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@achromaticbibliophile requested a fic where Kankri was crushing on Rufioh, either red or black. Went with black. I will be honest... I honestly don’t know how to write Rufioh for shit, but I tried my best. I’m sorry if it’s not quite what you had in mind, hope you might like some part or other of it regardless.
Also I didn’t want to deal with typing quirks and such, so I just wrote them typing as if trolls write normally.
It all started out as a chat. Nothing more, nothing less.
Kankri was just in the midst of yet another one of his rule-breaking forays on the internet while his culler was away. He was in the midst of searching for some bit of information or another, if pressed he really wouldn't be able to recall just what it was. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little chat client application tab that he had minimized begin to blink.
Someone was attempting to message him.
He pulled up the window to see who would be messaging him, but his brow furrowed when he saw their trolltag. It resounded some form of familiarity or other in him, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what or whom. Still, he was curious, and decided to try for the risk anyhow. He set his fingers to the keys to respond to the initial message.
AT: Hey, you're Kankri, right?
CG: … This is he. Can I ask who I'm speaking to? I don't think I know your tag.
AT: Oh, right. Sorry. I guess we didn't talk much when we first met. My name's Rufioh. Rufioh Nitram. I'm a friend of Meenah's. I think we've been part of group chats a few times?
That did sound somewhat familiar, thinking back. And the name 'Rufioh' wasn't all too unfamiliar, now that he saw it typed out.
CG: I see. Well, I apologize for my hesitance. Can I help you with something?
AT: Well, not really help, I guess? It's more of a... more of a question, really. I mean... you're culled, right?
His fingers lifted from the keys for a moment, mouth thinned. Well, maybe he should have expected these sort of question sooner or later, with half his friends being highbloods, and the rest assumedly able-bodied enough to make it on their own without a culler. Still, it sent a bit of a sting into him that was unavoidably heavy.
CG: … Yes. I am. Why?
AT: Oh, well, sorry if I offended you or anything. I mean, man, I really hope I'm not insulting you by asking this, but... what's it like? Being culled? Is it good? Bad? Do you like it?
Kankri couldn't help curling his fingers up to his palms, biting his lower lip between his teeth. He shot a look over his shoulder, as if expecting his culler to be right there, looking over his shoulder. She was not, of course. She would be out for another couple of hours at least. Still, his fingers trembled a bit as he slowly typed out a reply.
CG: It's... I don't really like it. My culler is pretty strict. She feeds me and takes care of me well, but she doesn't let me do a lot of things. I don't really go outside a lot without her, and she's really strict on mealtimes and bedtimes. And
He paused again, right before continuing the sentence. His mind was right on the subject of that 'and'. 'And' she put him through a quadrant he didn't want from her, that he absolutely hated and wished she would stop even though she didn't and probably never would. His breath caught in his throat, then was hissed out.
CG: Never mind, forget the last part.
AT: Wow. That, uh... that doesn't sound too good.
CG: Not really.
AT: So... you don't like being culled, then? That, uh... that's good to know.
CG: Why do you want to know, anyway? If you're worried about it, there's not much reason to. As long as you don't get badly hurt or lose your lusus at some point, the highbloods would have no reason to cull you. I'm culled because there wasn't a lusus who wanted me.
Because he was a mutant. Though he didn't want to have to spell that out in particular.
AT: Oh. Well, um... curious, mostly, I guess.
CG: Kind of an odd thing to be curious about.
AT: I mean... Hey, could you keep a secret? I know this is kind of sudden, but, if you really want to know...
CG: … If you wanted to tell me, sure. I could promise not to tell anyone.
AT: Oh, um, okay. Well, uh... You see, the reason I asked was... technically, I think I'm supposed to be culled. Should have been? Something.
CG: Should have been? Why weren't you, then? Why would you have needed to be culled? Are you unwell?
AT: No no, nothing like that. See, the thing is... I'm kind of a mutant.
Kankri felt his blood pusher thump. A mutant? Like him? More text appeared on the screen before he could even begin to respond.
AT: I've got these wings, you see. I think they might have missed me or something when I crawled out of the caverns? My lusus found me and took me away, and I've been hiding them for a long time. I know I probably should've been culled, but I've heard some things about culling that weren't so great. So I wanted to ask you. Since I saw something about you being called in some other chat. I felt kind of guilty sometimes about not being culled like I maybe should be, because of my mutation, sometimes, but I wanted to hear from someone firsthand how it really was. So, thanks for taking a load off my mind. I don't think I would have wanted that, sounds super strict and junk.
AT:... Are you still there? … Kankri?... Kankri?
CG:... Don't ever message me about this again, Rufioh. I mean it.
AT: Oh, man. I made you mad, didn't I? Jeez, I'm super sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset or anything.
CG: Just stop. Please. I have to go now.
AT: Kankri, wait!
CG: Goodbye.
He gripped his hands at his side as he clicked himself invisible on the chat client. His teeth were grinding just thinking about the conversation he'd just had.
He wanted to know because he was curious about being culled? What was that, a fascination? A passing notion to want to know what it was like to live under a highblood's thumb? Why? If Rufioh did have a mutation, something so noticeable like wings, and managed to get out of being culled, why would he ever think that it was something he would want to have happen to him?!
And being so nonchalant about it? As if someone would ever willingly walk into the sort of life Kankri absolutely loathed!
He clutched his hand at his chest, feeling his blood-pusher beating hot under the skin. Just thinking about the conversation he'd just left was making him furious. Still, he sat there, breathing in and out, trying to calm himself down. His culler would be home soon, take things one step at a time. First erase all traces in his chat history that he'd talked to anyone while they were away, turn off the husktop and put it back at the charger where it was before. Then go up to his respite block and try to breathe easy. Couldn't appear agitated when his culler returned.
He just couldn't help it, though. Every time he thought of that bronze-colored text, surely the same as the troll with normal blood but still a mutation to his name, it just got his blood pusher racing again with that dark, burning feeling. He was just so angry, but he didn't know why.
After perhaps half an hour of lying there, he heard his name being called, but finally felt he was calm enough to greet his culler. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the bed, and made his way downstairs.
Knowing that, even if he couldn't quite place the reason for all the anger he was feeling from their talk, if he ever met this Rufioh Nitram in person, first thing he was going to do was punch him in the face.
Tip Of My Tongue- The Civil Was
Chasing Cars- Snow Patrol
I Was An Island(EP Version)- Alison Weiss
Painting Roses- Dresses
Torn Apart- Bastille,Grades
I Will Follow You Into The Dark- Death Cab For Cutie
Black Flies- Ben Howard
Lonely Day- System of a Down
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The first time they met, he was a leper. The other was a shepard who shared his lunch with him and listened with interest and sympathy to his story. They never made contact.
The second time they met, he was an escaping slave. The other was a priest of one of the Gods’ temples who prayed for his safety with him. Their hands were clasped together tightly as they prayed. They never told each other their names.
The third time they met, he was a native to the newfound Americas. The other was a settler who insisted he come inside his house and stay the night so he didn’t get hurt in the coming storm. They exchanged stories through broken pieces of each other’s languages as they cooked and ate together. They sat together under the blankets as the thunder crashed above them, and prayed to both their religions together. They remembered to introduce themselves as he left the next morning. They never kissed.
The forth time they meet, he is an English major. The other is an art major with hair that shows it and when they see each other, he stops himself from jumping into the other’s arms because it has taken one life to talk to him, two lives to touch him, three lives to learn his name, and he can’t live a fourth life without him. And when he calls out to him, he turns around and asks if they know each other. And when he blurts out that he’s the leper, the slave, the Native American, and he’s here now, Rufioh’s eyes light up and he’s crushed in the tightest, most important embrace in all his lives.
