Let Bayous Be Bayous - A Fantroll Adventure

"I'd, um, noticed." You wiggle your slightly squelchy shoes. Your ankle hurts less as you do so, and you let out a slow breath of relief. "I- thank you. For helping."

You're pretty sure you're supposed to say more things to that, but words are apparently hiding. You hesitantly pet the capybara's nose instead. Your mom chirps approvingly at your manners, but then her bar is set pretty low for you.

 

Your mom sends out a wave of approval, and bruxes happily at the touch. This troll is a good troll, she seems to think, and you chuff a bit of a laugh. You wiggle your own bare toes. "Better off to go without shoes, motherfucker. At least until you get out to the plains, yeah? Better for footing, and better for your wardroberfier in the long run."

At the thanks, you give her a bright grin. You're not used to being thanked for your crimes. "Aww, sister, it weren't no thing. We're all hatchmates by the Mother, ain't we? I ain't never seen no point in making a fuss on account of colour."

Which might be at odds of you wearing the paint and all, but a non-violent Mirthful is probably a relief for a midblood like her.

 

You nod and start untying your shoes one-handed, but at the following commentary, you pause, looking at her skeptically. She... couldn't be? No. She wouldn't have panicked seeing an adult if she were already part of the Philosophy, it's too well known that there are adult agents onplanet. So her everyone's-hatchmates attitude must just be... her own thing?

"That's a good way of looking at it," you say sort of hesitantly. "Still. Most trolls don't exactly go out of their way to help people."

 

"Motherfucker, you were in my way." you laugh, almost despite yourself. You're amused that she thinks otherwise. "Like I wrote I ain't one for coddling no pity-party to every motherfuck I meet, but mom's kinda raised me to upthink all critters as more or less equal. Don't mean I don't hate, don't mean I ain't mean some of the time, but when the lords send me a needing soul who am I to turn them out, you know?"

You stand up, brush off your still-damp ragged jeans, and go into the cabin for a moment. You return with a map projector of the bayou and surrounding scrubby jungle. "Now, if you can up and figure me whereabouts you wanna be outta this mud puddle, I can figure out whereabouts to take you."

((and on that note, I sleep :3))

 

You quirk a very faint smile. Apparently you have good luck, fate, and/or a capybara lusus to thank for the fact that you were rescued by the most Sufferist non-Sufferist you've ever met. You can work with that.

When she comes back with the map, you spend a long minute poring over it. It takes you a bit to get oriented to the landmass-shapes, but once you finally do, you point vauguely towards one side of the map. "I was heading this general direction. Thought coming through here would be a shortcut, but-" You shrug, a self-deprecating expression on your face. "I really should have known better."

 

"Sister, you ain't nowhere near the first motherfucking landgrubber what up and mistook this fine muddy madness for something solid," you laugh, but there's something grim to your emotions then. "You're well up and blessed that mom found you when she did - most lusii round here eat trolls what ain't their own wrigglers, you know? Never mind one so out of their depth."

You consider where she wants to get to, and point at an area as far southeast of the desired direction as you can just about get. "We're just-abouts 'round here, right now, and almost out of starshine, to boot. I can push the motor for the next hour or so, but narrowboats ain't made to go nowhere fast, so even if I really pump it, it could be a couple nights before we start seeing land what don't float and bleed water when you step on it."

"Maybe a little more than that, even, if I take pains to avoid trouble from more maritime neighbours, if you catch my drift." you add, and frown a little. Mostly other trolls round here ignore you, on account of you being uninclined to take issue over small things but uninclined to take shit, either. You're too highblooded to really be at the bottom of the pecking order just by hatchright, and you're not fishtroll enough to have much sway in the say of things.

And their typically ain't no-one lower than teal who lives about here, either. An oliveblood is automatically an Outsider, and cullbait for that. You tell your new friend as much, not to threaten but to warn. She ought to know why you might want her to keep her motherfucking head down at some parts of your trip.

 

You'd protest, and say that you've survived worse, that you lived hiveless in the badlands for two sweeps, that you're doing wildissident work like that because you're trusted to make it there and back in one piece through the worst Alternia has to offer, but...

Let's be honest, here. You were hivesick, and took an impulsive shortcut through a biome you didn't understand very well. You really could have ended up something's lunch.

So you just nod, and say thank you for her taking the trouble. "A couple of nights isn't even very long, not when my whole trip's been perigees. And I don't want to bring any extra trouble on you." A little bit of your pride comes back, and you reach out to where your mom is hopping and scritch her feathers. "I actually know a lot about hiding, that's fine."

 

You're a bit surprised at her acceptance of the facts, but relieved all the same. Maybe there's too many cocky bluebloods around here and you've just all forgotten what real midbloods are like. Not for the first time, or the last, you really miss Kholai. You hope he's alive somewhere and just got so pissed off at you he up and left and his lusus getting killed was some awful unconnected incident.

"Perigees, huh? You all up and got that wanderlust too, then." you grin, and stand up again to jump up on the roof of your hiveboat and walk along to the other end, where the tiller and engine are set up. Highblood-you can paddle with your long oarkind and get places by sitting amidships, but it ain't really what The Floundering Featherbeast is all up and designed for. "If you can balance well enough, come sit on the roof and make yourself motherfucking of use. How're you with butchering scalebeasts of any size?"

You figure she must have some experience with eating wildlife, if she's been on her walkabout for perigees.

 

"I like being outside." You follower her up and across as you talk. "And I'm pretty good at wilderness survival, when I don't take stupid shortcuts." Balance is actually kind of precarious for you, for a moment, but you eventually even yourself out and settle cross-legged by her. You tilt your head to one side as you consider butchering. "I've never even seen a scalebeast before today. But I've got practice on other things." Mostly smaller things.

Something is bothering you about this conversation, and you can't quite place it. You're pretty sure it's something Mintuu tried to teach you about manners and socialization. Something... um...

Oh. Duh.

"My name's Apkuri," you blurt. "What's yours?"

 

You're startled for a moment, because it hadn't occurred to you either, and your second thought is to wonder why an adult - even a friendly injured midblood - is so familiar as to be giving you their hatchname. "I'd be all up and called Vastar, may it please you ever so. I thought all trolls at your age had all picked a motherfucking fine-ass Title, and left their pupa names behind?"

It's said with genuine interest, not with scorn. And for that matter, since tact is one thing Mom never up and brung you to in any real way - "How old are you, anyways?"

You imagine her to be something ridiculous, like thirty sweeps or more, and you desperately want to ask how she dodged the drones on Ascension, but you figure that's more of a touchy subject even from where you're standing.

 

You are genuinely confounded by the idea that you might have a title. "I, um, no? Well, maybe normal trolls do that. I guess. With the-" You point up. "Space. Thing."

You're so articulate. Go you.

"Anyway," you say, somewhat desperate to attempt an actual sentence and dig your way out of your hole of embarrassment. "I'm only eleven, and haven't done anything worth earning a title. Also it is nice to meet you Vastar."

There. That was the social script you needed!

 

"Wow, you're only a couple sweeps older'n me, then." it comes out in a rush, at your relief that she's really not some ancient old madtroll wandering about from some kind of Before you can't even wrap your head round. You don't really notice how embarrassed she is in your own eagerness. "I'm nine, but I'll be going on ten in a few perigees."

And like as not start on your adult moult a couple of sweeps after that, if schoolfeeds are any indication for your caste. You finish making sure everything's all okay with the engine, and pull anchor, letting the hiveboat adrift for a moment or two. "Back up a moment, I'm gonna get the scalebeast out of my sylladex. There should be a coil of rope tied to a hook down on the starboard side there so we can up and tie this motherfucker in place and he won't slide off - uh, that'd be being your left, I think. Don't lean for it unless you think you're not gonna overbalance."

It's said neutrally enough, but you don't like her chances swimming with a bust shoulder, and you haven't had to haul anything with adult-troll density out of the water in sweeps. In reaction to your slight worry at this, mom disembarks with a plop of displaced water and does a couple of lazy laps of your hive.

 

You hear her voice being all calm and nonjudgemental, but you also feel the little pulse of worry broadcasting across the boat. Wrenmom looks up at Vastar with bright, curious, measuring eyes and chirps What's wrong? You don't comment - you just look carefully over the side indicated, trying to get a good measurement of whether or not you are at risk of falling back in the water if you stretch that far. Also trying not to feel suddenly, intensely hivesick. It's just... familiar, being around a troll who doesn't see "no point in making a fuss on account of colour," and who actually worries if you get injured or not.

"I actually might fall over if I try to reach that," you admit. "I'm sporadically clumsy even when I'm not injured."

 

You blink at her for a moment, dumbstruck. Now would have been the point where all the trolls you've ever met would have either sneered and called you a pathetic lusus-fucker who cared too much and spewed your care like a badly-written pale porno, or else snarled and got defensive like you thought they couldn't handle themselves and were all but motherfucking cullbait. Not just... rolled with it and admitted they couldn't do the thing you were stressing about.

(Kholai had dealt with your leakage by provoking you to hot, hard pitch feelings, blowing any care out of the water. You hated that boy so much, even after two sweeps his absence is worse than his presence had been.)

Then you manage to shut your gaping flap, and nod, unsure you can manage words when you're all but screaming your confusion and startlement anyway. You hop up on the taff rail and hook one long leg around the iron bar, planting your other foot on the rubber baffle that runs the length of your hive and reaching easily for the rope, which you toss up to Apkuri.

"H-here." you manage, after a moment, and pull the scalebeast out of your sylladex. You hold it up enough there's some space underneath. "If you could be so kind - uh, pass the rope under this motherfucker while I've got him like this, then I'll pass it back and we can tie it off."

You're pretty sure you've turned a nice shade of lavender right to the sorry attempts at earfins you sport, paint be all and damned to angels.

 

Okay. That's, um... loud? And now she's awfully purple. There's enough mixed up in what she's projecting that you can't even quite sort it out - you just blink, nod dumbly, and follow her instructions to help secure the scalebeast.

Once that's done, and you’re not trying to do motor skills while balanced on a rocking boat with injured limbs, you take a moment to devote brainpower to trying to figure out what just happened.

... nope.

You have no idea what just happened.

The words "I don't know what I said but I didn't mean to upset you" tumble out of your mouth before you literally clap a hand over it. Seriously, what is wrong with you, you must be way more hivesick than you thought to be getting all emotional with a stranger, even if she's the nicest stranger you've met and you weren’t expecting kindness out here...

At least you're both blushing now? Matching social cues is positive, right?

 

"Uh, you, uh.." welp, looks like you're both being super coherent right now. You're confused and embarrassed, alright, but it turns out even when people know exactly what you're feeling it don't make them psychic mindflayers. You swallow, grin a bit sheepishly. "I just never ain't run into no troll what didn't take my feels as insult, is all. Most motherfuckers wouldn't up and admit they couldn't do a thing on the friendly end of a culling fork. You didn't upset me, brosis, just startled. Is all kinds of motherfucking chill."

You guess it's close to a pale come-on, but then in your experience everything is a motherfucking pale come-on when you can't tamp down on your feels and leak 'em all over the place. You've read in schoolfeeds that it's possible to gain control over your kind of psi, but you ain't never had no help in the matter and since Mom considers your empathic projection a good thing she's no help in that field at all.

As though summoned by this thought, your lusus hauls herself back into the tiny area at the back of the boat and butts her slick-wet head under your arm. You scritch her neck, and calm a little further. You offer Apkuri a slightly stronger smile. "Sorry if I all up and set you, though. I ain't all used to friendly trolls these past couple sweeps."

 

"Oh." That's - you wouldn't've thought of that, and you explain as much: "If I was too proud to ask for help I would have died. Like, a long time ago." Not that it didn't take you a long time to find trolls you could trust to ask, of course, but that's a very long story, and blurting out your whole history is probably not the right move here. Especially since so much of it is, you know, super cullworthy.

Then she says that bit about not finding friendly trolls and something in your blood pusher is trying to kill you, you're pretty sure. You at least manage not to blurt out but you're so nice you deserve friends, but it's a close call. You shake your head instead. "No, no, it's... it's fine."

 

"Y'all must have a pretty knit clade, motherfucker." you can't help the thread of jealousy that creeps into your projections just then, but it's not an angry sort of envy, just sad and a little longing. She's probably got all her quadrants square and sorted there, too. Not for the first time, you feel Ascension looming like a stormfront, and shiver. You can't imagine being out there, exposed, in the stars where there ain't no real up and there ain't no real down, and nobody motherfucking cares if you scream.

After a moment looking at her, you cough and start up the engine on low to begin with, so as she can balance easier on the top. There's a low rail along the sides there, so she wouldn't tip all the way off if she fell unexpected like. "Alright, so if you're all up to gutting our scaly sister there - much the same as drawing a featherbeast, 'cept most bigger than most featherbeasts I know of. These guys tend to be in the low blue spectrum, and the skin's pretty good for curing if you've any knowing there. We'll up and keep the heart, liver and kidneys if we can, since they make great stew."

 

You're taken aback, for a moment, because you don't quite know how to describe your - your people, back at the safehive. You suppose you technically all count as clade, since Yeusha, Kieyid, and Aztala are deep in denial about how serendipitously ashen they are, and you and Mintuu have been matesprits for sweeps, and you and Yeusha have... something... pitchy... happening. But really, it comes down to you all knowing how to treat each other like people, with compassion being so much of a social norm it's almost easy to forget what the rest of the world can be like.

But while you're trying to figure that out, Vastar has moved on, and you try to focus on the business at hand. "I know featherbeasts. We - I helped keep a flock of cluckbeasts, at one hive. And I could probably figure out the skin."

 

"I ain't never had cluckbeast, I don't think," you say musingly, perching on the rail so you can see more easily past Apkuri and steer the tiller. A black bird about the size of a hen steps delicately from leaf to floating leaf as you pass, and you point. "We got them motherfuckers, though, and I'm told they taste a hella lot like cluckbeast. Scalebeast eggs are pretty good, too, especially if you get one with a pupa in it."

You grin at that, and you're aware it's a little ghoulish. Kholai hated it when you found a nest of eggs and took them for dinner - that was how you two had met, after all. Before you know it, there's a better subject than quadrants on your tongue. "You got a favourite food, sister?"

(urgh, wrong accounted. TWICE :p)