Instead of commenting on anything useful, like âwhat do I do with this dead animal?â or âI need medical attention,â you mutter âWhyâm I being called sir?â under your breath. What a stupid question. Being called sir is just part of the territory of your caste. You reassure yourself somewhat that, hey, since you hired him, heâd be calling you sir regardless. Youâre speaking to the ground, anyway, itâs not like he heard you.
You cough sharply and straighten your posture. âMost of it, I believe,â you say at a normal volume. Probably. Itâs probably not all yours.
Throughout the incident, Sharkdad has been AWOL, and itâs only now that itâs safe that your lusus shows up. Teylir once described him as a disturbingly long raisin with teeth. You donât find the description inaccurate. He splashes and breaks the surface some to get your attention.
Mister Almass grumbles under his breath, and your shoulders sink as the triump drains out of you.
âS-sorry, s- er, that is - Iâm sorry,â you backpedal, âI didnât mean to - offend you, if thereâs another, um - another form of address you prefer, I mean-â
Is he not a âsirâ? Somehow the thought hadnât occurred to you, which, considering your interactions with Tink, is shameful. You should know better, and now thereâs a chance youâve gone and offended.
Youâre still rather distracted by the impressive amounts of blood on your companionâs⌠everything, really, and youâre about to ask if he needs medical attention when the nearby waters churn and you jerk, surprised.
Another sea monster - you didnât realize these things traveled in packs, or maybe even mated pairs. Before itâs even quite broken the surface of the water, youâre taken aim, and the moment you see lusus-white, you fire.
Oops. âThereâs- thereâs no offense, you have my gender correct, Iâm just- ah.â You scratch the back of your neck. âAwkward,â you mutter.
Heâs staring at you. Is it because youâre the worst at being a highblood, or is it all the blood? You donât know, but you arenât making a whole lotta eye contact. Whereâs a good hole in the floor to drop into when you need it? Possibly because you arenât watching his eyes, you donât see the way he trains them on your lusus before he lifts the muzzle of your rifle to take aim.
âNO!â
You dive towards Izzy. Youâre not aiming for anything but to shove the gun away. You wind up tackling him, but thereâs not time to apologize. He still shot, and you immediately pop back up to a sitting position. âDad?â Your voice cracks. âDad!â You shove away from Izzy and take off for the water.
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A bizarre looking shark with rows of needle-sharp teeth and an eel-like body was caught by a fisherman in Australia. The odd creature is a rare type of shark known as a frilled shark, and is sometimes called a fish âfossilâ because its roots can be traced back 80 million years. (Source)
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(some old-ass drabble i forgot 2 post. look at these losers in hate-love.)
ALMASS:
 Almass is lounging at an outdoor table, menu in hand and coffee on the
 table. The chair across from him is empty.
 He's dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. The circles under his eyes are
 somewhat darker than usual.
RONAWN:
 Seolfr arrives at the cafe about ten minutes late, mostly to annoy
 Almass.
 "Do you always have to choose to eat outdoors in the wrong way?"
 Seolfr's mock uniform style is probably a little warm in this weather,
 and he's looking around with mock disdain. He places the heavy uniform
 coat on the back of the chair and sits down. "You look terrible
 Almass."
ALMASS:
 "How gratifying to hear. You look a little over-warm yourself." He
 looks up from the menu with a cheeky expression. "Perhaps the heat has
 you feeling sluggish?"
RONAWN:
 Seolfr removes his hat in such a way as to block Almass' menu for a
 moment before absconding with it for himself. "Is there anything
 edible, or should we just call for a mediculler to start feeding you
 stimulants intravenously?"
ALMASS:
 Almass' fingers close on nothing and he glares. "I have it handled."
 He sips his coffee primly, even flutters his fins. "Do you still eat
 real food, or are you training yourself to live on rations?" He
 pauses. "Have you not reached the lesson 'if you aren't fifteen
 minutes early, you're late?' Or did a few of the words get mixed up in
 your pan?"
RONAWN:
 "If one arrives when one is expected, how is one to retain the element
 of surprise?" Seolfr kicks Almass in the shins under the table.
ALMASS:
 "Nn." He grunts, despite his best efforts. "I imagine by being
 honestly unpredictable."
 He picks up his coffee and makes an attempt to tip Seolfr's chair with
 his foot.
RONAWN:
 Seolfr stomps on the foot, and has to grab the table to keep his chair
 from tipping back.
ALMASS:
 The stupid look on Ronawn's face is absolutely worth any new pain in
 his foot. It was off the ground anyway, he was saved most of the
 damage. A drip of coffee falls on his jeans though. Sadness. His aims
 a kick at Seolfr's shins, but not hard and as more of an afterthought.
 It's a diplomacy kick. "Anything new, then, to report?"
RONAWN:
 He's doing the smug thing again. Seolfr /hates/ the smug thing. But
 it's a public place, it wouldn't do to start beating him senseless
 here. It would be inappropriate.
ALMASS:
 Skippy raises his eyebrows. "Ronawn?"
RONAWN:
 Seolfr glares at Almass."Is there staff here, or are we expected to
 catch and cook the food?"
ALMASS:
 "You have the menu," he responds. "If you can't wait for the server to
 come back around, the bay is a quarter mile that way." He pauses to
 sip his coffee. "Patience is a virtue," he murmurs.
 "You seem to be avoiding the question, though."
RONAWN:
 "I wasn't aware one's name was a question."
ALMASS:
 Oh my glub. "It's not, there was a question before that."
RONAWN:
 "It musn't have been very important then." Seolfr pulls the menu up
 practically hitting Almass in the face with it.
ALMASS:
 He sighs. "Ronawn, I do so enjoy our arguments, but can we not be
 civil?"
RONAWN:
 "I will be civil when you start behaving like someone worth being
 civil with Almass." The menu narrowly misses Almass' coffee.
ALMASS:
 "If you have a problem with my conduct, do share." He sounds flippant
 for being across from someone apparently restraining himself from
 violence.
 A few of the other patrons are nervous about the two seadwellers. A
 pair of warmerbloods, a blue and a teal, try to move to a new table
 without attracting attention.
RONAWN:
 "You dress like a lowblooded tramp, and spend far too much time on
 land."
ALMASS:
 He looks down at himself. "I had the impression my clothing was
 modest." Badum-tsshhh.
 "There is, of course, something to be said for learning about those
 you are supposed to lead, about not allowing yourself to be caught in
 an echo chamber. For instance, one that says military dress is proper
 attire for a casual lunch."
RONAWN:
 "Military dress is /always/ proper attire." Seolfr says smugly.
ALMASS:
 He stops himself a millisecond before declaring someone ought to tear
 the "proper attire" off his ponce body, then briefly considers tossing
 the rest of the coffee onto his shirt. This is, of course, an
 unacceptable course of action. Coffee is very important.
 "If you plan to spend your life in the exclusive company of other
 seadwellers, sure."
RONAWN:
 "I plan to spend my life in service to the Alternian empire, like any
 other troll. Military dress is something of a requirement Almass, one
 may as well be comfortable with it beforehand." Seolfr waves down a
 terrified looking olive waiter and makes his order in a perfunctory
 fashion. The waiter looks to Skippy hoping he can leave rather than
 needing to take another order.
ALMASS:
 Skippy gives his order with a slightly apologetic look and a quiet
 "thank you." He gives Seolfr a mildly disgusted look.
RONAWN:
 Seolfr fails to notice any disgust and continues on his tirade
 regarding the benefits of military dress.
ALMASS:
 He waits, fascinated, for Seolfr to take a breath. "It's a wonder why
 you're the only one I know perpetually in uniform. Tell me, have you
 attempted to convince _Teylir_ to change her wardrobe?"
RONAWN:
 Seolfr stops mid-thought, looks at Almass starts to say something and
 then promptly fails to do anything but grin.
ALMASS:
 He makes a sound that's half giggle and half sigh. "My gods, you're
 incorrigible."
ALMASS:
 "What do you find objectionable about her attire?"
RONAWN:
 "Oh yes, surely Roeshk wouldn't look at /all/ attractive in a junior
 officer's uniform." He grins even wider. "You know /exactly/ the ones
 I mean Almass." He makes a dismissive gesture. "Roeshk dresses in an
 aesthetically pleasing but highly impractical fashion." He rests his
 head on the back of one hand, pondering a moment. "The society gala is
 coming up for the start of the season, and I believe we're doing
 Classical Era." More grinning.
ALMASS:
 Almass is straight up facepalming (partially to hide his own
 grinning). "That's objectifying and I'm judging you accordingly." He
 looks up, thoughtful. "You don't think she'd look better in a
 commander's uniform?"
RONAWN:
 Seolfr ponders this a moment. "Almass the only difference between
 junior and senior officers is the length of the coat. It is exactly as
 objectifying." Seolfr gestures momentarily at his own outfit.
ALMASS:
 "Slightly less." His fin twitches.
ALMASS:
 He totally glances down at Seolfr's outfit.  He rolls his shoulders.
You hear Izzy fire a shot, followed by more furious goaty screaming. The next shot splatters your back with blood. It stings in your wounds, but you keep on until you skid to a stop next to Izzy. You ready your hammer as the monster approaches, though it turns out that he is more than capable of incapacitating it himself.
âNice. Very nice,â you pant. Your cheeks are flushed and your back is dripping with purple and violet blood. Your breath is back, almost, but youâve already resolved to do as little running in the future as possible.
Hollie seems to be hesitating now, though. Heâs looking at you, not shooting. You clear your throat (ow, ow, your back) and when you speak again, your voice is almost even. âItâs unattached, if thatâs what youâre con-â cough â-concerned about.â The seagoat screams again, though this time thereâs a hint of wet crackling in its breath. Itâs staggering towards you still, but slowly and off-balance. You shrug. âYou donât have to do it. Obviously.â By which you mean you think itâll bleed out soon anyway.
The monster hits the ground with an anticlimactic thump as Mister Almass reaches your side, and you lower his gun, hesitant - and then tip it back up as it writhes towards the two of you once more and he gives his permission, and fire one last shot into its head. It doesnât move again.
Mister Almass himself seems in nearly as much trouble as the beast, soaked in purple that you canât tell apart from his own hue and only just barely evening out his breath.
âTh-thank you,â you cede, ducking your head, âAre you alright, sir? How much of that is - is the monsterâs?â
Instead of commenting on anything useful, like âwhat do I do with this dead animal?â or 'I need medical attention,â you mutter âWhyâm I being called sir?â under your breath. What a stupid question. Being called sir is just part of the territory of your caste. You reassure yourself somewhat that, hey, since you hired him, he'd be calling you sir regardless. You're speaking to the ground, anyway, it's not like he heard you.
You cough sharply and straighten your posture. "Most of it, I believe," you say at a normal volume. Probably. It's probably not all yours.
Throughout the incident, Sharkdad has been AWOL, and it's only now that it's safe that your lusus shows up. Teylir once described him as a disturbingly long raisin with teeth. You don't find the description inaccurate. He splashes and breaks the surface some to get your attention.
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You want to shout back, but thereâs no way in hell youâll manage to get the air for it. You instead begin a loop back towards your hive, where youâre pretty sure you heard Izzyâs voice. Itâs a very wide loop because you donât trust your legs to carry you at an angle from the beast fast enough.
By the time youâre in sight of the wide clearing of your yard, the stitch in your side is back with a vengeance and you wanna barf. Anxiety flashes wildly though your head, of running out of stamina, of the bullet being useless against the beast, of Izzy missing, of Izzy missing and shooting you.
The beast has slowed some, possibly due to the injury to its tail. It doesnât lash anymore, and it screams when it tries. That should be nice for the trees not yet cracked and fallen.
During the majority of this endeavor, you havenât been especially frightened. Mister Almass had a plan, you followed it, and that was all there was to it. Now, facing down a rampaging sea goat heading directly for you, youâre -
Slightly perturbed, as Tink would put it if they were feeling more humorous than vindictive.
Mister Almassâs rifle is locked and loaded and not at all the sort of thing youâre used to shooting with. Youâre in slight doubt of your accuracy if youâre honest with yourself, but you donât actually have much of an alternative choice, so you skid to a stop the second you catch sight of Mister Almass, and take aim.
The first shot catches the monster in a haunch. It shrieks, but barely slows in its pained rage, and you swear under your breath as you backpedal a few steps before carefully taking aim once more.
You donât usually swear much, but you find itâs cathartic at this particular moment.
The second shot is more fortuitous, and purple blood sprays from the beastâs throat. You shoot it yet again (underbelly) and then one more time (throat again) before daring to lower the rifle for a moment, peering over at Mister Almass worriedly.
You hear Izzy fire a shot, followed by more furious goaty screaming. The next shot splatters your back with blood. It stings in your wounds, but you keep on until you skid to a stop next to Izzy. You ready your hammer as the monster approaches, though it turns out that he is more than capable of incapacitating it himself.
"Nice. Very nice," you pant. Your cheeks are flushed and your back is dripping with purple and violet blood. Your breath is back, almost, but you've already resolved to do as little running in the future as possible.
Hollie seems to be hesitating now, though. He's looking at you, not shooting. You clear your throat (ow, ow, your back) and when you speak again, your voice is almost even. "It's unattached, if that's what you're con-" cough "-concerned about." The seagoat screams again, though this time there's a hint of wet crackling in its breath. It's staggering towards you still, but slowly and off-balance. You shrug. "You don't have to do it. Obviously." By which you mean you think it'll bleed out soon anyway.
Mister Almass doesnât shout again after you turn in his direction, and you donât catch sight of him - you start looking for the rock outcropping again and nearly manage to convince yourself that you hallucinated or imagined him calling after you inbetween the raging of the sea monster behind you when he materializes from the foliage.
Youâve barely skidded to a stop when the sea goat roars, enraged. You donât catch sight of what he did, but the thing has turned to chase after him instead. You nearly go after it, alarmed, but - Mister Almass knows what heâs doing, and he told you to find the rocks. Youâre not used to working as a team anymore, especially not one as non-communicative as this, butâŚ
You hope to the Messiahs that youâre not making the wrong decision when you turn back to the way you were going and break for the outcropping at a dead sprint.
Clearly, miracles do exist, because there is both rifle and ammunition aplenty leaning there when you arrive. You check to ensure itâs loaded and ready before taking off back to where you can still hear the monster, praying once again - this time that youâre not too late.
âMister Almass!â you call, âMister Almass!â
You want to shout back, but thereâs no way in hell youâll manage to get the air for it. You instead begin a loop back towards your hive, where youâre pretty sure you heard Izzyâs voice. Itâs a very wide loop because you donât trust your legs to carry you at an angle from the beast fast enough.
By the time youâre in sight of the wide clearing of your yard, the stitch in your side is back with a vengeance and you wanna barf. Anxiety flashes wildly though your head, of running out of stamina, of the bullet being useless against the beast, of Izzy missing, of Izzy missing and shooting you.
The beast has slowed some, possibly due to the injury to its tail. It doesnât lash anymore, and it screams when it tries. That should be nice for the trees not yet cracked and fallen.
âGood enough,â he says, and something in your chest really shouldnât be releasing this much at the first sign of approval since you saw Mister Almass again. âYessir!â
Relief, and finally, finally resolve as Mister Almass tells you exactly what to do. He doesnât let the opportunity to duck away pass up, and then youâre left alone with the sea monster, which, for a sea monsters, is making awfully decent time traveling over land. Not quite so decent that you donât think you can outrun it, but depending on how long it can keep that pace up, you might not be able to outlast it.
Good thing you donât need to. You pause when Mister Almass leaves you, glancing back at the seagoat, and dart in the opposite direction from the one he went, leading it away. Youâll loop back around his property and then make it to - three boulders? Really? Thatâs suitably vague, but youâll figure it out soon enough, or else you wonât and then it wonât matter anyways.
Youâre nearly there when you hear a shout, and apparently the three boulders are entirely irrelevant. Youâre out of breath, but not dangerously so yet, and you turn to follow Mister Almassâs shout.
Aha, the boulders are NOT irrelevant because you lean the loaded rifle (with safety on) against the three boulders on the west end of your property. And then you follow the sound of rampaging seagoat.
When you catch sight of them, youâre a little too far ahead and you have to duck back behind a tree. Youâre relieved to have made it in time; Izzy looks winded. You pull out your good olâ trusty meteor hammer. You wait for the quick pats of Izzyâs footsteps to pass you, and after the crashing of hooves follows, you swing the weapon with all the force you can muster. It crunches sickeningly into the animalâs tail. You whistle at the creature and take off running away from Izzy.
Yo reminder that if u follow @paroxysmalsynthetic, @saxifragousbrocard, @anielsgrimoire, @silverclade, @aio6, @satinetirradient (which I canât link for some reason?) then y'all should follow this blog too! Art goes here, memes, other peopleâs trolls, etc!!
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Ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.
Brian Andreas, Story People: Selected Stories & Drawings of Brian Andreas (via suspend)
SB: -0 Something created solely to make trolls minding their own damn business feel terrible about their life choices.
SB: -0 It is a prism of judgement.
