You can't identify a damn thing on this complicated triangle object they've handed you. It's composed of a crumbly lobe of tan stuff, and some sour red goop, and then thicker and more disturbing hot yellow goop... yeah, you're not into this. You put the triangle down on the blue girl's plate and go off to the cold box to see if there's more bird. There is! YES. Cooked, even, which is great because you're really going to need a lesson in how to work that hot box. You drag the meat out and bring it back to the table, purring to yourself just a little. Eventually you're going to need some mushrooms and greens to properly round out your diet but for now all-you-can-eat festival meat is completely fine.
Only after Iridie mentioned clothes do you realize yours are really too bloodstained and dirt soiled to put back on. Oh well. Once you're relatively dry, you kick what you brought with you into a pile along with the rest of Iridie's things from yesterday, then toe that pile into a basket and take it to her launderblock to dump into a basin with some cold water for soaking. The blood is probably set in at this point anyway , but whatever, you'll deal. Ur-Gar's stuff... well you're pretty sure Iridie doesn't have any hide cleaner since her lusus is more on the feathery side, and you don't think leather is anything but hand wash only. Welp! Maybe the linen part separates? It does, thankfully, so while you still aren't really sure about how you're going to clean the leather bits unless you can grab supplies from your hive, at least you'll be able to get something washed. As you're unlacing all the satchels (seriously, this troll must live out of their pockets) a little bit of metal clinks to the floor. It looks like bronze, square-ish and definitely hand crafted. It matches the buckle on the leather skirting. They also both look patinated to shit. That ain't no life for a shiny! You keep them both, pop the cloth into the scrubhub, set it to the gentlest cycle it's got because you're pretty sure that's hand made too- pretty sure it all hand made, and you wonder who it was that made it- and shuffle your way back to the main livingblock. Iridie and Ur-Gar are both stuffing their faces. Ur-Gar looks like they opted to decline the pizza though. Sure does like that cluckbeast. "Hey, Iri?" You start poking through cabinets looking for supplies: vinegar, flour, salt, and an old washcloth. "What days do they do that market thing in town? I think we need a supply run, my hive is too far, and ordering a drop is gonna take too long." Arsenal assembled, you plonk yourself down at the table with the recovered goods, and start mixing up the ingredients.
You look up idly from your meal when the warden starts to dunk weird things in other weird things. "Hey, that's my buckle— what no don't put it in a potion, that's MINE." You probably shouldn't be yelling at a wizard mid... mid-wizarding, but you got that buckle when you broke into the teens and it cost a lot and you're really proud of it. You pluck it roughly from their grabby mitts. "MINE," you say, baring your teeth probably more than you should over just a buckle but— it's yours, you don't have anything anymore and they have this huge hive full of fantastic treasures, why do they need your stupid little bronze buckle?
You pause eating the pizza for a moment to think. "Well, actually it's tomorrow night, so that's a bit lucky. That blown-glass stand might've even recovered from the last time you were there, too!" You've just finished inhaling another slice when Lophii starts messing around with a bit of tarnished bronze and some cleaning supplies and Ur-Gar flips the fuck out and wow those are some tusks. You're out of your chair with a sword in your hand in a second, though it takes a moment for your realizations that a) Ur-Gar is twice your size and b) you're down an arm to catch up with your reflexes.
Ur-Gar snatches the buckle out of your hands so fast it leaves your fingers stinging (and a little goopy with polish). "Wha- no, hey I was gonna fix- Ur-Gar! Iridie!" The big troll has toppled itself off its chair and scrunched up against the counter, teeth bared and eyes wide and hurt. They keep darting glances between you and Iridie- the latter because she just pulled out her fucking sword. "Iridie, for glub's sake, put that thing away! They're not gonna hurt us, and you're not in any condition to fight anything, anyhow." You touch her hand, and gently lead the point of the sword away from Ur-Gar's direction, then you move over to the cowering troll and crouch beside them. "I was trying to clean it. You know, the way you did for us in the shower? Argh, how do I explain this to you?" You left the sack with their clay in the wash room so you can't draw them any pictures. There has to be something you can show them? Maybe something in your sylladex, you always forget to take out found trinkets. You give it a quick scan and- yes! It's not even badly tangled, you just pop it out, tug on a couple strands and down plinks a shiny bronze ring into your hand. You found it at the bottom of the ocean, and it was a thousand time more tarnished than Ur-Gar's stuff. There's still pits corroded way by years of salt water, but the piece over all was remarkably intact, and a bit of patience and elbow grease got it back to sparking. "See? Here, have a look." You hold it up in the light and wait.
You give the blue girl a nervous look, shaking a little— she has the most enormously long blade in her hand, and it looks really sharp, and she looks really ready to use it, this is terrible. The Lawfee's trying to calm things down, though, which you appreciate since you don't feel anywhere near calm— acutally you feel one sudden movement away from bursting into pathetically juvenile tears— and you watch the warden desperately as they fuss with their magic net. They bring out a little bronze ring, sparkling and new— only, no, it's worn-looking, scuffed and chewed-looking, it's just been immaculately polished. Could the potion the Lawfee was preparing simply be for polishing...? Well, if it isn't: blade. There is a blade in the room. You set your buckle on the counter and slide it with a cautious fingertip towards the warden, then tuck your hands back to your chest and look to the blue girl for approval.
You drop your sword back into your strife specibus. "Uh. Sorry." You do your best to look suitably contrite, which isn't hard since Ur-Gar looks incredibly freaked-out and worried. You sit back down and lay your hands down flat on the table. "Lucky thing our custodians aren't in the room, huh?" ((Lophii))
Ur-Gar hands the trinkets back to you, gentle as a hopbeast. "There we go, that's a pet!" Then you snort at Iridie's comment. "Like my lusus could fit her humongous ass in your hive without wrecking the joint." Still, you're glad Iridie's guardian is being occupied by yours. If there's a lusus more irritable and overprotective than an anglercroc, it's a swana. You hook Ur-Gar's elbow with yours, tug them up to their feet and lead them back over to their abandoned breakfast. Iridie's put her sword away, but she still seems shaken. They're both still nervously eying each other, though Ur-Gar looks avoidant and Iridie contrite. You get Ur-Gar seated then slide over to your moirail and scritch your claws through her hair. It's doing the poofy feather thing after drying, heh. ((Iridie))
You chirr slightly as Lophii pets your hair and you finish up your pizza breakfast. You lean back. "Well, then." You try and think of what you can do next. Aha! "So, I have the last couple Alternian Fleet Might Have Talents recorded, you want to go watch them?" ((Lophii))
A night of doing absolutely nothing exciting from this point forward sounds like bliss. You say so. You glop on home made bronze polish, gently rub it into the metal work with a cloth, then leave it to dry and go wash the gunk from your hands. Iridie goes and sets up the viewplane when you're doing that, so by the time you're done all you have to do is snuggle up on the couch and zone. Well actually, there's one more thing you could do... If any other seadweller ever tried to convince you that landtrolls weren't hardcore as fuck in at least some capacity, you would point them at popped grubcorn. Some poor, starving asshole gathered up a bunch of bugs that had the consistency of tiny pebbles and thought, 'well maybe I can get these down if I heat them up enough?' And lo, the fluffy, salty miracle of goodness was born. Or at least that's how you imagined it went, anyway. Now-a-days, it comes conveniently prepackaged in white paper bags, and heating units across Alternia have just as convenient buttons made especially for cooking this treat, so you've nothing to do to obtain the white wonder but stick it in, push the button, and wait for the beep. You snatch the puffed up bag from the heating unit before the beep even has a chance to go it's full length. Ur-Gar is poking sullenly at their denuded chicken bones when you grab their elbow and guide them over to the couch. "You too, Boulder. We're gonna stuff our faces, and do nothing, and it's gonna be great." ((Scribe))
You sit on the padded bench very carefully, and as far from the blue girl as you can manage— not far. The bench is made for their size. Everything in this insane hive structure is made for their size, and you feel so awkward, and, and scared, and lonely— what if this isn't a quest or a story but just some random terrible thing that happens to people sometimes, like a tunnel collapse? What if this is going to be the rest of your life, violence and misunderstandings and incomprehensible magical agendas, and you're just going to be stupid and huge until you die. The two little trolls watch a window in a box showing more deformed, mutilated little trolls mutilate each other still further. Blades and poles and terrible machines and huge ravenous beasts— there's so much blood. There's so much screaming, and the wizards nudge one another and laugh and— you lean your face against the backrest of the bench, away from whatever terrible thing is happening, and you hold very still, and you keep very quiet. If you weep just a very little bit then that is your private business and hopefully no one notice anything. You don't want them to put you wherever it is that the window-box looks out on. ((iridie))
You start fast-forwarding through a commercial break while Lophii gets up to refill the grubcorn. You're about to remind Lophii to not drown the popcorn in salt and butter when you notice that Ur-Gar has been curled up and making very sad noises for... you actually don't know how long, which kind of makes you feel like an asshole. You scoot a bit over to Ur-Gar. "Uh, are you OK?" Of course they probably won't understand a word you say, but maybe an even tone will help, or something? ((Scribe))
You nearly startle out of your skin, and scramble to sit up and face her fully. She hasn't hurt you yet-- and anyway even before she summoned that blade of hers she could have done-- you don't even know! But she didn't do them. So she's... Probably not going to? Maybe? You hope? "Hi, yes, what?" You ask, inanely, and rub hastily at your eyes.
You hold your hands in the universal gesture of I'm-not-going-to-attack, because you think that Ur-Gar nearly had a pusher attack. "What's wrong? Do you need - I dunno, food? Quiet?" You keep using your calm talking-to-other-lusii voice. "Is it the viewplane? It - we don't keep tiny trolls in there, if that's what you're worried about." ((Scribe))
You dare to relax, just a bit. She's being reassuring at you— maybe she didn't even mean to scare you, or for you to be scared for this long? "We're okay," you tell her, and pat her tiny shoulders. "We're okay, it's okay, everything's gonna be okay." Your hand could go all the way around her head, probably, and her hands— you take one of them and look at the narrow fingers. There's something wrong with the claws, they're sharp— sharpened? Who would do that? It wouldn't be any good for digging or tool-handling, would it? Much less writing. But she's a fighter, isn't she, with that blade of hers. Not a proper blueblood illuminator at all. A... a war-wizard. You shiver, and knead the palms of her hands uneasily, feeling the coolness and metal strength of her tiny bird bones. Very carefully, you rase one of her hands to your face, and push your cheek into the palm. You look at her pleadingly— you're so tired of being the one to settle these jittery kids down, you want some comfort, too, you want to know they're not going to— to— abandon you in this awful new world, or chop you up for parts, or keep you on as a slave, or anything. If she's going to stab you, you might as well get her to do it now.
You sigh quietly. For all that Ur-Gar is built like a bull cholerbear they kind of seem like they're barely any more mature than you or Lophii. "We really do need to figure out a better way to communicate," you note quietly. You go very still when they put their giant paws on you, but you force yourself to relax. Going tense will probably just freak them out even more. Ur-Gar peers at your hand, and seems somehow worried at them, for some strange reason; as far as you can tell it's a normal hand, with normal sword calluses, it's not even like you'd painted them lately (If a normal hand worries them then you should probably avoid taking your socks off around them.) The feel of their skin is strange, warm and weirdly rough. Ur-Gar seems to want something from you, so you very carefully try to move your hand soothingly. "You are a very confusing person," you say calmly. ((Lophii))
You do not drown grubcorn in butter and salt, thanks, you put exactly the right amount on, and that is the amount that tastes good. You give the fluffy bits a good toss and shake to make sure all the deliciousness is distributed evenly so no one ends up with one of those nasty flavorless kernels, and start heading back toward the couch. And then you pause. And you have to turn around to take a quick, shuddery breath, then glance back over your shoulder to confirm what you thought you saw is actually what is happening. Yup. That sure is Iridie with her palm applied firmly to Ur-Gar’s face. Your brand new moirail is totally papping the desperate cave troll. Ur-Gar, looks so wretched too. And Iridie is still mostly a disheveled, uncombed mess, and god- GOD! Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse through your fins. All you want to do right now is go rummaging for odds and ends to pile up so you can push them both down into it and snuggle right between, you are having honest to god nesting urges here- Fuck. What the hell kind of kinky pervert even are you? Stop staring, asshole, do something else! ((@Scribe 17 ))
The war-wizard hasn't stabbed you. It seems like she's capable of basic social reassurance, in between getting chopped up by enemies and watching other little trolls get chopped through in the box and also threatening to chop you up. You relax, fractionally, pathetically grateful for the face-rubs and for not having to be the one holding everything together at the moment. And for not getting chopped up. Oh, your Lawfee's watching. They're... flustered...? Blushing? They look like some post-50 apprentice who just stumbled into a top-five conference, stricken and embarrassed and, and wanting. What could a wizard want that much? Are you sitting on something they meant to get hold of earlier? "You okay?" you ask the warden. It comes out all purry. You really are starting to feel better. The blueblood stops, though, and you mumble disappointedly at her, and tilt your cheek after her retreating palm.
You look up as Lophii enters, and feel your face turn blue. And, ok, they're blushing too and their fins are twitching, that's certainly something. You pull your hand back - and the giant there seems to be unhappy with that, but they can just deal for now. "Lophii, I - ugh. Are you ok there?"
Sssshiiiiiit Iridie saw you staring, dummy, and now she’s all embarrassed too, snatching her hand away from Ur-Gar like you caught her with her fingers in the crumblesnack jar. She’s so cute when she’s flustered, and that isn’t helping any. She’s talking to you. It takes a second to register mouth sounds as words, but when you do, you realize she’s asking if you’re okay. Honestly you’re not, but it isn’t for any of the reasons she’s probably thinking about right now. You don’t exactly know how to explain it though, so instead you plaster a smile across your face. “Y-yeah! Yup. I uh.. I got. Grubcorn! I made more grubcorn. Here!” Your feet feel glued in place, but you manage a stiff walk over to the couch and to not slop the snacks all over Iridie’s lap as you hand her the bowl. Then suddenly you’re faced with another problem. Where do you sit? Do you try to put Ur-Gar in the middle so they feel safely flanked? They’re making the sad, lost woofbeast eyes at you again, and it’s really hard to resist, but if you do that, will Iridie think you’re mad at her? But if you sit between the two, they might think you’re trying to auspistize them. Or that's you're jealously guarding your moirail. Or they’ll actually figure out you’re some kind of weird quadrant freak, and you aren’t even ready to handle that revelation yourself. If you sit next to Iridie, Ur-Gar get’s left out in the cold. You decide to not make a choice, and park your fins on the floor, back to the couch and very much not touching either of them without them purposefully reaching out to touch you first. Also very much not looking at them if maybe they wanted to get some more cuddles on in private. Just in case.
