Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Salutations, Alternian Empire!

It’s a glorious night under our equally glorious Empress, and I am here to deliver your fourth time quarter headlines.

Our main story tonight, dear viewers, is a cause for celebration! As you are all aware, tonight marks the first sweep anniversary of the destruction of the largest rebellion we’ve had since the Off-Planet Demand. The rebellion was led by disgraced legislacerator Tyzias Entykk, who- after nearly a full sweep of plotting, conspiring and terrorising our Empire- was caught and executed by a team of her fellow tealbloods. Many of you may remember Entykk’s execution as one of the most attended events in Empire history- and not just because it was mandatory viewing. The overseer of the execution, Tagora Gorjek, made a statement on the matter:

“The execution of Tyzias Entykk is not only important from a legal standpoint, but from a societal, moral one as well. This is simply the consequence of refusing to learn from the history she illegally studied for sweeps, under the nose of her superiors. I- and many of my peers, I should imagine- want this to be an example to anyone plotting a similar feat. If a midblood can be caught and prosecuted, then anyone can.”

Since then, Empire procedure on rebellion and rebellious ideology has been refined with the help of Entykk’s own captor, Stelsa Sezyat. But while the legal side is certainly important, it should not overshadow this joyous occasion. Over the next perigee, a variety of events and demonstrations will take place across all of the Empire’s colonies, all celebrating the strength of our Empire, the determination of its citizens, and the prowess of our Empress. Let this be a reminder, loyal viewers of the Empire:

The Empire is strong.

The Empire is perfect.

And the Empire can never be toppled-‘

Xefros flinched at the sound of the watchhusk shutting off. While the rustblood hadn’t actually been listening to the broadcast, it had been running for so long that it had devolved into white noise by the one hour mark. At least, he thought it had been over an hour. It was difficult for the lowblood to keep track of time when most of his work involved standing in one place awaiting orders. He blinked quickly, bringing himself back to reality, and looked around the room. It took his eyes an extra moment to adjust to the obnoxiously blue hue of his workplace. Judging by the clock, it had indeed been over an hour; over three, in fact. Xefros muttered a quiet ‘damn’ under his breath and straightened his back, causing it to crack and pop. Luckily for the lowblood, his arms had held up fine while he zoned out, remaining clasped behind him with only the tiniest bit of pins and needles. Eventually, his gaze fell to his employer: a tall indigoblood, who was standing by a large desk towards the back of the room, watchhusk remote in hand.

“That’s enough of that” the highblood announced. “I love a good celebration as much as the next troll, but dragging it out for a perigee is a bit much if you ask me.”

The indigo sat and snapped his fingers. “Tritoh, more water.”

“Y-yes, sir, of course.”

Without a second thought, Xefros paced over to the desk. In his right hand sat a wide, metal tray carrying a large, decorative jug full of water and several equally elaborate glasses, while his left hand moved to his side, ready to serve. Despite the sheer number of times he had performed this exact task, the twinkle of wobbling glass on metal still made him anxious. Delicately, he laid a glass onto the highblood’s desk and poured his water, stopping when his employer raised his hand. With a respectful nod, the burgundy pivoted to return to his post by the door, but was halted by the indigo.

“I’m curious, Tritoh,” he began, “what is your opinion on all this?”

“Me, sir?” Xefros laughed nervously. “I’m just some random, insignificant rustblood butler, sir, I-“

“Yes, yes, I know, but that's why I want to hear your thoughts” the highblood continued. “I mean, can you believe that a midblood would try their hand against the Empire? Preposterous, is it not?”

The lowblood watched as his employer took a long drink, using the time to formulate a perfectly innocuous and conformant answer, but before he could even open his mouth, he was interrupted.

“Lowblood rebellion is one thing, but a teal? Ridiculous. I mean, you remember the situation at Jeevik Week, I assume?” 

Xefros chewed at the inside of his cheek, trying his best not to let his face drop at the mere mention of the event. “Indeed, sir. It was uh, quite the spectacle-”

“Spectacle indeed. Goodness, what a commotion- and to say a violet had a part in all that. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be there, would you?”

The rustblood paused for a moment, blood beginning to seep from his cheek into his mouth and down his throat. Funnily enough he had been in a similar situation at Jeevik Week, except the blood was coming from his nose and instead of being stood in front of a highblood, he was towering over one. He looked down to his feet for a second, half expecting to see a blue-splattered sneaker, but instead found his usual pristine work shoes. He shook his head, dislodging his thoughts and returning his attention to his boss.

“No, sir. I wouldn’t.”

The indigo scoffed. “I mean, all that chaos in such a large crowd- a mostly lowblood crowd, mind you. Ugh, it makes me queasy just thinking about it. Can you imagine?”

“Not unless authorised, sir” Xefros replied sardonically.

The indigo chuckled, swirling his water, his eyes far more occupied by how the liquid moved than the troll he was meant to be talking to. “Ah, well, if neither a midblood, nor seadweller can get away with that rebel nonsense, that must say something good about the security of our Empire, eh?”

The rustblood inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a nod. If his shoulders weren’t stiff from hours of standing still, they were bound to be from the effort it was taking for him to remain composed. He gestured to the water jug with his chin.

“Will that be all, sir?” He asked through gritted teeth.

The indigo snapped to attention, putting his glass down. “Hm? Ah, yes. You may leave now too; your shift is finished.”

Xefros nodded again and took the tray back into his hands, taking no time to turn his back on the highblood and walk away. Just as he reached the door however, his employer spoke up one last time.

“At least you won’t need to worry about walking home tonight, eh Tritoh? We’re well protected in this Empire!” 

Chapter Text

The walk from the highblood sect of the Central Colony was insulting to Xefros. Being surrounded by blue-hued luxuries all night was one thing, but actively seeing how the living conditions worsened as he got closer to his hive was another. There was just something about seeing streets lined with kitschy café’s and clubs slowly morphing into shabby little eateries and crumbling hivestems that didn’t sit right in the burgundy’s digestion bladder. The journey was bad enough on a regular evening, but tonight, his surroundings felt particularly degrading. The sounds of highblood’s celebrating the failed rebellion- their laughing and singing and cheering- could be heard from the edge of Xefros’s hiveblock. The bluebloods’ merriment echoing down streets and alleys full of miserable, tired lowbloods going to and from work felt eerie. Reflective, even- but it wasn’t close to being finished.

If this was only the first night of the anniversary, he could only dread what was to come. 

Eventually, Xefros reached his hivestem. The rustblood lived on the 14th floor and the building’s elevation box worked about 60% of the time, meaning that his 45 minute walk home could also feature a random 15 minute step aerobic session if fate allowed it. Luckily for him though, tonight, the box was in motion- if not very full. After squeezing from the huddle onto his floor, Xefros fumbled his keycard from his pocket and pressed it to his hive door. The door made a high pitched click, prompting the rustblood to shoulder it open with an exasperated sigh. 

Or rather, attempt to shoulder it open. The door wouldn’t budge.

The rustblood cocked an eyebrow and tried again, harder this time, but the door stayed closed. He grumbled to himself and tried one more time, before calling inside.

“Dam? Can you unlock the door please?”

“It’s open!” 

“Then why can’t I get in?”

He heard his hivemate laugh.

“You can, just push harder!”

Xefros huffed, but did as he was told. Slowly but surely, the door opened, accompanied by the sound of shifting weight and the thumps of falling objects. When the burgundy was finally able to enter his own hive, he was shocked to find a collection of familiar furnishings stacked behind the door in an unkempt pile. That wasn’t there when he left for work. Confused, he cast his gaze over to the nutrition block. His hivemate was stood over their grubtable, surrounded by stacks of papers and contemplating a large chart of some description. Still slack-jawed, Xefros closed the door loudly, drawing the bronzeblood’s attention.

“Hey Xef, how was w-“

“Dammek, what the hell is all this?”

The antlered troll paused for a moment before beckoning him over with a wave of his hand.

“Come take a look. I’ve been planning.”

Xefros felt his pusher sink. Whenever the word ‘planning’ came out of Dammek’s mouth, it was only ever a precursor to one of two things: a random trip to a sub-par grub joint or a dangerous scheme- and judging by the stack of takeout boxes on the counter, the bronze didn’t seem hungry.  As he got closer, Xefros started to take notice of the types of papers his hivemate had been accumulating. The vast majority appeared to be standard legal documents or letters, but dotted amongst them were maps of the Central Colony and posters advertising anniversary celebrations with their locations circled. None of this was looking good. Before the rustblood could get a good look at the chart, Dammek slung his arm across his shoulder and pulled him close, using his free hand to gesture wildly at his ‘plans’.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he began, “the Empire is going to be real busy over the next perigee. To the surprise of absolutely no one, most of the big celebrations are being held in the highblood districts, which means that a whole lotta bluebulge nookwipes are going to be busy and distracted, so-“

“No” Xefros interjected. “No, no, no, we’re not doing this again-“

Dammek raised his free hand, prompting Xefros to hush up, much to his chagrin.

“Let me finish” the bronze hissed. “All I’m saying is that the Empire and its bootlickers are sitting real comfortably right now. They probably think everyone and their lusus is celebrating, which means they won’t be expecting any sort of retaliation. Not only that, but I bet all this will be making lowbloods like us mad enough to want to do something. It’s the perfect storm!”

All Xefros could do was glare at him. He exchanged glances between the scruffily drawn chart on the table and the grinning face of his hivemate. He wanted to feel frustrated, but all he could muster was apathy. Dammek was a butler just like him; they went to etiquette and service classes together back on Alternia. The rustblood hoped that a few sweeps off-planet would mellow him out, quell that lust for danger, but apparently not. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they had gone their separate ways, but after Dammek returned from his ‘alien vacation’ and heard about the Jeevik Week incident, he insisted that the pair remain together, even off-planet. Xefros had attempted to put his foot down, he had even called off their moiraillegance, but he unfortunately remained under the bronze’s thumb. The most he could do was object to his ideas.

“Dam…” Xefros sighed, peeling his hivemate’s hand from his shoulder. “Why do you keep going with this? You know it’s not going to work.”

Dammek cocked an eyebrow under his moonglasses.

“You doubting me, Xef?”

The rustblood folded his arms. 

“Yes. I am actually. This is the- what?- fifth time you’ve tried to arrange another rebellion? Why can’t you get it through your thinkpan that this isn’t going to fly here-“

“There wasn’t a literal Empire-wide celebration going on those last few times, Xef. Like I said, this is the perfect opportunity to get shit done and fire up trolls like us!”

Xefros let out a loud, frustrated grunt before pacing off into the communal respiteblock, trying to ignore Dammek staring at him from across the countertop that separated the two rooms. The hive remained silent as the rustblood peeled his way out of the top-half of his uniform; folding his waistcoat, shirt and tie neatly on the loungeplank before pulling on one of his sweatshirts that had been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Once he had finished, he turned back to the bronze.

“You know, my boss mentioned the Jeevik Week fiasco today,” he snapped. “Even he recognised that if a highblood couldn’t get away with staging something like this, a lowblood definitely couldn’t. That didn’t even happen off-planet! Do you not understand how crazy that is? What that means for your little plans?”

Dammek tutted, seemingly oblivious to the second part of his hivemate’s statement. “If my boss said something like that to me, I’d punch his lights out.”

“Is that why you’ve been fired from every butler gig you’ve ever had?” Xefros retorted. “Be thankful you only ever got fired. If I came out with half the shit you do, I’d be culled on the spot. You’re lucky that blues view bronzes as at least more intelligent.”

The antlered troll shrugged. Xefros rolled his eyes. His tolerance for his ex-moirail had deteriorated over the sweeps, but he thought he was relatively decent at containing his frustrations. When he started talking like this though, it was harder to hide. 

“So… You’re not going to help out then?” Dammek asked.

“No. I’m not putting my life on the line for your stupid rebellions anymore” the rustblood affirmed, planting himself on the loungeplank. “You can go and try it yourself though. It’ll be nice to be the one sitting on the sidelines watching someone else getting hurt for a change.”

“Still bitter about all that, huh?”

Xefros refused to respond and turned on the watchhusk, flicking through the plethora of news and anniversary celebration channels until he eventually found coverage of the latest stickball game. He was too tired for this. Being at work and dealing with Dammek’s delusions of grandeur was too much for one night.

The bronze, on the other hand, stood quietly for a moment. The restrained, yet clearly angered look on his hivemate’s face made him uneasy. Xefros had certainly gotten bolder as of late, but his sensitivity was nothing new. Regardless, moments like this forced him to reflect on his treatment of his ex-moirail. Back in the day, Xefros was more than willing to go along with his rebellious plots, even if it took a bit of prodding. Hell, they were even in a band together! They made their rebellion public! It made the bronze wonder what had changed while he was gone. Xefros had explained what happened at Jeevik Week several times, but Dammek just didn’t get it. He had spent so long toughening him up, preparing him for real rebellion and the chaos it brought, so why was he so bothered by it all? Being in the fray fighting fang and claw like that should’ve fired him up, not dragged him down. It just made no sense.

But maybe he could be convinced. 

Maybe he just needed to be eased back into the cause- and Dammek knew exactly how to do it.

He quickly looked back down to the table, combing through the posters and papers he had stacked around the perimeter. After a couple of seconds, the bronze carefully pulled a crumpled, orange-tinged notebook page from one of the piles. He scanned the handwriting, double checking it was who he thought it was, and tucked the paper behind his back. With a self-assured nod, Dammek sauntered over to the loungeplank, smug. He sat himself down on the arm of the plank, waiting for Xefros to turn his head and look at him. 

Unfortunately, after a solid five minutes, he realised that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Okay,” the bronze said softly, “you don’t have to help me with the new rebellion, but can you do one tiny little favour for me? For old time’s sake?”

Xefros took a deep breath in before replying, still refusing to look his way. “What?” 

Before his hivemate could even close his mouth, Dammek brandished the paper in front of his face, giving him a moment to look at the writing. He raised his question when he saw the rustblood’s eyes widen as they drifted to the bottom of the page.

“Can you at least go and ask Chixie about it for me?”

Without a word, Xefros snatched the paper and stared for a moment. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a prescription slip- not addressed to Dammek- administered from a nearby mediculler unit. And there, right at the bottom, underneath the medication name and dosage, sat a familiar signature: C.Roixmr. The burgundy finally caved, bringing his astounded gaze over to his hivemate. 

“Where did you find this?” He asked.

Dammek chuckled. “Oh, you know. I told you I’ve been planning.”

Xefros brought a hand to his forehead, frantically shifting looks between the slip and the bronzeblood.

“I don’t get it. What the hell is Chixie doing at a mediculler unit? That makes no sense, she was a musician-!”

Dammek shrugged and quickly plucked the paper from the other troll’s hands, eliciting a high pitched ‘hey!’.

“I guess you’ll just have to go and ask her, won’t you?” 

The rustblood furrowed his brow, his expression quickly returning to the frustrated grimace he was wearing before. “Why me? You were the Tetrarch or whatever. Communication and recruitment was your deal.”

“True, but I’m pretty sure she hates me after I went MIA without warning” Dammek replied coolly. “At least you saw her before that Jeevik shit went down.”

“Dammek, she didn’t even know me and the one time I did see her, I just stood there while she got talked out of her own protest by some shady blueblood chick. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to-“

Xefros’s words were quickly replaced by a hoarse honk as Dammek’s hand collided with his back in a vigorous display of affection. 

“Exactly! Chixie’s a lovely troll, she’ll be so excited to reconnect with you” the bronze said with exaggerated glee. “You know where the mediculler unit is, right?”

Xefros stood before his hivemate could land another heavy handed smack to his torso pillar, causing him to stumble forward a little. His anger had once again been replaced with utter indifference. He pushed the prescription into his trouser pocket and sighed, before pulling a jacket from the back of the loungeplank and heading back to the door. Dammek tilted his head, confused.

“Oh, you’re going right now? It’ll probably be busy at this time of night. You know what trolls get like when they’ve had too much to drink-“

“I’m going for a walk” Xefros grumbled, kicking the pile of objects that prevented his entry out of the way. “I expect all this shit to be cleared up when I get back.”

The bronzeblood grinned to himself and took his hivemate’s place on the loungeplank as he watched him leave. As far as he was concerned, his work was done. For Xefros, however, the night was only getting longer and longer. He made his way back to the elevation box and left his hivestem, his fists clenched in his pockets. 

Much to his surprise, in the short amount of time he had returned to his hive, the streets of his lowblood hiveblock had cleared. The sounds of highblood jubilation, however, had only gotten louder. More boisterous. Xefros couldn’t complain though. The music and howling of the upper castes perfectly masked the sound of him launching a garbage receptacle halfway down the street with a single kick.

Chapter Text

There wasn’t much to do in the lowblood district after hours. Unlike Alternia, the Empire’s Central Colony didn’t have a regular day and night cycle. While the constant darkness made for near endless activity, there was still an unshakable routine- especially for those on the warmer side of the hemospectrum. Highblood establishments were allowed to remain open 24/7, endlessly cycling through their lowblooded employees, but lowblood owned businesses were forced into curfews, either by the powers that be or simply because the staff needed to sleep or attend a second job.  

Despite this however, Xefros knew there was one place he could rely on when he needed to drop in somewhere after a shift: The Honeycomb Grubhut. The eatery- affectionately referred to as ‘Honey’s’ by Dammek- was one of the few spots in walking distance that remained open when everywhere else was closed. This was for two reasons. The first was that Honey’s was staffed and owned entirely by goldbloods. In the grand scheme of things, that didn’t mean much, but in the lowblood district, leaning yellow may as well have been turning teal. The second was that the one member of rustblood staff they did have practically lived at the establishment, meaning that he was never not on shift. He and Xefros weren’t exactly friends, but they at least recognised each other well enough to be civil.

“Evenin’, Xef! Shall I grab your usual?”

“Oh, hey, Diemen,” Xefros sighed, making his way into the eatery as unobtrusively as possible. “Yeah, sure. Double it all actually.”

The shorter rustblood pulled a small notebook from his apron, sticking his tongue out as he wrote.

“A double, huh? Yeesh! Bad day?”

Xefros paused for a moment before replying. 

“You could say that.”

After an acknowledging nod from Diemen, Xefros wandered over to his favourite table; second from the back near the window. It was the type of table meant to sit at least six or seven trolls, but the unaccompanied rustblood couldn’t resist the illusion of privacy it provided. That being said, choosing a table for the sake of privacy was a pointless endeavour at this time of night. He was one of only three customers, all of whom were also on their own. Regardless, it was nice to be sitting somewhere clean and peaceful away from Dammek’s nonsense. He pulled his palmhusk from his jacket pocket and preemptively set it to silent; he had spent all day serving, he didn’t want to do anymore. He debated checking Chittr to pass the time, but he knew exactly what he’d find if he did. Complaints about the rebellion celebrations, mixed in with Empire-enforced posts about the glory of authority and advertisements for anniversary parties. Chittr was unpleasant at the best of times, but during occasions like this it was particularly insufferable. 

Xefros tutted to himself and placed his palmhusk screen down on the table, casting his gaze across the eatery. He had always loved the interior design at Honey’s. The walls were a bright, warm yellow, covered with paintings of Alternia’s various flora and fauna, many of which were done by local lowblood artists or hobbyists who wanted to pay tribute to their old hives and lusii. The furniture was a tad mismatched, being a combination of commissioned and donated pieces, but it made the place feel more comfortable. Highblood establishments had tried and failed to replicate the down-to-earth, eclectic aesthetic, but it only ever came off as pretentious. Even the napkins were all hand-dyed and embroidered with little hexagons and bees. 

It was all so lovely, but it made Xefros uneasy.

Goldbloods were a mere two steps up from him on the hemospectrum and yet, the benefits they received felt like so much more. There were so many burgundy and bronze grub spots just like this one, if not nicer, but they couldn’t afford to stay open at quieter hours. The fact that a burgundy like Diemen could survive being employed and housed by a gold put a lot of things into perspective. Goldbloods had two primary paths off-planet: batteries and farmers, and it was all dependent on whether or not they had psiionics. Being a battery for an Empire ship or supplying power in general was a thankless and dangerous job, but the Empire’s reliance on psiionic energy meant that goldbloods were needed and protected by the higher castes- albeit less like an equal and more like how one would care for a farm animal. While golds without psiionics were seen as lesser amongst their caste, they were still considered valuable assets due to their agricultural strengths. Bronzes could farm too, but no self-respecting highblood would eat from a rusty farm when they could gather ingredients from a gold. They were so much smarter and detail oriented after all.

Before Xefros’s thoughts could bring him down any further, Diemen arrived beside him with a smile on his face and a tray of food in hand.

“Alrighty! We’ve got a cold, double strength bean brew and a double stack of grub cakes with a big helping of the Honeycomb Grubhut’s special recipe pouring sap!”

Xefros chuckled as the food was set in front of him. “Thanks, D.”

“Enjoy! Oh, and before I forget-“ Diemen pulled a laminated sheet of paper from the tray and placed it on the table. “We have a new seasonal menu! Zebede has been testing some recipes with this fruit that only grows at this time of sweep and they are divine, if I do say so myself.” The stout rustblood did a little ‘chef’s kiss’ gesture. “Don’t hesitate to call me over if you’re still hungry.”

“I uh, think I’ll be okay” Xefros replied, eyeing up the large plate of grubcakes.

With a quick thumbs up and an affirmative noise, Diemen strode off back to the nutrition block, leaving Xefros to his food. It wasn’t exactly the healthiest meal, but it was the butler’s go-to after a rough night. He sat for a while, contently making his way through the stack of grubcakes, only pausing his feast to take a sip of his drink. It was rare that Xefros got an opportunity to spend his own money on himself. Despite rarely having a consistent job, Dammek insisted that he and Xefros’s finances were equal, but frequently asked the burgundy for money, promising he’d pay him back eventually. As with the case of most of Dammek’s plans though, ‘eventually’ never came. 

Another rage-inducing train of thought. He was going to give himself a hernia at this rate. Just as Xefros was about to take a forceful stab at his fourth grubcake, he was alerted by the sound of two trolls entering the eatery, chatting amongst themselves. A tall, lean rustblood and a small bronzeblood, both in some kind of uniform. 

“Oh, come on! If you’re going to drag us all the way down to this part of the district, we may as well stop off somewhere. I’m starving after that shift!” 

“I couldn’t have left that garbage receptical lying in the middle of the street in good conscience. I had to return it. Scrubber’s obligation.”

Xefros felt his digestion bladder drop. The rustblood was probably talking about the garbage receptical he had kicked on his way out of the hivestem. It must’ve gone further than he was expecting. That would’ve been embarrassing enough, but his humiliation was quickly subsided by anxiety when he realised who the bronzeblood was.

“You’re not a scrubber anymore, Mar-Mar; we’re nurses!”

“Nurses who do a lot of cleaning.”

The bronzeblood huffed. “Well, this nurse is ready to clean a plate of food. Let’s sit here.”

Panicked, Xefros grabbed the menu and ducked behind it as the two trolls sat at one of the booths in front of him. He knew it wasn’t a perfect hiding spot- hell, his horns made him stand out at the best of times- but it was better than showing his face.

He didn’t want Chixie to spot him and start something in the one place he could escape from Dammek after work.

 All he could do was slowly chip away at his food without making any sudden noises and listen to the girls talk once Diemen had greeted them.

“Ooh, check out this menu!” Chixie exclaimed. “You’re a bean brew troll, right, Marsti? They’ve got all sorts of different flavours.”

“Some of this stuff is too complicated for me,” Marsti muttered dryly. “What even is a ‘crushed clusterberry non-dairy cold brew’? What ever happened to plain brew? I swear, it’s all highblood influence.”

The bronze rolled her eyes. “We lowbloods need to have a bit of fun too, Mar-Mar. Our jobs suck; our hives suck; our finances suck; the very least we can do is make sure our food doesn’t suck.”

“I thought you liked being a nurse,” Marsti snickered.

“I do, but you get my point. We’re lucky compared to some of our castemates.”

The rustblood gave an affirming grunt before setting her menu down and pulling a neatly folded newspaper from a bag fixed to her belt.

“Where did you get that?” Chixie asked.

“Stole it,” Marsti replied bluntly. “Just kidding. That was a joke. A patient gave it to me.”

The table fell silent for a moment while the two trolls scanned their respective literature.

“Your ‘matesprit’ is in the paper again,” the rustblood said. “They’re promoting another one of his little seminars.”

Xefros pricked an ear up. ‘Matesprit’? He didn’t know Chixie had a matesprit. Then again, he hadn’t spoken to the girl in nearly two and a half sweeps. He couldn’t even see what she posted on Chittr anymore after she blocked him and Dammek after the Jeevik Week fiasco.

Chixie grumbled. “Again? Ugh! I’ve told those blueblooded losers to keep him out of the tabloids!”

“That’s what you get rubbing nubs with the higher ups,” Marsti said, resigned. “Gotta give him credit though, he’s doing some pretty good work. I’ve even heard some of our patients chatting about his talks.”

The bronzeblood put her menu down and sighed, turning her attention to the cutlery pot and fidgeting with it.

“Yeah, I know, but…” she trailed off, taking a nutrition prong into her hands. “He’s still really troubled, you know? If he gets more attention than he needs, he’ll get overwhelmed.” She paused for a moment. “Hell, I don’t even want too much attention. That’s why I’m doing this job.”

Xefros peeked over the menu a little. He hated to admit to being nosey, but he was intrigued. Should he have been writing this down?

Marsti chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You still get to help trolls like us, but you’re not in the literal spotlight. Probably earning more too.”

“Yeah…” Chixie put the nutrition prong back in the pot, her face cycling through emotions before setting back on cheerful-neutral. “So, uh, are you ready to order?”

“Well, I was just going to grab a bean brew and wait ‘til I got back to eat,” Marsti began, “but then I remembered the wonder of leftovers. So yeah, I’ll order something.”

The lack of enthusiasm in Marsti’s voice, even when she was trying to be playful, made Chixie laugh.

“We’re going to have to be quick though,” the rustblood continued. “If you want me to drop you off, we’re gonna have to go before some of the highways close for inspection.” 

“Okay, okay,” Chixie said between remaining giggles. “Why don’t we make this a challenge? Whoever can down their drink the fastest pays for lunch next shift!”

Marsti thought for a moment, then leant forward, her voice dry and commanding. “Bring it on, Roixmr.”

After a second of oddly tense silence, the two trolls erupted into laughter, prompting Diemen to walk over and take their order.

All Xefros could do was slump in his seat, his plate now empty. He couldn’t just get up and go- Chixie was right there! He would have to wait until they left first. Quietly, he grabbed his palmhusk and flipped it over. As he expected, his lock screen was stacked with message upon message from Dammek. Where he had gone, who he had seen, and whether or not he had changed his mind on the whole rebellion thing, with the odd request to bring him back some grub. The rustblood rolled his eyes and- ignoring his hivemate’s previous messages- sent him a text:

‘im not going to be back for a while sorry X:( i still dont want to be part of your stupid rebellion but if you want more info about chiXie maybe go pick up a newspaper. her matesprit(?) is in there apparently. maybe YOU can go talk to him.’

Chapter Text

The Central Colony looked different from the back of Marsti’s scuttlecycle. What was once a sprawling, segmented, metropolitan hellscape, was reduced to a speeding mixture of multicoloured light, falling away behind them. It was almost beautiful, ethereal, but looks are always deceiving. For a lowblood, a walk through those streets- even in the lowblooded districts- meant being on-guard at every turn. Every troll who passed, no matter how innocent they looked, could be a threat. They could be a highblood seeking out ‘new staff’; a midblood simply looking for someone to torment; they could even be another lowblood ready to rob someone blind, desperate after losing another job. If you fell on the warmer part of the spectrum, every step you took was a risk.

That was the first reason Chixie was thankful her coworker gave her rides home. 

The second was far more superficial. It was simply the thrill.

Off-planet, excitement was a rarity- and it was something the bronze was deeply deprived of. Marsti was by no means a dangerous driver, but the speed and precision at which she navigated the Central Colony was exhilarating. Cycles were so much more vulnerable than scuttlebuggies. A wrong turn or slightly loose grip could send the pair crashing to the pavement; an unexpected obstacle could throw them sky high, but that was what made it so exciting. The risk. The danger! The chance of injury was a small price to pay for a shot of adrenaline. 

But no matter how swiftly her colleague went, nothing could truly compare to how Chixie felt when she used to perform. 

As herself, it was the joy of watching others dance and hearing them cheer her name. As The Mask, it was the pure pleasure of seeing her crowd go ballistic, sadistically seeking out any midbloods or highbloods in the audience to tear apart. It was one of the few times the bronze was offered power, and she reveled in every second of it. It was an incomparable excitement that was reserved for only her. Or at least it was, once. Upon arriving at the Central Colony however, Chixie was offered a choice: choose another career or submit herself to become a dancing puppet for the upper classes. 

The bronze had been through a lot in her lifetime, but if there was one thing she had promised herself, it was that she’d never kneel to highbloods again.

And that promise landed her here: on the back of her colleague’s scuttlecycle after a nine hour shift at the mediculler unit. It was a choice she lamented often, but she couldn’t truly say she regretted it. Being a nurse was hard work, but it was equally fulfilling. Certainly more fulfilling than singing for a room of blueblooded bulgelickers anyway. At the very least, she could take comfort in the company she kept, both at work and at home.

Marsti gave the bronze a light nudge with her elbow as she turned the next corner; a little sign to say ‘we’re nearly there.’ Chixie appreciated the gesture, but she didn’t have the pusher to tell the burgundy that she could tell where they were by the way she slowed down. The bronzeblood’s hive sat on the outskirts of the lowblood district, away from the narrow, packed streets and towering hivestems in an area simply referred to as ‘The Line’. On the surface, The Line appeared to be nothing more than a failed attempt to build on a dead zone. It was a near wasteland of cracked asphalt, remnants of buildings, and abandoned scaffolding that had been reclaimed by the Central Colony’s indigenous flora of centuries past. It could truly be described as apocalyptic- but this wasn’t actually The Line. The true Line lay beneath.

Marsti pulled up to a battered railing, allowing Chixie to hop off before parking her cycle and leaning against it.

“Is the gate actually open tonight?” The burgundy asked.

Chixie narrowed her eyes for a moment and looked towards a large metal arch a few feet away, smiling. “Should be!” She chirped. “Thanks for the ride, Mar-Mar.”

“Don’t mention it,” Marsti chuckled. “It’s the least I can do, especially after dragging you all that way to grab that stray garbage receptical-“ The burgundy paused for a moment, the slight curve in her mouth returning to its usual place of neutrality. “- and considering the day you’ve had.”

Chixie rolled her eyes, her smile dropping near immediately. “Ugh, come on, it wasn’t that bad-“

“Yes, it was.” Marsti folded her arms. “I didn’t want to mention it at that goldblood joint just in case, but I was worried about you today. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The smaller troll opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again. She wrung at the fabric of her skirt, her eyes passing glances between her workmate and the cracked ground beneath them. After a moment of silence, she spoke.

“Yes, I’m fine.” The bronze huffed. “It was just some mouthy tealblood.”

Marsti tilted her head, unconvinced. “A mouthy tealblood who also had problems keeping his hands in one place. It’s not right, Roixmr. You need to-“

“Remember who you’re talking to,” Chixie snapped. “I’ve dealt with tons of lowlife bluebulges like him in the past, if not worse.” She took a step forward, the hem of her skirt still clasped in her fists. “Only difference here is that if I’m uncomfortable, I can walk away and have someone else deal with it instead of having to be all fucking cutesy and pleasant 24/7.”

The burgundy lifted her goggles, her expression leaning dower. The look in her eyes prompted Chixie to take a deep breath and relax her hands.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I can deal with this better than you think. We have to expect this sort of thing, it’s just about how we handle it.”

Marsti’s hand twitched on her bicep, instinctively going to reach out and place a caring hand on the bronze’s shoulder, but she resisted. 

“I get it,” the burgundy replied calmly. “I didn’t mean to undermine how you handle yourself. I just worry.”

“You and everyone else,” Chixie hissed, “but I’m fine. I'm fine! I’ve caved in a highblood skull before, I’m not afraid to do it again.” She glanced up to Marsti, who was still giving her a concerned look. “… At least if I do that on the job, they’ll get to go straight to the morgue.” 

The shorter troll laughed, but all Marsti could muster was a vaguely amused snort. Perhaps it was sweeps of being in the music scene that had worn her down, but the bronze’s cynicism perplexed the burgundy. Resilience was a valuable trait, but it was something someone shouldn’t have to develop. There were plenty of things she could’ve said, concerns she could’ve raised, but the taller troll held her tongue. It wasn’t her place to interfere, as much as she wanted to. She turned, preparing to mount her scuttlecycle, but was halted by the sound of the bronze’s voice.

“You don’t have to leave right now,” Chixie declared. “I’m sure Fozzer would be happy to see you.”

Marsti’s ear pricked up, but her blood ran cold. “Huh? Oh, uh, no, I couldn’t,“ she stammered. “Like you said at the grub joint, he’s still troubled and I-“

“Come on! You’ve already stayed out this long, you can come down and have a little chat.”

The burgundy looked back over her shoulder to see Chixie smiling at her. 

“You’re important to him. He wants to see you, even after all that.”

It was slightly unnerving how quickly she could switch between being angry and seemingly content, but Marsti- like so many others- couldn’t say no to that face, even if her gut was screaming for her to do otherwise. 

“Fine,” the taller troll sighed. “Five minutes. That’s all.”

After chaining her cycle to the railing, Marsti followed Chixie over to the gate. This was the true entrance to The Line. The gate opened to a dark tunnel with steps leading down below the surface. Marsti had visited Chixie’s hive a few times, but the sight of the first few stairs being followed by seemingly nothing but a dark void still made her anxious. Regardless, the pair descended.

The sounds of The Line hit you before the light did. It was a rustic soundscape of loud, jovial conversation, mechanical work, and livestock. The most notable sound, however, was a deep, rumbling hum, the location of which was near impossible to pinpoint. Despite its frightening nature, the source was very ordinary. As the name suggested, The Line was a small lowblood community built within a stretch of the Central Colony’s underground railway system. While it wasn’t exactly the safest place to live, it still provided an extra level of protection for the lowbloods who needed it. It also served as a good meeting place for lowblooded traders, lusus farmers and speech-givers, as it had little to no highblood interference. The only time a troll higher than bronze could be seen at The Line was when the source of the humming came by: the train. According to Chixie, the train only came by twice a cycle; once to stop and once to just pass through. When the train stopped, it only did so to deposit corpses. Many trolls in The Line worked in standard body disposal, but the corpses were sometimes used for compost and lusus feed as well. It was a gruesome business, but the local trolls knew how to take care of it. The place didn’t even smell. 

As soon as the nurses stepped onto the platform, Chixie launched into a tirade of greetings, which didn’t seem to stop no matter how far they walked. 

“Good evening, Erizoh! 

Oh! Hi, Vestru! Careful with those boxes!

Iskrah!! Hi, hi!

You’re looking lovely tonight, Rostee! Is that a new headscarf?”

It was astounding to Marsti how the bronze seemed to know everyone, and how everyone seemed delighted to know her. Despite the dingy surroundings, the atmosphere of The Line was joyful and bright, which made up for the lack of decoration, save for a few cultural ornaments and hanging fabrics. The burgundy couldn’t let herself romanticise it all too much though. If what Chixie had gossiped about on shift was anything to go by, the things that caused a lowblood to go underground outweighed any semblance of positivity the locals gave off. 

Marsti knew they were getting close when Chixie skipped off ahead. Upon first glance, the hive appeared to be nothing more than a bricked-off tunnel, but the soft candlelight in the window made it clear that this was indeed a home. It was a sweet sight really, but it made the rustblood nervous. She knew who was in there. It was easy for her to play it down at the cafe, but now that she was actually here, about to see him again, she didn’t know how to feel.

“Fozz!” Chixie chirped, knocking on the door. “I’m back! And there’s someone here to see you!”

Marsti wandered forward a little, watching anxiously as the door slowly creaked open and a large rustblood ducked under to step out. Seeing him in front of her again made her insides feel hollow. 

“Miss Roixmr, there you are! A good shift, I presume?” 

Chixie giggled as the larger troll gave her a small kiss on each cheek. “Look at who came to say hi!”

The large burgundy looked over to Marsti, who sheepishly stood a few feet away, her arms tightly folded.

“Hey, Velyes,” she said, “you look well.”

Fozzer cocked an eyebrow, looking her up and down. After a few seconds of silence, he finally recognised who was in front of him. “Why, if it is not Miss Marsti Houtek,” he announced, almost shocked. “I have not seen you in perigees, sister.”

The nurse looked to the floor, uncharacteristically nervy. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.”

With Chixie trailing behind, Fozzer walked over to the other burgundy, a warm smile on his bearded face.

“Ah, it is alright,” he began. “Chixie has been keeping me updated on you. I am glad to be hearing that you two work together so well.”

“Mhm!” Chixie interjected. “Trust me, Mar-Mar, I tell Fozz everything. He already knows how busy you are, you don’t need to worry.”

Marsti chuckled for a moment, amused by the fact that she was even considered in conversation, but quickly returned back to her anxious expression. She gripped at her sleeves.

“How have you been?” She asked, bluntly.

Fozzer seemed taken aback, both by the question and the tone of her voice. “Oh, well, there is not much to tell, sister. My seminars have been doing well. I am honestly quite impressed that-“

“No, not your talks,” Marsti scowled. “I asked how you were.” She gestured to her forehead with a pair of fingers like she was tracing something. “You know… After that. ”

Taking a moment to compute what was being said, the larger burgundy mimicked Marsti’s action with his right hand. It took a few seconds for him to realise what she was referring to. He brushed his bangs aside and lightly stroked at the large scar on his forehead; the leather of his gloves scraping against the rough, raised skin. The bronze placed a hand on his shoulder, noticing his face switch between a levy of concerned expressions. He sighed, bringing his hand back into place.

“Ah, the operation,” Fozzer grumbled. “Yes, I am… fine. Admittedly, the only pain I have left is the embarrassment of breaking down in front of my fellow workers, but… I am okay now, mostly.” He looked down to Chixie, who shot him an encouraging smile. “I am in good hands.”

Marsti muttered a quick ‘good’ under her breath, but her body didn’t seem any less tense. It made the other burgundy wary. 

“Sister…?”

The nurse straightened herself up, the corners of her mouth twitching uncomfortably. “It’s good. I’m good. I’m just…” she exhaled through her teeth, trying to ignore how tight her throat was becoming. “I’m glad you’re okay. That’s all I wanted to see.”

Chixie brought her hands to the hem of her skirt, cautiously approaching her workmate. She didn’t expect her to react like this at all. “Marsti, are you alright-?”

“I said I’m good, Roixmr.”

The bronze took a step back. It was hard to believe that this was the same burgundy who was checking in on her moments ago- the same burgundy who could tell a cerulean to piss off with little to no fear or worry- yet here she was, trembling and snapping like a frightened lusus. She assumed Marsti’s hesitation to come down was just out of politeness, but now it was clear there was something else bothering her.

“Mar-Mar, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Chixie cooed. “If something’s bothering you-“

Marsti shook her head and swallowed heavily. “I’ve done what I said I would,” she muttered, her voice returning to its usual abrasive tone. “I’ve said hello, Velyes is fine, that’s all I needed.” She pulled her goggles down and shoved her hands into her pockets. “You two have a good night. I’ll see myself out.”

Before either Chixie or Fozzer could utter another word or objection, Marsti turned around and paced off back towards the gate. The couple stood in a stunned silence, looking between one another.

“Was it something I said?” Fozzer asked.

Chixie tutted and placed a hand on his back, leading him towards their hive. “No, no, big guy, nothing like that. Marsti just… isn’t the best at handling her own emotions.”

The burgundy opened the door, allowing the nurse to enter first. The feeling of warm air on her face from inside made the bronze smile, but Fozzer remained stern as he locked them both in.

“‘Her own emotions’? Regarding what? How do you mean?”

He turned back to see Chixie already on their loungeplank, her hands extended out towards the fireplace.

“Your procedure, silly,” she chirped. “Don’t forget that Marsti was there for, uh-“ she stopped for a moment, contemplating her next words. “Well, you know, the thing that was causing you trouble. She was worried about you. Besides, you know what she’s like.” The bronze slumped a little, getting comfy. “She probably holds herself a bit responsible.”

Fozzer let out a loud ‘tch’ and joined her in front of the fire. “Responsible,” he grumbled. “Bewilderment. Yes, she was there, but it was not her fault. It is silly for her to be thinking that.”

Chixie couldn’t help but let a quiet giggle escape from her lips. “Marsti likes to act like she doesn’t care, but I’d argue she cares more than anyone about everything,” the bronze lamented. “You know earlier this evening she dragged me all the way to the other side of the lowblood district just so she could put a garbage receptacle back in its place?! Only she would do something like that.”

 “Ah, so that is why you are so late,” the larger troll chuckled. “Your hive is in a far more precarious place than mine; I was worried something may have happened.”

“That and we also ended up stopping at a little grub place on the way back,” Chixie added. “You know how hungry I get.”

Fozzer looked down to her, a disappointed look on his face. “I see. So you will not be wanting any tea? That is a shame. I have your favourite: white desert flower.”

“Hey!” The bronze sat herself up straight and batted at her matesprit’s bicep. “Meanie! I never said I didn’t want anything.”

The burgundy stood again, shaking his head as he paced off to their nutrition block. “Yes, yes, okay, okay,” he muttered. “Such a little princess. I will bring you tea. Perhaps you are spending too much time with higher castes.”

With a smug grin, Chixie immediately took Fozzer’s spot on the lounge plank. She didn’t quite know if it was his size or his blood, but anywhere he sat or leant against suddenly became a hot spot. It was pleasant. She brought her knees up, let her hair down and pushed herself against the arm of the plank, ready to settle herself in and enjoy a nice cup of tea.

But it was clear her evening wasn’t quite over yet.

Something caught her eye.

On the cabinet next to the lounge plank, lay a small, blue envelope, propped up on one of Fozzer’s lanterns. The bronze felt as if she already knew what it was, but nevertheless shouted to her partner.

“What’s this envelope?” She asked, picking up the paper.

“Ah, that is from our, uh, associates,” the burgundy replied above the sound of clattering silverware. “They want to be meeting with us this evening.”

The seated troll groaned, nonchalantly untucking the seal flap. “Why? We only saw them last wipe.”

“I am unsure. Something about, eh, some kind of finding.”

Unamused, Chixie took a second to read the message; she knew exactly which of their contacts it was from the handwriting:

‘ Hello agaiiin,

Apologiiies for droppiiing thiiis on such short notiiice, but we would liiike to have another chat wiiith the two of you. iii understand that Miiisss Roiiixmr iiis on shiiift thiiis eveniiing, but rest assured, we have planned accordiiingly. We have found somethiiing you may be able to help us wiiith- that wiiill also benefiiit you, of course.

Our extended scuttlebuggy wiiill be waiiitiiing approxiiimately 200ft from the west gate. Come up an hour before lowblood curfew. We wiiilll handle the rest.

- A.C xxx’

The bronzeblood rolled her eyes. Even though all that was before her was writing, she could practically hear the sardonic inflections in the writer’s words. Chixie wasn’t fond of dealing with bluebloods. Indeed, in any other scenario, she would’ve simply disposed of the letter and pretended it got shredded by the train or delivered to the wrong bronze. This, however, was a different case. The pair of blues she and Fozzer were in contact with were a lot more negotiable. It was an odd situation in which their superiors were the ones with everything to lose if they did not cooperate- and the two lowbloods would happily take an opportunity to take advantage, among other things. Regardless, their attempts at communication weren’t any less infuriating. 

After a short while, Fozzer re-emerged, a tray of teacups and assorted snacks in his hands.

“Have you read it?” He asked, placing the tray down on the table in front of them.

“Unfortunately,” the bronze grimaced, leaning forward to grab her cup. “Looks like my night just keeps getting more eventful by the fucking minute.”

Fozzer let out a sympathetic sigh, taking a quick sip of his own tea before immediately registering the liquid as too hot and resting it in his lap. He watched Chixie drum on the porcelain, listening for any interference in the gears in her thinkpan. He knew better than to interrupt when she was deep in thought.

“It’s okay though,” she eventually uttered. “In fact, my stupid, hectic evening might actually come in useful.”

The burgundy tilted his head, puzzled. “What are you meaning?”

“I saw someone familiar at that grub joint,” Chixie snarled, bringing her cup to her lips. “Someone our friends might be interested in.”

Chapter Text

Emerging from The Line so close to curfew was a fearful endeavour.

It was difficult to predict what one would see on the surface at the best of times, let alone when the nearby districts were getting locked down by drones and Empire soldiers. Regardless of what sights were lurking above, however, it was the silence that left the most impact. Outsiders were frightened away by the haunting emptiness of the desolate, soundless surroundings, while inhabitants found the shift from lively, confined community to noiseless wasteland distressing and uncanny.

Fozzer and Chixie were not greeted by silence when they ascended the steps to the surface. Instead, they climbed from The Line to the quiet, sinister hum of a highblood-grade engine.

The pair of lowbloods lingered at their domicile gate, staring onward at the blue-tinged headlights cutting through the mist in front of them. Sweeps ago, the mere glimpse at such a hue would’ve been enough to make the bronze feel sick, put the burgundy’s pusher in his mouth, but all they could muster now was a mix of exhaustion and apathy. At the very least, Chixie was thankful that the bluebloods had given her enough time to change out of her nursing uniform. She looked to the burgundy for a moment and tugged at his coat sleeve, drawing his attention away from the light.

“Let’s go.”

Fozzer responded with an affirmative grunt, prompting the shorter troll to link his arm and begin pacing over to the extended scuttlebuggy. As they drew closer, the highbloods’ chauffer- a scrawny goldblood- nervously stumbled forth and opened a door towards the back of the vehicle. Chixie attempted to show them a thankful smile, but the troll looked away before she could finish forming her expression; it made her pusher sink. 

The lowbloods paused at the door, taking a moment to inspect their escort. Any sense of inconspicuousness presented by the buggy’s sleek black exterior and tinted windows evaporated the second one laid their ganderbulbs upon the bright blue leather seating. The interior smelt clean, too clean, almost as if the highbloods had assumed that they needed to preemptively prepare for the stench of the lower classes. It would be insulting if it didn’t paint their superiors as profoundly idiotic. The only positive was their associates’ choice of music. It was a soft, jazzy number from a relatively obscure jadeblood artist. Chixie couldn’t stop herself from feeling impressed by what she was hearing, but upon reflection, she couldn’t really expect any less from a troll who used to be in the music industry.

With a deep breath, the pair climbed into the vehicle, the door closing swiftly behind them.

“Evenin’, you two,” a deep voice uttered. “Apologies for our meeting being a little short notice this time, but no hard feelings, yeah?”

As soon as the two lowbloods sat down, they were forced to make eye contact with their associates. A pair of blues, a cerulean and an indigo, sat smugly across from them. Every nerve in Chixie’s face was telling her to grimace, but if being on Alternia taught her anything, the best thing to do in the presence of highbloods was to force a smile. Or, at the very least, a look of utter reservation. Fozzer could do nothing but keep his head down and his hands clasped in his lap. The low roof of the scuttlebuggy forced the large troll to hunch himself over. It was humiliating, but he held his tongue; it wasn’t worth picking a fight before they had even started.

After a few more minutes of silence, the scuttlebuggy started to move, signifying the beginning of the meeting. There was no turning back now, for either party. The ponytailed highblood leant forward, readying himself to speak again. If no one else was going to initiate, he may as well put his best foot forward. 

“So,” he began, “I presume you both-“

“What do you want, Zebruh?” 

Within a matter of seconds, the vehicle was rendered silent again.

Zebruh straightened himself back up, his wide eyes glancing between his cerulean companion and Chixie, who sat unfazed on the other side of the vehicle, her arms tightly folded. 

“Pardon?” The indigo said, fidgeting with his bowtie.

“I said: what do you want?” The lowblood spat back. “You wouldn’t call us back out here so soon for no reason, right? So what is it?”

“Well, you see, uh-“

Zebruh raised a hand as if to begin gesticulating, but quickly brought it back to its resting place on his knee. He then put forward the other hand in a pointing gesture, his mouth twitching and opening slightly before, once again, returning to neutral. Chixie heard Fozzer let out a frustrated growl under his breath as the highblood continued to seemingly trip over every word that was brewing in his thinkpan. This cycle of budding gestures and contemplative noises went on for what felt like forever, much to the lowbloods’- and indeed, his partner’s- chagrin. The cerulean uncrossed her legs, making a point to slam her boot-clad foot as hard on the floor as possible.

“Enough of this,” she hissed. “If I had known he was going to be this useless, I would’ve come alone.”

The indigo’s puzzled expression flipped seamlessly to one of offense. “Excuse you. I was just trying to recall our last meetings to make sure I didn’t repeat anything. Make this more efficient . I thought you hated wasting time, Ardata.”

The other highblood narrowed all three of her eyes, scowling. “I do, hence why I’ve decided to take over.”

Leaving the indigo to sulk, Ardata reached beneath her seat and pulled out a battered looking briefcase. She thrusted it into Zebruh’s hands, giving herself a moment to place a handkerchief on her lap before taking the case back and resting it on her knees. It drew the lowbloods’ attention. 

“What is that?” Fozzer asked gruffly. 

The cerulean flicked the case open, filing through it as she spoke. “Things have developed since the last time we met,” she began, her voice dripping with sharp, cynical professionalism. “As I’m sure you recall, Zebruh and I have been keeping an eye out for emerging rebellious behaviour in the Central Colony. We assumed that the anniversary of Entykk’s rebellion would be the perfect opportunity for some stupid rebel wannabes to try and follow in her footsteps,” she plucked out a stapled document and brandished it in the air; “it seems we were correct.”

Chixie raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this is what you want us to help you with?”

“Indeed,” Ardata giggled, running the sharp claws of her free hand against the lid of the briefcase. “Tell me, Miss Roixmr, does the name ‘Dammek’ ring any bells?”

In an instant, the bronze’s pusher dropped. She hadn’t heard that name in sweeps. The apathy she walked in with had suddenly been thrown out the window to die on the road. “Yes, why?”

“Oh, then you’re gonna love this.” Zebruh leant forward again, a toothy grin splitting his face, stifling laughter. “That schmuck was stupid enough to post his rebellion plans online!” 

Chixie inhaled sharply, her emotions teetering on a fine line between fear and unbridled anger. “He’s planning- huh…?” She trailed off, her hands instinctively creeping to the hem of her skirt, wringing the fabric anxiously. 

Was she hearing that right? 

She couldn’t be.

Dammek. 

THE Dammek. 

TETRARCH Dammek was not only still alive, but planning another rebellion? And he was stupid enough to make it public? She squeezed her eyes shut. She could practically feel her thinkpan straining to apply logic to it all. She assumed the Jeevik Week fiasco would’ve taught him a lesson, but apparently not! When she began to chew at the inside of her cheek, she was surprised that her blood wasn’t boiling.

“That is making no sense.” The sound of Fozzer’s voice brought the bronze back into the moment. “Far be it from me to be commenting on the use of computers, but as far as I am aware, online is monitored by the Empire, yes? How has no one seen and reported this?”

Ardata presented the front page of the document. It appeared to be a combination of screenshots and extracted text with certain areas highlighted and annotated in blue.

“While I do agree that this Dammek character is indeed a ‘schmuck’, it’s not quite as simple as that.” She gestured at a table towards the bottom of the page. “He didn’t just post it randomly; the initial announcement for his rebellious plans was posted on an encrypted platform. Not only that, but he had managed to make himself completely anonymous. Naturally, I did some digging, cross-referenced with some ‘friends’ of mine on some-“ she paused, clearing her throat. “-‘message boards’, and concluded that this poster is indeed the troll once referred to as Tetrarch Dammek.”

Zebruh chuckled. “‘Data is so good with computers. Those elicit sites ain’t easy to find, you know?”

The bronzeblood exhaled loudly. “Okay,” she said, exasperated, “but what exactly are we meant to do? You’ve already got all the info, right? You’re basically done. We don’t need to keep an eye out for anything anymore if the proof’s right there.”

“Incorrect,” Ardata retorted, snapping the briefcase shut. “If anything, your role in our little agreement has just become significantly more important.”

Fozzer straightened himself up as much as he could. “In what regard?”

The cerulean was about to speak again until Zebruh slung his arm over her shoulder, causing her to splutter. He looked pleased with himself for all of a second before his face dropped into the same stern grimace Ardata was wearing. She knew it was hypocritical of her to say, but Chixie hated how easily he could do that.

“You two work with the lowblood public far more than we do,” the indigo proclaimed. “If this Dammek guy and his cronies are wandering around, you will likely be the first trolls to spot them, which means we need your correspondence more than ever.”

“Yeah, I get that part,” Chixie snapped, chewing at her knuckle, “but, even if we did see him, what do you want us to do? Take pictures? Kill him? Again, you’ve already got the posts and stuff.”

Ardata crinkled her nose as she peeled Zebruh’s hand from her collarbone. 

“We want Dammek alive,” she declared. “If we turn him in to the Empire as a known, active rebel, we’ll be rewarded in more ways your little lowblood thinkpans could even imagine. All you need to do is locate or apprehend him, and then we can work together to bring him in.”

Fozzer kept his eyes on Chixie as the cerulean spoke. The bronze was far braver than he was- he would be the first to admit that- but it was clear that the more she learnt about the situation, the more aggravated she was becoming. She continued to bite at her knuckles; her foot tapping restlessly; the words ‘Dammek’ and ‘alive’ caused her whole body to jolt like it was blocking a punch. The burgundy was… familiar with the name, but he couldn’t put a face to it. He had only ever heard it in passing during Chixie’s rants about her life on Alternia and, even then, his memories of their home planet period were hazy at best. It was no skin off his nose what happened to Dammek, but Chixie was clearly bothered.

“What will be in it for us?” Fozzer asked sharply. “I will not be further engaging in your- your nonsense espionage if Miss Roixmr and I will not be compensated.”

“Easy, big guy,” the indigo cooed, “we’ll make sure you and Chix are rewarded for your time. After all, uh-“ His smile wavered momentarily. “- if you go down, we’ll go down too.”

Ardata glanced at her partner, then responded, sullen: “As much as it pains me to admit, he’s right. We really don’t have much to lose anymore.”

The two lowbloods found themselves taken aback, quickly looking to one another out the corner of their eyes. They had only met with the highbloods a handful of times and, while it was certainly intimidating to be in the presence of their superiors so casually, they never treated it as something serious. 

They had two assumptions as to why they thought the highbloods had sought them out for help: manipulation and desperation. Now it was clear that the latter was true.

“Our reputations ain’t in the best place right now,” Zebruh muttered, folding his arms. “If we turn this bastard in, we can prove to the Empire that we deserve to get that respect back- and you two will be respected too.”

Chixie shook her head, her restless foot now practically hammering onto the ground. “Nuh uh. No way. You’re not making me deal with this bulgelicker again for ‘respect’,” she hissed. “I had enough ‘respect’ when I was in the music industry- and believe me when I say that ‘respect’ did not keep my digestion bladder full.”

“Agreed,” Fozzer huffed. “If we are to be doing your dirty work, we demand satisfaction. Real satisfaction. Besides what you already provide.”

The indigo cocked an eyebrow at the turn of phrase before being tugged by the collar into a hushed conversation with Ardata. The two lowbloods watched on as the blues whispered amongst themselves, occasionally pausing to throw each other dissatisfied looks. If they weren’t in an elongated scuttlebuggy, they likely would’ve been able to hear every word. 

By the end of their discussion, the two highbloods looked utterly resigned.

“Very well,” Ardata sighed. “Until Dammek is caught, you two will receive a cut of our earnings-“

“Technically, they’re my earnings,” Zebruh interrupted. “Ardata works at my casino, which is my business, so-“

The cerulean began drumming her claws on the briefcase again, her upper lip curling to reveal her fangs. Zebruh swallowed heavily, chuckling nervously as he continued. 

“Anyway, uh, like ‘Data said: you’ll get a good chunk of our earnings, PLUS some added protections.”

Fozzer grinned. “Ah, now that is more like it.”

Still reserved, Ardata pulled her palmhusk from a holster on her thigh and started furiously tapping at the screen.

“I’m setting up your payment to be securely delivered by drone every wipe,” she explained. “You’ll have to retrieve it from outside the gate, but no one passes by that shithole anyway, so you’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

In an attempt to object, Chixie raised a hand, but the cerulean was already finished. Clearly, she didn’t want to linger on the subject.

“Now that you’ve been fully debriefed, is there anything you’d like to add?” Ardata asked.

With a smile, Fozzer patted the bronze’s shoulder, encouraging her to speak. There was one thing that they hadn’t discussed yet. Chixie took a deep, hesitant breath.

“Actually, yes, there is,” she uttered, grasping at her knee to try and calm her foot. “On my way home from the mediculler unit earlier, I saw a troll at a goldblood grub joint. I think he might be one of Dammek’s associates.”

The two highbloods’ ears pricked up.

“Seriously?” Zebruh exclaimed. “Who was it? Do you know them? Did you talk?”

In an instant, Chixie found her landslide of emotions come to a halt. Despite the anger she felt towards Dammek, she was reluctant to answer the highblood’s question. But why? Dammek was a freeloading scumbag. Even aside from abandoning her before Jeevik Week, he would constantly use her success and her speeches as a testament of his own work and ideology. It wouldn’t be out of the question to believe he’d do the same off-planet - especially considering the recklessness of posting his plans online. But here, she wasn’t ratting out Dammek, she was ratting out another one of his victims. His supposed moirail. On the one hand, exposing him to the highbloods could potentially be a death sentence, which would be even worse if he wasn’t even associated with Dammek anymore, but on the other, getting the burgundy to spill his guts about his ‘moirail’ could be… freeing. Empress knows that he didn’t treat him well. Hell, Chixie didn’t even know he existed until he approached her at the train station. Being able to get that moron off his back would be nothing but beneficial, right?

She squeezed her eyes shut again, weighing her options, until eventually-

“His name is Xefros Tritoh. He was, apparently, Dammek’s moirail.” She looked to her feet, a tinge of shame bleeding into her chest. “I don’t know what he’s doing these days, but I know I saw him.”

Fozzer put a hand to his chin, thinking. “Tritoh…” His face contorted for a few seconds as he tried to reason as to why that name sounded familiar, but nothing came to mind.

The highbloods, however, seemed more than eager to get to know him.

“Which sector was this ‘grub joint’ in?” Ardata pried. 

“This one; Sector RBN-0718,” the bronze affirmed. “It was quite the distance from our hive, but my colleague and I were able to walk there from the mediculler unit pretty easily.”

Zebruh leant back and made a satisfied clicking sound with his tongue. “So he’s a local? Even better. If they’re still buddies, we’ll be able to hunt them down in no time.”

Ardata clapped her hands together, sinister giggling bubbling up from her grinning lips. “Perfect. Beyond perfect! I knew it was a good choice to recruit you two.”

The lowbloods sat quietly as the blues erupted into victorious laughter. To anyone else, their unhinged cackling would be intimidating, but to Fozzer and Chixie, it did nothing but reinforce how desperate the pair were for a chance to reclaim their place in society.

It was a pitiful display, really.

As the pair calmed themselves down, Ardata took a quick look at her palmhusk.

“Well, that’s the first half hour of our meeting done,” she announced, patting away some running mascara. “Another to go.”

Chapter Text

Displeased didn’t even begin to describe how Xefros felt as he exited his respiteblock.

When the burgundy eventually returned from The Honeycomb Grubhut, Dammek was fast asleep on their loungeplank with some kind of erotic action movie blaring on the watchhusk. While beyond frustrated, Xefros had already stayed out longer than he was anticipating, so he decided to avoid a fuss and go straight to his recuperacoon. 

When he next awoke, however, it appeared that- like the lowbloods’ overdue electric bill- the fuss was truly unavoidable. 

Much to Xefros’s dismay, the nutrition block was still littered with Dammek’s ‘plans’, as well as remnants of the bronze’s activities from when his hivemate was out. Scattered takeout boxes, cans, and crumpled paper covered the floor; the burgundy even had to sidestep a slice of flavourdisk that had been unceremoniously splattered on the nutrition block tile. He scowled. Being a butler for a highblood was one thing, having to be a butler at home was another.

After grabbing himself a glass of water, Xefros paced over to the loungeplank where the bronze was still slumbering. He was tempted to dump his beverage on his head, but managed to restrain himself, instead choosing to shake his hivemate awake with his free hand.

“Wh-?” Dammek uttered a few confused grumbles, before snapping awake and bringing his attention to Xefros. “Oh! Hey, buddy! Did you sleep good?”

“Cut the shit,” the rustblood hissed. “You don’t deserve to ‘hey, buddy’ me when the hive is in this condition. You’re an embarrassment.”

Dammek rolled his eyes as his hivemate pulled away from the loungeplank, kicking some notepads out the way on his way back into the nutrition block. He sat upright, fumbling for his moonglasses, before sluggishly attempting to follow.

“Look, I’m sorry you’re mad,” he said, “but I had a long night. This planning stuff takes a LOT of energy-“

The bronze was suddenly cut off by a collection of spoons being psychically brandished inches from his face. Xefros wasn’t even looking at him and was, instead, grabbing some leftovers from the thermal hull. 

“Don’t you talk to me about having a ‘long night’. I was working for nearly nine hours last night and then, I had to come back to your scheming.” Xefros shouldered past his hivemate, a box of takeout grubcakes from Honey’s in his hand. Despite eating a lot during his little trip out, he had ordered the extra helping to kill time as he waited for Chixie and her colleague to leave. He hovered one of the threatening spoons over to himself, psychically putting the others away as he sat down on the arm of their loungeplank, being sure to avoid the nest of mess the bronze had left there. “I asked you one thing- ONE THING- and that was to clear this shit up, and you couldn’t even do that. How is this place even more gross than when I left?!”

Dammek watched Xefros take an angry bite of his food. “Well, I WAS going to clean, but then I-“

“No you fucking weren’t,” the burgundy snapped. “I should’ve known that you’re still the same selfish brat you were on Alternia. I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

The block fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Xefros digging through his food. For the first time in a long while, the bronzeblood found himself feeling rather sheepish. He didn’t want to admit it, but a part of his thinkpan may still have been on Alternia. The closest thing he had to being held to account on-planet was the occasional disapproving mewl or hiss from his lusus; he still wasn’t used to getting it from other trolls, especially not Xefros. He ran his hands down the front of his shirt, half to straighten it out, half nervous gesture.

“What is with you, dude?” Dammek murmured. “You used to be so chill back on Alternia. We used to get up to all sorts! Sticking it to the man and training up. What happened?”

Xefros exhaled loudly through his teeth, finally turning his head to glare at his hivemate.

“You really want to know what changed, Dam? Really? ” He placed his takeout box down to stand up again. Dammek forgot how much the burgundy towered over him these days. “I woke up. I met actual, decent folks who showed me how messed up your treatment of me was. I nearly died because of you and your awful lessons about ‘following the leader’ and ‘building resilience’. If it wasn’t for that alien helping me unlearn your BS, I probably would’ve been killed at Jeevik Week.”

The antlered troll scoffed, any shred of guilt disappearing in an instant. “Jegus, you’re still going on about that alien? You’re a broken record. We get it, she ‘changed your life’ or whatever, that still doesn’t explain why you’re being such a bulgelick.”

“Seriously?! I’m the bulgelick?!” Xefros exclaimed. “I’m not the one who made his so-called moirail push his psychics until he started bleeding from nearly every hole in his face. I’m not the one who stole the work of an actual rebel to pass off as his own. And I’m certainly not the one who drove away every single troll who ever cared about him, because he was such a selfish, narrow-panned loser, who’s too obsessed with his stupid make-believe rebellion plans.”

Silence again. The bronze couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t remember doing that first thing; did he do it when they were wrigglers? Regardless, he wasn’t a fan of the burgundy’s tone.

“Fine, be that way,” Dammek snapped. “You’re the one who’s missing out. I posted my rebellion plans online, I’m gathering a great group of trolls who actually care about fixing this fucked up system.”

Xefros felt his pusher drop. 

Did he just say…

No. 

No! 

He couldn’t be that stupid.

Wait.

No.

Yes, he could.

Of course he could.

“You did WHAT?!” 

Dammek raised his hands, almost as if he was expecting to get blown back by some kind of telekinetic blast.

“Hey, now, Xef, let’s calm down-“

“Calm down?!” The burgundy shrieked. “Are you a fucking idiot?! Did your thinkpan slide out your eye socket on your way off-planet?! Why would you put REBELLION PLANS online?!”

The bronze chuckled nervously. “Give me some credit, Xef. I encrypted it.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” his hivemate retorted, sarcastically. “I’m sure that’ll do great against the Empire’s literal army of cybersecurity officers. What were you thinking?! You-“ He paused, his eye twitching slightly. “You- you didn’t mention my name, did you?”

The antlered troll slowly put on his slightly greasy moonglasses, whistling.

“Oh, sweet Condescension, you did-“

“Hey, hey, not quite,” Dammek said. “I just mentioned that I had some… associates who believed in my cause.”

“Oh yeah, and they’re totally not going to suspect THE TROLL THAT LIVES WITH YOU!”

Xefros made a beeline for the nutrition block. He needed room to pace. The bronzeblood could do nothing but linger in his spot as he watched his hivemate frantically walk around and drag his hands down his face.

“This is bad. So, so bad. I’m going to have to change where I work! I don’t think my employer is going to take ‘being hunted by an elite team of Empire assassins’ as an excuse for a day off, and he CERTAINLY won’t like his stately hive being broken into by some Empire task force-“

“Xefros-“

“No! No ‘Xefros’. You’re a fucking idiot and, once again, you’ve gotten ME roped into something I didn’t even want anything to do with!”

The burgundy kicked a stray soda can, launching it across the room, just barely avoiding Dammek’s head. The antlered troll sighed and folded his arms.

“Say what you want, but I’m not backing down,” he huffed. “Like I said before, you don’t HAVE to help me. You can continue being a nook-licking butler for the rest of your miserable life, but I refuse to live like that- and I’m sure loads of other lowbloods like us feel the same.”

Xefros stopped in his tracks, his head turning so quickly that his hivemate was sure he could hear a crack.

“Oh yeah?”

Dammek wrinkled his nose. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” the rustblood spat, “then I have something for you.”

The bronze watched, puzzled, as Xefros stormed off into his respiteblock and swiftly emerged with what appeared to be a rolled up newspaper in his hand. He stopped a foot in front of him before unfurling the paper and smacking the front page. Dammek tilted his moonglasses down to read, squinting.

“I brought this back for you,” Xefros snarled. “I doubt you even looked at my message because you were so busy, but Chixie’s ‘matesprit’ does talks for lowbloods.” He pushed the paper into his hivemate’s hands. “If you think you’re a troll of the people, why don’t you go there and try and preach your stuff? I’m sure it’ll go great.”

Dammek fumbled with the newspaper, attempting to read and compute what he just heard at the same time. Chixie had a matesprit? And he was some… Empire-endorsed mouthpiece? That didn’t make any sense. But that wasn’t his focus. Nobody bruised the Tetrarach’s ego without getting proven wrong.

“It’s later tonight at the tunnel near Roughkeep Station; the one with the trains to the blueblood districts,” Xefros grumbled. “I’ll be on shift by then, so if you get hurt, I’m not gonna be the one to bail you out.”

With a tut and a sneer, Dammek crudely folded the paper up and shoved it into his trouser pocket.  

“Trust me, I’ll be fine,” he said, assuredly. “These lowbloods won’t know what hit ‘em- and you’ll be sorry that you weren’t a part of it.”

Chapter Text

Despite the bronze being between jobs and having more free time than his hivemate, Dammek very rarely left his hivestem. He knew the district like the back of his hand, partly because of Xefros’s accounts, but mostly because the bronze was just so intelligent and analytical. He had folders, upon folders of information about all- well, most… some- of RBN-0718’s inhabitants and businesses in preparation for when his rebellious plans came to fruition. Granted, most of this ‘information’ was just maps pulled from the internet and screenshots of Chittr pages which are legally required to display which sector a troll was from, but that was besides the point. What mattered was that he had that information and that he was going to use it… someday.

In a way, it was somewhat liberating to be able to walk the streets without other trolls immediately recognising who he was. Back on Alternia, the bronzeblood had made somewhat of a name for himself- if not for his rebellious ideology, then for his general boisterousness and habit of picking fights with highbloods. But here? He was able to dart between trolls with ease; the only thing that made him stand out was how he held his head much higher than the other lowbloods.

Roughkeep Station was in a slightly more well-kept part of the district. It was still a lowblood area, but with the trains going primarily to blueblood sectors of the Empire, it had to be maintained to suit any teals, ceruleans or indigos passing through. As such, the streets were lined with middling cafes and stores; nice enough for any colder hued visitors, but with enough faults to be recognised as lowblood property. Similarly, smaller, independent stalls were dotted around the run-up to the station, primarily managed by lowbloods and midbloods hoping to get their crafts and businesses spotted by their superiors. If someone was to take a photograph, it would likely be hard to determine whereabouts in the Empire it was.

Dammek stopped for a moment, observing his surroundings.

“Alright, if that’s the station…” he muttered to himself, “- then the tunnel must be nearby. The question is: which one is it?”

The bronze glanced around for all of two seconds before darting over to a stall.

“Hey, ‘scuse me,” he began, “there’s a talk going on around here, right? In the tunnels or whatever? Where is it?”

The stall was manned by a tired-looking oliveblood with an underbite, who stared at the lowblood blankly, refusing to answer his question.

“Uh, hey, pal, I just asked you something. You gonna help or…?”

The olive yawned and rested their head in their hands. “Buy something first, rusty.”

Dammek cocked an eyebrow. “Huh? Dude, I just want to know where this talk thing is being held.”

“Uh huh” the olive responded, dryly, “and I sit here all night trying to sell my art, despite the fact that being sat still for too long is physically painful for me, so….” They yawned again. “Buy something, rusty.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” The bronze scoffed, leaning on the stall. “I’m Tetrarch Dammek. I was a notorious rebel back on Alternia.”

The artist blinked vacantly. “… Well, I’ve never heard of you, so you mustn’t have been that big of a deal. Now, buy something or no info.”

Dammek rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated groan, before bringing his attention to the troll’s wares. Unimpressed by their selection of ‘art’, he pointed at the rail of neckerchiefs hung at the top of the stall. “I’ll take one of those things, I guess.”

The olive nodded. “Mhm, mhm, very popular choice… what color?”

Dammek gestured at himself. “What do you think?”

The artist grunted and picked a bright orange neckerchief from the rail. It wasn’t much, per se, but the material was pleasant to touch and the pattern was unlike anything the bronze had in his wardrobe; it almost looked hand painted.

“20 credits.”

The bronze almost choked on his own breath. “What?! 20 credits for some flimsy bit of fabric?”

“Some flimsy bit of fabric that I sourced, cut, dyed, and patterned myself. Yes.” The olive responded.

Dammek pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’ll do 10.”

“Nuh uh,” the artist murmured. “15.”

“12.”

The olive narrowed their eyes, emitting a low, almost purring sound, before speaking again: “12.50 and you have a deal.”

Already somehow at his night’s threshold of annoyance, Dammek conceded to the 12.50 credit neckerchief and handed the artist their money, to which they uttered a sleepy ‘thank you’.

“Talk’s at the third tunnel on the left,” the olive said, as per their agreement. “Surprised you didn’t see it from here though, it’s got a line and a sign and everything. Are those moonglasses not prescription?”

“What do you mean it’s got-“

Stunned and frankly unsure as to whether or not the conversation he just had actually happened, Dammek turned to see exactly what the stall owner was describing. Third tunnel from the left. Line and sign. Visible from the stall.

Without another word, the lowblood tied the neckerchief around his wrist and paced angrily over to his destination. The line wasn’t exactly long, but there were still more trolls than Dammek was expecting. Granted, it was advertised in the Empire paper, but even so, he didn’t think that the inhabitants of the lowblood districts were lecture types. The thing that was puzzling him the most though was the lack of any Empire interference. No drones, no cameras- hell, even the trolls letting everyone in were both rustbloods. Large rustbloods, but rustbloods nonetheless. Regardless, it made the bronze suspicious.

As he entered the tunnel, he was greeted with an interior that was- for lack of a better term- half schoolhive, half church. The space was filled with rows upon rows of individual seats with little armrests that could multitask as desks, all facing a small stage with a podium on it. Were you meant to take notes at things like this? If so, the soft, warm lighting probably wasn’t the best for it. The ceiling was decorated with burgundy and bronze banners, all bearing emblems Dammek had never seen before. Most notably though, there still wasn’t a smidge of fuchsia in sight. Not even a drop of gold.

Dammek took a seat a few rows from the back. Despite what he was planning to do, he didn’t want to raise too much attention from the offset. He watched as more and more lowbloods came filing in, some alone, some in groups chatting amongst themselves. By the time the flow of trolls had stopped, almost every seat was filled. Thankfully for Dammek though, no one had chosen to sit next to him. That made the next part of this little excursion a lot easier.

After a few minutes, the crowd hushed themselves as a troll made their way onto the stage. Much like the two at the door, the troll at the podium was a hulking rustblood with upward rounded horns and blunt fangs. If this was his size from a distance, Dammek couldn’t help but worry for himself a bit when he went up-close. The thin gold chain hanging around the troll’s neck glimmered slightly in the dim light as he scanned his audience.

“Ah, my friends,” he began, his voice deep and warm, “it is so, so lovely to be seeing you all tonight-“

“What is that accent?” Dammek whispered to himself. “Is he Eastern Alternian-?”

The bronze was cut off by a troll sitting in front snapping around to hiss a ‘shh!’ at him.

The troll onstage continued: “I am seeing a lot of old faces, but also plenty of new ones. So, if you are new here, my name is Fozzer Velyes- and I am happy to be welcoming you to my speech.”

A portion of the crowd broke into a respectful applause, prompting Fozzer to quieten them with a bashful wave of his gloved hand.

“Please, please, comrades, I have not even begun yet!” He chuckled. “Now, can anybody who was at my last talk tell me what the subject for tonight is?”

Raised hands peppered the tunnel.

“You there!” Fozzer exclaimed, pointing into the crowd. “You, with the fur coat.”

“The importance of the lowblood workforce!” A voice shouted.

The rustblood grinned. “Correct! The importance of the lowblood workforce!”

Dammek narrowed his eyes. ‘Odd topic for an Empire-supported lecture’ he thought. Admittedly curious, he leant forward, his elbows on his knees; maybe he could let the speaker dig his own grave.

Fozzer cleared his throat, ready to begin the meat of his talk:

“It is easy for the Empire to look down upon us lowbloods. We have been at the bottom of both the metaphorical and literal food chain for as long as troll society can remember, but yet, here we are. Still huge in number and huge in spirit. 

However, that is not to say that we have not had- and are still having- our fair share of hardship, put upon us by our blueblooded and seadwelling superiors- and even some of our fellow lowbloods. But how, you may ask,  do we build resilience against this tirade of oppression and violence? Simple: we remember our importance in the grand machine that is the Alternian Empire.”

A portion of the crowd quietly chattered amongst themselves for a moment, while the others sat with bated breath, waiting for the speaker to continue. Dammek found both responses unusual.

“Tell me this, comrades, what is the most important part of any mechanism? Because I can tell you this. It is not the sleek, fancy exterior that keeps all its components hidden. No, no, no. It is the innards. The gears, and the wires, and the pistons that are the lifeblood of any functioning machine. Even if you strip away the casing, reduce it to its smallest parts, they are all you need to rebuild it. And that, my friends, is the purpose we serve in this Empire.”

Fozzer’s voice dripped with passion and intensity, as he continued:

“The highbloods can flounce about with their expensive clothes and their high-ranking jobs, but what is an employer without employees? What is casing without inner workings? Worthless, that is what. The highbloods- the blues and purples and violets and so on- they are worthless without us. They may think they hold the chains around our necks; that they can dispose of us like garbage; tear out our insides in the street, but all they are doing is crippling themselves. The ones who really hold the chain on their entire system.

That should empower us, comrades. Our worth. Our weight. These highbloods do not know it, but they bow to us, really-“

“So why don’t we do something about it?!”

The entire audience turned to see Dammek stood on his chair, hands confidently on his hips. The tunnel fell dead silent as Fozzer attempted to make sense of the situation.

“I apologise, comrade, but this is not a time for audience participation. If you could-“

“I’m not sitting back down, if that’s what you’re asking,” the bronzeblood announced, making his way to the stage. “What I am going to do is explain how everything you just said is one hundred percent bullshit.”

Some of the crowd gasped at the bronze’s language. The corner of Fozzer’s mouth twitched a bit, attempting to maintain his smile as his rowdy audience member climbed on stage next to him.

“Very well then,” the rustblood said. “Since you are so eager, I shall allow you to debate me, comrade- uh-”

“Dammek. My name is Dammek.”

Fozzer’s ears pricked up. This was the troll the bluebloods and Chixie were talking about. He suppressed a laugh. This was the rebel leader? He was ever so puny. The larger troll folded his arms, his audience-facing smile being replaced by a smug grin.

“The floor is yours, Dammek.” 

Oblivious to the burgundy’s tone, the bronzeblood shot him a cocky nod before hoisting himself onto the podium.

“Yeah, so, everything tonnes-of-fun here just said is a total lie,” he began, confidently. “Sure, yeah, this Empire would be nothing without us, but that’s not our fucking purpose! We should not have to live our lives doing these awful, draining jobs just so those highblood bulgelicks can maintain their lavish lifestyles.” 

He raised his fist in the air, his expression a mix of anger and determination.

“Velyes here says we have power, that WE hold the chains on the system, so why don’t we use it? One lowblood is tough enough, but we’re stronger together. A teal can fail a rebellion, but lowbloods can secure an uprising. My name is Tetrarch Dammek and together, we can overturn this oppressive system and make the Empire a better place. Who’s with me?!”

…

…….

Silence.

Dammek looked on in alarm as the audience before him, all rustbloods and bronzes, stared back up at him in equal parts horror and secondhand embarrassment. A cluster of trolls in the corner whispered to one another, before returning their attention to him and giggling. The bronze was about to continue his speech until he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder- or rather, grasping at his shirt collar.

“Are you finished?” Fozzer hissed.

Dammek swallowed heavily. “Uh, well, I mean-“

Suddenly, before he could even formulate an answer, the bronze found himself being launched towards the entrance of the tunnel, colliding with a row of empty chairs. He blinked slowly, trying to compute what just happened, until he felt something warm on his forehead. He touched two fingers to it and looked. His vision was slightly blurred, but he could still make out what was in front of him. His hands shook.

“Blood…?” 

He attempted to stand, to waltz back up to the stage and continue speaking his truth, but before he could even straighten himself up, a large dark figure was looming over him.

“I do hate interruptions,” Fozzer spat. “It is very impolite, you know?”

The audience was muttering louder now. Regardless of volume though, Dammek couldn’t make sense of it. His thinkpan was ringing. What the fuck did a burgundy have to do for a living to be THAT strong with no psychics? One thing was for sure, giving speeches wasn’t his first profession.

The bronze attempted to stand again, but was pinned back down by the burgundy’s heavy, boot-clad foot on his chest. He couldn’t do anything but lie there and attempt to breathe.

“In a few moments, I am going to give you a single opportunity to run away,” Fozzer growled, his tone deceivingly soft. “After that, consider yourself hunted.” He put more pressure on the troll beneath him, causing him to whine. “If I see you muddying my lectures again or lurking these streets, I will drag you by those hideous antlers to the trolls that are looking for you- and I cannot guarantee they will be merciful.” He ground his heel into the smaller troll’s abdomen. “I cannot guarantee I will be merciful.”

Dammek looked around, his eyesight slowly becoming clearer. The members of Fozzer’s audience were staring at him from their chairs, some purposely creeping closer just to get a better look. Sick fucks. Sadism was a highblood trait, rusties shouldn’t be doing this shit. Is that why they weren’t standing up for themselves like he anticipated? He forced a swallow, his mouth dry. The blood from his forehead was halfway down his face now, intermingled with nervous sweat.

After what felt like forever, Fozzer removed his foot, standing above the bronzeblood with his hands behind his back.

“Run, little antlerbeast,” the burgundy mocked. “Else, you may not get the opportunity to do so again.”

Trembling, Dammek clumsily made his way off the floor, one hand clutching at his stomach, the other at his head. The eyes of the crowd were practically burning into him, but none moreso than Fozzer’s, whose near-white irises appeared to almost glow in the light.

The burgundy mouthed again: ‘Run!’

The bronzeblood was practically hyperventilating as he darted out of the tunnel, his legs barely strong enough to carry him. He dashed straight forward for as long as he could, before slumping against an alley wall, the homogenous sounds of the crowd cheering behind him like some kind of taunting beast that was going to devour him whole. He removed his moonglasses, checking them for cracks, and tucked them into his shirt pocket. 

“F… Fuck!” Dammek shrieked, his voice laden with frustration and pain.

He gave himself a minute to recentre, looking to the floor and trying to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes and lump in his throat. The bright orange neckerchief he had bought still clung to his wrist; an odd spot of color in this dreary scene. Still breathing hard, the troll removed it and tied it around his forehead, hoping it would stop the bleeding. For a moment, he almost felt bad that his injury might ruin the pattern. An uncharacteristic train of thought.

He gave himself another moment and, slowly but surely, pulled away from the wall. The humiliation was immeasurable, but he couldn’t stay out in his current condition. He would have to shakily walk back to his hivestem, his head hung low.

At least now, he would blend in a little.

Chapter Text

“I-Is it bad?”

Marsti brought a hand to her chin, her eyes narrow as she examined the large, green-ish bruise on her patient’s leg. An oliveblood, a mix between embarrassed and distressed, looked down at the nurse expectantly from the examination plank, wringing their stout hands in their lap. After a few moments, Marsti gently took hold of their ankle, supporting their already bandaged foot with her free hand.

“I’m just going to apply some pressure here and rotate your joint a little; tell me if and when there’s pain, and we should be able to figure out what you’ve done.”

As she had described, she touched at the skin around the bruise, applying more pressure each time, but her patient seemed mostly unfazed. The moment she tried to move their foot, however, the ailing olive let out a loud shriek.

“Agh! That really hurts! Stop it-!”

Marsti quickly withdrew, stopping for a moment to take notes. “And you said this started when you…?

“Tripped over a metal bar at work.”

The burgundy tapped her notebook with her pen. “How would you say you landed?”

“Flat on my face. On a metal floor,”  The olive declared, flushing a little. “I didn’t see how my legs were or anything. All I know is that when I tried to get back up and keep working, I could barely put pressure on it. I must’ve approached the bar at some speed.”

Marsti jotted down another bullet point, but didn’t take her attention away for an instant. “Alright,” the burgundy sighed. “Personally, I think it could be a sprain, but we need to be sure. I’m going to have to refer you for an x-ray at the larger mediculler unit in JTN-0209; they specialise in this sort of thing.”

Marsti’s patient put a hand to their head, their expression now worried. “An x-ray? How much will that cost?” They stammered. “I’ve already been out of work because of this and- and the blueblood who owns my hivestem has put utilities up big time!”

The nurse’s expression softened a little, but she caught herself before she looked too disheartened. After setting her face back to neutral, she swiftly and silently flipped to a new page and scribbled something down, tearing it out and handing it to the other troll when she was done.

“Huh?” The olive sniffled. “What’s this?”

Marsti quickly scanned the room for any hint of surveillance. She was in that room nearly every night, but the Empire liked to be sneaky. She could never be too sure who or what was tapped in to her appointments. Once she knew the room was clear, she learnt forward.

“A loophole,” she explained, her tone dry and hushed. “If you get a copy of your wage slip or anything similar, you can show it to the trolls at the mediculler unit and- if you earn under the threshold, which I’m sure you do- they’re technically required to cut or forfeit your costs.”

The injured troll’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?! Even though I’m a lowblood?”

Marsti chuckled. “You’re more green than orange; that’s all that counts.”

With as close to a smile as she could get, the nurse helped her patient onto their feet and led them to the door.

“Thank you, Nurse Houtek,” they said, taking hold of the handrail in the hallway.

“No problem,” the burgundy replied, trying to sound as warm as possible. “Go to the front and arrange your appointment. We’ll see each other again after that- oh! And don’t forget your prescription!”

With a little wave, Marsti shrunk back into her consultation block and immediately began resetting it for her next patient. While her colleagues found this part tedious, the burgundy took a small amount of joy in cleaning up her space. It reminded her of home, of Alternia, and the near endless alone time she had there. As much as she got along with the staff on her floor, she still wasn’t used to the constant ‘how are things?’ and ‘weather’s been crazy lately, huh?’. The potent, same-every-time smell of the sanitiser and routined circular motions of wiping a surface put her at ease. 

Plain, simple, and expected; just how she liked it. 

At the very least, the need to clean after every patient stopped her mind from wandering in the downtime. Even the thought of overthinking made the burgundy grip her antiseptic wipe a little tighter. If she let her thoughts spiral, she’d probably end up thinking about something stupid like how she freaked out in front of Fozzer and Chixie.

Or how she wasn’t able to stop a patient from hurting Chixie that one time.

Or how nearly everyone around her has sustained some sort of injury that she wasn’t around to fix.

Or everything that happened with Folykl that would have been totally avoidable if she had just-

Marsti looked down at the mess of crumpled examination plank paper in her gloved hands, her fingers torn almost entirely through it.

“Great,” the nurse sighed to herself, throwing the paper in the trash and removing a fresh strip. “At least I actually noticed it before putting it down this time.”

She flattened the paper onto the plank and cracked her fingers over her head, ready to give her workspace another once over, until she heard a knock on the door.

“Well, howdy there,” the voice drawled from the doorway, “this is block 703, ain’t it?”

Marsti pushed her cleaning products to the side and turned around, arms crossed.

“Look what the purrbeast dragged in,” the nurse said, sardonically. “Are you sure you’re not getting hurt on purpose? I’m starting to think you let those lusii maul you just so you can come and see me, Koriga.”

The bronzeblood sauntered her way over to the examination plank, her thumbs tucked into the waistband of her chaps.

“Aww, shucks, M, you think I’m that careless?” She asked, sitting herself down. “Why, I’m almost hurt.”

The nurse rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, Skylla. You know I’m always happy to see you.”

“Tell your face that then, honey!” 

Marsti went to close the door as Skylla erupted into a hearty laughter. She only turned around when the bronze cut herself off with a pained hiss. Quickly, she changed into a new pair of gloves and plucked her notebook from her belt, sitting down in front of her patient.

“What are you in for this time?” 

With little hesitation, Skylla pulled up her shirt to reveal a deep, three-pronged gash along her stomach, just beneath her grub scars. Marsti’s eyes widened.

“Damn, Sky,” she muttered, “did you walk all the way here with this?”

“No,” Skylla proclaimed, proudly. “Only the last 20 minutes. Got a pay-buggy for the first part of the journey.”

The burgundy let out a frustrated groan before taking a closer look at the injury. Skylla was muscular, so it was hard to tell exactly how far down the injury went, but a slither of bone visible within the second tear told her everything she needed to know. She pulled a saline wipe from a dispenser in the wall and brought it to the wound.

“This is going to sting. Just take a deep breath, okay?”

Despite the nurse’s instructions, Skylla couldn’t help but let out a stifled whimper as the cold cloth touched her skin. Marsti forced herself to ignore it.

“So, what attacked you?” She asked, trying to distract her patient.

“Aw, a big ol’ scalebeast,” Skylla replied, her tone oddly chipper. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Poor fella was real scared. No wonder! Critter was almost gonna end up as a blueblood’s purse if my boss hadn’t’ve stepped in.”

Marsti pulled away, disposing of the blood-tinged swab. 

“This is a pretty gnarly injury, Sky.”

“Just like the rest of ‘em!” The bronze laughed.

 “It’s going to need stitches and considering the placement…”

The bronze cocked her head to one side. “You tryna say I won’t be able to go to work?” She attempted a laugh again. “That’s nonsense, M. I’ve gone back on worse! Remember when that two-headed hiss-stalker dislocated my leg- in two places?! Or when that howl-lurker messed up my eye?”

Marsti folded her arms. “This is different. If you so much as jolt the wrong way, you could split your whole upper body open. You need stitches.”

Skylla scrunched up her nose, bemused. “Couldn’t you just slap some sopor on it? We were able to do that back on the home turf.”

The burgundy expelled a laboured sigh, making vigorous notes as she spoke. “That’s a highblood luxury,” she murmured. “Now that they’ve actually got us off-planet, they don’t care what happens to us. I don’t even think tealbloods can get sopor without proper authorisation.” She ripped out a page and pushed it into Skylla’s hand. “So no quick fix for you, pardner .”

The consultation block fell silent for a moment as the bronze stared at the paper, her scarred face unsure whether to settle on a neutral smile or stunned frown. She continued to decide on an expression as Marsti fingered through a cupboard, eventually emerging with gauze in one hand and bandages in another. The two lowbloods stayed quiet as Marsti began to dress the wound, delicately placing a large patch of gauze across all three incisions. Skylla held back a few pained grunts as the burgundy stroked it flat, occasionally mouthing a ‘sorry’. As the nurse began to bandage the bronze’s torso, she broke the silence, but refused to make eye contact.

“Are you ever going to quit that job?”

Skylla looked down at her, baffled. “Aw, can’t we talk about this back at the hive-“

“No, I’m serious,” Marsti insisted. “Do you think there’s ever going to be a point when you quit that line of work?”

“You mean lusus wranglin’?” Skylla asked, dryly. “Why would I quit? I love my job.”

“Maybe so, but you get hurt a lot.”

The bronzeblood grinned. “You worried about me, M?”

Still refusing to look at her patient, Marsti snarled. “Well, considering the fact that I see you in here at least once every perigee, you could say so, yes.”

“At least it makes sense for me to get hurt at my job,” Skylla remarked. “Didn’t some whackjob patient punch you last wipe?”

“Yes, but for your information, they were not a ‘whackjob’,” the burgundy snapped, tying off a loose end of bandage, “they were having a psiionic attack. I had to restrain them.”

As the nurse took a step back, she felt the bronze’s hand on her face. It stopped her in her tracks.

“They shouldn’t be havin’ you doin’ that kinda work,” Skylla cooed. “You ain’t built for it.”

Marsti batted her hand away, her brows furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The bronzeblood tapped at the examination plank, suddenly becoming uncharacteristically sheepish. It was now her turn to avoid the gaze of the other troll.

“Well, I mean, we bronzes, we’ve got tougher hide,” she began. “We’re made for rough and tumble, y’know? Dealin’ with lusii; doin’ farm work; bein’ out in the sun. But burgundies, you’re more… sensitive folk. Soft.”

The rustblood’s face dropped, her eyes wide with a combination of disbelief and stifled anger. She tried to play it off, writing down how she treated her patient’s wound, but the pressure she was putting on her pen made her feelings hard to ignore.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” the nurse said scathingly. 

Skylla shrugged. “I’m sorry, M, but it’s true! Burgundies ain’t meant for that!”

Marsti slammed her notebook onto a cabinet. “So what are we meant for? Hm? Serving bluebloods? Punching bags? Free use pails? ”

The bronzeblood waved her hands in protest, trying not to aggravate her injuries, but failing to placate her nurse. “No, no! You’re puttin’ words in my mouth! It’s just that burgundies ain’t as physically strong as bronzes. Y’all’re better at psychic stuff! Though, that’s all dependent on whether or not you actually got psychics-“

Abruptly, the burgundy stood, sending her stool across the room. She was looming above her patient now, her breathing regulated, but heavy. She was doing everything in her power to keep a straight face, but the vein beginning to throb on her forehead gave her away. 

“I did not spend the first nine sweeps of my life running from purples and literally beating away creepshow bluebloods with a scourer to be told that I ‘ain’t made’ for tough work,” she spat. “I’ve worked very fucking hard to be here. Lost a lot of sleep. Seen a lot of shit. Same as every other rusty I know. You do not have the right to say that to me; bronzeblood or not.” She turned around, rubbing her temples. “You really think one step up the hemospectrum makes you so much better than me? Does it make you just want to bundle me up in a snuggleplane and keep me at the hive like some kind of pet?”

“Hey now, M-“

She snapped back to Skylla, breathing frantically through her nose. Her lips pursed, as if holding back a tidal wave of venomous vomit. The two lowbloods could do nothing but stare at each other as Marsti attempted to get a hold of her temper.

“I don’t want to hear it,” the nurse muttered, exhaling loudly. “Appointment’s over. Take that slip to the front desk and they’ll book you in for your stitches.”

Hesitantly, Skylla got herself up from the examination plank, one hand over her bandages. She lingered in her spot for a moment, almost as if she was expecting Marsti to suddenly change her mind and bring her in for an apologetic hug. But, no, that wasn’t happening. She was silly for thinking it would. Skylla chewed at her lip, a punishment to her mouth for saying such stupid things, even though she knew her thinkpan was to blame. She slowly made her way past Marsti, who- at the very least- opened the door for her. The pair had returned to avoiding each other’s gaze, though.

“Thanks for patchin’ me up, M,” the bronze sighed. “I’m gonna head back to the hive. Do you, uh-“She paused, actually thinking about her next sentence. “Do you want me to make some grubcakes for you? For when you get back, I mean. I know you’ve still got a couple hours on your shift, but-

“That would be nice, Sky,” the nurse grumbled, “but don’t bother waiting up for me. I can stick them in the crisprange myself.”

Still regretful, Skylla nodded and made her way out, clutching at her side. “…I love you.”

Marsti hung in the doorway, watching her attempt to confidently stride away, only to be halted by her wounds. As upset as she was with the bronze’s words, she still couldn’t deny the pit she felt in her digestion bladder seeing her in pain. How tragically ironic it was; a nurse who couldn’t stop those she cared about from getting hurt. She tightened her grip on the doorframe, still watching. The bronze was far out of earshot now, leaning on the front desk, following the burgundy’s advice, but that didn’t stop the nurse from replying:

“I love you too…”

She stayed for a moment, making sure Skylla got everything before she left the unit. The second she was out of view, Marsti retreated back into her consultation block.

That was that.

Time to clean again.

Chapter Text

Fozzer never thought he would have an audience. 

He never imagined that he would one day be giving lectures to hundreds of his kind, with every burgundy and bronze clinging to his every word like their lives depended on hearing each syllable, especially after so many sweeps of being alone. The rustblood had even hatched alone. No matter how many times he did it, he was still in disbelief at the sheer number of trolls that would attend and stop him afterwards to praise him and his messages. The Roughkeep Tunnel crowd were… especially eager to shower him in compliments, even up until the last one to leave.

“I’m so thankful for your work,” said one.

“You make me proud to be a lowblood,” said another.

He was even approached by another Eastern Alternian troll, thankful to hear someone of his descent speak such hopeful words.

It was flattering, but Fozzer still didn’t know how to properly respond to it. It wasn’t out of discomfort, though. Quite the opposite in fact. If anything, the burgundy wasn’t used to feeling so good. So proud of himself. So oddly powerful. Even though he was the same caste as most of his audience, the way they revered him and his words made him feel like so much more. 

It was unusual, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

He lingered behind, waiting until the last few members of his audience had properly left before pulling out a curved inhalation pipe he kept tucked in his back pocket. Still trying to remain inconspicuous, he quickly lit it and inhaled, pushing the smoke out through his nose. Fozzer was a troll of few vices, but his pipe wasn’t so much a vice as it was a reminder of his homeland. His memory was fuzzy- a side effect of his procedure, no doubt- but the scent and taste of the smoke brought back the closest thing he could describe to a memory. Blurry, shapeless trolls moving in homogenous huddles down snow covered streets; disorienting remnants of music played on unknowable instruments; it wasn’t much, but it was more comforting than the watch-husk static ‘grubhood’ he was used to. 

He leant against one of the tunnel walls, taking another drag of his pipe. But before he could fully unclench his jaw, a voice called out from the entrance:

“Evenin’, Velyes!”

Fozzer rolled his eyes. Two words, four syllables, and the sound of that voice was already grating. “I told you to be subtle, Codakk.”

The indigo strolled over, hands in his overcoat pockets. “Oh, relax. Your little cult members have all gone. Besides, you’re the one that called me here; what’s going on?”

Fozzer made a conscious effort to blow smoke in the highblood’s face the moment he got in range. His coughing made him smirk.

“I have information,” the burgundy muttered. “That rebel, Dammek, he turned up to my lecture. Tried to upstage me and preach his own rhetoric.”

Zebruh’s eyes widened, but quickly reverted to a look of frustration. “Seriously? Then why didn’t you apprehend him? We could’ve had him, there and then!”

The lowblood gestured with his pipe. A firm, authoritative gesture, as if to say ‘shut up and calm down’, which the indigo sheepishly obeyed. Once he knew the highblood was subdued, Fozzer continued.

“I could not have done so in front of my audience,” he affirmed. “What would they think if they knew I was working for bluebloods, ah? They would lose faith in me.” He took another quick drag. “I hurt him, badly, threatened him also, but I could not have done more than that. It needed to look more like punishing a naysayer than brutalising a do-gooder.”

Zebruh folded his arms, his face now that of a puzzled schoolwriggler. “But your lectures are advertised in the paper, which is managed by the Empire. Surely, they must have some idea that you’re affiliated with highbloods.”

“You would think so,” the burgundy grumbled, “but they do not see it that way. They are viewing me as a lowblood who suffered. A broken creature who was rebuilt and now goes on to teach others the things he had learnt in his despair.” He let out a faint chuckle. “It is ridiculous when I say it aloud.”

The highblood gave a half-hearted nod, attempting to disguise the fact that had lost interest the second he finished his own sentence. He let Fozzer continue rambling about the intricacies of how his audience perceived him until he spotted something poking out of the burgundy’s shirt pocket.

“Hey, what’s this?” He immediately plucked the object into his hands. It was a small, leather-bound notebook, filled to the margins with scrawled, half-cursive writing. Zebruh could barely make any of it out, but the verses he could read were difficult to interpret in the more literary sense. “These your scripts or something?”

Fozzer narrowed his eyes, bemused, as he watched the indigo clumsily finger through the pages. Though he was indeed a highblood, the burgundy couldn’t view Zebruh as anything more than a spoilt, clueless wriggler; approaching the world with the same level of nonchalance and ignorance. Despite her frustration with the blueblood, Chixie said that he had matured since his time on-planet, that he was almost pleasant to be around, but that just made the lowblood wonder how awful he used to be. Nonetheless, Fozzer continued smoking his pipe, allowing Zebruh to ‘play’ a little longer.

“You know, there’s some pretty solid stuff in here,” the highblood announced, almost surprised. “I mean: ‘let us not see our blood as the rust on the cogs, but instead, the fire that powers the engine’? That’s a lyric right there.” He chuckled a bit, running his thumb along the edge of the pages, his expression turning slightly dower. “I gotta ask though… Do you actually believe this stuff?”

Fozzer cocked an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Like, the stuff you write and speak about,” Zebruh continued. “Do you actually believe in it? Do you honestly think that lowbloods are that important to the system?”

The burgundy paused, ruminating on the question. Despite how many trolls spoke to him after his lectures, none of them ever asked him about his beliefs, about his praxis. It was almost like they didn’t actually think about what he had said to them, they were just accepting it at face value. He never expected his first question about his words would come from a blueblood.

“Do you want the truth?” Fozzer asked, his voice deep and rumbling in his throat. “No. I do not believe what I say. I did, once, but not anymore.”

The indigo looked astonished, now fidgeting with the book, turning it over in his hands. He didn’t know what answer he was anticipating, but it wasn’t something so abrupt- or something so negative.

“I don’t follow,” Zebruh said. “Why would you preach something you don’t even believe in? I thought your talks were to empower lowbloods; make ‘em feel heard.”

“‘Empowerment’ is such a fustian term,” the rustblood growled. “You cannot ‘empower’ something that is fundamentally and societally powerless.” He gestured at the blueblood with his pipe again. “I do not speak to ‘empower’ lowbloods, I speak to cloud their perception. To give them false hope. To ensure that they do not throw themselves onto the train tracks at the end of this tunnel.”

Fozzer snatched the book back from the highblood, returning it to his pocket. Zebruh stood there, uncharacteristically speechless.

“These other lowbloods- my brethren- they hang on my words like they are gospel. Those who have no hope will cling to anything that gives them comfort and purpose, and I am the one to give it to them..” The burgundy looked past the indigo into the streets near the station, focusing on the small, scattered groups of rusts and bronzes he could see. “The Empire chose me for this job not because I am a prophet, but because I am a coward. And who else but a coward would know what those who live in fear would love to hear? What would motivate them to continue their miserable lives?”

After giving it one last puff, Fozzer dumped the contents of his inhalation pipe onto the ground, snuffing out any last embers with his heel.

“The reason this… Dammek charlatan will fail,” he continued, “is because he underestimates how frightened his castemates are.” He stopped for a moment, brushing off his pipe before placing it back into his trouser pocket. “Angry trolls create rebellion, Miss Entykk was a prime example, but scared ones do not. Instead, they stay in their place, doing their jobs, seeking justification for doing so- even if it is a complete farce.”

Zebruh swallowed heavily, anxiously staring down at the lowblood’s boot as it continued aggressively grinding the ashes into the cobblestone. He squeezed at his wrist, still unsure of what to say. Something about the way the burgundy spoke put him on edge. He could practically feel his pusher in his mouth. 

“So, uh,” the indigo eventually sputtered, “what information do you want me to take back to ‘Data?”

Fozzer put a heavy, gloved hand on Zebruh’s shoulder, causing him to flinch.

“You can tell Miss Carmia that she does not have anything to be worrying about,” the burgundy remarked. “I did not have high expectations for him based on her initial description, but now I have seen him more closely, I can guarantee that this Dammek is no threat.”

The blueblood glanced between Fozzer’s hand and his face, nerves still prickling at the back of his thick neck.

“Where do you think he’ll be now?” Zebruh asked. “If you roughed him up, he should be at a mediculler unit.”

The burgundy tutted. “Unlikely. From the display at my lecture, he appears to be too proud for that. I believe he will return to his hive with metaphorical tail between legs.”

“Right, right-“

“But,” Fozzer interrupted, “that associate of his that Chixie mentioned: Tritoh. If he and Dammek are still in touch, he will likely advise him to go to a unit- it is what a good moirail would do.” 

The blueblood grinned, his thinkpan now rapidly connecting dots. He slammed a fist into his open palm, suddenly excited. “And that’s where Chix can pin him- pin ‘em both of his little boyfriend tags along!”

With an affirmative nod, Fozzer removed his hand from the indigo’s shoulder, only for Zebruh to grab it for an enthusiastic handshake.

“We make a great team,” the highblood proclaimed, using his gesture to pull the lowblood forward. 

Fozzer raised an eyebrow, but couldn't stop himself from chuckling at how quickly the indigo changed mood. A few minutes ago, he looked like he was going to drop dead if the burgundy so much as looked at him wrong, but now he was galloping about like nothing had happened. He really was like a wriggler. 

“Why don’t I walk you back to that Line place?” Zebruh continued. “Maybe we can stop for a snack at some lowblood joint on the way. We can pick stuff up for ‘Data and Chix too; I’m sure they’d be super appreciative.” He sighed dreamily as the two broke out onto the street; the streetlamps like spotlights illuminating their emergence from the tunnel.“I do love it when a plan comes together.”

Chapter Text

The sound of the highbloods laughing upstairs made Xefros’s skin crawl. Something about it just felt so profoundly false. It was all fun and games now, but the rustblood knew that the second his employer’s guests left, the blueblood would be onto him about how awful they were or about how ‘last perigee’ someone’s shirt was. If he wasn’t so tired from running food up and down stairs all evening, the burgundy would’ve lamented the fact that money could seemingly buy you everything but good company. Luckily for him though, the delivery of a final cloche of finely aged grub-shank marked the end of his shift. He gave his employer and his guests a bow, and made his way out.

With a small sigh of relief, he pulled his palmhusk from his back pocket, eager to check Chittr for any updates on the Rebellion Failure Celebration- even though they made him mad. Anger was better than numbness, he supposed. The second he turned the screen on though, he was greeted by tens of messages from Dammek across a variety of platforms. The burgundy was tempted to ignore them, but the wording of some of the last few messages made him… concerned.

‘hey xef uh’

‘didnt go to plan’

‘like at all’

‘come meet me at honeys. we need to talk’

‘you might have maybe been kind of right’

Dammek would never willingly imply- let alone basically admit- that Xefros was correct about anything. Something was wrong. Very wrong- but the burgundy refused to let himself get too worried. Dammek had done this shit before. Be an ass; do something reckless; get hurt and make the rustblood patch him up, treating the situation like he had never been an ass to begin with. It was a stunt he pulled many, many, MANY times on Alternia. Back then, Xefros would’ve been at his beck and call, but he knew better now. He refused to be that hivemat troll again. The burgundy rolled his eyes and sent a short reply:

‘ K. Gotta pick up some stuff first tho X:// See you later’

His response wasn’t a lie by any sense of the word, but it usually wouldn’t take importance over someone the lowblood cared about getting hurt. Luckily, no such thing was occurring. 

Shoving his palmhusk back into his pocket, Xefros took a detour from his usual path home to dip into the neighboring district; an area simply referred to as The Drop-Off. Technically called GON-0723, The Drop-Off was- at one point- a humble, yet bustling gold and olive sector of the Central Colony. Despite being a single step up, gold and olive districts were a far cry from the crowded, metropolitan scenes of the rustblood sects, being home to plenty of green, natural space balanced with technologically advanced facilities and housing. However, due to its almost immediate proximity to a rustblood district, the Empire chose to relocate the trolls of GON-0723 and level the area, turning it into a baron stretch of fenced-off, military-occupied terrain with a single hangar in the center. Folks began calling it The Drop-Off after soldiers began distributing nutrition packages from there following a new mandatory “lowblood feeding policy” put in place by an Heiress. It sounded altruistic, but in truth, it was more like the Empire fattening up oinkbeasts for slaughter.

Xefros despised going to The Drop-Off. Claiming any sort of concession from the Empire, regardless of how helpful it was, felt humiliating, like he was licking the food from the Empress’s boot. However, he couldn’t afford to NOT go and collect a nutrition package. He reluctantly shuffled to the gate, where he was greeted by a stern looking cerulean officer.

“Got yer token?” They asked, gruffly.

Xefros forced a polite smile and showed the officer a rectangular tab that was attached to his hive key for them to scan.

“Xefros Tritoh,” the cerulean droned, “that yer name?”

“Yes, sir,” Xefros affirmed.

The officer scrunched up their face, looking between their screen and the lowblood. “Gonna need yer ID, punk.”

Great. 

Trying to hide his frustration, Xefros pulled down the collar of his shirt, baring his neck to the highblood. Huffing as if he wasn’t being paid more per hour than the rustblood made in a wipe, the cerulean took a leech-like device from the holster on their belt and pushed it to Xefros’s neck, causing him to wince. After a few seconds, the leech began to wriggle, emitting a loud beeping sound, prompting the officer to remove it and unceremoniously cram it back into a pocket.

“Yep,” they grumbled, “chip checks out. Go through, rusty.”

Xefros forced a courteous nod and made his way into the sector. Much to his surprise, there wasn’t much of a queue that evening, so he could near enough walk straight to the delivery port. A plethora of pilots from up and down the hemospectrum were dotted around the area, though only the warmer-blooded soldiers seemed to be doing any of the work. While the burgundy was trying not to make eye contact, one pilot caught his attention. A tall bronzeblood carrying nutrition packages from a ship to a collection table at the port. 

He looked… familiar. 

“Vikare?” Xefros exclaimed, picking up his pace a little to jog to the collection point. Even though his large horns caught the butler’s eye first, the pilot’s robotic left leg drew most of the burgundy’s attention. That wasn’t there before.  “Hey, Vikare!”

The bronzeblood turned his head, lifting his goggles. The second his eyes adjusted to the light, the pilot grinned.

“Galloping gravy! Look who it is,” Vikare beamed. “You’re the rust lad from the Jeevik Week fiasco. Xerox, right? Xenons? Xenopus?”

“Uh, Xefros,” the burgundy said bashfully. 

The pilot slapped the tabletop, chuckling. “Ah! Xefros. Yes, yes, I remember you now,” he shook his head a little, still smiling widely. “- or rather, I remember your friend. That funny looking bronzeblood. Not one for conversation that gal. Is she still around?”

Xefros felt his pusher sink. 

Not again.

The sting of not being remembered was one thing, but being reminded of his long gone friend was another. He wrung his hands, attempting- and failing- to conceal the anxious, saddened look on his face.

“Joey?” He uttered. “She, uh… had to go home. I’m not sure if she even made it off-planet. I haven’t heard from her in a long while…” 

Vikare placed an empathetic hand on the younger troll’s shoulder. “It’s alright, lad. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

The burgundy shrugged, nodding weakly as if to say ‘well, what can you do?’, as dismissive as that was. What was it with bronzes and mentioning her? Why was it that no one ever seemed to notice him, but when they did, they only ever brought up the things he didn’t want to talk about? Before Xefros could change the subject, Vikare cleared his throat and spoke up.

“I’m assuming you’re here for a package, ey, chum?” 

Xefros attempted a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Ideally with two trolls’ worth- if you’ve got any left, that is.”

The bronze did a quick scan of the boxes dotted about the collection point before darting over to a decently sized package with a yellow sticker on it, handing it to the burgundy. 

“This should do it!” The pilot chirped, patting the top of the box. “Two trolls’ worth, eh? Lucky lad! Have you gotten yourself a matesprit? Or perhaps you’re focusing on darker romances these nights?”

Xefros rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately not,” he grumbled, “I’m sharing a hivestem with a friend of mine. Though, honestly, I wish I wasn’t.”

Vikare couldn’t help but snicker at the burgundy’s dryness. “Ah, yes, sharing a space with someone can be mighty hard work.” He gestured over to the hangar a few feet behind him. “My ship’s in there- and my battery is too. You remember Kuprum, don’t you, chum?”

Xefros raised an eyebrow. “Kuprum? The weird goldblood with the backpack?”

“Indeedy!” The bronze exclaimed. “Would you believe that he and I are matesprits? Two peas in a pod, we are. He can be too much for a lot of folks, but I owe a lot to Ol’ Sparky. Why, if it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have made it out of my accident alive!”

Trying to remain as subtle as possible, the butler glanced over the collection point table to Vikare’s legs. “Is that how you got, uh-“

“My new stem?” Vikare asked, playfully knocking his knuckle against his metal kneecap. “Sure is! See, before I was delivering nutrition packages and all sorts of other goodies, I was a fighter pilot. Out there in the inky blackness of space, fighting off invaders- all that wonderful stuff-“ The anxious tone of the bronze’s voice suggested the stuff was not wonderful. “Kup’s been my battery since the beginning, and when we got shot down a sweep or so ago, he used all the rest of his psii powers to drag me out. I lost a leg, yes, but I gained a level of respect for him I don’t think others would believe he deserved- given how blue he can be.”

The pilot looked over his shoulder, smiling warmly with a wistful look in his eyes. Xefros didn’t know Vikare too well, but it made him happy to know that he had found someone he could talk about so happily. While the mere sight of his delighted face as he thought of his partner warmed the burgundy’s pusher, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy prick at his thinkpan. It seemed like everyone he was close to on Alternia had moved on, finding trolls that were right for them, except for him. He got stuck with the lousiest ex-moirail on the planet and the one friend he did have was basically gone forever. He could feel his brow knitting together, a mix of anger and sadness conjeeling to make a lump in his throat, but before he could dwell too much on his feelings, he felt Vikare’s hand on his shoulder again.

“What I’m saying, pally, is that being around a troll every night isn’t always easy, but if you put in some elbow grease- really try to kindle that connection, why, it’ll be smooth sailing- or should I say flying!”

Xefros let the pilot laugh at his own statement for a moment before speaking again, his thinkpan still reeling with emotion.

“But…” the burgundy began, hesitantly. “What if you HAVE spent all that time with a troll and you’ve done NOTHING but listen to them and help them, but they still insist on being awful to you and roping you into shit you don’t want to do? What are you meant to do then?”

Vikare shot the younger troll a concerned expression and pulled his goggles back down, perhaps shielding the rustblood from the sheer level of worry in his gaze. Xefros felt his grip on his shoulder tighten.

“Well, lad,” the bronze spoke, his voice suddenly far less animated than usual, “I would ask you why you’re wasting your time with such a lout. I’m not the bravest of trolls, but… I know when to kick a bonehead to the curb.”

The pilot pushed the nutrition package further forward, prompting Xefros to take it into his hands. He gave the burgundy a smile, but his dower expression didn’t show any signs of shifting. 

“It was nice to see you again, Xefros,” Vikare said, leaning forward. “You look after yourself, alright, buddy?”

The butler uttered a quiet ‘yeah, sure’, backing away from the collection point slightly.

“I’m here pretty often, so don’t hesitate to come by if you need anything. Kup and I are always happy to see folks.”

Xefros remained silent, now entirely unable to hide the anxiety and upset on his face, simply giving the bronze a weak nod as he turned away. 

Vikare folded his arms, watching the younger troll traipse back to the entrance. It was a sad sight, seeing someone he had previously known to be so friendly appear so dejected. After making sure he saw him leave safely, the pilot pulled out his logbook from a pocket in his jacket, scribbling down the burgundy’s name and a small, haphazard doodle of his face and horn shape, just in case he came around again. He may not have remembered his name, but the pilot certainly wouldn’t forget their interaction.

He was certifiably worried for the lad.

Chapter Text

Xefros didn’t exactly hurry to meet Dammek at Honey’s. 

Aside from the nutrition package tucked under his arm, the burgundy found himself slowed down by the weight of Vikare’s words. Xefros had only met the pilot a handful of times- hell, the bronzeblood could barely even remember his name- but yet, he gave the butler better perspective than trolls he had known for sweeps. The only other friend to give him such unapologetic guidance was-

“Agh-!”

The burgundy shook his head a little. No. He couldn’t start thinking about her. He almost teared up over her at the hangar, he wasn’t going to do it again . It made him too sad. Why was it that every half-decent presence in his life had to go away? Why was he always left with the dregs? He tightened his grip on the package until he felt the thick cardboard wrinkle under his fingertips. It wouldn’t matter how damaged the box was anyway, he’d be tearing it apart the second he unpacked it; it was one of the few methods of releasing frustration Dammek didn’t complain about.

As he saw the soft, amber glow of The Honeycomb Grubhut’s sign come into view, the burgundy forced himself to calm down. If Dammek was going to admit that he was right about something, he may as well be in an adequate mood for it. He probably wouldn’t get the chance to experience it again.

Xefros shouldered his way into the eatery, only to be immediately greeted by a dower-faced Diemen, nervously tapping on a serving tray

“Hey Xef, is everything okay?”

The butler raised an eyebrow. Was he not hiding his frustration as much as he thought? “Uh, yeah, everything’s good, D- why?”

Diemen gestured over his shoulder to a table in the far corner where a pair of familiar antlers stuck out from behind a menu. “Well, I only ask because Dammek is here and he’s lookin’ real bad.” He leaned in a little, continuing in a hushed tone: “Your hivestem didn’t get flattened or anything did it? You can tell me and I’ll put in a good word with Zebede-“

“No, no, our hivestem is perfectly fine,” Xefros interrupted. “Is Dammek really THAT hurt?”

The stout rustblood gave a strangely solemn nod, prompting Xefros to make a beeline to his hivemate; hurried, but not quick enough to imply severe concern. Seemingly to evoke as much sympathy as possible, the bronze waited until he was seated to lower the menu, revealing the bloodied bandana still wrapped around his forehead, as well as the rest of his bruised face. The sight made Xefros’s eyes widen with shock, but he was still insistent on restraining his reaction.

“So, when you said things ‘didn’t go to plan’,” the burgundy began, “you meant ‘I got beaten to a pulp’.”

Dammek rolled his eyes, groaning loudly. “If you’re going to be a smug bulgelick about this, you can just fuck off back to the hive.”

With a shrug and wry smile, Xefros slowly stood and took an exaggerated step out of his seat. It was petty, but it was something he would’ve expected the other troll to do if the circumstances were switched. What he didn’t expect, however, was for his hivemate to grip at his wrist and glare at him, hissing a sharp ‘sit’ under his breath.

The burgundy reluctantly returned to his seat. If he wasn’t concerned before, he certainly was now. “What’s going on?” He asked, quietly.

Dammek drummed at the table, his eyes darting around the room for a second before settling back on the troll in front of him. “I fucked up,” the bronze murmured. “Like, REALLY fucked up. We’re in trouble.”

Xefros scoffed. “ We’re in trouble? I haven’t even-“

“There are trolls looking for me, Xef, and if they’re looking for me, they’re probably looking for you too. Like the world’s worst two-for-one sale.” The bronze took a shaky sip of water. “So, yes, we’re in trouble.”

Despite the absolute bombshell that had just been dropped on him, the butler couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle, almost like his body was preventing him from feeling any nerves. “C-come on now, Dam, how do you even know that?”

Dammek looked around the room again, this time propping up the menu to make sure both of their faces were covered. “That Fozzer guy told me himself. He beat the shit out of me and then told me that there were a bunch of trolls looking for me who he was going to drag me to if I turned up there again.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Xefros uttered, waving a hand, “Fozzer? Like, Fozzer Velyes? He’s Chixie’s matesprit? He beat you up?”

The bronze reclined a little, folding his arms and wrinkling his nose. “Yeah? Why? Do you know him or something?”

“Well, not really, but he was just some… mild-mannered cullpit digger last time I met him.” Xefros rubbed at his temple. “I didn’t think he would be capable of something like that.”

“Yeah, well, he is now,” Dammek spat, raising his eyebrows as if to gesture at his injured forehead. “Probably Empire mind control or some shit like that. Though, him being a cullpit digger does explain why he’s built like a brick shithouse-“

The burgundy waved his hands again, his confused expression morphing into one of bubbling anxiety. “But how did he know someone was looking for you? Did he seem like he knew who you were?”

“Not until I told him my name.”

“You told him your-?!” 

Xefros had to cut himself off and think for a moment. It would be easy for him to scream at his hivemate; to chastise him for his idiocy or shriek for getting him involved in his nonsense again, but there were bigger things at hand now. Whether he liked it or not, this was a catastrophe and he was a part of it. Thoroughly disgruntled, he swiped Dammek’s glass of water and took a hearty gulp, clearing his throat and his mind to properly deal with the situation he was now embroiled in. As always, he had to be the bigger troll.

“In my defence,” Dammek began, “when I made my posts, I stayed as anonymous as possible. So, the only way he could’ve recognised my name-“ He snapped his fingers triumphantly. “ -would be if he knew me from Alternia!”

The burgundy narrowed his eyes, unamused. “Dam, no one knew you like that back on-planet.”

Dammek emitted a puzzled grunt. “What?! They SO did. Loads of trolls in Outglut knew who I was. I was that bronze-blooded bad boy who used to get into fights with highbloods!”

Xefros rolled his eyes. “No, Dam, like, three trolls knew you from that stuff- and it was mostly because they thought you were stupid.” He took another drink of the bronze’s water. “You’ve got to stop with these power fantasies or whatever, they don’t make you look good.”

Dammek grumbled to himself for a moment, but before he could defend his notoriety, his hivemate continued.

“Okay,” the rustblood sighed, trying to push any and all explosive frustration out of him in one long exhale, “so the fact that he knew you despite your anonymity can only really mean one of two things.”

“Yeah?” The bronze asked, leaning forward sardonically.

The butler ducked back behind the upright menu, speaking in an almost stage whisper. “Either your plans have become public knowledge- which I doubt because you’d be dead by now- or Fozzer is working with someone who’s figured you out.”

“But that makes no sense,” Dammek retorted. “He’s an Empire mouthpiece now. Anyone he’s working with has got to be with the Empire too, right? So why aren’t I ‘dead by now’, huh, wiseguy?”

Scrunching his features, Xefros scratched at his temple. That was a good question. A surprisingly good question for Dammek’s standards. Deep in thought, the burgundy cast his eyes up to a wall-mounted watchhusk planted amongst the cluttered decor, playing another round of news regarding the anniversary celebrations. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen detailed a mass culling in a gold-olive sector, followed by a sloppily worded report of a burgundy who had gone missing at work. Thoughts clashed in the lowblood’s brain, overtaking and tackling one another like it was a mental stickball game. Considering the circumstance, the Empire wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity to quell another budding rebellion, but the fact that Dammek wasn’t already being strung up and pummelled to death on an imperial livestream suggested that the Powers That Be weren’t Fozzer’s informants. No. 

There had to be something else. 

Xefros mouthed a couple words to himself before speaking, though he was honestly surprised that his hivemate hadn’t interrupted him.

“It can’t be the Empire,” he began, now speaking in an actual whisper. “I think Fozzer must be in contact with someone else. Someone who’s good with tech.”

Dammek ducked down a little, matching the other troll’s volume. “Okay? But even if it isn’t the Empire itself, why haven’t these other trolls just told the higher-ups and let that be the end of it?”

“Do you want my opinion?” Xefros asked.

“Not usually, but since I might be picking up my own guts in a couple wipes, I guess I’ll take it.”

The burgundy did a quick, over-the-shoulder check. “You said there were trolls looking for you, right? I think they want to hunt you down and bring you to the Empire themselves.”

“What?” Dammek snickered anxiously. “B-but, why would they do that? If what you said before is right and I’m not Empire-renown or whatever, what reason would they have to make such a big deal of dragging me to the Empire personally?”

Silently, Xefros gestured to the watchhusk with his thumb, giving his hivemate a second to register what was onscreen.

“Because,” he said, the sounds of the news somehow ringing clearer than before, “there’s never been a better time to hand a rebel over to the Empress.”

The table sat uncomfortably still as Dammek turned back to face the burgundy. His moonglasses hid most of his expression, but just from the way his head hung slightly downward and how the corners of his mouth trembled, Xefros could tell that he was shaken. It was rare to see the ‘Tetrarch’ acknowledge the reality of a situation, but in this case, he clearly didn’t have a choice. He took a slow, shaky sip of water, drumming the fingers of his free hand against the edge of the table. Xefros still didn’t want to extend him too much sympathy- in a way, this was the bronze’s natural comeuppance after being so painfully reckless- but, at the end of the day, they were still both lowbloods. Lowbloods who couldn’t come out of a situation like this in good condition.

The butler leant forward, attempting a warm smile, and drew his attention to the bandana around his hivemate’s head. The bloody patch glimmered slightly in the warm light of the eatery, suggesting the wound was still open.

“Does your head still hurt?” Xefros asked softly.

He could see Dammek look up at him through his glasses. “A little, yeah.”

“Do you want to go get it looked at? Head injuries are no laughing matter, you know?” He gave the bronze a light punch in the shoulder. “You might end up stupider than you already are.”

“Very funny,” Dammek muttered. “You REALLY want to take me to a mediculler unit over a smack to the head?”

Xefros stood, hoisting the nutrition package under his arm. “Well, yeah.” He extended a hand and pulled the bronze out of his seat, steadying him when he wobbled slightly. “Besides, didn’t you want me to go talk to Chixie?”

Chapter Text

Marsti’s shift had technically ended 30 minutes ago. While the rustblood enjoyed her work, she never usually missed an opportunity to clock out as quickly as she could; patient permitting, of course. Tonight, however, she was still in her block, giving every surface a diligent clean for the third time. It wasn’t that her last patient was particularly extreme- a goldblood with a bleeding ear canal was nothing unusual-, she just couldn’t help herself in her frustration. It had been hours since Skylla’s consultation, but her words still wriggled around in her thinkpan, like maggots on a sore. ‘Burgundies ain’t meant for that’ . How could her matesprit say something so callous? They hadn’t been flushed for long, but the two had known each other for a while. Empress knew Marsti had been tending to the bronze’s wounds long before they came off-planet. Surely, she’d know better. Surely . Every thought made her grip her scourer even tighter, and press harder onto the planktops.

She only stopped when she felt the texture of her examination plank change.

Back in the moment, the burgundy glanced at the clock and, almost instantaneously, her body became aware of how long she had been working. It was officially time to leave. With a resigned sigh, Marsti made her way out of her block, locking the door behind her and pulling her goggles down, preparing to just hop on her scuttlecycle and go. Before she could escape though, she saw a familiar face scamper towards the entrance.

“Hey, Roixmr,” Marsti said, attempting to appear cheerful. “Got you on the late shift, huh?”

“Mar-Mar!” The bronze chirped, pushing her hair into a scrunchie as she entered the unit. “How’s it going? Good shift?”

The burgundy snickered. “I’m not sure there’s ever such thing as a ‘good shift’ in my department,” she said. “You never know whether you’re gonna be dealing with a sprained ankle or someone rocking up DOA. I know your stuff isn’t easy, but emergency mediculling is something else.”

Chixie nodded approvingly. “Oh, for sure. That’s why it’s important to look after yourself. I don’t want to be rude or anything, Mar-Mar, but you’ve been looking more tired than usual lately. If there’s anything wrong, I can-“

While Marsti was doing everything in her power to listen to her colleague’s words, something else caught her attention. Over the shorter troll’s shoulder, she saw a sleek, blue-tinted scuttlebuggy lingering by the entrance, only for it to clumsily speed off with a loud roar of the engine, startling some of the waiting patients. She didn’t want to make assumptions, but it seemed like the driver was staying to make sure Chixie got in safe.

“-If you want something for your dark circles, I have this amazing-“

“Who gave you a ride?” The taller nurse asked.

Chixie stopped in her tracks, emitted a nervous chuckle. “Oh, uh-“ She quickly glanced towards the entrance. “I got a pay-buggy!”

Marsti folded her arms. “Really? That’s a pretty swanky pay-buggy. Did you get a pay rise or something?”

Now fully laughing, Chixie gave her colleague a light slap on the shoulder. “Pay rise?” She wheezed. “Oh, Mar-Mar, you’re so silly! Lowbloods don’t get pay rises.”

Marsti inhaled slowly through her teeth, knitting her brows, but refusing to let the bronze truly be able to read her expression. Chixie was a good actress, but the one thing she couldn’t do was lie. She could feign placidity, remain pleasant with a patient who exposed themselves to her, but it was near impossible for her to truly be deceitful. If her tone didn’t give it away, the bead of sweat on her forehead and the way she grit her teeth certainly did. Regardless, the burgundy exhaled, casting out her longing to pry.

“Well, if you ever need a ride, don’t forget you can always give me a call if I’m not on shift,” the burgundy said, making her way out. “Have a good night, Roixmr.”

Smiling, Chixie waved enthusiastically and darted off to the staff respiteblock. Much to her luck, there was a locker free- AND it actually closed. She pushed her bag inside, double checked her hair, and picked up her clipboard, taking a moment to carefully examine her patient list. She muttered to herself as she ran the tip of her pen down the paragraph of names.

‘Nyural, A., 16 sweeps, bronze. Broken leg. Needs to be discharged ASAP due to lack of beds.

Edamat, T., 11 sweeps, gold. Recovering from repeated trauma to the thinkpan and spine. Seems in decent condition.

Goezee, P., 13 sweeps, olive. Nerve tissue damage-‘

Before she could finish, the nurse was interrupted by the feedback screech of the tannoy. Funny how that sound was only tolerable when it was just her and her microphone. The speaker boomed:

“THIS IS A MESSAGE FOR THE PATIENTS WAITING IN THE EMERGENCY BLOCK. CAN PATIENTS ENGANY, VAQERO, AND DAMMEK PLEASE MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE DESIGNATED BLOCKS ON YOUR TICKETS. WE WOULD ALSO LIKE TO REMIND ALL RUSTBLOOD PATIENTS TO HAVE THEIR NECKS BARE FOR CHIP SCANNING, OTHERWISE YOU MAY BE REFUSED TREATMENT. THANK YOU.”

Chixie’s ears pricked up. Was she hearing that right? The tannoy was incomprehensible at the best of times, but surely she didn’t hear what she thought she heard. She tiptoed over to the staff block door, opening it slightly and peering into the hallway. 

In a matter of seconds, her eyes grew wide with a mix of anxiety and fury. 

Zebruh and Fozzer were right.

There he was: Tetrarch Dammek, stumbling past her towards an examination block, looking very sorry for himself. The moment he had his back to her, the nurse creeped into the hall, staring and gripping her clipboard. Her eye twitched slightly. If the unit wasn’t littered with cameras, the bronze would’ve stormed over and throttled him where he stood. At least then he’d actually have a good reason to be in the emergency unit. The Jeevik Week fiasco was one thing, but the sweeps of torment he had put her through- stealing her work, lying to her- were another. She could practically see the mud-coloured remains of his smashed skull against the pristine unit walls. Even better, the Empire surely wouldn't mind what condition the Tetrarch was in when he was brought to justice, so long as he was alive.

She turned away, breathing deeply. As angry as she was, she knew that this was a blessing in disguise. Regardless of how minor his injury was, even the smallest bit of treatment would put all of Dammek’s current information on record. All she had to do was hand that record over to Ardata and the Tetrarch’s fate would be well and truly sealed. First though, she had to wait.

Turning on her best customer service smile, Chixie made her way to the reception block. While she had her own patients to attend to, it was part of her duty to ensure that the emergency unit wasn’t overflowing with expecting patients. As usual, she was early to her shift, so it didn’t hurt to do a quick check. She calmly made her way around the block, greeting trolls as she went and double checking their current condition, making notes of who looked like they needed to be seen quicker. In higher caste units, trolls in worse condition would be seen first, but- as a lowblood-only mediculler unit- blood colour took priority. A burgundy could be spewing blood, on the verge of death, but an olive with a mild burn would be rushed to a consultation block within minutes. Chixie despised this system, it went against everything her rebel self stood for, but she had to adhere to it. She couldn’t lose her job. Not after all her work.

She shook her head a little and readjusted her smile as she rounded the corner to the overflow section of the block. Fortunately, tonight seemed to be quiet, with only a handful of trolls scattered around the seats. One troll, however, caught her attention- or rather, one troll’s horns, peeking from behind one of the unit’s complementary tabloids. 

‘That’s Tritoh ,’ the nurse thought to herself. ‘When will he learn that his horns are basically impossible to hide?’

Just to be expected. If Dammek was there, of course Xefros was going to be too.  

She made a wavering beeline to the reading troll, attempting to make her actions seem entirely unintentional. Seeing Xefros didn’t exactly fill her with joy, but he was certainly a more welcome site than his garbage moirail. 

As she drew closer, Chixie couldn’t help but feel conflicted. The fact that he was there at all suggested that he was still close with that bulgelick, but she knew that the burgundy was more of a victim than anything. Equally, however, she also knew that he wasn’t just here to be a good friend. 

“Excuse me,” she began, remaining as professional as possible, “are you Xefros Tritoh?”

“Uh, yes, but I’m not-“ the rustblood looked up, his face cycling through a collection of stunned emotions as he realised who he was talking to. “Aw, crap.”

Chixie snickered. “Hi, stranger! Fancy seeing you here.” Feigning enthusiasm was painful, but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. “You don’t seem hurt. Are you waiting for someone?”

Xefros fumbled with his magazine, his hands undecided as to whether they wanted to fold it or roll it up. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect to see Chixie, he just didn’t expect her to walk up to him. He swallowed. “Uh, no- well, yes, but- I mean, no one special or anything-“

The bronze narrowed her eyes as he continued to trip over his words. It was quite sad to see how much he hadn’t changed. “You sure?” She asked. “Because I just heard Dammek get called in for examination.”

The burgundy’s mouth hung open for a second, his clammy hands now sticking to the flimsy paper. He looked around, almost like he was expecting someone to come out of nowhere and drag him away from his situation. Unfortunately, Xefros had to remind himself that this is what he had come to do. He took a deep breath, ready to start explaining himself, but Chixie beat him to it.

“I can’t believe you still hang out with him,” she said sardonically. “He’s a two-faced moron.”

Xefros chuckled anxiously. “Yeah, well, someone has to rein him in.”

Giving a wry smile, Chixie knelt down a little; half to pretend to examine the burgundy, half to keep her voice quiet. “How’s that working out for you? Because, from where I’m standing, he’s being more reckless than ever.”

“W-What?” Xefros stammered. “I mean, he’s injured, yeah, but-“

Without warning the nurse gripped at his wrist, twisting it slightly and causing him to let out a quiet yelp. Thankfully, being in a place dedicated to the injured meant it didn’t draw attention. 

“Don’t play dumb, Tritoh,” Chixie hissed. “Dammek is way too vain and irresponsible to willingly come to a mediculler unit for such a minor injury. I know what your game is.”

Xefros swallowed heavily, now suddenly able to feel his pulse underneath Chixie’s surprisingly strong grasp. He had barely had the time to adjust to seeing her, let alone her shift in tone. All he could do was blink, stunned, and stutter out questions.

“What do you mean-?”

Chixie continued: “That stupid bulgelick is setting up a new rebellion and he dragged you here to try and talk me into it, right? Well, guess what? I’m not playing his dumbfuck games anymore, okay?”

The burgundy’s mouth hung open for a moment, simultaneously baffled and petrified. “H-how did you know that? Did Fozzer tell you? You know he’s the reason Dammek is in here-“

“No, the trolls that told Fozzer told me too,” the nurse spat. “You know, since we’re matesprits or whatever.”

Xefros cocked an eyebrow. The way she said the word ‘matesprits’ was odd. She sounded almost… bitter. Granted, everything she had said so far sounded bitter, but there was an emphasis on that word. Were they… not matesprits? He didn’t have enough time to dwell on it though, as Chixie twisted his wrist further. He winced, but the nurse didn’t waver. 

It felt like forever for the burgundy, but after a moment, Chixie took a measured breath. It would be inappropriate to tear into him even further in such a public spot. While the other waiting patients were chatting amongst themselves, the longer she spent with Xefros, the more suspicion she placed on herself. Not only that, but she was close to eating into her shift. There were so many things she’d love to say, so many insults and threats she had been dying to spew for sweeps, but she simply couldn’t. Not at work. With a short sigh, she stood herself back up, quickly eyeing a wall clock before turning back to the seated troll. 

“Alright,” Chixie grumbled, her voice slightly softer, “you’re a decent troll, Xefros, but Dammek is a manipulative jerk who’s had you under his heel for way too long, and the fact that he thinks an off-planet rebellion is possible just shows how stupid he really is.”

She let go of his wrist, giving him a moment to shake it about to regain feeling.

“Yeah, you don’t think I know that?” muttered Xefros, circling his numb palm with his thumb. “I think his revolution ideas are dumb too, but anything he does, I’m roped into by default.” He folded his arms, his anxious expression dissolving into one of apathy and frustration. “I knew you wouldn’t want to get involved, but I had to talk with you at least a little to get him off my back- and to make him get his pan checked.”

The nurse gave the clock another glance. Three minutes. She very easily could have left the conversation there and made a copy of Dammek’s record later in the night, but Xefros’s sullen demeanour gave her an idea. 

“Okay, look,” the nurse whispered, “my shift starts soon, but before I go, I want you to… consider something.”

Xefros emitted a puzzled sound, prompting Chixie to continue.

“These trolls Fozzer and I are in agreement with, the ones who told us about how Dammek posted his stuff online, they want to turn both of you over to the Empress.”

Xefros felt his digestion bladder drop.  “ME?! Gog damn it, I thought Dammek was bluffing-!”

The nurse quickly clasped a hand over the burgundy’s mouth, dismissing any staring patients with a bashful wave. ‘Poor guy’s in agony’, she mouthed to one. Once all the other trolls had turned away, she spoke again.

“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear or whatever, but! You could get out of this if you help us turn him over.”

She slowly withdrew her hand, gesturing with her eyebrows as if to say ‘if you shout like that again, I’ll put you in intensive care.’

“W-what?” Xefros uttered between deep breaths. “Me? You want me to help you give Dammek to the Empire?”

Chixie straightened herself up again, tapping her foot rapidly on the tile floor. “I know it sounds crazy, but… please consider it at least.”

“B-but I-“

“It’s a big ask, I get it, but it’s honestly your best option here,” the bronze proclaimed. “Besides, what has that antlered dipshit ever done for you?”

Xefros settled back into his seat, contemplative. Could he not go ONE night without someone telling him how awful his hivemate was? He got enough of that from his own thinkpan. The burgundy was beyond overwhelmed. He couldn’t just turn on Dammek like that… could he?

Before he could even think of a response, Chixie started walking away.

“Just think about it, okay?” She said, returning to her customer service voice. “I know it sounds like a tough choice, but I know you’ll make the right decision. I’ll see you around, you know where to find me!”

With a quick wave, the nurse departed, heading towards her unit and leaving Xefros slumped in his chair. She glanced at her clipboard, double checking which block she had to go to first, attempting to get into her work mindset before she went onto the floor. As she hopped into an elevator, Chixie couldn’t help but smile to herself. It was always satisfying to one up Dammek, it had been since the day she found him plagiarizing her verses, but this one had weight. She had the potential to get back at him from the inside, using the one troll that- somehow- hadn’t dumped him like the trash he was.

Deep down, she knew that what remained of The Mask would be strangling her for conspiring in a blueblood’s- in the Empire’s- favor, but Chixie Roixmr, the lowblood girl who had her own rebellion stolen away, was thrilled at the idea of finally giving the Tetrarch his comeuppance. 

Chapter Text

The Central Colony looked so small from Ardata’s hive. The cerulean spent many an evening lingering by her communal respiteblock window, staring out into the blue-hued skyline of her district as her watchhusk mumbled behind her. Occasionally, she’d cast her gaze down onto the streets, intently watching the crowds of trolls go by. Seadwellers on their way back to Inner Kingdom; bluebloods stumbling around after night-long benders; even lowbloods scampering to and from work. Regardless of caste though, the ant-like citizens rushing around on the pavement far below her provided their own entertainment. They were fun to pretend to crush. Sometimes she’d simply imagine it, other times she’d bring her hand to the window and capture an unsuspecting silhouette between her fingertips. It wasn’t the most exciting way to unwind after work, but the cerulean was rarely conventional in her recreation.

Just before she could hone in on a group of unsuspecting indigos however, light suddenly trickled into the room. The cerulean turned, smiling as she was greeted by a large figure in the doorway.

“Oh my, look who it is,” she purred, pulling away from the window. “Good evening, Velyes.”

“Miss Carmia,” the rustblood uttered, making his way inside. “Surveying your public, I see.”

Ardata let out a shrill cackle. “Someone has to.”

Fozzer shot her a tired smile before slumping over to a chair, gently depositing a small bag onto the blueblood’s coffee table. He reclined, running his fingers through his bangs and loudly exhaling.

“Zebruh and I visited that cafe you like on the way back,” he said. “I picked up your favourite: greenseed and sweet spicebean cake.”

Ardata’s ears pricked up, prompting her to skitter over and pluck out her treat. She grinned as she traced the cube-shaped container with her fingertips.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” She cooed. “Always knowing what to bring me.” The cerulean cracked open the box, using a spork from the bag to take a healthy bite of her confection. “Where is Codakk anyway?”

Fozzer grumbled. “He said he had to be taking Chixie somewhere, so he dropped me off a few blocks down to walk here.”

“Hm, typical,” Ardata muttered between scoops of cake. “That idiot will do anything for even five seconds with Roixmr.”

The burgundy emitted a lethargic chuckle, closing his eyes for a moment. It had been a long night. His seminars tired him out at the best of times, let alone when someone tried to interrupt him. While he enjoyed his work, it was highly performative. Less arts, more customer service. After all, he was essentially selling a state of mind- one he didn’t believe in, at that. He put his head back a little, letting out another deep breath, trying to ignore how the wound on his forehead had started to throb.

He found Ardata’s hive to be far more relaxing than his own. Despite her elegance and higher class, the cerulean lived a much less regimented lifestyle than what was expected of her. Her hive, while bathed in a monochromatic blue, was decorated in a relaxed fashion, with mismatched styles of cushions and trinkets dotted all over the place. It was cluttered, but clean. An oddly homely level of maximalism for a highblood’s living space. Perhaps it was because she was forced to keep her hive so empty on Alternia. Regardless, the low light and quiet surroundings put the rustblood at ease. He appreciated Ardata’s presence as well.

Before Fozzer could get too relaxed though, a familiar jingle from the blueblood’s watchhusk caused his eyes to snap open.

‘Hello, loyal viewers, my name is Fozzer Velyes, and I am just one of the many rustbloods who has been saved by our glorious Empire.

When I first came off-planet, my thinkpan was in tatters. I could barely eat or sleep- I even attacked one of my fellow workers- but the Empire did not give up on me. I was given a chance. Our benevolent Empress looked upon the sorry excuse for a troll I was and gave me the opportunity to be a part of  groundbreaking medical research, only possible through Alternian technology. 

It took perigees to perfect, but it has brought me here! Standing before you better than ever with nothing but a stitch in my forehead and a newfound purpose.

And even though my procedure was conducted by teals and ceruleans, we must remember that none of this would be possible without the labor of lowbloods like me. If not for burgundies, who would mine for the metals we need for medical supplies? Or dispose of bodies in a safe, efficient manner? And who would farm lusii for their meat and medicinal organs if not for our bronzes?

As I said, I am just one of many lowbloods who has found their place in the wonderful system that is our Empire. Regardless of caste though, we should all be thankful for the work of our warmer hued kin. So! If you see a burgundy or bronze working hard for you, never forget to say thank you, and never forget this:

The Empire is strong.

The Empire is perfect.

And the Empire can never be toppled-‘

“Ugh, turn that off” Fozzer spat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I did not think bluebloods had to be exposed to this nonsense programming.”

Placing her cake back on the table, the cerulean slinked over to her watchhusk and gave it a smack, causing it to hiss static before switching to another station. 

“Nonsense?” She chuckled softly. “I don’t think it’s nonsense- aside from the fact that they never credit me directly for your procedure.” With a sly grin, the blueblood situated herself in the larger troll's lap, cupping his face. “I think you look sooo cute in those little commercials. With your handsome accent and your striking face-“

Fozzer rolled his eyes, but allowed his host to continue. The least he could do for dropping in was indulge her. It wasn’t like he wasn’t enjoying it either.

“Besides, the Empire needs all the propaganda it can get lately with all this rebellion shit poisoning the airwaves.” Ardata slumped over the rustblood’s shoulder, making an exaggerated pouting sound. “I get what they’re going for- really, I do- but they need a better media strategy.”

The burgundy raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

Ardata gestured to the watchhusk, which was now showing the time quarter headlines. The young tealblood anchor, one Tirona Kasund, grinned widely; their clawed, gloved hands clasped tight in front of them as they cheerfully glossed over a recent factory collapse to further detail the anniversary celebrations. The two trolls sat in silence as the broadcast played out, carefully analysing each shot and taking note of every word. One minute, the programme showed a group of lowbloods burning an effigy, fashioned to look like Entykk. The next, it cut to a collection of highbloods drinking teal-coloured beverages with kitschy, rebellion-themed names. Some shots even showed pictures of Tyzias next to paintings of long gone rebels, mutant and otherwise, referencing her studies as proof of her admiration for them. The images made the cerulean scoff.

“This is what I mean,” she declared, resting back into the crook of the larger troll’s neck. “This anniversary is supposed to be celebrating the strength of the Empire, to be telling the public how evil Entykk was for even daring to try and overthrow the system, but instead they’ve turned her into some kind of icon. It’s only been a sweep and she’s already become a symbol of frivolity and something to be learned about, rather than someone to be scorned and have their efforts be left to rot.” Ardata huffed. “At least the Summoner’s legacy got watered down into some stupid wriggler fairytale.”

Fozzer stayed silent for a little longer, gazing at the watchhusk and mentally counting how many times Entykk’s name and face popped up onscreen. 

“Do you think this Dammek fellow was inspired by her?” He asked.

“Oh, no,” Ardata replied, matter-of-factly. “Judging by his post history, Dammek has been into this rebellion tripe for sweeps, just like Roixmr. However, I think the fact that he’s chosen to take such… obvious action now can be linked to all the coverage.”

The burgundy snickered. “He certainly seems vain enough to be wanting to steal the spotlight.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” The highblood shrieked, springing upright. “Dammek may not have been inspired by Entykk, but who’s to say some other cretins won’t be? All this media coverage, the sensationalism, it’ll make some stupid bulgelickers think that they have a shot at sustaining a legacy- becoming some kind of legend- even if their shoddy attempts at rebellion fall through.”

Before Fozzer could even think about what to say next, Ardata continued.

“And that’s another thing. The fact that the Empire is giving so much attention to foiling Entykk and her plans suggests that the Empress actually saw her as a threat, which- once again- gives any budding idiots the impression that they can do something like that too. If anything, it makes the Empire look rather pathetic.”

Fozzer cocked his head to the side. “So what would you do then?” He inquired, a slight teasing tone to his voice.

Ardata looked over her shoulder to the watchhusk again, scowling. “Well, I wouldn’t do all this, that’s for sure,” she began. “If I was Empress, I would have a single night to truly display the Empire’s prowess.” She smirked as she formulated an image in her head. “Each district would have to turn over a rebel or rebel sympathiser who would then be humiliated by that sector’s public, before being brutally and extravagantly executed by Empire soldiers. It would all be broadcasted, a mandatory watch of course, but with none of this… useless embellishment.”

The burgundy smiled. “Cruel as ever, ah?”

The cerulean let out another pouting sound, giving the larger troll a light smack on the shoulder. “Maybe- or maybe the Empire isn’t cruel enough.”

As the headlines cut to their end credits, Ardata reached back over for the small remainder of her cake. She took a small bite before scooping a blob of icing up on her finger and playfully bringing it to the lowblood’s mouth. Amused, Fozzer huffed, gently took a hold of her wrist and began to suck at her fingertip. The cerulean watched contently, tempted to place another in and trace over the shapes of the lowblood’s blunt teeth, but she resisted. He was tired, she could feel it. The thoughts in his thinkpan were slow and sluggish, worn out by a day of putting on a front to his ‘adoring’ public, as well as his general burdens. She understood that. She understood that all too well. At the very least, the repeated gesture of her fingers in his mouth seemed to be calming him down. She slowly withdrew, ready to gather up another drop of icing, but was alerted by the sound of her palmhusk.

A text.

Swiping her device from the table, Ardata grumbled. 

“Ugh, it’s from Roixmr.”

Fozzer took a second to come back in the moment. “Hm? What is it saying?”

With a disapproving ‘hmph’, the highblood turned her palmhusk, allowing Fozzer to read for himself:

‘ just a quick one/ since im on shift

zeb and fozzer were right/ dammek and xefros were at the mediculler unit.

im gonna try and grab dammek’s file after work/ but I also had a talk with xefros.

it was spur of the moment/ but i think i might have convinced him to turn dammek over himself.

ill keep you posted/ i can find his number in the records/ i think.’

After a second read of the message, Fozzer emitted an approving hum. “It seems things are going to plan,” he proclaimed. “Getting Tritoh to be doing most of our dirty work will be highly beneficial.”

Ardata rolled her eyes, tossing her palmhusk onto the loungeplank on the other side of the block. “Ugh, I guess, but you know how much I despise relying on others.”

The burgundy rested his cheek on his knuckles. “I know, dorogaya, but at least we are getting to work together, ah?”

Ardata tutted. “Yes, yes, but if my reputation wasn’t on the line, I know you and I would’ve been able to handle this far more efficiently by ourselves.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, her face morphing into a snarl. “Zebruh is incompetent. If he and I weren’t basically in the same circumstance, I would’ve taken on this Dammek ploy alone.” Her expression softened a little. “As for Roixmr, well, she certainly has the anger and the drive, but she never uses it properly. When she told me about that shitshow back on Alternia, when those purpleblooded freaks copied her song, I was furious on her behalf. I would’ve killed them! But nooo, she said it would’ve been ‘inappropriate’.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. “A pity she only started caving heads in once things reached a breaking point.”

Fozzer moved a hand to the cerulean’s back, feeling her frustration prickle at his thinkpan. He gave her a moment to calm down, waiting patiently until the psychic sensation subsided.

“I assume then that, if there was little on the line, you would have killed Dammek outright?” He asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Ardata snapped, “and not only would I have killed him, I would’ve ensured no one knew about his demise. From what I’ve gathered, Dammek is a useless brat. He’s not even worth an execution, but since I need to get back into the Empress’s good books, we need to ensure he gets one by her hand.”

The burgundy chewed at his lip, a pondering expression on his face. “So… if he is not worth an execution,” he began, “why not just leave him be? Surely his own stupidity and recklessness would get him killed eventually, yes? I mean, do not forget that I am the reason he is in the mediculler unit. I’m sure another troll would do the same- or worse.”

The second he finished his sentence, he noticed the blueblood’s brows knit together. The sight made his pusher drop. Had he said something wrong? He wasn’t asking questions to be pedantic, he just wanted a little more insight. He inhaled slowly through his nose, monitoring every twitch of Ardata’s face, every direction her eyes shot to. The absence of the psychic pinpricks put him slightly at ease, but he still didn’t like the idea of making her upset. 

Any feelings of anxiety were swept away the second Ardata put a hand to his cheek.

“That’s true,” she purred, a sharp toothed smile creeping across her face, “but I see it a different way.” 

Fozzer cleared his throat, now able to feel a very different feeling swirling in his thinkpan. “In what regard?”

Ardata ran her tongue across her fangs as she lifted her free hand to cup the burgundy’s face again.

“There are some creatures that have been put on this planet for us to kill.”

The burgundy’s eyes widened. “U-us, Miss Carmia?”

Still grinning, Ardata circled the rustblood’s cheeks with her thumbs, massaging his thinkpan in the process. “Yes, us . You and I.”

Fozzer felt his pusher begin to slow, returning him to his relaxed, tired state. He wanted to ask more questions, to wander further into the blueblood’s mind, but she was too busy literally prying into his. The inside of his skull felt warm as the cerulean continued to alleviate his stresses. Her actions were unexpected, but not unwanted. While her last statement was peculiar, Fozzer couldn’t deny how nice it felt circling around in his thinkpan. How nice it felt for a highblood to essentially be viewing him on an equal level to her. A partner to engage in violent revelry with. This wasn’t new information, but it was so, so good to hear.

The pair stayed with each other for what felt like hours, time degrading into nothing, like watchhusk chatter to white noise. They only stopped when Ardata’s watchhusk switched itself off entirely. Now, the block was dark, save for the specs of light from the skyline outside. The cerulean chuckled and planted a small kiss on the larger troll’s nose, leaving a small smudge of her black lipstick.

“Do you think Zebruh will be wanting to pick Chixie up after her shift?” Fozzer asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Ardata replied. “Like I said, that halfwit would do anything for extra time with Roixmr. He’s probably going to be cooped up in some lowblood bar for the next twelve hours.”

The two trolls fell silent for a second. 

“Since they’re going to be a while…” the cerulean cooed, “maybe we should have some fun here.”

Fozzer chuckled, tilting his face into her palm. “I would be liking nothing more, Miss Carmia.”

Chapter Text

He couldn’t quite put it into words but, to Zebruh, lowblood bars had a certain… something about them. They always felt so much more comforting than the pompous highblood drinking establishments he was used to. Whether it was the rustic decor or the humble selection of beverages, the warmer hued bars always made him feel right at home.

The indigo reclined in his booth, slowly chipping away at his drink and occasionally glancing to his palmhusk, which sat open-screened on the table. As usual, most of his apps were devoid of notifications, save for the odd pail-bot that would slither into his inbox every now and again, only to be swiftly blocked. Back on Alternia, the sight of such a barren wasteland of engagement would’ve made Zebruh sad, but off-planet, it was a welcome break. There were only a handful of trolls he was eager to speak with these days, after all. 

Casting his gaze back to his surroundings, the blueblood rested his chin on his knuckles, emitting a bored huff. As much as he enjoyed the atmosphere, lowblood bars were a tad dull. Highblood establishments were stuffy, but at least they had the odd slot machine or live entertainment. Regardless, Zebruh could find some leisure in picking apart the choice of music. The bar he had chosen to settle in, The Nectar Tap, had been playing a decent selection of songs since he sat down. Their playlists, if any, consisted primarily of lowblood artists with the odd highblood song thrown in there, likely to meet Empire quotas. He could respect that.

The indigo’s past as a critic meant he had learnt to appreciate all kinds of music, but he couldn’t help but wish he was listening to Chixie instead. Since the day he found her work, Zebruh had been enraptured by the bronze’s musical abilities. Her complex, yet catchy melodies; the sullen, poetic lyrics; and most importantly, the sheer emotion behind her songs. The rage, the misery, the heartache- it was all immaculate, and that was without her Mask persona. If she had pursued stardom in the Empire, Chixie would’ve been an idol. A REAL idol, unlike some artists-

He knew it was for the best she wasn’t though. 

Singing on Alternia was one thing, but being a performer off-planet was another. It was a truly ruthless industry, full to the brim with corruption and exploitation. As much as it pained the highblood to know that Chixie had hung up her microphone, so to speak, he ultimately knew that she was happier- and safer- this way. At least as a nurse she could help other lowbloods without sanding herself down for the Empire or sucking the bulge of some seadwelling executive.

“Ugh-“

The thought made him sick. He took a swift swig of his drink, washing down the bile that had caught in his throat, trying to take his thinkpan back to the memories of her music.

Before his thinkpan could wander again, however, the indigo’s attention was swiftly diverted by the sound of the bar's door swinging open. Trolls had been passing in and out since the blueblood’s arrival, but the sheer power behind the push suggested that this wasn’t just another lowblood patron trudging in after a day at work. 

Zebruh looked up from his drink, shaking himself from his train of thought, and cast his glance to the entrance. A disgruntled tealblood stood in the doorway, a teal and fuchsia cape billowing behind him and a sleek, black briefcase clasped tightly in his gloved hand. The teal’s long hair swayed as he looked around the bar, his upper lip curling and twitching; it was as if he was purposely scoping out things that bothered him. He took a few pointed steps forward, scowling from behind his bangs at any troll that chose to stare. After a moment, he looked to the indigo and hurriedly paced over. The bar buzzed with hushed gossip as the midblood sat in the booth. Zebruh grinned.

“Tagora-!”

“You better have a good excuse for dragging me to this lowblood cesspool, Codakk,” the teal spat. 

“I won’t keep you long,” assured Zebruh, “I’ve just got some time to kill, that’s all. I figured I may as well kill two squawkbeasts with one stone. Do a little business with my pleasure.”

Tagora grimaced. “Hmph. Some of us don’t have the luxury of ‘time to kill’, nor the opportunity to mix business and pleasure. You’re lucky you’re an indigo, otherwise I wouldn’t have felt obligated to squeeze you into my calendar.”

“You sure it’s not just because you like me?” 

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Taking that as a cue to start business, Zebruh snapped his fingers at a nearby waiter, prompting them to come over and take his order- or rather, take Tagora’s order according to Zebruh. Rolling his eyes, Tagora brought his briefcase up onto the table, carefully removing the clasps and opening it up. He fingered through the papers inside, taking a few into his hand. Zebruh watched in nervous anticipation as the teal paused to skim over the documents. 

“So,” Tagora began, softly placing a hefty pile of papers in front of the indigo, “how have things been at your little casino, hm?”

Zebruh snickered, but refused to look at the documents. “The Horseshoe Pavillion is doing just fine, thank you very much,” he said. “I’ve had a pretty significant uptick in patrons from all over the hemospectrum. I didn’t think golds were gamblin’ types, but you’d be surprised-“

“Fascinating,” the teal interjected, “but your words and your finances don’t really add up.”

“H-huh?” The blueblood swallowed heavily, but still tried to maintain his demeanour. “How do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Codakk.” With a dissatisfied grunt, Tagora tapped at the stack of papers with a clawed finger. “As I’m sure you’re aware, that casino- or rather, the building it’s situated in- does not belong to you. You were offered it by-“

“Yes, yes, Galekh, I know” Zebruh grumbled.

“Right, and as such, a significant portion of your earnings must go to Xigisi as a repayment for his generosity.”

‘Generosity, my ass,’ the indigo thought to himself.

“So far, you’ve been able to keep up, but you appear to have underpaid this perigee. I told you this, and I’m assuming that’s why you invited me here to talk, yes?”

Unable to protest, Zebruh took a deep breath and finally looked to the documents in front of him. There, clear as the two moons, was a summary of his casino’s earnings over the last few wipes. Compared to previous perigees, there was barely any difference between the numbers, but Galekh was nothing if not meticulous. His digestion bladder turned as Tagora continued.

“I’ve been looking over everything since Xigisi brought it to my attention. In total, you appeared to have underpaid him by-“ He took a second to calculate. “- three percent.”

Zebruh’s eye twitched a little. “Three percent?! He’s getting on my ass about three percent? Couldn’t I just add that on to the next payment?”

The teal shrugged. “You and Xigisi signed a contract and, unfortunately, it’s my job to ensure the conditions of said contract are met. After all,” he leant in close, his voice quieting to a whisper, “you don’t want to lose that casino and be back on the streets, do you?”

Almost on cue, the waiter returned with Tagora’s drink, which he accepted with an oddly polite ‘thank you’. Zebruh didn’t even look up.

As the waiter walked away, the tealblood took a small sip of his beverage. He looked around the bar, somewhat relieved that its patrons’ hissing gossip had returned to its usual casual chatter. The look on Zebruh’s face made Tagora’s professionalism waver, albeit for a moment. The two trolls had been acquainted for sweeps, much to the teal’s chagrin. Back on Alternia, Zebruh was just one of Galekh’s many obnoxious indigo colleagues; it would’ve been fun to give him such devastating news on-planet. Now though, it was just profoundly sad. Pitiable. 

He would never admit it, but Tagora couldn’t take any joy in that.

“So,” the teal began again, softly, “do you think you could repay that three percent next perigee?”

Zebruh brought a hand to his forehead, massaging a temple with his thumb. “Maybe,” he muttered, “I’d have to up some prices though, and maybe get ‘Data to help me rig some of the games so folks don’t win as much.”

Tagora attempted a smile. “You know, the anniversary of Entykk’s failure has shown to be very lucrative for the Empire, maybe you could-“

“Hell no,” the indigo brayed. “I get that you were a big part of all that, but my business is one of the few places that hasn’t been tainted by this anniversary bullshit and my customers thank me for that.”

“But it would-“

Zebruh slammed his free hand on the table. “I said no! I refuse to voluntarily celebrate this Empire. Not after everything it’s done to me. I’ll find my own ways to make more money, thanks.”

The tealblood drummed anxiously on his glass, slightly taken aback by the highblood’s temper. “I know that whole… Marvus situation was bad, but you really must-“

“Bad? Bad?!” The indigo spat. “It was more than bad! That stupid purpleblood and his royal cronies ruined my life-!”

Gritting his teeth, Tagora waved his hands, gesturing for the blueblood to calm down or, at the very least, lower his voice. Zebruh was still furious, but he conceded and took a deep breath.

“I get that I was shitty when I was younger,” he continued, quietly, “but that didn’t give that clown the right to convince the Heiress to take everything from me.” The indigo folded his arms, leaning back and turning away. “They made me a total laughing stock. I came off-planet with nothing.” He exhaled slowly through his fangs, trying not to let his frustration explode out of him. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to have to beg- and I mean BEG- Xigisi to help me out, only for him to pull all this shit? He didn’t even check on me when all this happened. The only troll who did was-“

Zebruh stopped. Gog, what was he doing ? He was meant to be the bigger troll here, but instead he was spilling his guts to some smarmy tealblood he barely considered a friend. He looked to Tagora out the corner of his eye, who was looking back at him with an equal look of sympathy and pity. He hated that.

The blueblood straightened himself up, clearing his throat and downing what remained of his drink. He sighed loudly, almost exaggeratedly, to indicate his return to composure.

“So, then,” he said, assuredly, “I presume you can tell Xigisi that I’ll make up for my shortcomings next perigee?”

Tagora grinned nervously, also attempting to revert back to his professional persona. “I will certainly see what I can do.”

Shooting the legislacerator a sardonic smile, Zebruh raised his glass in the air, shaking the ice around until it caught the bartender's attention. He mouthed ‘another’, giving the lowblooded employee a thumbs up as he accepted his silent request. The gesture made the teal snicker, but he was far from amused. The introvert within him had been petrified by the indigo’s outburst, but the legislacerator inside was dying to pry. He waited until Zebruh got his new drink.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the teal began, “who did check on you after that whole debacle?”

The indigo cocked an eyebrow. His expression sat puzzled for a moment, before quickly shifting into something much more smug.

“Oh,” he remarked, “why, it was my matesprit, of course.”

“WH-?!” Tagora nearly choked on his breath. “Excuse me?!”

The indigo swirled the concoction in his glass, trying to catch the light. Now the conversation was more in his favor. “Yeah. My matesprit is such a sweetheart, you know?” He chuckled, marveling at Tagora’s stunned expression. “Works not too far from here too. In fact, that’s partially why I’m here; I’m picking her up in a couple hours.”

“Zebruh,” the legislacerator sighed, “you know you don’t have to lie to me. I know you’re a half-decent troll- despite it all. You don’t need to-“

“I’m not fuckin’ lying,” snapped the blueblood. “I’ll have you know that I’m going scarlet with the best looking bronzeblood in the whole Empire- and she’s been there for me through it all.”

Tagora scoffed, but still couldn’t deny his curiosity. “Alright then, so who is this ever so gorgeous lowblood, hm?”

Zebruh grinned widely. He was anticipating that question. He was practically leading up to it on purpose. Suppressing chuckles, he waited until the teal had a decent mouthful of his drink to speak.

“Chixie Roixmr.”

Almost on cue, the bar’s chatter quietened. The nearest sound being that of liquid on glass as Tagora’s mouth hung open, dribbling his beverage. By the look on his face, one would think he had just been told someone had died. He slowly patted at his mouth with a napkin, his eyes unflinchingly wide.

“You… You can’t be serious,” he stammered, his voice shaking with astonishment. “ You? And her ? Come off it. Even I know she hated you- and not in the pitch way.”

If this was in any other context, the indigo would’ve reclined and basked in the moment, feeding his ego. However, Gorjek deserved some context- and he was in no place to be so pleased with himself.

“Chix and I have known each other for a long while,” Zebruh began, his voice uncharacteristically earnest. “I’m well aware of how awful I was back on Alternia, but I haven’t been that troll in a very long time. When I came off-planet, I had nothing and no one- and, even though it was overkill, I can’t deny that I probably deserved it.” He fidgeted with his bowtie, glancing between Tagora and his drink. “It was a real wake-up call. As much as I’d like to defend myself and say my behaviour was ‘protective’ back then, it doesn’t excuse anything.” 

Tagora’s expression softened.

“I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when Chixie actually made the effort to come and see me,” continued the indigo. “Initially, I thought she had just come by to rub it in my face- I mean, she’d be justified in doing so- but she didn’t. We talked. As equals. And, well, she ended up seeing me through it. I don’t know why, but I’m thankful she did.”

The pair of trolls sat silently for a moment, both reflecting on what had just been said in their own way. Zebruh sheepishly took another drink, a slight pit in his pusher and a voice in his thinkpan chastising him for being so needlessly vulnerable. Tagora, meanwhile, sat there in silent amazement. He didn’t expect a business visit at some lowblood dive to turn into such a moment. He didn’t even think Zebruh had the capacity to be so emotionally mature. 

However, it wasn’t long before another question arose in the teal’s thinkpan.

“While that’s certainly lovely, Zebruh, something isn’t adding up there,” Tagora proclaimed. “If that’s true, if you’re REALLY going scarlet with Chixie, then how come I keep hearing things about her and that Velyes fellow?”

Zebruh snickered half-heartedly. “Well, would YOU want it to be common knowledge that you were in a quadrant with me?”

The tealblood paused, opening and closing his mouth as he debated how to appropriately answer the other troll’s question, but Zebruh beat him to it.

“No, but in all seriousness, if folks found out about us, it would reflect poorly on Chix and-“ he stopped, his expression wavering a little. “- and I don’t want that for her. She’s doing good, in a lot of regards. Hell, she’s earning more than me.”

“So, what then? Velyes and Roixmr aren’t together? It’s just a cover up?”

“Bingo,” the indigo affirmed. “A double cover-up.”

Tagora narrowed his eyes, leaning forward and resting his chin on intertwined fingers. “Alright, now you’ve got me curious.”

Zebruh tutted to himself, piecing together the most concise explanation he could muster. “You know ‘Data, right? Ardata Carmia?”

The teal felt a shiver reach down his spine. “Unfortunately.”

“Right, well, ‘Data is in a pretty similar situation to me,” Zebruh explained. “Her streams got her a pretty frosty reception upon coming off-planet. Thing is though, ‘Data has been going steady-scarlet with that Velyes brute for sweeps and he’s an Empire darling right now-“

“Right…?”

“So, the four of us- Chix, ‘Data, Fozzer, and I- we made an agreement,” the indigo said. “If anyone asks, Chixie and Fozzer are red, and ‘Data and I are red. It’s not ideal, but considering what we-“ Zebruh paused. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but he needed to be careful about what he said next. It was already risky letting Tagora know that the four were working together, let alone what they were working on. He cleared his throat, apologizing and playing it off as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “- Considering what we’ve just discussed, it’s the better option. It’s not like many people ask about our personal lives anyway.”

The blueblood forced a laugh, which prompted the teal to laugh as well. It was painfully awkward, but social conventions were an excellent tool to exploit. After their burst of feigned amusement, Tagora finished off his drink and returned the stacked papers to his briefcase, leaving Zebruh with only the document detailing the casino’s earnings. It was time to draw their little meeting to a close.

“Aww, leaving so soon?” Zebruh teased. 

Tagora huffed. It didn’t take him long to return to his usual self. “While this exchange has been riveting, I have other matters to attend to for the rest of the night,” the teal proclaimed. “I will inform Galekh of what we’ve discussed and maybe make some… contractual amendments on your behalf. Just as long as you make up for lost credits next perigee.”

The blueblood put a hand on his pusher, a cocky, yet kind grin splitting his face. “Grubscouts honor.”

Tagora stood, unable to stop an endeared chuckle escaping his mouth. “Goodnight, Codakk.”

“See you around, Gorjek.”

Chapter Text

Xefros trailed behind Dammek for the entire walk from the mediculler unit- not that he noticed.

The bronze, seemingly given a new lease of life after being told he didn’t have head trauma, swaggered in front of him, gesticulating wildly as he- unknowingly- talked to himself. The bright orange neckerchief he had tied around his head now hung scruffily from his trouser pocket, dark rust-coloured blood staining the fabric. Xefros wasn’t paying attention to what his hivemate was prattling about but, whatever it was, he was certainly passionate about it. Every word he did catch made Xefros wince in frustration. Luckily, the burgundy was accustomed to tuning out sounds.

As agitating as he found Dammek to be, Xefros wasn’t usually so sensitive to his mannerisms. His voice, his hand movements, even the way his footsteps sounded on the sidewalk made the burgundy’s blood boil. He shoved his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists, tension pulsing in his jaw. He tried to find something else to focus on- the gaggle of trolls across the street; the sputtering tailpipe of a distant scuttlebuggy; the feeling of the evening breeze against his face- but nothing was working. All he could think about was Dammek.

Loud, cocky Dammek.

Stupid, reckless Dammek .

Irresponsible, worthless, parasite Dammek-

“Woah-!”

Suddenly, Xefros felt himself being pulled backwards, immediately breaking his train of thought. He stumbled, blinking a few times to attempt to register what just happened, only to lock eyes with a dissatisfied Dammek.

“Xef, buddy,” he groaned. “I know you like to daydream or whatever, but can you try not to die after I’ve just gotten out of the mediculler unit?”

Xefros looked ahead. He had almost walked into the road. Embarrassed, he sheepishly opened his mouth to apologise to his hivemate, only for Dammek to shoulder his way in front of him, tutting.

“Don’t do that again. I’m not gonna save you a second time.” He didn’t even look over his shoulder. “Anyway, as I was saying before you almost became roadkill-“

Xefros scowled. There it was; that attitude. The brief shock may have shook him out of his anger for a moment, but it didn’t take much for it to return. 

Making sure to look both ways before crossing, the burgundy continued to linger behind, watching through narrowed eyes as his hivemate resumed rambling to himself. While his thinkpan wasn’t nearly as focused as before, it was still fixated on Dammek’s arrogant body language. Specifically, how stupid he looked doing such grand gestures looking the way he did. Xefros wasn’t one to criticise others, especially in regards to their appearance, but it always equally amused and frustrated him how conceited the bronze could be despite his relatively weedy stature. Dammek had never been the tallest troll, not only that but, despite his near-exclusive diet of snack foods and nights old takeout, he never bulked up much either. Back on Alternia, Xefros had offered to take the bronze to the exertion hive or teach him casual stickball, but was consistently greeted with some kind of excuse.

‘ I’m not a meathead like you, Xef, I’m a strategist.’

‘If I’m too bulky, how am I meant to duck and cover when we revolt?’

‘I don’t plan on looking like a thermal hull like you.’

Xefros rolled his eyes at the thought. Big talk for someone so pathetic. Sure, being bulkier would make it hard to take cover, but at least he’d be able to hold his own. Some strategist he was too. If he was so smart, why did he put his plans online? Why would he announce them publicly at an Empire funded event? And why did he think he could try and upstage someone twice his size? The burgundy exhaled loudly through his nose. He half-expected his hivemate to turn around and bark at him not to interrupt, but thankfully he was too absorbed in his own monologue.

  Tool. 

Xefros began to feel the frustration prickling at the back of his neck, causing him to instinctively itch at it, feeling a thick, throbbing vein beneath his skin. As he withdrew his hand however, he couldn’t help but glance at it, comparing it to Dammek’s. While not exactly workers’ hands, Xefros’s were large and sturdy. They weren’t made for cullpit digging or messing with cleaning chemicals, but by the Empress could they handle a stickball bat. Looking at the bronzeblood’s however, one would be surprised if he could pick up an eating utensil. Xefros missed stickball. Having a bat to practice with in his own time would be enough. Help take the edge off. 

Dammek couldn’t do that. 

Dammek couldn’t swing with the burgundy’s force.

The only good thing about playing stickball with Dammek would be the opportunity to beat him- at the game and with the bat. Not like either would be hard. 

The burgundy shook his head as the pair approached their hivestem.

“I hope that stupid elevation block is working tonight,” Dammek whined. “I’m not walking up 14 floors.”

“Well, you’ll have to sleep in the lobby then,” Xefros quipped venomously. “The floor looks tolerable.”

The bronze let out a disapproving tut before pressing the button for the elevator. “You gotta work on that attitude, Xef. Folks won’t like you if you’re cocky. Besides, you're the one trained for sleeping on the floor.”

Once the two ascended to their floor, Xefros wasted no time barrelling to their hive and shutting himself in his respite block. He couldn’t even look at Dammek, let alone his countless piles of crap he refused to clean up. Sighing loudly, the rustblood unbuttoned his shirt a little, slumping against his recuperacoon. The now loose fabric of his work shirt trembled slightly, no doubt due to his furious, pounding pusher. The burgundy gave himself a light smack to the cheek, then another a small bit harder.

“Come on, Xefros, pull yourself together,” he hissed. “You need to chill the fuck out.”

The butler took a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled, but his nervous system was no calmer.  He thought getting Dammek out of his sight would be a bit of a relief, but his thinkpan chose otherwise. Instead, it had shifted its focus onto his encounter with Chixie at the mediculler unit. The burgundy certainly didn’t expect their meeting to go well, but he never could have anticipated how she would turn the tables on him. How she would not only furiously deny the chance to help with the Tetrarch’s haphazard rebellion, but also ask Xefros to help her turn him over to the Empire. Her words were like a broken record, reverberating around chaotically in his skull.

‘It’s a big ask, I get it, but it’s honestly your best option here. Besides, what has that antlered dipshit ever done for you?’

With a loud groan of frustration, Xefros put his head in his hands, breathing laboured breaths out through the gaps in his fingers. He slowly sunk down to the floor, his knees pressed lightly against his heaving chest. He was so tired. Tired of work; tired of keeping it cool; and tired of dealing with Dammek. Joey was right. He should’ve just said good riddance and gone his own way once he got off planet, but no. He couldn’t leave Dammek alone. Poor, defenceless, pathetic Dammek who didn’t appreciate anything he did anyway. What kind of a moirail would he be if he did something so evil? He felt his toes curl in anger, prompting him to swiftly rip off one of his shoes and throw it at the wall with a rageful shriek.

“Gog, why am I such an IDIOT?!”

He didn’t even wait to see if he had knocked anything down before returning to his diminutive position.

“Stupid… Stupid!” He muttered into his knees.

Suddenly, Xefros felt his palmhusk buzz viciously in his pocket. He grumbled as he took it into his hands, expecting it to be Dammek asking him what they were having for dinner or accusing him of ‘harshing the vibes’. Much to his surprise though, it wasn’t his hivemate. In fact, it wasn’t anyone he recognised at all. It was a message from an unknown number in cerulean text:

‘So, have you made your deciiisiiion? ;.)’

Xefros cocked an eyebrow. Was this for him? Hesitantly, he responded:

‘erm i think you have the wrong number? who is this Xactly?’

After a few seconds, a response pinged through.

‘Oh, let’s say III’m a friiiend of a friiiend. She spoke wiiith you earliiier and wanted me to get iiin touch on her behalf.’

The burgundy tilted his head. A friend who spoke with him earlier? Was… this a friend of Chixie’s? He and Chixie were never close, but even Xefros knew she wasn’t the type to cosy up to bluebloods. He paused for a moment. On one hand, this very easily could’ve been a trick, but if that was the case, how would they have known that he and Chixie had spoken at the mediculler unit? She did mention that there were other trolls that told her about Dammek’s rebellion.

But if this was legitimate, then-

‘III’ll ask agaiiin: have you made your deciiisiion? Do you want to help us?’

This was about turning Dammek over.

Xefros didn’t know how to feel. He felt his hands grow clammy, but he was unsure whether he was thrilled or terrified. His thumbs hovered above his keyboard, anxiously waiting for his thinkpan to settle on an answer. Sure, he was furious, but he couldn’t really just agree to turning Dammek over… could he?

He sat with his thoughts, seconds feeling like hours. This decision could change everything- and it was HIS decision. Not Dammek’s, not the rebellion’s, his . The burgundy swallowed heavily, his throat running dry, as he slowly but surely typed up a reply.

‘yes,’ his message read, ‘i think i do.’

Xefros stared at his own response as he awaited the mysterious troll. The sound of his hivemate’s footsteps in the other block made him flinch, as if he was going to burst in at any moment and expose him for being a cowardly, traitorous sellout. But that never happened, and the cerulean messaged back.

‘ Perfect! Sooo happy to have you aboard :.)’ 

Xefros couldn’t help but read the text as condescending, but at least it ended with a smiley face instead of a belittling quip.

‘ We can’t talk much here,’ the cerulean continued. ‘IIIn a few hours, go to the alley behiiind The Criiimson Curtaiiin iiin the neiiighbouriiing sector. Someone wiiill meet you there.’

The burgundy wrinkled his nose. ‘ the crimson curtain? isn’t that a paypail place?’ He asked reluctantly.

‘ So? No one asks questiiions iiin places like that. See you soon, Triiitoh ;.)’

Exhaling a sigh of equal parts exhaustion and relief, the butler typed out his final response.

‘ yeah, see you soon X:)’