This meeting is as dreadfully boring and suffocating as any other meeting.
Especially since Dualscar is seated nowhere near you. He's at least 6 chairs down, and instead of him you must suffer through this torment with a smelly purple blood, who sounds as if he ate too much gas-inducing grubfeed. Gross.
And on your other side sits the Grand Highblood, his stare penetrating your neck even when you're not looking.
"...And so we are very proud to announce a new feature on Trollian, commissioned at a reasonable price and within reasonable time. It allows the user to view others on the planet. The security is, of course, still a little unstable, but it should be managed within some time -"
"Yes," you say, growing annoyed. Who cares? I know this already. "I saw it earlier today, when I logged on."
The speaker, a violet sea dweller, looks nonplussed. Immediately, you realize your mistake. They've found me out, you think. And now I won't be able to talk to Dualscar without them knowing... "Your Imperial Condescension," he begins, his eyes curious. "We had no idea that you were using it. You have not showed up -"
"Must be a glitch," grunts the Highblood next to you. You glance at him, and then back to everyone else. They all nod a bit, seemingly in awe that the Grand Highblood actually spoke. You feel the tension go out of your body, just a little bit. Finally, the violet blooded speaker turns back to his notes.
"Ah, yes," he replies. "It is a new system. Lots of bugs to fix. Anyways, our next item on our agenda is that our drones commissioned from his voidliness, Sir Darkleer, are almost ready..."
You zone out again, feeling a flush creep across your fins and face as you look at your hands. You can't believe yourself. You slipped up. Who the hell are you? What's happening? Empresses don't make mistakes. They must be perfect. They must be examples to their people.
A large hand squeezes yours gently, discreetly. Your head swings up, and you glare at the Grand Highblood. But he's already released it and is staring stonily at the current speaker. You may have even imagined it, but... No. You didn't imagine it.
You muffle a small, sad smile. You try to crush that tiny seed of happiness and hope inside you. You may have accepted him as a moirail in name, just to make him happy, but you refuse to reciprocate his feelings. You have no feelings. At least, you didn't. But now? The evidence begs to differ.
As the meeting draws to an end, you make up your mind.
Maybe it's ok to have feelings? And not just passion. Passion is acceptable for an Empress, both Black and Red. But who ever heard of getting all platonic? A few sweeps ago, you would have laughed at the idea of you having a solid moirail. Please. You don't need a shush-pap to calm you down, or a nice hug to make you feel better. Bitch, you are strong and beautiful, and nothing will ever get you down. But now... It sure feels nice to be warm sometimes.
"...And that concludes today's reports. Long live the Alternian Empire."
There is a general sigh, and everyone gets up, talking politely to each other and making their way towards the giant, steel doors. As they wander out, you slip out of your chair and past the knowing gaze of your... Your moirail. (How strange to think of him like that.) Your small feet patter against the floor, your hair flowing in what you hope is a majestic manner, and you walk up to the Orphaner Dualscar, your aquatic vascular system pounding.
"Hi," you say when you reach him. He looks up from where he is packing his things, and smiles.
"Hey," he replies. "S'good to see you."
"Yeah." You look shyly at your feet, smiling yourself. You just know it's that goofy smile you hate, but somehow you don't care right now. "Um. Want to, uh, hang out?" You look at him in which you hope is not too pleading. Please say yes, please say yes!
"Uh," he suddenly looks awkward. "Real sorry about that, but I can't. I have important things to do, and I can't back out, I'm really sorry – "
"Oh, no!" you interrupt, smiling widely. It's not the goofy smile any more. This one's plastered on. "That's perfectly ok! It's my fault for asking so abruptly, and I hope you have fun, bye!"
You abscond.
I am so stupid, you think bitterly. So, so stupid! Of course he doesn't want to be with me all the time! You rub your head, your face burning with shame.
"Mother fucker turned you down?" You hear. Without turning your head, you nod. At least someone wants to spend time with you, even if they're currently not the correct someone.
You finally face him. He still looks a bit strange without his makeup, but you're now used to it. He currently looks... Sad.
"That fucker," he whispers. "Just up and did it all like that? LIKE FUCKING THAT? He better have an inkling, a prayer, a justice..." and he explodes with rage, pounding his fist on the wall. A metal clang fills the hallway, and you wince, having forgotten the Grand Highblood's rages.
"It's fine," you snarl, grabbing his heavy arm. But he swings to look at you, and in his gaze is something you never thought you'd see:
Pity.
You gape, your mouth wide with horror. Pity? The nerve of it infuriates you. But at the same time, you feel scared. If the Grand Highblood knew something to move him to pity, than what on earth could it possibly be?
"I'm sorry," he whispers, touching your face. And then he rips his way out of your grasp and walks away as fast as he can, leaving you behind, bewildered and confused.
Nothing like Quadrants to fuck your head up. Nothing.
You sigh, sitting down in your room. You have no idea what to do right now. Your map just infuriates you with the missing Mutant case, books won't make you feel better, your Husktop is a bottomless pit for depression and your cuttlefish in their tank have already been fed.
You fall asleep.
When you wake up, you have the distant, receding memory of a young troll with thick braids. You rather like her. But it's gone when you blearily roll off the couch. You hear a bloop come from your Husktop, and you pad over.
-grandHighblood [GH] began trolling imperialCondescencion [IC] at 18:30!-
GH: whatever happens.
GH: WHATEVER FUCKED UP SHIT OCCURS.
GH: it's not your fault.
-grandHighblood [GH] has disconnected!-
Weird. You shrug your shoulders, a little creeped out. And then you see the flashing button in the corner. It announces the new viewport feature. Bored, you decide why the hell not. You click on Dualscar's name.
Darkness assaults your screen.
And then you hear voices. You recognize one of them as Dualscar, but the other one is unfamiliar, female and, you decide instantly, extremely bitchy. Then the viewport adjusts, and some light spreads into your vision.
You're in some kind of cabin. Archaic lights line the interior, fashioned into lantern shapes. But their dull, even glow reveals them to be grublight. A writing desk and a recuperacoon under some wispy curtains take up most of the room, which ends in a set of windows looking over the night sea. Exotic rugs cover the floor, and silk clothes and jewelry are carelessly tossed over the backs of chairs and on the floor.
Dualscar holds his gun in his hand, and opposite to him stands the owner of the mysterious voice.
Jealousy instantly hits you. She is lithe and skinny, her form hugged tightly by her dashing coat and skirt, her red boots glowing in the dim light. And while she isn't exactly pretty in the face, she is striking and startling. Her face is thin with high cheekbones, her eyes large and glittering. Her nose is like a blade, curving fiercely out of her face. By all means, she should be ugly, but there is something so... Alive about her. She sings out health and charisma and life.
"So you come running back to me, whining and screaming like the grub you are?" She sneers, tucking away a white object. Dualscar bristles, pointing his gun towards her.
"Mindfang," he snarls. "I'm warning you – "
Her jeering laughter cuts him off, and she hops onto the desk, crossing her thin legs. "Warning me? On my own ship? Oh, please. Really, Dualscar, you ought to know better."
Dualscar hisses, and, with a glance at his gun, tosses it aside.
"Tell me what you really came for," Mindfang whispers. "Do you want your pathetic future told? Or you are sick and tired of your little red-rom fling already?" Dualscar snarls again, and he takes a step towards her, as if each word is a rope pulling him closer. "I know! Poor you. Snotty wimps like her are the worst." Another snarl from Dualscar, but he's still walking closer. "Do you know what you really need?" she continues, and she stands up, shrugging out of her jacket. It falls to the floor, leaving her in her skirt and undershirt. Dualscar sighs, a surprisingly soft sound in the tension.
"You need a real troll," Mindfang drawls, and she lays her hands on Dualscar's shoulders. He shudders at her touch. "Someone to teach you some... Lessons."
"And who..." mutters Dualscar, sounding as if he is overcoming some great battle. "Would you suggest?" He pushes at her, as if to escape, but as soon as his hands touch her, they wrap around her hips, squeezing. He pulls her close, burrowing his head in her neck, moaning softly.
Mindfang chuckles softly. "Someone like me," she whispers. And, digging her nails into Dualscar's arms, she kisses him passionately. She bites his lips, drawing blood. He squeezes her hips until bruises blossom beneath the skin, like the angriest of flowers.
You feel nothing. You are nothing. You can't do anything but watch helplessly as they merge into one being on your screen, as they kiss and snarl. Dualscar throws a breathlessly laughing Mindfang onto the top of the desk, sweeping all of the ink and quills and maps to the floor with on arm, covering her mouth with his hands that you know to be calloused and a gruff command to be silent. She bites his fleshy fingers, and while he curses, slides up her skirt. Her shirt has already been thrown off, revealing skinny ribs and a scarred, muscled stomach. Dualscar stares lustily, and then kisses each bony protusion, from her ribs to her collarbone.
I don't want to see this, you think. I don't want to know this.
"Say my name," gasps Mindfang, amid the harsh growls and noises. Dualscar snarls, but manages a soft sound. "Louder," she demands.
"Aranea," he manages, before holding her to him tightly. Mindfang pushes him away, rolling over on top of him.
"Dear, sweetest, Kronus," she says, sounding completely in control of her emotions. "Am I the most important?" Dualscar gasps as she digs her claws into his sides, closing his eyes. He breathes, "Yes," and she sighs with him, violet blood dripping off her face. And then she looks at you, smiling, sweat trickling beside the blue and violet blood, rolling down the side of her face. Her left eye is fractured into several pupils. Vision eight-fold. Her hair sticks to her beautiful yet ugly face, and as she moans, she laughs as well.
"You have soooooooo fucked shit up, Ampora," she laughs.
And then your screen goes black with a little pop.
You gasp a little, staring at the blank screen. Then, as if mechanically, you look over to where your husktop connects to the wall. The Highblood stands there with the plug in his hand, his face dark and dangerous. You notice, some casually, that he has his makeup smeared across his face again, his hair as untamed as always. The familiarity of it all makes your chest tighten... Or was it already like that? As soon as you meet his eyes, he frowns, striding over to you and enveloping you in his arms.
"I'm sorry," he growls. "I will put that fucker DOWN, give him the shit he deserves – "
"Haha," you say. "Ha... What are you talking about?"
"You didn't have to get that on your mind, you didn't have to go and see their wicked jams happenin..." the Grand Highblood whispers. You push away, chuckles still escaping you.
"There's nothing wrong with it," you reply reasonably. "She's merely a... A... A kismesis. Everyone has one of those – " you choke up.
Am I the most important? You hear. You see her looking into your eyes again, that triumphant smile. More important than her?
Yes.
You hear somebody laughing. Or maybe they're screaming. Or crying. Maybe all three. Then you realize it's you. You close your mouth, but horrible squeals and choking sounds continue. Your cheeks are wet. Inside the Highblood's arms, you wriggle like a fish, digging your nails into his arms and drawing blood, your hair flying into his face. You kick, and your foot catches a table, sending it flying into a wall, much like you had earlier. It crashes and shatters apart, leaving a large dent in the steel.
"CALM YOUR SHIT," you hear, but you scream more. You clamp down on his forearm, biting your fish-fangs into his arm until you taste blood. Even then, you don't stop. But your moirail is immune to pain. You squirm still, kicking, flailing.
"I can't believe him," you yell. It hurts you throat, but the physical pain is something to hold onto in this maelstrom of rage and hurt. "How dare he?! I am the Empress!"
The Highblood says nothing, but he squeezes tighter. A sob forces its way out of throat.
Say my name.
He knew her name. And she knew his. Kronus. You try it out in your head. A few hours ago, that name would have made you extremely happy. Now, it rips shreds of agony into you.
Tired of your fling? Fling. You are his fling. He never cared about you. You were only interesting. The Empress of the planet. My, what a conquest you must have made! Something to boast about to his kismesis, to intimidate and frighten her, to turn her on more.
You stop struggling, laying limply in the Highblood's arms. Cautiously, he lets you go. You flop to the floor, curling up into a ball as soon as your feet touch the ground. You're not even sobbing anymore. The tears run down your face, burning like acid. You sniff, trying to wipe them away. You don't move away when the Grand Highblood rubs your back, brushing away your tears. Instead, you play the scene over and over in your head, admonishing yourself for being so incredibly stupid, so naive.
Why does it have to hurt so much?
"It's not your fault," you hear. You stiffen at the words, and for a second, you feel something other than shame and agony. You feel anger. You immediately latch on and hold tight.
"You knew," you growl, pushing away large hands. You see them hesitate, and then fall limply.
"Yes."
"You knew." You look at him now, and you see him looking apologetic, but not at all ashamed. This makes you angrier. That's good. Anger doesn't hurt so much. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He pauses, and you can tell he doesn't quite know where to tread. "Didn't know that you was all up and ready to know," he mumbles. And then, for good measure, he adds a "Miss."
"He is my – " you stop, then correct yourself. "Was my matesprit! I deserve to at least know his Kismesis!"
"..." he mumbles some more. You strain your ear fins, but can't hear.
"I beg your pardon?" you snarl.
"Not when your matesprit be all cozying with a motherfucking BITCHTIT!" he shouts. "Not when he be exclaiming untruths, blasphemous sacrileges. And that's just WRONG." He growls at this, running a hand through his shaggy, wild hair. "That mother fucker is ASS HAT BACKWARDS!" He practically roars this at you, and you jab your finger at him, feeling the all-consuming fury.
"Yeah, well – " you stop, think, and then repeat what he has just said in your head. And somehow, somewhere, a giggle bursts out of you. It's not a healthy giggle, or a natural one, but it's mirth none the less. You fall to the ground on all fours, choking. And then you collapse on your stomach, just breathing in and out. You feel empty. And you feel terribly full.
"Thank you," you murmur. A hand that has no right to be so gentle touches your head, stroking your hair. You close your eyes, willing yourself to feel better already. Wishing that this empty hole in your chest, ringed by cold pain, would just disappear.
"Anything for my most favorite Emperecita," a whisper sounds out.
You sigh, and fall into a blissfully calm sleep.
A/N: Hmmmmmm.
