#areios

“Alright big guy,” He says as he wipes his hands clean on a dish towel. “What’s eating at you so bad that our best and brightest can’t help you keep it together?”

Truthfully, his annoyance with Demuye and Thuein doesn’t last long. It is barely a fizzle before it dies out on its own, really. As the oldest of this portion of their inner circle, he’d been used to wrangling everyone in for some time now. A part of him thrives on it, if he had to be honest with himself.

Areios lets his shoulders slump forward, too prideful maybe to face his friends as he speaks. “Do you think he’s actually going to come?” He finally asks, after his own silence becomes too much for even him to stand.

Once again the three exchange looks that the behemoth can’t see. Demuye seems annoyed at the notion, indicated by him sucking his teeth, Thuein only frowns, and Lopard lets out a resigned sigh.

“I don’t think he’d lie about something like that.”

Areios inhales sharply and exhales in a way that suggests he wishes, right now at least, that he was smaller than he is.

“What if he gets here and realizes he hates me as much as--”

“Ah,” Lopard interjects, holding up a hand that the other party cannot see but heeds regardless. “I’m not entertaining that sort of talk. He’s going to come and we’re going to have a great time. Just like we always do.”

The orange blood crosses the kitchen and pats Areios on the back.

“I’d beat his ass otherwise.” He offers and gets a laugh out of the purple blood.

“Imagine the emotional toll that’d take on you.”

“Smashing those guys is like second nature to me. Now get out before I put the pair of you to work.”

Demuye emphasizes Lopard’s point by slamming a pot onto the counter and Areios laughs again, putting up both hands, as he and Thuein leave the way they came.

Thuein mouths a ‘thank you’ to Lopard on the way out.

“We really don’t pay you enough.” Bemoans a more than humored Demuye, shaking his head, while Lopard returns to his post.

“Yeah, I’ll have to garnish it from somewhere.”

“If you touch my check, and I mean this so seriously, I’ll skin you.”

—

Later the hive is alive with chatter, the way it used to be when Areios housed most or all of the current guests in their respective times of need. The intoxicating bouquet of Lopard’s cooking carries from the kitchen to the large front room that most of the trolls occupied.

His chest swells with pride each time someone so much as compliments the smell of the goods. It is nice knowing that his hard work is appreciated, after all. Soon the smell will be overshadowed by someone else's, probably Achina’s, baking skills. But for now, the pride was all his.

Lopard plops, exhausted, on a couch between the host and a violet blooded sailor who the pair have not seen in countless sweeps, waving a three fingers hand around as he exposits what’d happened to him in those sweeps.

“It hasn’t been all that crazy,” Velrum concludes, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant manner that suggests he was merely describing a shopping trip and not a literal odyssey. “I was on the sea. That’s where I came from, so it wasn’t awful.” He lets his good fin flair for emphasis.

Lanaen, seated in a chair across from them, scoffs.

“Were your more stuck-up personality traits concussed out of you, then?”

“Quite possibly. And yours?”

“Oh, no. He’s still very much a dick.” Lopard chimes in before Lanaen can defend himself, and the four of them enjoy a good laugh at the fuchsia’s expense.

It has always been too long since the last time they gathered everyone together like this and the hive itself is practically a flutter with it’s own life.

Lopard chances a glance to a corner of the living room occupied by Zurven, of all people, signing away in a conversation with Isnons who appears to have turned off his hearing aid for the evening.

Each of the pair jumped at the chance when they heard that the other would definitely be in attendance, masterful trickery executed by Thuein and Achina, who were convinced neither would come otherwise.

From what he can make out from his bout of eavesdropping Isnons just wrote his first book and Zurven’s gotta get his hands on it.

He smiles to himself, satisfied that he would not have to field any angry partners  for a botched night out. He hardly notices when Velrum and Lanaen leave the room, absorbed in yet another conversation.

This one possibly about the former’s missing fingers.

“See, we’re having fun.” Lopard nudges a shoulder up against Areios as he speaks. “Regardless.”

“Yeah. It’s always nice having everyone back together. Makes the hive feel less lonely.”

“I think that’s called empty nest syndrome.”

“Look at me, your sad mama bird.”

Lopard only laughs and nudges him again.

Very suddenly, Holoth appears in their space, beaming despite the way sleepiness decorates her features.

“Does that mean I can call you mommy?” She inquires, brightly.

“Please don’t.”

“C’mon guys, I brought something you need to see.” She quickly pivots, seizing Areios by the arm and giving him a tug that actually pulls him to his feet.

Nonplussed, he follows her lead with Lopard bringing up the rear.

Holoth leads the two of them outside, away from the excitement of the hive and closer to the cliff that overlooks the sea. It does not take long for Lopard to recognize the form of a troll pacing back and forth at the end of it, but he is certain that Areios cannot make it out, what with his deteriorating eyesight and all.

He turns his surprise on Holoth who only winks back at him. Then she trudges forward with the giant in tow until he and the pacing figure stop short, staring at each other.

Briefly, Lopard thinks that it was very wise of her to not bring him inside for this reunion. He would never tell her the thought, lest everyone have to reckon with her ego for the foreseeable future.

She gives Areios a shove and he continues the rest of the way on his own, where he and the newcomer continue to stare at each other in stunned silence.

What must be running through their heads right now?

“Areios, I’m so sorry I--”

The full apology dies in the doctor’s throat when  Areios, unable to contain himself, wraps him up in his arms and crushes him into his chest.

Persep did not stay in the room to bask in the glory of having tamed his old friend, instead he stepped out to grab dinner as promised.

It was upsetting for him when he’d heard that he was making an effort to kick his cannibalistic tendencies. Inconvenient, really. Suddenly deciding that there are morals and ethics to take into account when looking for a meal.

What was he to do with morals and ethics? He would not just stand around and watch his muscle get all soft on him.

Not a chance in hell. Persep is a man of science after all.

And he’d never been quitter.

All of that to say, Areios was not expecting this meal to be anything other than some poor unsuspecting troll that meandered a little too close to the border of their shared forest. Even then, there was no way of guessing what Persep did end up coming back with.

When the door reopened Persep had a troll in tow by the hair and a grin on his face that was uncharacteristically giddy.

Areios watched the squirming troll wordlessly. The corners of his lips twitched when the scent of fresh blood washed over his senses.

“I keep my promises,” Persep explained as he shoved the blueblood within arms length of the starved behemoth. “I always do.”

Once again, Areios lunged and this time his prey had the misfortune of crumbling beneath him. He dragged them back to his corner before he could even get a good look at them.

Across the room Persep watched with morbid fascination.

Before he got the chance to bite into his meal a voice rang out above the clanging of his chains.

A very familiar voice, high pitched and frantic, as they thrashed uselessly in his grip.

“Areios! Wait. Please.”

The beast stopped, eyes wide as turned the troll to face him.

“Sarrca?” He managed to say, voice hoarse and dry from disuse. 

“Listen to me, I know you’re hungry. I know it. But you can’t let him win. He’ll hold it over your head for the rest of both of your lives.”

Having caught her moirails eyes, she ceased her twisting and turning to pet his arms. 

His stomach growled, ferociously, but the look on his face gave clear insight into the war between love and hunger that waged on violently within him.

“Areios, I –”

Before she could continue her pleading he snarled again, pushed her away, and retreated further into his corner.

“Areios –”

“Areios!”

This time she was cut off by Persep, with a voice louder than it’s ever been. Angrier than anyone expected. Impatience was never a good look on him.

The gazes of the pair followed the sound to make direct eye contact with the mortician just as his eyes lit up from his engaged voodoos.

Sarrca could only sit there, statue still with her mouth screwed shut, as her moirail crawled toward her on all fours.

Persep did not release his old on the two until the sound of flesh tearing and bones crunching, along with the heavy scent of blood, filled the air.

He was delighted to find that the sight unfolding in front of him, grisly affair that it was, did not stop when Areios was released from his control.

His grin only broadened.