#lineface

The problem with having a psionic as a kismesis, you quickly find out, is that the Empire controlled them for a reason. Sure, he’s kind a’ attractive in a sticking-out-y kind of way, and pailing someone in mid-air is nothing to complain about, but if he’s angry, legitimate angry, there is no fuckin’ winnin’ against him and he likes to hold it over your nub and laugh. Every so often you can toss a hurtful remark about how well you an’ Suf are doing and watch him spark, but using Suf as a blackrom chess piece feels dirty, an’ not in the good way.

You are, you realise with a sinking feeling, losing at this kismessitude. You are losin’ with the grace and aplomb that befits you, of course, but there’s a lot of shame in being raked through the mud and Psi is going to make you choke on it because none of you really get black romance. If this keeps up, you’re not going to be fit to be called his rival much longer.

--

“You’re overreacting!” Mindfang says, kicking her feet up on your table and tilting back in her chair. You’re tempted to dump her on her glutes just for old times’ sake, but she’s actually being of some help. “He’s such a wuss, Dualscar, reeeeeeeeally, I don’t see why you’re having problems with him.”

Sometimes you wonder why you still let Marquise Spinneret Mindfang into your hive.

“He’s a fuckin’ psionic, Spin, not a barkbeast.” You kick the back of her chair enough to make her flail and snarl at you. “It’s a mite hard to fight against someone who can dangle you off the roof while filin’ their nails.”

She rolls her eyes and waves a finger in the air like she’s conducting an orchestra. In her own head, she might be. “And what do we do when someone has a better weapon than us?” At your blank stare, she sighs from the bottom of her toes. “We get rid of it, Dualscar. I think the mutant is making you stupid.”

“He’s not-”

“Complacent, then.” She leans forward, tucking her chin in one hand and looking up at you. “Unless you’re having another one of your red-black flip-flop moments! In which case I recommend you let him off you, because you have a ridiculous problem.”

“Helpful as always, Spin.” You decide to avoid her jabs as well as you can, given that she probably doesn’t even realise she’s making them, half the time. “I can’t get rid a’ his psionics, you kelp-brain, they’re kind a’ inbuilt.”

She lets out a huff and kicks back in her chair again. “Stupid and unimaginative! I don’t know why I bother.”

--

To be fair, Spin has a point. She usually does, even if it takes three hours to get her to stop calling you stupid and get down to it.

Point: Psi is nigh-unstoppable as long as he’s conscious and has psionics.

Point: Knocking him unconscious would just be more proof that you can’t beat him fair an’ square.

Point: His psionics don’t come with an off-switch, so you’re going to have to find some way to make him not want to use the stupid things.

Conclusion: Time to think up strategies.

You are completely fuckin’ doomed. The places you always end up strifing with Psi are perfect for him and suck sand for you. Enclosed rooms, so you can’t even pull out a rifle, let alone use it, an’ you’ve never been fantastic with fistkind. Not to mention that he can just throw you across the room if you get too close. Either that or you’re outdoors, an’ he can fly.

It is completely unfair that his skinny ass got the psionic gene, is your general conclusion.

--

It comes to you sudden and brilliant, like all your best ideas do. Well, actually, it comes to you by way of boulder when you’re asleep in what Suf has dubbed Lake Seadweller. There’s only one troll in this forsaken bubble that has the nerve to throw rocks at you, and fool you, you’ve been thinking it’s because he’s a jerk.

You already figured that none of Suf’s lot can swim, given what a piss-poor job he does of it. But what if Psi literally can’t swim? His psionics are based in electricity, you know, so what if he can’t go in the water in case he fries himself?

You come up behind him and sweep a wave of water at his legs. This has the desired reaction of getting him to stop tossing chunks of stone in your living environment and a bonus of making him curse like he’s trying to be Suf with a lisp. You lean on the nearest outcropping and watch him until he’s done being a priss.

“Jeguth, DS, have thome manners-”

“Any time you develop them,” you tell him, and flick some droplets of water at his face. “Stop throwin’ shit in my lake.”

He fakes a kick at you and steps out of splash range. “Have an eathier way to get your attention then.”

“Did you seriously wake me up just to tell me to get a doorbell?” You let go of the ledge and dive under the water again, keeping an eye on the surface. Psi has uncanny aim with those boulders, and one of them clips you on the shoulder. You count to ten and breathe out before surfacing again, only to have to duck when Psi pegs another one at your head.

You’re getting more than a little sick of this.

“I’m listenin’!” you yell when you surface again. To assure him of this fact, you even climb out of the lake. “What did you want, before one a’ us dies of old age?”

Another thing about your kismesis: he is an absolute terror in the dark. He fuckin’ glows like headlights and ruins your night vision, so all you see is his blur of black-and-white and whatever it happens to bounce off. As he moves closer to you, the only damn thing you can see now, you take an unconscious step back. Then you realise what you’re doing and plant your feet.

“I wathn’t feeling my betht,” he says airily, and walks past you to the raised platform at the centre of the lake, where you keep your hive away from hive.

“So take it up with your horrorterror,” you say, and refuse to follow him even is he starts fucking with your stuff.

“She thpeakth horrorterror, CN’s the one who ith a horrorterror,” he says absently as he runs his hands along your wardrobifier. “But the thane oneth amongtht uth realithe that when we’re not feeling our betht, we can jutht compare ourthelveth to thomeone worthe.” He turns to smirk at you. “Gratth, DS! I may be a complete meth, but you’re jutht plain fucked up.”

You finally follow him and grab him by the collar. “I don’t know if bein’ with Suf made you all soft in the head, but you are the worst at flirtin’,” you tell him as you yank him away from the wardrobifier with a sinking feeling that the next time you try to get clean clothes you’ll end up with underwear on your head. “You’re already a bulge insistin’ on wormin’ his way into my social life, you don’t need to try harder at bein’ more of a jerk.”

“It doethn’t come naturally to thome of uth.” He leans in and looks up at you through his eyelashes, releasing little trails of light from his eyes that would be more disturbing if you weren’t used to him by now. “Show me how it’th done, DS.”

“Only on account a’ how I’m a gentletroll,” you say, lips close enough to one of his horns that he shudders a little, and shove him off the edge of the platform.

His screech of terror is cut off by the water, which you know for a fact is freezing and might serve to offer your Psiionic a little humility, which he is in desperate need of. After a few long moments of him not surfacing, you start to wonder how long it is landwellers can go without breathing, again. Peering over the edge to see if he’s lying in wait offers nothing. If he’s dying an’ you can’t see it serves him right for wrecking your night vision in the first place.

He still hasn’t surfaced. Fuck your life, you probably just drowned your kismesis. You are not that great at this whole quadrant thing.

You dive in and look around. There’s no tell-tale glow to give Psi away, but you hardly need one when he’s thrashing around in the least useful way anyone has ever thrashed underwater. Compared to him, Suf is a fuckin’ Trollympian.

Weird thing is, he’s got his hands screwed down firmly over his eyes. That’s not helpful. You grab him by the elbow, dodge his legs, and drag him up until you’re both above water. He shoves away from you and gasps for air as soon as he can, still keeping his eyes firmly shut as he grabs onto the walkway with one hand (that was downright strange, how did he know it was there) and mops his face with the other.

You tread water at a distance in case he’s trying something on. “You dead?”

He laughs, hollow instead of his usual dry snicker. “Hey DS, you were thchoolfed, right?”

“A course,” you say, hesitantly.

“Tho when you combine electrithity and thalt water...”

“The seadweller wins,” you say, baffled.

He finally opens his eyes, although he doesn’t look at you as he climbs back out of the water. “My eyeth are ethentially electric fieldth, you idiot, although it’th actually tho complicated I could thpend the retht of your life explaining it to you and you thtill wouldn’t get it. If I’d opened them underwater I’d be dead, you’d be dead, and everyone elthe would be down here wondering what thmellth tho tathty.”

“So,” you say slowly, “it’s almost like bein’ in a situation where you have the disadvantage?”