Honestly, you’re not sure why you came this sweep. Maybe just to get away. To reconsider things.
To see the beautiful outfits, certainly. You’ll give highbloods one thing; they dress well. Even some of the greenbloods and your fellow lowbloods have very elaborate wear, and their coldblooded fellows may not like being upstaged.
Some among them will consider all lower castes unworthy of their notice, no matter how finely presented. It’s always wise to remember that as you pick your way through the crowd, ears alert and eyes constantly darting around to make sure no tall troll elbows or steps on you.
Oh, there’s a few familiar faces; Hadean, Pheres, and...a jade?
Your ears flick down, but back up as you take a breath. As rotten and untrustworthy as they are, you have to at least pretend to act at ease around them, since no one else seems to understand the danger and acts like you’re insane.
A small group of trolls passes over, and you step over, waving hello...
...to realize both Hadean and Pheres have gone, and you’re stuck waving at this random jade whose name you don’t even know.
You smile as the pair of you are old friends and wave more, because if you’re going to dig this hole you’ll do it properly.
You sigh with frustration, minimizing the chat window. Can’t Hadean and Videle see that Gliese is nothing but bad news? How can either of them possibly defend her after what you told them?
At least Pheres understands. He’s far too optimistic about highbloods in general, but he grasps that someone like her will never really reform.
You click open a new window.
-- xerosRunner [XR] has begun trolling acerbicHorticulturist! [AH] --
XR: so you’re stringing another lowblood along in pitch, hm?
AH: who the fuck is this
XR: first two guesses don’t count. \ouo/
AH: oh fuck right off to hell if they’ve lowered their standards enough to take you
XR: I’m in too good of a mood to be bothered by your vulgarity, Gliese.
AH: what the fuck did you do, you little shitstain
XR: Oh, nothing much.
AH: tell me
XR: I mentioned your disgusting lowblood fetish to your ash enclade.
XR: You know it’s not every day I scrape up sympathy for a jade, but I guess the clowns are right and miracles do happen \-u-/
XR: what have you done to her? it can’t be affection that made her display any loyalty to you in chat. did you threaten her?
AH:
AH:
AH: you’re sick. you’re absolutely sick.
You pause, disappointed. You figured she’d lose her temper like she always does, start flailing desperately to defend herself. This is practically boring.
XR: Am I? I’m not the one who quads warm hues like they’re prizes to be won. \-n-/
XR: Doesn’t it get boring?
XR: Haven’t you ever considered leaving us alone?
AH: are you still fucking sore about Matari of all goddamn things
AH: because OH BOY let me fucking tell you
AH: you’re an idiot.
AH: I was literally never a fucking threat to you, jackass. She broke up with me and then DATED YOU. WHY, empress only fucking knows, but she DID.
AH: and no, it wasn’t because of a fetish, you sick fuck. It’s because we were dumb kids and because Matari didn’t TELL me shit until after she dumped me so of fucking course I had no idea what the real issue was.
AH: You’re OLDER than me, shouldn’t you be a little more fucking grown-up? Try it some time.
AH: and by the way? I’ve never threatened Vide. Ever. And I never will.
AH: because you just like to pretend I’m the worst person in the world so you never have to think about anything you’ve ever done.
AH: fucking GOODBYE.
-- acerbicHorticulturist [AH] has blocked xerosRunner! [XR] --
Instead you’re keeping a wary eye on all of the bluebloods at this party, making sure no one objects to Gallie, that she’s getting nothing but passing glances. She’s scarcely higher than you are and she’s not wearing a trident on her clothing.
Though the red symbol on your chest feels more like a target than protection at times.
You smile and nod and run a few errands for some officials, taking a message or two, fetching supplies, but then you have a free few minutes and you immediately flit over to the only other person below teal in the room, aside from the waiters.
There’s beautiful crystal fountains, large exotic plants, and particularly for Gallie’s interests, fleet trolls everywhere in the latest fashions with outfits made from rare colony materials. It’s lovely, but you can’t help but be on edge, knowing that. She seems happy, though! Time to make sure.
“I’m pretty sure that legislacerator’s wearing real alien feathers.” You say softly, only a few inches from her. Her hair is very pretty, fluffy and excellently styled. “Isn’t that silly? There are plenty of good Alternian birds. You’d know; your lusus is so cute.”
Then you realize how that sounds.
“I don’t want anyone to make clothes out of her.” You add fervently, coloring slightly red. “I’m sure she’s a lovely caretaker.”
WIP of Cennef’s ball outfit! it took me forever to decide on this but I like it
she’s going to have the most elaborate outfit of anyone, for reasons that will be clear later. there will be some jewelry and decoration in Gallie’s color as well.
The paper rustles in your hands, and the oliveblood’s face is wide, wide, wide with a smile like they’re trying to swallow their own face. There’s that faint smell of hand sanitizer - at least it’s not rotted pine needles, like last time - and the harsh lighting makes you look washed out.
You feel washed out.
“I’m being promoted?” You say, voice thick and slow, but with a lift at the end, like you’re a pupa in a creche asking your proctor a question. You figure that’s what they sound like. It’s not like you’d know.
Cennef Renard. Feral, Gliese sneered at you, cullbait, barely fit to be a troll, look at the little wildbeast playing person, clearly her pan’s damaged if she’s come up with all these stories.
Nobody else outside your old clade knows. Certainly not the company.
“Why, yes, honey. Isn’t that exciting? You’re an Imperial runner now!”
You could pour their voice into coffee and a wriggler would spit it out for being too sweet, but right now it doesn’t even matter, because how can this be real?
“This comes with a relocation, of course...you’ll be placed near Temasek! I do hope it’s not too much of a bother.” They add, and really, the only thing that bothers you right now is that their eyebrows seem to be trying to escape their face.
Because you’ve never really left Hanhai properly, except on deliveries. You’ve never stayed away more than a week, even to visit your old clade. It’s not that you’re in love with it - it’s just always been there.
“It’s fine.” You hear yourself say. “How long do I have to collect my things?”
“A droid’s been sent to your hive, sweetie.” They flap a hand at you, staring at paperwork now, their bottom fangs jutting over their lip. “It’ll collect everything and bring it here, before we take you to your new place! Don’t fret.”
You’ve hardly even seen droids before. It’s not like Port Mina has many, nor do most towns in the desert. Having one sent to personally collect your things is almost absurd. You’re maroon, for heaven’s sake.
The olive coughs impatiently and taps on a sheaf of stapled papers with a gaudily-ringed finger. “Honey, if you don’t mind...”
You read it through quickly, and then sign it. It’s nothing too different from what you already do - simply more strict on discretion and expectations. You’ll be an Imperial courier now - you’ll be sent schoolfeeds on French, since that’s the standard there, and you’ll be carrying messages and packages for clowns and violets.
Reflexively, you feel your distaste for higher castes flare...but it’s not like you don’t know how to deal with them. You walked into a circus and came out with all your limbs and your mind intact. You’re not a timorous pupa, quavering at the mere thought of cool blood.
“Why was I chosen?”
The question slips from you before you can think to take it back. No - you don’t want to, it’s reasonable. The company employs all hues of lowbloods - why not promote a yellow to such a position? You’re excellent at the job, certainly, but you’re also a realist, and reality says there would normally be at least a saffron where you are now, if not some lemon-hued husk.
“You’ve got an excellent record, sweetie, and you got a lovely recommendation from a cerulean not too long ago. That’s what sealed it!”
You’re violently sorry you asked, and now you rather feel like retching.
You don’t need some idiot blue’s charity, especially not one who begged you to kiss her.
Damn her. Damn them all.
Highbloods. All they’re worth is the caegers in their pockets.
You’re loyal not because they deserve it. You’re loyal because it’s hard, because a lesser troll would whine and complain and say they don’t care about the spectrum, that they wish it was different.
You’re not so naive.
You’ll take this damn position because you earned it. You’ll work your way into some officer’s good graces, and be a treasured employee in the Fleet.
You had to learn this system the hard way, and you will wring its neck and rake its flesh until it works for you.
