#mirkstrolls

@mirkstrolls

You’re not going to say you resent having to care for Daginy- because you don’t. But now that they’ve gone, you’ve kind of realized that you had kinda fallen into the same pattern that you had with Alnica, half a sweep ago.

You love them both, in different ways, and so you had ended up putting them first in everything until you got too restless.

You can’t help but feel like you were meant to bigger things. Besides blowing up a space port.

Still, Alnica and Daginy knew what was up- it was their job after all. You could be a great weapon- but only if you were pointed in the right direction. Alnica wasn’t terribly happy to hear that you wanted to take on actual missions now that Daginy had decided they were better off by themself but you had convinced her that you needed to do something.

Guarding a caravan of supplies wasn’t exactly what you were thinking of but not everything could be as flashy as exploding a port. A rebel smuggling group had asked for some help with a transport to a raider’s cove. You could deal with that.

You go dressed in greys. The articles and wanted posters for your arrest were new half a sweep ago- and the search for you was still concentrated in space where, as far as you knew, Ironbelly still drew imperial fire.

You’ve kept a pair of prescription free glasses on and your hair trimmed. A beanie’s pulled over your horns. Ferra said changing your eyebrows made your face look different too, so you drew them in thicker with a brush and some eyeshadow. It didn’t hurt to be careful, something Daginy harped on constantly- you better start paying more attention to that sort of thing, now that they’re not here to fuss about it.

A truck pulls up to the appointed curb- the driver’s as grey as Daginy and you can tell that her make up is caked on so heavily she won’t need to worry about even blushing. She’s had a serious time of it. A hat is pulled over her eyes- you can’t really get a great look at her either. It’s all lies piled on top of each other, you realize. You’re playing the liar’s game now, and Handmaid knows you were never the greatest at those.

I wrote a reply for this and accidentally switched pages, so sorry for the sparse re-do. :(

H: How would you describe your style?

Back in high school, my best friend at the time described it as wittily self-aware, but honestly I’m not sure if I even have a style anymore? I feel like it’s harder to tell with how quickly I write for some RP replies - but I’d be really interested if someone thought I actually had one.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

I really love reading stuff where one character is pining after another, they’re both obviously in love (and thus happy ending fluff is guaranteed), and - for some reason or another, there is a misunderstanding that leads to one character feeling super rejected. Examples include:

Soulmate AU, but one character doesn’t have their soulmate’s first words written on their hand because their soul mate is mute, and thinks they have no soul mate.

Mutual pining and A seeks advice from B about how to date their crush - and B assumes that the crush is a third party and is heartbroken.

One party hears the other in a situation where it sounds like they’re together with a third party, but it’s a total misunderstanding.

Bonus points if it’s completely the other person’s fault (like the second example) rather than just a chance misunderstanding.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Riccin’s entire context for adults is their relationship with the Shepherd, and the rest of the IEP students relationships with their individual proctors: they don’t really understand that Kit’s relationship with Leoffe is different, and they don’t fully comprehend that, say, Vadaya wasn’t under the personal command of some highblood from a very young age. And the thing about the proctor relationship is that it’s a very authoritarian one.

You don’t question your proctor! You don’t work against them. The IEP works off of almost Beforan ideals that everyone below violet needs to be taken under the hand of highbloods, which is manifest in the will of the Shepherd. The way that she treats Riccin is rough, but also fairly indicative of Riccin’s overall perception of how pre-Ascension trolls are treated:

“Incisors may continue growth. Make note to keep track of future length. Removal may be necessary.” She’s got the naval accent, nasal and so soft, it’s like she ain’t talking about removing parts of you. “What is the current height?”

“7'2, ma'am.”

“Foutredieu. What’re you people feeding them, straight protein? Get leg measurements before they leave, Kazumi.”

Your breath catches.

“Yes, ma'am.”

If you were a proper helm by now, you could be halfway out of your pan and into the net. It ain’t like there’s a reason they’ve held off. ID had that put in when he was seven sweeps, along with the nanny, and Proper.. well, you don’t know when they plugged that shit in, but you’re half certain they’ve got it, too.

But you’re not. You don’t get a single thing put in your pan, or in your body, without the Shepherd’s say so, and all she wants to do is work on your psionics until you’re in the rig. It’s fucking absurd to think that it’s bullshit. Your proctor is older than your entire bloodline: she pulled you out of the slurry like thread on the loom, and without her, you would’ve been lost. Anything short of acquisal is nothing but the most vile kind of treachery, the sort of worthless ingratitude that they try to beat out.

You’re not fucking ungrateful. Ain’t even a doubt in your mind that every instant of her attention is a blessing upon you. But..

You just wish you could at least pull out your phone.

So Riccin thinks Leoffe’s treatment of Kit is fine, technically. They’re allowed to discipline Kit however they want, and like with the dehumanisation they face from Shepherd, it’s ultimately going to be in Kit’s best interests in the end. This is a viewpoint that Riccin can’t afford to back away from, or else it’ll fuck them over - they’re stuck in this situation, so viewing it as anything less than normal, and that it’s potentially something they should leave, is terrifying.

But everything that the proctors do is supposed to be in the betterment of the individual.

And beating Kit, leaving bruises on her, is not something that’s accepted in the IEP. That’s something that Riccin objectively views as wrong! But proctors would never damage their students. But this is objectively wrong.

“Can a proctor mistreat his charge?” is an alarming question because it challenges Riccin’s views in a way they can’t deal with! It’s also one that they acknowledge they can’t emotionally deal with, so they veer away from that promptly and force themselves to move past it. Can a proctor mistreat his charge? Maybe, but that’s not something they’re even going to try to answer.

| Hm |

| I always Say That I Do Not Remember | But | Ah | That is Not Entirely True | If We are Being Perfectly Honest | ? | I Liked My Lusus a Great Deal | He Could Sing | | And Bring the Other Wrigglers to Their Knees in a Moment |

| Is It Cruel to Be Pleased | Even Now | ? | I was a Very Small Grub | I could not Fight the Others | And He was a Very Small Bird | It was the Best Way We had to Ensure Our Safety |

| But | Of Course | Voodoos do not Work on Animals | So | Someone Attempted to Start a Tussle with Me Over My Rations for the Night | I Objected | Physically | As I was a Touch More Aggressive at That Stage in My Life |

| Their Lusus Turned Out to be More | Haha |

| I don’t Think It Meant to Injure Mine | He Was a Bird | They are Very Small | And Very Delicate | It Batted Him to the Side to Get At Me | And to Stop His Singing | And That was That |

| Whydah Intervened on My Behalf | and Then They Helped Me Preserve the Body |

You don't know how long you've been sitting here. It must be all night, because you can't really remember being anywhere else today. You think. But you must have gotten here somehow. Right?

How did you get here? You must have walked from your hive. But, like. How did you GET here?

Like, to this point in your life (that's pretty funny. Wordplay is funny. How long ago did you think that? Didn't you just say it?)?  Yeah, here. You're sitting on a couch in the middle of the woods, staring at a monitor that appears to be plugged into nothing and shows only static. You're pretty sure--pretty damn sure--it's actually playing a recording of static, instead of just displaying ambient white noise. What the hell.

Nearby, an unprotected pit smolders with embers. Similar pieces of furniture in various states of disarray surround this focal point, with trolls slumped and slouched against one another or against the cushions. You become acutely aware of a wet spot on your back. You can only guess as to how long you've been sitting in it.

There are pie tins everywhere. Licked clean.

You'd like to move, but you can't. You know that if you try, you could easily do it--probably. That makes the most sense. But all the same, you can't. Making the effort to move any part of your body seems almost Herculean, or not even--it's just not something Jerath would do. That's a different Jerath. He can get up. This one can't. Not right now. The Jerath that you are. Not right now.Vilqua is up, and she's reading. Another poem. Of hers. You always hated her poetry. She rhymed 'fucking' with 'fucking,' she just did it, you heard it, and you tell her that, only your mouth doesn't move. This Jerath can't move. You remember.

Nice weak endings, you idiot. Nice job rhyming the same word with itself, you fucking idiot, Vilqua. She's reading it off her phone. How are you going to 'make glorious sacrifice / a yummy, rainbow snackrifice' (seriously, Vilqua???) to the Mirthful Messiahs if you can't look up from your fucking phone? She's worse than Asseer. Holy shit is she so bad at this.

You read stories about the unparalleled slam poetry of the Grand Highbloods, how their wicked verses could command obedience. Change the weather. Fuck around with time and shit. The Grand Highbloods, you were told, were the dopest of wit slingers, gifted with a second or even third sight through their wicked elixirs and soporific tinctures. Sopor doesn't make you a better poet. It just makes you sleepy and stupid. There's a bunch of sleepy stupid assholes in the woods sitting on wet furniture and reading bad poetry, putting on airs like they're royalty (all but three. You can see them. They pinned the Worm, with steel and strength and shadow magic. They're your friends) and you're one of them.

⚜ What is the best time to write for you? Why?

I do almost all my writing just after sundown! Daytime feels like it’s “must be productive” time, and I have a hard time concentrating on creative stuff while I’m worried about all the work that isn’t done yet.

During the summer breaks, it’s in the mornings, though.

☺ What's a character that you desperately want your muse to play with? Why?

Ok, so I know Taz’s crew is NPCs... But just imagine the fabulous train wreck that would be Berell hanging out with Ydeeah & Yacspo. Nothing and nobody would be safe.

☽ Do you like writing angst? Why or why not?

This varies between Rickshaws! But for most of them, the name of the game is recycled goods - you’re basically guaranteed that everything on there has been worn by dozens, if not hundreds of people before you, and is worn, tattered or in viewing distance of its last leg. There’s a lot of focus on stretching things to their absolute maximum worth. Yeah, this t-shirt’s covered in holes, has a bloodstain and a weird pattern, and is about three sizes too large. But it’s the last one from the haul and it’s the only one big enough to fit you.

How are you going to make it work?

There is a ton of layering, and a heavy focus on belts, ties - anything to hold fabric in place, basically, when it’s too big, or when you’ve got fabric scraps you need to use. Felted or otherwise woven fabric made up of these scraps is probably the most common material on the rickshaw overall, and there’s, as a result, a much greater acceptance of hemoanonymity on them that only leads to their reputation as a criminal.

It’s not, for most trolls, worth the effort to stitch or weave or paint their symbols onto clothing that’ll end up traded or in the scrap heap relatively soon anyway. On the majority of Rickshaws, it’s downright impossible for most trolls to get clothing that’s actually in their hue, and so the default for most residents tends to be wearing whatever menagerie of blue clothing they end up with.

The focus on recycling doesn’t only exist with cloth. Pretty much anything can - and will - be turned into clothing, whether it’s for decorative purposes or for coverup. Pop tabs can work as makeshift chainmail. Hoses, if gently soldered together, can be turned into a gorgot. Abandoned fishing net can be stripped thin and then layered to work as sunlight veils, and any and every metal scrap can be melted down to make into buttons, zippers, any sort of fixture needed for clothes.

The fashion tends to be practical! People from the mainland tend to think of the illness masks and air filtration systems are for show. Frequently, they’re just a sign of who lives in the lower levels of the Rickshaw, either in submerged systems or near to the engines, or of maintenance workers of various stripes.

And the last thing is: one of the few universal traits of the Rickshaws tends to be their obsession with tattoos! Trolls born out of the Rickshaw cavern tend to have natural piebaldism, although the degree to which it is notable differs between individuals. It’s common enough that it’s seen as a sign of a true Rickshaw trolls.. but, since it doesn’t appear on every troll out of that cavern, and not every Rickshaw resident was hatched out on a Rickshaw, it’s created a culture of uncertainty.

UU: No.

UU: I don’t see why there would be anything to mi miss, la. I can do anything I would like to do, now, and given my caste and the opportunities typically granted yellowbloods, I really doubt that this was the case previously, la.

UU: Besides, that was a very long time ago.