Paradigm
Rated T for language and future violence
Origins Revolution Story based around the First Session, much before the Alphas and Betas.
Part I: Wine, Women, and Song
"We were the beginning. It was our fault that this happened, that it continues to happen. We were the first to play Sgrub, all the way back in the revolutionary period. It was mostly Kalina's doing, forcing everyone to play, but what happened after was all us. The people we used to be; the monsters we've become. I would give anything—my fingers, my toes, my soul—just to go back and fix it all. It's not possible. We tried. Once you enter, you can never return, because there is nothing to return to."
- The Fragments of a Dying Conqueror, 1789-?
A young girl stands in her dressing room, peering at herself in her mirror, shifting the cups of her bodice, and being overly critical of her makeup. She is not the protagonist, but she is the voice. Today is the day she makes her debut for all of Primeva to see. She is incredibly nervous, as expected.
What was her name again? It's on the show's program.
=== Featherbrained Asskisser
Oh, that's original. Try again, numbnuts.
=== Cygnet Glissé
Your name is Cygnet Glissé, and you are currently very nervous. You are about to perform before more people than you thought could even fit in that theater. You think your makeup is a bit too pale, but the lady who did it said it looked fine.
You are a ballerina in the Primeva Metropolitan Ballet, the most recognized dance organization in the area. This is your first show as a principle dancer; you're more than halfway decent at what you do, but you're young, so this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You are eight solar sweeps old, the equivalent of seventeen earth years. You have a fondness for cute baby animals. You collect a bunch of old books, and you enjoy reading them with your moirail, who is also possibly the nicest person you know.
Her makeup was all wrong. Or, at least, she thought it was. There was blue shimmer all over her pale, white-makeup-covered face, blending into the cerulean of her eye shadow and the decorations on her wing-shaped horns. She was a princess tonight, a beautiful woman called Odette, changed into a swan by an evil sorcerer. A prince called Siegfried finds, saves, and ends up falling in love with her. But Odile, the sorcerer's daughter, tricks Siegfried by convincing him she is Odette. And it's all downhill shenanigans from there.
Cygnet would be playing both roles tonight, as was tradition.
She was terrified. First, Cygnet was still little. Her eye color had only recently filled in and she was still much smaller than most of the dancers. She was good, but little. Second, she was shy. Great activity for a shy person, ballet. Third, if she screwed up, they would boot her. No questions answered, no second chances.
There was a knock at Cygnet's door and she nearly knocked over everything on her vanity table in surprise.
"Cy?"
Enter Requin, her much taller moirail. He was a real-life prince, unlike the dancer who would be taking the role of Siegfried tonight. His glasses had fogged up and he was still wearing a great fur long coat, smiling like a child who got two cookies for dessert instead of the promised one.
"Is it that cold outside?"
"It's pretty cold. It's the Season of Ice and Lights; do you expect any less?"
Cygnet shrugged. She had been in the theater since last night and stayed all day, occasionally dozing off during rehearsal. The building was heated, and it was very possible to forget how cold the world outside was, with the darkness of night not alluding to any sort of weather conditions.
"Are you ready?" Requin asked, setting a bouquet of flowers down on her table.
"No, not at all."
"Curtain call's in less than a half hour, so you better get ready."
"How do you know when curtain call is?"
He tapped his head and smiled. "I know a lot of things, Cy. That's how it's always been. Good luck out there."
"Thanks, Quin."
He bowed and exited the room, leaving Cygnet to be worried alone.
=== Follow him
Follow whom, Requin?
=== Yes, be him.
You are now Requin Voliér.
You are the same age as Cygnet, but you were born a few months before she was. You are here to watch the performance. Partially because Cygnet is your closest friend and you feel the need to support her with every fiber of your being, and partially because that's what the upper bloodcastes do—they go to ballets, dances, operas, galas, et cetera.
You are a violet blood—a prince—and you support your blood color poorly by being too nice for your own good. You have a thing for leather-bound books and fancy yourself a detective prodigy. You would compare yourself to Troll Sherlock Holmes, but he won't exist for another century. Funny how Swan Lake is clearly in existence and it comes much later. You have decided not to dwell on this fact for too long.
"How is Cygnet?" Kalina was waiting down the corridor, playing with a silk folding fan. Her dress was more embellished than Requin had imagined possible, with lace and thread embroidery coating the bodice and a chiffon veil falling over the opening at the top where her shoulders were exposed. It was a bit risqué.
"She's fine. Nervous, but fine. Why don't you go see her for yourself?"
"I'm not as close to her as you are. She'd probably shoo me away."
They had all three been close friends while growing up. At some point, Kalina drew back from Cygnet, breaking off any possible moirallegiance. She fell back on the company of the next highest up after Requin, a girl he could not stand. Quin had then separated from Kalina, but only for a sweep at most. Her pull on him was unfathomable.
"Kalina—"
"Drop it, Quin, we're not arguing about this." She snapped the fan shut. "We should go sit down."
Requin sighed. She was impossible.
Pretty, haughty, and cold, Kalina was the only adolescent fuchsia-blooded troll on the planet. Her manipulative nature made it easy for her to get what she wanted…most of the time. There were some things, however, that no matter how much she begged, Requin was in no position to grant her. One of those things would most likely get him killed in the end when she finally got her way, but there was no reason to accelerate his death date.
"Where are we sitting? Did you remember the tickets?"
"Yes, of course I did." Requin produced two black slips of paper from his coat pocket. Since Kalina had purchased them, her blood color flowed across the tickets in delicate decorative designs. Everyone was always trying to impress the crown princess, trying to earn her favor for the future, but Kalina never cared, never gave a second glance.
"Well, where are we, then?"
"Are you always this demanding?"
She paused a moment. "Yes."
"Box seats. Do you ever buy non-box seat tickets?"
"Not that I recall, no."
"Next time can we not flaunt our status? Please?"
Kalina laughed. "Requin, why should we not flaunt status? Why conform to the lower classes when we are clearly above the peasantry? Even the nobility? Are you unsatisfied with your position, your blood color?"
"N-no—"
"Then why, why, Requin, do you question yourself?"
"I don't."
"Then act like you want to be where you are. You are the prince of this great existence, and I am its future ruler. We deserve each other." She punctuated her lecture by slipping her arm around his.
But not in that way, Requin thought bitterly. Not black, not cruel, not the way Kalina was. Not what she wanted, for once.
They walked in silence into the theater and up the stairs to the booth. The building was old, turn of the century, with middle Bourbon-period architecture and flourishes. The inside was dark, lit by candles and oil lanterns, which reflected warmly off the gold paint on the arches and support pillars that lined the auditorium's sides. It felt cozy, even though the space was large. Requin liked it; he loved the older styles of architecture, especially anything influenced by Viteliun and Iberian designs. Their architecture and art were some of the most sophisticated things to come out of the Renaissance.
"The interior of the venue is stunning."
Kalina shrugged. "I've seen better."
Requin turned from the railing. "Have not."
She nodded. "We have two different ideas of the word 'stunning'. I think this is 'stunningly ancient', whereas you find it…aesthetically pleasing, I guess."
Requin rolled his eyes. Let her be negative in her corner.
The ballet would start soon, anyway, and then he wouldn't have to deal with her negativity.
=== Go back to being the girl
It was curtain call. Officially curtain call. Cygnet stood backstage left, heartbeat erratic and breathing staggered. She had an act until her entrance, but her future rode on this premiere. She watched as her castmates walked passed her to their spots. Some waved, others wished her good luck. The boy playing Siegfried blew a kiss and Cygnet felt her knees get weak. Oh, he was dreamy.
She needed to focus.
She watched as the act started and quickly departed from the wings, seeking comfort in the communal offstage area. Other cast members were inside, working on specific sequences for the millionth time, performing breathing exercises, reading, pacing, and putting the finishing touches on their costumes.
It could have been worse. She could have been an actor. She could have needed to know lines.
She removed her shoes—she kept taking them off and putting them back on; nervous habit—and stepped back out into the hallway. Maybe some fresh air would be a good idea. The corridor led to the main lobby. She was in full costume, there's no way she could be mistaken for a theatergoer, not with all the feathers sticking out of her head.
The lobby was alight with beautiful multicolored lanterns. The carpet was Paarsan, with rich white fabric and delicately kept tassels. The ceiling and walls were dark gold in color, gleaming with an antiqued air. She had never entered the theater through the front door, and its grandeur was stunning.
The open space was empty aside from two young gentlemen. One was making a fuss; the other was trying to calm the first.
"It's okay, honestly, you're missing the ballet," the second boy said in a hushed tone, pulling at his friend's sleeve.
"No, it is not okay. It's flat-out discrimination." The first boy turned to the ticket-taker, who was a tall olive-blood. "I want to speak to your boss."
"They're not my boss' rules," the man said, unmoving. "They're from the guy that owns the theater."
"Where will I find him?"
"Probably inside, watching the performance, where you should be right now," the second boy groaned.
"Well? Call him out, then!"
"No can do, sir," the man said, putting his hands up in defense. "You'll have to speak to him afterward."
"This is ridiculous."
"Fiamme, calm down, it's not that big of a deal."
"Yes, it is." The boy called Fiamme sighed in defeat. "We're friends, we should be able to go places without having to look for restaurants that will serve all classes, theaters that allow lowbloods inside. I bought the tickets! It shouldn't matter past that!"
"But it does, that's society."
"No, no, Howell, don't start with this again."
Cygnet, standing in the doorway that led from the main lobby to backstage, took a moment to look over the two arguing trolls. The infuriated one called Fiamme was a teal-blood; low upper class, but well enough off that he could slip into the nobility and participate in high society. His clothes reflected his status; a long black frock coat with teal accents, polished leather shoes, a tall black wool hat with a dyed peacock plume, and delicate wire-framed glasses, which looked a bit out of place on his wild face.
The other boy, Howell, was not as finely dressed. He was in all black; avoiding the hemotyping process as much as he possibly could, it seemed. His coat was too long and looked borrowed from the other boy, his shoes scuffed and socks worn. Unlike his friend, his eye color had only just begun to come in, turning his eyes a muggy green shade. She had no idea what bloodcaste he was, the lines too blurred between three possible colors.
She caught the teal-boy's eye. He could easily recognize her as a cast member. (She could be nothing else, aside from maybe a gypsy or a barking mad lunatic, but neither of those would be in the theater.) She jerked her head slightly, beckoning him to her. The guard raised an eye but said nothing—dancer's privilege.
"I'm in the ballet; I can let you in round back if you'd like."
"Won't you get in trouble?"
"No." Lie. "Hopefully not, anyway."
"Are you sure? It's awfully kind of you."
She nodded. "I'm sure, it's the least I can do."
"What do we have to do?"
"There's a big iron door on the side that way," she said quietly, pointing to the way she came. "It's the backstage entrance. From there, you can slip into the audience from one of the sides. Is that all right?"
"It's great. It's more than I could ask for."
"Good, then make a fuss and storm out."
He nodded once and went back, cursing the establishment and dragging his confused friend out of the lobby. Cygnet returned backstage, hurrying through the corridor in her stocking feet. She snuck carefully by the common room and down another passage to the backstage entrance. The door to the outside was heavy, but she managed to push it open when the boys knocked. The frosted air flew inside with them, chilling her bones through her light tutu and tights.
"I need to properly thank you," the one called Fiamme said as she guided them to the theater entrances by the wings.
"It's no trouble, honestly, I'm sure you would have done the same."
"You can never tell these days, with the tensions all over the place."
Cygnet gave a little chuckle. "I suppose you're right. Times are changing. It's just through this door here, the big wood one. I cannot step out—I'm in costume."
"Thanks again!" Fiamme gave a bow and slipped through the door.
The boy called Howell trailed behind. "I should be the one thanking you, not him. He's too pigheaded about caste-related things nowadays."
"Is he always so brash?"
The boy laughed. "Yes, that's Fiamme. He's rather self-absorbed, too."
"He didn't seem such tonight."
"He puts his pride down for me, we've been moirails for ages now. It makes me equally flattered and embarrassed to be around him."
"I must say I am a little jealous. My moirail only makes me feel incompetent, but that's not necessarily his fault."
"I think I understand what you mean." He had his hand on the door. "I'm sorry, but I do not believe I caught your name."
"It's Cygnet."
"And I am Howell, but you already knew that, Fiamme cannot keep his mouth shut. It was lovely to meet you."
"And you."
"Once again, thank you." He gave her a wide smile and disappeared through the heavy doors.
Cygnet hurried off to the wings with a flutter in her step. She had to lace up her shoes and put on the best performance she could muster. She felt that wouldn't be some much of an issue anymore, her nerves having recovered in her brief intermission.
"The royal bloods did not originally live underwater. The lower classes forced them back into the sea during the revolts. It gave us power, made us feel adequate for once; having control over those who had controlled us for our whole lives. They would have died, too, if evolution hadn't granted them gills a few hundred years back."
- The Primevian Revolution: The Before and After; 1789-1799
A/N: Some general notes on the story:
• This takes place during the troll version of the French Revolution, before the creation of Beforus. It's set with some anachronistic details because it's not Earth and I don't have to confine to such details as long as it's believable (however believable sci-fi can be).
• The same way Hussie has based the pre-scratch trolls on social media types/bloggers, my trolls are based on dances; all of their names have a meaning in a different language. The most obvious two here are Cygnet and Fiamme, whose names mean swanling and flame in French and Italian, respectively. Cygnet is based around Ballet, and Fiamme, Galletta.
• I'm going to take some unexplored details into my own hands, but keep as close to the known facts as possible. Some weird headcanons may slip, you are warned.
• There are at least two parts to the story, possibly three. You are currently in number one, before the beginning of their session.
Well. That's all I've got for you so far. Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it. I know I've certainly enjoyed crafting the characters present and the ones yet to be introduced (I need to post my sketches later, I cannot do their horns justice in words).
Please do point out any spelling, grammar, word usage, or awkward phrasing errors. That's lovely. And critiques. Those are also lovely.