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All in all, Lanqueâs a whole lot calmer about the whole thing than you thought heâd be, which makes you feel better about going to him right away instead of Daraya. Of course you love Daraya, but knowing the kid sheâd probably run off to start a fight with Bronya, Lynera, and any other poor bastard who gets in her way.
âI want to believe Bronyaâs doing this because she thinks sheâs in the right, but I just canât⊠augh! I just⊠canât believe sheâd ask me to do something like that.â You conclude your messy rant by flopping down on the carpet. Thereâs a dull ache in your skull from either exhaustion or anxiety, possibly both.
Lanqueâs looking down at you from the loveseat in the corner like the universeâs most judgemental therapist, sprawled across the whole thing with his gangly self. âYou havenât known her nearly as long as I have. You heard me say once that sheâs the craziest bitch in the whole cloister. I meant it.â
You want to argue with him; Bronya isnât crazy, just a control freak, but thatâs gonna have to be a discussion for another time. âYouâre not surprised at all by this? Not even a little?â
âNot surprised. Just⊠disappointed.â
âWhat, does she make you to sleep at certain times and check your palmhusk, too?â you joke.
âNot anymore, she doesnât. She learned her lesson after I filled my whole camera roll with the spiciest nudes you can imagine.â
You try not to imagine anything of the sort and fail miserably. Your last brain cell hangs on for dear life. âSo, uh⊠w-what should I tell her the next time we go out?â
âTell her that Iâve been taking Daraya to a slam poetry club. Weâve actually done poetry in the past, so itâs not like youâll be lying,â he says with a smirk. âYou should come sometime. Talk to people about all sorts of controversial alien opinions. Maybe throw in some rhymes while youâre at it.â
âAlright,â you agree.
â... Darling?â
âYes, babe?â
âDonât breathe a word of this to Daraya. Sheâs stressed out enough as it is.â
âOf course not.â
âGood.â
:::
The next night you spend with Polypa, vandalizing stuff with the Heiressâs face on it and even setting a billboard on fire. Itâs a lot of fun, but between vandalizations you canât stop yourself from thinking about the girl herself. From what you can tell sheâd be around seventeen in human years, which meant sheâd soon have to challenge the Empress, as all the Heiresses before her did.
Some teenagers like to play video games, some like to sing or dance or do sports; you even know a few who live all by themselves on an island in the middle of the ocean who can shoot guns better than most military personnel. But not Trizza Tethis. No, sheâll be off to duel for the throne⊠and her life.
In your hearts of hearts you know that Tethis is a monster. Thereâs no doubt about it. But that doesnât change the fact that sheâs still just a kid, a kid who is going to be murdered soon for the crime of reaching adulthood.
It makes your heart hurt just thinking about that, and all of the other girls that came before her, and if this rebellion goes to shit all the girls who will come after her.
âHey, Polypa?â you ask.
âYeah?â Sheâs hanging upside-down on some broken piping while spraying THE REVOLUTION IS HERE on the side of a post office. Youâre being a good moirail and keeping watch for anybody who might see her, even though itâs dark out and you canât see much past the street lights lining the sidewalk. For some reason she refuses to tell you, sheâs been in a mood ever since she came back from Tegiriâs, but youâre patient. You can wait for her.
âDo you ever wonder if Trizza might have been a good person if Alternia wasnât the way it is?â
Polypa stops what sheâs doing and stares down at you. âHonestly? I donât really care how she might have turned out if things were different. All the things Iâve seen her do, the shit Iâve heard her say on social media⊠I just canât bring myself to believe anything other than sheâs one of the most horrible Heiresses Alterniaâs ever had and that she deserves to die. Slowly and painfully, that is. And then she deserves to be forgotten.â
âThatâs fair,â you tell her. âI dunno, I just kept thinking about how sheâs supposed to go off and duel the Empress soon, and that sheâs definitely not gonna win, because none of the fuschias who went up against her ever did.â
â... Does that make you sad?â
âIt makes me sad that a kid is going to die, yes.â
She huffs. âSave your sympathy. She doesnât deserve it.â
âCan trolls control who they sympathize with?â
âOf course we can. Canât humans?â
You laugh. âNo. Or at least I canât. Empathyâs a blessing and a curse.â
Polypa chucks her spray-paint can into the nearby dumpster. âEmpathy? Isnât that like, feeling what other people are feeling? I thought that was just a myth.â
âSome humans can feel the emotions of others. Iâve always been able to.â
âThat sucks.â
âAgain, itâs a blessing and a curse.â
Polypa shudders, flips upright, and then drops down to the concrete. âIf you say so. Câmon, letâs scram.â
You scram, or at least you try to before somebody bumps into you hard enough to nearly knock you over.
âWatch it!â Polypa hisses from somewhere behind you.
You look up at a boft looking (buff plus soft) rustblood guy, who flinches back when he accidentally looks you in the eye. âSorry! Sorry. Bye.â
He shuffles off down the street, shoulders hunched in like heâs trying to make himself as small as possible even though heâs easily the biggest rust youâve ever seen. Huh.
âWell, that was weird,â you say, and then you feel something crinkle in the hood of your jacket. Cautiously, you reach up and grab it, hoping that he didnât just put a bomb on you or something. You arenât that worried about dying, because you know your immortal ass is coming right on back, but if Polypaâs in the blast zone--
âItâs a piece of paper,â she says.
âOh, yay. I thought it might be a bomb.â
âDefinitely not a bomb.â
The paperâs been folded several times, so you smooth it out and read the letters that have been cut out and glued out in a note, like some kind of Nancy Drew shit.
âWhat theâŠâ You read the message, and then you read it again, once, twice, thrice, four times before Polypa starts swatting at you and grabbing for the paper. You hand it over and stare out across the street.
You are not alone. Tomorrow at midnight.
âIâm texting the others,â Polypa mutters, shoving the paper into her pocket and whipping out her palmhusk.
âThereâs more of us,â you whisper. âThatâs what it means, right? Weâre not the only faction out there fighting for-!â
âI donât know, I donât know, letâs not believe anything that some stranger wrote down on a piece of paper and shoved into your hoodie--â
âBut he came to me, Polypa--â
âHey!â
Both of you turn around to see some cerulean girl you donât know storming across the street to you. âThe fuck you think you gutterbloods are doing, huh?â
âThe revolution is here, bitch,â you tell her, and you grab Polypaâs sleeve and zap away.
Polypa does not hesitate to smack you upside the head the second you two appear on the roof of some building downtown. âThe hell was that? She just saw an alien and an oliveblood teleport out of an alley with fresh graffiti on the post office!â
âWhoâs gonna believe her?â you snort.
âSheâs a cerulean, sheâll make somebody believe her.â
âDude. Chill. We still have time before things get crazy.â
âApparently not! Tomorrow at midnight--â
âI know! Isnât it great? What if itâs like, a big post on Chittr, or a public service announcement from God knows where saying that itâs time for bigots to start shitting their pants, because the revolution is here and it is sexy!â
âAugh!â Polypa throws up her hands. You start to get a little concerned. âArenât you scared? Like, at all? We could all die tomorrow and youâre just⊠totally fine! You disappear for half a sweep and come back ready to lead a revolution!â
Alright, itâs time to bring out the big guns. Slowly, so she has time to pull away if she wants, you step forward and reach up to caress her cheek.
The effect is instantaneous. She visibly loosens up from horns to toes, leaning forward into the contact with a low chirrup rising up from deep in her throat. If you were a troll, that sound would have probably made you pale-horny to the max, but youâre human so all you do is just stand up on your tippy-toes to press your foreheads together. You imagine pulling away all of her fear and stress and releasing it into the open sky, never to be seen again.
âWeâre not going to die,â you tell her. âWeâre just not. And if we were, Iâd tell you, because dying isnât that bad. Doesnât even hurt, really.â
â... Youâve been dead before?â
âYeah. Feels like the best fucking nap youâve ever taken.â
She snorts hard enough for you to feel her breath across your face. âOnly you would say something like that and be completely unbothered.â
âThatâs just how it be sometimes,â you say, because joking about your trauma and having anxiety are basically your only two personality traits nowadays.
âIâll write that down for the pile,â she says, because sheâs always been able to see right through you, even when you canât see yourself. âWhich weâre going back to an abandoned apartment building to do once I yeet this glass bottle into that window over there.â
She picks up the broken glass bottle at your feet and proceeds to do just that. It sails through the air with all the majesty of an eagle and crashes through somebodyâs office window. You know enough about troll romance by now to be a little scandalized by how forward sheâs being, but you both know itâs out of necessity. Troll language is far from just verbal-- itâs flattened ears or bared fangs or dilated pupils. Itâs hissing and chirping and growling and all sorts of sounds you donât even know the names for, and you canât even hear most of them because theyâre either too low or too high a pitch for your human ears to catch.
âHot damn, wildcat. You gonna take me out to dinner before you throw me down on somebodyâs abandoned loungeplank?â you tease. Her face lights up in green, and you grin in satisfaction as she splutters something about saving it for the respiteblock.
Youâre about to cook up something truly slutty to say when her palmhusk vibrates. Polypa reads it and snorts. âAaaannnddd Daraya is losing her mind, Tagora says itâs a trap, Tyzias wants to know what the rustblood looked like, Stelsa is in agreement with Tagora, Lanque is asking how the hell it could be a trap when the rustblood didnât even ask you to meet him anywhere, and Mallek is telling everybody to shut up so he can take a nap. Konyyl and Azdaja havenât responded yet. I bet theyâre making out in a back alley somewhere. Oh, Tagora is telling Lanque to shut his Troll Twilight-looking ass up before he fines him for wasting the rebellionâs time⊠and Tyzias just sent a bunch of hysterical laughing emojis.â
âI love my friends,â you say.
âYou sound like youâre trying to convince yourself.â
âIâm gonna get Mallek to hack the server so whenever people start arguing over stupid stuff a bot starts spamming the chat with gifs of fighting purrbeasts.â
âDo group chats have servers?â
âI have no idea. Come on, Iâm fucking freezing up here.â
:::
Your memories of growing up on Earth are fuzzy at best. You have no idea if itâs from Scratch, or Ultimate Dirk, or hell, maybe itâs just regular old brain damage, but one of the few things you can vividly remember is when your grandma died.
You canât remember her name, but you can easily recall her eternally-smiling face, that smile that always reached her eyes-- hazel, like yours. Sheâs the one who taught you how to braid your hair, wing your eyeliner, ask out a crush. She also taught you how to take down a grown man with nothing but your fists and a pocketknife. Old age hadnât ever been a problem for your grandma. Or at least, thatâs what it felt like.
The morning your uncle found in her lifeless in bed hadnât felt any different than all of the mornings before. You just woke up and started to get ready for school, and then your mom⊠yeah, it was your mom who picked up the phone. She didnât cry, but your uncle did.
It was a heart attack.
Your mom told you that you didnât have to go to school, but you were still pretty young, and it still felt like every other morning before so you went to school.
Youâre not sure why youâre remembering this when you first smell the smoke, or see the burning buildings from the roof of the abandoned apartment building you and Polypa crashed in. Maybe itâs because it still feels like every other night before this one.
Something deep in you thatâs been irreversibly interwoven with time and space begins to tingle. This is a turning point in history, you just know it.
Polypaâs shaking her head like she canât believe what sheâs seeing. âItâs a riot. A riot. In Thrashthrust. We really arenâtâŠâ
âAlone,â you finish with a smile so big it hurts your face.
â... Do you think this is really the right thing to do?â
âA wise man from my planet once said that riots are the language of the unheard.â You turn to her and take her hands in your own. âSo letâs make them hear us.â
Youâre not sure what you were expecting when you drop yourself and Polypa into downtown Thrashthrust, but you definitely werenât expecting to almost get run over by Konyyl and Azdaja, both panting, sweaty, and smelling faintly of smoke.
Konyyl yelps and jumps about a foot in the air. âWHAT the-- oh, hi, guys. You didnât scare me, I just⊠yeah.â
âDude, what is all this? This is incredible!â you crow.
An explosion rocks the ground, followed by a giant plume of fire that shoots up into the sky just one street over. Azdaja whoops in delight, and Konyyl cheers even louder as a piece of flaming metal you think used to be a scuttlebuggy sails through the air and takes out a convenience store. Normally, something like that would have worried you, but seeing as the storeâs already nearly burnt to the ground you think everybodyâs already gotten out.
Not to be outdone, Azdaja telekinetically grabs on to a fallen lamppost and hurls that bad boy through the grocery store across the street.
âShow-off,â Konyyl scoffs.
âWhereâs the main protest?â you ask.
âLike, a couple of blocks back that way. Some bronzeblood is leading the charge. Absolute mad lad,â she says, grinning. âI think a few more people you know might be there.â
Thatâs all the convincing you need to grab Polypaâs hand and take off running. You can hear the roar of a crowd chanting something.
âWhat are they saying?â you ask Polypa.
âBe silent no longer, when weâre together, weâre stronger,â she replied, glancing back at you with a twinkle in her eye. âI kinda like it.â
âMe too!â
The both of you turn the corner at the end of Hookedclaw street and find yourself face-to-face with a sizable crowd of about one hundred trolls. Theyâre all looking up to a pair of trolls standing on an upturned scuttlebuggy-- a bronzeblood, like Konyyl said, and the same big rustblood guy who you ran into last night.
You gape in shock. âHoly shit!â
The bronzeblood boy is yelling something, so you press closer into the crowd to hear what heâs saying. Most of the trolls here seem to be lowbloods, so when they see you and Polypa, an oliveblood, they gladly make room for you to join.
â... for what? A social construction that keeps us divided, because those who sit on thrones marked with the blood of our people know how strong we are together! They know that weâd be able to take control of our own destinies, and that terrifies them!â He pauses to take a short breath. âFor fuckâs sake, I just want a world where I can walk down the street without worrying about getting killed! Is the bar really that damn low? Think about that, all of you!â
Another wave of cheering echoes through the streets, and you join in without hesitation.
âHeâs got balls, all right,â you agree. âThat rustblood guy look familiar to you?â
She ribs you. âYeah, yeah, you were right. I admit it.â
You turn your attention back to the boys, but theyâre looking over the heads of the protestors at something behind you. A soft wave of hisses rise into the air as you turn to see a trio of purples stalking towards everybody, clubs dragging behind them with the awful scrape of steel against concrete. Theyâre twice the size of Polypa, except the giant fucker in the middle, who you think might be just a little bit shorter than Chahut.
âThatâs a pretty sermon there, bronze brother,â he calls with a voice that crackles like burning wood. âPretty for a load of treasonous fuckinâ shit.â
âCanât be shittier than whatever theyâre cooking up in that drug-hole church of yours,â the bronzeblood fires back with a smirk.
Even the rustblood standing next to him sucks in a sharp breath as the clown regards him with no trace of emotion. Polypa grabs your hand, and you squeeze it tight.
âYouâve got a big-ass mouth for a critter the size of my motherfuckinâ left toe,â the clown on the big guyâs right says.
âAnd youâve got a big-ass forehead for a bastard with such a tiny skull.â
Somebody lets out a loud snort. It might have been you.
The feeble tendrils of bravery holding everybody together begin to unravel as the purplebloods begin to approach once more. You instinctively back up and pull your jacket hood over your head.
âGet ready,â Polypa growls.
But before the clowns have the chance to attack or use their chucklevoodoos, or before the lowbloods gather their courage enough to storm the intruders, a deafening CRACK splits the air like a thunderclap.
The clown to the far left drops like a rock, and standing over him, bat raised, is Elwurd.
Sheâs wearing a mask to conceal her face, of course, but youâd recognize that crest of blue hair anywhere. Beside her is Remele with her oversized mallet-club thing, and bringing up the rear with shining dual blades is none other than Ardata Carmia.
âAm I fucking dreaming,â you ask nobody in particular, and then all hell breaks loose.
The cerulean girls lunge for the two purplebloods that are still on their feet. The bronzeblood screams for everybody to scatter just as drones begin to swoop down from the sky, opening fire on the trolls below. Half a dozen kids drop dead on the spot.
You and Polypa duck into the nearest alleyway just in time before bullet holes pepper the pavement. Behind you, Elwurd roars something that sounds like âDuck!â before another explosion blows out all the windows. You yelp and cover your head as glass showers down on you like rainfall.
âZap us out of here!â Polypa yells.
âNo, wait! We have to go help the girls!â
âIâm not going back out there and neither are you!â
You glance back just in time to see Ardata drop to her knees, holding her bloody arm. Sheâs shrieking in terror as a drone advances on her, culling fork glinting bone-white in the darkness. Remele and Elwurd are too busy getting their asses kicked by the last living clown to help.
In that moment you canât remember her as the bloodthirsty murderer who tortured you in her basement. All you can think of is the time she broke down in your arms, overcome with guilt at the monster sheâd become in the name of being accepted by highblood society. A monster whoâd traumatized you, and then became your friend.
Youâre moving through space and time before your brain can catch up to what youâre doing. Ardata is cold and hard when you tackle her out of the way of the drone. The two of you tumble across the street together as the culling fork hits the spot where Ardata just was with a SHUNK. Even with adrenaline racing through your system the sound chills you to the core.
Remembering what Dirk taught you about hand-to-hand combat with a larger opponent, you grab one of her knives and zap right over to the clown, getting right up in his business before burying the blade into an eye socket.
Unsurprisingly, he drops a squirming Remele and covers his face with a scream so horrible you almost pee your pants. Ardataâs wailing your name from the sidewalk like a terrified child. You want to yell at her to shut up and run before the drones spotted her again, but you never get the chance. One moment youâre twisting a knife into a purplebloodâs skull, the next youâre flying through the air like a ragdoll before a pair of strong arms wrap around you. You and your rescuer land hard on the street with matching grunts of pain.
You look up into Elwurdâs bewildered face and burst out laughing. âHi!â
âWhat the--â
âTime to go!â Remele yanks the both of you up by your scruffs like a pair of naughty cats. âArdata, stop screaming like a wiggler and get your arse over here now!â
âMy arm!â Ardata screeches. âIâll be scarred for life!â
âNo, you wonât, idiot, not when you hit your adult molt-!â
You zap the three of them out of there and into the alley, grab Polypa on your way, and then get the hell out of dodge.
The five of you end up in the back of a Troll Dennys, because of course you do. Polypa falls on you, knocking you to the ground, and then she yowls in anger when Elwurd lands on her legs, only for Ardata and Remele to hit the concrete ass-first. Remele accidentally kicks you in the stomach. Ardata falls back against a dumpster and hits her head on the metal with a BANG.
Everybody stares at each other for a long moment with varying degrees and expressions of utter shock. Polypa glares at you, and you just know youâre in for a long discussion about putting your own safety first in dangerous situations, or something like that.
You decide to break the ice first. âAnybody want pancakes?â
Images I created to use to update on some things. Also, here giving you another hint on how the two type of trickers are supposed to look like, but they differ depending on what chromatoon type they are..
Guys Iâve been gone for a long time. Iâm finally getting back into the fandom and watching episodes again (Iâve forgotten so many good scenes, just *chefs kiss*)
Is the Classic Who fandom still active? Are we still making jokes about nimons and ceruleans and the mind probe and 70s porn Colin and creeper!Eight and all that jazz? Are there new memes that Iâve missed? Are the Second and Sixth Doctor stans still the craziest ones?
Please let me know!! Iâve missed interacting with you all :) <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming