Tobria Tatura | Present Night | Alternian Wilderness
The Alternian sky was awash with stars, with only a few clouds skirting the its edges as Tobria stepped into the troll world, leaving hardly any trace of his passing. He had always been good with gates, after all.
They were close. Very close.
He spread his wings, formed of insect cuticle and feather alike, and beat them, rising into the sky.
His beacon - only visible to those with the proper sight - was fading, petering out, its purpose nearly served.
The angel-fae could feel Uryali's descendants enter the atmosphere above the planet, his beacon cloaking them as they began to descend, its final act of protection.
They fell, faster and faster, and he flew even higher to reach up and catch them, then blinked - fiery wooden pieces were also falling around them, and he had to quickly fly away to avoid being hit.
The violets were unconscious in his warm claws, but he could tell they were unharmed. Likely, they were tired from their long journey - they hadn't stopped once since he'd begun guiding them back. No doubt they'd been desperate to get home.
He descended, landing on his hind legs, and placing the hybrids on the ground.
He...realized he didn't quite know what to do next. Aside from summoning Pestilence; the horseman had left instructions to call them when the Varzims finally returned.
An insect-like, troll-shaped being clad in a concealing black bodysuit landed near him, folding up its long dragonfly wings along its back so that they nearly touched its heels.
"Nizzze work, Tobria." It complimented him. "Their friendzz and quadrantzz will be thrilled."
It looked at the charred wooden remains that had landed nearby.
"Though Zzanzzul might not be happy about her ship. What happened?"
"I didn't know there was one." The angel-fae admitted. "It would have burned up when they began descending; my beacon only protected them personally."
It clicked sympathetically. "Ah, of coursze. Well, we can't leave them here on the dirt until they wake up."
Tobria paused, long scaled tail twitching.
It sighed.
"Pleaszze tell me that wasn't your plan."
"I'm out of practice with trolls." The prophet grumbled. "And they are half horrorterror. I didn't think it would bother them."
"Hm, hm." It hummed in a buzzing way, tail flicking with amusement as its cream-colored tuft shone in the moonlight. "Good thing I deczzided to come."
"I was going to summon Pestilence anyway." The Fireseer said stiffly.
"They're buszzy. It would've taken them a few nights to get here. And I'm szzure these two will be hungry and thirsty when they wake up. I don't have to tell you what an appetite terrorszz can have."
"I was going to catch them food and bring water." He snapped. "I am not a total incompetent, ofanim."
"I'm not szzaying you are." It said calmly, tilting its head to look at him with its large glowing green eyes, part compound and part chameleon.
"But I live among trollsz, so I'm more accusztomed to their needs than you."
Tobria glared at it, but folded his wings and stepped back, letting the artifice handle the hybrids.
It knelt down and checked their bodies with a light touch, segmented dark brown fingers dancing over any uncovered skin.
The Varzims' clothes were ragged, and they stank - no surprises there, it wasn't as if the poor souls had had any access to a shower. They'd only managed to survive without eating once they'd left the furthest ring because their bodies had adapted to taking in light for energy, as it could.
It was sure it was hardly satisfying for beings used to liquids and solid food. The pair were thinner than they'd been before, from the images and recordings it had seen. Not terribly so, but enough to be noticeable. They'd likely suffered some malnutrition, and might need some mild treatment for it.
They seemed stable, solidly in their troll forms for the moment. Not that it of all beings begrudged them their shapeshifting, but it would be a hassle to deal with right now given where it was going to take them.
"All right, I can handle it from here. Thank you, Tobria." It said as it effortlessly picked up both signmates, then looked up to see the fiery head of the prophet and his masks all scowling down at it.
"No." He said tightly. "This is - this is my duty, ofanim. Do not take this from me after I failed them for so long. All I did to help was allow them passage to Uryali's realm - not even I, I told Cyvell to do it. I wish to hold true to my promise again."
It paused, and set them down again.
"Mm. Yesz. I am very used to...doing thingsz myszelf. You aren't the firszt person to tell me I need to truszt others more. It is...difficult, asz a szecurity sysztem."
It bowed its head to the Fireseer.
"If you will carry them - I would appreciate it. I work for a traveling clinic, run by a mediculler who knowsz them. She is nearby. She can care for them while they szleep and when they wake up. If you change into troll form, you can sztay nearby until they do. Isz that all right?"
Tobria nodded.
It paused.
"Are you diszappointed?" It said with the barest hint of amusement. "That if I am divine, it's nothing like you want?"
"I am not arrogant enough to claim I comprehend divinity fully." The Fireseer said calmly as he cradled the Varzims in his own warm arms and rose into the air again.
It laughed at that in its technological, buzzing way, antennae twitching in a pleased manner.
Then the artifice too rose up and then zipped ahead, guiding him toward the Wellspring clinic.
Taking the Varzims to the care of the doctor who had given up so much to bring them home.
If you’re still taking them 🎲 for As Above, So Below
SIX PERIGEES PRIOR
Thrixe sweated slightly under his usual dark clothing, and while the humidity was nothing to a seadweller like himself, it wasn't the reason his fins kept flicking nervously as he waited in the store's long line.
Technically, he could have cut ahead. He was the highest caste troll here; the next was teal. But even though he bled as violet as any of his caste, it never felt right. He might be a highblood by biology - a little by culture after everything Mikiel had taught him - but he wasn't part of their world.
He could feel eyes on him. He could feel...curiosity. Judgment. Fear.
He tried to shut them out, ignore the singing in his head of all those swirling feelings. Focus, focus. This was as important as any job.
A few minutes later, he reached the register, and checked out with a sigh of relief, a box tucked under his arm.
Ingredients? Proper. Textures? In order. He could use his powers to preserve them if Pidge wasn't hungry right now, to ward them against mold and decay.
Six pigeon-shaped pastries with perfectly flaky dough, delicately frosted with shiny black eyes and assorted feather patterns.
He went back to his pocket world, to politely knock on the door of the small building the fuchsia was welcome to inhabit any time he came, any time Pidge needed a break or a space all to himself. Thrixe would never dare intrude on his matesprit without asking.
But he was allowed to come in, and he did so with a smile on his jagged mouth.
"I thought these might help." He said, holding up the box, which still smelled of warm, fresh bread.
Pidge's eyes grew wide, his large fuchsia fins lifting as Thrixe put it down on a table and opened it.
The violet smiled, his own fins rippling.
"And...are you fine if I..."
He touched his fingers to his mouth.
Pidge's tail wagged, and he smiled.
Not too forcefully - but not in a way that could be called gentle - the starfish hybrid bent down and kissed his matesprit firmly on the mouth, a hand carefully made dry on his cheek, lips kept smooth and unchapped.
This drabble is preceded by Glass Among Murk, Part 2 and followed by O Sleeper.
Thrixe woke up sweating and aching, just for a moment.
Then he shook his head, blinking. No, he was fine. He put an arm to his face, sopor slime gently dripping off it.
Yes, his forehead was its usual cool temperature, normal for a violet. He must have only been dreaming about being ill.
Odd thing to dream about. Usually he dreamt about very different things…
He shook his head. Well, he was awake now, no use in dwelling on a strange sensation.
The hybrid got out of his recuperacoon and onto his drying mat in one smooth motion. The green slime instantly began to trail off in gentle wisps of vapor, providing no lasting trace of itself on his skin.
He couldn’t breathe, the vapor was toxic, his chest was tight, his gills were overflowing with black -
He blinked again. No, he was…he was fine. Except something was clearly wrong. Should he call Gaia, see if they knew anything? Or Ullane?
He thought back. Could he himself have done something wrong to cause these hallucinations? That’s what they seemed to be, anyway.
Except everything had been normal lately. He’d been working in his pocket dimension, cooking with Karell and other times Mikiel, going swimming with Pidge…he’d visited Glasya and Hannah…
Oh, right, he’d stopped at Selatak a little while back. Or right next to it, in the hollow hills. There had been some issue with a strange illness there, and he’d done his best to eliminate it.
Wait.
The violet grimaced. Maybe he should have called Ginger…except he didn’t really know them, and he’d admit, the horseman of Pestilence unsettled him a little. It had seemed so much easier to try to solve it himself, he was far more precise and capable with his powers now than he had been even half a sweep ago.
Besides, the trolls there had been suffering, mostly lowbloods ignored by the nearby city. He knew Ullane would have wanted him to help.
Maybe Zanzul knew something. If she wasn’t experiencing the same thing, he’d know it was something particular to him, not just because of being a hybrid.
If all else failed…he reluctantly conceded he could ask Uryali.
He could. Technically. If he became particularly desperate. If he felt like getting visions and sounds and feelings for answers.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand, but…
Whenever Thrixe looked at the entity that had once been a hybrid like himself, he remembered how easy it would be to fall as the Muted had, if he wasn’t careful. To let the music and growth of the world consume him and to consume it in return.
He shook his head and took out his hair ties, putting his curls back into their usual braid. The shadows at the edge of his room seemed darker than usual, despite his low violet lights, partially grown from his own flesh.
His fingers came back boiling with black bubbles, crusting over and then foaming again. He quickly looked away, but could feel the cycle repeating. He could smell it; a rotten, salty odor now permeating the air.
Despite everything Thrixe had done to his own flesh, everything he’d ever become, the hybrid felt sick. Horrified.
He made a noise no troll could - a gurgling wail and lamentation of multiple voices at once - and then froze.
It echoed.
His voices echoed back to him, and when they sang, they sang of hate.
They sang of his death.
No growth. No change. Still, silent, sickened death as he became disease for eternity…
Thrixe woke up gasping in his recuperacoon.
Zanzul, he cried out in his mind, before he fell back asleep, body wracked with fever.
Zanzul, help me.
—
Hours later, an investigation team from Atlantis followed up on reports of eerie, cacophonous singing and brief screaming from a hive in the underwater quarter.
All they found was a broken recuperacoon, a shivering miniature gryphon, and a large black trail of muck leading to the broken door of the building cracked into scattered pieces.
As if something large and many-limbed had dragged itself out and into the watery depths.
Ginger hadn’t been able to cover up the girl’s - Quinne, they’d learned her name was - blood mutant status for long, in the end.
It figured, really, given the kinds of medical tests she had to undergo. None of their staff liked it - Leshwi had been especially irritated, no surprise - but at least they hadn’t seen her with her psiionics off and had no idea what she really looked like. She was pretending to appear as a regular maroon.
Ginger had firmly insisted, brief and to the point, that Quinne not be culled. They’d had a warning look in their white-blue eyes as they’d stood in the largest vehicle and addressed everyone. Their rigid stance - ideological and physical - made it clear any of their employees tattling to the empire would be fired, and that would be the best case scenario for them.
They did not need the fleet sticking their noses in right now; all of them should know that.
What mattered, they’d said, was figuring out why exactly Quinne was immune, and how they could use her immunity as the basis for a cure, or at the very least a preventative.
Maybe it was the fact they were talking sense. Maybe it was that things kept getting worse every few hours. Maybe it was their employees’ fear of what Ginger could do to a troll, which they had all seen before in vivid detail.
The important thing was that no one had argued with them, and that fleet indigo and her two assistants didn’t seem to suspect a thing.
This might be because the humming trolls were all still stuck as they were, remaining the problem everyone was focused on, and nothing Ginger’s staff did seemed to be able to fix that. They’d been able to move them easily enough - everyone except Ginger wearing bulky protective biohazard suits as they lifted and placed the ragdoll-like people - and lay them all in beds.
But while the entranced trolls took food and water if it was given to them, their bodies’ normal processes running as usual, they didn’t respond to any treatment or even regular stimuli. Careful applications of pain or pressure got no response, and talking to them was like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. They just kept humming - or coughing - their eyes empty and far away.
They’d tested the sick trolls for psiionic mind control, even though Ginger knew they wouldn’t find anything.
They hated not being able to tell their staff all they knew, but while their employees might reluctantly accept the need to keep a mutant alive to save regular trolls, they’d never believe the presence of eldritch activity.
Boy, had that not gone away. In fact, it had done the opposite.
They’d been forced to bring back the xanthomonas to keep the regrowing plants down, just to make sure their convoy and the fleet trolls had a way in and out of the medical tents. Worse, the animals were all still sick too, and they didn’t have the staff to spare to round them all up and make sure the disease didn’t spread.
The animals had also started to…change.
It was hard to notice unless you looked at one closely. If you did, their anatomy looked just a bit…off. Eyes set too low in the head. Legs too long. Their shadows flickered; sometimes there, sometimes not.
When they opened their mouths, it smelled of rot and salt. An ocean gone foul.
Ginger had caught an ill deer a few hours ago. When they’d downed the animal, it was as if the illness had just…left the body, and it seemed like a normal corpse.
They’d looked away to take out their phone to take a photo of it for documentation.
When they’d looked up, they’d caught another deer spasming as it lurched over the corpse, ripping open its abdomen and eating its flesh, muzzle bloody with meat and dark, crusted blisters like the trolls had on their bodies.
They’d killed it immediately, but then the blisters had dried up and gone. Nothing for them to analyze, or bring back to their scientists.
Nothing their team screened from the trolls turned up any results either. It was as if the disease didn’t exist when it was observed scientifically.
Like the thing was hiding from them. As if it was intelligent somehow, or as they’d originally suspected, it was being controlled by someone.
They’d realized then that it had been hiding the whole time; radiating hatred to prevent Ginger from touching the ill trolls and investigating the illness directly.
They’d tried to touch the deer’s corpse, just as an experiment. Nothing. But they’d bet if it had been alive when they tried, they’d have felt that same vicious emotion.
They’d buried it. They knew better than try to have their cooking staff use it.
Of course calling Thrixe - and texting him - about any of this hadn’t worked. Bellam had given them his number, but there was no response. They kind of doubted the starfish hybrid just happened to be conveniently unavailable at the moment.
That didn’t necessarily mean he was responsible for all this, but he was involved somehow.
If he was deliberately ignoring them…well, it didn’t seem like his style, but hey, horrorterror hybrid. Who knew what might be up with him?
They had other things to worry about, though. Namely, the fact that the disease was spreading.
For whatever reason, it hadn’t affected their staff. Maybe it was the protection Ginger extended to them; an old warding magic the Mycoba line could cast over anyone who’d sworn loyalty to them.
Or less dramatically, was in their employ to collect a paycheck. Regardless, it seemed to be holding.
This was cold comfort given it had spread beyond the hills, though.
Complaints had come in from Selatak proper about trolls falling ill with the same symptoms and humming as the few hundred in Bukit Berongga. How, Ginger didn’t know, since there weren’t any reports of carriers actually entering the city. It seemed impossible that one of the stricken trolls could’ve made it that far anyway, given how unresponsive they were unless moved by someone else.
Which made it all the more disturbing. They’d given imperial clearance for a quarantine to be set around the city and all its surrounding islands. Hopefully that would help, even though it was understandably pissing a lot of trolls off.
They knew they only had so much time before Selatak’s leaders demanded more answers from them.
Were there more old horrorterror fragments in the area? Just how on Alternia had they gotten there to begin with, and how were they supposed to be safely removed, if it was even possible?
They had someone else they had questions for, and Cyvell would have a much harder time pretending to ignore them.
Ginger currently knelt outside the medical tents on the grass, making a small circle of little brown mushrooms sprout in the earth with magic and spores they carried with them.
They raised a hand, letting magic leak into the circle, and the air rippled…then a foul-smelling black smog leaked from it and they immediately cut off their magic, wishing they could purify the air. As it was, they were just glad no one else was around to witness it.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Except Quinne, popping back into visibility beside them with her disguise up, kneeling on the ground.
At least she was more covered up in the clothes they’d had their staff put together for her - a light shirt with elbow-length sleeves and loose pants - than in the worn and filthy tank top and skirt she’d had before.
They’d made excuses for her not covering her lower arms by Quinne using her illusions to pretend she had eczema, plus the hot weather made it less suspicious.
“I was trying to contact someone for information, which went great, as you can see.” They said, shaking their head. “This is bad, plus it doesn’t make sense. My other spells have been working fine; why not this one? Why her and Thrixe? The winter court needs to hear about this. Probably Gaia too, by this point.”
The hemoanon was hardly thrilled at the idea of getting either party involved. The fae would be eager to kill Thrixe, and Gaia…well, they hadn’t dealt with them in a long time. Who knew how the organization operated these nights?
Quinne tilted her head. “So that guy didn’t get back to ya either? Sheesh. Abandoned like a stray grub, huh? Rude of ‘em.”
Ginger shook their head. “Thrixe not answering is annoying, but not being able to get through to Cyvell is bad and suspicious; does she not want to talk, or has something happened to her? Kind of need to know, given she’s the one who told me to investigate this stuff in the first place.”
Quinne blinked, her disguised non-furry ears flicking.
“Ooh, she’s your boss?”
The horseman snorted hard.
“If she was my boss, I think I’d eat glass. No. I work with her, my bloodline has for a really long time. She’s…whatever, might as well tell you she’s not a troll. She’s a fae. You heard of fae, Quinne?”
The mutant tilted her head, and they could imagine her tail was flicking in thought, even though they couldn’t see it.
“Those like fables?”
Ginger was amused, though of course the girl couldn’t see it through their facial mask and helmet. “Close. They’re fairies. Not the kind you might’ve seen in kids’ movies. Cyvell’s a disease fae, anthrax actually. You ever heard of that one?”
Quinne shook her head.
“Nasty one, has a couple different forms, but if you breathe it in you’re gonna die if you don’t get treated. Funny thing is, it’s not even infectious, at least, not in the usual way; can’t get it from another troll. What makes it dangerous is that it can live in a lot of different places, and you can’t see the spores. You can inhale it and you’ll never know, or get it in a cut from some dirt or something.”
The young girl shuddered. “Boy, you weren’t kiddin’; that is nasty. Why d’ya work with someone like that?”
“I don’t really have a - “
Ginger stopped talking as a troll popped into existence nearby them with a swirl of red energy. Quinne jumped to her feet.
Mage. This was a mage, they could sense it.
The troll looked distinctly startled to see the pair of them, large ears pressed back a bit and maroon eyes wide behind their oddly shaped glasses. They wore a black tank top, dark red knee-length shorts and a ring of golden pearls around their neck, and shrunk back at the sight of Ginger.
“Ah - oh dear - oh dear - “ They said again in a distinct Albion accent, swallowing, hands raised in a gesture of defeat. “P-please don’t hurt me, P-pestilence. Th-that’s who you are, right?”
“Not gonna hurt you.” Ginger rumbled. “Why are you here? This is a quarantine zone. You should get out of here before you get sick like the others.”
They gulped. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here! I’d rather be two hundred kilometers away! But I happened to be in Selatak, and I got a gander at one of those infected trolls, and I…I know what’s wrong with them. I know both those energies making them sick!”
Ginger felt time slow down.
Both?
“One’s a half horrorterror! Well - I don’t think it’s him exactly, but it’s his bloodline, I can tell that much. Really cheerful to think of others being out there…but I know what I felt! He’s a Growth aspe - “
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve met Thrixe.” Said Ginger, a hair impatiently. “I know who you mean.”
The maroon sputtered in surprise and offense. “Well! I was just trying to…never mind. As for the other one! Quite a dismal customer, but then, what do you expect of a disease fae? Cyvell’s an old bag of rubbish, and -”
The mage trailed off as Ginger took a step closer to them, looking frightened again.
“Cyvell. You said Cyvell. The fae of anthrax. How do you know it’s her?”
Their voice was restrained. Very carefully restrained.
“Well, I - I can tell. I, um, met her once.”
“Anthrax isn’t an infectious disease.” Ginger stated flatly.
“No, I mean, I guess not?” They cringed back. “The horrorterror power is mutating it, I think. Growing it beyond what it would normally be. Plus, if it’s tied to the remnants…we’re surrounded by them. I looked it up.
Long ago, the empire fought the islands’ inhabitants over this land…it’s written they used ‘abominable, strange weapons’ to defeat them. That the original trolls were never the same again, the ones who lived. That the land was - at least it says it was - ‘cleansed with fire’ to stop the damage from those weapons from getting worse. But, those remnants are still here.”
Crista pointed down at the ground.
“Bukit Berongga. The Hollow Hills. That’s what’s inside them. It’s why the empire doesn’t care about this place, why the ghosts are so thick here. Whatever that other hybrid did, it never fully went away. Now Cyvell’s using the remnants to change and spread her disease. Or they mixed with her power by accident. I don’t know. I just - I wanted to help.” They wrung their hands nervously.
Ginger stood stock still.
“Yeah. You have. Thanks. Now get out of here. ”
The mage gulped and swallowed, vanishing again in another swirl of red energy.
The horseman of the apocalypse drew their sword.
“Quinne, get inside and stay there until I get back. Tell Leshwi there’s an emergency protocol on, lock everything down as much as possible and get ready to defend the sick trolls. She’ll know what to do.”
Their deep voice, usually so neutral, rung with authority.
The mutant girl did not hesitate. She ran back into the tents, stopped after she got a foot or so under the grime-streaked white coverings, then looked back at the armored troll.
“Are you gonna be okay?” She called, uncertain.
Ginger nodded.
“You promise?” She said, sounding on the edge of tears.
Ginger nodded again, and raised their sword in acknowledgement. Quinne nodded, sniffling, and ran further in until she was out of their sight.
They summoned Dunny, put their sword on their left hip, and were about to mount him when they paused, blood turning to ice.
A keening, aching chorus of lamentations reached their ears and made the hair on their neck stand on end, coming from the direction of Bukit Berongga’s nearest shore.
They moved again, swinging themself on the animal and urging him on as fast as possible, though the horse hardly needed the encouragement.
As they crested the first hill, they saw their quarry, and Ginger had seen a lot in their hundred and thirty odd sweeps.
A massive starfish monster oozing black goo, wailing in dozens of agonized voices as he crawled out of the sea and onto the sand, was a first.
Ullane turned around and around in the waves, splashing as she was pushed back and forth by the wind and tides, until she laid on her back and floated, looking up at the pink and green moons.
Atlantis stood to her side not far away, but far enough that the bustle of the city only faintly reached her ears. She was an unusual sight at the beach, a tailed lowblood among the seadwellers, land highbloods, and scattered midbloods, but Thrixe had been with her and the worst she’d gotten so far was a few looks.
A surge of bubbles came up from deep below and she smiled in amusement, ears flicking.
Having fun down there? She thought.
Not too much, came the mock-solemn reply. He'd gone down there looking for a meal and was probably eating a sea serpent, one that was no match for him in his dragon form.
Come up sometime. I want to startle them.
What am I, your subordinate again?
No. Important prank helper. Lift me on your head so I can wave to beach trolls.
If I have to.
Yes, am really twisting your tail right now. Evil me.
She felt his laughter.
Give me a few minutes, he said. I’m still eating.
Wipe your mouth politely after.
Dragons don’t have to do that.
Too bad. Do it anyway.
She felt his good-natured grumbling and smiled, watching a few large fish swim away from her.
Vacation really had been nice so far, little though she deserved it. But she little deserved anything, and was realizing there wasn’t much point fretting about it.
Water was wet. The moons shone. She would not ever deserve anything again, but she ought to maintain the good things she had.
She let the waves carry her toward the shore a bit, licking salt off her lips, and then turned and dove down, goggles firm against her skin.
He was hard to see - not because it was dark, thought it was - but his glowing spots were easily mistaken as sea life, as the markings of a whole school of fish. As he rose, beating his webbed tail and feet, more bubbles came, and with them the realization that this deep violet-black creature was a dragon.
He caught her on his wet, tendriled head, and she laughed and grabbed on as they rose out of the water together, cold air whooshing by her skin.
The looks on the shore trolls’ faces were definitely something. A few were indifferent, a few confused, one or two annoyed - the younger trolls in awe, for Thrixe was no normal dragon. He opened his mouth to show eyes within his jaws, spines neatly growing among his teeth. She rested snugly between his horns, clinging to his smooth-scaled skin with one hand as she waved with the other.
No one except a wriggler waved back, but she’d expected that.
Then - carefully, so he didn’t make too large of waves - he sunk back down into the water, and she slipped off his head. He stayed just below the surface, and Ullane took out a beach ball from her sylladex to toss back and forth.
They waited until the other trolls had gone - hours later, the sky growing light, Ullane snugly wrapped in a towel on the beach - before Thrixe walked out of the water, once more in troll form.
He shook his head near Ullane and some water landed on her. She threw a handful of sand at him that he dodged easily.
“Rude.” She said.
“You’re rude.” He said back, shaking a finger, mock-scolding her as he laid his own towel out and sat down next to her.
“We’re both rude.” She said solemnly. “Very sad. What will our lusii think?”
“I don’t think a horrorterror-touched basket star cares.” Said Thrixe bluntly, and Ullane laughed.
“Doubt my father does either. Might make some noises at me, but he’s easily distracted.”
Thrixe wrapped himself in another towel as well, this one decorated with…pink flamingos?
Odd choice for a man whose other towel was a standard black, and who rarely bothered with decoration.
“Interesting pattern.”
Her friend blushed.
“Uh…”
“Gained a sudden interest in birds?”
He paused. “Kind of?”
Ullane looked at him.
“What’s going on.”
Her tone wasn’t demanding or annoyed, merely curious.
Thrixe looked at the sand, tracing one of his black-tipped claws through some seaweed.
“I…I have a matesprit.”
The yellowblood blinked.
“When did that happen?”
“Just this week.” He admitted, then smiled shyly. “He’s really nice, I think you’d like him. He has a tail too, but his is much bigger.”
Ullane mulled this over. She found she wasn’t jealous anymore. It had just…stopped mattering.
“Congratulations.” She said sincerely. “May you stay happy together.”
He blinked. “You aren’t…?”
Perigees of her old judgment hung unspoken in the air, circling around them both. Like a bird afraid to land.
The medic snorted.
“What good does it do? What good has it ever done me? An impractical emotion.” She said, shaking her head. “Being alone is best for me anyway. It won’t stop me from being glad for you anymore.”
The violetblood frowned in concern, leaning forward slightly.
“Ullane, you don’t have to -“
“I do.” She said, firm. “All this useless feeling, what has it done? Who has it helped? Clearly there is something about me - something inherent - that makes me undesirable. I won’t run from it. I’ll meet it. Welcome it.”
Thrixe’s fins flicked, distressed.
“But - "
Ullane shook her head. Her hair was stiff and heavier with salt, but she hardly cared.
“This is my penance, Thrixe. When I was young I believed in spirits, in destined paths…I can still tell when I’m given a sign. Not in this life, the universe says. Not this time, for your crimes. I’m lucky to be alive, to still have friends.”
The hybrid paused. Swallowed. Looked her directly in the eye.
“What about Xrumon?” He asked quietly, his spots glowing pink, purple and violet.
Ullane shrugged. “What about him.”
“You’re really…”
“I’ll always care about him. Even if he wasn’t my patient - even if I didn’t have too much power over his life - we could never be more than friends. He isn’t interested, nor should he be. We’d be a bad couple. I’d always wonder if he wanted to hurt me again. I’d feel too guilty. A bad match in every way.” Said Ullane bluntly.
Thrixe blinked in shock.
She rolled her eyes.
“I said I’d get over it. No one believed me. Am not quite so stupid or incapable.”
She smiled, hugging herself as her tail slowly waved back and forth.
“Took longer than I’d like, will admit. But it’s done now. No more crushes. Never again. I’m free.”
He looked at her in concern and disbelief.
“You’re really okay with that?”
She shrugged.
“Will likely be sad at times. But it’s better this way. So sick of pain, of longing. Isn’t romantic, just frustrating and embarrassing.”
Thrixe nodded, reluctant but sympathetic.
“I had two flushcrushes I kept to myself.” He admitted. “It was better I did. Some things aren’t meant to be.”
Ullane looked intrigued, but did not pry. She nodded her head instead.
“For me nothing is meant to be. But I have you, Glasya, Linnae, Hannah…Eichio, Argumi, Ashe…not sure about Cheran, if he would want me as one, but we get along now at least. A good life. Should make the most of it.”
The seadweller blinked but nodded, understanding. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“As long as you’re happy.” He said gently.
She laughed softly.
“Doing my best. Night by night.”
She looked up at the moons again, at the near-dawn sky.
“We should get back inside. Don’t want to fry out here.”
Thrixe agreed. She rose, putting her towels away, and they walked across the sand to his hive's land entrance, slipping inside to safety before the sun came up.
