Bel: Visit even more rainbow drinkers.

You were starting to feel tired, but eating a bunch of lizard meat and chasing it down with a can of milk-coffee energy drink took care of that. Now you guess you're going to head back to the hotel, but you really don't want to. Erskin will be flapping around all good cheer and lassitude, or he'll be sobered up and angry and defensive, or he'll be asleep, and you can't decide which is worse but you don't like any of those options.

And really, shouldn't it be up to Jethro to deal with him? You'll just make things worse if you try. Being sympathetic in the past made him turn weird and angry, and even if he says that's not what he meant to do, you're not at all convinced he won't keep doing it. You kind of can't handle that right now.

Hell, you can't even bring yourself to turn your phone back on.

A brilliant idea occurs to you. Your information about rainbow drinkers comes from two sources: the internet (frequently wrong) and drinkers who have been fang-fucking your boyfriend (super biased). What if you find another source? Those guys you talked to when you were hunting Cloris, those polite drinkers who said such nice things about Erskin, you bet they would level with you.

It's kind of a long drive, but hey, your flyer's got autopilot. You'll be fine.

((cut to: bel making kind of an awkward loopy sleep-deprived landing on the vampies' back lawn))

 

A very pale troll in a fluffy black bathrobe and hopbeast slippers raps their knuckles on the cracked windshield.

"You alright in there, ace?"

 

Slightly dazed and extremely embarrassed, you coax the fluffcheep out of your coat pocket and make sure he's all right before exiting the vehicle and offering a sheepish smile. "Fine, thank you, I'm just going to lose the damage deposit on my rental. I probably should've slept before coming to see you guys but the idea seemed so urgent."

Then you glance down at yourself and realize you're still wearing lightweight body armor speckled with rainbow drinker blood. "Uh. I did not come here to do violence. Sorry about my appearance."

 

The troll in the bathrobe raises a single eyebrow. In the layers of fluffy fabric it is impossible to tell their gender.

"Right," they say, and sip from a steaming mug of something too orange to be coffee. "Because if you did come here to do violence you can fuck right off. You're Erskin's friend, aren't you? Came by some weeks ago, if I recall... Did you ever find the little guy?"

 

"Yes. Yes, he's -- well, not okay, really, but he's alive. I found Cloris and killed her. And then I found out her party crew also had -- sort of -- slaves -- they drug and drink from and fuck, so i killed them too. The party crew, not the slaves. Also partly because of what they did to Erskin, though, I can admit that, I'm not above a little revenge. Uh." You've completely lost track of your sentence.

You hold up your cupped hands. "This is the fluffcheep. He doesn't have a name yet. He's a species of one."

(bel's eyes are probably little cartoon swirlies at this point)

 

"Huh," the pale troll says, and takes a long sip from their mug. "Okay, you better come on in, kiddo."

They take Bel by the wrist and lead them gently into the small, tidy desert hive.

"We've got company," they announce, and a short, fat girl pokes her head around a corner, her hair nearly as gray as her skin from cobwebs.

"Oh, it's that nice young man again," she says, and waves. "Hello, dear, how were the murders? Did you find Aspera? You're not here to cause more trouble, are you, we don't hold with that sort of thing in the hive."

 

"The murders were fine? Wait, no, they were awful, but efficiently completed. Sorry, I'm a bit tired. I came here to ask you guys for some advice. Since you're the only rainbow drinkers I know or know of who aren't douchey, and Erskin is apparently determined to be a juice box as long and often as possible." You pull a face. It's not a chin-crumple, it's just a grimace, you will insist on that if confronted.

(i don't want to be sleepy nooo ;_; but i've had a Day and i think i have to go faceplant. will be around to play tomorrow!)

 

Bel is ushered into a squashy, over-embroidered armchair and given a cup of fresh tea and a plate of stale cookies. The troll in the bathrobe pats him bracingly between the horns and then wanders away, while the fat girl shoves over a foot stool for Bel and takes a foot stool for herself to sit in front of him. She pats his foot, comfortingly, her demeanor as softly and unthreateningly placid as a pillow.

"Douchey?" she smiles. "No, certainly not. We're old, dear, or at least some of us here are, we've rather lost touch with being trolls. After your second century it just starts to seem like a lot of fuss and bother to be as unpleasant as comes naturally to you live ones. Now, tell me about Aspera."

 

"Well, Erskin's new bitey hookup is old but she's douchey. Honest, though. According to Erskin's moirail, who talked to her, I didn't talk to her, I got it secondhand. But Jethro -- Erskin's moirail -- he doesn't like her, said he made some pretty reasonable conditions like she walks him to the door after biting him or babysits him til he stops being dopey, and she was like 'I don't have time for that, I'm way too old and important!' And he said no quadrant shit, and she was sort of EWW HOW DARE even though she knew Cloris controlled her blood slaves with sex and so I think it's pretty understandable we're wary about that?"

You're doing the babbling thing. You make yourself pause for a deep breath, and try to feed the fluffcheep a bit of cookie. He consents to try it once it's been dipped in the tea, but then he sort of goes 'gek' and deposits the gummy fragment on your knee. You pet him as you clean it up so he knows he's not in trouble.

Calmer now, you go on, "Erskin is addicted to being bitten, and doesn't want to stop being addicted. Cloris fiddled with his mind so much I can't tell his wishes from hers anymore, even now that she's dead. This little guy is an example of that. His lusus laid an egg, and he likes to collect animals and raise them, he's got a clutch of enormous scalebeasts back at my hive, so he kept the egg and was taking care of it. And then he just... left it in a hotel room. Along with about. A pound of g. Gangrenous. Flesh. Because she made him walk his prosthetic off. And he still loves her." Goddammit, Bel, when are you going to stop being such a crybaby?

 

"Yes, well, little Cloris was a piece of work and no mistake," the fat girl says. "Dab hand with brains. Utter shit at weaving, though, and you couldn't get her near a carding comb for love nor money. But such a promising girl... Well, we've all got our deficiencies."

She nudges Bel's hand on the teacup until he takes a long sip and catches his breath. While she waits she pulls out a handful of loose greenish fibers and twists them around her fingers in intricate patterns.

"So are you jealous, dear?" she asks, when he's finished the cup.

 

"Jealous?" You're honestly a little confused by the question. "No, I'm worried and confused and angry. If he finds a real matesprit who treats him well, I'll be glad. If someone tries to edge into his spade by abusing him, he'd probably chase them off before I got the chance. But she tricked him and twisted him up, got him thinking it was love while she wrung him out like a sponge -- ugh." You feel sick just talking about it.

The thing she's doing with the fibers is kind of fascinating. "I'm not sure what the relevance of weaving in this context is, but I'm pretty sure Cloris never created anything but misery. She abused my friend Lu a couple sweeps ago, and when Lu left, haunted her dreams just to be nasty. Erskin knew that, but he doesn't like Lu for some reason, so he just assumed it was all slanderous lies and obviously the sexy girl who wants to bone him must be virtuous and truthful. I hate him so much! Um. But. I would still hate him devotedly even if he pulled his head out of his ass on this topic. Is my point. So. Is there any way to undo the knots she tied in his pan?"

 

She smiles indulgently at the metaphor. "Could you untie your last three inches of height, dear, or cut off those scars on your knuckles? Life is unfortunately additive— he should have the capacity to grow up, though, certainly. You both should. That's just about the only tolerable feature of children."

She picks the fluffcheep up off Bel's lap and examines him, combing her claws interestedly through his fluff. "This is a very nice texture. Hmm."

The troll in the bathrobe wanders back in, brushing their teeth. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, you old hag. Kid, just go hire yourself on a mindflayer, yeah? Program little Aspera however you like, you wouldn't be the first. I think the Lady Prismatic over in the fire swamp would do it nothing if you brought her some comics. She's a whore for first editions."

 

You give Bathrobe a thunderous scowl. "How I like is unprogrammed, thank you. If that sort of thing is your solution, I think maybe I don't need your advice. I'd like my pet back, please."

(uptight blueblood is uptight)

 

"You're awful confident for a kid who can't park his own damn car," says the troll in the bathrobe, "but suit yourself," and wanders off again.

"Ignore him, he's always a bastard in the evenings," the girl says, handing back the fluffcheep. "I'd say— oh, there you are, love! Did you hear about little Aspera?"

A woman has strode in from outside, clad only in ragged jeans and several dozen jangly bracelets. "No, what? I thought that big dream-eater we hosted a while back ate him."

"No, no, Mr Kadros here— it is Kadros, isn't it?— got him back, but he's a bit shook up. Er, Aspera, that is, not— well, I suppose you're shook up, too, aren't you, love? But from what I gather, Aspera intends to continue an arrangement with anyone as might take him in hand, and his kismesis here has some concerns about the long-term feasibility of that sort of enthusiasm."

"Dump the little drunk on Heinrich," the woman with the bracelets grunts. "He's a fish, isn't he? Heinrich does fine with fish." She takes Bel's cookies and eats two at once.

The fat girl wrinkles her nose. "I don't think this sort of situation neceesitates Heinrich, love."

Said thickly, through crumbs: "You never think any situation necessitates Heinrich."

"No situations ever do. He's a monster."

"Go sit on a spindle, you old goat. You hate Heinrich— she hates Heinrich," the woman with the bracelets tells Bel, and waves the last cookie. "But yeah, dump him on Heinrich."

 

Clutching the fluffcheep to your chest the way Galley sometimes clutches that Mr. Object thing, you struggle to follow their verbal tennis match. "Who or what is Heinrich, and what does he have to do with Erskin Aspera?"

(omg i love them both)

 

"Something on the order of a natural disaster, dear," the fat girl says—the woman gives a sharp ha! and is glared at— and she continues, primly, "I did mention that rainbowdrinkers somewhat lose touch with our trollishness, yes? As the sunlit centuries roll by, the sweeps burn away a daywalker's passion, their temper, the very integrity of their soul. Heinrich is one of the oldest of our company, and it shows."

"I think he was around back when this place had adults," the woman with the bracelets says. "That old!"

"Well, no, that's silly, none of us have been around quite that long—"

"What about the D—"

"Shush." The fat girl snaps, flaring like a lightbulb.

The woman with the bracelets raises her hands in exaggerated surrender, and walks mincingly backwards through the entrance portal.

The fat girl settles herself, primly, and brushes her cobwebby hair back. "Sorry about that, love. She's a bit of a trial. Anyway, you certainly don't want—"

"Wait, what's this about Heinrich?" a boy with a sharp nose and sawed-off hornstubs sticks his head through the door the bathrobe troll had exited. He is also brushing his teeth. "Heinrich is coming over?"

"No!" the fat girl wails.

"Heinrich is great," the boy says, and looks Bel up and down. "Oh, you again. You here for Heinrich, pal?"

 

"I uh. Think that's being debated. I gather Heinrich is, er... very calm? Because that sounds like something my kismesis could benefit from." You're really not sure about the advisability of handing Erskin over to a drinker so old that you probably couldn't take the guy out with your whole team, air support and power armor and all. But you know if you let Erskin keep baring his neck to any pair of fangs that comes along, you're going to lose him sooner rather than later. You're desperate.

 

"Haha, calm, sure," the boy says, and ducks back into the room he came from. He returns with a ripped-off bit of cardboard from some sort of ablution carton and a pen, and scribbles a number down. "You're never going to get him over here, fat and sassy on the footstool here will have a conniption. But call him sometime, I heard his last project finished up maybe a sweep ago, so he's probably in the market for a new one. I don't really keep track of which of you guys get hatched when, though, so, yknow, I hope your friend is up to snuff. Heinrich likes fish a lot but he's still kinda picky."

The boy hands over the bit of cardboard and pokes the fluffcheep. "Nice texture," he comments. "Is it for sale?"

The fat girl refocuses from her snit. "Oh, is he? It really is a good texture."

 

"No, he's imprinted on me, I think he would flip out if I handed him off. But uh. If he gets big enough that combing him for fiber is worth doing, I can call you?" you venture. "What's that green fiber you're playing with, by the way? I don't recognize it."

(bel is this really a good time to get your craft nerd on)

 

"There's a sandworm around here with glow-in-the-dark guts," the fat girl says, showing him the strands she's plying. "I've been trying to figure out how to get some string from them, but I think laying the membranes out flat in the sun and then finely shredding them is working out, so far. I mean you can get the same effect as a dye with sopor slime and a bit of peroxide but that's cheating."