Let Bayous Be Bayous - A Fantroll Adventure

You are not entirely pleased with this becoming a repeating narrative theme in your life.

And yet, here you are, up a tree, Mom hovering protectively around your head, while a large angry animal makes loud noises and threatening gestures down at ground level. Well, slightly below ground level, since it's a swamp. And you don't recognize the creature this time; something large and scaly with too many teeth that moves way faster than you expected - even though you'd sensed the danger, you hadn't allowed yourself enough getaway room, and now you're stuck. You remind yourself, yet again, that you ought to pick up something heavier someday for your strifekind. (You remind yourself that typically your method is to avoid trouble.)

You are never taking a shortcut on a delivery route again.

 

It's a quiet night before Mom comes paddling up to you and tells you to punt your ass, there's something in trouble.

It's not uncommon for her to do this - Capybara lusii are possibly the ultimate ur-lusus, in your opinion, and will mother anything that stays still long enough. You've seen her bring home everything from hurt turtleducks to great lumps of injured cholerbears and greater scalebeasts, and wasn't that fun trying to sedate them long enough to disinfect injuries and send them on their way without too much strife involved. That she's come to your first probably means that whatever-it-is is currently under attack.

Welp. You captchalog your husktop and pull anchor, and pretty soon you're paddling your way through the thick foliage towards the splashing noise of sawtoothed scalebeasts entirely too excited about something. Mom pulls herself onboard as you stop, to get out of the way of said scalebeasts, and you jump into the water, smacking right and left with your heavy oarkind and projecting as much (DON'TFUCKWITHMEGITGONE) as you can muster with no real build-up.

Scalebeasts are cowards, mostly - they won't fuck with any troll who fights back - but one or two get the bright idea that you're not so tough, so you draw out your boathook and show them exactly how tough you are. You kind of hate injuring anything you're not intending to kill and eat, but bruises don't count and then one scalebeast is dead with all his friends scattered. You captchalog the corpse for later butchering - these critters are good eating - then swim up to the trunk of the tree to figure out what kind of animal Mom wanted you to save.

You project as much (heyhiIwon'thurtyouhi) gentle, calm feels as you can manage after a strife like that, and hope it's not another cholerbear.

 

You can hear that second wave of psychic impressions, all right, but the first wave scared the shit out of you, and since you didn't have anywhere to run, you'd just tucked yourself tighter under the cover of foliage (biting back a whimper at moving your probably-wrenched shoulder and your definitely-bitten ankle). And now the leggy troll down there is emanating all friendlylike. What the hell. You try to take stock of your situation, take some deep breaths - the flickering pressure in the back of your pan that says danger is gone, now, but your claws are still dug pretty deep in the bark of the tree. And your injuries are hurting more and more the longer you sit here. And the fact remains that this is an unknown troll, and you're supposed to avoid those when you can - you're pretty young-looking, but anyone with keen eyes might be able to figure out that you really are just a bit too old to still be onplanet. Fuck.

While you're dithering, your Mom makes up her mind, and before you can grab her tail, she's hop-fluttering her way down to the lowest branches, chirping all thankyou hi! at the newcomer. You groan quietly and knock your head into the tree trunk. Time to figure out what your story's going to be.

 

A tiny chirpbeast lusus flutters down, and you cock your head and laugh a little, and glance at mom, who's bruxing encouragingly, but hasn't moved in to fuss at the newcomer. This means there was something else up that tree, and that something was probably a troll. You don't really do other trolls, on account of they all think you're hella weird and maybe killed your own kisemesis (you didn't) and leak out feels like the whole world is your pity-pile (it isn't, but you do).

All the same, you figure if mom thought they needed help, they must still be a wiggler, maybe even younger than you. It's creepy, and you know it is, but you can't help but throw in a little encouraging chirr to all the (easynowit'ssafeI'msafe) gentle feels you're letting out.

At a bit of a loss at what to do, you head back to your boat - not parked ten feet from the tree - and fish out your palmtop to look for the nearest signal. Kholai was an asshole, but he was also (your) smart asshole, and hacked your system enough times that you got the hang of hacking him right back. It'll take a moment, but if the other troll doesn't come down from that tree in the meantime, then at least you have a way to tell them you're not like, a slash-happy culling motherfucker.

You find an oliveblood handle on your trollian after a bit of searching, and click on it.

WanderingWader began trolling pipingMelody!

WW: HEY motherfucker
WW: JUST wanted to let you up and know that I'm ain't looking out for no strife if you happen to be all hurt and all
WW: NOT that I'm like out for a pity-parade, but there ain't no proper fishtrolls here and my lusus is all what up and told me them scalebeasts were out to make a crunchy snack of you 8:03
WW: I ain't the type to go on strifing without due course, you know?

 

You actually put a hand over your mouth to keep from chirping back. You must be more tired and hurt than you thought, if you're that easily swayed by friendliness. You can sort this out on your own - you've handled worse before, after all. And see? The other troll's wading off to her boat now. Your mom is still trying to make friends with the other lusus, but hopefully she'll come back soon.

Then, your palmhusk starts beeping.

You dig it out, scanning the incoming messages, and take a deep breath.

PM: ^i'd prefer to avoid strife, yes
PM: ^thank you for handling the scalebeasts - they were an unpleasant surprise

You're not going to say anything about being injured for now. No matter how much the back of your pan is just exhausted and lonely and misses your friends back at the safehive. You'll... figure something out.

You've got to be able to get down from this tree on your own, after all.

 

WW: WELL, if you'd be agreeing to such thing, I can up and at least give you a ride to the edge of the bayou, motherfucker
WW: AIN'T no sense in motherfucking saving a brother just for them to get all tangled up in trouble again, you know?
WW: TOTALLY your choice, though. I ain't quadrants to no assholes who push at kindness as much as cruelty.

You add the last line as an afterthought, realising that even if you have been a total hermit in your swamp who wouldn't know hemo-superiority if it bit you in the glutes, your oliveblood friend hasn't been, and getting a ride from a highblood in skull paints is probably a good way for most motherfuckers to up and request a good culling, or worse. You've never actually met any other Mirthful faithfuls up close like, and you often get the feeling they'd find you the bad kind of hilarious right before you were culled yourself.

You chew your lip with your outgrown eyeteeth a little in thought, and get one of mom's reproachful barks back over her shoulder before she goes back to communing with the little chirpbeast lusus.

WW: (BTW your lusus is motherfucking adorbs 8:oD)

 

Well. That definitely is a generous offer. And you kind of don't really want to slog miles and miles through dubious water with an open wound in your leg. (Regardless of how feasible walking anywhere will be right now. You're really not wanting to think about that right now.) And you're really not getting any bad feelings about her - the last echoes of nervousness from the strife is fading, and all you're getting from her psi is friendliness, and all you're getting from your psi is 'all clear.'

You take a deep breath, and type back.

PM: ^actually, i would really appreciate that.
PM: ^the scalethings actually got a bite of my ankle, and i'd rather not get it all soaked.
PM: ^...and thanks. mom is pretty friendly.

 

WW: MOTHERFUCK, that's rough. I'LL up and bring the boat closer so you can up and hop straight on, no barkbeast-paddling needed.
WW: SCALEBEAST bites can turn real nasty if they ain't treated quick enough, you know?

You pocket your palmhusk, call mom over with a (let'sgo!) flash of feeling so she won't get caught between the tree and your hiveboat, and as she hauls up onboard you paddle over. You accidentally bump into the trunk harder than you intended, and send out (whoopssorry) an apology without thinking. Then you peer up into the branches and wave cheerfully.

 

The boat hitting the tree jars you roughly, and you grit your teeth as everything on you that hurts complains loudly about this treatment. But peering downward, the boat is definitely directly beneath you, and you can see WW waving at you, all cheer and hope. It reminds you of Aztala, a bit, which just makes you feel hivesick for a moment. But you don't have time to indulge in this - you've got to figure out how you're getting down.

Get a solid grip with your good arm. Unwind your limbs, toes searching for a decent foothold further down. Repeat as necessary, slipping, banging, and scraping yourself up as you go, until you touch down a bit more unsteadily than would really be ideal onto the hiveboat's deck, your mom circling your head and chirping worriedly. You try out a smile, although you know it's tense, and a hesitant wave of your own.

 

Messiahs be mirthful. She's a fucking adult.

You can't help your alarm. She might not be much taller than you - she's only a midblood and while you're all elbows and knees right now you're like iron rebar held together with pouncebeast intestine and stardust - but there's no mistaking the clear olive tone of her irises and the hard smudgy charcoal of her skin. And you know what adults are all about when it comes to wrigglers, caste or no.

You yelp in a 100% dignified and not at all panicked manner, back the fuck up in a hurry along the flat roof of your hiveboat- and trip backwards over mom, landing in the water with a splash. Your feelings then are best described as ('motherFUCK!!!') belligerent, to say the least.

You come up for air and eye the oliveblood balefully, not for the the first time wishing your hemotype stretched to having working gills, not just a little webbing and a lung capacity to match your capybara lusus - who is rattling warningly, but doesn't seem to share your abject terror.

 

Oh. Well. Apparently you are much more threatening than you expected. You really shouldn't be hurt by this - you've spent most of your time since your molt with other adults, after all, or with Sufferists who were used to having onplanet adult agents around. Still. This is the first time you've run into someone who's genuinely scared of you, and the tiny bitter pill of of course no one outside the Philosophy wants to be around you is shoved under a deep resignation.

"I'm not going to hurt you or anything," you say, trying to keep your voice light. "I'm not a threat, I- fuck. I'm just gonna go now." You head towards the opposite end of the boat, although your ankle is complaining loudly about the process of locomotion. You can stop and look at it once you've put some distance between yourself and trolls you terrorize by existing.

 

Okay, so that's not the reaction you were expecting, not at all. You clamber back onboard faster than most trolls can walk and wave at her turned back a moment before you remember that verbal words are a thing you can use. It takes you a couple of false starts, then- "Hey, motherfuck, wait!"

Mom comes and butts her big oblong head under your arm, still wet as a fisherbeast from the water, and that calms your anxiety a bit. You scratch her nasal scent gland lightly, looking at the adult with wariness, but not entirely fear any more. "Uh- lemme look at your frond, at least, sister. Dunno what much else I can offer beyond what's already put onboard, though."

You pull your oar close, but you don't make moves to use it, yet. You don't know what strifekind she's got equipped, and you've never heard of highblood wriggler versus adult when the odds weren't completely stacked in the highblood's favour.

 

You stop, looking back over your shoulder - your ankle hurts so much that you honestly think if you turn around you might fall over. "You really don't have to. I can figure it out."

Wrenmom trills at you, stubborn child! rest! and all you manage to chirp back is not that simple - you're keeping half an eye on her, half an eye on the other troll, and half an eye on your own ability to remain upright.

 

===> Be Capy-mom

You are now a capybara lusus, and trolls are as a whole very silly. Your troll is the best troll, of course, but she sometimes does very stupid things - she made courting noises at a caiman-troll for two whole sweeps, and now she runs into a troll who's lusus is not nearly as frightening, and injured to boot she acts like it's a predator. Okay, no. You are not standing for this nonsense one single moment longer.

You slip off your floating nest and into the water, swim around it to the front, and haul up on front of the very silly wren-troll to herd her patiently back to where your troll can help her, ignoring the spike of anxiety from your precious baby.

 

Oh, oh her lusus is coming around to cut you off from the front and-

-is nosing at you?

She's pushing you back towards her troll, yes, and you stumble slightly and have to follow, but she's really just emanating patient-grumpy-mothering body language, like she's trying to take care of you. Well. That's. Not what you expected? You fetch up in front of the dripping and still very alarmed indigo, and you wrap your arms uncomfortably around your middle, still trying to not put too much weight on your injured leg. "Hi," you say awkwardly. Wrenmom chirps a happy introduction as well.

 

===> Be the alarmed indigo

Despite yourself, mom's behaviour makes you laugh, although it still comes out a touch hysterical. Welp, you just gotta trust that she thinks you're in no danger, at least. Your amusement speaks for itself, and once again you almost forget that words are necessary. "Uh, hi. Pop a squat, motherfucker, since it seems like mom ain't up to letting you go just yet."

You pat the painted wood in front of you with more confidence than you feel. You might be a shitty liar, but you're willing to try truce if your adult friend here is. At least she's not feral and thrashing like the cholerbears and greater scalebeasts Mom's told you to help in the past. Yet.

You remind yourself that if worse comes to worse, not even an adult midblood can hold their breath longer than you, and she's already proved that she knows these twisting wooded waterways about as well as Her Imperious Condescension knows a fucking comb.

 

At least she's amused now? Your survival instincts are urgently pointing out that once you sit down, you're not getting back up (or at least not getting back up fast enough to make a difference if it comes to that). But your psi still isn't reading any threat in the situation. And you are so tired.

You try to let yourself down carefully, but your shoulder flares with pain and you plop to the decking, wincing.

 

Looks like her shoulder's messed up, too, but you're more concerned with the bite ringing her frond stub, still oozing dark green blood. At the sight of it, all your fear abates to something cool and businesslike. You shuffle around in your cargo modus a moment, luckily not dropping any cards - they float, but they're a pain to reset - and then pull out your first-aid kit. It's extensive and expensive as befits your caste, but for now you only need the bottle of antiseptic liquid and the needless syringe.

You're really not used to your patients understanding any kind of trollspeak, so you just dive right in with flushing out the deep punctures - only one has made any real damage to your friend's exoskeleton, and it must have hurt the scalebeast more, since there's a broken-off fangtip embedded there.

 

As soon as she's presented with a fixable problem, the indigo is all over it, cleaning out your wound with an economy of motion that speaks of long practice. And she has a very well-stocked medical kit. From a purely practical perspective, you are very relieved that you're getting help, because your small kit is all right, but you have a long habit of packing light, you're actually not very practiced at patching up wounds with actual medical supplies, and you wouldn't be able to reach this as well anyway.

"Do you rescue every scalething-chewed troll that drops out of trees?" you ask.

 

"Scalebeast-chewed, yeah, trolls, not so much," you're a little distracted, but it's good to talk to someone after perigees alone. You find your pliers and extract the fangtip from the dented chitin without much in the way of ceremony. You gesture at your lusus with your free hand as you flush out the wound again and peer close to double check it doesn't need stitches. "Mom's a bit of a universal lusus - she's my colour, so she won't up and adopt any other wrigglers, but she brings me hurt beasts of all kinds all the time. Sometimes other lusuii, but you'd be the first troll motherfucker she up and made me come help."

It doesn't need stitching, so you spray on a layer of field antiseptic, and a layer of waterproof sealant on top of that. It's designed for seatrolls, and to naturally degrade as the wound heals, and after a moment you remember to tell her as such. You crack a bit of a smile. It's goofy, and makes your buck teeth stand out all the more."I know you ain't no fishtroll, same as me, but everything's gotta be motherfucking watertight out here in the swamp. Ain't no such thing as dry land here if you catch up on my drift."