#ch13!

[creativenicocorner]

HOTEST TAKE: Waltolomew Stricklander (Walter Strickler for short) has a working bidet in his bathroom. 

[creativenicocorner]

Shoutout to that one time I was able to spit out 4 Terpsichore chapters in a month

What was I on???

Hubris, probably.

And now? 6 months later, after my last updated chapter?? What could I even be on now??

Even more Hubris(tm)  ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ 

[creativenicocorner]

[ Strums guitar ] IT’S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

~When we sing of cherry time the mockingbird will whistle much better. ~

[creativenicocorner]

I...I hesitantly want to believe I’ll manage to have ch13 of Terpsichore out by the holidays, and perhaps typing this out into the world wide webbo will help will that into reality. Or maybe it won't - time will tell lol

In the meantime have a collection of disconnected and short Terpsichore sneak peeks:

//

Walter stared down in transfixed horror and shame, his hand hovering over her back, before slowly, hesitantly, rubbing her heaving back.

Walter Strickler squeezed her close as much as his strength allowed.

“Was it real? Was any of it real?” asked Barbara in a whisper so low, unable to look the changeling in the eye - hesitant to relinquish her lasting hold on the thin thread that tied them together.

“Every bit of it.” came Walter’s voice, this time without any sort of pause, with enough reassurance that broke Barbara’s heart and caused her to close her eyes with a blob of fresh tears.

“Walter” she said with a crack in her voice, the dreaded ‘End is Nigh’ in sights.

“It was,” admitted the changeling, holding Barbara close, “one of the most real experiences of my life. Yes it was real. Of course it was real. From being pushed out of your window, to watching Star Trek together, to you getting a bikini wax.”

Barbara gave a knee jerk laugh cry at that, sobbing a cackle into the changeling’s chest. “Oh my go- that’s right, you felt those?!” asked Barbara looking at Walter at last.

His face was warm, and gooey. Not the sort of face she’d ever expect to be an assassin, or some sort of part troll person.

With a gentle brush through Barbara’s hair Walter said, “Every strip.”

This caused Barbara another fit of laughter, fresh tears falling and reddening her cheeks. Streaks of tears fell into the creases of her pained smile. Barbara laughed and hated Walter more for being able to, even now, despite everything, make her laugh.

“Good.” she sniffed, rubbing her nose into his sweater. A final act of close familiarity shared, of held and being held.  

It ached how painfully easy it felt to slip into a sense of before - to warm idle chats with scones, and sitting side by side on a swing-set at the playground on the hospital grounds during her breaks. Though really, their chats were always warm, no matter the setting.

Mustering her strength Barbara pushed herself out of Walter Strickler’s embrace.

To Walter’s wordless, ‘you good?’ Barbara nodded with a sniff, and sat upright once more. Her spine felt cold though.

Then, after a delicate pause, scratching the side of his nose and watching Barbara sniffle, Walter reached into that near Mary Poppins level inside pocket of his, and pulled out a handkerchief for her.

The kind gesture burned at Barbara’s heart like a wild fire. It pained her to smile, nod, and take it.

“Do you still want me to kill Andrew Wakefield?” asked Walter Strickler, leaning to the side some to be at her eye level, but with still a bit of distance.

Barbara’s nose blowing sputtered into an escaped laugh. Dabbing her nose she bit her lip and closed her eyes. “That,” she said in her classic ‘more mad at how such a joke could make me laugh’ look Walter knew so well, and a wave of her finger. She tried with all her might to not be amused, “that’s not funny.”

“I have the connections.” he said, like a used car salesman trying to bribe a smile out of her.

“You’re probably over qualified.” she couldn’t help but snark in equal dryness. Then sighed, lowering her hands into her lap, “…I suppose you can kill him, hu?” she considered aloud.

Slowly, like an arctic wind she knew was in the forecast but hoped would just go away and be mistaken about, she realized, with a cold drain of blood and warmth from her features, the unforgivable as a mother.

“Then that means,” she said with disinfected coldness “it’s also true that you tried to kill my son.” with a look in her eyes that gazed into Walter Strickler’s like an obituary.

//

“Right.” said Vendel at last. He turned to Shuri and said, “Take her to Heartstone. I’ll have to inform the Trollhunter. Come on you.” he added with a click of his staff to the ground at Strickler - waking him from darker thoughts.  

Strickler knew he was walking, but it felt more like a distant experience, observed from elsewhere outside his body. He winced at the neon light of the main medical ward, but didn’t wait for them to adjust - instead he felt himself move toward Barbara’s direction.

Her pained simpers speared through his ears and dug at his heart.

Vendel’s staff intercepted the changeling, a sour faced and all.

Strickler didn’t have any quips left, the wind out of his sails. He had other things to care about. Leaning to the side, and with a hand floating up curl gingerly around the sling, he said, “A blanket. The..heartstone it’ll be warm, I suppose, if the staff felt warm to me, but…” Walter Strickler took a step back and croaked, “What have I done?”

Sympathy was not found in the old troll’s eyes, nor as he inhaled slowly through his nose. “Enough. I’d say you’ve done enough.”

The changeling didn’t move, but watched misty eyed as Shuri carried a groaning Barbara out a side door.

“A funny thing, consequence.” Sniffed Vendel. “You will have plenty of time to think of that soon - for now it is imperative the bond between you is broken.”

“What if the heartstone won’t work?”

“Changeling, are you listening?”

Walter’s mouth felt dry, his throat lumpy and in need of clearing, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “Gumm-Gumm magic. The bond is made by Gumm-Gumm magic…”

Vendel gave the changeling a look that was the closest to the trollish equivalent of a dryly delivered, ‘no shit Sherlock.’

Strickler continued, “I had Angor carve it into totems...what I’m saying is - they’re could be backfires - erm,” he paused to think of a better word, his fingers snapping quickly as if it’d help speed up his mental search “side effects.”

“Heartstone is more powerful than anything you, your kind, and your Gumm-Gumms could possibly divine. I have faith in it, and so should you.”

“What, cause my blood glowed? Sound thinking, that- sure. No further research needed - case closed - treatment : Glowing rock, side effects: hopefully tickety-boo.” to which Strickler crossed his fingers at Vendel and smiled gruesomely. “While we’re at it why don’t we rip out the entrails of a dead rat and see what the horoscope for the month will be, hm?”

Vendel looked down his nose at the changeling, and said nothing. Then with a tap of his staff and a gesture of his arm, had the changeling walk in front of him - where the Trollhunter and others were waiting.

//

It was during one of these moments that a pair of trolls hurriedly crossed to the other side of the road tugging at a child in hand. Unfortunately the child stumbled in Strickler’s path.

The trolls held their breath, as if anticipating a sort of bomb to go off.

Strickler slowly turned his head to look solemnly down at the young troll. Their eyes were wide. Their breath quickening in horror. Looking up into the face of the flesh and bone creature that had heavy unblinking eyes.  

But Strickler didn’t act, or move, or did anything - he just waited, either for the troll to pick themselves up, or for someone to help them up. He even took a moment to look at Blinky to see if he would do anything, but the troll seemed momentarily distracted with a bookseller.

When nothing happened Strickler sighed upward, unable to refuse his teacherly paternal like nature, and leaned leaned forward with an outstretched hand. The bare minimum, really.

The young troll flinched away, covering their face as if that would cast the pretend troll out of existence. They tried hard not to think about what it must feel like to walk with a soft outside and rocky inside - and she tried not to think about how strange this fleshy creature walked without a sound without rattling with the bones inside…surely bones rattled, right? Or were they more like trolls but with their insides stretched on their outside?

Curiosity getting the best of them, the child peaked through their fingers. Eyeing the offered soft hand with hairy knuckles.

“Are you inside out?” asked the little troll.

“Not presently, no.” said Strickler “But the future is full of possibilities.” and then he gave a small ironic sort of smile.

The little troll removed their hand from their face and, found themselves smiling in return. Then slowly…hesitantly…reached towards Strickler’s hand.

//

And onwards they continued. They moved discreetly through a winding stretch that became more desolate with every step, tented carpets, and around a wall of piled televisions which Strickler couldn’t guess the reason of it being there for the life of him. If the circumstances were different, he might have asked Blinky.

There were less neon signs near the stronghold, as if preserved in an area that found light and electrical currents moderately suspicious at best. Not that either Blinky or Strickler found this to be a problem, the slow decline of lights helped in favor to their eyes adjusting. Sharp greens and screaming purples and icy blueberry blues diminished - replaced by one tone browns, a splash of yellow, and perhaps the idea of orange.

The trolls guarding the threshold were at shoulder height the same size of an average moose, and frowned with the grace of a snarling gargoyle as they passed.

Here, none of the guards seemed surprised at the sight of the changeling. Their primary reaction being a tighter grip on their halberds, and a low growl that rippled bear like past their jagged yellow teeth.  

“Cheerful.” commented Strickler dryly, “Like being greeted by sadistic bellhops.”

“Show any sign of a trick, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy their version of asking for ‘a tip’.”

Strickler held his wounded arm closer to himself with a dry gulp, “Well, I give shoddy advice at best.”

“No not that kind of-!” Blinky turned and looked at the deceptively calm expression on his face - patient as an iceberg. Blinky’s frown deepened. “Oh, you’re joking.”

The changeling gave an ironic, serviceable bow.

//

And that’s probably it for sneak peeks until the chapter is released (maybe)

[creativenicocorner]

YOU KNOW WHAT??? YOU KNOW FUCKING W H A T???

I’m just going to write the dialogue like it’s a screenplay and see where it takes me, change it up, go back to some roots - GET MCFUNKY (then clean it up afterwards)

These two fucks are going to talk and it’s going to be devastating (or not - we’ll just have to wait in see) but hopefully it’ll be as eviscerating a send off to a couple that leads to some kick ass growth as I hope it will be 

IN THE MEANTIME LETS HAVE SOME FREAKING FUN 

[creativenicocorner]

Now it’s no secret that Terpsichore is riddled with missing scenes that try and peek into the reasoning and actions of characters, be it why Strickler keeps going out of his way to sneakily not kill Jim, or all the off screen dates Walter and Barbara have had (especially if you HC that they’ve been seeing each other since the museum break in lol), and juggling his feelings to the changeling cause he’s been working towards for 200+years. 

Or as I affectionately like to call it; Walter Strickler’s Trolly Problem Scenario haha (I wonder if I should share that as an essay here someday)

but THIS scene OOFF is probably very self indulgent and teeters between a pre and post redemption Strickler in a very pre-redemption scenario. 

Anywho, here’s a Ch13 sneak peek!  A Convo between Jim and Walter while they wait for Claire and Toby to bring the binding spell incantation. Aka why I think Jim ended up going to Claire and take her to a nice lookout to dance, instead of staying by his mom’s side at the hospital. 

In short,  Strickler: 

There’s a always a possibility certain bits might change when the chapter is officially posted, in the meantime enjoy!

//

“I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for her.” explained the changeling calmly. Parroting back what the teen had told him back at the Lake house.

Jim closed his mouth, and looked morosely at his mother, giving her hand a little squeeze. 

An awkward quiet settled between them, punctuated by the occasional sniffles from a pained Barbara. The tiniest of hurt groans breathing out of her as she slept.

Jim covered his mother’s hand, with his other hand, moved by how her fingers curled. 

The changeling, on the other hand, had his brows furrowed together so much it almost looked like a unibrow,if it wasn’t for the fleshy worried crease between, looking like a bald patch on a furry mountain. And although he was exceptionally worried about Barbara, he was also worried about Jim. For his brows were knitted together for him too.

Jim who was working with less than 7 hours of sleep. Jim who had a near run in with death while fighting Angor Rot. Jim who’s life was thrust into a war he had inherited because of an unjust amulet. Jim who’s mother’s life hung at the balance because of the changeling’s actions. In fact, a lot of Jim’s scenarios were caused by the changeling’s actions. The majority even. 

Strickler squeezed Barbara’s hand, and shamefully looked away. So many things to say, and what a day to have words fail, and escape him. Again, the changeling found himself tongue tied.

With a heavy heart Strickler pressed on with the best an experience of war since a young age could give the changeling, the power of momentary distraction.

“I, ah,” Strickler awkwardly cleared his throat, “couldn’t help but notice you and Claire..”

Jim gave Strickler a look, unsure where the changeling was going with his word fumbling, and unsure if he wanted to know.

“It’s a shame about the dance.” Strickler managed at last. “I, ah, think the faculty and students did a mighty good job decorating this year.” he braved a smile.

“How can you even think about something like that right now?” asked Jim with a deep frown. 

Strickler’s smile dropped, and he bit his lip, “Right, yes.”

The silence returned with a new painful wave of awkwardness. It was dreadful. 

And yet, with the idea of the school dance now in his head, the teen was surprised when he managed to say, “You know, I was looking forward to dancing.” with an added distance the teen added, “I was looking forward to a lot of things, actually.”  

Strickler gave a guilty nod, “Well...there’s, no reason why you can’t go on with your plans.” he said and scratched the side of his face.

Jim gave the changeling a perplexed look, and gestured fervently to his mom in the sort of shocked surprise to hear someone describe water as not wet. “Are you kidding?! You’re joking, right??”

Walter Strickler exhaled a small patient smile, “Allow me to explain.”

And with an exasperated gesture, and a silently sarcastic ‘why not’, Jim allowed it. 

“Life is a series of poorly planned trench warfare tactics. You gain ground, you loose ground, celebrate, cry, and march on. What counts are the small moments in between that help you keep marching forward.”

Jim squinted, and despite the shuddering eerie sensation that Strickler probably lived through trench warfare combat at some point, Jim was unsure he was following. 

Strickler gave another patient smile, and reframed his advice in a more frank level, “When this is over, and your mother is safe, go dancing with Claire, Jim.”

“But- Angor-”

“Isn’t going to barge into Trollmarket without a plan. Plans take time. Something I’m sure you can trust me in knowing about.”

Despite himself, Jim snorted. The laugh tasted bittersweet. “Alright, you got me there.”

“You can use that time worrying yourself sick in circles, or dancing. It’s alright to take a step back, a small bit of indulgence can be refreshing. Helpful even.”

Jim frowned thoughtfully. Slowly rubbing his thumb over Barbara’s hand. Unable to shake off his guilty feeling at enjoying himself dancing while his mom could still be suffering even after the binding spell is broken. He wanted to dance, liked the idea, and yet...

Strickler, too, looked over Barbara’s face. Watched as her brows knitted together, and her pale skin almost illuminated under the Heartstone light, and perspiration. 

Guilt can only be mentioned so many times. Yet the changeling felt it every time of every passing second, and more as his eyes slid back and forth between Barbara and Jim. The family his presence caused so much chaos in. 

Jim looked full of frowns and worry. Again, Strickler’s heart ached. Experience informed the changeling that a dance would help. But he could insist only so many times. 

Walter Strickler gulped, and licked his lips. Yet when he spoke again his voice croaked. “For all sad words of tongue and pen. The saddest are these, ‘it might have been.’ ”

“Are you talking about my mom again?” asked Jim flatly, “Making this about you?”

A hurt smile grew over the changeling, though really he was in no place to deny that wouldn’t be something he would have tried to do. Walter Strickler wondered if he should be worried about Jim’s new found cynical bone. Regardless, the changeling felt responsible. In an attempt at looking at the bright side the changeling thought, ‘if cynicism can one day save my favorite student to live another day..’ His thoughts trailed in a vain worry the cynicism won’t absorb Jim completely. 

Instead of addressing it, however, Strickler smiled at Jim. In that patient fatherly way Jim had grown bittersweet and angry about. That reminded Jim of how he once thought of his favorite history teacher, and the pain to see that expression in the face Jim barely trusted. 

At the risk of sounding overly paternal Strickler said with a gentle insistence, “Go dancing with Claire when you can, Jim.”

“I don’t-”

“-Doesn’t have to be at the school.” said Walter Strickler intuitively. After all, after so much commotion, loud places filled with other people who wouldn’t understand what Jim was going through aside from a select few, probably didn’t sound too appealing. “You can dance anywhere, Young Atlas.”

“Anywhere...” repeated Jim thoughtfully. And with a pause, an idea slowly crept into the teen’s head. 

//

[kazoo sounds] this is still pretty rough, I think I can spruce it up better, but thank you for reading!!

[creativenicocorner]

I was 👌👌👌👌👌 thiiiiiiiis close to cutting an extensive scene in ch13 yesterday - because the chapter is already quite long (fair warning) I don’t know if it’s my longest one yet - all the same I can’t bring myself to make ch13 into bitesized pieces I must...I must follow the command of the flow, and the flow is a bit of a river rapid I’m afraid. 

Another reason I was close to cutting a scene was cause, I really want to get on with things, or rather, just have this chapter EXIST already lkfgnkf 

But I decided sternly against cutting the scene, we’re going to spend a little longer in Krax’s memory of the past, in the 20′s, within the speakeasy House of Tutors, because there’s some fun seeds for the future that needs planting. 

So readers, I hope you like white water rafting  

[creativenicocorner]

Terpsichore Ch13 Goofs presented as a sloppy shitpost with no context XP

Strickler in the 1920′s as a fight breaks out in his speakeasy named House of Tutors: Don’t make me tap the sign.

[ Warring mobsters keep fighting. Strickler taps a sign that reads ‘When there’s somethings only liquor can teach you’ then bashes someone’s head in with an empty whiskey bottle]: 

So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys Oh lord, it's no wonder, if lightning and thunder Weren't made from the plunder of poitín me boys.

BONUS