Once again, we are moving things forward!
With another brief trip to the past? Hm.
[doc]
tw: needles, the sewing kind but piercing skin/blood is involved
—
As much as the Reverend enjoyed galavanting through the halls and grounds under his thumb, reveling in the fear that wafted off of his following in droves, he also enjoyed retiring to his quarters with the blinds pulled so tight that the sun itself couldn’t penetrate their security on a cloudless morning. He perhaps played too into the role he occupied on those nights, when he soaked in the magnitude of his power in total silence, in the deep brooding dark. It never bothered him much, how on the nose his behavior ended up being.
Despite that being common knowledge among his following, it must have been that someone never received that memo, for very quickly the door to his bedroom was opened and the light made even faster work of flooding out that darkness and infringe on his peace. Accompanying the disruption was a soft voice, one he could never muster anger toward, that replaced the silence just as effectively.
“Matere,” the intruder spoke gently, and her voice quelled the irritation that bubbled up within him instantly. There was a specific sort of exasperation that carried along to the tune of her voice. His beloved crossed the room and sat on the bed before she continued. “I have been searching for you all evening. We need to speak.”
“Weaver, my love, you always have my ear.”
This much was always true, there was never a time where he would leave her to feel as though she’d been ignored. He’d also, unfortunately, never been known to respond to criticism. Weaver pursed her lips while she considered her approach.
“What troubles you?”
“I need to know what you are doing to that poor boy. What is happening to him?”
Now it was his turn to chew on his thoughts, and as he did, he shifted to place gloved hands on her shoulders. Being made to answer for himself and his actions, as rare of an instance as it was, would surely have ended differently if the inquiry had fallen from another’s lips. She knew this as well as he.
“Ailzea is fine.” He finally responded, keenly aware of how much she cared for his disappointingly passive descendant. He gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “There is nothing to worry about regarding him.”
Weaver pulled away slightly and turned to face him, disappointment of her own painted on what little of her features that could be seen by the light of the hall. “Favion. What have you done to Faivon?”
Almost as soon as the question left her mouth, the Reverend barked out a surprised laugh. One that was born both of shock and genuine humor. There wasn’t a soul in the whole wretched city that would use the word poor as a descriptor for that beast of a yellow blood. Not the young man that spent his evenings prowling after smaller and weaker willed trolls. It would be a delusion, a mistake, to consider that boy a poor thing by any stretch of the imagination.
Matere had a list of other, much more suitable descriptions: Repulsive, disgusting, vile— To name a few.
Weaver was clearly not as humored as he, signified by the way the witch fully pulled away from her partner to instead stand by his bedside, hands balled into fists at her sides.
“Matere, this is not a laughing matter.”
“I would hardly cast pity upon Favion Lefera, animal that he is.”
She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, with a nasty scowl a clear indication to her mate that she well and truly meant business.
“What did you do to him? Why is he getting more aggressive? Especially if you find such animalistic behavior to be beneath you.”
Matere felt himself grin, gloved hands clapping together to get the attention of the attendant from the hall. He, of course, did not consider the aggression of his little pet project to be beneath him. He was, in fact, extremely happy with the results of tampering with the boy. He wouldn’t give it up for anything, not even the peace of his mate.
Her ambivalence would be missed, however.
“I will show you.” He said when the attendant appeared in the doorway. “Bring Favion to us, quickly,” he commanded and watched as they practically flew down the hall in compliance. “You will not like it, and I sincerely do not believe that it can be undone.”
Weaver frowned at the taunt, but the pair were both well aware that even if it could be, it would only happen over the Reverend’s dead body.
—
The Restorer was not one for rushing. He never so much as broke out into a brisk walk, regardless of what it was he was attending to. That being the case, it was a head turning spectacle when he made quick work of covering the distance between his chambers and the front doors of the church upon hearing of Weaver’s arrival. Not quite a run, but enough to get the attention of any of the followers that happened to be along his path.
It was the juxtaposition of his typical placid expression coupled with the urgency that piqued most of the curiosity.
She met him at the door, before his arrival, she was nearly a statue, his only rival in a competition for stoniest expression, but her doe-eyed apprentice more than made up for her lack of excitement. The smaller of the two purple bloods was flitting about the entrance, gaping at the high ceilings and marveling wordlessly at the stained glass.
When Weaver saw the incesed priest approach, she broke into a grin of her own. “Ailzea, please forgive me that I could not come sooner,” she offered her apology quickly and enveloped him in a hug in the same instant, stooping a bit so that the hug was not distorted by their difference in height.
“That you found the time to come at all means all the world.” He replied in his usual cadence, unchanged by his mad dash to meet her at the door. “I see you bring a friend.”
“Ah, yes. This is Spider, my apprentice. The experience will be invaluable for her.” While they spoke of her, the pair turned their gazes to the young troll to find her staring up at the priest with stars in her eyes, mouth wide open. “I hope that this is alright with you, Ailzea.”
Never one to mistreat the youth, Ailzea untangled himself from his elder and greeted the young witch with a wave. “Of course it is no trouble.”
Spider pumped a fist up in triumph, much to the amusement of her mentor.
“Please, follow me.” He instructed as he began to lead the way back to his study, “My children are already waiting on us.”
The walk back to the study was uneventful. Beyond Spider’s occasional asking after what corridors would lead to which rooms and the priest obliging her curiosity, it featured only the elder trolls catching up on their lost time. Occasionally, Spider ran ahead of them to get a better look at a stained glass piece or old painting, ghosting fingers around their edges in reverence, then waiting for the entourage to catch up.
“She has quite an eye for the arts.” The priest observed.
“It is all she talks about outside of her studies.”
When they arrived at the study, Ailzea led his guests to where they were met by his children as promised. The two young Roatus’ were seated at his work table, scrutinizing the project he’d left abandoned when Weaver was announced.
“I’m thinkin’ it’s another mantis.” Archie said after straightening up from inspecting it closely.
”It’s not always going to be a mantis,” Marrie argued, letting her fingers trail at the base of the figure.
“A man can’t dream? Need another one to display my collection.”
Marrie rolled her eyes.
“It is going to be a giraffe,” the priest announced their presence with the clarification. “I will happily make you another display piece afterwards.” He promised and Archie grinned in response.
“You spoil him, you know.” Marrie said and gave her brother a playful shove. “That’s why he’s like that.”
“It cannot be helped.”
Archie only returned her shove with a mischievous grin. “Who’sat with you, pops?” He indicated the witch and appearance with a small gesture.
“This is Weaver, an old friend that may be able to help us with Marrie’s arm.” As he spoke, he looked down to then introduce Spider, but found that she’d already made it her business to inspect his daughter with gusto.
Though she did not touch her, she openly marveled at the craftsmanship with which she was put together.
“Please forgive my curious Spider,” Weaver said softly, stern gaze on her apprentice. “She finds the magic in everything.”
Marrie only giggled. “That’s not something to apologize for! It’s a good thing. I’m Marrie, this is Archie.”
Her brother leaned back against the table, his attention now on the witch that stood near his father. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Whadya gonna do for Marrie?” His inquiry was a simple one, but he was only successful in hiding the anxiety behind it from the pair he’d just met.
“Straight to the point. He is certainly a Roatus.” Weaver could not contain her smile as she moved in closer to get a better look at Marrie and the arm that she had in a sling. “I’ve not had the pleasure of doing this on one of your father’s creations, but there is no reason it shouldn’t work — Spider, the supplies — May I?”
Spider began to dig into her messenger bag and pulled out all sorts of odds and ends that Archie eyed as she set them on the table. It was nothing that Ailzea’d never seen before, so he busied himself clearing the table to leave space for her to work.
Marrie leaned in toward Weaver and offered up her arm, Weaver delicately undid the sling.
On the table in place of the wooden figure and wood working tools, Spider placed two jars of pitch black liquids, two needles, and a spool of purple thread. Archie raised his brows at the collection, but said nothing. Weaver continued.
“It is a simple enough procedure. I will stitch life into the arm,” with a soft click, she popped it out of the socket. “Then I will sew that force into Marrie.”
“And that’ll work?”
“I should have no reason to think otherwise.”
Archie casted a worried glance to his big sister, who beamed back at him.
“Never heard of magic like that.”
“You have my word, there is nothing to worry about.”
—
The Reverend was not a patient man. Even his matesprit could not wiggle her way around the shortness of that fuse. He sighed behind her as she examined the yellow blood.
“Matere, you need not breathe over my shoulder while I work.”
When he made no indication that he’d be leaving, it was her turn to sigh, but she continued moving. First she dipped the needle into the jar of liquid before her. Then she raised it to her eyes for inspection.
The entire thing and long trail of thread tied to it glistened in the light of the Reverend’s study.
“Favion,” he addressed the boy that sat obediently in front of her with the back of his neck fully exposed. The boy responded with a grunt. “How do you feel?”
It was not genuine worry with which the Reverend asked the question, rather it was purely scientific interest.
“Dying.” Came the gruff response. “Then undying. All the time.”
Matere hummed, one that sounded closer to a purr. He had not expected the results to be what they were, but they were a delight either way.
Inside of Favion the Reverend’s decaying voodoos fought for dominance with his descendant’s life giving voodoos, both of which dampened by the boy's own nullifying psionic ability.
Neither power, much to the Reverend’s entertainment, would stop coursing through the lowblood until they finished the job. And his natural defense mechanism would see to it that this never came to be.
He eyed the blackened vein-like fissures that crackled out in all directions on the yellow blood’s neck with a smug sense of satisfaction.
“Does it hurt?”
“It throbs.”
“Matere, your hand.” Weaver interrupted, and he complied.
She wasted no time, plunging the liquid soaked needle into his exposed flesh. It began to sting and he swallowed a wince when she pulled it out the other side, coating it and the full length of the accompanying thread in a slick of his blood.
The witch waited until it started to glow before she turned her attention back to Favion.
“This will burn the entire time, and it is not a cure.”
Favion grunted.
“But it will help with the deterioration and aggression.” It took a lot of convincing for the Reverend to even allow this level of intervention. Love being as powerful as it is. “Temporarily.”
He grunted again, which she took as confirmation that he understood. With deft hands, she began to stitch along the rotting mark left behind by her lover.
—
“S’it have to be our old man?” Archie asked, watching the witch saturate the needles and their attached threads in their own jars of the unknown liquid. She mumbled something over the set, leading them to start bubbling in their containment, before responding.
“Not necessarily. It just needs to be very fresh blood, but I imagine there is something special about Roatus blood that will be better for your sister in the long run.”
He held his wrist up to her face, when her gaze traveled up to meet his, there was something of determination in his eyes.
“Let me, then.”
Weaver smiled, then she tossed a glance to Ailzea, who nodded his approval.
“You love your family a great deal, is that right Archie?”
“‘Course I do.”
“And who am I to deny a love so fierce?”
Marrie was all smiles, hand clasped in her brother’s free hand.
“Spider,” the apprentice popped up by her side. “See to Archie.” She instructed as she lifted up Marrie’s severed arm and one of the soaked needles.
Spider fist pumped once more and very carefully took the remaining needle from its solution with one hand and Archie’s exposed wrist with the other.
“You’ll feel a little pinch!” She announced.
“Lay it on me.” He replied as his sister squeezed his hand tightly.
Get it? Because… Ah, you’ll get it.
This is a commission for @byrdstrolls! Who owns Leftie :)
Commissions are tentatively open but I can’t promise turnaround times right now.
[doc]
—
Spider never minded being among the shorter ranks of her caste. For most of her life it worked to her favor, allowing her to sneak and stealth about as she saw fit. One evening made all the difference, as she tried her damndest to keep pace with the much taller purple blood as he made his way around the church grounds. Why was he in such a rush, anyway?
She huffed when he rounded a corner and then disappeared into a crowd just beyond the garden walls.
The garden walls became her perch as she caught her breath and started to devise a plan to corner him the next time she spotted him.
–
A week later, Leftie hummed to themself as they fiddled with a set of jars containing an assortment of glitters and embossing powders that claimed to be magical cure alls, eager to set up shop for the day as they unpacked the delicately wrapped various glasses and set them in their appropriate spots. A benefit they maintain that came from the corner they chose to tuck their stall of magics in for the evening into was the fact that it was so out of the way, that it was almost impossible to sneak up on them when they were distracted. It would be a quick bike ride out of here if they ended up not making as much money as their magical bits and bobs are worth. Their ears only twitched in response to the sound of shuffling and settling against the booth behind them.
“Are you getting sloppy or were you just that excited to see me?” They questioned, a hint of excitement in their voice despite not making the attempt to look at the visitor and continuing to shelve the jars. “How was your trip to the better side of town?”
“It was totally awesome!” The visitor, their mate, exclaimed, with a flourish that saw her kicking the side of the booth.
“Careful, you’ll wake the demons I keep under there.” They chastised with a smirk. “They’ll run away and I won’t be able to ride it anymore.”
Spider laughed.
“Awesome huh? Tell me all about it, then! What did the Restorer need?”
“His daughter – You know the one made out of wood – Needed her arm reattached! Needed help putting life into it and everything. Miss Weaver let me help.”
Leftie hesitated in their movements, their fingers lingering at the edge of a mica powder filled container that promised something like eternal bliss or whatever. A pang of jealousy threatened to ground them in place before they shook the feeling away.
They couldn’t be so unfair to Spider.
“That sounds really awesome, Quill.” They didn’t have to turn to know that Spider was beaming from her where she propped herself up on her elbows. It would kill them to drain that light out of her. “I bet you did great.”
“And one more thing.”
“What’s up?”
“I met a doctor that might be able to uhm,” she paused and Leftie turned intime to see her toying nervously with one of her braids. “Help. Uhm, you know. With everything going on.” She tapped two fingers to her own temple to indicate. She did not need to elaborate.
Quick to cover their own anxieties, Leftie clasped their hands together and casted their gaze away, as though they meant to address an invisible audience that might help them come up with a way out of this one. They swallowed a nervous chuckle.
“Quill, I–”
Spider interjected quickly.
“Just. Will you just see him? For me? Please?”
Leftie dropped their hands to their sides and turned to give her their back again. An eternity of silence drifted between them before they nodded their head.
–
“Doctor Lycaon!” She shouted from behind him, causing the object of her hunt to startle slightly.
When he recovered from the scare, he gently lowered the leg of the troll he’d been investigating. Spider might have felt bad if she couldn’t see for herself that it was just a scrape over the knee. They would live. She had more pressing things to talk about.
“Good evening,” Dr. Lycaon turned to look at her with an expression that was equal parts inquisitive and concerned. He offered a smile that met his eyes. “How can I help you?”
Spider dug her heels into the soft earth, balled her fists, and puffed out her chest, taking the time to both steel herself and gauge the reaction of the man before her.
The doctor said nothing, seemingly studying her himself, as he stood up to his full height, hands folded patiently in front of him. He was taller than she thought he’d be.
She hesitated and then the floodgates opened.
“My mate needs help. We don’t know what kind of help! But if you ask me, I think it’s purple help, okay?” He raised an eyebrow, she continued. “Everything is all locked in there and we need…I don’t know what we need. Like I said. I think the right kind of voodoos will get it all out.” Her plea came out, for the most part, in one breath, each word deflating her chest more and more. “And I know Lycaons are weird and have a whole host of things they can do. Even! Beyond the puppet string stuff. I want you to look at them. I want you to see if you can help! Please?”
She finished with a great gasp, bracing herself as though she’d just run a marathon.
Dr. Lycaon did not do much for a moment, aside from tilting his head this way and that, no doubt wondering if it was his turn to speak.
“Will you help us?”
“I would be honored to take a look.” He offered softly, and made quick work of catching Spider when she tossed herself between the small distance that separated them in an expression of her gratitude.
–
“Why don’t you take a seat and make yourself comfortable so we can talk about what’s going on?”
Leftie followed the doctor into his office, one hand gripping Spider’s in a vice the other fiddled idly with the key around their neck. Once seated, facing the man’s desk, Leftie gave themself permission to breathe in the sterile air of his clinic. It was almost suffocating, but at least the knick knacks that decorated the desk made the doctor feel more like a person.
A voice in the back of their head mumbled something along the lines of people being able to hurt people, but they focused more on watching the doctor take his own seat across from them.
He offered a well-meaning smile.
“Let me make sure I understand; there’s a block somewhere in your brain that is preventing you from accessing your own abilities? And we don’t know what it could be or where it originated? Is that right?”
Spider opened her mouth and shut it quickly, as though she wanted to lay her theory out on the table. It would explain why Miss Weaver couldn’t help, but the thought of it always left a bad taste in Lefite’s mouth
She says nothing.
Something must have found its way into Leftie’s throat in the meantime, because words did not leave their mouth when they opened it.
They could only nod as twisted nightmares encroached on the peripherals of their mind. A world without magic, a world dark and alone. The air in the doctor’s office stung their throat, it tasted like bile. Spider squeezed their hand.
Dr. Lycaon nodded as well. “That seems like an easy enough thread to pull. Of course, it’s something you needn’t run into if it’s not causing immediate harm.” He said, and then nodded his head toward Spider when she started to rile herself up against the perceived rejection. “I won’t know for sure if it’s the result of a psychic attack or a physical trauma until I’ve gotten in there myself. I’d like to rule out other possibilities if it means not subjecting you to… Well, what needs to be done if it were psychic in nature.”
The room shifted around Leftie, a cruel optical illusion that bulged walls toward them and made the floor writhe beneath their feet.
It was one thing to be stuffed into an MRI and have a doctor poking and prodding at their body, horrifying a concept as it is, and it was another entirely to let someone just walk into their mind.
How could they be expected to invite another troll into their brain? What would he do while he was inside? The thought was almost enough to make them lose their lunch.
He sounded both miles away and as though he was speaking from directly in their head, his words filtered into their ears through thick cotton. They forced themself to speak.
“What do you have to do?” They couldn’t believe how small they felt. “If the normal stuff doesn’t work…?”
Dr. Lycaon’s reassuring smile did not waver, but there was a sadness to it, like it was his head meant to be infiltrated. “My voodoos give me complete control of the body, and very limited control of the mind. Nothing more than a suggestion, really.”
They sucked in a Nycada flavored breath.
“While I’m in there, theoretically, I should be able to feel the parts of you that are blocked off. From there, I will only have to urge it loose..”
That sounded simple, they breathed out through their nose and realized that at some point Spider must have fully wrapped her arms around their shoulders.
“It could be one session, it could be several. And we can go at whatever pace is comfortable to you. I don’t do anything without permission.”
Leftie tossed a glance to Spider, finding little resolve in her hopeful smile.
“Can I take some time? To think about it?”
“Yes of course, my doors will not close to you.”
They nodded, feeling some of Spider’s hope alleviate the panic rising in their chest.
“My ancestor and I are finally freed up enough that we can go help The Restorer with his problem. She says he has no problem waiting, but she is delighted that there has been a space between this and that, so he doesn’t have to wait any longer.
