#calais rusrra

[tyriancyclostomes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A quick thing I wrote for The Physicae, Calais's ancestor Troll.

[tyriancyclostomes]

==>

You find yourself sitting at your table staring at what every fiber of your being is currently regarding as an intruder in your hive. Every fiber except your, CLEARLY, rotted think-pan because for some reason you're trying to figure out where to let the little pest sleep.

She’s clearly tired by the way her huge eyes keep starting to close only to pop back open again. Her cries finally stopped once she was on the tabletop and you’re pretty sure she’s good for now.

The fact that she’s still here is what’s causing your skin to crawl and prickle. She’s emitting a little happy churring sound and Gl’bgolyb help you if it isn't the cutest freaking sound. You lean back, eyes never leaving her as you blow out a long slow breath.

“What do I even DO with you?” Suddenly you have no idea how GM does it. How did she ever decide to raise you? How could she just grab you and go ‘hey, I’m raising a grub now and I know EXACTLY what to do.’

….

Ok, that probably wasn't how she actually felt when she took you in, but still.

Your protein chute is starting to feel tight and you're fairly certain that the longer you stare at this grub the worse it’s getting, though you can’t seem to pry your eyes away. You lose track of time watching her, only snapping back into focus when she suddenly sneezes, looks at you drearily and suddenly she’s just out like a light. Your shoulders relax from the tense rigid position you hadn't realized you had been sitting in. A glance at your portable husktop tells you it’s getting late, GM will be back anytime now.

Maybe you’ll just let the little grub sleep on the table. She seems comfortable.

And if you’re lucky GM will think she’s a snack you left out for her. Your lip curls into a slight smirk, you snort just a little because while the thought is tempting you know you can’t do it.

You are the worst Troll. It is you.

[tyriancyclostomes]

==> Return to Hive

You manage to pry the wriggler off of your leg and proceed to create a sling of sorts from your coat. The wriggler doesn’t seem to care for it much, but you need both hands free for the climb and you aren’t willing to see just how well this little grub can cling to you yet. 

Though if it did fall to the rocks below and died you could at least comfort yourself in the knowledge that it was simply too stupid to survive.

Survival of the least pan-rotted and all that. Alas, you can’t bring yourself to even tempt fate on these matters. With annoying grub firmly secured and in tow, you start the climb back to your hive.

…..

You really hope GM won’t try to eat this thing. 

[tyriancyclostomes]

==> Be the Troll who should have stayed in her hive

==> You are now the Troll who really, really should have stayed in her respite block being bored out of her think pan.

For the first time in your depressingly short life you finally realize why your Lusus kept you away from the shore.

For the frist time you wish you had listended to her.

You had always thought it was because she was being overbearing, to protective of her ward. The cliff faces that needed to be scalled were probably to steep for any other Troll; but not for one raised by a lusus who was built for jumping and scalling cliffs. You had no issues getting down to the sandy beaches below, at least none having to do with the climb. So no, it wasn't because of the danger of the climb that she kept you from the shores. It wasn't even from the various sea-beasts that dwelled in the water that she kept you safe from.

This whole time she was protecting you from...well, you. She's always known you so much better then you've given her credit for. She's always towered over you, watching you with those blank eyes that you've always suspected concealed so much wisdom. Yet you've always chosen to ignore the fact that she's older then you; she has raised you and probably even had young of her own at somepoint and she knows things. Things you can only hope to learn on your own someday before your depressingly short life span claims you. And now you wish you hadn't ignored her this time. That you hadn't gone against her so blantatly and gone to the one place she always kept you from.

You inhale sharply, looking down at the sand and what it holds. You really wish it hadn't been so easy to get here, to slip by her all knowing gaze.

It wasn't unusual for GM (Goat-Mom) to leave for hours at a time, she needed to eat after all and hunting was the only way she got enough food. She didn't normally go far though, she usually found someway to keep an eye on you. You had attempted to go near the cliffs that lead to the shore several times before, but you where always dragged back by her (usually kicking and screaming, sometimes biting too but that was only when you where feeling especially petty about the whole thing). And as a result you hadn't even gotten withing 20 feet of the cliff edge. But now here you are, feet in the water, sand between your toes, no clue how to swim and to top it all off: 

A fucking grub attached to your leg. And not just any color grub. Oh no. You couldn't stumble across the exit to the brooding caverns and trials, nope. Couldn't just find a grub or two being selected by a particularly mean water dwelling lusus because, fuck it all if this exit wasn't pretty much only for sea dwelling Trolls. So naturally the grub attached to your leg is a freaking sea-dweller, but it couldn't of just been a regular sea dweller who was put on Alternia to make your short existence miserable. 

No. You get your leg assaulted by the only shade of purple blood that could not only get you culled, but also get you horribly tortured and put on display by the Empress herself for all to see.

You had to get latched onto by a tyrian blood. 

And the worst part is? You can't just pry her off and let her go. Because you suffer from one of the worst diseases a Troll could have: compassion. Compassion for your fellow Trolls and bloody hell if you can't just leave this grub here to be culled by starving to death or a beast of some sort eating her. You know she won't have a chance on her own, not when there's already two tyrian bloods to take up Gl'bgolyb's attention. There's no room for another ward under her. Without you, this grub is already dead because you know no other Trolls besides half-dead FLARP'rs come to this area. 

...

Your going to need to find a new rout back to your hive.

[tyriancyclostomes]

OOC: Calais has a new sign! Why? Because her old sign was honestly pretty lame :/

So, here's one I'm much happier with! Feel free to guess what this abstract design is supposed to represent, winner gets a free Fan Troll or Troll of there choice drawn!

Just send your guess to my ask box, no anon's please.

[tyriancyclostomes]

==> FLASHBACK: Be the irritable medically inclined Troll = = >

You are Calais Rusrra and you can't believe how freaking tired you are. Your tired of everything lately and you just can't seem to put a talon on the reason for it. This is probably because there simply isn't just ONE reason for your exhaustion.

Between your Lusus constantly locking horns with you, said Lusus also dragging in half-dead FLARP'rs for you to fix up from the shore, and your idiotic friends trolling you online constantly you have little to no down time. Sure, you COULD just not go online but that would be the sensible thing to do and you simply love Black Fl-HARRASSING certain Trolls waaaaaay to much to sleep.

So. Really you have no one to blame for your excessive levels of tiredness than yourself.

That doesn't change the fact that your still way to tired to be putting up with the current level of shit you are presently faced with.

"GM....What the ever bulge-licking fuck did you just drag into my Hive?!?" You are currently starting at your Lusus, thumping it's long tail happily on the floor as it holds what can only be described as one of the biggest messes of blood and flesh you have ever seen; and you have seen a LOT of bloody messes in your short time. 

Said bloody mess of flesh and hair is covered in cerulean blood, only one horn present and upon close inspection still retains all of it's limbs; even if said limbs are currently in positions not Trollishly possible under normal circumstances. Upon a closer look you find that this poor disfigured Troll is in fact a male who might even be close to your age.

You cringe.

This is going to be un9leasant.  

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======>

Grab the poor fool and put him on your shitty operating table.

======>

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You quickly knock everything off your operating table. When not in use it serves as your desk, quickly accumulating lots of junk and usually your grubtop on it. Said junk and grubtop are tossed onto the floor.

You pay little heed to the crashing noise, your computer is tough and has taken far worse punishment then this before. 

You grab GM by one of her curly horns and drag/coax her over to your operating table, still dragging the blue-blooded troll with her. After a short yelling match you manage to convince her to put the Troll up on the table and that he's not food to be consumed. You silently curse her for her habit of dragging half dead creatures into your Hive to consume.

Even if it does more often then not give you something to hone your skills of vivisection on. 

You stare down at the Troll who is still somehow breathing. Judging by there clothing and current level of wetness and sand on them that they came from the shore.

The shore your guardian will never lets you near. 

Probably a FLARPr, just like the rest of them. No matter, this one doesn't have a lot of time, judging by the shallowness of there breathing and how quickly there blood is spilling. Bones are sticking out in multiple areas and your pretty sure there is internal bleeding. Most others would instantly declare this a lost cause and immediately cull the poor fool. But not you. 

You love a challenge. 

[tyriancyclostomes]

((Thought I would take a stab at rendering Calais in a different way. Enjoy!))

[tyriancyclostomes]