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roetrolls · 2 months

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Proxy War

Catching a Pravus unawares is no easy feat, doubly so for a Pravus on the lam. As hyperactive as your mind can be, you’re never too distracted to keep your head up, and If Zerkev has taught you anything, it’s to watch your six.

You’ve gotten relaxed in the city, especially knowing the House of Restoration hasn’t given you up yet, but you’re far from careless. Rarely do you walk the streets without some portion of your brain on high alert, eyes and ears always primed for danger.

Who would have thought your father’s own anxious habits would be the very thing keeping you out of his grasp? A bit of poetic irony, there. Your little quartet seems chock full of the stuff.

Most nights, your careful surveillance amounts to nothing. But as Zerkev always told you, nine-hundred and ninety-nine nights could be safe. What you need to be ready for is one.

And, as luck would have it, it seems you’ve found the one in question.

It’s brief––a quick flash in your peripheral, barely there for a second––but there’s no mistaking what you saw. That was Zerkev’s cape.

He’s gone when you snap your head to look for him, likely turned the corner into the bustle of street traffic near the Roatus family’s church. God, you’d nearly forgotten it, but this place is his, isn’t it? You really have been just under his nose.

No time to be smug, though. You need to get out of sight. Leaving no room for hesitation or pride, you turn tail and run (well, power-walk, running draws eyes) back the way you came. No big deal, you’ve got contingency plans in place for exactly this kind of threat. You’ll shoot Styx a text and camp out at Lowgrounds until someone can get you back to Ilioneus.

You pull your phone from your pocket as you walk, typing with one hand and raising the other to your mouth. The taste of polish reminds you not to bite just as your thumbnail finds its way between your teeth.

In roughly the same instant, you crash into something bony and unyielding, and the collision sends your phone clattering to the pavement. Fuck. You hope the screen’s not cracked.

You lift your head and, hypocrite that you are, get ready to tell this jackass they should watch where they’re going. The thought dies on your lips, however, when you are met with a grinning two-toned face, slathered halfway with paint and entirely too close, their nose practically brushing yours. They cock their head to the side, smile widening enough to make them squint.

“Hello, Little Prince.”

You leap away with an involuntary shout, regretfully startled by the clown’s encroaching face.

“What the fuck!?” is all you can think to say, fins flaring their surprise. That’s an Otrame– one of Mahkir’s right hands. What the hell are they doing in the city?

Where’s the other one?

No sooner has the thought occurred to you than you receive an answer, a pair of thin arms snaking out from behind you to hook themselves under yours and heft you back, legs hanging uselessly off the ground. A pair of lips settle beside your ear, their smile audible.

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

The twin in front of you, Erilee you think, giggles their delight. “A full one-eighty.”

“On the run?”

“Must have seen something.”

“Something frightful.”

“What was it, Little Prince? We’re dreadfully curious.”

God, these freaks are annoying. With a growl in your throat, you twist and thrash against Elison’s sturdy grip, scrabbling wildly as you attempt to ram your dangling feet against something vulnerable. Each time you’re about to find an opening, though, he contorts himself to avoid the blow, laughing as your kicks repeatedly fail to connect.

“He’s distracted,” your walking crucifix tells his twin, wiggling you for emphasis. “Yoohoo, Princey! We’re talking to you!”

“What the fuck do you want?” you snap, baring your teeth at the clown that can see them.

“Mean,” he pouts.

“So mean.”

“I only asked you a question.”

“An easy one too!”

“We don’t get to choose, you know.”

“Not like our Benji-boy.”

“Our Benny…”

“So talented.”

“Would you shut the fuck up!?” you bark, irritation mounting.

Both twins giggle at your outburst, locking eyes over your squirming shoulder. Erilee’s grin widens. He decides to move first, peeling away to slip into the narrow alley at the end of the block.

Somehow, it takes watching him turn the corner for their jabbering to connect, and your mind leaps back to the fleeting glimpse of Zerkev that sent you this way.

Like Benjin, they said. The fuckers had you seeing things.

Since when were hallucinations a part of their powerset? You knew they could cause daymares– how had it never occurred to you that they might be able to conjure waking ones as well?

Another growl rises from your chest as Elison follows their brother into the alley, toting you along as though you weigh nothing at all. You twist to peer over his shoulder and gaze helplessly at your phone, still laying face-down on the sidewalk. At least the street is empty. Hopefully it’ll still be there once you get out of this mess.

If it’s not… Fuck, you don’t even want to think about that. You’re careful with the information you save, but anything could be a lead in the right hands. Your mind flits briefly to your sister, the way she pinned down Veylin’s details for you. Guilt pools in your stomach.

Then something else displaces it.

You’re still craning your neck to see onto the street when a fist rams your gut with enough force to make your gills spasm. You sputter from the impact, folding in on yourself with a groan.

“A little weak for a fuschia, isn’t he?” Erilee asks, shaking out their hand.

“Is he?” Elison’s voice sounds in your ear again.

“I don’t know!” they chirp gleefully, “I’ve never hit one before!”

Fucking clowns.

There’s no way Zerkev would have sent these tools to find you… Right? It had to be Mahkir. But why?

Ben?

Is it possible he knows? He was following Veylin closely enough to send that bouquet. Is this the next step up? Another escalation?

“He’s got a thinking face on, Ellie.”

“You’re going to regret this,” you grit uselessly, the threat sounding about as pathetic as you feel right now. Elison’s hold is unflinching, but you try once more to thrash your way to freedom, swinging your legs in hopes of gaining momentum without wasting energy.

Erilee watches you squirm with a cloying smile.

“Are we?”

“I’m off-limits! Mahkir fucking knows–” Unf.

Erilee’s fist once again finds itself lodged in your stomach, this time landing so hard that even Elison staggers slightly. It’s enough to have you seeing spots, and you’re still recovering from the shock when that same hand moves to grip you harshly by the face. Squeezing your jaw until your lips pucker, Erilee fixes you with a tight and threatening grin.

“We think,” he starts, fingers digging into your musculature, “that you. Should use. His title.”

Little freaks. You make a mental note to never again complain about your upbringing in front of Benjin. There’s something seriously wrong with these guys.

“Fine,” you grunt, voice muffled slightly by the iron grip Erilee maintains on your face. “The Dominion knows better than to hurt me. Zerkev–”

“And yourself… Not exactly on speaking terms, are you, Little Prince?”

Your shoulders drop, as much as they can with your arms held aloft like this, at least, but you don’t back down.

“You can’t fucking touch me.”

“No?” “That doesn’t sound right,” Elison chimes in, waggling you in the air. “I’m touching him right now!”

“Must be mistaken.”

“Terribly mistaken.”

“Maybe he wants more proof.”

“They do like facts, those Pravuses.”

Yet again, Erilee bludgeons you with a fist, wailing on the same tender spot for a third time. The pained whimper his blow elicits is embarrassing, and with how Elison giggles in response to it (would they quit giggling already?) you imagine they think the same.

“He’s fun, isn’t he?” they coo at their twin before turning their focus back to you, voice dropping to speak directly in your ear. “I wonder how long Harlan could keep you before your daddy caught on…”

Your veins turn to ice.

There’s no way. Not even Mahkir is self-absorbed enough to pick a fight with your father, and swiping you out from under him, hiding you from him, would do exactly that. He’d have to be the most short-sighted troll in the galaxy to plan a stunt like this.

It’s a bluff.

It has to be.

But you’re not waiting around to find out.

A surge of adrenaline gives you the push you need to ignore your aching core, and you slump forward as far as you can before rearing back to slam your skull against Elison’s. They drop you almost instantly, hands shooting to cup their bloodied face, and you fall to the ground in a heap.

Broken noses.

Not fun.

Erilee is already jumping into action as you stagger to your feet, and you barely manage to jump away in time when they make a grab for your fins.

So that’s their style. Get you between a rock and a hard place, find something vulnerable and hold it hostage.

You can play that game.

Pivoting on your heel, you dodge another grab from Erilee and take a swipe of your own, closing your hand around Elison’s horn and yanking them in front of you like a shield. They hiss slightly as you jostle them, still holding their face, and you place your free hand on their throat.

Erilee stares into you, expression blank save for the darkening shade of their sclera.

“Tell Mahkir to meet me himself next time,” you spit, baring your teeth at him.

In front of you, Elison begins to giggle again. “What a farce.”

Laughter wracks his shoulders, briefly, before he winces and falls still, though the sound carries on just the same.

“You don’t want that, Princey,” he chortles, grinning despite the searing pain in his face. “You don’t want that at all.”

Erilee’s gaze flicks to their brother for a moment before returning to you, just as murderous as before. You feel your shoulders tense, as if waiting for him to pounce, but he doesn’t seem to be preparing a move.

Focused as you are on the other twin, you don’t realize until too late that Elison is busy eyeing the placement of your hand on his throat. He snaps his head to the side suddenly, a move that has to hurt like hell with his broken nose, and clamps his own sharpened fangs around your forearm. You feel your skin split under his teeth, and panic blossoms in your chest.

On reflex, you jerk away from the attack, drastically worsening the bite in your rush to free yourself from it.

But you don’t feel the blood yet. There’s time.

Erilee’s expression shifts, no doubt a reaction to the prey-like fear overtaking your previously determined features, but you don’t have the wherewithal to analyze their face.

You bolt, the only thing you can think to do, and skid onto the street with your heart hammering in your ears. You’re on borrowed time.

You might not faint! You don’t always faint. But you sure as hell can’t fight.

Can’t focus.

Need that energy to ignore it.

Ignore the warm trickle running into your palm. Sticky. Wet. Your stomach turns.

Ignore.

You might hear their footsteps. You don’t check. Pavement’s empty. Phone. Phone’s gone.

Okay.

Just run.

Following? You’re not sure. You can feel the blood, feel droplets fly off as you sprint mindlessly down the road. Fuck. Don’t look.

He has it in his mouth. Your blood is in his mouth.

A wave of nausea nearly knocks you over, and you struggle to control your breathing. Your head is swimming, the edges of your vision blurred. But you see someone. You see purple. Leather jacket. Benjin? No. Good. Last person that should be here.

He has a phone. You know that sticker, he has your phone. He’s holding it funny.

You know him.

Thank god, you know him.

With shallow breaths, you throw yourself into the troll and grip his arms for leverage, catching an unfortunate glimpse of your own bloody wound in the process.

“Roatus,” you warble, pointing a shaky finger in his face. “You take this to your fucking grave.”

He raises his eyebrows and looks past you, just as your knees finally buckle beneath your weight.

#writing #erilee otrame #elison otrame #the twins #mallum writing #not bothering w the twins for now. cause i mean. npcs

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roetrolls · 2 years

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as i said out loud repeatedly while making this: "this is the worst thing I've ever drawn"

#harlan art #the dominion #erilee otrame #elison otrame #the twins #my art #shitpost #harlan mahkir #doodles

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roetrolls · 1 year

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Glad to know you both survived his hissy fit! Soooo twins. What are your thoughts on the situation with orfuse?

"Perhaps someone should remind you of your place~"

"We would be happy to help <3"

"A hissy fit... How insulting :("

"Very insulting."

#erilee otrame #elison otrame #the twins #an ask tag (happy chase?)#fyi i probably wont take a ton of ask for these guys #because they're npcs and get boring very quickly if they hang around too long

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roetrolls · 1 year

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Why is that one so cranky

"Harlan is..."

"Unhappy."

"So much to clean up..."

"His wrath is necessary–"

"But unpleasant."

#elison otrame #erilee otrame #the twins #an ask tag (happy chase?)

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roetrolls · 1 year

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Presses x to talk to the twins

"What do you want?"

"Erileeeeee, tone </3"

"Not right now. What is it?"

#i think the idea that the twins can talk normally #and just choose to be like that #is infinitely funnier than the alternative.#erilee otrame #elison otrame #the twins #an ask tag (happy chase?)

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roetrolls · 2 years

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Someone’s always puppeting this kid :\

#elison otrame #benjin art #(still thinking so hard abt bens childhood)#my art #doodles #<- cant decide which tag i want this under

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roetrolls · 2 years

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Special Day

It’s a quiet morning in the compound. Your room sits at the end of the northwest wing, isolated from the congregation’s normal quarters. You welcome the respite.

You asked once what the room was before they moved you into it, assuming it to be some kind of storage unit repurposed for your arrival.

“Before?” your ancestor had laughed at the question, crouching to bring his face where you could see it. “The room was always yours, boy. It was only a matter of when you would come to occupy it.”

The room itself is massive, just like the rest of his domain. High ceilings, wide spaces… Enough clearance for the giant himself to move comfortably through your quarters.

It makes you feel small.

You are small. His legacy. A puppet, an heir, an animal to be tamed.

With a heavy sigh, you take a lap around the room to draw the curtains for bed, blocking the light of the rising sun outside. It’s difficult, the monotony of this place, but at least the mornings bring with them the peace of solitude.

At least, they usually do.

You hear footsteps in the hall. Light, delicate. Elison’s. There’s no reason to come here beyond visiting you, but you can’t fathom why they would do so at this hour. Has the Dominion requested your presence?

Are they simply bored?

The lock turns on your door. You don’t know why it’s there. Your ancestor told you that if you wished for the freedom to move freely about the compound, you would need to show him that you could obey, but you’re not exactly keen on wandering the premises. You don’t like how his followers look at you.

The door drifts open to reveal, as expected, Elison standing in the hall. His hands, typically clasped in front of him, are noticeably tucked behind his back. They’re holding something.

You look at him with wide eyes, still grasping the curtain. He beams at you as he steps into the room, pushing the door closed with a foot.

“Hi, Benny boy. Special day!” They sing, practically bouncing with excitement.

You continue to stare, heart rising into your throat. You gulp, mouth suddenly dry, and wait for them to continue. When they don’t, you swallow again and force yourself to speak.

“What’s… What’s today?”

“Why, Benjiboo! You don’t know?” Elison gasps. “Someone in this room is turning five today!”

You almost think you didn’t hear him right, but then-- Your eyes dart to his hands, now proudly displaying the miniature cake and small wrapped parcel he had been hiding moments before.

What?

You snap your gaze up to meet him, certain this must be some sort of cruel joke.

“That’s-- How did you--”

“It is today, isn’t it? Your wriggling day?” They tilt their head at you, unfazed by your hesitance.

You nod slowly, still waiting for him to reveal the punchline.

He nods towards his offerings, eyebrows raised.

“Well? Come on then! I need to wash this plate before the kitchen staff wakes, you know.”

Your head is spinning. They did this in secret? Why? What’s the angle? Still, you step forward and tentatively take the gifts from their hands, slinking back to sit on the floor and look at what he’s given you.

Chocolate cake. You like chocolate.

It smells normal. Smells good, even.

You peek up again to see Elison rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet, raising his eyebrows at you once again and nodding towards the present.

“Are you going to open it?”

Wordlessly, you pull the package into your lap and tear the paper away with shaky hands. You can barely see what it is. Why is your vision so blurry? You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your pajamas, then pull your arm back to assess it. Wet.

You’re crying?

“It’s… A camera.” You mumble, voice small.

Elison nods eagerly. “For your trips into town! No repeats of last time.”

“Last time…”

Last time. When Erilee got upset with you for stopping, starry-eyed, at every bug and flower in your path.

So upset that he cut your visit short and sent you, all alone, to explain to the Dominion why you had been asked to return home. You were meant to help Erilee surveil the town that day. Your ancestor was less than pleased.

Running a thumb over the box in your lap, you look up at Elison with wet eyes, trying to find your words. “Thank you…”

They nod, pleased, and gesture to the cake at your side.

“Go on, then.”

You glance at the treat, then turn your attention back to them. “Why…?”

“I told you, I need to wash the plate! You need to listen better, Benny.”

“No-- I mean… Why did you do this?”

“Oh!” he giggles, lowering himself to sit in front of you. Wordlessly, he slides the camera from your lap to his. Briefly, you think he’s about to take it back. Give you a gift, then snatch it away, just to hurt you.

Then he opens the box, pulling out the instructions and the device itself, and begins to set it up for you.

“What do you mean why? It’s your wriggling day.”

#benjin ic #writing #elison otrame #guess who's still thinking about ben's childhood #probably a bad time to post a drabble but oh well <3 #benjin writing

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roetrolls · 1 year

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Harlan is still angry, huh? How's dealing with the aftermath treating you guys?

"Things are lovely <3"

"Better than ever~"

"Such a treat to see him at work..."

"It's been so long, you know."

"So very long~"

#elison otrame #erilee otrame #the twins #an ask tag (happy chase?)

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roetrolls · 2 years

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#veylin art #comics #harlan mahkir #the dominion #erilee otrame #elison otrame #the twins #:)#plot #harlan art

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roetrolls · 2 years

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i just think it'd be funny if he forgot how kids work

#harlan mahkir #the dominion #elison otrame #erilee otrame #the twins #benjin art #shitpost #doodles #harlan art

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roetrolls · 2 years

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Throwback

Veylin. Harlan has Veylin. Ben can practically feel his blood draining. Harlan. Has. Veylin. He needs to go to her. Needs to help her. Fuck. FUCK! How could he have been so stupid? Did he really think Harlan wouldn’t find her? This is his fault. Harlan will kill her.

Harlan will kill her.

His heart pounds in his chest. He’s sure he’s seeing spots. Is he even breathing? The air feels thick. He’s back. Back at the compound. Back in time. Returned to the day that has lived his memory and haunted his dreams for sweeps.

He’s at his desk, camera in his hands. He’s visiting Chalir today. As always, he can’t wait. Giddy with anticipation, Ben flips through their past photos, smiling at the mischievous face captured in every frame. A face that loved him. A face that looked at him and saw him and really, truly loved him.

And then there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Whatcha looking at, Benny boy?”

He practically jumps out of his skin, nearly throwing his camera in surprise. What the fuck? Erilee. Why didn’t he hear them come in? He could usually hear them.

“Nothing!” He answers immediately, whirling around in his chair. It’s fine. It will be fine. There have been close calls before, right? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But before he’s even finished turning to face them, Erilee’s spindly arm is reaching towards him, wrenching the camera from his grasp. He leaps from his seat to lunge for it, and the taller clown plants a palm on his face, keeping him at an arm’s distance.

“Give that back!” He growls, shoving their arm aside just in time to see Erilee tossing the device over their shoulder, into Elison’s waiting hands. Immediately, Ben changes targets. He needs the camera. He needs to get the camera.

He darts past Erliee, only to be yanked back by his own momentum when they catch his forearm. Ow. Fucker. He flicks his arm, tries to shake them off, but they’re already pulling him in and wrapping their arms around him, pinning his back to their chest.

“LET GO!” He thrashes helplessly, earning a giggle from Erilee and a squeeze that presses the air from his lungs.

Elison doesn’t look up from the camera, flipping through the photos with an unreadable expression.

“Well?” Erilee asks, all but squealing with amusement. Benjin can’t tell if it’s the pressure on his chest or the pounding in his head, but god does he feel faint.

“Elison, please. It’s not what it looks like, he hasn’t done anything, just-”

“Oh, Benjiboo,” they coo, a signature mock pout settling upon their face, “Harlan is going to crush him.”

He’s crying.

No, that doesn’t make sense. Benjin isn’t allowed to cry. He didn’t cry then, not in that moment. So whose tears are these?

Oh. His. In the present. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening, because it already did. Chalir is already dead.

But Veylin isn’t. He can make it. He can change it this time.

Ben looks around the room, mind racing. For a brief moment, he considers asking for help. Running to Caenos, Polly, someone. He’s so tired of being alone.

No. He can’t. He can’t.

What if they refuse to help? What if they look at him and all they see is Harlan? No. No, they’ll think it’s a trap. They’ll think this was the plan all along. He hasn’t earned their trust. He knows he hasn’t earned their trust, because he doesn’t trust himself.

No help. No time. He needs to go. He needs to go.

He takes his glaive on the way out the door. Nothing else. There’s no time for anything else.

He leaves the town at a sprint, running through the forest with his chest ablaze and his vision blurred by tears.

The memories nag at him. Bite, claw, scream for his attention. The forest surrounding the compound. Harlan’s eyes are trained on Benjin the entire time the twins explain their findings. Those horrible, venomous eyes. Even with his own gaze trained on the floor, Ben can feel them boring through him, filled with the most palpable hatred he has ever seen.

Then there’s movement. Harlan rises from his seat, his throne, and takes his club into his hand, face perfectly expressionless save for a hint of scorn, as if Benjin has forced upon him some dull, unwelcome chore.

Ben’s soul is screaming. He can’t just let this happen. He has to stop him. Has to do something. He trails Harlan out the door, stumbling over himself in his hurry. The twins don’t stop him. They know there’s nothing he can do.

Even at his most relaxed pace, Harlan is difficult to keep up with. When he’s mad, it’s even harder.

Benjin pants, running alongside the man in a hopeless bid for his attention.

“Please! Harlan- Sir, please, please! I-I’ll never speak to him again! I swear, I swear it, please, I won’t even leave my room, I-“ He chokes on his own breath, swallowing a sob. “I promise, sir, I’m sorry… I’m sorry, please!”

Harlan doesn't even look at him, stern gaze focused straight ahead.

Harrowed by his own desperation, Ben throws his arms out to grab at his guardian, gripping one massive hand with both of his.

“Please!” He wails, “Please, I’ll do anything you ask! No more fighting, no more complaints, I promise! Please!”

Harlan stops dead in his tracks when Benjin takes his hand, narrowing his eyes without sparing so much as a glance at the boy.

“Did I permit you to touch me?”

Ben doesn’t even register the threat. He’s too busy begging for a second chance. “Sir, I’m sorry, I-“

“Were you truly sorry, Benjin, you would not have defied me to begin with. These are the consequences of your actions alone. Remove your hands or I will make you.”

But he doesn’t let go. He sobs, drops his head, and clutches the man even tighter. Comfort. He just wants some comfort. He’s so tired. Tired of being scared, tired of the anger and the hurt. Just give him something. Anything he can cling to to convince himself that they care for him. That they see him as anything more than a burden, a failure, a dog to be trained. Please.

Harlan shakes him off with ease, promptly rewarding Ben’s insolence with a backhanded swat that knocks the boy off his feet.

Then he carries on, ignoring the small hands now grasping at the leg of his pants, off to take away the only home Benjin has ever known.

It won’t happen again. Ben won’t let it.

He lost Chalir. He won’t lose Veylin.

#writing #benjin ic #harlan mahkir #the dominion #erilee otrame #elison otrame #the twins #ask to tag #benjin art #benjin writing #harlan writing

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