Welcome to the Burrow

Booze is the magic word to make you move and stop making her nervous. You head right for the kitchen with a smile. “Don’t mind if I fuckin’ do…”

You crack open a bottle and grab a chair at the kitchen table. Looking at her with curious side-eye.

“You ask a lot of random stuff, did you know?” You take a swig of booze and stare at the ceiling a moment. “Fuck it, alright…” you start counting off answers on your fingers “Rare steak, hard liquor, that weird muddled color when a bruise is half healed… pretty much anything with gratuitous explosions or horror… alt rock, don’t really have a favorite song… and don’t read for pleasure.” you finish the list and shrug, skipping over the paint question for now.

“By the way… I’m startin’ to lose count of the times you call me hot.. you sure it’s your `couch you want me crashin’ on?” You smirk.

His oh so curious side eye makes you pause as you set his plate down in front of him, raising your brow back as to question him in return. Thank the Messiah’s he took the offer of booze and snagged a bottle of it as he sat down at the table.

“What? Ahm ah nice gal but ah gotta least know some shit bout’cha. Level one friendship an’ trust” You say that like you can’t handle yourself at all, Lulu, but you’d think he’d know better than try and harm you at this point. “Sides this isn’t a vidya game ahm nah gonna be able tah get yer tragic backstory by cheatin’ the approval system wit’ booze.”

As he ticks the questions off, the timer dings, and you go about pulling it out, setting the hot ceramic dish in the center of the table, noting his lack of answering the paint question. Seems that was a no-go question. 

“To answer tha same questions so yer on tha same level of knowledge: Key lime pie, lemon-lime soda, green, gold and especially purple, same fer movies here, prefer horror though. Dubstep, techno, alt-rock and metal for music, favorite song is “Freak like me” and favorite book is probably the one ahm readin’ right now on bio-chemical warfare. S’ah good read.”

However you pause as you go to serve the pair of you, when he makes that smart ass comment about your flirting. You normally wouldn’t be against bedding a stranger of his colour, especially considering he seemed alright with your mutations but since he asked you oh so bluntly, you decided it was time to yank his bulge and not in the fun way. Operation: fuck with the hive guest.

Putting the the serving spoon down, you move over, your hand sliding out under his chin, a nail dragging up his jawline with the confidence of some one who’s done this before, before you lean down, your mouth hovering at his ear, words taking on a husky tone, something sultry, and oh so alluring to the senses.

“You can come crash in my bed wit’ me…” And with that you make as if you’re going to kiss him, lips hovering a nary inch away from his, before you pull away, leaving him hanging. “But that’s not gonna happen today unless you ditch the paint or tell me what it means, Dio.”

And with that, you grab the serving spoon up once again, and plop a healthy amount of mac and cheese down on his plate, and then your own, before you take your seat, humming in such a whimsical manner.

“Hot as yah are, an’ as quick as ah’d jump yer bones normally, yer nah one day lay material, babe. Nah tha’ ahm insinuating yer lackin’ or anythin’ jus ah’d rightly like tah get tah know yah a wee bit better before ah let’cha shove yer bulge in my mouth. Friends before tha benefits and all that.”

After a moment you remember there’s food on the table and also realize it smells good. You pick idly at the food. Cutlery? Cutlery is for suckers.

But you will motherfucking god DAMNED if you let a good play at teasing throw you off your game without retaliation. Sure, she was being a helpful gracious host beyond anything you’d expect. Sure, she was feeding you the first meal you hadn’t eaten out of a package in a ridiculous amount of time. But you were Diomed Scelus and bitches don’t talk shit.

You bolt upright as you spot the lusus. 

“Uh! Hi, hello the, there! I, I, I try not to, to be a dan, danger!”

At least you think you do? 

You put your hands up in a calming gesture.

“There is no need to fear Quailmother. She is simply very cautious of... well... everyone.”

The featherbeast stands just past her charges waist. She makes her way carefully across the room to stare at this other troll, tipping her head sharply sideways and blinking.

type alignment chart: pencil case edition.

“Oh.” 

You find a corner and curl up in it, keeping aware of the stranger’s position even if your eyes aren’t directly on them. 

“Thank, thank you.” 

“You are welcome.” 

You quietly sit against an opposite wall and fidget with a small puzzle toy. There’s a strange curious squawking sound as your lusus wanders into the area and eyes the newcomer.

You weigh what you can observe quickly in your head... hemoanon, apologetic, stammer... okay. Danger level low.

“It is indeed abandoned. That is why I am sheltering here. You do not have to go back into the weather... It is truly miserable outside.”

You like to think that you’re the sort of troll that knows what kind of impression they want to give off to other people, but the reality of your curiosity is always so good at undoing you! Curiosity killed the meowbeast they say…

But, you figure, satisfaction brought it back, didn’t it?

At least that’s what you tell yourself for why you’ve found your way into what is perhaps one of the shadier alleys you’ve been in recently (literally and figuratively), and in front of a rather festively-decorated stand advertising designer drugs.

Teal and lime-green feathers! You have to admire that kind of dedication, even if they’re not precisely your colors. You might ask the proprietor of this undoubtedly respectful business what she uses to get her hair that color, though. 

“So, ah,” you start carefully, “I can tell you’re dedicated to your aesthetic, darling - and, really, what an aesthetic. I’m not usually jealous of others’ horns, but I’m afraid you’ve managed to make an exception out of that claim! Still - I’m not entirely unfamiliar with, ah… ‘drugs,’ dear,” Much to your chagrin despite the facetious way you’re referring to her choice of advertisements, though you’ll maintain that you have a pretty decent handle on your drug of choice at the moment, and that there’s a difference between using and abusing.

“-But what in the world does designer mean?” you finish your question. “Because I’m fairly certain I can get brand-name trollbuprofen in the average pharmercy, no?”

If those pits you call eyes could be said to ‘light up’ with happy excitement, then they’re doing it now. You sit forward and smile even wider than you already were.

“Why of course you could, my friend... but what a piddling solution for pain, hm? Mainstream medicine lacks... creativity. Why simply dull a discomfort or reduce inflammation when you could do so. Much. More?” You note the cane, note that the first pill they mentioned was a painkiller. A gesture and a thought makes a tendril of shadow pass you two small glass jars. One full of icey-blue capsules, the other a vibrant magenta liquid.

“Got’cha, won’t prod an’ poke to much then.Jus’ ask tha basics fer now.” You wave your hand a bit as you say that. You talked with your hands a lot and it showed. Brushing your mohawk back you give him a raised eyebrow look as he talks about his job. Of course he’s a hired goon.

“Scary, but fittin’. Couldn’t picture yah wit’ any other kinda job. Like a barista or some shit. You’d sooner throw a scaldin’ cuppa in some one’s face methinks.” Pausing you flash him a smile. “Though gettin’ yer face beat in by you is the same damn thing, gettin’ hurt by somethin’ hot.”

What was it with you and the casual flirting with danger? But shrugging a little bit, you meander about, unable to sit still, pausing to look at him standing there like an idiot. It put you on edge. You were one twitchy and fidgety troll, and he’d see by the fact you just…did not fucking sit STILL! Even when standing you were tapping a foot or idly cracking your knuckles.

“Yah can wander or look ‘round, or whatever.” Point to the door at the back of the living room.  “My room, and the door thats in there is tha wash-room, or come chill in tha’ kitchen while ah play hivekeeper. Got booze an’ soda if yer interested in either.”

With that, you disappear back into the kitchen, grabbing out the plates and other needed utensils for getting dinner around, pausing to flip the radio on and playing some music on low. You take a moment to sing along, before pausing and looking at your hive guest.

“Aight so basic bullshit cuz everyone asks these questions: Favorite food an drink, colour, movie, music genre and song, and uuuhh, dunno, favorite book?” What? You were asking to ask, getting to know some one was tedious so you were starting at the basics. You pause, and ramblingly tack on the following:

“An does yer paint mean anything special? When ah was ‘part ah tha fold mah paint was…yanno what ah’ll show yah after dinner or sumthin’ if’n yer curious.”

Booze is the magic word to make you move and stop making her nervous. You head right for the kitchen with a smile. “Don’t mind if I fuckin’ do...”

You crack open a bottle and grab a chair at the kitchen table. Looking at her with curious side-eye.

“You ask a lot of random stuff, did you know?” You take a swig of booze and stare at the ceiling a moment. “Fuck it, alright...” you start counting off answers on your fingers “Rare steak, hard liquor, that weird muddled color when a bruise is half healed... pretty much anything with gratuitous explosions or horror... alt rock, don’t really have a favorite song... and don’t read for pleasure.” you finish the list and shrug, skipping over the paint question for now.

Heck yeah heck yeah! This height-deprived ball of rage now belongs to the lovely @trollsjam! Enjoy my friend!