."
You would love to tell him that this is the whole reason you are requesting the use of your troll name. You would love to joke about making his job much harder, but you do not get the chance. His full weight is so much worse than the half-weight you were shouldering before.
You huff under the strain. Your map tells you the library is a block away. You could drag him - but a jade dragging a limp seadweller down a city block would look worse than usual, you are certain, and you cannot carry him fully. Even if you could, you could not manage it for that distance.
"If you die," you threaten, in what is supposed to be a joking tone, "you will be haunted for eternity. Stay alive."
He does not have much control over that, but his cooperation in keeping him alive is important, too.
You shuffle closer to the outer wall of the nearest building, for balance. This will have to do. You trudge on, until, just barely, you make it to the library. You duck into the chamber just inside the doors, and find a place for him, out of sight of the windows. Now, you can begin figuring out what the hell is happening.
LEE
You're so used to being surrounded by people that you can only measure up in strength to by virtue of your chrome that it takes you a moment to realize that the world hasn't quite reoriented itself complete, and Shupaa is straining.
Right. Jadeblood. Jadeblood and, like, probably kind of a cyborg? You were pretty certain cyborgs would have super strength, but in her defense you're a shitty enough excuse for a seadweller that there's hardly room to judge. She's not the one doing his best to collapse in the street from a light stabbing.
Oh, Empress. You've really been properly stabbed, haven't you?
Your heart has been beating quicker and quicker the past few minutes, and at first you thought - yes, okay, very nervous and excited about this new friendship, but now it has you going breathless as well and you gasp for a few moments when you realize you can't get yourself to slow down.
"Aren't I," you ask, breathy, and stagger where Shupaa leads you. "The one who gets to do th'haunting? Fuck, I'd abso- I'd haunt that prick."
It's harder work than walking has ever been, and you've walked in some pretty dire circumstances - mostly from your recuperacoon to the nearest source of water after a bender, but, well. Every molehill's a mountain when you're absolutely smashed.
Getting inside is a relief, though. The prickling heat of upcoming sunrise was starting to threaten the back of your neck, and the indoors of the library are blessedly cool. This late, you probably won't see anybody except the librarian drones - who, as far as movies have informed you, given that you've never been in a library, don't actually care about anything as long as you're quiet and don't damage the books.
"My knight in shining armor," you mumble, and try to work up the will to do literally anything other than slump against the carpet.
