The only source of light was the tiny lamp on his desk, meekly pushing through the darkness of the bunker. Branch, tongue protruding slightly from the corner of his mouth, angled the bulb down. His scalpel and tweezers winked in the buttery glow. He opened up the broken invitation, wincing at the awful noise it made. The audio clip she'd managed to fit into it was damaged.
CEEEELebr-freedom-bbsstch-BERGENS
Using the scalpel, he carefully made an incision where he knew the sound box would be and then eased it out with the tweezers, hoping it would be a straight forward fix. But then again, having fixed up so many broken cards previously, there wasn't much that could pose a real challenge any more.
The rest of the card was also easy enough. It was merely a matter of straightening out the paper where it was crumpled, and replacing the cut outs that had torn. From one of the desk draws he pulled out a wad of paper and felt, all different colours, and rifled through it, picking out the correct shades. Grey green and red felt for the figure at the front, and yellow card to patch up where he'd cut out the sound box.
Just as he was tracing shapes onto the appropriate pieces of felt, there was a rumbling that echoed through the chamber. Branch immediately dropped what he was doing and froze, ears twitching as he listened for approaching bergens.
Nothing. Wait, no… thumping.
Music. The party. It must have reached its big, loud, crazy climax. The biggest, loudest, craziest climax if I can hear it from down here, Branch thought bitterly, picking his work up again. He felt a stab of sorrow, remembering when he'd walked past the party on his way home, seeing everyone so happy and… together. But he was stuck outside, alone as usual, never to join in.
He had always been on the sideline, watching the game from afar. The game was life, and the sideline was the crippling isolation he had dealt himself.
It put him in mind of the ball games he'd been forced to play as a child by the adult trolls. They usually consisted of throwing or kicking a ball of bundled leaves around a court marked out in chalk. Despite the shrieks of laughter and enthusiastic yelling from his peers, he had found little enjoyment in it. Usually he'd just stood at the edge of the game, watching the others pass and catch and score, never a glance in his direction.
"What a great game! Did you enjoy yourself, Branch?" He could still hear some of the after match comments from the adults. They hadn't spared him at glance either, or else they would have seen the distinct expression of boredom that had adorned his face for the entire game.
Including him, it seemed, was a mere formality, not a real pursuit to follow through with. He never saw compassion or love from them, only pity. "Poor lamb," he'd heard one of them say once when they didn't think he was listening. "He just seems so lonely. Ever since-"
The only one to ever try to include him - really try - was her. When she joined in the game for the first time at the age of six, unsure of how to play but eager to give it a go, and she'd thrown the ball in his direction. Her eyes had been wide and brimming with joy.
In his surprise, Branch had jumped out of the way, letting the ball roll past him, and he'd made no effort to go and get it. The tiny pink troll had frowned deeply whilst another child ran to retrieve it.
"Don't bother passing it to Branch, Princess," the child had said, handing the ball back to her. "He isn't playing."
"But he's on the court," she'd replied indignantly.
The other kid had merely shrugged. "Pass it to me instead. My name's Creek. I'll play with you properly."
That had been the last time Branch had turned up to a game. But it wasn't the last time she had reached out to him.
He could still remember the first invitation she'd ever given him. She was turning ten, he was thirteen. The invitation was a ferocious pink and was more glitter than card. The wobbly hearts and misspelt 'Berthday' were still vivid in his mind. He didn't have to retrieve it from his cupboard to remember the wording inside.
'To Branch, Please come to my PARTY! Love Poppy XXXXXXXXXX'
An X for each year of her age. He knew because he'd counted them that very evening, whilst she was partying with her friends. He could still see her face when she'd handed it over, with an excited grin stretched across her cheeks and flowers interlaced through her bright hair, as the fashion had been back then. He remembered taking the invitation in his hand, hardly daring to believe it was for him. But there was his name, messily scrawled inside with a glittery pen. She'd also doodled a mini him in pencil (also glittery, he noted). His heart skipped and for the first time in years he felt… something? It was like a sparkler in his stomach, flickering.
"What d'ya say, Branch? Will you come?" Her freckles glittered in the sunshine and her eyes were lit up like stars. "Please?"
Yes! Thank you! Save me! Cried the sparkler. His heartbeat picked up suddenly, thundering in his ears. Save me from the misery… Her hopeful gaze fed the spark which erupted into a fire, filling him with warmth. It was a light in the darkness.
"No." The word surprised him as it tumbled out of his mouth. What right had he to be happy? What right had she? Or the other trolls? How dare they be happy, how dare she. Happiness was dangerous. Happiness begot pain.
"No?" Poppy echoed back. The grin dropped from her face. "But… but why? There'll be food and dancing and singing! You can sing as well if you like! Please?"
Branch flinched and looked away. He couldn't stand the desperation in her eyes. "No. I don't want to go." The fire inside spluttered helplessly, dying back into a small flame. He held the invitation back out to her. She looked at it but didn't take it.
"But… but you look so sad all the time," Poppy said dejectedly. "I thought maybe a party would make you happy."
The fire went out, extinguished by the cool splash of reality. She hadn't invited him for him, she'd invited him for pity. Pity he didn't need. She didn't really want him around, no one did. The other trolls didn't want him to sour their superficial happiness.
Happiness is dangerous. Happiness begets pain.
But sadness… sadness begets nothing. Sadness begets emptiness, and emptiness he could deal with.
He had dealt with it for nearly ten years.
He wiggled the invitation in front of her face, willing her to just take it back, but she shook her head. Instead, she gently pushed it back towards him and put her hand over his. "No, you keep it. In case you change your mind."
"I'm not going to change my mind," Branch said gruffly, finally looking at her again. She was smiling now - not grinning, smiling - and his heart stopped.
"Please keep it," she implored. Her eyes were soft. "As long as you have it, you'll be welcome."
Her smile grew into her trademark grin. She turned on her heel and skipped away, singing. Branch looked down at the card. He wanted to throw it in a bush and forget about it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
The vivid colour of the invitation made his skin seem greyer. It was a physical manifestation of everything he was not. Of everything he had lost, everything he had left behind.
But it was also a symbol of hope. Hope that perhaps, one day, when he had healed, if he healed, he might still be welcome.
Branch stowed the felt and paper back in the drawer, along with his tools and glue. He shut the invitation and pressed down with his hand then, breathing deeply through his nose, he allowed it to spring open in front of him.
Ceeeelebrate freedom from the bergens!
Leaning his head on his hand, he sat and listened to the card over and over, amazed at the amount of time it must have taken her to make it, the care and consideration. For him, him, who had never shown her any kindness in return.
Why does she still talk to me? He glanced at the other invitations he'd mended, stashed behind a curtain. Why does she still invite me to everything? He liked to think that maybe she liked him. The same way he liked her, against his better judgement. Why else did he keep all of her invitations? Why else did he painstakingly repair them all? Why else did he feel sad whenever he turned away from her, and lost without her company.
His bunker and storage compartments were just about full. He had little to distract him from his own emotions now. I'm not in love with her, he insisted to himself. I'm not. I can't be.
Perhaps he was just in love with the idea of her as a lifeline, as the only real connection between him and the village. The only chance he would ever have of being… wanted.
"Please keep it. As long as you have it, you'll be welcome."
No. This is where he belonged, on the sideline. And there was nothing that could possibly change that.
But his thoughts were interrupted by a frenzied knocking on his door.
A/N There are two types of people reading this right now.
First lot are people who used to read my stuff from years ago when I was at school/college with nothing better to do with my time. You are currently thinking 'Flare, you're alive!? But what's this? Trolls? What happened to your Teen Titans stuff? WILL YOU EVER UPDATE JUMP CITY HIGH, DAMNIT?!'
The second lot of people are those who have stumbled across this with no prior knowledge of me. To those I say… Hello, and welcome to my dominion.
To all peoples I say…
Hello! I watched Trolls recently, and it was hella cute. Which is why I, a totally intelligent student studying for an MA, am writing fanfiction about it. Muahahaha.
But seriously, I did really enjoy it. It's been on my mind ever since and I cannot get the rendition of 'True Colours' out of my head. I guess it also meant something to me as I struggle with things like anxiety, acceptance, depression, and other emotional themes it touched on. I'm also a hopeless romantic and the Branch/Poppy relationship was brilliant and I loved it. So I wrote this. Ha.
I do have a couple of other ideas floating around in the ether that is my mind, so hopefully I'll be able to write some more! Mostly pre-movie Broppy fluff and AUs… because I'm still not sure how I want to write Branch post-movie… (so I'm going to wait for the sequel in 2020…so far away…)
To those who care about me writing other fandoms…
I am hoping to get back into writing Teen Titans stuff. Now that my lectures have halved since starting my Ma, I'll hopefully be able to dedicate more time to writing Fanfiction as well as my coursework. This may mean a continuation or (another) reboot of Jump City High. We shall see.
I'm also interested in writing some Fanfiction for Princess Tutu, because it's amazing and I love it. Two ideas for that; a 'sequel' of sorts to the anime and a Swan Lake based one. With aaaaall the Fakir/Duck stuff! Hurray!
Wow, this turned into a long Author's Note. But who cares? I HAVE RETURNED TO . BEWARE ALL YE WHO LURK HERE.