#fleetnpcs

[anontrolls]

> Lee: Call your lifeline.

[ closed starter for @fleetnpcs ]

As you ring Hiriko’s doorbell after spending two awkward minutes peering around for a proper knocker, you start to wonder if perhaps you should probably not be here. You are Lionel Prince, though you wince lightly any time somebody calls you that and insist, laughingly, that Lionel is your ancestor and they should probably call you Lee - and being Lionel Prince means you are currently what some would call ‘a well-known seadweller of ill-repute.’ At least if they’ve picked up a newsfeed in the past...

Well, either twelve hours, or ‘possibly ever,’ depending on if one reads celebrity gossip. But the last twelve hours really nailed the coffin shut.

At any rate, you reputation precedes you, which is a somewhat intimidating prospect when walking through an area with a largely indigo population. You don’t know why Hiriko lives here, really. Well, she is indigo, you suppose, but she’s not like these indigos. The kind that side-eye you suspiciously whenever you wave hello and make dramatic blog posts about how the seadweller hierarchy needs to fall so that indigo trolls can take their rightful place as the leaders of landdweller society.

As if anybody who dresses up in paint can lead a society! And if that’s also a big of a dig at yourself, given the sheer amount of glitter you’ve occasionally put in your makeup, well - you’ve proven quite thoroughly how capable you are, as well. Or at least the real Lionel Prince ancestor thinks so.

Anyways, the point is that Hiriko is nice! You’ve talked to her at least seven times, you’re pretty sure, though whether three of those constitute proper conversation could arguably be subject to debate, mostly on account of your inebriation at the time. She’s kind of a proper sort, though, which means she shouldn’t really like you - but she’s nice! So she must like you, and you’ve talked to her at least four times, which means you’re sort of friends. Like pretty good friends, even. You know lots of people you’ve talked to less than four times that would be really happy to call you friends.

Well, maybe they would if it was twelve hours ago. But Hiriko’s not that kind of person. You’re pretty sure. You’d probably need two more conversations before you’re totally sure.

“Hi!” you chirp at the door when it opens, and smile winsomely. You also run a hand through out hair, which usually makes it look artfully tussled in that ‘I just got laid but I still look like I could get laid again with very little effort exerted on my part, because I am gorgeous’ sort of way, but right now probably nudges you closer to ‘I should avoid parks with large concentrations of birds lest I be mistaken for a nest despite my moderately diminutive height’, as you haven’t had opportunity to attack it with a comb for more than twelve hours. Three of those hours having been spent in mild hysterics did not help the hair situation, though you did quickly discover that fan of hair-pulling and clothing-wrenching are not as moving in real life as they are in period dramas.

“How are you doing?”

You carefully do not comment on the fact that you are standing at her door uninvited with a very large case of luggage. Partly, this is because you sort of just went to the first place you could think of, but also partly it is because people are probably not that likely to suspect that one large suitcase is liable to contain everything you currently own and love, given that approximately nine hours ago you couldn’t have fit a quarter of your wardrobe into this suitcase - and that’s not counting the shoes.

Besides, she’s practically your best friend!

[cloudbattrolls]

INDRID: down by the water.

The most you ever knew of Han Xin was that he always took his coffee with hazelnut shots, and found stakeout more boring than throwing rocks at stray meowbeasts, or so he always said in his hick drawl.

You had to leave his body, green and red rings still on his fingers as his ruddy brown blood pooled. You don’t even know his quadrants’ names.

A shot clangs into the pavement, in the shadow of a high-hanging passageway strung between two hivestem spires. You run between bright light and deep shade from the skyscrapers and the ships passing overheard; when you swallow, you take in salt and blood.

You’ve already called your vehicle, and in a few more seconds - 

“Thought you could get away with selling our goods, slurryspill?” shouts the voice of a young troll who pops over a billboard for fleet recruitment, a few others bobbing behind him, only the glow of their eyes visible from this distance.

Could you throw an acid grenade up there? No; you have the strength, but the angle is wrong. You’d just cause random property damage.

You’re better than that. Than them.

The thrum of the hoverbike’s power cell purrs above you -

- as you get bowled over and over, face cut up and ear nicked by the grenade they threw. 

You look up to see a face you have to blink at a few times to believe.

Her name almost slips out - almost, but you take a breath and push yourself back up to hear the disbelieving shouts and curses of the other gang as you see them pouring back down from their vantage point.

“Miss,” You gasp. “These ruffians are illegal helm traffickers - may I ask for your help with dispatching them, as a member of the Corps? After we get away, of course.”

You whistle, and the bike hovers down to your level. Thankfully it takes two.

[activatingaggro]

♥♦♠️♣ for myrrha!

♥: Myrrha loves being loved. She actively seeks out flushed quadrants, but she’s not well-suited to the quadrant: she’ll get attached, but ultimately, she always thinks that she knows best, and she’s always trying to shape people instead of accepting them. Every relationship she’s been in flushways, she’s been dumped. She is only 80% bitter over this.

♠️: Myrrha guns hard in pitch. She pitch-flirts freely, she has flings freely, but the problem always comes up that she does not view her partners as equals. Myrrha never feels the need to prove herself better, because she knows she’s better, and she’s never been in a relationship that makes her experience the slightest doubt.

She has not gotten dumped in every pitch relationship, but this is largely because she frequently dumps them first.

♦: Myrrha believes she is always in the right, and others are simply confused a best, and willfully ignorant at worst. This makes her a hassle for pale, where she views it as a matter of her guiding others, moreso than as an equal partnership.

♣: Myrrha’s an ashen bicycle. She regularly meddles as the third leaf between a number of different clovers, sorting out their problems as needed, less because of any romantic inclination and more because she appreciates the gratification it gives her when her advice proves successful. 

[activatingaggro]

♣♥ for Hap Ret!

♥: HR is very, very easy for flush romances. The secret to earning his pity is having a great deal of ambition, and just enough tragic foils that you’ll potentially never achieve them, and he’ll start crushing even as he tries to help you realise the issue. He’s a firm believer that only an individual can solve their own problems, which is the difference between him getting pale and flush - if they’re enough of a mess he wants to fix them, that’s enough of a mess he’s not attracted.

♣ : HR hates and is disinclined towards ash. People trying to meddle in his relationships are more likely to get smacked than they are embraced, because he ultimately thinks it’s a useless quadrant used as a crutch by the weak-willed.