#ooc drabble

[savantdurlin]

The taller man was a pathetic, lanky, self-pitying creature, burdened with great power that he hadn't asked for and that he could not control without significant intervention. On the surface, not a reliable ally, nor someone Savant would ordinarily be interested in knowing. However, in attempts to direct his polka dots in more targeted bursts, Abner Krill had designed gauntlets which rerouted the glowing pustules through his skin to be released with the touch of a trigger. That knowledge was of particular interest to the technological genius that was Savant, and so his initial interactions with Krill had consisted of discussing devices such as the gauntlets, but indulging the loner with attention drew his close alliance in return, sticking to him like a lovesick puppy. One small show of affection - a compliment on his hidden intellect, a pat on the shoulder - and Krill drank it down like he'd thirsted for it without relief for decades. And he returned the affection, though timidly at first, as though worried it was merely an illusion of care. At first, it had been. At first, it had just been a way to indulge Savant's own interests, to steal tips on the creation of new technology, to learn more about things which might turn out to be of use to him some time down the line.

Things were different now, and Savant wished they weren't. So desperately he wished he could go back to not caring, for now he only felt a need to protect and a deep comfort in his familiarity that was in constant jeopardy, threatened by their mission. Abner was not like the rest of them, gentle and brimming with empathy, kindly reminding him of the things he tended to forget, keeping his thoughts linear and caring for his broken mind in return for the bare minimum of care shown to him.

Not at all qualified to keep one another sane out here. But here they were, propping one another up, knowing somewhere under everything that if one fell, so would the other crumble into shattered pieces.

Reflecting soberly on the time that had passed, that he could mark day by day with the help of the curious Abner Krill, as the group ran through the plan for the upcoming assault, the elder gazed mournfully at the burdened man of destructive polka dots. How could he have allowed himself to feel this way? Abner must have felt his eyes upon his sharp and sorrowful countenance, as he turned his head to look right back, and he gave a gentle smile that reflected those crushing feelings back in Brian's direction. Confirmation he loathed, even as he surreptitiously took the very tips of the younger man's fingers into his own, loosely, but warmly.

[kasmius]

Well I suppose I shall make an rp blog, to keep my art separate unless it pertains to said rp. So I’ll reblog this post when I have that all set up, but I just think it will make things easier.

[voltefaced]

Under The Light of The Moons

You meet a stranger.

‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a Spider to a Fly;’

You were carrying a quite hefty drone core in your arms, and despite your constant work outs of the parties and the fighting that happens in said parties you were having quite the difficulty in handling carrying it up to one of your contact’s hives.

Someone calls to you, and you turn with a smile, he is a blueblood alright, you’ve heard of him, and his reputation, yet, you tilt your head as if trying to recognize him; your eyes rests on his face and hair mostly, he is quite lacking when it comes to self grooming here and there. He offers to carry your drone core, obviously looking curious and probably wondering how you got your hands on it. You bat your painted black lashes and your delineated in green eyes widens ever so slightly, as if in surprise, before your smile comes up again. “Why, thank you, you’re too kind.” You tell him, letting him handle it.

‘'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy.‘

He seems slightly troubled by the heavy object, less than you, but he clearly looks out of shape for a blueblood and due to his difficulties with it, you’d guess he clearly does not spend much time working on his natural strengths. 

You guide him to your destination, standing close out of distrust. You don’t want him making off with your little treasure. When you both arrive there, you thank him once again, and tell him it’s obviously a crime to own one of these, but you just had to have it.

Not a lie.

‘The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,’

You ask him for it to be the little shared secret between the both of you, finger held playfully to your lips as you do. His face flushes a bit, blue on his cheeks as he tells you he only keeps secrets for those he will meet again; no problem at all! You tell him you two will meet again, and also tell him your name, giving him a little smooch on the cheek so to disarm him. You can even see his body tensing up as he suddenly lets go of the weight into your hands.

‘And I have many pretty things to shew when you get there.’

You then turn away from him and step into the open door, it closing behind you as you hear him tell you his name rushedly.

You have a feeling you might just know how to keep yourself busy.

[soliloquistscinders]

==> Get Ready for Your Night

After the hidden try on from prying eyes(Tagora’s in this case, since Polypa had assisted you with the final adjustments once you tried it on with her.), you went to sleep with the most giddy mindset, sure, it was planned just a few nights beforehand, but god damn it if you didn’t have put a lot of effort into it. The outfit laid spread on the unused coupling platform, you didn’t want it ruined with wrinkles or other imperfections; your alarm set an hour before Tagora wakes up to start getting ready for his night.

When you do wake up with it and quickly fly out of the coon, flinging slime carelessly around as you hit it, eyes already wide open as your force yourself into activity. You quickly make your way be your personal ablution block, reaching into the drawers and pulling out the necessary materials; where was that moisturizer and exfoliant kit someone gifted you once in one of your soirees? You never really use the gosh darned thing but you aren’t trying to just stay isolated in your bookhive for once. You also grab a bottle with something about a bath oil and carry it with yourself along with the kit and your usual hair products to the bathtub.

You do bathe and take your time with every part of the whole routine, and granted, it does feel good; you wonder if there is merit to doing this from time to time nonetheless. Your skin does feel smoother and while you can feel the moisturizer on it, still unadsorved, it does not exactly feel bad to you. Once you dry yourself and hang the towels on their places nearby the window to dry once the sun does come up, you make your way to the drawers again and open a lower one, a few clinks of many glass bottles gently hitting against one another makes your ears twitch a little as you grab them and read the label on each.

Rainbowdrinker Glow Serum.

You snort a little derisively due to who this reminds you of, but you do take a seat by the inbuilt bathtub and start working the product on your body, which as it is absorved it starts to glow up, giving your skin the illusion of one of a rainbowdrinker. You then seal the product in with the powder Polypa recommended you to buy, then apply the eyeliner to the waterline and oh god- don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t tear up, fuck.

You cuss to yourself but do manage to not tear up, at least you didn’t stab your ganderbulbs with the shitty thing, but that is still too close to them for comfort, how do other trolls do this? Nonetheless, you move very slowly with it, doing it on the other eye as well. You appraise yourself so far, glowy, eyes carefully detailed out by the dark color of the kohl based product, and soft, fresh looking skin. Not too bad in your opinion.

Once you feel ready and have already fussed over how your hair looks for a few minutes, you move back to your block and do dress up in the outfit, making sure as to not wrinkle the soft wool. Once you are ready, you look yourself in the mirror again and do put in your mouth the fake fangs; between the fancy outfit and fancy stones that shone a discreet teal reflection when in contact with light, and the dark teal lining of the black suit, you hope you do make your statement clear.

You then do wear the black tie and the shoes as well, and flash yourself a smile, well, more of a polite beam.

You hope you do impress.

[teorariki]

Maybe it’s Chocolate Tempering.

Maybe it’s the Nightmare Heir and his smug, ‘I got everything figured out and I’m perfect’ aura that rubs you absolutely wrong whenever you set a step on that cursed floating island.

Maybe it’s maybelline.

Maybe it’s how right said Heir is when it comes to what still pangs and twists inside of you in the quieter hours.

You do type an anonymous message, about how you expected to be target of spite due to your position in power, due to the many rumours (most of them holding water and being true about your absolutely savage ways out of the courts), even due to who your appearance and symbol represents; His Swavisious Magnificence made many enemies for all the too long lifespan he had, and he made sure to crush them or make them swallow their contempt and serve him.

But you hadn’t expected to be target of spite for the sake that you were shooting to make friends with the few remaining examples of the troll society you trained yourself in taking care and overseeing. That you wanted to make friends because your entire growing sweeps were filled with court games and stablishing oneself socially in the killing game of heirs and heiresses.

That one hurt personally, the others did too, but you knew better than to hold others in contempt for letting their self preservation instincts kick in at the sight of you. But that actually fucking hurt you, everytime you look at her in the face you can’t help but be reminded of that; not that you didn’t try to move on silently from it and let go, but it seems like the Heir and Life demands that you face this on.

To take on more battles for your own sake.

Yet, you do not press send. You delete the message after staring at it for what felt like several minutes. No time ever seems to be good to approach the topic with her, not when you are painfully aware of how things were to her back in Alternia.

You’re not ready yet.

[starlettemagnechalastor]

HC: Mary Jane has green freckles instead of the circles under her eyes

[harbingerwolf]

I’m making Pasties with the fam so my responses will be slow.))

[savantdurlin]

Since Savant was the only one of the group with any semblance of fluency in Spanish, he sat up front in the bus and made sure their driver understood their instructions to the letter, translating more complex concepts to make sure there were no communication errors.

Naturally it resulted in the eldest of the remaining squad members spending most of his time with their civilian driver, a man so loyal to his cause that it didn't seem to matter who his allies were, in reality.

He treated them all like friends, risked his life to assist them. Noble, selfless. Desirable qualities. Of course he shouldn't let himself get so attached. Once all this was done, Savant would return to Belle Reve and Milton would return to his life here in Corto Maltese.

Even so, the closeness happened insidiously. The civilian showed genuine interest in Savant and his area of expertise, and while his comrades snoozed in the back of the van the two would talk at great length, and when Milton spoke up to fill a silence, the elder could only find it endearing that he would trust a criminal like himself with such intimate information. Past loves, embarrassing moments, the people he was fighting for.

"And you?" he asked one night over the sound of Krill murmuring in his sleep. "Who do you fight for?"

Instinctively, Savant wanted to laugh at him, cruel and condescending. He wasn't here to help the freedom fighters but to save his own skin. To carry out their mission, then be locked back in his cage. Milton must have seen the incredulity in his face, for he tutted softly and turned his attention back on the road.

"No, Brian," he whispered insistently as they rolled to a stop, the light red and the street still. "Who do you live for?"

For a moment it felt as though the breath had been stolen from him, throttled. His reason to fight had been snuffed out. He looked out into the glistening road, streetlamps making their rain-slick surface sparkle.

"Myself," he decided, unwilling to go into the details of why his reason was gone. Milton seemed to have extrasensory perception. He bowed his head, squeezed the wheel in lieu of having a shoulder to pat.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, solemn. "Was she--"

He didn't get a chance to finish his question. Savant interrupted with a tear-choked "He" in correction., then looked down at his hands. "He. It was an accident..."

The light was still red, steadfast in its duty of keeping them back from their journey in spite of a still empty street. The driver took the time to turn his gaze to Savant, who felt old and vulnerable and wished that the other man would just keep his eyes on the light.

A tear breached his duct, defeating his best efforts to keep his emotions contained.

"I didn't mean to..."

A confession. Perhaps anyone else would have been alarmed to hear it. Rightfully they might have turned away and forgotten this conversation.

Milton, with all his gentle affection, placed a hand on Brian's knee, just for a second and a half. But enough.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, as genuine as the first utterance. Savant nodded, rubbed his face, looked up at the light.

It turned green, and the journey resumed. In that short moment between them, he had become sure of something that often evaded calculation. Milton had an affection for him that was unconditional.

And honestly... it was returned.