Next up: Sollux's ancestor, the Psionic/Helmsman.
By the way, guys, I'm still taking prompts. Also, please review if you like it (it might just encourage me to write faster HINTHINTWINKWINKNUDGENUDGE).
Summary: He was just another nobody, the highblood's slave. He didn't even have a name. His life was never supposed to amount to anything, or at least he thought so.
Just Another Nobody
His kind were the workers.
Not the warriors, not the legislacerators, not even something remotely dignified. For all their abilities and powers, the lowblooded psionics, telekinetics, and other specialized trolls were nothing more than the labour force of Alternia. It wasn't good work, either. Building, loading, unloading, moving objects and materials, even mining.
The work conditions were poor, too. Their employers were harsh, cracking down on anyone who took the slightest of breaks. Driving them for hours and hours on end until they could barely stand at all anymore. How many times had he seen others burn themselves out from overworking themselves? They were never the same after that. They were often... emptier. Simple minded.
He was one such worker, one of the many yellow bloods. He had a name, but he couldn't remember it. He never used it, after all. No one cared about his name, no one even bothered asking him. No one cared about him. No one cared about his blood brothers. He was a nobody. They were nobodies.
The yellow blooded troll was young, but not too young. He was a psionic, one that was oddly powerful. He could move objects many, many times his own size and weight, and boasted a couple more powers, as well, although he'd never tested the true limits of his abilities. They were far from precise, though, and he was reserved for heavy freight that needed to be loaded. He didn't let his employers know the full extent of his abilities. No one did, unless they wanted to lose their powers and become simple. He didn't want that.
And as he returned to his hive that day, he was content with never testing it, anyways. He was just trying to get by, after all. If only life could be simple. If only it could let him live that peaceful, albeit boring and unfullfilling life. Looking back, though, he was glad that he didn't rush past when he saw that commotion in the streets, what he would later come to see as his salvation from this dissatisfaction.
The poor female was a rust blood, just another lowblood being targeted by their highblooded oppressors. Nothing truly out of the ordinary. The only trolls that stopped were cheering, always willing to see a good fight. She was a telekinetic and could fight back, but not nearly so powerful that she could take on her four aggressors.
He, too, fully intended to rush past like a lot of other lowbloods did.
That is, until his multicoloured eyes caught sight of another, smaller quarrel at the edge of the crowd that was forming around the fight. A young male troll, maybe his age but he could never be sure, of a blood colour that he couldn't determine either. Unlike most, he did not broadcast his status and neither did he appear to have a symbol of any sort visible on his person.
He was struggling against the tight grip of another cloaked figure, a tall slender female. Also of indeterminate blood colour. Their hoods were up to hide their eye colour effectively. She was rather lovely, though, with a long face and high cheek bones. Her horns, as opposed to the male's small nubby ones, were long. The right one hooked downwards, a rare case of asymmetrical horns.
"You should not get involved," she soothed.
"I can't let this injustice happen before my very eyes!" he insisted, his voice hushed but affronted. "How can you just stand by and watch as our own kind gather to see this cruelty, Maryam?!"
"As much as it pains me to say this, I value your life over that of the young rust blood's," she replied.
It struck him as an odd thing to say, an odd conversation over all. He'd never considered stepping in, he never wanted to get involved. Once, he'd steeped in his anger over this injustice just like that young male. He'd grown numb to that. He now determined that he was younger and hadn't yet been brought up to the harsh realities their kind faced. Hadn't grown the same numbness that he had to all the injustice and crimes being committed all around him.
But who was this female? Why was she so protective of him? Was she his moirail? He couldn't even begin to wrap his think pan around the kind of relationship that he was seeing here. It was almost otherworldly in its nature, not a moiralleigance, but similar. No, there was no way he could understand the complex relationship between those two, and he never would between now and the day he died, no matter how closely he knew them.
The male tore himself away from his female companion and shoved his way through the crowd. Curiosity got the better of the psionic and he stopped to watch.
"Enough! Leave her alone!" the male yelled, shoving one of the highbloods away just as he caught the young dame's wrist. Him and his buddies sneered. The rust blood ran.
"Why should we?" the clear leader of the bunch challenged, casually sticking his hands in his pockets.
"Because your blood colour doesn't make you any better than her or I!" he exclaimed, his hood shaded eyes wide with the naivete of youth as he desperately tried to convince them peacefully. He did not notice the other highbloods beginning to circle around him, surrounding him. "We're all the same! I'm a troll, you're a troll, she's a troll! Why can't we all just get along? Why can we not see each other as equals!" he implored.
Out the corner of his eye, the psionic could see the bold one's companion. Tears threatened, but she was frozen in place. Why didn't she help him? Her previous concern voided out any possibility of her being too mindful of her own fate to risk her life intervening. Was it that she believed that his words could somehow move them? He was a brilliant speaker, yes, but he doubted that they could be swayed away from an upbringing of cruelty and superiority.
"Why do you care so much?" the leader sneered, at the exact same time that the psionic whispered the same thing to the young female.
She looked at him, her jade green eyes wide. A jade blood? Here? He'd never seen one before. This situation was getting weirder by the minute. But even jade bloods shouldn't hold the sympathy she did for the bold one, especially since she didn't seem to be in any of his quadrants.
"I...I raised him," she admitted. He drew back as if struck. A troll...raising another troll? The mere thought was...ludicrous.
"We have lusus for that," he stuttered, unsure of what else to say.
"No one came for him. No one ever would have," she whispered. He was about to ask why, but the yelling got louder, interrupting him.
The highbloods had the bold one in a tight hold and the leader was beating the snot out of him. Brilliant bruises were quickly forming. As tough as troll skin generally was, the bold one's would soon split.
"Let's see your blood colour, if you're so damn sympathetic! Surely there can't be nothing worse than rust, eh?!" he laughed maniacally.
The horror on the jade blood's face told the psionic all he needed: there really was something worse than rust. And if no one did anything, they were about to find out what that was. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd shoved his way through the crowd, eyes flashing as he called his power, and flung the leader into a nearby building.
He didn't intend to be terribly rough with the highblood leader, just to push him aside, really. But he had a hard time controlling his powers in tense or emotional situations. The purple blood leaking from his head told the psionic that he was dreadfully wrong in thinking that that was anything but rough. If he wasn't dead, he surely had a severe concussion. The others turned on him, leaving the bold one to the ground.
"Traitor!" one sneered, reaching for him. "Get on your knees, slave!" another snarled.
The bold one came up behind one of the remaining three, wrapping his arm around his neck and pulling him into a tight headlock. Her strangled cry briefly distracted the other two. The bold one looked straight into the psionic's eyes and he saw it, he saw his blood colour. It froze him to the spot in horror, yet also with intrigue at how such a thing could be possible.
"Run!" the bold one pleaded.
For a second, the psionic was frozen. He didn't quite process what he'd said, but he did know that he, they, needed to get out of there. He flung the highblood thugs, and the rest of the crowd, as well, away from him in a strong outburst of power. Only the bold one and his companion were left standing, as well as the thug that the bold one still had a tight hold on.
He grabbed them both and fled down the street before anyone could think to stop them.
The psionic hid them in his hive, an open, empty place with only a shelf in the corner with a few of his belongings. He couldn't even afford a proper place to sleep, nothing more than a pile of rags. The bold one was crouched in the corner, nursing a nose that had begun to bleed as he fled. The psionic stood at the doorway, unsure of what to do while the jade blood hovered over her companion.
"Don't look!" The bold one was now a quivering mess, his hands covered in his blood that he desperately tried to hide. "Please, don't look!" he begged.
"Why are you so scared?" the psionic sighed. "I already know." Both the bold one and the jade blood looked at him, eyes wide. His own eyes closed. "Even if I could go back after that, I wouldn't tell. It was brave of you, stranger, to intervene... But I'm afraid my last minute save has cost me my life."
"Then...why help me?" the bold one asked, looking up at him. The jade blood, Maryam, also watched him, her eyes encouraging him to answer.
"I..." He had no answer to that. "I don't know. I couldn't stand by, it wasn't your fight even if you were foolish enough to get involved."
"Anyone else would have let them kill me. Who are you?" he asked quietly. The psionic blinked, confused.
"I...I am a psionic," he said, although he didn't quite understand the question.
"No, no, your name."
"My...name?" They now looked just as confused as he did.
"You don't have a name?" Maryam asked quietly. He frowned.
But deep down, he was touched. It was the first time someone had ever cared. Someone had actually asked him his name... Now if only he could repay their kindness, their care, with the simple action of giving them his name. But he didn't have a name, because he was a nobody and he was a slave. Nobodies and slaves didn't have names. Trolls didn't name their toys nor did they name their tools, they were simply labelled and left until needed.
"I can't remember my name," the psionic finally said after a moment's struggle with his mind, eyes closing in shame. "Slaves don't have names, stranger." The jade blood seemed to understand, but the bold one was horrified, speechless. He leapt to his feet and grabbed the psionic's hands, making him jump.
This contact...it was gentle, pleading, understanding, all in one. He didn't know how he could take so much from a simple touch, for all he had felt from hands and touch and contact was pain, misery, bitterness...even death. It was his turn to be speechless. He couldn't even spare a moment to be horrified by the bright red blood staining his grey skin.
"You should come with us!" he explained. "If you have no where else to go! With you, we're one step closing to tearing apart the hemospectrum and bringing equality!"
Conflicted tears welled in the psionic's eyes, but his shoulders shook with bitter laughter. Bitter because he knew it wasn't true, that that could never happen, and the last troll to ever bring about such a thing was this lowly mutant blood. He could see his face go from hopeful to sad disappointment. He looked like a young, kicked barkbeast.
"You can't fight nature," the psionic spat. "Things have been like this for millennium, and they will continue to be like this for many, many more." But the bold one's face hardened in determination. It was effective, stunning him for a second despite the fact that his face was turning in a bruised, swollen mess.
"If it's so natural, then why are there those out there who long for freedom?" he whispered. "Why do you stand here, wishing to be free of our highblood oppressors? Why would you, any of us, even consider intervening when the highbloods pick on the low?" It struck the psionic.
"What do you want from me, exactly? Another fugitive to take care? What can ever come of this foolish venture?" the psionic murmured.
"No matter what happens, there will always be something left if we fail," the bold one said, holding out his hand. "And all I ask of you is that you trust me." The psionic looked at that bloodied hand for a long time, but it never moved. The bold one looked him full in the eyes, his expression set.
He reached over to his shelf, grabbing a knife. The other male didn't move as he slit his own hand, letting the sluggish yellow fluid to leak out. He then grabbed the bold one's hand.
"I'm Vantas," the bold one introduced himself. This time, the psionic had something to give in return. A new identity for a new life.
"...Call me... Call me Captor."