-orphanerDualscar [OD] began trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 09:17!-

OD: hey

OD: you there?

IC: Yup. )(ere.

OD: ivve missed your stupid quirk

IC: Well, if it's so STUPID, w)(y don't you just troll salmon else, )(U)(?!

OD: nah

OD: only you interest me

IC: )(ow sweet.

OD: i do my best

IC: 380~ sealy Dualscar.

OD: yup thats me the best and only

OD: aaaan your only matesprit

IC: Don't say it like t)(at!

OD: like wwhat?

OD: matesprit?

IC: Yes. T)(AT.

OD: awwww is she gettin shy?

IC: NO.

IC: It's just...

IC: I don't roe...

OD: wweird?

IC: Yea)(.

OD: its wweird for twwo trolls wwith some of the highest ranked blood on the wwhole damn hemospectrum to be datin?

IC: No.

OD: exactly noww wwhy are you still actin so wweird

IC: W)(ale...

IC: It's just...

IC: It's strange t)(at someone like you would even brook at a gill like me...

OD: wwhat the hell is that supposed to mean

IC: W)(ale...

IC: I may be the -Empress of Alternia...

IC: But I'm not very pretty...

IC: Rig)(t?

OD: im givving you 3 seconds to clam up

OD: because that is bullshit

IC: You reelly t)(ink so?

OD: youre beautiful

IC: 38)

IC: T)(ank you!

OD: its only the truth

OD: oh hell i havve to get ready for the stupid council meeting

IC: O)(.

IC: T)(AT.

IC: Yea)(, I )(ave to as w)(ale.

IC: Sea you soon! 38)

OD: back atcha

-orphanerDualscar [OD] has stopped trolling imperialCondesce [IC] at 19:30!-

You lean away from the husktop, unable to keep a stupid smile off your face. A small bloop from your husktop lessens it a bit as you concentrate. You delete a small bubble popping up, announcing that the manufacturer of Trollian has added some new updates – something about cameras. Whatever. You drift to more pleasant thoughts of Dualscar. Since that first kiss between you two, there had been more. Secret kisses, stolen between meetings and royal nonsense, but made the sweeter because of it. He had whispered in your ear fin that you were matesprits, and your body sang with joy. You belong to someone now, and it makes you dreadfully happy.

But what makes you happiest is that he likes you.

No – he likes you.

You try to smother the grin growing wider on your face, but you can't. It's exhilarating and wonderful, to like someone and to have them like you in return. In a way, you feel more free than ever. Having a secret from the council helps, as well.

Ahhh. The council.

You honestly don't know what to do about them. They are beginning to make you feel more than trapped – you're beginning to feel a little crazy. You can't go to the ocean anymore, they tell you. Your planet needs you. Besides, you don't really need water to survive. What? No, of course you can't just go out and visit the cities and people. You could be killed!

And other shit like that.

But the council isn't the only thing troubling you right now. The Grand Highblood and your... nebulous relationship plagues you, as well. He says he's flushing pale for you – which is still incredibly unbelievable. The Grand Highblood as a moirail? – but you're not entirely sure. He nags you enough about your relationship with Dualscar. Well, not nagging, but the purple blooded troll gets unusually quiet when you talk of him, or look at him. Or even think of him. And when Dualscar is around, he treats him coldly and with hostility. He even manages to speak normally sometimes, just to insult him. It embarrasses the hell out of you.

Occasionally, he'll show some sort of moirail affection towards you, brushing hair out of your face, asking how you're doing or feeling, laying a hand on your shoulder when you feel ready to kill someone. Almost as if he's the regulator in the relationship, keeping you from going on the rage. It's absolutely ridiculous – if anything, he's the one who should be kept in check! Not you!

A loud pounding interrupts you. You can tell by the heavy thuds and the sound of straining metal that it's the Grand Highblood. Speak of the clown...

With a resigned sigh, you get up to open the door, shutting your husktop.

He's waiting at the door, his garish face scrubbed clean today. Not only that, but his hair has been brushed, his horns trimmed and filed to proper points, his nails cut, teeth cleaned, clothes washed. He looks almost... Handsome. You stare, a little put off. Awkwardly he shifts, looking you in the eyes.

"Don't keep a brother waiting," he mumbles.

"Erm," you say. And then, because you can't resists, you ask, "of course. Uh, to which brother am I speaking to today...?"

He stares at you, then the ceiling, and then the doorway, before carefully responding, "the kind who has been sacrilegiously made to just up and clean himself, to be all presentable like for, er, mother-fucking reasons." He tries, you can tell, to be normal as usual, but his vascular system just isn't in it.

"For what reasons?" you prod, growing curious. Something is bubbling up inside you. It may be amusement, if you knew how to recognize the emotion. You back up, sitting down on a red couch. He remains at the door, running a large hand through his neat hair.

"Erm," he says. "To make a certain sister start believing in these here truths that I just be up and uttering, to stop denying and pretending that they are something other than true, and not dirt or jokes made to stain and slander to get your dander on." He shifts to his other foot, and wanders into the room. He looks everywhere while speaking, but at the last few words looks at you.

And you look back. That feeling inside you is dancing, spinning, forcing it's way through your throat. And before you can stop yourself, you are bending over your knees, howling with laughter. Gasping, choking, pounding your fists on your legs. You accidentally kick the table in front of you, sending it flying across the room. But you don't care. You fall off the couch, wheezing. When your last giggle subsides, you see the Grand Highblood standing over you, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face.

"Glad to see that I can be your jam starter," he murmurs. "Your mirthful messaiah." It makes absolutely no sense, but you snort anyways, reveling in that feeling of abandon and freeness. You can't remember the last time you've laughed like this. It feels so... Good. Relieving.

"Alright," you say, holding your aching sides. "What do you want?"

All of a sudden he looks very thoughtful. He holds out a hand to help you up, which is no longer strange for you. Then his hand rests on your shoulder, and he looks at you somberly.

"Dualscar, miss." he mumbles, strangely formal. Bizarrely so. "Don't appreciate the mother fucker." he shifts from foot to foot again, and then blurts out, "He's all up in your jam, you be sharing secrets and whispers like a bunch of whisper beasts, like the laughsassins guild, like a mother fucking dumb troll! But what is his secret? HIS MOTHER FUCKING SECRET?" He grabs you by the shoulders, looking intently into your eyes. You can only roll them. You completely trust Dualscar, and nothing your... Well, whatever the Highblood is... says can change that.

"He has none," you reply. "He tells me everything."

The Grand Highblood only looks deeper into your face, his gaze searching, looking for something. And he sighs ever so softly, his breath brushing your face. Suddenly, you realize that your are in a "situation." An electrical current seems to run between you two, and after taking in the Highbloods face, you notice that he is impeccably handsome.

But it's different from Dualscar. Where the sea dweller is all rough and rugged lines, dashing and debonair, the Highblood is elegant, smooth and graceful. His high cheekbones and haunted, deep set eyes captivate you, his long, sharp and straight nose perfectly tipped. The only mar on his perfect face is the intensity in his eyes, the slinking, barely hidden feral animal.

You reach out unconsciously, and ruffle his hair.

"I think you look very nice," you tell him. "But I do somewhat miss my old moirail."

He looks a little confused, so you mess up his nicely combed hair, mussing it back to it's original bed-head state. It's softer than you would have expected. The whole time, there is a sort of surreal feeling, like what you're doing isn't real. It can't be real. You would never allow yourself a moirail. Apparently, the Highblood thinks so, too. His eyes are wide, his mouth slack with surprise. If you didn't feel so bewildered yourself, you would probably have started laughing again.

You lay a hand on his cheek, as if the softest of paps. A small noise escapes the other troll's mouth, a sort of needy noise. And then you're enveloped in his arms. Cringing, you try to push him away, startled by the sudden contact. Every instinct within you is screaming to be set free. A trap! A trap! The alarm goes off. And yet...

It's rather warm.

"Erm," you say eventually, a little embarrassed and treading in deep water. "There is a council meeting -"

The Highblood laughs, pulling back. A big grin covers his face. "Don't be telling me that your tickle meter is all up and ready to run and go and see THOSEmother-fucking geezers?" he asks. "It's a miracle. So many fucking miracles today."

"No," you snap, dislodging yourself none-too-gently from his arms. They fall limply to his side, and you find yourself rather cold again. "I just don't want to have to listen to them complain, and I don't want any privileges taken away and..." you make up more excuses as you go along, but from the darkening in the Grand Highblood's eyes, you realize he's figured it out - never, in a thousand sweeps, would you ever willingly want to go and see your imprisoners, your jailers. But there is someone you want to see very much.

You just can't wait to see Dualscar again.

A/N: Had to cut this one in half, too. Big stuff happens next time with Condesce. Oh, man, I wish I didn't have to split it! Sorry it's so short.