So there I was, on the train ride home from class, and I thought.. Man.
I’m gonna write something really indulgent.
Hope you guys like it as much as I do!
[Doc]
—
Turning from the stove to the counter, with a knife and cutting board in hand, Lopard comes face to face with a jade blooded nuisance who smiles back at him from his seated position upon it.
The orange blood rolls his eyes.
“Get your ass off of my counter if you want to keep it.” He warns, waving the knife in the air for emphasis.
“Two problems with that, chief,” the nuisance starts, despite jumping off the counter with an ‘oof’ when his feet hit the ground. “S’not your counter and that’s a stupid threat.”
Once again Lopard rolls his eyes, but happy that there would no longer be an ass where he plans to chop vegetables, he carries on his prepwork.
“I’m sure Areios doesn’t want your ass on his counter either. Make yourself useful and—”
Before the command even leaves his mouth, Demuye is already behind him setting some pots to boil and pulling seasonings from cabinets.
“Yeah, yeah, on it boss man.” He says with a smile he doesn’t bother fighting.
Just as the pair are getting into the groove of cooking together, the owner of the hive paces his way into the kitchen with large, frantic steps that would shake the foundation of a less secure building, worrying the front of his shirt between two very anxious hands. Lopard barely gets to open his mouth before his much smaller “babysitter” comes toddling in behind him, on legs much too short to keep up with the exaggerated gait of the behemoth.
Thuein pauses to catch his breath, resting both hands on his thighs as he heaves.
“Running a marathon?” Demuye questions with ill-contained humor, only to receive a sharp look from the therapist in response.
Areios paces his way to the far end of the kitchen and stares at the undecorated stone for several seconds as silence overtakes the kitchen. His three guests exchange worried glances with each other.
Slowly, unable to be serious for too long, Demuye raises a hand and presses his index finger to the tip of his nose.
Thuein copies the motion.
For the third time in such a short stretch, Lopard finds himself rolling his eyes.
“Alright big guy,” He says as he wipes his hands clean on a dish towel. “What’s eating at you so bad that our best and brightest can’t help you keep it together?”
Truthfully, his annoyance with Demuye and Thuein doesn’t last long. It is barely a fizzle before it dies out on its own, really. As the oldest of this portion of their inner circle, he’d been used to wrangling everyone in for some time now. A part of him thrives on it, if he had to be honest with himself.
Areios lets his shoulders slump forward, too prideful maybe to face his friends as he speaks. “Do you think he’s actually going to come?” He finally asks, after his own silence becomes too much for even him to stand.
Once again the three exchange looks that the behemoth can’t see. Demuye seems annoyed at the notion, indicated by him sucking his teeth, Thuein only frowns, and Lopard lets out a resigned sigh.
“I don’t think he’d lie about something like that.”
Areios inhales sharply and exhales in a way that suggests he wishes, right now at least, that he was smaller than he is.
“What if he gets here and realizes he hates me as much as--”
“Ah,” Lopard interjects, holding up a hand that the other party cannot see but heeds regardless. “I’m not entertaining that sort of talk. He’s going to come and we’re going to have a great time. Just like we always do.”
The orange blood crosses the kitchen and pats Areios on the back.
“I’d beat his ass otherwise.” He offers and gets a laugh out of the purple blood.
“Imagine the emotional toll that’d take on you.”
“Smashing those guys is like second nature to me. Now get out before I put the pair of you to work.”
Demuye emphasizes Lopard’s point by slamming a pot onto the counter and Areios laughs again, putting up both hands, as he and Thuein leave the way they came.
Thuein mouths a ‘thank you’ to Lopard on the way out.
“We really don’t pay you enough.” Bemoans a more than humored Demuye, shaking his head, while Lopard returns to his post.
“Yeah, I’ll have to garnish it from somewhere.”
“If you touch my check, and I mean this so seriously, I’ll skin you.”
—
Later the hive is alive with chatter, the way it used to be when Areios housed most or all of the current guests in their respective times of need. The intoxicating bouquet of Lopard’s cooking carries from the kitchen to the large front room that most of the trolls occupied.
His chest swells with pride each time someone so much as compliments the smell of the goods. It is nice knowing that his hard work is appreciated, after all. Soon the smell will be overshadowed by someone else's, probably Achina’s, baking skills. But for now, the pride was all his.
Lopard plops, exhausted, on a couch between the host and a violet blooded sailor who the pair have not seen in countless sweeps, waving a three fingers hand around as he exposits what’d happened to him in those sweeps.
“It hasn’t been all that crazy,” Velrum concludes, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant manner that suggests he was merely describing a shopping trip and not a literal odyssey. “I was on the sea. That’s where I came from, so it wasn’t awful.” He lets his good fin flair for emphasis.
Lanaen, seated in a chair across from them, scoffs.
“Were your more stuck-up personality traits concussed out of you, then?”
“Quite possibly. And yours?”
“Oh, no. He’s still very much a dick.” Lopard chimes in before Lanaen can defend himself, and the four of them enjoy a good laugh at the fuchsia’s expense.
It has always been too long since the last time they gathered everyone together like this and the hive itself is practically a flutter with it’s own life.
Lopard chances a glance to a corner of the living room occupied by Zurven, of all people, signing away in a conversation with Isnons who appears to have turned off his hearing aid for the evening.
Each of the pair jumped at the chance when they heard that the other would definitely be in attendance, masterful trickery executed by Thuein and Achina, who were convinced neither would come otherwise.
From what he can make out from his bout of eavesdropping Isnons just wrote his first book and Zurven’s gotta get his hands on it.
He smiles to himself, satisfied that he would not have to field any angry partners for a botched night out. He hardly notices when Velrum and Lanaen leave the room, absorbed in yet another conversation.
This one possibly about the former’s missing fingers.
“See, we’re having fun.” Lopard nudges a shoulder up against Areios as he speaks. “Regardless.”
“Yeah. It’s always nice having everyone back together. Makes the hive feel less lonely.”
“I think that’s called empty nest syndrome.”
“Look at me, your sad mama bird.”
Lopard only laughs and nudges him again.
Very suddenly, Holoth appears in their space, beaming despite the way sleepiness decorates her features.
“Does that mean I can call you mommy?” She inquires, brightly.
“Please don’t.”
“C’mon guys, I brought something you need to see.” She quickly pivots, seizing Areios by the arm and giving him a tug that actually pulls him to his feet.
Nonplussed, he follows her lead with Lopard bringing up the rear.
Holoth leads the two of them outside, away from the excitement of the hive and closer to the cliff that overlooks the sea. It does not take long for Lopard to recognize the form of a troll pacing back and forth at the end of it, but he is certain that Areios cannot make it out, what with his deteriorating eyesight and all.
He turns his surprise on Holoth who only winks back at him. Then she trudges forward with the giant in tow until he and the pacing figure stop short, staring at each other.
Briefly, Lopard thinks that it was very wise of her to not bring him inside for this reunion. He would never tell her the thought, lest everyone have to reckon with her ego for the foreseeable future.
She gives Areios a shove and he continues the rest of the way on his own, where he and the newcomer continue to stare at each other in stunned silence.
What must be running through their heads right now?
“Areios, I’m so sorry I--”
The full apology dies in the doctor’s throat when Areios, unable to contain himself, wraps him up in his arms and crushes him into his chest.
Your name is VELRUM and you’re not Himbo’s troll. You’re Sasster’s troll. But Himbotrolls loves you very much.
(I jacked the PDF files from GTA 5 Online’s tattoos to overlay because fuck you and I draw for fun not to painstakingly draw tattoos lmaaaao but still wanted to disclaim that)
You know the song Words of the Wise by Truslow, don't you?
--
The Sailor
The night is cool, with an ocean breeze that rushes toward the dock and welcomes Zurven with a sweet, salty kiss. As far back as he remembers, the sea has always been a welcome escape. It carried his fears away on billowing waves, where they disappeared into a distant horizon, and he was allowed respite from his vanilla scented tomb. Even just for a second. That was the single perk to his time with Persep, a thought he will take to his grave whispers, access to Areios’s cliffside hive.
Before he has much time to think on and be upset by it, the dock creaks under the weight of someone walking behind him and he turns to meet their gaze.
A troll that was at the same time familiar and entirely new to him fills his field of view. His hair was much shorter when he disappeared, cut tight in order to maintain a proper appearance just like any other pretentious violet blood might have it. Today, it casts down past his shoulders, in waves that resemble the ones he spends his nights navigating.
Shock overtakes the seadwellers features, but it is quickly replaced by a smile that accentuates the scars that pepper his face.
That’s another change, imperfections decorate the violet blood in a map that tells the story of where he has been. Of who he is now. A fractured horn and torn ear and fin. This is not the Velrum that disappeared all of those sweeps ago.
Zurven should be surprised, but he knew what to expect. Harlan’s intervention made sure of it.
Velrum waves a three fingered hand as he comes closer, and he tries not to let his stare linger. But the gold band around the middle digit draws the eye with the way the twin moons shine off of it. The seadweller does not seem bothered.
“Zurven, is that you?” Even his voice doesn’t ring with the same uptight, strictness that it did in the past. Instead, it seems light. Free of burden. He comes to sit and lets one of his legs dangle over the sea below.
Though neither of their feet touch the water, Zurven cannot help but notice how much further his own is away from it.
“Wow, how long has it been?”
The smaller troll makes like he is looking at a watch that isn’t there and shrugs.
Velrum laughs.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m glad to see you..” He pauses to get a good look at him. “Out. Away from all of that.”
The sailor sounds unsure as he speaks, each of the six words enunciated slowly. Worry almost creases his brow.
A quick nod assuages his fear and he lets out a quick sigh.
“Good. It was a fucked up situation.”
“No kidding.” Zurven sighs. “How did you do it?”
“Hm?”
“Move on from everything.”
Velrum seems taken aback by the question. Anyone who knows anything about Zurven would guess that he would sooner swallow his tongue than choose to speak about this for longer than necessary. Even someone who hasn’t seen the brown blood since he was six sweeps old.
The seadweller runs a hand through his hair, knocking it so it cascades down along his back instead of over his shoulder. It frames his face in a way that makes him look much older than he is.
“Zurven,” he starts, moving to take one of his hands between both of his. The metal of his jewelry feels cool against the smaller troll’s skin. “Time is a weird thing.”
Zurven's laugh is breathless.
“Tell me about it.”
The response he receives is a squeeze, one designed to keep him grounded.
“Time and space are a wonderful tool. They will not heal all of your wounds. They can only provide you with the chance to come to terms with them.”
“That’s what people say. All the time, it’s what they say.”
“It’s hard as hell, Zurv.”
“Doable?”
“I didn’t say impossible, kid.”
Zurven swallows his uncertainty, not really sure what he was expecting to hear in the first place.
The Soldier
Koteus is much easier to track down, despite the claims that he is all but a hermit now. The seadweller lived in the same hive, surrounded by dense forest and an expansive lake from the time he was discharged from the fleet. What is surprising, however, is the sprawling garden that hugs around a considerable length of the hive, and the lively sheet moss that grows up the wall that the hive shares with the garden.
It is a sight to behold.
Certainly not one anyone would expect a so-called shut in to keep up with. Zurven sucks in a deep breath, admiring the warmth of the garden as it brings him to life.
“Hey kid, y’lost or somethin’?” Calls out a yellow blood from the front door, he waves a robotic hand in the air to get his attention.
The brown blood blinks back at him, kicking himself internally for neglecting to account for hivemates when setting out for this trip.
“I’m just here to see Koteus.” He finally says, when the silence blankets them the same way the moss did the residence. “It’s been a while.”
“‘Course you are,” The stranger starts, then pauses to look at a display on his arm. Finally, he motions for him to follow him as he moves back into the hive. “C’mon.”
Zurven nods and toddles along after him.
The yellow blood leads him through a front room and a living room first, where he takes in all the sights the home has to offer. The most important thing he could note was that there were family pictures littered throughout the two rooms. All sorts of faces smiled back at him, with each other, as the pair made their way into a kitchen much larger than he would know what to do with.
“Little man!” A familiar voice calls out and draws his attention to an island at its center.
Standing there beside it is Koteus, a bright smile on his face and a curtain of dreads that threaten to kiss the floor despite much of it being tied up into a bun. The tattoo on his face obscures much of his expression, but it is easy to tell he is happy.
“Little is right.” The cyborg emphasizes as he exits the way they entered.
Zurven can’t find it in him to be offended by the sentiment, he is easily the shortest person in the room. Aside from the very small human that sits on the counter, handing Koteus bowls of varying sizes with great enthusiasm.
She uses a free hand to wave at him.
“Jessie, Zurven. Zurven, Jessie.”
“Hi!” Jessie beams, pointing at Zurven and then her own chest. “Your sign?”
“Horologium.” He says pulling the hoodie he’d stolen from his partner tighter around his shoulders, suddenly incredibly self conscious. “It’s a clock.”
“Har-go-lum!” Jessie shouts as she clasps her hands together before getting back to her very serious job of handing the violet blood her bowls.
“Hawr-uh-lo-jee-um.” He says, slowly this time.
She nods with vigor and goes on to mouth the word Horologium to herself, going through the motions of learning a new difficult word.
He is momentarily taken back to a time when the name of his own sign was foreign to him. Five sweeps old when he learned what to call it, how to pronounce it. Thuein and Lopard were patient, but the pity they felt reigned in their eyes.
A human will learn how to say it better before she hits three sweeps.
Dwelling doesn’t last long, Koteus’s voice fills the room again and brings him back from his thoughts.
“Had I known you wanted to meet, I could have met you somewhere more convenient.” His voice is apologetic. “Middle of nowhere is a little out of the way, yeah?”
“I think I needed the trip.” He admits.
“Clear skies’ll cure a cluttered mind like nothing else.” The seadweller says as he lifts the young human off of the counter and sets her on her feet. “Something on your mind?”
“I think so. If you have time.”
Koteus watches as Jessie quickly finds her way to the entrance of the kitchen and disappears further into the hive. He smiles.
“A spot just opened up.”
Despite his time in the fleet, Koteus’s scars are not physical ones. The only markings on his skin are the tattoos he received from the planet he was stationed on. But the scars on his heart, Zurven thinks, must be innumerable. Impossible to count. Heavy.
He leads Zurven to the table and they sit across from each other.
Koteus looks wiser than he would ever care to admit. Always said wisdom means you’re old.
“Lay it on me, little man.”
“You’ve uh. You’ve been through a lot, right?”
“Nothing I didn’t sign up for.” He sighs. “But yeah.”
“Doesn’t it weigh a ton? How do you–”
“Carry it all?” He interjects, voice soft.
Zurven nods slowly.
The soldier leans forward, causing the beads clinging to his dreads to knock against the table between them.
“Not all at once, and never on my own.” He whispers, and the safety of Benjins hoodie starts to feel more real.
The Magician
There is a market in the city, filled with fresh produce from the grounds of the House of Restoration and other goods ferried from parts of Alternia the typical city dweller would never find the time to visit.
Zurven stands among the produce, fighting hard to remember the instructions given to him by Achina on how to pick out the perfect avocado. He is fairly certain the one in his hand is hard enough to give someone a concussion.
“Nah, brother. You try ‘n eat somethin’ that unripe it’ll knock your teeth right outta your skull.”
Zurvens gaze drifts from the rock in his hand to the observer he must have been preventing from getting one of his own.
“Think ya’ gotta put it in a paper bag to make it ripe faster or somethin’. Unless you’re tryin’a--“
The purple blood stops cold as they lock eyes, the recognition on either side is instantaneous. The swirly face paint that starts at the tip of his nose and spirals outward takes Zurven back to a place he doesn’t want to be and he gives the avocado a harsh squeeze. Hard as a baseball, it does not yield to his attempted mutilation.
“Shit! Little fuckin’, Curly top? Zurven? Damn! You grown up, huh?” The clown sputters out clumsily, measuring Zurven up with his hand as he does.
“Didn’t see you none once the. Well, y’know.” He says as he mimes a hand over his left eye, mimicking the trauma Persep subjected his illusionist friend to. “And you’re all out and about and shit, huh?”
“It’s nice to see you too, Parcae.” Zurven mumbles, resisting the urge that threatens to pull his thoughts back to the past. “You’re always so peppy, despite everything. That’s a real wonder to me-- “
The brown blood is cut off by the magician as he scoops him up into his arms and crushes him close against his chest.
Zurven goes stiff.
“Nah, we ain’t talkin’ about me. We’re talking about you!” He does not seem to care that the display is causing his suit jacket to wrinkle. Not that that really comes as a surprise. “Been thinkin’ about you, brother. Always wanted to scoop y’up like that and let ya know how you were always stronger than you shoulda had to be and shit.”
He says nothing.
“Y’know? I’m thinkin’ you’re one a the strongest guys I ever met. I’m thinkin’ you could survive anything, brother.”
Like the avocado in his hand will in a few days, Zurven softens. He wraps his arms around Parcae and breathes out a shaky sight as his tears start to stain the collar of his dress shirt.
