= = > Let Your Eyes and Mind Wander
Your eyes move from the little intruder on your table around your hive, taking in the clutter that’s built up in your short time. To say you own a lot would be a bit of a misdemeanor. You hardly own anything, most of your medical supplies are anonymous donations from thankful Trolls who refuse to personally thank you. In other words: highbloods you saved that can’t just say “thanks” to your face. You don’t really care about that, for the most part the less you have to deal with the trolls you saved the better.
Your actually pretty well off supply wise for a change, you had a rather generous donation around a week ago. You lean back on your chair, the legs teetering “dangerously.” After a moment your eyes settle on a book you tossed into the corner as violently as possible. Somehow it’s not too badly damaged despite your best effort. Only a few pages look like there going to fall out and one cover has a good crease in it. But the thing that bothers you the most is the deep red symbol on it’s spine, just barely visible from it’s position.
the symbol is practically taunting you from there. It’s your symbol, but it’s not. No, to be more exact it’s her symbol. The symbol of a Troll you honestly could have lived without knowing existed. You hate her and wish you had never requested that book. You can’t even bring yourself to pick it up and put it someplace out of sight.
A soft churring sound snaps you out of a snarl. Even as your short lived burst of hate subsides your lip continues to twitch slightly as you return your attention back to the little grub on your table. You bite down on your lip, keeping it from twitching further. The grub isn’t actually awake yet, it’s just making noise.
Your doing your best not to let your gaze drift back to that corner, theres no need to continue irritating yourself. Especially considering you have a grub on your table and losing your temper now would probably end poorly for all involved.
The legs of your chair hit your floor with a good solid thunk as you lean forward, nearly slamming into the table. The familiar sound of loud footsteps fill your ears and set your nerves ablaze; you knew this was going to happen eventually:
GM is home.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A quick thing I wrote for The Physicae, Calais’s ancestor Troll.
You find yourself sitting at your table staring at what every fiber of your being is currently regarding as an intruder in your hive. Every fiber except your, CLEARLY, rotted think-pan because for some reason you’re trying to figure out where to let the little pest sleep.
She’s clearly tired by the way her huge eyes keep starting to close only to pop back open again. Her cries finally stopped once she was on the tabletop and you’re pretty sure she’s good for now.
The fact that she’s still here is what’s causing your skin to crawl and prickle. She’s emitting a little happy churring sound and Gl’bgolyb help you if it isn’t the cutest freaking sound. You lean back, eyes never leaving her as you blow out a long slow breath.
“What do I even DO with you?” Suddenly you have no idea how GM does it. How did she ever decide to raise you? How could she just grab you and go ‘hey, I’m raising a grub now and I know EXACTLY what to do.’
Ok, that probably wasn’t how she actually felt when she took you in, but still.
Your protein chute is starting to feel tight and you’re fairly certain that the longer you stare at this grub the worse it’s getting, though you can’t seem to pry your eyes away. You lose track of time watching her, only snapping back into focus when she suddenly sneezes, looks at you drearily and suddenly she’s just out like a light. Your shoulders relax from the tense rigid position you hadn’t realized you had been sitting in. A glance at your portable husktop tells you it’s getting late, GM will be back anytime now.
Maybe you’ll just let the little grub sleep on the table. She seems comfortable.
And if you’re lucky GM will think she’s a snack you left out for her. Your lip curls into a slight smirk, you snort just a little because while the thought is tempting you know you can’t do it.
You are the worst Troll. It is you.
It would seem you are unfortunately in luck. Your Lusus isn’t at your hive and you seem to be devoid of any new patients to attend to. That aside there’s no telling when your Lusus will drag in some new Troll for you to tend to (and keep her from eating the stupid Troll). Or, worse yet, HE could show up. That would probably be the worst possible thing. Luckily for you that’s not the case and you can focus on your incredibly stupid task at hand.
Equally unfortunate is that the task at hand is not culling this grub and ending your misery.
Have all the (not terrible) candy!!
Happy Halloween Everyone!!
Re-blogging here, happy Halloween everyone!!
The Land of Water and Metals
You jump into the nearest broom closet the moment you hear the side of the cliff crumble. Three seconds pass. You know, because you count them under your breath while you crouch behind the solid steel door with your hands over your ears. One, Applejack, two, Applejack, three… there’s a splash, and then a hiss, and then an explosion punctured by a light so bright you’d swear it was nuclear.
You wait until the sound of rain stops before you exit the closet. You might be a life player, but you’re pretty sure your powers don’t include healing acid burns. Base burns? Whatever. You never said you were a chemist.
You peek out the circular window. The coast is clear.
((OOC: I love this so hard <3 Thank you so much! I hope you get lots of grist for this 8D ))