He's only ever known two lives... One set entirely on the mockery of a planet he's been stuck on since, and the other not exactly somewhere that he'd choose to flee to when reality gets overwhelming.
Home wasn't happy.
Neither is Pandora honestly, but it's easier to lose himself in fantasies set in the Holy City than in the ghost ruins of DeLeon. He doesn't visit the memories of Nekrotafeyo unless necessary, they sour daydreams fast and it's hard to let his mind paint anywhere other than there and here - so here he stays. Because really, that's all he's ever had - home, and Pandora.
When he can't sleep, too uncomfortable in his own bloodstained skin, or when Father Troy catches a glimpse of what he is in the eye of a desperate worshipper and loses himself to hours of silent rage, or when the screeches of gore drunk fans hit a harsh enough pitch to crack through the layers of lies he protects himself with and the reality of what he's really doing grips jagged around his spine, he pretends.
Just pretends, it's easy.
He's still famous of course, hard to even understand what not being under the eyes of billions is like anymore, but he imagines it's different. Just different enough to not be this, that's all it takes, and he can breathe again. Can stand in front of those cameras and sweat through the concealer ringing his exhausted eyes and play the lead. Can pout and strut and swing the agonising weight of the rotten iron eating into his fragile ribs with each shift of his monstrous prosthetic, and grin - cruelly, filthily.
He can trick himself into thinking the livestream numbers that blink in the peripheral of his vision from the cuescreen, zero's flickering as millions tune in by the second, are here for other reasons. Good reasons.
It's not the sickening fame he's burdened with the guilt of now. He's not leading raids or Lets Flays in front of the lens, he's streaming games. That's why people are watching! He's Troy Calypso and they come to see him for the same reasons he watches the streamers he follows in private, alone in his ship at night. He imagines they want to be his friend.
All of them. Billions. He lets himself drift into the fantasy that they love him because of his content, not his crown. Content he wishes he was really making. Shitty movie reviews with Ven and Sei, the E-Casts with JK giving tech reviews, streams he pilots in the other life he slips into when he pretends he's not what he knows he's become. The fans are still there but the bloodthirst isn't, not when he drifts away like this. The cheers aren't for gore and filth being spewed forth as promises he knows aren't true, or false declarations of love for a "family" he knows he loathes almost as much as his sister, the chat's spamming emotes and donations for him - because he's funny, and he's hot, and they like his stream setup and narration, and they want to subscribe and watch the show he's scripted and wrote with his interests and his wit, they want to listen to his friends chat live with him.
They want to be there with him, those billions... because Troy makes them happy.
He pretends all the time, when the cameras are rolling and he's slipping into rehearsed ego laced with hate.
He's perfected not really being there when God King Calypso takes the stage.
Troy is somewhere else, somewhere where he's a streamer - not a murderer.
Tyreen
There was a place not too far from the Vault's entrance where Mom and Pop used to take them sometimes, that even as a child felt like something magical. Special. As if it was some little piece of a lost and lonely planet that had been crafted just for them.
Past the ruined archway beside the Eridian glyph wall crumbling under the blossoming gripvines that hooked upwards through its cracks, along the foot worn trail under the winding grove of Nekro-trees that sloped gradually into the valley, cross that little brook she'd have to hold Mom's hands to pass so she could be lifted and not wet her feet, just by the lake shore they were never to play at on their own.
She goes there sometimes now, alone in her thoughts.
Tyreen can remember a lot of things when she's there.
Salt, dusted inside the little shells Leda would plop onto her tongue and gesture for her daughter to copy. The burst of flavour as she'd suck one, sharp tang cutting through a sense she'd already begun to lose, the game they'd play of seeing who could spit them furthest into the lake - laughing as water lapped at their feet where they'd sit side by side on the blue tinged sand.
The little plop sound they made as they broke the mirror surface, the cool tickle of the ripples against her toes...
Feelings.
Mom said the salt was good for you, that you needed a bit of salt when you ate the kind of food that grew here. She remembers the taste of those tiny shells and how she would get extra points if she could hit Pop with one while he failed at teaching her brother how to swim, the frustrated splashing and whiny complaints mixing with Typhon's contagious giggles.
When she goes there she can remember all of it. Them. How it felt, what family had really been, but something has been itching at the back of her mind recently, something unwelcome when she considers losing herself in one of the only daydreams she has left that still sparks happiness - Tyreen is scared.
There's a fear that hounds her like a shadow when she visits, that makes her afraid to risk remembering even when she so desperately needs to...
A fear that if she comes here too often, whatever magic exists in this memory that reminds her of sensations she's almost forgotten will be lost - eaten up by the thing that writhes behind her ribs just like everything else she's tried to hide from it.
That she'll close her eyes one day and try to follow that path past the archway and the gripvines, make her way slowly under the swaying canopy of the grove, hear those shells crunch under her feet... and feel nothing.
Seifa
Not many people know this, but she's been a space pirate since she was 8.
An infamous one - scourge of more fleets than she can count up to and with a bounty higher than her reading level. I mean.. that's not exactly high, but screw you, ok?
Her notoriety has only grown alongside her plunging neckline and debonair charm over the years since, and skycaptain A'Rosk is still her go-to daydream. She's been building that running storyline her entire life so far, romance, tragedy, wild reckless smut, she's got it all.
They didn't really have movies as kids on the junker fleet, the echonet was completely out of reach for their oily little hands, but those scrapped together wrist-coms they chattered and reported for work shifts through made fair enough readers if you squinted just right, and text files took up precious little storage on scrapped drives.
Books. Short stories. Adventure. Written worlds for bored little minds to escape into when nights in the one they were stuck living in were a bit too cold or tomorrow's tasks a bit too likely to involve losing a friend to a reactor drive gone critical.
She was always a space pirate - money's ruled her world since she could count. Maybe before then, considering money is what changed hands to make her a junker in the first place. Money has crafted the path her entire life has followed, she left the fleet to pursue it, she trained the twins to earn it, she said yes to a title and a sainthood that's garrotted her every day since all for the sake of it...
But then again, not all riches are the same. Maybe there's a difference between stealing from the wealthy in her daydreams, and feeding from a death cult's coffers, not that she'd admit it could be a factor in why she still slips back into the same fantasy.
Skycaptain Seifa is free.
A ship of her own and a crew who want her companionship. A hunt for wealth and hunger for riches that haven't been paid for in lives, a lust for money that feels innocent in comparison to her own sordid reality.
Faces have found their way onto characters over the years, of course her first mate's hair is dark and licked with white streaks now - Ven's always been the bard, the rogue dripping with charisma and hidden daggers. Her best friend and closest competitor. They poison each other often, but always slip the antidote into the tankards later. Keeps them on their toes is all.
Maybe JK's always been the quartermaster, spined armor jointed from head to toe with their flag's burning skull painted across their helm's visor, decorative tusks glinting in the light as they bark orders at the rig hands and cut an imposing silhouette against the neon control panels of the ship's helm. Strong hands, stronger soul. Steers the ship and rallies the crew, a towering figure at her back - her shield.
It's easy to roll her eyes in silence when trapped in another 5 hour long "meeting" with a group of Saints who'd rather scream insults across the room at each other than discuss this quarter's goals, easy to sink back into the same storyline she's been replaying for a couple of years now, the one that feels like home.
She's on route to the dark reaches - off to save a pretty idiot of a prince from the void Kraken's moon lair.
His bounty's worth more than his weight in platinum after all, but it won't be easy. Even if they fight their way through the rancid beast's cavern, even if they free him from the writhing shackles he's been trapped by for so long, she know's he'll beg to not be taken back to his kingdom...
Bad blood, the rumors say.
A curse, the 7th son of a 7th son, born broken on the 13th hour, and a twin... a twin who wants him returned to her at any cost.
Maybe he'll be able to convince them to let him join the crew, if he plays his cards right and doesn't botch things that is - maybe Sei can turn a blind eye to a ransom if he shows her his real worth.
They say the captain's always had a soft spot for tall, idiot men with gentle souls.
A little something for @border-spam for 1 year of her amazing bl3 AU Leech Lord! (You should go send her some love)
This is a companion piece for the very first time she wrote my oc JK and her oc Seifa interacting,titled "brother"
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"A year." JK announced,settling down at the kitchen table opposite Seifa. They slid her a plate of roasted cryo vine fries and spiced rakk steak as the woman eyed them in amused confusion. "A year..What? Since Troy last nearly shat himself to death? Pretty sure that happened last week" she smirked,taking a bite. JK laughted gently as she made a face of both "This is good!" And "This is SPICY" and waited for her to recover to continue. "All of this-" they motioned around,to the comfort of her ship,to the space between them,to the pictures of the group on the walls. She was still confused truth be told,they'd all been here far longer then a year,but she let them continue. "One year since sitting in sanctum talking about saving a brother." They had their mask pulled up to eat and through it she could see a soft smile form across brutalized lips. With far more delicacy then other people might expect, they placed a old empty beer bottle on the table.
Seifa put her fork down to pick it up,shooting them a look. "You kept the bottle?" The soft smile split wide,a shy blush around an uneven set of ears. "I know special when I meet it. Knew you'd mean a lot from that talk. No paint,no false words. Just you,and me and the truth." Seifa went quiet,now focused intently on her food and trying to scramble a response to sincerity. "Your gunna make me emotional here beefsteak-" she quipped,lower lip almost wobbling. "Knew a guy called BeefSteak,always had the best bacon-" they made a tearing motion across their chest "-don't ask where from though". The disgusted expression that scrunched her face up helped Sei compose herself and smile genuinely. She opened her mouth to speak,but paused to watch with fascination as JK picked up their steak with their hands and,tipping their head back to dangle it above their mouth,snapping it up in almost one bite with great mutant jaws. It was the easiest way for them to eat,she just wished Troy didn't love seeing it so much he'd copy them at fancy dinners.
They gave a content grunt before taking back the set down bottle and re-digitizing it for safe keeping,turning their attention back to the friend sat before them. She still seemed a little off balance and emotional,now busying herself by fussing around tidying the table. She rose,reaching to put their now empty plate out of their way but hesitated as she leaned close. "I...got a good feeling about you too chunk. Glad we stuck together." They rested their head against her cheek gently,like some wild animal offering domestic affection.
Lil special thing with @border-spam ‘s Seifa~
Would really love to make a lil scene with Seif in the future
And I’ll definitely do more OC appearances from another AUs cuz it’s good excuse to draw them lol
I started trying to learn how to draw this year so I could one day get the visuals in my head out of it without struggling to describe them in words.
Had a lot of help from some amazing Artist friends and a huge amount of support and motivation from them. Getting a little closer every day, and the journey has been the best part of a shite year. Can't wait to continue working towards where I want to go.
Practiced doing some digital portraits with some Borderlands characters/OCs! Would’ve had one of Mordecai, too, but my power went out just long enough to corrupt the file, so...
Seifa belongs to @border-spam
Jak-Knife belongs to @godkingsanointed
Asche belongs to me (I’ll post more about xer sometime later this week). Xe is genderfluid, but defaults to they/them or alternative pronouns (xe/xer).
