sideblog hell

A sideblog to store all the threads of miscellaneous characters from Mar's main fantroll universe! | SELECT | OOC | NPC PROFILES | ARCS || THREADS sidebar + header by rebatrolls!

[fleetnpcs]

> MELETE: Attempt a cliffside romance.

Nanako had laughed, when you’d asked her how this should go, but she’s always laughing. It’s your favorite trait of your matesprit, her jovialty. It is not something you take personally, and it’s familiar enough that it’s almost a sign of approval. Laughter is a symptom of anxiety, or terror, or joy. In Nanako’s case, it is always the latter, and of approval, to boot.

In Cresce, laughter is derision, through and through. So you keep an eye on her as you land the ship, a little two-person rover, right off the edge of the cliff. The view underneath the two of you, exhibited through the glass floors, is all waterfalls and wildflowers, attractive as it is dangerous. A drop from this range would cull a troll, no matter the case, but that, you think, is what makes it pitch.

That, and the fact the cliff itself is all craggy rock and stone, far less attractive than the surroundings, even with the picnic table you have painfully set up, a safe distance from the edge.

“You may exit,” you inform her, and reach over to set the ship to hover.

[fleetnpcs]

> HAP RET: Run errands.

[fleetnpcs]

rebatrolls‌:

He squints at you and all you can do is grin back at him, wide enough to show the trim points of your fangs. They’re nothing like the sabers he calls teeth, but you find they serve you just fine. “Ink? On these legs? Would be like defacing imperial monument, great shame. No, ink elsewhere. Good try.”

It’s not really something you want to joke about too much, trying to emulate Queenpin. She always had people listening, always tried to keep her cool fingers on the pulse of the station. You did your best to keep plenty things hidden from her eyes, you didn’t need to have her thinking you had aspirations.

Everyone knew how that ended for any troll stupid enough to get caught. But before you have the need to bite at Hap Ret he backs off, the way he always does. “Do not have plans to, no. Queenpin helped keep me from that.” That you think you’ve done plenty in the past sweeps to repay that debt is something you keep to yourself.

Easier to joke about heiresses and hypotheticals that will never come to pass. “Is why I was not hatched tyrian. Balance must be kept.” You joke lightly, your mind elsewhere. You wouldn’t say it’s illegal- the Empress won her throne, once upon a time, and so would some other Heiress. It just probably wouldn’t be during your lifetime.

You never have to wait long for a taxi outside of the offices. Nott knows who really helps fund the terminal that would have faded away like so many other countless territories of an ever-expanding Empire. You wonder just how much of her influence went in to the public transport- you’ve never felt safe discussing anything you didn’t want her to hear in one of them. But then you didn’t trust anywhere but your hive, the teahive, and Vaikne.

You’re pulling up the information you have on Wildblow on your wetware as the taxi touches down, wondering for a moment if you could hack the bordello’s cameras from here- but no. They value the privacy of their patrons, with the sort of firewalls that you didn’t want to trust with your wetware. You’ll be going in a bit blind, that’s all, but if you could grab the security footage of Wildblow coming in to port, you could look for familiar faces in the bordello for an idea of how many allies he might have-

Oh, right, Hap Ret was right there. Talking to you, and you grab at the strands of your conversation as he asks you if you ordered this taxi. Oh, with some tact, but you knew what that awkward pause meant. More advanced stations would have taxis that run off solar, or electricity- even the technology of vanquished alien races, if it was acceptable enough to Alternian palates. But Nott wasn’t a shining jewel in the Empire’s crown, and its relative closeness to the home planet meant that you had a fair share of decommissioned helms to use.

“No need for meatshield, just need eyes on back. In case Wildblow has surprises up sleeve. Yes, is our taxi. Know you have been in one before, come now. If worried about me, no need, am not shrinking violet.” It was sweet he was concerned, in a way. But after he keeps nipping at your heels over Queenpin, you aren’t sure how much that sweetness can stretch.

Besides, it isn’t as if you had to worry about being shoved in to a taxi like this. You still had your limbs, and your helmports would never behave enough for a placement like that- and besides, you had been meant to be a warship. These helms were ex-cruisers at best, and the part of you that grew up in a subgrub bent on psionic competition mumbles that they probably had half the psi-score you had.

“Come,” you instruct as you head towards it, watching the segmented legs bend to lower the body of the machine lower to the ground. The door pops open just as you get close and you bend to tuck yourself in to the dimly lit interior, relaxing on the velvety seat as you wait for your new partner in crime to join you. Another drag of your cigarette helps any unsettled nerves as well- there’s no sign saying you couldn’t, after all.

It feels incredibly fucking dumb to have worried about Glitch's reaction when she slides into the taxi with no hesitation at all.

But that's what friends do, you think. You're never quite sure if you and Glitch are pityfriends, mostly because you're not entirely sure if she considers you a friend at all. Ullane doesn't think so! But for all that she'd never admit it, your best friend is as anxious as a fuchsiablood on the moon. She's never sure if anyone considers her a friend. It's not something you worry about, usually.

With Glitch, though.. well, obviously, she'd hang the moons for Ullane, because everyone would. You? It's hard to know when you're on thin ice, sometimes, between someone she views as an equal, or just the useful aide she lets tag along with her. It doesn't matter, though. You consider her a friend, and that means you'll treat her the same either way.

Even if she does think you're really shit at pitch.

"Maybe I've never been in one," you snark at her, sliding in after. It's spacious enough to fit the both of you easily, and your rack besides. Thank the Empress for that. You're not a fan of having to duck your head, the handful of times you've ridden in the lowblood-targeted taxis. "I'm so glad this one isn't, like, tiny. If I had ever been in a taxi before - hypothetically, because obviously, I fucking haven't been - ninety percent chance it was incredibly cramped. Like everyone's got racks longer than they are wide."

"And -" Glitch doesn't seem to care about the driver. So you slouch against the window, letting the edge of your scarf pillow your cheek against the glass, and peer down at the traffic below. "D'you figure we're going to have to cull him?" you ask, and it's not that you're curious about that, so much as.. well, you're curious about her answer, that's all. "Or. Well! You, obviously."

“Obviously, we don’t want to? But d’you think we’re gonna have to?”

[skegulium]

Curious Cats and Monkey’s Paws

[fleetnpcs]

skegulium‌:

Man, Kua really is just like, a bundle of fun? He’s got that sway to him and that easygoing air to him that you’ve seen plastered over any good, seafaring troll and it’s kind of neat! It’s kind of welcoming too and like, okay. You’d be lying if you didn’t watch him and his tail flip back and forth as he chattered and pulled out his phone and wished you know what you’d look like if you were like, a proper Rickshawian! Would you have that same sway to your steps? Would you have that same confidence? Okay, you really would kill for that easy going confidence that Kua had because you’re not gonna lie, there’s a lot of things that make you skittish nowanights.

He’s going on and on about Ongais which is like, super cute! You love it when people talk about their quadrants and he’s not any different. Kua really sounds like he really likes her and that just makes you bounce on the balls of your feet with an enthusiasm to match!

"Okay good!” You chirp out when he says they’re not introducing Kneedl and Ongais. Which, thank god. You’re sure Kneedl would die! He doesn’t even have Shilpi with him at the ball and without his tyrian moirail, he’s just as skittish as you are around highbloods. Except, like, Kua says she’s terrifying and your smile twists from excited to nervous. “Terrifying?” you ask in the politest, chipper tone you can muster. “Liiiiiike, what kind of terrifying? She doesn’t sound terrifying!” You’re lying. He’s said jack squat about her that doesn’t make her sound terrifying.

Oh, and then he does the thing! That thing where he’s purposely not baring any teeth at you and he’s crooning at you and maybe, okay. Okay that’d be creepy from anyone else but he’s the guy in charge of the rickshaw you came from! He was practically a surrogate lusus, lost and then found! You’re still nervous but you try hard to tamp it down - for his sake.

“I thiiiink that’s a good idea?” You admit, scratching at the back of your neck and shuffling from foot to foot. “The whole uh, not meeting them. He’s pretty skittish around other highbloods and like, I’m sure he’d love you once he got to know you! But he’s not exactly, um, a fighter, you know? More of a flighter?” That makes sense, right? “Kneedl’s a really simple guy and so’s my other friend! So like, definitely meet them, but maaaaaybe not tonight?” Your voice pitches up at the end there, a nervous little tick that you follow up with a smile and an anxious look up at Kua’s face.

Dzhiya bounces. She's such a kid! You love it, honestly -

- even when, between one thought and the next, you manage to forget she's a brown kid. Your eyebrows shoot up when her voice brightens, then her smile pinches just so, like she's just bit right into a bone and doesn't know how to spit it out politely. And then she starts shuffling, too, and.. you're not an anxious dude. You've never had a moment of anything but perfect confidence in your entire life, especially with pupas.

They're wrigglers. They're practically hatched to be made easy to handle! But Dzhiya isn't one of your wrigglers. She isn't some sharp-toothed baby shark, still wet with the blood of the womb. She's a lamb, with horns too soft to do any damage, and she doesn't know what to make of you, sometimes, anymore than you know what to do with her.

That's fine, you decide. You'll both just have to learn.

"Not terrifying to you!" you assure her, and you drop the tone. It doesn't seem to be working, anyway. And when she smiles up at you, anxious, eyes crinkled, you grin back, easy-going, just enough teeth that maybe it'll set her back at ease. "Alright, alright. We don't have to meet them, kiddo. It's cool. I don't want to scare anyone, yeah?"

"And, like - Ognais is going to love you, don't worry. It's just, like.." You straighten up. Your tail coils under your feet, coiling against the floor, then the scales spread, the sharp edges digging in. When it expands under you, it pushes you up several more inches off of the ground - then you reach up high, fingers stretching as far as you can go. "She's about this tall! And twice as wide. She's just, like, physically intimidating, that's all I meant?"

"But she's a total sweetheart," you assure her. "Nice as, shit, I don't know. One of those big dogs that save people from drowning and have brandy around her neck. And she's got, like, a nullifier on here, since there's so many people, so you don't even have to worry about that. Not that you would anyway, but -" You shrug, your grin going lopsided. "People do."

[fleetnpcs]

>MELETE: Sulk.

[fleetnpcs]

ladytrollfishes‌:

Her reply is short and clipped, and you blink at her. Music and dance are somehow unrelated?  “The way I see it,” you explain, perhaps a touch too patiently, “is that dance is a physical expression of how much you enjoy the music.” 

You’re actually offended when she questions your motives, placing one scandalized hand to your chest. No one’s ever questioned your motives when it comes to your music. “I care very much about the work I do!” you exclaim. “It’s my art. You can’t enjoy your own art what’s even the point?”

Perhaps she isn’t so offended by showing skin, given she’s pressing a hand to her heart. Or - there’s a hundred different reasons that a troll could make that gesture, you suppose. Theatrics? To draw attention to their cleavage? Genuine distress?

An attempt to evoke sympathy, and get your coat?

Given her patronising tone, you wouldn’t doubt it. So you let your mouth press thin, and you don’t bother to meet her eyes again. “Nonsense. If you were doing it for your own enjoyment, you wouldn’t be publishing it online. And to place that much effort into your music, simply for your own gratification,” you inform her, brisk, “seems ill advised, given our trajectories.”

“We are not Canaries. Do you not worry about drawing attention to yourself? The agency?”

[anontrolls]

> Hiriko: Acquire more trouble than he’s worth.

[fleetnpcs]

anontrolls‌:

Nevermind all that showboating from earlier - you are never unpinning your fins again. You think you’ve bared your teeth in reflexive horror.

“I take it all back,” you tell her, “Just throw me back out to the proverbial wolves - or literal, I’m not picky, my darling, because no fate could be more cruel than spending another moment in your presence.”

You sniff, imperious. “As if I’d restrict myself to such a singular role in my liaisons. Also, I think you’re probably the first person to make any sort of topping joke about me, I’m going to be honest about that one. And there have been a lot of jokes. It’s the two heads. Or maybe the head.”

Now that glint of your teeth was a grin, but you’ll never admit it. This may or may not be universal karma for the name pun you’re planning on unleashing at some point, but you refuse to lose this game.

You’re less clever with numbers than works, however, so when you try to do the quick math for that in your head, you remember how much you hate mental arithmetic and pull out your palmhusk to flip to your calculator app. The result is… well, you’re definitely squinting up at her.

“That sounds,” you inform her, and deliberately poke out an eyeball from the pan she’s provided you. “Like a great way to leave me comatose. What’s that, approximating three pounds of salmon a day? I live off of ethanol-calories and sugar like any respectable bohemian, thanks.”

“… And seafood, I suppose,” you tack on, shrugging in acknowledgment with a sliver of a smile. “Which is why I refuse to acknowledge your seafood pun on moral principal, my dearest friend. This is not seafood. This is a partially-aquatic mammal. I cannot in good conscience let you get away with that.”

You punctuate by popping the eyeball into your mouth, and delight in the way it bursts under the pressure of your incisor. Ah, maybe you are really hungry. Zounds, you’d been hoping you could keep ignoring that. It’s very convenient when that sort of thing just slips away from you.

If you'd thought you were satisfied before..

You titter when Lee bares his teeth at you, lips curling back like he's just tasted something sour. "I haven't even begun on the wordplay," you protest, amused, but he's still going, with a sniff so dramatic that it could have come from one of the Lady's deepest schools. "And.. really, now? Well. As long as there's two heads, and not eight.."

There's an easy sort of camadery in this casual filth. As far as things go, Lee is one of the few trolls that you'll make these sort of japes with. He's easy-going enough to not take it personally, and faithless enough not to spread them. Oh, there's nothing wrong with a bit of raunch, of course.

But first you start with japes, and then people start to get ideas. It's more tedious than terrible. It's also a part of your job that, despite some's ideas, you are simply not paid - or willing - to deal with. Better to keep everything strictly professional amongst those who might hire you.

Unfortunately, that's the majority of your peers.

Ethanol-calories, he says, and you afford yourself the leniency to wrinkle your nose. "Respectable," you say, a polite layer of doubt misted over your words, "is not a term that is usually applied to that context, I believe. Should I have soaked this in alcohol, then, in preparation for your arrival?"

"I'm afraid the only sort I have on hand is the rubbing variety. But perhaps that will give you traction in rubbing it in..?" A beat. Then you yawn, hand lifting to cover your mouth. "Or perhaps we'll just vary your diet. Move onto whales, perhaps, if you're so overcome by aquatic bigotry.." It's beginning to set in that it's incredibly late. If you lost focus, you could already feel your eyes tugging shut.

Luckily, you never do. "Did you bring day clothes?" you ask, blinking owlishly at him. A better solution than closing your eyes entirely, at least. “Or do you need to borrow mine?”

[fleetnpcs]

>MELETE: Sulk.

[fleetnpcs]

ladytrollfishes‌:

Melete’s melody shifts to a warm swell of strings as she tells you she’s enjoying the company.  The company. Meaning you? It’s an awfully flush sound, and then she goes ahead and checks you out. She’s not even subtle about it! She gives you a long glance from head to toe and she sounds like she disapproves of what she sees. 

“Well!” you exclaim, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, and adjust your dress up higher. “Rude!”  It was times like these you wish you were telepathic rather than empathetic, because you honestly have no idea what she’s thinking! It was always so difficult with Melete, because she could misunderstand anything- could she really misunderstand the look she just gave you? 

“Dancing is half the point, in a party like this,” you say, propping your hands on your hips. “Do you like music at all?” 

.. why is she blushing at you.

The frown is reflexive. Then you consider the way she’s tugging her dress up, and the way her shirt dips lower. It’s a fair enough response, you suppose, to realising that she’s exposing that much skin. Undoubtedly, she’s had trolls gawking at her all night long.

You reach up, thumbing the edge of your hood contemplatively, but.. no. If she wanted to be covered up, then she would’ve brought her own jacket. Or she could get one off of one of the hundreds of trolls milling around. “I don’t believe my opinion on music is particularly relevant to the point of this conversation,” you say, brisk. “Perhaps I should ask you that.”

“Do you actually enjoy the work you do, or do you simply do it for the attention?”

[fleetnpcs]

> HAP RET: Run errands.

[fleetnpcs]

rebatrolls‌:

Hap Ret grins at you again, all teeth, and he doesn’t really need to be trying to make his grin look intimidating when he has fangs as large as he does. You wonder for one fleeting second if they’re fake- when had you ever seen a Maroon with teeth like that? But Hap Ret has never struck you as the type that felt like he had to modify himself to look more menacing.

The opposite, if anything. But his words get a short chuckle from you, along with the arch of one brow. “Sound so sure of that,” you tell him, contemplative. “Was not always so, though. Was very edgy wriggler. Would not recognize me, then.” It’s nothing but the truth, back when you had thought that angsting about your lot in life was your only relief from the sword hanging over your head.

You wonder how things would have gone for you if you had fought more against your lot in life. Would it have gone better for you? Somehow, despite how tempting the idea, you doubted it. “And just because you do not see ink does not mean it is not there,” you add as an afterthought, just to keep him fumbling. It’s not a lie, technically. You just don’t think most trolls would have any interest in seeing your helmcode. “But if want to be queenpin, need more than ink. Or less, really. Am attached to limbs however, so sad. Could not wear shoe collection with knives, would be shame.”

The pull of honeyed smoke in to your lungs doesn’t have the same high of it that the mind honey does, but it’s still a soother for your pan. The taste of it just helps settle you down even without the actual effects, which you’re always thankful for. Even better, Hap Ret doesn’t complain about it, not even a peep. Of course, being under ID means he’s probably used to it. “Luke-cold paps it is,” you tease, and it’s just the slightest flex of your psi to send the smoke from your mouth flying away from the both of you. No need to make him breathe in your vices when he’s calming down on you. “Same person who wants to buy heiress moirail, suppose. Do not get it, but… Bordello does well for itself.”

You wait for him to join you again before you start down the hall, pulling up your preferred taxi company to message in your pan as he talks. “You think I would die if heiress? Wound me, Hap Ret. Have never lost important fight, being heiress would not change that.” It doesn’t take you long to set up your pick-up, just a bit away from the offices- no one likes pulling right up to QPIN’s buildings, for reasons you can respect.

“Depends,” you answer between drags of your cigarette. “Not know how many trolls will side with Wildblow. Should not be many? Under a dozen, probably five or so. Depends on how smart they are, or how much he pays. But do not think is much, if cannot even pay QPIN bills. You should not have to worry, though. Just need second pair of bulbs, for back. Unless would like to take out frustrations on troll? But do not think you would.” Maybe he’ll get insulted over that, too. You never thought that Hap Ret would be sensitive about anything!

"What, seriously? I can't see it," you tell her, squinting. But then you tilt your head to the side, scarf shifting as your fins pin. ".. alright. Maybe I can see it. What sort of edge are we talking about? And what sort of ink? Like, let's be real here, you could probably get knives tattooed onto the back of your legs."

"Pretty much as cool as the dagger-legs." A beat. Then you snicker, glancing up towards the cameras you are pretty sure must be located in every corner of the room. "Almost as cool," you amend. "Don't wanna get spaced, right?"

Jealousy is hard for you to feel. Technically speaking, you're a flatscan. The way Glitch pulls the smoke through the air, effortless, should make you want to spit fire. It certainly does for Sipara. But it's never really been a thing you're capable of. Why be jealous, when you can just admire, instead?

Even though she's probably expecting admiration. Like you can't bite! You totally could bite.

You just have to find a good spot to prove it. Not on her, obviously. Not hard, at least! But on somebody else. "Yeah, well, sorry, G. I don't think winning is actually legal." It's easy to joke about heiress murders, considering you're underqualified in every way. If you'd stayed legal, would they have dragged you in front of the Empress all the same?

Nah, you decide. Some heiress would've slit your throat on the ship up first, and that'd have solved that. It's the rare disconcerting thought. When you hear the buzz of the taxi approaching, it's a relief. Nott Terminal is a station full of high ceilings and constant transport. There's ground low roads, and highways, and skylanes high above. There's rails, and subways, and high-speed chuggrooves, to send rolls toppling directly from the highest to lowest points of the station.

And of course, there's the highroads, arching across the ceilings. Expert drivers can pop between the sky, the high and the low with ease, if they've got the right permits. Of course Glitch wouldn't pay for anything less than the best, and by the time the two of you step out of the office buildings entirely, you can see the familiar pulse of lights as the taxi descends from the ceiling, flesh rippling as a line exudes from its spine.

It cuts through the hole in the center of the skylanes, legs curling inwards. They flare out as it hits the ground, joints clicking, and behind the curved lenses of the eyes, you can see the pilot shifting. You'd paid to see the interior of the enginehub, once, slipping an entire forty caegars to the pilot as a tip. From this angle, they look like an average troll.

But if you stripped back the plating, you'd see the biowire curling into the ends of their legs, the holes in their spine. Decommissioned helms don't always get culled! Sometimes they get freed up, their service done, and this sort of work doesn't seem so bad as an option. You guess. Helming's never been something you've had to think much about, before you came to Nott, and it's a topic you still don't have the best grasp on.

You do understand certain things, though. Such as the fact Glitch, psionic extraordinare, may not have intended this exact type of taxi to come pick you both up. The taxi drops onto the ground, joints bending to support the weight, and then it bolts straight towards the pickup place. On Alternia, there'd be a click of keratin with each step. On Nott, where every noise echoes, they opted for something more feline in configuration, for all the insectile face. If it weren't for the click of the nails as it shifts from paw to paw, you could've missed it there entirely.

"I don't do frustrations," you say idly, glancing between it to Glitch. "So, nah, I'm fine just watching, and playing muscle. Intimidation? Playing meatshield! Uh. Did you mean to order that taxi? Or should we be waiting for a more.." God, this is so insensitive. ".. less disgustingly bug-like one?" you opt for instead. "Because I'm pretty sure we're going to get inside that one and it's going to literally melt us."

[fleetnpcs]

>KUANFU: lose your ship.

[fleetnpcs]

rebatrolls‌:

Pulling anger from Spotspot is kind of like reeling in a fish. If you pull him in too fast, your line will break and he’ll swim off, flipping you intricate gestures as best that he can with his fins. No, you need to tire him out, drag his patience through the dirt until he just can’t hold it in anymore. At the end of the night he’s still indigo, for all his denial. It can’t take him that long to finally snap!

It’s impressive that he’s mostly held it together this long, after all. You just wish he’d stop snipping back at you. “Well I mean, I figured you could probably use a little ego inflation after I came all the way out to find you completely helpless in your tin can, don’t you think? Just consider it community charity, and I’m the wealthy seadweller that’s throwing caegars to you, the poor orphaned flatscan rust.”

You grin wide enough to show plenty of fang, fingers spreading wide in front of you. “Will it be enough to keep you alive? I mean, no way, the other urchins are just going to shank you for the cash. But I’ll totally get to sleep well in my coon that night for my generosity, and that’s what truly matters in the end. Flattering enough for you?”

You lean back in your chair, doing your best to look like the definition of casual as Oddscrap titters above you. Oh yeah, you’d almost forgotten her. “Dumb scrappers get sniped off,” you tell him, patiently. Like it’s a concept he’s just having a hard time wrapping his pan around. “I mean, you don’t see any privateers swinging in here now, do you? I’m sure you wish you did, buuttt… We’re just better than that!”

He’s bluffing. He has to be- his mods are the sort that you put in carefully, lovingly. You wonder if you could get part of a team over there to gut something you don’t want anyways to bring onboard for him to see. You had fifty radio systems, you could always start there and see how many chunks you take out before he loses it.

“You can’t seem to make up your mind about what rickshaw trolls ought to do, can you?” You marvel with a pop of your lips, entirely disapproving. “We got the sea education, that’s all a true Rickshaw troll needs. No need for the Fleet’s schoolfeeds and an ink gun for the rest of us.”

You want to curl your lip when he talks to you like a wriggler, but you don’t. You still have the upper hand here, and he can wax on all he wants. He’s still going in your brig, only to get dumped out on a station in the armpit of the Empire to get a tow hive from. “Don’t you worry about us! As you can see, we’re doing fine… And we’re not really keen on taking advice from a troll who can’t even keep a ship running. But I’m, like, glad that we’re here to give you a fundamental lesson on spaceships! If you can’t keep them functioning, you don’t deserve them at all. I’m sure it’s a tough lesson, and also one that a decent rickshaw would teach you at, like, five sweeps old? But better late than never, so good for you! Also check your transmissions, we sent the first forms over. Chrome is after we get that all sorted away and get docked. That’s a dear~”

If this was anyone else, you'd wonder if Sweetlip was actually pitch-flirting, in some deeply fucked up way adjacent to good health, common sense, and normalcy. But luckily, you know he's not. This is just Rickshaw jostling, all the way down to the core. You've met a dozen or so trolls just like him before!

It stopped at a dozen the fourth time you got exasperated, and just physically ripped off their heads.

Unfortunately, you can't do that to Sweet. You just have to play this game, bide your time, and wait it out. Politics, you think irritably. It's like dealing with Kyviar at her worst all over again, but you don't even have the benefit of the fact she was crazy hot to make it tolerable. No, you're just stuck looking at Sweetlip, and mentally imagine all the ways you could fix those markings for him.

The metal of your claws clicks as you drum them against your dash. It's fine. He's not going to scrap your ship, no matter how much he's posturing. You both know how much it's worth. So when he leans forward, fanning those long fingers out in front of him, you just picture all the ways you could shatter the bones without breaking the skin.

It makes it easy to smile back. "Sure," you say easily. "Throw some coins at me. As long as we're keeping this to Daddie Warbux and not, like, stuffing coins down a z-string, it's all chill with me, dude." His little crewmember snickers, and your tail twitches lazily behind you as you consider. Are you going to shoot her..?

Nah, you decide. You'd probably be laughing, too. "Riiight. I'm talking about what Rickshaw trolls do," you correct him, "not what they should. Jeez. Try to keep up! I know you're a little distracted, but that's no account to be rude, dude." You're just going to stick to the voice like when you're wrestling two fighting lusii apart. It'll get a reaction eventually, you're pretty sure.

Sweet has to be your age, and navies - well! Midbloods the lot of you might be, but that doesn't mean you like being talked down to. Any of you. Including, as it turns out, you, because he snaps off that you don't know how to use a ship, and -

- well, you almost snap back. You get as far as a curt "excuse me" before you catch yourself and reign it in. You're not giving him the fucking satisfaction. Right. And besides, if he doesn't know how your helm died.. it's easy enough to arrange things on your end. Chestburster psiharvesters are a fucking menace. Your entire helmsblock is probably filled with the eggs by now, and all it'll take is some idiot tracking them back from the interior to infest his ship.

Empress, you're going to have to strip all of your upholstery to clear this out. Whatever. "I know how to handle a fucking helm," you snap off, brittle, and it's easy to let the heat into your voice. Not too much! You'll just let some of the strain of reigning it in clear, enough to let him get nice and smug. "They gave me the wrong bloodline. Which - not my fault the paperwork's wrong."

You straighten up, away from the video screens, and roll your shoulders back. When you speak again, your voice's back to your old good cheer. "But whatever! That's going to be the shipyard's problem. First forms, huh? Hold on -" You reach down, dragging your hand across the dash, and then pull up the documents. The video feed cuts as they bloom up across the screen, and with it, Sweets access to your cameras.

Skimming the documents takes a few seconds. So does punching in the code to shift the temperatures in the ship, a gradual enough adjustment that - if they're watching your radiant heat - they shouldn't detect it. As far as they're concerned, you'll still be in the pilot pit, even as you turn on your heel and head towards the helmsdock.

Nearly a decade spent boarding ships means it's easy enough to make your steps silent. And you're used to acting. You give it a minute, letting your breath suck in with a sharp inhale - then you snarl, loud and brassy and carrying over as it twists reluctantly into a laugh. "Holy shit," you marvel, your tail swishing as you take in the shattered body of your helm. How quickly can you make this look like something else entirely? Because you think you’ve got two minutes, max, before he starts demanding you to restart the feed. "What the fuck kind of contract is this? Did you get it directly from the shadiest fucking end of the legislacerator school? Because, like, pretty sure this isn't actually legal?"

[fleetnpcs]

>MELETE: Sulk.

[fleetnpcs]

ladytrollfishes‌:

Melete continues on as steady as she usually is, her melody mellowing out to a bland sort of steady discomfort. You can’t hear the lie specifically, but if she was enjoying this, you’d eat your boots. The Ice Queen would probably never enjoy a party unless it had only one person, and then it could hardly be called a party now would it!

“You are?” you remark. A hand flies to your mouth in an appropriately surprised manner.  “Why how very unexpected! What’s so different about this one from all the rest?”

You glance back at the dance floor and smile.

“Oh I have! It’s dreadful fun, but you do get winded at times,” you say, raising your glass of punch to her notice. So she hadn’t been watching you dance? It really shouldn’t surprise you at this point, but the turns and the lifts and everything else you had been doing on the dance floor had been rather flashy. She’s observant, but you can never tell what she’s observing. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. 

You've wondered, sometimes, what the repercussions of admitting you have quadrants would be. It's hardly a restriction on all Saboteurs. It's just you and a handful of others, and while you know the true core of the reasoning, the fact remains it's indefensible to others.

If you disregarded it blatantly enough, would anyone truly do anything?

It's unlikely they would. Perhaps the entire idea is a challenge in itself, and your trepedition in simply flaunting their rules is a test you are failing. But even the thought of doing so makes you uneasy, in a way you don't care to examine. So you shrug. Hidden away in these layers and layers of fabric, every sensation is dulled enough that you can move as you'd like without unpleasantries. It's nice.

"I'm enjoying the company," you tell her, and it's true enough that you can even let some warmth into your words. You hope Nanako comes back soon. "Is that so surprising..? And. Ah." Winded, she says, and you glance down, taking her in.

.. she is a little scrawny.

"Do be careful." A beat. "I don't see the point of dancing," you repeat, and the warmth's gone, replaced by a touch of confusion. "Ah. As I said."

[skegulium]

Curious Cats and Monkey’s Paws

[fleetnpcs]

skegulium‌:

Haha, okay, so like, Kua’s tail? Totally a litttle bit creepy. Or well, maybe not like fully creepy? You’re standing there, chatting away, and he looks as cordial as ever with that smile on his face and nodding along with your words but there’s an entire performative dance going on with his tail behind him! You genuinely have no idea if you’re supposed to be paying attention to the tail as it whipped around, stiffened up, and then languidly just curled again and again and again. So, you know, you do what you do best and leave that shit be! That’s not your business! Keep looking on and keep joking!

You keep your eyes focused on Kua as you snort and try to lean all casual like. You think you pull it off well! “Well, see, that’s the fun part! That’s where you find out the seagoat is the lusus of some troll they’ve been trying to court for the past six perigrees and your kidney is the last little thing they need to secure them in a quad! No eating required, you know? Because you’re right, no one wants a sea goat after hits five sweeps old and - hey!” Okay. You can’t really ignore the tail when it whips out and smacks you on the leg. That made minding your own tail business signifigantly harder and you lean down to swat the thing before it darted back behind Kua. “Excuse you! Keep that to yourself!”

“But uh, thanks! We actually compliment each other pretty well and I really like it! He’s kind of a dork that can’t do anything, I frequently pick him up and put him in trees to hang like a cat - you know, kismesis things! He’ll get stronger, maybe!” God, you hoped so. Sometimes you worried about him when he didn’t have Shilpi or his animals around!

You drag one hand behind your head to rub at your neck as Kua berates you though for almost killing Kneedl’s moirail. Man, you didn’t need a reminder that it’s not good to do that and you just laugh nervously. “Hey now! It wasn’t like, a confirmed murder. He didn’t die! Plus, definitely not intentional.” Oh god damn it. You’re distracted from your words for a moment as you realized you still had a thick strand of hair hanging from your bun and you reach up to try to see if you could poke it back in.

You perk up though, when he mentions his moirail and how she chased a monster! You don’t think you’ve heard of that one, but you’re almost immediately all sparkly eyed over the idea of talking to someone else who had a hobby. “Wait, no,” You say, completely bypassing the question if he’ll scare your friends. Hahah, nope. "You said she chased the heaven’s monster once? Oh, you’ve got to let us talk then! I’ve been really, really interested in that one!“ You weren’t, actually, but c'mon Dzhiya, you can do this! You can fool Kua!

….Except, it only works so well. Kua gives you a big eyed, plaintive look when you go rambling off and your smile turned into a more nervous one complete with the stupid nervous laughter of yours. That just makes you even MORE anxious about this, but c'mon! You gotta stick up for your friends, right?!

"W-well hey!” You say, giving up on tucking that loose bit of hair away. “How about we go find your moirail? I think she’d be fun to talk to and I’d like to see what she says! Kneedl would like, be super unfun to drag along to talk to her, I’m just saying. He’d never believe in something like that!”

"Sorry," you laugh. You can't feel it when she smacks it, but the sensors are set to your glasses, and the past decade has trained you well in recognising the symbols that flash. "It's got a mind of its own!"

God, Dzhiya's adorable. She's gushing over her pitch and pushing back her braid like.. well, a wriggler, to be honest, because she is one. And it's great! Some kids grow up too soon on the mainland, but she's just as young as any pip her age. "Well, as long as it wasn't intentional," you say, appeased. She doesn't need to be getting involved with some highblood anxiety spat.

Except.. oh, wait, you're tired. She'd already said her kismesis was brown, hadn't she? Or.. had she said that her friend was brown? Or, fuck, is it just that you're thinking of the fact she's brown? Lowblooded, you're pretty sure, she said her kismesis was. God, you should've written it down. But it's a little late to go pulling out your phone to make notes now.

Or is it?

There's no way that she'd remember how to read Seacant. And besides, you can just hold the phone over her head, so you're home free, honestly. You pull out your phone, and your glasses from where you'd hidden them in an interior pocket of your cloak, and you slide them on. "Let me check! Ongais," you say, drawing out the name as you scribble down 'brown kismesis???', "definitely said she chased that one. And, oh, like, don't worry?"

"We totally are not introducing Ongais and him. She's, like, kind of shy? Not that social! Not like us, anyway. Also, she's terrifying," you admit, "to people who aren't used to her. No point in scaring off your dude, right?" You can't believe she's nervously giggling at you. You're pretty sure that's anxiety giggles, and she's about two seconds from wringing her braids, which is frankly distressing, so you drop your chin, peering down at her over your glasses.

Then you smile at her, deliberately fangless. "So don't worry," you soothe. "If I'm going to scare him, too, you don't have to introduce us at all, okay?"

You'll just hivebook stalk him. All you need to really know is if he's brown, anyway.

[anontrolls]

> Hiriko: Acquire more trouble than he’s worth.

[fleetnpcs]

anontrolls‌:

“Not even slashing?” you joke, clutching onto the entertained lilt to Hiriko’s tone, and press a hand to your chest. “How irresponsible! I suppose you must be naturally talented -” And here you almost make a ‘hero’ pun, but divert at the last second. A person gets exactly one chance to pull off something like that before they waive away their rights to it forever (and possibly have someone recite their rites, too), and you’re definitely saving it for something more terribly punny.

Your fake horror turns into something more genuinely incredulous in moments, though, when she cites her figure.

“Six?” you ask, “My dearest friend, I am a troll, not a moobeast. I have but one stomach. And there are only so many hours in the night! Don’t tell me you…?”

But of course she does. Probably scheduled out down to the minute, divided into neatly prepared portions.

“I didn’t exactly ace my mathematics schoolfeeds,” you wave off, “I’m afraid that’s a little too much arithmetic to apply to basic survival needs for my preferences. Goodness. Six.”

Which still significantly fewer than the number of eyes on the thing that she places in front of you. You’re tempted to repeat your ‘goodness’ from a moment ago, and possibly tack on a ‘jesus christ’ somewhere. Bluebloods. The thing barely qualifies as seafood. Not a scale or gill in sight, and you’re pretty sure it’s going to have the usual toughness to it that you associate with land-mammal meat. If it’s not melting in your mouth or slithering down your throat, you’re frankly not sure why it’s worth calling a delicacy, really.

Still, effort clearly went into the preparation, and your stomach (the traitor) rumbles again, so you can do aught but relax into a sheepish grin.

“You didn’t have Bailey’s,” you say, “But that’s a ‘yes’ on the severed head? My Empress, darling, I’m starting to get the impression that you’ve that mythical thing called a healthy lifestyle.”

"Naturally talented is what some call it." Lee is so demonstrative: he flattens a hand to his chest, eyes wide and fins fluttering, so you reward him with a laugh, more an exhale than anything proper. "But slashing is a hardly suitable for fencing. I'm disappointed, Lee. I would've thought seme-n like yourself were more trained on swordplay."

There's a quiet sense of satisfaction that comes from putting something so absolutely dreadful on his plate.

Metaphorically, and of course, literally. "I suppose you're rather smaller than I am," you allow, watching as he peers down at the plate. Is there something a little cruel in feeding an off-caste a blueblooded delicacy? Of course. But the best jokes always possess a bite to them, and that's a thing he should understand. Indigoes and violets came from the same egg, back at the beginning. One simply chose to be capricious, and the other..

.. carpricious. A word that fits Lee well, for all the way that he's buoying up more with each passing moment. "By a head or two. That would attribute to different meal patterns." You tilt your head, eyeing him up and down. He's very.. bony, in a soft kind of way, but it's hard to tell under all the layers. "I eat six," you inform him. "400 to 450 calories each, depending on my physical labour."

"And a healthy lifestyle is our duty to ourselves." A beat. Is that too pale? Likely, you decide, so you shift: "- and to others, such as our quadrants.” And it’s not much of a question to ask, but you’re curious despite yourself, and a little put off that he didn’t comment. So you smile at him, slouching against the counter, and smooth a hand over the front of your pajamas. “Did you notice the seafood pun? I thought it was rather clever."

[anontrolls]

> Hiriko: Acquire more trouble than he’s worth.

[fleetnpcs]

anontrolls‌:

“Wow,” you blurt, “Did you rehearse that? Er-” That sounded catty. “- I only mean, Hiro, it sounds awfully poetic. You should say more things like that, you really have the voice for it.”

And it’s true. Her voice is a little deep, very smooth, and the whole thing sort of comes out sounding like a prophecy. Which is probably what it is, according to her religion, but that doesn’t mean you’re not impressed that she’s made the end of life on Alternia sound so pleasant to listen to.

Less pleasant is the gurgle that comes from your stomach when Hiriko brings up food, and you burst into laughter when it comes out.

“I guess that answers the question,” you admit, putting down your empty cup of tea and leaning against the counter. “I was, I confess, in the slightest bit of a rush earlier, so I don’t believe I’ve eaten since…”

You pause, realizing you don’t remember how to fill in that blank. You usually just sort of eat when food gets shoved in front of your face, which works just fine when you frequent the sorts of establishments that make a good chunk of their profits off of selling snack foods. But the past night or so has been incredibly hectic, and you’re not sure you’ve actually eaten at all.

“… Actually,” you say, “It might’ve been a little before this time yesternight.”

"Do I? Thank you. But the only things I rehearse are stabbing," you lie, amusement leeching into your voice, "and parrying. I suppose I'll have to keep poetry in mind as a potential alternative, though.."

Every aspect of this interaction is perilous with the risk of overstepping. You've no desire to step into the midst of whatever fire is engulfing Lee's pale quadrant, but this newfound task offers guidelines. And the relief that comes with Lee's laughter. For all that he dangles himself over the precipice of whatever uncanny situations he finds himself in, Lee has always seemed frail.

His mood vacillation tonight has not shifted your opinion of this much. But laughter means he's grounding himself, or that he's preparing to descend into hysteria. Hopefully it's the former. If it's the latter..

.. well, your lusus is around here somewhere.

"A troll is supposed to have four to six meals a day, Lee." But you're still in the fridge, so it's easy enough to replace the orange and go for something heartier. "Get a plate, if you could," you call out, rummaging, and.. ah. There it is.

Boiled musclebeast heads are a delicacy for bluebloods. High in protein, high in fat.. tradition dictates that the eyelids are cut to fully expose all eight of the gelantinous eyes to the light, as well as the sixteen vestigial, and they catch the light as you pull the casserole pan out. "I hope you like seafood. My apologies for retracting the orange. But if you haven't eaten in over twenty four hours.." It jiggles as you slide it onto the table. "You rather need something heartier than just that."

[skegulium]

Curious Cats and Monkey’s Paws

[fleetnpcs]

skegulium‌:

You have like, no idea what a Glygoian is. Guygoian? You don’t know, this is the first time you’ve heard of it! Is it a fruit? A food? An animal? It’s hard to tell from the context clues so you just laugh along with him like you absolutely knew what he was talking about. That’s the polite thing to do!

“If your organs are all wrinkled on the inside, I’m pretty sure that means you have a disease?” It’s a joke a bit more insulting than what you’re used to using with anyone above yellow, but Kua’s like, practically a lusus! He’ll take it fine, you think? “I don’t think anyone’s organs should be wrinkled. Do you need a wheelchair? I think I saw some host provided ones near the front, I can grab one for you!”

…You’re starting to think he might be a bit of a prude though. Kua talks and talks about only having one drink and one drink only with his quads and you’re really unsure if he like, means it? Is it a joke? Or is he serious? Does he really only have one drink? Is it a wine cooler? Maybe he really is a bit of a prude, you shouldn’t judge him! He’s got a lot of responsibility after all, Kua’s probably just trying his hardest to keep everything running smoothly. It’s not your business if he drinks or not, so you just nod sagely along with his words as he talks about organ stealing. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard about things like that!” You say with a dramatic gasp. “Where you wake up in a bathtub and suddenly, like, your kidney is gone and it’s a hundred miles away getting transplanted into a seadweller’s favorite sea goat! It’s crazyyyy.”

That’s a topic that isn’t touched on for long though, because Kua’s just as fickle as his tail that’s twitching and swishing this way and that. He moves onto the next subject in the same breath and you just roll with it! “Oh yeah, we’re like, research rivals! We met on a forum arguing over cryptids and like, we were constantly talking and the like until we met up for a proper debate brunch! I guess it kind of just fell into place after that, right? It’s nice! We have a lot of fun together and I’ve already met all his quads. He’s got a tyrian as a moirail, did you know? He’s really nice! Except like, I almost killed him once, could you believe that? I gave him a snack once that had like, nut oil in it or something I didn’t expect and that was a pretty bad night.”

“But it’s okay! He’s alive! We still hang out when I visit Kneedl!” Man, it’s so easy to get caught up in Kua’s vibe! Here you are, rambling right alongside him.

Of course, he mentions meeting Kneedl and Donlan and you could almost hear the record scratch in your head and your laughter turns into something a bit more high pitched, a bit more nervous. “And sure!” You lie. “That’d be fun! We’d have to like, figure out something because they’re all a bit skittish and the like and fickle and running around all over. We’ll figure that out, yeah!” Quick, time to take a leaf out of Kua’s book! Topic change! “But you should definitely let me meet Ongais! She sounds fun, by her name alone! Plus, it’d be nice to meet your moirail? And your uh, pitchourt!” Oh god, they’re all highbloods. "But if he’s like, stealing sandwiches, should we check in on him? Make sure he doesn’t get kicked out?“

Aw! There is absolutely some relief in the fact that Dzhiya actually jokes back and hits you. Maybe she isn't some delicate little lowbie after all. You just get worried, that's all. "I absolutely need a wheelchair," you assure her. "And the bigger concern, like, I am pretty certain, is someone eating your kidney? I don't know, kiddo, why would somebody spend it on a seagoat? Those aren't even worth hunting after they turn five, the meat's too rough, and you don't need a kidney to get them to five, y'know?"

Except then she starts talking about her kismesis. Your ears, thank the Empress, are not the sort that flick every ten fucking seconds to give away your emotions. No, they are solid steel, practically, with no emotional response at all. But your tail? That goes still, all the way up until you realise it has. "Oh, wow, that sounds adorable," you tell her, letting it swing out to swat at her leg. "And, like, pretty dorky? Good job! I figured you would totally be a jock, but, y'know what, that was wrong of me. Obviously, you are a jock and completely brilliant. It sounds like you're both totally improving each other."

".. moirail murder aside. That? So not an improvement." Is her pitch a highblood? You're not a hemoist. You're not, like, against caste gap relationships, even if they're unhealthy at worst and gross as shit at the very best. There's nothing wrong with them when people are still on-planet. It's just confusion, usually speaking, about what or what isn't socially acceptable. One of those things that kids grow out of.

But it's your job to make sure this is something she can grow out of, and she doesn't end up being murdered on some indigo's whim. "Naaah," you say dismissively. "He'll manage! Maybe, like, after we meet everyone else. Ongais is so much better than fun? She's literally, basically, the best person you'll ever meet. And she'll love you! She's been super fond of all the Rickshaw people, and she's from the islands, so she used to speedbikesail all over the place, which you guys might like talking about? She totally chased the Heaven's Monster once."

"And - skittish?" Maybe her pitch isn't a highblood, then. Or maybe he's just a complete fucking chickenshit. You click your teeth at her, leaning down to set a hand on her shoulder and look her in the eye. "Real talk, Dizzy: am I going to scare your friends?" you ask, and, like, obviously, the answer's fucking yes, but you know how adolescents are.

Dzhiya's so eager to please! You're pretty sure she'd rather eat rocks than actually ever hurt your feelings, and right now, your expression's just short of actually plainative. This is kind of a dick move. You don't like manipulating children!

But she's apparently running off, nearly murdering tyrians in her spare time, so if this is what it takes.. well, it's kind of your job to manipulate her into meeting her quadrants right now.

[fleetnpcs]

>MELETE: Sulk.

[fleetnpcs]

ladytrollfishes‌:

As you draw nearer, Melete sounds like a sulk in a tuba’s whine. As she notices your approach, however, it perks up in… a terse irritation, and not the good kind. As much as you wanted to be in person for this, you guess taking the mystery out of things does make this less fun. 

You smile as she makes polite at you, and asks why you’d even question her presence at the party. You take a sip of your punch and bat your eyelashes from across the rim of the glass. 

“It would be a shame if you missed it,” you say. “It’s just a shame you don’t seem to be enjoying it!” 

You gesture to her empty hands. “Have you eaten anything, or even gone dancing? It’s a fabulous party and I’ve had loads of fun.” 

 What did she even think parties were for? Surely Saboteurs knew there was always more to a party than meets the eye. Even with the veneer gone, this was the biggest, most influential gathering of everyone important on the vicinity of the planet. You couldn’t use that opportunity standing in a corner. 

Cres actually bats her eyelashes at you.

You don't understand her, not precisely. She's got an ashen crush on you, as far as Hadean's concerned. The thought is bizarre, but you suppose the evidence is clear, and his point has been made. Is this sort of question an overture?

It is, you decide. She's asking about dancing. There's always a second layer to the questions of your fellow Torrents, but you know exactly why she's asking. There's a comfortable certainty in it. "I am enjoying it enough," you lie easily. One of the many pleasures of maintaining a distance from your compatriots is that few can read your expressions.

Cres has more ability than most, given her voodoos. But a lie isn't precisely an emotion. "I don't see the point of dancing." A beat. Then, bland: "- shouldn't you be dancing, however..? You certainly seem like.. the sort."

[fleetnpcs]

>MELETE: Sulk.

[fleetnpcs]

ladytrollfishes‌:

You love the ball. It’s always so beautiful and classy, with whirls of gowns and suits. It’s the epitome of romance when you think about it and just a great party when you don’t. The hum of the room bursts with sound and noise that is bold and brassy, fun. Not quite harmonic, but what crowd ever was? You’ve got the volume turned down to the point where it’s not so disarming anyway.

You’ve no shortage of dance partners, and you smile charmingly at the cute ceruleanblood who had just taken you for a turn on the dance floor.  “That was so much fun!” you exclaim, panting. “It’d be a crime to monopolize you, honestly. I’ll see you around the dance floor!” 

You pull out of his grasp towards the buffet table as he rings with a longing pull of the strings. You turn with a flounce of your skirt and your curls and give him a parting wink. No sense in not making sure he’s left a little wanting. You hear the pluck of a pang and you smile as you help yourself to some punch and turn to find some place to cool off. 

To your delight, you find Melete. Melete of all people, at the 12th Perigee Ball. Melete who hates social gatherings but is for some reason attending the biggest one for the half sweep. She’s dressed beautifully too, in an elegant robe that’s a cascade of white fur wrapped around a tight, dark dress that outlines the curve of her neck and the lines of her collarbones against the fur. 

Your eyes linger on those lines, before you pause to actually take a sip of your punch and look away. Melete’s dressed in a fur bag and you’re worked up over her covered collarbones. Who are you?

But now that you know she’s here, you can’t pass up the opportunity to flirt in person. It was always so much easier when you could hear what people were feeling. You take a quick peek around to make sure Rumisa wasn’t around or looking at you, put a smile on your face and walk over to her, with a bounce in your step, the sort of stride that makes your dress and hair move with a spring. “Oh my gosh hi!” you exclaim brightly with a wave. “I totally did not expect to see you here. How are you enjoying the party?” 

Of all the trolls at the ball, why is it Cres that comes clicking up to you? But you don't fade into the ground, even when her eyes brighten and she detours over to you. You have earbuds in, set specifically to muffle every sound above or below a certain pitch. It, and the isolation of your dress, are making things very nearly tolerable.

You can manage, you think, a few moments of civility.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" you ask, mild. "Most of the agency is here, in one way or another. Kokiro is here, as is Hdijah, and Nomizo. Would it not be remiss to recluse myself, when the majority of our peers have already arrived..?"

Your bangs have been released, careful, to cover the crown of bone and tech across your forehead, the rest pulled into a neat twist to keep it off of your neck. There's no blue to your outfit, save your own cerulean, but that doesn't mean you aren't representing the agency. You are always representing the agency. And that's why your hands are empty of wine, plate, or anything else, save your phone.

You glance down at it, but to make the gesture pointed would be unkind. Of course Cres is asking after you at the party. Why wouldn't she? "It is well enough." A beat, then, polite: “- how are you enjoying it?”

[anontrolls]

> Hiriko: Acquire more trouble than he’s worth.

[fleetnpcs]

anontrolls‌:

You wish you could tell what Hiriko is thinking. She’s so severe - or, well, you suppose at least part of that impression must be you projecting the similarities to your ancestor that you keep tripping over. She certainly makes more positive expressions at you; maybe more in this evening than he has in your memorable lifetime.

And the man has made a lot of expressions at you.

Regardless, you can’t read her as well as you’d like, damn the lack of fins, and it’s getting a little hard to tell apart mild friendly sarcasm from gentle but genuine rebukes.

You’d usually assume she’s being friendly, but you’re usually not this sober.

Which Hiriko seems to have doubts about, while you goggle at her reference to her religion.

“I’m surprisingly not hungover, thanks,” you admit, eyeing the orange like it’s about to jump out of her hand and attack you. When is the last time you ate something with vitamins in it? Do lime slices count? “But that’s entirely against my own will, I will confess. Um. I don’t think I’ve fallen enough into the - domination of chaos? - Enough to juggle.”

“… But judging by my ancestor’s height, I should probably hit another growth spurt eventually,” you add, “So there’s that, if a lack of vitamin C hasn’t killed my chances. And I’m very quirky. Not sure if I’m into the whole ‘causing the end of the world’ thing, though, darling. It’s a little dark, isn’t it?”

"It's only dark if you fear inevitability. It would be like mourning moonset. The sun will always rise, and it will always set - one day, it will just set for longer than the rest." Lee is looking at you like you sprouted a second head, so you laugh, more of an exhale, and give the orange another toss. "But it is a hard sell to the nonbelievers," you admit. “You don’t believe at all, do you?”

"So perhaps it is best to steer clear of the faith as one." It's your duty to take him in, until this can be sorted. As an indigo and as his friend. But now that the idea's setting in.. you're not entirely sure what to do with it. "Are you certain you aren't dehydrated, or anything else? While I'm in here..?"

Especially given that you're still in your pajamas. It's hard to imagine that he hasn't been out for most of the night, tired and ready to sleep at the start of the day.. but of course he isn't. Lee doesn't wake until the time you sleep, essentially.

So you pause instead, contemplative, then squint at him over your glasses. "Have you eaten for the day?" you ask instead. "And perhaps you will, in another fifty sweeps. You're of a good height now, though."

[anontrolls]

> Hiriko: Acquire more trouble than he’s worth.

[anontrolls]

fleetnpcs‌:

Perhaps that wasn’t the best of suggestions.

“It was that, or entertainment,” you murmur, amused and a little chiding. “But I don’t think you need to be pursuing that just yet. Ah. Not until the attention has faded, at least. Unless you’d wish to play at Carnival..?” He mentioned a keyboard. A piano? No, it must be electric. It could work, in theory. Few clowns are willing to harry a violet, if he kept his tongue in check.

But you don’t trust that he would, right now. Lee courts disaster, as seen by his public liaisons. No, there’s a better option out there..

.. even if it, evidently, is not in your kitchen. “.. not entirely immortal,” you argue, hesitant, but he’s barreling right on, before you can dig into the questions of his horticultural techniques. “There’s the small matter of watering them, but, ah -”

He can cook. That’s something, then, and you brighten. “Excellent,” you say, warmer, lifting your chin towards the refrigerator. “That is something. You shouldn’t have to worry about a stipend, then, if you can cook. Ah, can you manage a souffle? Or is it just an omelette?

Hiriko rebukes your sarcasm, and you duck your head sheepishly. It’s not her fault she’s trying to help, but it’s not your fault you were hatched with no brain-to-mouth filter, either, is it?

No, that one is almost certainly your fault. As evidenced by your over-excited proclamation about omelettes and how incredibly ahead of yourself it was.

“Um. I can prepare an omelette,” you repeat, shifty-eyed. “And instant ramen. And microwaveable hot pockets.”

You don’t eat much. Mostly because you can’t cook. You figure you get your night’s worth in calories in drinks most of the time anyways, though, so it’s probably fine. Alcohol and sugar have plenty of energy in them.

Entertainment doesn’t sound too bad, if you’re honest. At least not in principle. Maybe acting, or - well. Actually, it sounds terrible, just not for the right reasons. You would probably have fun on the actual job, but the thought of everything else associated with making even more of a celebrity of yourself (or even worse but infinitely more likely, trying to and failing) makes you want to go hide under your recuperacoon.

Unfortunately, you don’t have your own recuperacoon anymore. So there goes that plan.

“… And cereal?” you offer weakly, “Um. Do clowns generally ostracize people for socially unacceptable personal qualities, or is it more of a ‘stones, glass hives’ sort of thing in that respect?”

[fleetnpcs]

Lee's fins are expressive: they drop when his expression falls, they twitch when he gets uneasy. If he was ever frightened, you wonder if they'd pin back entirely, or if he'd manage to flare them out.

Probably not. He doesn't seem the flaring type, regardless of the situation. It's part of the reason the two of you are friends. Aggression comes pack and parcel with chrome, and when it's an exhausting front to put on, Lee has always been a refuge towards a more calmer form of civility.

"Novelties and individual quirks are the sort of things we prize." He's joking, going by that sickly grin, but you'll just go with it, mild as you slide your mug onto the table, and head to the thermal hull. "The church appreciates growth, in all forms. And eventually, will not all uniformity fall to the domination of chaos? Can you juggle?" you ask, changing tracts as you spot an orange. "Or catch?" You give it an experimental bounce in your hand. "Citrus will help.."

"Ah. Any lingering headaches."