#ginger mycoba
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Quarantine
Ginger Mycoba | Present Night | Bukit Berongga
This drabble is preceded by Come, Sister, Come.
Ginger hadn’t been able to cover up the girl’s - Quinne, they’d learned her name was - blood mutant status for long, in the end.
It figured, really, given the kinds of medical tests she had to undergo. None of their staff liked it - Leshwi had been especially irritated, no surprise - but at least they hadn’t seen her with her psiionics off and had no idea what she really looked like. She was pretending to appear as a regular maroon.
Ginger had firmly insisted, brief and to the point, that Quinne not be culled. They’d had a warning look in their white-blue eyes as they’d stood in the largest vehicle and addressed everyone. Their rigid stance - ideological and physical - made it clear any of their employees tattling to the empire would be fired, and that would be the best case scenario for them.
They did not need the fleet sticking their noses in right now; all of them should know that.
What mattered, they’d said, was figuring out why exactly Quinne was immune, and how they could use her immunity as the basis for a cure, or at the very least a preventative.
Maybe it was the fact they were talking sense. Maybe it was that things kept getting worse every few hours. Maybe it was their employees’ fear of what Ginger could do to a troll, which they had all seen before in vivid detail.
The important thing was that no one had argued with them, and that fleet indigo and her two assistants didn’t seem to suspect a thing.
This might be because the humming trolls were all still stuck as they were, remaining the problem everyone was focused on, and nothing Ginger’s staff did seemed to be able to fix that. They’d been able to move them easily enough - everyone except Ginger wearing bulky protective biohazard suits as they lifted and placed the ragdoll-like people - and lay them all in beds.
But while the entranced trolls took food and water if it was given to them, their bodies’ normal processes running as usual, they didn’t respond to any treatment or even regular stimuli. Careful applications of pain or pressure got no response, and talking to them was like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. They just kept humming - or coughing - their eyes empty and far away.
They’d tested the sick trolls for psiionic mind control, even though Ginger knew they wouldn’t find anything.
They hated not being able to tell their staff all they knew, but while their employees might reluctantly accept the need to keep a mutant alive to save regular trolls, they’d never believe the presence of eldritch activity.
Boy, had that not gone away. In fact, it had done the opposite.
They’d been forced to bring back the xanthomonas to keep the regrowing plants down, just to make sure their convoy and the fleet trolls had a way in and out of the medical tents. Worse, the animals were all still sick too, and they didn’t have the staff to spare to round them all up and make sure the disease didn’t spread.
The animals had also started to…change.
It was hard to notice unless you looked at one closely. If you did, their anatomy looked just a bit…off. Eyes set too low in the head. Legs too long. Their shadows flickered; sometimes there, sometimes not.
When they opened their mouths, it smelled of rot and salt. An ocean gone foul.
Ginger had caught an ill deer a few hours ago. When they’d downed the animal, it was as if the illness had just…left the body, and it seemed like a normal corpse.
They’d looked away to take out their phone to take a photo of it for documentation.
When they’d looked up, they’d caught another deer spasming as it lurched over the corpse, ripping open its abdomen and eating its flesh, muzzle bloody with meat and dark, crusted blisters like the trolls had on their bodies.
They’d killed it immediately, but then the blisters had dried up and gone. Nothing for them to analyze, or bring back to their scientists.
Nothing their team screened from the trolls turned up any results either. It was as if the disease didn’t exist when it was observed scientifically.
Like the thing was hiding from them. As if it was intelligent somehow, or as they’d originally suspected, it was being controlled by someone.
They’d realized then that it had been hiding the whole time; radiating hatred to prevent Ginger from touching the ill trolls and investigating the illness directly.
They’d tried to touch the deer’s corpse, just as an experiment. Nothing. But they’d bet if it had been alive when they tried, they’d have felt that same vicious emotion.
They’d buried it. They knew better than try to have their cooking staff use it.
Of course calling Thrixe - and texting him - about any of this hadn’t worked. Bellam had given them his number, but there was no response. They kind of doubted the starfish hybrid just happened to be conveniently unavailable at the moment.
That didn’t necessarily mean he was responsible for all this, but he was involved somehow.
If he was deliberately ignoring them…well, it didn’t seem like his style, but hey, horrorterror hybrid. Who knew what might be up with him?
They had other things to worry about, though. Namely, the fact that the disease was spreading.
For whatever reason, it hadn’t affected their staff. Maybe it was the protection Ginger extended to them; an old warding magic the Mycoba line could cast over anyone who’d sworn loyalty to them.
Or less dramatically, was in their employ to collect a paycheck. Regardless, it seemed to be holding.
This was cold comfort given it had spread beyond the hills, though.
Complaints had come in from Selatak proper about trolls falling ill with the same symptoms and humming as the few hundred in Bukit Berongga. How, Ginger didn’t know, since there weren’t any reports of carriers actually entering the city. It seemed impossible that one of the stricken trolls could’ve made it that far anyway, given how unresponsive they were unless moved by someone else.
Which made it all the more disturbing. They’d given imperial clearance for a quarantine to be set around the city and all its surrounding islands. Hopefully that would help, even though it was understandably pissing a lot of trolls off.
They knew they only had so much time before Selatak’s leaders demanded more answers from them.
Were there more old horrorterror fragments in the area? Just how on Alternia had they gotten there to begin with, and how were they supposed to be safely removed, if it was even possible?
They had someone else they had questions for, and Cyvell would have a much harder time pretending to ignore them.
Ginger currently knelt outside the medical tents on the grass, making a small circle of little brown mushrooms sprout in the earth with magic and spores they carried with them.
They raised a hand, letting magic leak into the circle, and the air rippled…then a foul-smelling black smog leaked from it and they immediately cut off their magic, wishing they could purify the air. As it was, they were just glad no one else was around to witness it.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Except Quinne, popping back into visibility beside them with her disguise up, kneeling on the ground.
At least she was more covered up in the clothes they’d had their staff put together for her - a light shirt with elbow-length sleeves and loose pants - than in the worn and filthy tank top and skirt she’d had before.
They’d made excuses for her not covering her lower arms by Quinne using her illusions to pretend she had eczema, plus the hot weather made it less suspicious.
“I was trying to contact someone for information, which went great, as you can see.” They said, shaking their head. “This is bad, plus it doesn’t make sense. My other spells have been working fine; why not this one? Why her and Thrixe? The winter court needs to hear about this. Probably Gaia too, by this point.”
The hemoanon was hardly thrilled at the idea of getting either party involved. The fae would be eager to kill Thrixe, and Gaia…well, they hadn’t dealt with them in a long time. Who knew how the organization operated these nights?
Quinne tilted her head. “So that guy didn’t get back to ya either? Sheesh. Abandoned like a stray grub, huh? Rude of ‘em.”
Ginger shook their head. “Thrixe not answering is annoying, but not being able to get through to Cyvell is bad and suspicious; does she not want to talk, or has something happened to her? Kind of need to know, given she’s the one who told me to investigate this stuff in the first place.”
Quinne blinked, her disguised non-furry ears flicking.
“Ooh, she’s your boss?”
The horseman snorted hard.
“If she was my boss, I think I’d eat glass. No. I work with her, my bloodline has for a really long time. She’s…whatever, might as well tell you she’s not a troll. She’s a fae. You heard of fae, Quinne?”
The mutant tilted her head, and they could imagine her tail was flicking in thought, even though they couldn’t see it.
“Those like fables?”
Ginger was amused, though of course the girl couldn’t see it through their facial mask and helmet. “Close. They’re fairies. Not the kind you might’ve seen in kids’ movies. Cyvell’s a disease fae, anthrax actually. You ever heard of that one?”
Quinne shook her head.
“Nasty one, has a couple different forms, but if you breathe it in you’re gonna die if you don’t get treated. Funny thing is, it’s not even infectious, at least, not in the usual way; can’t get it from another troll. What makes it dangerous is that it can live in a lot of different places, and you can’t see the spores. You can inhale it and you’ll never know, or get it in a cut from some dirt or something.”
The young girl shuddered. “Boy, you weren’t kiddin’; that is nasty. Why d’ya work with someone like that?”
“I don’t really have a - “
Ginger stopped talking as a troll popped into existence nearby them with a swirl of red energy. Quinne jumped to her feet.
Mage. This was a mage, they could sense it.
The troll looked distinctly startled to see the pair of them, large ears pressed back a bit and maroon eyes wide behind their oddly shaped glasses. They wore a black tank top, dark red knee-length shorts and a ring of golden pearls around their neck, and shrunk back at the sight of Ginger.
“Ah - oh dear - oh dear - “ They said again in a distinct Albion accent, swallowing, hands raised in a gesture of defeat. “P-please don’t hurt me, P-pestilence. Th-that’s who you are, right?”
“Not gonna hurt you.” Ginger rumbled. “Why are you here? This is a quarantine zone. You should get out of here before you get sick like the others.”
They gulped. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here! I’d rather be two hundred kilometers away! But I happened to be in Selatak, and I got a gander at one of those infected trolls, and I…I know what’s wrong with them. I know both those energies making them sick!”
Ginger felt time slow down.
Both?
“One’s a half horrorterror! Well - I don’t think it’s him exactly, but it’s his bloodline, I can tell that much. Really cheerful to think of others being out there…but I know what I felt! He’s a Growth aspe - “
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve met Thrixe.” Said Ginger, a hair impatiently. “I know who you mean.”
The maroon sputtered in surprise and offense. “Well! I was just trying to…never mind. As for the other one! Quite a dismal customer, but then, what do you expect of a disease fae? Cyvell’s an old bag of rubbish, and -”
The mage trailed off as Ginger took a step closer to them, looking frightened again.
“Cyvell. You said Cyvell. The fae of anthrax. How do you know it’s her?”
Their voice was restrained. Very carefully restrained.
“Well, I - I can tell. I, um, met her once.”
“Anthrax isn’t an infectious disease.” Ginger stated flatly.
“No, I mean, I guess not?” They cringed back. “The horrorterror power is mutating it, I think. Growing it beyond what it would normally be. Plus, if it’s tied to the remnants…we’re surrounded by them. I looked it up.
Long ago, the empire fought the islands’ inhabitants over this land…it’s written they used ‘abominable, strange weapons’ to defeat them. That the original trolls were never the same again, the ones who lived. That the land was - at least it says it was - ‘cleansed with fire’ to stop the damage from those weapons from getting worse. But, those remnants are still here.”
Crista pointed down at the ground.
“Bukit Berongga. The Hollow Hills. That’s what’s inside them. It’s why the empire doesn’t care about this place, why the ghosts are so thick here. Whatever that other hybrid did, it never fully went away. Now Cyvell’s using the remnants to change and spread her disease. Or they mixed with her power by accident. I don’t know. I just - I wanted to help.” They wrung their hands nervously.
Ginger stood stock still.
“Yeah. You have. Thanks. Now get out of here. ”
The mage gulped and swallowed, vanishing again in another swirl of red energy.
The horseman of the apocalypse drew their sword.
“Quinne, get inside and stay there until I get back. Tell Leshwi there’s an emergency protocol on, lock everything down as much as possible and get ready to defend the sick trolls. She’ll know what to do.”
Their deep voice, usually so neutral, rung with authority.
The mutant girl did not hesitate. She ran back into the tents, stopped after she got a foot or so under the grime-streaked white coverings, then looked back at the armored troll.
“Are you gonna be okay?” She called, uncertain.
Ginger nodded.
“You promise?” She said, sounding on the edge of tears.
Ginger nodded again, and raised their sword in acknowledgement. Quinne nodded, sniffling, and ran further in until she was out of their sight.
They summoned Dunny, put their sword on their left hip, and were about to mount him when they paused, blood turning to ice.
A keening, aching chorus of lamentations reached their ears and made the hair on their neck stand on end, coming from the direction of Bukit Berongga’s nearest shore.
They moved again, swinging themself on the animal and urging him on as fast as possible, though the horse hardly needed the encouragement.
As they crested the first hill, they saw their quarry, and Ginger had seen a lot in their hundred and thirty odd sweeps.
A massive starfish monster oozing black goo, wailing in dozens of agonized voices as he crawled out of the sea and onto the sand, was a first.
#cloud writes#harbinger#ginger mycoba#quinne querro#crista condyl#thrixe varzim#hey look! thrixe is back! everyone say hi!#also yeah it's a Long One again#the last two will be as well
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Glass Among Murk, Part 1
Ginger Mycoba | Present Night | Bukit Berongga
This drabble is preceded by Conquest, Set Forth and followed by Glass Among Murk, Part 2.
Ginger was really tempted to turn around right as their convoy pulled into the hazard site, a hilly area near the city of Selatak. It was as hot as an overcrowded hospital and muggy on top of that, but luckily, their armor was enchanted to disperse the worst of it. They only mildly sweated underneath the gray metal at the moment.
The real headache was the Fleet officials there at the edge of the perimeter, stiff and starched as dried fish, which meant everything was about to suck for at least a solid two hours. At least the trio was wearing face masks; not every official did.
They probably shouldn’t have ridden Dunny in, his hooves gently clopping against the muddy earth, but they needed the space. As much as they liked most of their employees, the vehicles they traveled in weren’t especially roomy in terms of living quarters, and Ginger was bigger and taller than everyone else.
Their staff all got out of their way like it was second nature. Which was helpful, except when it wasn’t.
If only these losers would move themselves, Ginger thought, sighing and urged Dunny forward. They then dismounted a few feet from the fleet trolls, their horse’s white tail swishing back and forth as they did. The officials stood around a small table, the portable kind that fleet armies used all the time. The armies and Ginger’s crew, who also had to set up and take down their facilities on short notice.
“Mycoba.” Said one curtly, an indigo who seemed to be in charge judging by the fanciness of her outfit and the various pins on her shirt. Also her scowl, an authoritative one belonging to someone who had too much to deal with or else not enough to keep her occupied.
“Hi.” Replied the hemoanon, not having any clue what her name was. These people should put on tags.
This made her scowl more, either from the lack of formality or because she just didn’t like what little of Ginger’s face she could see between their helmet and face mask. They’d sympathize if they didn’t know they were going to enjoy whatever she had to say even less.
“We have evacuated Bukit Berongga as best we could.” She said in a clipped voice, her accent not quite local but not too far off.
Ginger knew this area, though not well; they’d been here about two dozen sweeps back for an outbreak stemming from the place’s corpse disposal traditions. Not a bad spot, if a little weird; the local religion revered the art of calming the dead, due to the unusually large amount of ghosts in the area.
“How many alive?”
“All of them.”
They paused, and put a hand against Dunny.
The indigo seemed amused, though the hemoanon couldn’t see her mouth. It was her posture, her eyes, the way she leaned back slightly; her ears, like theirs, weren’t really big or flexible enough to show emotion. Plus, they were mostly covered by her long hair.
“Yes, Mycoba, all of them. They’re certainly ill, and what’s more, so is some of the wildlife…but we can’t tell from what. They don’t get better, no matter what we prescribe, but they don’t get worse. Their symptoms are all eerily similar to each other across castes, which shouldn’t happen.”
No, it seriously should not happen. What had Thrixe been doing to cause insane stuff like this?
Their mount flicked his ears, his white tail going at the flies that kept trying to bite him. The indigo eyed the plague-scarred equine with obvious dislike. Ginger couldn’t exactly blame her, but Fleet tended to frown on dismissing an entire animal into thin air even more than the animal itself.
“This is why we called you.” She said pointedly. The implication was clear: they wouldn’t have if there was any other option.
“I thought it was for the pleasure of my company.” Rumbled the horseman. “Feeling a little unloved here.”
She rolled her purple eyes. “You’re lucky you can’t be replaced.”
Yet. The unsaid word rippled behind its audible sentence.
“Speak with Arvist, he can debrief you on what we know of the disease.” She said, waving a hand to gesture at a cerulean man looking distinctly wilted from the heat, his horns cut unusually short. “Go to Ngatal if you require supplies or further information about the hills themselves. Do not send for me unless it’s an emergency.”
The last Fleet troll was an olive, to Ginger’s mild surprise, as the indigo woman walked away into a nearby tent and they were left with her two subordinates. The olive - who didn’t seem to be a man or a woman - flipped her off as she turned away and the hemoanon smiled behind their mask as the cerulean vainly tried to push their hand down.
“Hey.” Said Ginger, genial, as the two spun to look at them.
Arvist looked frightened, his pointy ears narrowed, while Ngatal seemed annoyed, given their stance. Maybe it was lingering annoyance at their boss. Manager. Whichever.
“What do you want?” Said the olive sharply, hair cropped almost to their skull, light clothing worn over a slim build with a small chest. What skin Ginger could see looked pretty scarred, while the cerulean didn’t have a mark on him as he flapped his hands at his coworker, muttering at them to please stop. Interesting duo.
“It’s fine.” Assured Ginger. “If I wanted people to be happy to see me, I’d sell ice cream. Though that might not work.” They added, deadpan and thoughtful.
The olive paused, squinting at them with what was probably suspicion.
“Are you going to cull these people?” Ngatal demanded, prickly, arms crossed and curled horns tilted slightly forward.
Ginger shrugged.
“Hope not.”
The cerulean laughed nervously.
“I wasn’t kidding.” They said dryly. “I don’t want to, but I have to examine them first. What are their symptoms?”
Arvist fumbled in his sylladex for a clipboard, one reminded them of Leshwi’s own. The olive had wanted to come with them, but they’d asked her to stay until they came back, not wanting to potentially expose her to some unknown germ, even with protection. She had been less than thrilled, but Ginger could manage the greenblood’s disapproval if it meant she stayed behind.
I’m not a pupa, Ginger, she’d said impatiently. I can handle a new disease.
Hope not, or I’d get in trouble for buying you booze most holinights, they’d replied, deadpan.
She’d half laughed, half sighed, then given them a skeptical look.
What’s the real reason you don’t want me there? She’d asked, point blank.
They appreciated that about her. Some trolls got too fidgety and nervous around them, others were passive aggressive or spiteful.
If she didn’t die at some point - always a big if - they had no idea how much longer she’d want to be their assistant. Some of them didn’t last all that long, if they didn’t die first.
Leshwi had lasted sweeps. Great on the professional level.
Bad for Ginger personally.
Humor me, they’d replied, neutral as usual. I’ll tell you later.
The look in her olive eyes had expected a very good explanation when they got back.
—-
After some discussion with Arvist and Ngatal, Ginger set off toward the field hospital, seated on Dunny again. It was further than they’d originally expected, but apparently, the indigo - whose name they had been told and still couldn’t remember - had placed herself and her staff as far as possible from the sick trolls and the staff looking after them while still being in contact range.
It wasn’t ideal terrain for riding. The Hollow Hills - Bukit Berongga in the local language - lived up to their name, and they were climbing one right now. Ginger kept leaning to adjust their center of gravity so Dunny could carry them better, heavy as they were. He might be supernaturally strong, hardy, and calm, but they still didn’t want to put extra strain on him.
He wasn’t pure magic; just enhanced from a baseline horse - as far as they understood it, anyway. Their skills in enchantment began and ended on objects, with living beings distinctly above their skill level. Especially ones that had been around since the first Mycoba, thousands of sweeps ago.
They kept their reins loose, but not dangling as their white mount clip-clopped closer to the highest point, pressing down lush grass with every step; didn’t want him to catch a hoof. Especially because once they cleared the top…
…well, once they cleared the top they let out a low whistle of mild awe as they looked down on the field hospital and the state it was in.
The whole place was covered in mud and overgrown foliage, carpets of heart of Sufferer and other plants they didn’t know creeping from the ground and drowning out the earth below. The white of the medical tents could hardly be seen under the grime clinging to them, the weight of it pressing the material down a bit.
Sure enough, as the indigo had said, there were also animals moving sluggishly and strangely through the mire - small deer and wild pigs, a few smaller animals they didn’t know the names of. They stopped and started jerkily as they waded through the plants and muck, and appeared to be coughing just like the trolls had been reported.
Something was wrong here. Something had been different here for a long time, their senses told them, now that they were reaching out to look for it. This activity wasn’t wholly new. Traces of a similar energy had been sunk into the hills for millennia…
…but what exactly, they couldn’t tell.
If only supernatural awareness functioned like scientific instruments did, they internally grumbled, cautiously riding Dunny down. They’d have to dismount before long - this terrain was no good for him - and they’d have to start reducing the plants. Not much they could do about the mud for now.
Ginger pulled a list of the local flora diseases out of their sylladex, one prepped for them by their staff.
Wasn’t a good idea to introduce something foreign, even if it was isolated to one area. They could stop the generation of anything they introduced, but not its subsequent spread from biological momentum. Wouldn’t that be handy, but the point of being Pestilence was - in theory - to do the exact opposite.
Xanthomonas was a good first bet. Classic immune system hijacker; the plants couldn’t keep growing if they were blighted from the inside out and their defenses had been overwritten. Any rogue bacteria now had immediate ability to go to town rotting the plants.
Ginger nudged Dunny down, and as their horse’s hooves made his careful way toward the mess of greenery, every hoof print in the mud left curling strands of yet more bacteria, twisting and rising away into the air like silver thread. Seeking food and shelter, the microbes immediately latched onto the feast waiting for them.
Before the pair had even made it to the bottom, the plants had already been reduced by a quarter. Consumed leaf, stem, and flower before their very eyes, small patches of ground were visible again beneath the still-thick swaths of herbiage.
Dummy snorted and tossed his head as they got to the edge of the plants and close to the tents, his ears flicking as he stopped in place. Ginger frowned behind their facial mask as they felt his muscles tense beneath their saddle.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
The horse couldn’t talk. He wasn’t really that much smarter than a regular animal. But he almost never got nervous.
The sense of difference hummed at the edge of their senses again like a heat haze, a difference only compounded by this unnatural spread, not started by it. Bukit Berongga. What was different about this place? Ginger could sense Thrixe’s power, but underneath it was…
…more eldritch remnants, of the same exact aspect, they realized with shock. That was why the disease - and plants - were growing so fast. But these other bits of power were old - ancient - so they must be deep underground, normally inactive. They could detect them only faintly, like roots branching out deep, deep below the dark earth.
Another Varzim had been here once.
He meddles with the world. Just like his ancestor.
Just how much did Cyvell know about this? Or was this a coincidence?
The hemoanon set their jaw, and urged Dunny forward.
Only one way to find out.
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Conquest, Set Forth
Ginger Mycoba | Present Night
This drabble is preceded by The Starfish and the Flame and followed by Glass Among Murk, Part 1.
Alternia’s southern hemisphere: freezing as its top half melted. In a field of mostly dead grass, the world was quiet except for the chittering of a few night animals that faded away as a tall, armored troll rode a white horse - gray, if one wanted to be traditional about it - drew close to them.
Specifically, the pair drew close to what would, to most trolls, look like a ring of frostbitten mushrooms.
An irate voice with no visible speaker came from the circle of fungi as horse and rider came within a few feet of it.
“You’re late, Pestilence.”
“Oops.” Acknowledged Ginger, their tone carrying an amount of concern that might have been located with a strong magnifying glass.
The unbothered horseman patted their steed on his face as they dismounted and let him go off to graze on whatever he could find; being a supernatural creature, he could manage on what would be unpalatable to a normal animal.
It was nice to actually ride Dunny; when they were going around for their job it was a lot more efficient to travel by truck. He tended to gnaw on them for his enforced loneliness after long stretches unsummoned, but their ride tonight had put him in a better mood.
“You’re always late.”
“Maybe I won’t be next time.” Responded the hemoanon blithely.
“Maybe if you had a drop of respect in you, you wouldn’t be.”
“Big if true.” They replied, carefully stepping in the circle.
It was the same place - the same mushroom ring - but now it was darker, colder, and around the mushroom ring rose ancient thrones of dark wood. The place was illuminated by clumps of luminescent moss and fungi clinging to the dark trees that now sprung from the dry, cracked earth, but the shadows here were thicker. Watchful.
Alive.
Fae sat in the dozen-odd thrones, varied in form, but all unmistakably non-troll.
Ginger took their bloodline’s traditional seat - a diseased and withered stump of a once-great tree, the wood spongy beneath them - and plucked a Frappuccino from their sylladex.
The fae looked at it, shuffling in their seats, wings and antennae rustling. The sweet smell of it was a nice change from the faint odor of dead old wood, of decay that never progressed.
“Mortal drink, in our realm?” One said disdainfully. “You offend us.”
“Cool.” Said the armored troll, sticking a straw into the slightly melted vanilla beverage and starting to drink it despite not lowering their facial mask whatsoever. Magic was handy that way.
More muttering, but Ginger knew that a) there was nothing they could do b) most of them didn’t really care. It was a pretense, as most things were with fae.
The canine fae on the largest throne lounged placidly, but her many black and yellow eyes had a sharp gaze.
They rested on Ginger’s whitish blue eyes with their fractured pupils, which returned her attention evenly.
“Winter court, and Pestilence.” She said sharply. “Let us commune, for there is corruption in our lands.”
“Yes! The horror spawn.” Said the fae who had disdained Ginger’s Frappuccino, one that looked more like a giant cicada crossed with a troll than anything.
“We got a horrorterror problem?” Rumbled Ginger with amusement. “I haven’t gotten any imperial alerts. What’s the issue?”
“It is a subtle one, Pestilence…he may not realize what he is doing.” Said the canine fae, her long tail waving slowly back and forth. “For all things, there is a reaction.”
“For all things there is balance.” Murmured the rest of the fae in unison. “Winter to summer. Frost to flame. Disease to health.”
Ginger had a feeling they knew what this was about, but they weren’t going to help the others get there, even if it made the meeting longer.
“Every time he restores a place, this growthling, it is changed. Perhaps he doesn’t realize it…doesn’t understand he is causing the world to go out of turn, slowly but surely.”
“Bacterial mass?” Asked Ginger.
“Bacterial mass.” Confirmed the canine. “They are starting to overgrow, simply from the aura left behind. He thinks he has tidied up after himself, perhaps, but he doesn’t understand.”
That sounded likely to the hemoanon, what with how meticulous the guy was. If it was the guy they were thinking of, which they would bet several games of poker on.
“A pity…his signmate does. We have no issue with Zanzul Varzim. She wanders, ensuring there is no dangerous lasting impact to her presence. He meddles with the world. Just like his ancestor.”
The armored troll didn’t miss the trace of bitterness in the fae’s voice at the mention of some long-ago Varzim.
Sometimes being right sucked.
“What do you plan to do?” Asked the hemoanon.
All the fae looked at him.
“You are tasked with stopping him, Pestilence. You can neutralize the hybrid. We will provide assistance if necessary.”
“You want him dead already?” Stated the muscular troll, deadpan. “No negotiation?”
“You may try to talk him down.” The winter court noble conceded. “If he doesn’t acquiesce, he must be destroyed. We are all the cold diseases of power, all the frigid ends of trollkind, every careless winter death. There are enough of us. There need not be another. His works must not create a new strain.”
She looked at the others, who in turn nodded their heads at her.
“We will also settle for him being stripped of his powers.”
“You ever try to unmake a hybrid?” Asked Ginger, neutral and blunt. “Especially that type? I’d be causing mass molecular degradation. Safe disposal alone would be a daymare. I’d need the court’s full support.”
“You will have it, if it is truly necessary.” Responded the woman smoothly.
“I don’t know yet.” Said the horseman. “I’ll try to talk him down.”
“What makes you think you can reason with horror spawn?” Curiosity and amusement mingled in a different fae’s voice.
Ginger scratched an ear as they noisily tried to suck up the last of their Frappuccino through the straw. Minor teleportation magic: never leave hive without it.
“I have a funny feeling.”
They knew better than to explain that they were already acquainted with Thrixe Varzim.
“Do you have to make such an awful noise?” Hissed a fae who resembled a water beetle crossed with a horse. Maybe some kind of kelpie.
“It’s a good drink.” They said, deadpan as usual.
“You are disgusting.”
“I don’t think any of us have a ton of stones to throw from our glass hives.”
The fae looked confused, and the horseman knew it was not only because of their troll saying but because the winter court did not perceive themselves as at all disgusting.
Not that Ginger blamed them. They had always been this way, ever since their diseases and domains had existed.
Ginger knew they themself were disgusting by any troll’s standards, even if they only infected others by choice, not default.
Hence the armor. Hence the mask.
Sometimes they envied the fae their uncomprehending ignorance, their complete lack of care toward guarding others against what they were. They did not know shame. They did not care what fae from different courts thought of them, let alone trolls.
Not that Ginger was ashamed, really. It was easier this way.
“Any last words of warning for me?” They said, looking around the circle. “Tips? Tricks? Jokes? Limericks?”
The varied faces present looked at them with what was probably mild disdain. None of them were high enough castes of fae to really get troll humor.
Except the canine, who looked at him with amusement, if also mild frustration.
The shadows - conversely, the lowest order of sapient fae - swirled around her throne.
“Take this seriously, Pestilence.” She chided.
“I am so serious forever.” The hemoanon deadpanned in return.
“You have a flippant tongue your ancestor lacked. It may be torn out some night.” The words were soft, pleasant in tone even, but there was no doubt they were sincere.
“I’m young and fiery.” Said the hundred and thirty sweep-odd horseman. “Give me time.”
They put their empty drink cup in their sylladex. They weren’t one for littering, and doing so here could be deadly.
“Ciao for now.”
The hemoanon got up and stepped back into the mushroom ring, and regular Alternia was restored.
Except that a woman was waiting for them, a woman in blue and teal clothing.
Her eyes were black, except for her yellow pupils, and her dreadlocks were done up in a bun. She was shorter than Ginger’s seven foot bulk, but not by much.
“You know him.”
It wasn’t a question.
The hemoanon shrugged, and whistled for their steed. Dunny was good at coming quickly when he was called, and sure enough, trotted over in seconds. His lively, warm animal smell was reassuring after the deadness of the winter fae realm.
“I know lots of people, Cyvell.” Offered Ginger as they mounted the animal, who snorted at the disguised fae. It was true enough.
She eyed the horse, covered in sores and scars as his master was under their gray-blue armor.
“Do not let sentiment cloud your judgment, Pestilence.”
“When have I ever.” Deadpanned the hemoanon.
They raced off with a clatter of hooves, followed by the eyes of the fae until distance swallowed the pair up into the night.
#cloud writes#ginger mycoba#cyvell xranth#for those who do not know: pestilence as a horseman was originally interpreted as conquest#so it is still a title Ginger has#not that they'll be the one to tell you. they find it all pretentious#Thrixe somewhere making out with his boyfriend(s) utterly oblivious#harbinger
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During tea time Kyroko just gives the saddest old dog sigh as she fiddles with a flyer.
"Why must eloquence also be paired with an overwhelming number of strangers? They're doing another themed ball this year."
Ginger, looking at it as they see the theme, eyebrows raising under their helmet. "That's a choice. I don't dislike it, just kind of a weird one to me. I'm not going, obviously, but did you want to? Might be fun if you took Friahr, but I dunno if he'd be interested, doesn't seem like his thing."
Ginger has nothing against the ball, but has never attended given the difficulty of dressing up to cover their appearance in something formal enough.
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I like drawing Ginger’s collection of stupid shirts & tank tops. Them with an illusion up, of course.
#cloud doodles#ginger Mycoba#local horseman of pestilence owns silly clothes and shows up late to meetings with Starbucks
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Death and Pestilence, the best of friends.
Kyroko belongs to @mycrappyrpsideblog
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Mercy
Ginger Mycoba | Bukit Berongga | Present Night
Ginger threw up a magical barrier sphere as they raced down the hill toward Thrixe. It wouldn’t hold forever, or if he tried to break it on purpose, but they had to contain whatever was going to happen as best they could.
They felt resistance as it shot through the ground as well, but with a push of effort, they felt it complete and seal them and Thrixe in.
The containment zone was about a quarter mile across in every direction, barely visible except as a translucent bluish shimmer in the air. No living or undead being could come in or out now, and no magical or eldritch power could leave.
As a bonus, it would block any tech or magical scrying that might be trying to see what was happening within it. The only way to witness what would come was with a troll’s own eyes, but Ginger wouldn’t advise that to anyone.
If it weren’t for the mental protections granted by their mantle, they’d be screwed.
As Thrixe caught sight of them with his dozens of eyes, his expression was…pleading. Fevered, wild, but miserable and supplicating, his tendrils moving erratically in small, weak flops and twitches.
Ginger stopped as they reached the sand, fifty feet or so from the suffering hybrid.
“I…don’t know…what’s happening to me.”
The slow, labored words were barely comprehensible. The usual even, moderately deep voice Thrixe had in troll form was thick and distorted, and Ginger had to strain to make out what he was saying, even though he spoke from multiple mouths.
“You’re sick, Thrixe.” They said bluntly. “You were infected on purpose. Don’t know why, but I’m gonna find out.”
“Sick…?”
The word stretched out into whispers and gurgles from the mouths. Which, Ginger noticed, were starting to lose their shape, as was the rest of him.
Thrixe cried out, a deep dirge of loss from all his voices.
“I can’t…don’t want to hurt…”
His whole body begun melting down, rippling and warping as it begun spreading into black ooze and streaming over the shore.
“Stop me.”
It was barely a whisper, and Ginger drew their sword just in time to block several spiny, lashing tendrils of violet and black.
Though far bigger than the sword, the dull gray blade had a sheen of whitish energy that made the tendrils stiffen and crack, bleeding and oozing as they fell to pieces.
The ooze tried to cling to Dunny’s hooves, but with a disdainful snort, the horse stomped all four of his legs and blasted the black matter back from himself in a perfect circle, blood and scar tissue now spreading across it.
The sand itself rippled and distorted, turning to something more like sludge…then back to sand again, cycling through the states of matter erratically.
Ginger countered by willing the bacteria of all the life in the sand to multiply, to hold it together, and to make it so toxic and sickened that if Thrixe tried to mess with it, he’d poison himself.
They added some viruses too, the tiny DNA hijackers working their way through taking over their other infected life.
He tried to engulf them and Dunny in a mass of writhing, blackened starfish spines. The horseman let it press closer…so they could swing their sword across it in a perfect arc, making the spines brittle, withering them to dust as they brushed against their armor.
Their mount whinnied piercingly, the noise counteracting the deep and agonized hum of the maddened hybrid and making the spines near him disintegrate into blood.
Ginger took the brief reprieve to gallop away, knowing they had seconds.
Thrixe wailed so loudly that it briefly stunned them, wincing behind their helmet as Dunny flattened his ears.
The air began to boil. Its aeroplankton multiplied by the thousands and millions, becoming more lashing ribbons of black ooze rushing toward the horse and rider.
Ginger tore their facial mask off, then killed the plankton - enough for them and Dunny to breathe as they gasped, lungs heaving, but they only made a small breathable space.
The ooze began to weave together into a black crust in the air, blocking out the moonlight.
The water began to change as well, becoming black and viscous, rising up into shapes that constantly broke and reformed, vaguely like sea creatures, but…wrong.
Things that had never been on Alternia. Should never be.
They detached and came for Ginger as Thrixe’s song became stronger and louder, the Choir in so much pain he could not help releasing it into the world.
The horseman felt the weight of his agony vibrating in their bones, and gray tears ran down their marred face from the song.
Still they raised their sword to slash at the creatures, which shifted and displaced around them, lashing at their armor and…corroding it, where they touched.
With a raspy voice, Ginger called a spell, making their armor all detach at once and hover around them, leaving the hemoanon in only their tank top and pants.
They flung them into the reeking, snapping mass, turning them into small bombs of contaminated shrapnel, coming apart and causing the constructs to scream as the air crackled with ozone and they dissolved into chunks of flesh and spores.
As Thrixe flailed in confusion, his massive tendrils grasping for them, Ginger had Dunny race away as they felt their viruses finally grow numerous enough to use.
A corona of white and blue magic surged through the now utter darkness surrounding them, the sky now gone from sight, as Pestilence bore down on the Choir’s very cells.
The hybrid might be half horrorterror. But he was still half troll, still partially worked according to biological law.
Just like the plants around the medical tents, his body could be turned against itself.
Thrixe screamed and Ginger’s ears bled as they gripped Dunny so hard the horse bucked a little, but the horseman held firm even as their body shook from fear and pain.
Thrixe fought it. His regeneration tried to flush the attackers out. But that was the thing about viruses, why the common cold always came back: they could keep mutating, over and over again, as much as they had to so they could do their work.
Ginger had made so many different kinds, along with bacteria to feed on the hybrid’s flesh as his immune system failed, piece by piece.
They could barely move. Dunny could barely move, the animal bleeding from his own ears as well.
They urged him forward.
One step at a time. One more step. Small, persistent hoof prints in the sludgy sand as Ginger took deep breaths.
Ignore the blood dripping down their neck. Ignore the black ooze pressing closer again, their magical aura the only light now as Thrixe’s bioluminescence began to dim, began to die.
The starfish monster was smaller now, his black ooze spreading across the sand and sea beginning to retreat, to retract back into his body. He moaned and whispered and hacked in his voices, curling up where he had crawled out of the ocean.
Ginger slowly, heavily got off Dunny. They walked over to what seemed like the closest thing the hybrid had to a head right now, a mass of tendrils with more eyes than the rest of his body.
Violet and yellow eyes that looked up at them hazily, yet with a sense of relief despite the pain.
They raised their sword.
“I gotta kill you a little. But it won’t stick.”
They slashed down, hacking him open, scattering the diseased flesh into melting pieces. They carved through the hybrid until he was nothing but scattered flesh and black ooze.
Ginger dripped with sweat by the end, wiping it off their disease-marked forehead with a similarly scarred and pitted hand. All they wanted to do was take a nap.
Nope, now it was time to -
The whole beach shook, and Thrixe’s pieces with it. Ginger nearly fell over, barely managing to stay standing as they looked around in bewilderment.
Trolls. Hundreds of humming trolls were pressed up against their barrier, eyes vacant, now partially crusted over with black.
The hemoanon would swear Thrixe’s pieces shivered.
Ginger went to mount Dunny again, as fast as they could drag their exhausted body, but it was too late.
The trolls had broken the sphere. They swarmed in and gathered up all of Thrixe’s pieces as the horseman of Pestilence watched helplessly, utterly spent by taking down the hybrid.
They managed one last thing: a tracking, scrying spell, in the hope they could witness whatever was about to happen.
They nearly fell unconscious, only the support of their horse keeping them upright.
But they had to get back to their staff. To Quinne.
To Leshwi.
The horseman of Pestilence slowly, carefully made their way back up one of the hills of Bukit Berongga, thinking of their olive assistant.
It was so easy for anyone who worked for them to die, no matter how well they protected them.
They tried not to get attached even to the staff they liked, because they knew how likely it was that they wouldn’t last too long. It was a distraction from their work, an issue to be avoided.
But hey. They’d just come pretty close themself. Maybe they should relax a little.
Thrixe might be about to die, who knew.
“Sorry, buddy.” Rumbled the fatigued horseman. “You’re on your own now. Don’t know what Cyvell’s gonna do to you, but I’m sure it won’t be pretty. Good luck.”
It wasn’t as if he could hear them. Kind of a useless thing to say.
Yet as they came to the top of one of the hollow hills once more, a hot wind blowing around their unusually bare skin, Ginger still hoped that the hybrid could make it out alive.
That he too could return to the people he loved, whole once more.
#cloud writes#ginger mycoba#thrixe varzim#harbinger#I actually wanted this fight scene to be longer but I realized it didn't make sense for it to be since ginger is trying to end this quickly#and thrixe is mostly acting on instinct#so it is what it is. I still had fun writing it#penultimate part! almost at the end now!
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"Yeah. You're also gonna touch some grass. It'll be great."
Nods and says this in a serious deadpan.
"Grass isn't that great. Experienced it before." Also said deadpan.
"Spoken like an amateur. You have much to learn."
"You're telling the person with a doctorate that he has much to learn?"
Ginger pretends to look thoughtful, then nods. "Yup."
#nihilstrolls#who owns bellam of course#my beloved grumpy boy#cloud doodles#bellam xavier#ginger mycoba#I remembered this and wanted to draw it
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Thought Police
Thrixe Varzim | Present Night | Near Bellam Xavier’s Laboratory
Thrixe enjoyed going to Bellam’s lab to learn from the blueblood, and to get his input on wildlife samples and scientific procedure. He was especially grateful for the scientist’s tolerance of his eldritch nature, which had come out recently after an accident with a sample.
Though he grimaced as he recalled how that sample had wound up contaminated by another one, a virus given from someone else who visited the cerulean…
“Hey.”
Thrixe had known they were coming as he walked toward the building Bellam used, but his fins still flicked in slight surprise as he turned to look at the tall hemoanon, stopping as they called out to him and walked up.
“Hello.” He said, slightly cautious as always when they approached. Yes, he was half horrorterror, but Ginger was…disturbing.
He could sense magic now, and while they did seem to have some minor ability with it, their disease aspect wasn’t quite that either, nor psiionics. It was something…inherent. As if a piece of the world were made manifest in one person. It should have killed any individual made to bear it.
Yet the armored troll was fine, when that should have been impossible.
“Sorry about the other night.” They said in their deep voice. “Not that I meant for that to happen. But I understand if you thought I did.”
Thrixe winced; he’d wondered as much.
“Accidents happen.” He admitted hesitantly. “I’ve been guilty of them myself.”
The hemoanon laughed softly.
“Don’t blame you for being uncomfortable. You can probably sense me better than most trolls can.”
He nodded.
Disease growing and fading and dying in ripples. Diseases feeding on themselves and others around in them in the same body, an entire microscopic ecosystem held in one troll.
It wasn’t just that, either.
As much as he tried to shut it out, there was something else. Something emotional, gently simmering like embers on a fire.
“You aren’t going to…do anything, are you?”
He felt their confusion.
“Gonna need some specifics, Thrixe.”
The violet looked in the direction of the blueblood’s lab and waved his hand in a hesitant sort of way.
Ginger paused for a moment, then laughed hard.
“No. Never. I’m not as stiff as you, but I know how it is.”
Thrixe frowned in slight offense.
“It’s an ethical necessity.”
Ginger shrugged. “It’s polite and realistic is all. You really think I’d want to make him uncomfortable? He’s my friend.”
Thrixe nodded, understanding fully.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, though.” They added, slightly amused.
The hybrid blinked.
“I’m not.”
Ginger snorted deeply.
“I know someone beating themself up for not being normal enough when I see them.”
Thrixe looked away, fins drooping, unable to form a retort.
“It’s good to know what we can and can’t do, folks like us.” They said with a shrug. “You’re aware of that stuff, so why be mean to yourself? Sure, being polite’s important. But you could stand to loosen up a bit.”
Thrixe glared up at the horseman of pestilence, but then his ire faded and he sighed, looking away.
“I’m a lot stranger than you. I have to be careful. At least you’re a troll.” He said, sighing.
“Yeah, and if you actually want to be pure troll I’m not a walking biohazard.” Deadpanned the hemoanon.
Thrixe flushed slightly, caught out.
“Be more honest with other people, and yourself. It’s less of a headache in the long run.”
“Who wants to hear that, though?” Said Thrixe softly. “I’m only accepted by my friends and moirail because I do my best to be normal. I do care about that. I just…don’t want to be that way all the time.”
The armored troll shrugged.
“If they can’t handle that, it’s their job to say so. It’d be sad, sure, but better than a shock down the line.”
Thrixe nodded slowly.
“Advice I got from my ancestor: don’t try and live in other people‘s heads, there’s no room.” They rumbled with amusement.
Thrixe laughed a little.
“So you were raised by them?” He asked, interested.
Ginger nodded.
“All us Mycobas are, assuming we’re found as grubs. I’m sure there’s been a few strays. My old man’s been dead a while, but he was always good to me.”
The hybrid blinked.
“Wait, how old are you?”
“Older than you think.” Deadpanned the armored troll. “Not ancient, though. Let’s say I still have plenty of sweeps left in me.”
There was a few moments’ pause as Thrixe did math in his head, then looked mildly scandalized.
Ginger laughed at him, guessing the source of his dismay.
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
“I just think -”
“Good, keep trying.”
Thrixe laughed despite himself.
“I guess if you’re not going to do anything…” he said grudgingly, but with a bit of amusement.
“Nope. That’s not a reason why not, though.”
Thrixe’s fins went back slightly as Ginger laughed at him more.
“You act like I shot your lusus.” They deadpanned. “Or asked him out.”
The violet made a distressed noise as the hemoanon cracked up at him further.
“You are too easy to mess with.” They chuckled. “You wouldn’t last a second in some of the bars I like.”
“I used to work for gangsters.” He grumbled. “I’m not a complete innocent.”
“Right, it’s me that offends you, Mr. Starfish.”
Thrixe hmphed.
“I’m not offended, I just think it’s inappropriate.”
“I will not apologize for my good taste.” They deadpanned. “Sorry, my bad - you want me to say I’m a horrible person for even thinking of it?”
The seadweller looked awkward.
“Thought crimes aren’t real, Thrixe. Stop listening to the empire propagandist in your head. Think what you want, feel what you want, you don’t win prizes or make anyone’s life better by denying yourself. Doesn’t mean you have to act on any of it.”
Thrixe continued to look awkward. Ginger supposed he had to have a talent. They went over and patted him on the shoulder.
“Chew on that for a bit. I’m gonna go see Bellam.”
They walked onward to the lab, the violet watching them go.
#what do we think is this a 5/10 on the cursed scale or higher. I can't decide#cloud writes#thrixe varzim#ginger mycoba#I like tormenting thrixe bc he is an eldritch abomination with the sensitivity of a victorian noblewoman#meanwhile he'll actually listen to ginger bc they're more lowkey than tuuya but also blunt and upfront#similar values different ways of expressing them
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I bring disease. I end it. Whatever keeps the balance of life.
#cloud doodles#ginger mycoba#ginger would tell you swords are dumb weapons#including theirs. but they use it regardless#sometimes you don’t need a smart tool for a dumb job they say.
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Hi, I’m Ginger. What’s up.
The horseman of pestilence, both spreader and container of disease. Doesn’t like to make a big fuss over most things, enjoys a good game of cards.
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The horseman of pestilence. They’re addressing their friend Kyroko who belongs to @mycrappyrpsideblog.
#ginger mycoba#cloud doodles#design not solidified yet but I’m getting there#their eyes are filmy white like an undead’s but they’re alive
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Sometimes you take a guy as a temporary apprentice and then look directly down at his ancestor and choose violence.
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Ginger do you have any specific opinions about the other horsemen?
“Kai’s my best friend. That’s probably not a surprise. Known her since we were kids, I’d do anything for her.
I feel for how scared she is of most stuff outside the church…maybe some night we can work her up to going outside it, somewhere with not too many people. I like to joke about her going to clubs, but I know we have to take small steps.
As for the others, eh. I’ve heard of Famine. Seems like they got kind of a raw deal. Never met them, though. Don’t feel any need to seek them out, but if we ever crossed paths I’d be civil.
War’s out there somewhere, feel like I’d know if they weren’t, which would be an issue. Not in any hurry to meet them, though, even if our aspects are pretty connected. Wars always make people more vulnerable to disease.”
#mycrappyrpsideblog#ginger Mycoba#they’d be polite to other two if they met#but they’re kind of [shrug emoji] about them in general
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Glass Among Murk, Part 2
Ginger Mycoba | Present Night | Bukit Berongga
This drabble is preceded by Glass Among Murk, Part 1 and followed by Hazey.
Ginger didn’t like the implications of any of this, but they knew they couldn’t afford to dwell on it right now. They watched the rest of the plants wither and die, hoping they still had trolls to hopefully save. Or mercy cull as painlessly as possible.
Dunny gave a long whinny of disapproval, scraping his hoof in protest at the muck, which they knew very well only magic was keeping him on top of. However, they no longer wanted to risk setting foot on the bare ground, even with their protections.
“Yeah, I feel it too, but we’ve got work to do.”
The horse finally if reluctantly went onward with an encouraging pat from his rider. Ginger cut power to the xanthomonas, and would have their staff keep an eye on the local flora to make sure it didn’t spread to crop land, or back into Selatak.
They wished they could help the coughing animals now free of the plants and trying to leave the field, or else prey on one another, but there wasn’t time; they had to attend to the waiting trolls.
With the path cleared by his steaming hooves as the steed softly cantered through the field, Pestilence and their steed arrived at the grimy medical tents.
A worrying silence stood throughout the hot, humid air as the hemoanon dismounted and stepped through the flaps of the largest tent.
It wasn’t the silence of death. They’d feel if that was the case. Smell it, too. See the clouds of insect swarms heading toward where the corpses must be.
Ginger saw no one waiting at the makeshift gray plastic desk. Heard no voices or footsteps, smelled no rot. With slow, watchful steps, they made their way to the main treatment area.
Now they heard the coughs. Quiet, infrequent things. The staff too.
The staff…they stood in place, grasping whatever they had been doing before becoming something made them all stop. A medical tool. A bag of cough medicine. A bottle of water.
The patients lay in their beds, all of them covered in the sweaty sheen of fever. All had small, identical blisters on their faces, strangely dark-colored ones.
All of them whose eyes were open stared directly at the ground.
Ginger realized it wasn’t really silent aside from the coughs, either. When they weren’t coughing, they were…humming.
Deep in their throats, barely at the edge of troll hearing.
They were humming, and Ginger looked out of a gap in the tent -
- yeah, the plants were starting to grow again, stems slowly extending before their very eyes, more flowers sprouting from the mud. They also swore they felt someone pass by, but when they looked, there was nothing.
“Great.” Muttered the hemoanon, tone utterly lacking in enthusiasm.
They went to examine one of the trolls, footsteps heavy on the damp tarps covering the ground. Then they stopped, armored hands poised over the troll's glassy stare.
Wait. Why wasn’t this place overgrown too? Why hadn’t the plants started in here, closest to their source?
Ginger’s pale bluish-white eyes, pupils fragmented, narrowed.
The remnants of other hybrid power. The odd nature of the disease. The uniform symptoms. The humming.
This was starting to feel less and less like the hybrid simply being careless.
They had a lot of questions for Thrixe, and it was a real shame they didn’t have his phone number. They’d have to ask Bellam.
They laid a hand on the troll, a skinny maroon with capped horns and immediately snatched it back.
An overpowering current of hatred so sharp it burned. Resentment turned to sheer pain.
Thrixe didn’t hate them. Not that they knew of. A little uncomfortable with them, sure, but so were most people.
Could he do this with his powers? Grow an emotion in a person that wasn’t even their own? This loathing felt personal.
The armored troll exhaled a deep breath.
They needed their team. They were next to useless for helping these trolls. Literally their job, their one job, and they couldn’t do it. All they could manage was keeping the plants down, clean up the place a bit.
Not enough.
A strangled yelp came from outside the tents, back in the plants. At first Ginger dismissed it as an animal, trying to consider the best way to handle this situation.
“Help! Hey! Anybody?”
They ran for the entrance with rapid, heavy footsteps, honing in on the source of the muffled words.
Someone was thrashing and flailing in the muck near the tents, which was now far more of a hazard without as many plants covering it. Someone small - while Ginger could only see part of them, they were maybe five feet tall, if that. No wonder they were floundering.
The armored troll ran over and extended an arm to the troll’s visible hand, pulling carefully. They didn’t want to hurt -
The troll popped out of the mud with a wet, thick noise, and Ginger muttered a minor spell to clean them off a little - a quick wave of white-blue energy, to remove the worst of the grime. They’d still need a ba -
A crackle of sparks, and Ginger cautiously let go of them. The troll clutched their head. The hemoanon felt psiionic power dance against their skin, and then it flickered and faded, completely spent.
The light itself seemed to bend and alter, and the hemoanon stared at the girl who’d just been revealed as a very obvious mutant. They realized this must be who they'd felt pass by earlier in the medical tent, unseen.
They’d never seen someone quite as genetically messed up as her before, despite having decent sweeps on them.
Her eyes or ears on their own might’ve been passed off as minor, non-cullable traits; the former red with white pupils, the latter fluffy with hair.
Her horns gleaned dark brown with reddish tips, her grayish hair tipped with bright maroon, and what looked like diamond-shaped glass spikes grew out of her arms’ undersides. Just to round things off, a big, sinuous tail with a sharp diamond-shaped blade at the end sprouted from her back.
She jumped at them in a blind panic, then yelped as her spikes hit their armor - it seemed to hurt her and she backed off. She panted heavily, still dripping mud, tail lashing back and forth.
“I’m not going to cull you.” Ginger said.
They weren’t totally sure why.
They were supposed to. Expected to. Not that they cared what the empire thought, but common sense said that a troll like this wasn’t going to live a good or long life anyway. It was amazing she’d survived past the caverns with such messed-up genetics. Must’ve been because of her psiionics.
The girl squinted at them and shook herself, some mud landing on their armor.
“You can’t trick me.” She declared. “M’too smart for that! I’ll getcha!”
“No, you won’t.” Deadpanned Ginger. “You can’t get through my armor, and I can kill you without touching you.”
She squinted more. “Y’mean that’s too thick for me? Darn. Guess that’s why it hurt.”
“Yup.”
“Phooey.”
She appeared to be mulling this over. Ginger had no idea what to do here.
“You can go. I’m not gonna chase you.” They said. “Have a nice life.”
“Oooh, you’re tryna get ridda me!” She said, satisfied. “‘Cept much nicer than some folks do it.”
The horseman blinked.
“Why would you want to stay here anyway?” They said, gesturing to the muck they’d pulled her from. “Kind of sucks.”
“Eh! I been in worse.” She said, cheerful, and Ginger could imagine she wasn’t kidding.
“Okay, well…bye.”
The hemoanon had plenty else to do, so they turned their back to her, and seconds later felt the skittering of long-clawed feet as she jumped on them and climbed up to perch on their shoulders.
They were tempted to fling her off, but she wasn’t attacking them. She was just…sitting there.
“Kid, I’m not a chair. Get down.”
“Nah, I’m coming with ya!”
Ginger paused.
“No, you’re not. I’m imperial. The other imperials I work with will cull you. Get out of here before someone else sees you.”
“Where’m I gonna go?” She asked, in a surprisingly reasonable tone. “All m’friends are far away, an’ only Shushu and Shar know I’m a mutant. M’tired. And hungry.”
They put a hand to their face.
“That sucks, but it’s not my problem. Again, even if I wanted to help you, I am surrounded by trolls who would kill you without question. Give me one reason why I should - “
Then it struck Ginger.
She wasn’t coughing.
“Hey, kid.”
“Yeah?” She said, still chipper.
“What’s your blood color?”
“Don’t got one.”
Ginger paused.
“Explain.”
“I mean I don’t got one.” She repeated. “When I bleed you see right through it. S’like I’m not even there. Just like my psi.”
The armored troll performed several quick mental calculations in succession.
“Okay. You can come with me. But -“
They were interrupted by a gleeful whoop from the young girl.
“ - But.” they said, more firmly, “I need you so I can work on solving this disease until I can find Thrixe and make him fix it. This isn’t a free ride. I’ll make sure you’re fed and stuff but you’re responsible for keeping your psiionics on and protecting yourself. If you get caught as a mutant I cannot help you. Okay?”
“Okay!” She agreed. “I’m gonna sleep now.”
“What, no, don’t - ”
She fell into a doze and the hemoanon had to catch her and hold her in their arms before she fell to the muddy ground.
Ginger sighed. They were definitely going to regret this, but they didn’t see what choice they had. At least she was small, wouldn’t take up much space; the biggest problem was that tail.
Leshwi was going to be so pissed.
A faint smile rose on the horseman’s face, concealed beneath their gray mask as they placed the girl on Dunny’s back, tying her on and covering her with a blanket, arranging and binding her tail so it would be hidden and not cut her or Dunny. Carefully, they positioned her head so she wouldn’t wake up too soon.
They rode back to camp, making their careful way back across the hollow hills as the moons began to set in the sky.
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“Kid, I’m not a chair. Get down.”
“Nah, I’m coming with ya!”
#cloud doodles#ginger Mycoba#quinne querro#technically plot spoilers but completely out of context so#harbinger
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