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roetrolls · 19 minutes
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WHY IS EVERYONE SO BUSY
bro it has been so lonely around here lately im gonna throw a fit
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roetrolls · 12 hours
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yeah, i guess you could say i like to live dangerously 😏 <- chewed the fuck out of their cheeks and then ate a tangerine
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roetrolls · 14 hours
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My favorite chew toy
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roetrolls · 15 hours
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Alone for Merili? :0
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Nightmares are common for anyone in school, as far as you're aware. The stress of exams, navigating your first quadrants, deciding what the rest of your life will be, it's stressful. So when you awaken, trembling and in a cold sweat, you try to wash away its memory in the shower, and leave it behind as you proceed with your normal routine.
Being naturally quiet, people don't tend to talk to you or notice you, so when you first arrive, everything seems normal. The girls you typically follow around - the ones who tolerate your presence the most kindly - are discussing some movie that came out recently, and you blend perfectly into the background.
The strangeness begins with the register. The teacher reads out everyone's names in alphabetical order, and you've attended school long enough to know that your last name, Densol, places you near the beginning of the list.
"Mienaa Dekori," "Here" and then a pause, and you take a breath ready to answer clearly, but instead, you're skipped right over. "Karrui Exatut," "Wh, oh here?"
You turn your head to look at the next person in the list, who also seems so have been caught off guard, as if they hadn't expected their name so soon. But they don't look at you, despite their confusion. You raise your hand, but the teacher doesn't glance over her paper. Even when she looks up to see if someone is missing when they don't answer, her eyes seem to pass right over you.
You're not the kind of person who can speak up easily, and so you lower your hand. You'll just approach after class, it's fine, she probably just read a line ahead.
But then, when worksheets are handed out, your desk is missed. When your hand is raised, you're overlooked. You turn to ask the person sitting behind you if they have a pencil, and they don't even look up at you.
And that's when the dread starts setting in. Is it a joke? Some sort of prank that even the teacher decided to join in? Normally people were not that malicious in this school, and despite definitely not being popular, you weren't much of a target either.
You are loathe to draw attention to yourself, but as the class is working on their papers, you quietly stand up after gathering your courage and shuffle to the front of the classroom, coming to a halt beside the teacher. You clear your throat after a few seconds of standing there, your cheeks flushing from the feeling of humiliation you're getting from being at the front of the class like this.
No one is looking at you though.
You clear your throat again. "Excuse me, um..."
She still doesn't notice you.
"Miss, I..." You reach forward to try and grab one of the worksheets, and as your sleeve passes right in front of her face, she seems to move backwards in surprise. "Sorry! I just, you missed my tab...le?"
You wince in preparation for being reprimanded, told to get back to your seat, to raise your hand and wait next time, but it never comes. The teacher looks around her desk, trying to find what blocked her vision briefly, but her eyes never seem to focus on you.
You glance around the classroom, and despite your apology being spoken at a volume far exceeding your normal timid speaking voice, no one seems to have looked up. Even for something as mundane as this, you know that most people would use any excuse to not work on their papers for a moment if something more interesting was happening.
"Oh no..."
And in that moment, more than any other in that moment, you feel totally isolated, and entirely alone.
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roetrolls · 16 hours
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There are like 3 story beats I could focus on if I do get to pursue it so it'd be fun to figure out which one I'm going with >:)
I'm thinking either... The Gala, the tavern, or the climax. And none of these will mean anything to you guys but I'm RUMINATING
OH BUT NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT
I think I'll like. Make 2 Willow Wren pitches rather than just. One WW and something else. I'll still draft up a different idea too... but I can be like "ok so this is my passion project and I really want to work on it so I came with 2 pitches for different parts of the same story but I can pitch something else too if need be"
my concept dev class is almost all seniors (literally everyone except a single guy) so we don't need it for creating capstone pitches and our professor talked to the chair to see if we could have more freedom over the projects we're gonna do since like. Following the class to the letter would be redundant to us
SO instead of creating a pitch for a 3 minute animated film, we get to create a pitch for a 3 minute proof of concept for a larger project, if that's what we want
And I asked
And we can use ideas we've already created as long as the work produced for the class is new
I have to present 2 ideas tomorrow and the professor will tell me which one to pursue, but you can bet your asssssss one of them's gonna be Willow Wren
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roetrolls · 16 hours
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my concept dev class is almost all seniors (literally everyone except a single guy) so we don't need it for creating capstone pitches and our professor talked to the chair to see if we could have more freedom over the projects we're gonna do since like. Following the class to the letter would be redundant to us
SO instead of creating a pitch for a 3 minute animated film, we get to create a pitch for a 3 minute proof of concept for a larger project, if that's what we want
And I asked
And we can use ideas we've already created as long as the work produced for the class is new
I have to present 2 ideas tomorrow and the professor will tell me which one to pursue, but you can bet your asssssss one of them's gonna be Willow Wren
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roetrolls · 17 hours
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Archie are you scared of Persep?
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"Terrified. Y'know that chick can just shut somebody's powers off? She gets too frisky, guy like me's gotta take the bus home.
Unnatural's what it is. Shakin' in my sneakers."
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"Ohhh, nooo, you meant Lycaon, didn't you?"
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"Oopsie."
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roetrolls · 24 hours
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horrific treatment of kidnapped children aside
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he does kinda slay 😔
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roetrolls · 1 day
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hey benjin absolutely no reason for it here but you want this super fancy chocolate bar?
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"Oh!"
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"Sure! I'm not usually much of a sweets guy, but fancy chocolate usually trends a little more bitter, doesn't it? Thanks!"
> I'm sure I don't need to tell you he won't take it directly from your hands. He doesn't feel the need to mention it either; he at least trusts that you won't try.
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roetrolls · 1 day
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posts this on its own actually
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roetrolls · 1 day
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ok well now i have to rb it
there is a post i could reblog to emphasize just how not daddy harlan is but it's one that makes me feel physically sick in my my physical tummy and i can never bring myself to pull it back up 🧍
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roetrolls · 1 day
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there is a post i could reblog to emphasize just how not daddy harlan is but it's one that makes me feel physically sick in my my physical tummy and i can never bring myself to pull it back up 🧍
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roetrolls · 1 day
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i am ILL
Hi, I'm new here! So who is Harlan and why do I get daddy vibes? o.O
OH!
Well, you shouldn’t he’s a very evil man.
He’s one of the big bads over on Roe’s blog, he was also the major antagonist of an arc we did together.
Also I love him. We are married.
#/j
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roetrolls · 1 day
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Reminder
You hate the color pink? Here's a google doc.
"My love! I'm sorry I'm late! I got tied up." Orfuse shouted as he came bounding into the hive. He always entered so loudly. Excited about something that might have happened to him that evening. Harlan wasn't complaining though, his loudness gave him the opportunity to set his book to the side and prepare for whatever onslaught of affection awaited him. He smiles and politely folds his hands into his lap to the sound of Orfuses footsteps hurriedly rushing up the stairs. They grew louder and louder as he approached the door, where he stopped abruptly.
There's always a game to be played. Why did he choose to tease Harlan so? He knew that he'd be excited to see him, hear the news of the days, spark in his eye as his voice goes up several uncomfortable decibels. Harlan watched as the doorknob slowly turned. He plays too much. "Dearest," his voice was calm and steady "I will be in the history books by the time you get that door open." The turning stopped, he could hear the chime of Orfuses laughter. Finally, he throws the door open. "Don't be so dramatic, my love!" "Yes, my mistake. All of the drama was reserves for you, darling." Orfuse gives a pleased hum and moves to seat himself in his lap. He throws his arms around his neck. "Don't let it happen again." There was no real threat there, not that he'd ever have a reason to threaten Harlan. Not that Harlan'd have taken it seriously. The words passed through his mouth with a barely contained giggle following after it. Harlan only responds by wrapping an arm around his waist, a fond smile on his face. Orfuse removes his arms around his neck to take the glasses off of his face. He begins to twirl them around in his hands as he rests his head against his chest. "I finished my surprise!" This is a project he's been excited about for a very long while. He apparently had to learn a great deal of technical skill to get whatever it is done. Harlan hated being made to wait, so the new is welcomed with an affirmative mm. Then he sighs. He knows he will be made to wait, still. Orfuse will want to wait until all of his quadmates are around for the gifting. Harlan figured himself above the other two, but whatever. Anything for his Orfuse. "Now don't start pouting! It's important to share these special moments with your friends." Harlans eyebrows begin to rise, Orfuse can tell he is pulling a face without looking. He reaches up to drum his fingers again his chest.  "Friend and Aderae." The smaller troll says, with mock exasperation. "Better." He adjusted himself to get a better vantage point of his moirail propped against his chest, moving gently against him with each breath that he took. "Why bother bringing it up at all, then, dearest?" "Suspense!" Hmm. Yes, of course. The suspense. The drama of it all. How could you forget? Your love couldn't stand to let go of the theatrics. Another smile settles over your features as you bring your hand up to tangle it into his hair. "As if I were not already waiting with baited breath." He sighs against you, leaning as much as he could into your touch. You knew him like the back of your hand. You knew if you stayed still and silent for longer than three seconds, he would doze right off. This isn't what you wanted, though. You'd missed him all day. You wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice. "Dearest, what will we do with the evening so I do not lose you to your slumber." "Sleeping is so good!" "Better saved for the day." He huffs. "I guess. A puzzle?" Amenable, you quite enjoy this activity with him. He looks so cute when he focuses.
Wait. You don't have hard opinions on puzzles. Your feelings on Orfuse Saekul can be described as neutral at best, hatred at worst. You are not Harlan Mahkir. You have to wake up. — There is a cocktail of emotions swirling inside of you, it takes up all of the empty space in your lungs and makes it impossible to breathe. That must be why he separated you from Veylin, she would have picked apart the feelings with ease. Honestly, she’s gotten really good at using her powers. You’re proud of her. Very little time is afforded for you to dwell on that, to think about how proud you are of her, to be happy that you’ve identified a feeling of your own, to remember how to breathe – The pink glow shifts from the puzzle on the table and settles on you. The last thing you want is to meet his gaze, but you chance it anyway. There is an amused smile on his face, one that contorts his features behind the glow. Incomprehensible. “Welcome back, dear.” It was strange, his tone. He’d spoken to you gently before, his voice was always sort of calming, hypnotic, trance inducing. Enticing? Disgusting. But this was different, it felt insidious. A threat hidden just behind those three simple words. It made your stomach hurt, you trained your gaze on the half finished puzzle instead. How fucked up is that? Veylin was cut up for her troubles, and you’ve been summoned up for board games. Guilt burns a hole in your stomach as you stare at it.  Once again you are knocked from your thoughts by a disturbance, emphasis on disturb. A large hand cups the back of your head, thumb gently curving around one of your horns. He could rip it off if he really wanted to, instead he uses it to guide your head back up, to make eye contact with him. “Darling, I am speaking to you.” Why was he still speaking so softly? He was clearly irritated with you. You swallow the lump in your throat back down. “I…” the dislodged lump affords you the ability to breathe a little easier, but not to form the words you would like to say. “Did you enjoy your trip? It must be a nice reprieve. To have a way out.” Another pang of guilt. He knew just what to say. There is only one thing that you want to say. It silences all of your other thoughts. “You really loved him.” Your voice is low, you’re tired. Harlans feelings for your ancestor still weigh heavy on your heart, they confuse you. You have a seering headache. Harlan doesn’t get to be normal, to have loved normally. A flash of recognition intensifies the glow of his gaze, and just like that it’s settled again. His smile broadens. “Immeasurably. With all of my heart.” You could throw up, right here. All over his stupid chambers and his stupid puzzle. Espeically the stupid puzzle. He seems satisfied with his findings, and releases his grip. Your gaze trails back to the table, you never thought you could have such vitriol for a picture. You hate this stupid thing. Harlan starts to move, he’s handing you something. Between his index and middle finger there is a puzzle piece. “Finish the corners, Zurven.” It was a gentle command, but the hand off frightens you much more. It took this long for him to demand full control of you. You’d hoped he never did. There is hesitation, he stands there ever patient with hand outstretched. You really don’t want to look at his stupid smile. You don’t have to, to know it’s there. This is a game to him. You reach for the puzzle piece, hand shaking all the while. There will be consequences if you deny him, ones that might be levied toward someone who isn't you. You're already consumed with enough guilt. But, before you can take it.. The edges of your vision start to blur.
Shit. Another one? How? Is He doing this somehow? You watch him place the piece on the table before it all fades to black. – This time, there is an already completed puzzle on the table in front of them. Well, partially completed. There are a few pieces missing from the puzzle, Harlan is searching under the table for it, for surely it must have fallen while they were putting it together. “The corner, Orfuse. Most of the corner is unfinished.” Orfuse watches with wonder, a smile on his face. It was like observing Harlan do even the most mundane thing filled him with joy. It fills him with admiration. It fills you with admiration. “We had the pieces the last time we did it.” It’s a bit silly, hearing his voice come from under the table. To his credit, he’s right. The puzzle was fully in tact the last time you’d seen it. The last time you’d seen it? “It’s not that important!” Puzzles are taken apart and put together and taken apart again, it didn’t really matter about the pieces. But your Harlan. -His- Harlan was a perfectionist. Everything always had to go just so. This is not just so. “It’s fine.” “It is not fine.” His voice is curt, he stands and kind of glowers at the puzzle for a moment.  The glare makes your stomach churn – No it doesn’t, it fills you with concern, Orfuses concern. He got frustrated so easily and that was a great cause for concern! Poor thing. Poor thing? Harlan Mahkir is not a poor thing. Your head hurts. “My love, you can’t take your anger out on inanimate objects. It’s not healthy.” Nothing about it is. “Look, I can fix it.” Orfuse hurried makes a grab for one of his journals, eyeballing the size of the pieces he needed to replace the missing pieces Harlan watches with furrowed brows as he starts to tear up the paper he’d ripped out of the book. It looks like watching him quelled whatever anger was boiling up inside. Good to know that he was just always like this – Good to know he’s feeling better now! This is unnatural. Orfuse pulls a colored pen out from his arsenal. Pink. For the pink moon. One of the missing pieces was of the pink moon. He scribbled at the piece of paper to color it fully before placing it in one of the empty spaces. “Ta-da!” You’re filled with pride as Harlan gives a refined chuckle. “This is horrendous, Orfuse.” “No, it’s perfect!” He bounces on his heels, absolutely giddy. “We are throwing this puzzle away.” “I know. It wasn’t a very good puzzle to begin with.” It was one of his favorites, he knew that Harlan would replace it. Harlan nods his agreement, moving to drape an arm over his shoulder.  Orfuse gives a happy hum. You love Harlan so much. No. You hate Harlan. No, look how softly he smiles at you, how gently he treats you. How delicate he is with Orfuse. What he did to Veylin. You are Orfuse Saekul, with complete devotion to Harlan Mahkir. No! You are Zurven Saekul, and you hate the Dominion with every fiber of your being. No!! You are Harlan Mahkir
No!!! You are... You are forcibly removed from the vision. – When you come to this time you are sitting, staring directly at the now complete puzzle. Harlan must’ve gotten impatient while he waited and finished it himself. Harlan could be like that. So impulsive. Wait. What is this? Why was that a fond thought? Those aren’t your thoughts. You. You brought Orfuses sentiment back with you? No. You’re about to lose your lunch for real, your head is pounding. What’s worse. You’re positive that Harlans feelings are still with you. Their emotions are having a conversation in your mind, speaking over your own. Harlan is amazing, stunning, handsome. Orfuse is perfect, useful, intelligent. You hate them both. No, you love them. How was he doing this? How could he make you see things? Feel things? You shake your head, hoping in vain that it would dispel their feelings from your psyche. “It is a difficult thing, visiting the past.” His voice breaks the silence, you find yourself hanging onto his words. You look up in the direction of his voice with a sort of reverence that makes your entire body shudder.  “Such strong feelings. I’m sure you’ve found the future to be more objective.” He seems to take note of your – Orfuses – disposition. You take note of the new tone in his voice.  This is how it sounds when he talks to Veylin. “How do you know –” “My Orfuse was not quite so impressionable as you. Even in our youth." "Are you doing this? Please -- It.. I feel like my head is going to explode." "No, my Orfuse did a very good job keeping his head on straight." He was right, Orfuse was perfect. He was amazing and he did everything just as he was expected to. No! Orfuse was blinded by his foolish want to save a man that wasn't drowning. "Are you trying to turn me into him?" You start to curl in on yourself, it would be very nice if you could disappear. "Never." His humor disappears very briefly. You flinch. "This will serve as a reminder to you." "What is it? What point are you trying to prove?" You want to raise your voice. To demand from him a real answer. But you're so tired it comes out as a desperate plea. Strangled. He leans forward, looming over the table, and tilts his head with a smile that could kill. "You cannot hope to fight me, Zurven. I've already won." Your mouth opens, you want to speak. To yell at him. But the glint of a gold object, barely wrapped in his hand, catches your eye. You can just make out what looks to be the etching of a flower on the surface. The edges of your vision begin to blur. Fuck. Fuck! Not again. You're so tired. Harlan sits back again with that satisfied smile still in place, and it all fades to black.
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roetrolls · 1 day
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Restless Afternoon
[Doc for your viewing pleasure]
In the living room, Mallum lay sprawled out on the couch unbothered by the singing of the birds that drew out into the afternoon. It was a dangerous call, a siren song that invited you out into the danger of daylight. The small streaks of light that did force themselves through the filtering curtains and the cracks in between them don’t bother him either, they merely dance along the wall just behind the couch harmlessly. Up to this point, the fuchsia dozes peacefully, a leg strewn across its back haphazardly.
In an instant though, it changes when there is a small creak in the floorboard from deeper in the hive that sends him to full attention. His eyes snap open and, though he does not move, his focus settles acutely on the entrance to the hallway. Someone is moving around in there, uneven footfall that suggests whoever is in there is entirely unsure of where they are going.
For a moment, it is silent again.
Then another creak, followed by a silhouette appearing just inside his line of sight. It moves no more upon settling. They are moving along at an agonizingly slow pace. Surely they didn’t mistake Mallum for the patient type.
“What are you doing, trying to wake me up?” He calls out into the darkness, but something tells him he will not be getting a response. “Can’t sleep?”
He takes the silence that follows as an opportunity to blink the sleep from his eyes, the very homely living room coming into better focus. At the end of the hall where the visitor stands were two shelves of figurines lining the walls on either side and an end table absolutely covered in knickknacks, most of them homemade, with a single shelf underneath dedicated to board games. The clutter would drive Zerkev up a wall, says a fleeting thought.
Now a little more awake, he starts to recognize the figure standing in the hall as Zurven. Which comes across as a surprise, and perhaps a bit concerning, considering that whenever the two of them occupy the same space, Zurven does his absolute damnedest to make sure that becomes past tense as soon as possible.
There is no movement.
“Hey, are you… Are you okay?” He asks as he pulls himself to sit up fully. “Seriously.”
Keep reading
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roetrolls · 1 day
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Performances
I’m doing this thing where I’m trying to write things for my friends for their birthdays. So here’s my second attempt at that! Happy early birthday to Roe!! I was a little bit silly and couldn’t sit on it for another two days.
TW: Mutilation and blood, but the details don’t get too too graphic
[doc]
Stage lights have a horrible way of announcing themselves as they turn on. A horrible crack fills the air as impossibly bright light floods the previously darkened stage. At the center of that stage, Bigby stands holding a hand up to his face in a futile bid to block some of it out. At least long enough for his eyes to adjust. Hundreds of featureless faces, save for leering eyes, surround him and watch his every move, that much he can tell without even having to get his bearings.
A ball of lead makes a home in his stomach as his gaze sweeps wildly around his surroundings.
The tight rope hangs high above his head, settling at such heights that it appears to be swaying from where he stands. Behind him the tiger cages sit exactly where he remembers leaving them, the big cats inside stare back at him with what must be remorse. Bigby screws his eyes shut, having taken up the challenge of not letting the fear that settles around his throat show, though the little hairs that stand all around his body quickly betray him.
He swallows around the constricting of his throat and tosses a glance to his right and finds a gaggle of mutant circus performers staring back at him. There is a range of emotions scattered from horror to amused, more facial expressions than he can count.
Before he gets to try, movement from stage left catches his attention.
That movement also gets the attention of whoever mans the lighting, because suddenly all of the spotlights are angled in that direction.
Now illuminated from all available angles, the Ringleader steps out and onto the stage with all of the flair and mirth needed to command an audience. He fixes his stupid bowtie while hundreds of unseen faces erupt in cheers for his mere presence.
Bigby wastes no time in making a break for it, he runs in the direction of the group of ogling mutants while Emarra addresses his adoring fans. The escape is short lived, and he did know better, when a familiar coldness wraps around both ankles and drags him back to the center of the stage. He looks down to see thick coils of shadow wrapped around him and slowly writhing upward.
Sweat coats the base of his neck, but still he swallows his fear.
Finally, Emarra crosses to the center of the stage behind him and rests his hands on his shoulders.
Very suddenly his voice is in Bigby’s ear, cooing with hardly contained enthusiasm.
“Just in time for the main act,” he practically sing-songs the declaration. “You’re going to love it.”
That promise makes Bigby shrug fruitlessly against him. The clown only gives his shoulders a squeeze.
He opens his mouth to speak, to curse him out for the audacity, anything, but all that comes out is the sound of a wet choke and it becomes clear that a third tendril has wrapped itself around his throat.
“You know you don’t get a speaking part in this act.” Emarra warns with a firm pat on the back.
Then he crosses to stand in front of Bigby, speaking directly to the crowd again.
“How should he die?”
A hundred different voices shout a thousand different ways to die.
Asphyxiation. Flaying. Limb removal.
“Bleed him out!” One intrepid voice shouts above the rest.
Emarra shakes his head, exhaling a humored sigh as he leans in to listen to more suggestions.
Bigby is no stranger to the cruel options being hurled out, but something in his stomach turns and he feels the desperate need to cry.
Split him in two. Slice him up from the guts. Drown him!
“Throwing knives!” Another lone voice shouts.
“I like the way you think!” Emarra calls back, his approval palpable. “Throwing knives it is!”
The audience erupts again, their excitement rocks him to his core.
Bigby struggles against his confines as one of the freaks brings out a wheel to strap him to and a bucket filled with knives. The shadows, ignorant to his protests, walk him to the wheel and then affix him to it.
He wants to scream, he doesn’t want to give Emarra the satisfaction.
“Are we ready, Belbig?”
Bigby puffs his chest out and says nothing.
“We missed you.”
The wheel starts spinning, Emarra starts to throw his knives. Randomly at first, a couple of them don’t even make it close to his body, then he starts to pick up speed and precision.
One grazes his cheek, another cuts through his shirt but draws no blood, a third pierces him in the thigh.
Bigby swallows a cry, Emarra’s laugh is filled with mirth.
Mirth that makes his head spin opposite to the wheel.
The knives start to come in pairs, then in threes. They start to pierce him indiscriminately.
Thigh again, his stomach, one separates his middle finger from the rest of his hand, two into his shoulder with enough force that they dig into the wood behind him. His blood begins to paint the floor of the stage, slick and oozing, it shines under the lights.
Three more knives come his way. One pins his left ear to the board, the second severes the right one completely, but before the third makes contact between his eyes, the world fades to black.
Bigby wakes up gasping for air into a throat that feels raw, the red glow of the plugin night light on the other side of the room pulls his attention almost immediately and puts him back into his body.
That was stupid, he thinks, he wasn’t even scared.
Around him the outlines of the proof of his new life push the bad dream to the fringes of his memory. Shelves of knick knacks conjure up the image of Orfuse and Lucy excitedly shoving figures into his hands and babbling about what’s for dinner. The bookcase reminds him of the comic book he’d been meaning to read with Maelia.
He sighs, he doesn’t even remember what the dream was about.
Beside him, Tiger stares at him with her ears standing straight up. She broadcasts her concern directly into his mind with a sense of urgency that he can almost taste.
He hopes he didn’t yell too loudly, or at all for that matter.
Bigby takes a few minutes to lay there in his bed, absently petting her to soothe her nerves, before he finally decides that he must be awake for the evening and drags himself out of the bed.
His gaze lingers on a small wooden tiger that sits on his desk, the newest and most cherished acquisition from his employer. Peace settles in his chest and he heads down to the kitchen, savoring the cold of the ceramic tiling against his feet as he makes his way down the hall.
The coolness roots him to reality.
That was a really stupid dream.
A really really stupid dream.
When he gets to the kitchen he notices Zerkev, standing over a counter already brewing his evening coffee. Bigby doesn’t say anything as he takes the seat across from the newspaper that was already set out in the fuchsia’s usual spot.
His ears twitch before Zerkev even starts to speak.
“Evenin’, son.” He says, his normal drawl crowned by the sort of drowsiness that says he just woke up. “Sleep well?”
Bigby gives a non-committal “Mm,” in response and his ears continue to twitch.
“Me too. Thought I heard something, couldn’t get back to sleep afterward.” He continues with a shrug. “Happy for the company. Coffee?”
Bigby’s face scrunches up at the idea of coffee that isn’t the overly sweet kind he gets from the cafe by his job. He also couldn’t imagine asking Zerkev to make it that way.
Though he couldn’t possibly have seen the reaction, Zerkev moves to grab some juice from the fridge instead.
In the silence that settles around them, Bigby looks down at his hands and legs to check for damage that surely must be there as bits of the dream float around in his head.
More silence passes before both drinks are set on the table. A tall glass for Bigby and a mug for Zerkev.
Bigby loses himself to his reflection in the golden liquid.
Zerkev takes his seat and unfolds the paper, never one to force him into a conversation that he didn’t want to have.
The smaller troll puts both hands around the glass, still focusing on his reflection.
“What did you hear?” He asks bluntly, worry causing the hairs along his neck to stand.
What if he screamed out during the torture of his dream? He wasn’t even scared!
“Crashing?” Zerkev answers and it sounds more like a question. “Maelia knocking somethin’ over with his tail, no doubt.”
The lie comes from Zerkev’s mouth, but Bigby’s ears twitch in response as he adopts it as his version of reality too.
“Must’ve woke you, too.”
“Yeah.” He replies with what could be a little too much urgency.
Zerkev turns a page in the paper.
“Thanks for keepin’ me company, son.”
Across the table, Bigby sighs all of the tension into his cup and gives another non-committal “Mm.”
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roetrolls · 2 days
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