This drinking establishment was one of the usual haunts, but the patrons inside were not the crowd she usually knew. A minor fleet ship must have landed nearby and belched out the batch of salted seatrolls that littered the chairs and tables. That didn’t stop Essint from digging herself three drinks in at the bar itself. When the bartender had looked askance- a brief flash of eyebrows above sunset-orange eyes- Essint had rolled her eyes and grunted, “Final Testaments.”
None of young subjuggulators in her hallway were achieving the marks they needed- chattering priests, they weren’t even getting marks that would let them live past the next lunar cycle! And while Essint wasn’t responsible for teaching them their whoops and words, the Raketeer would have questions and looks and Scripture for her.
Hence, the three drinks-- which now were doing wonders for the eminent doom scratching down her neck. Her fingers were only slightly sticky from the Faygo base: bright heretical zest, the color of much long ago mulched limebloods that made for the brightest of lunar rays on murals. And the liqour mixed in had a mellower punch, probably brought out out storage for the roiling bright purples waggling their fins about, but she wasn’t going to complain.
The uniformed fish next to her gave her a goggle-eyed stare, the effects of their drink of choice long established. “Whadd ‘re you drinkin’, huh? Issit good?” Their slurred words almost swam with the flowery liqueur dripping from their cup and Essint snorted. Murderous Messiahs, if she wasn’t already drinking she could almost get sloshed off the fumes from this one.
“Keep to yourself, mountain shadow,” she replied, naming them by that soft shade of violet piped along their sleeves and coat collar. It was a pretty enough color, at least in this lighting, perfect for depicting a stone in shade. None of the dehydrated pigment barrels in her room at the Panomura contained this tone. Shame, but she wasn’t going to drain it from the troll sitting next to her. She was, after all, off-duty, with the only hint of art left in faded smudges across her least smeared leggings.
The mountain shadow troll frowned, but it only gave an impression of a pinched fish. “Wush only tryin to be cur-tee-iss,” the last word carefully parted into its three distinct sounds. “But,” they sat up and managed to (honest-to-honk) flounce in their seat. “I shee im naw wanded.”
They suddenly spun to the left and lurched off the stool- too quick for what they intended, but the realization was too slow. Essint threw out a hand to keep them from falling off entirely, but the troll gave a warbled shriek instead. The hand Essint used to grab them had earlier held her cup with dregs of clown juice, which were sacrificed onto the fish’s lap, staining the soft grey fabric.
“This was my only cashual outfit,” the troll cried out, any true rage muffled by drunken bewilderment. Essint let go with disgust and the fish patted fitfully at the sticky dampness. This is why she didn’t like helping people outside her job. Hell, even any gratefulness from grubling priests was shallow and fleeting- even more so by the soon-to-come death squad.
She only grunted in response to mountain shadow’s mutterings about “fashun” and “expense”, turning back to the sunset-orange bartender. He gave the seadweller a small look before glancing back at Essint, and then gave a tired shrug. They may have been castes away, but he and her both knew fish fickleness to an unwilling degree- a rare moment of solidarity.
“Done,” Essint declared, pulling caegars from a saint-headed statue she pulled from the space around her and placing them on the counter. The bartender did a quick mental tally, little psionic motes fizzing into existence as he did and popping once the sum was completed. He kept the tip, as always, and poured a nearly glowing liquid into shot glass for her- not as always.
She snorted in amusement with a small smile twisting her lips before downing the shot in a quick go. The taste coated her mouth with brightness and the taste followed the journey down her throat. She shook her head in surprise, “Mercies, that’s fucking tasty.”
The bartender nodded back smartly. “They should be gone if you come back tomorrow,” he said, shaking a hand towards the unusual night crowd. “See you then?”
Essint grunted assent and left, wandering away from the shyly setting moonlights and towards the Panomura.
I don’t know if I ever really specified how my trolls are (or aren’t) connected to each other in terms of story/setting basis.
Dezias and Chylak are two of four trolls I made in conjunction with @jubdig and @mizzqueenofships- each of us with four fantrolls for a potential SGRUB setup but hasn’t gotten past the ‘these are our characters and their dynamics with each other’ stage for the past while. I currently run them just as normal vaguely placed citizens.
Tuyere and Kitreo are shipcrew on Cruiser Crukov, who @mizzqueenofships‘s fantrolls run- including Diretrix Vhanta. There is another troll there I control, Tisnef, the grody-looking former-helmstroll who may or may not be haunting the ship depending on where in the timeline we are. (There is an AU where we’ve shoved the 1st group of potential-SGRUB trolls onto there but that also just kinda hangs out there).
Essint is the only one that doesn’t have a hard connection to any previously established setting/group connected, other than a potential for shipping. This has been going as smoothly as I expected, which is not at all since I haven’t been active recently. She does come with an actual place-setting of a terrifying college dorm-monastery-mural gallery, though!
I should just do more ask memes to give y’all an easy way to poke and prod about any of my fantrolls. I check in on this dash fairly consistently- I just don’t post as much
Going through my trolls so far and thinking about where they’re at in terms of character and where I want them to be, what motivates them, basically anything that would get hooks and stories going on.
Dezias is most stagnant, though I can also just make that an intentional part of his current state, so rps with him could go into pushing and pulling him out of his current comfort zone of the city. He’s getting bored of his own stuff, even the super cool parkour routes- but he’s also not the best at being totally independent, so the thought of striking out on his own before conscription time comes along is intriguing but terrifying.
Chylak is the actual hermit out of my trolls, but she actually has more opportunity for external hooks. She has had friends before (troll electronica concerts are solid gold), but fell out of touch with them in bouts of suspicion and anxiety. She’s aware that she needs more meatspace contacts than just her anonymous conspiracy compatriots, especially for times when paranoia gives her a hard kick, so an external support system would do her wonders.
Essint is currently dreading her position as Habvisor- playing RA to a bunch of baby clowns is only so exciting, and she knows their behavior reflects on her, which is to say, poorly. As such, she wants to move onto bigger and better things- make adult friends/confidants and a proper position where she can distinguish herself.
Kitreo is one of my most constrained since helmstroll, but his current position is back-up for when Tisnef finally eats it. As such, he isn’t plugged in 24/7 yet and still has some roaming ability. He also is very superstitious and is constantly looking up the meaning of daymares in various chatrooms and ghosts and other spooky happenings.
I lost my teddy bear, will you sleep with me instead? (your choice)
Essint stands with her hands on her hips and a wide grin on her face. Her left eyebrow is lifted high. “If you think we’re just gonna sleep, then you picked the wrong replacement.”
She shrugs. “But I won’t go too hard on you if you don’t want to.”
I may not be Fred Flinstone, but I can make your bed rock, Ms. Essint
The Habvisor throws back her head and laughs, all teeth and exhaled grunts. When she regains her composure she pulls out a chisel and picks her teeth with it.
“You better not be one of my charges at the Panomura,” she says rolling her eyes. “I’ve quashed three quadrant-questions just this quarter alone, and I’m going to keep doing it until you get it through your thick skulls that I am not in your league.”
“Though if you’re not a priest in training...” here she pauses, taps the chisel against her hip in a steady rhythm. “It’s a clever pun, and if you think you can do it, come meet me after-hours and we can see who knows their way best around hard bodies.”
