-
UNSPOKEN

A Dreamworks Trolls Fanfic by C. Prince

Suspended in Midhair

Branch's gem had a practical, down-to-earth rectangular cut with soft beveled edges and a beautiful turquoise color. It suited him perfectly. Poppy was relieved it hadn't taken the shape of a spiked ball or a skull. Finally she could stop having that horrible vision of presenting a jawed trap jewel that encouraged him to get back into old habits.

Poppy lifted the gem out of its colorful blossom and placed it on a carrying pillow. The party factory would need to see it to design invitations.

Sky Toronto did not disappoint. Every invitation was a cupcake crowned by a gummy version of Branch's troll gem. She should have recognized the potential danger here, but she was too thrilled to notice. Just like the day she met Branch, her ability to be clumsy at the most inopportune moment kicked in. She dropped the real gem in with the gummies. The cupcakes were out the door for delivery before she could stop them.

If Branch heard about this he'd tease her until the end of time. He'd be pulling that gem out of gray-streaked hair, "Hey Poppy, remember this? Remember how you lost it? Remember?"

Poppy hit the village running. She collected Cooper and Smidge along the way and the three of them tried to track down the original. It escalated into a game of cupcake slapping. When they finally found the gem, the worst possible thing happened.

Branch's gem slapped into a tree and shattered.

They could grow a new one. If they didn't want to wait a few months, all they had to do was make Branch ridiculously happy in the next hour before the ceremony.

They tried compliments, cute stuff, and tickling. Nothing was enough. Maybe Bridget was right. Maybe she should kiss him. Wait, no, that would just freak him out. The gem day ceremony needed to start now. With reluctance Poppy explained the fate of the broken gem to Branch. He was crestfallen.

But she already knew how to fix this. She'd given away a piece of herself before. She'd do it again.

"I'm really sorry," she said quietly. "I know how much today means to you, and you can't have a gem day without a gem, so…" she held out hers, "take mine."

The heart-shaped treasure in her hand made the scene sadly familiar. Maybe she was silly and overoptimistic for thinking this time would be different. She believed her gem would be cared for. She'd thought that about her heart too.

Branch did the unexpected. He turned her down. His hand was soft on hers as he pressed her gem to her chest. "Poppy, no. This is too important to you. You can't give me your gem."

He wouldn't take it? Her happiness mattered that much to him?

"Yeah Poppy, you shouldn't do that," Smidge said. "Take my gem, Branch."

"No, take mine," Cooper said.

One by one friends offered the little crystallized piece of their spirit to the troll who'd lost his way for so long. Branch was overcome with emotion.

A glow lit from the pot they'd tried to grow a new flower in. Seedling leaves sprouted and strengthened, supporting a brand new blossom. The petals opened around Branch's gem.

Everyone hurried to their places. The whole village was waiting. Poppy centered herself on stage, made opening remarks, and then it was time. "Branch. It is my honor as your queen, and as your friend, to present you with your gem. May it always shine as bright as your joyful spirit."

On evenings like these everyone brought their gems. The trolls raised their voices in song and the land glowed in every hue. The celebration began soon after. Branch probably would've appreciated a smaller gathering, but she knew so many trolls were excited to see him succeed that a big party was necessary to accommodate all the guests. She wanted him to know he was loved.

Trolls swarmed Branch with congratulations. Smidge, Cooper, and Milton stayed close by to make sure he didn't get mobbed too hard. The teal troll they were protecting was all smiles and laughter. Tomorrow he'd be back to dry humor and caution, she knew.

She enjoyed one of the desserts from the party factory and chatted with partygoers while she waited for a break in the commotion surrounding Branch. When he got scooped up and sent body surfing on a sea of fuzzy waves she realized there wasn't going to be a break.

It was well past the last hug time of the evening when she heard his voice over the fray.

"Poppy! Poppy over here!" Branch waved her down from within the crowd. He'd lost his bodyguards to the dance floor.

She moved through the throng of trolls like cold molasses. The ceremonial dress had a wide train easy for others to step on. Every time she felt resistance she had to stop and wait. "'Scuse me, queen coming through. Dream queen passing by. Thanks everyone."

Eventually she made it. Branch was relieved to see her.

"Okay people," she said. "Branch has to head home for tonight—"

The inner circle aww'ed with disappointment.

"—but that doesn't mean the party needs to end!" she winked. The trolls perked up.

Going back out was a bit easier with him on one side to wall off wandering feet. Poppy smirked at how Branch held his long robe up so he wouldn't trip on it, eyes trained on the ground. He was like a fine lady coming down the stairs in a dress, except instead of surveying the crowd the lady was determined to stomp out the fire on each step with her stocky warrior woman legs.

"How do you manage this?" he wondered aloud.

"Hold the skirts up like you're doing. Trust other people not to step on you. Patience. Depends on the situation."

"I'm changing first chance I get."

He wasn't joking. Shortly after they exited the eye of the storm Branch balled himself up and emerged with the gem robe folded over one arm. "Should I wash this?"

"Nah, I'll take it. Timpani handles the washing." Poppy reclaimed the outfit. It was slightly damp.

"Cooper dumped punch all over me. I managed to escape the glitter at least." Branch ran a hand through his hair and sighed with a big grin, his ears drooping sleepily. "I'm beat. I better go home and wash off."

He yawned, unable to cover up the exhaustion. She imagined him grabbing a leaf off the side of the road and napping outside once he was out of eyesight, too tired to go all the way to the bunker but too proud to ask a friend to stay over.

"Are you sure you're okay to walk back by yourself?" she asked. "You could stay at my pod tonight."

Branch bolted upright like she'd dumped ice cubes down his vest. Slowly he relaxed. "What, like a sleepover?"

"Yeah, but with less fun and games. I'm tired too. And I'm not about to invite Smidge over so she can wake me up super early with her morning routine."

"My stuff is back at the bunker," Branch protested halfheartedly.

"I've got extras."

Too drained to argue or overthink it, he yielded. On the way to the troll tree he grabbed the first suitable sleeping leaf he saw.

Branch followed her through the open doorway. He'd been in here a thousand times so there was no need to explain anything. They got ready for bed without saying much.

Apparently Branch hum-sang in the shower, because she could hear him from where she was curled up under the covers. He'd put his sleeping leaf near the unused side of the bed where he wasn't likely to get tripped over. Once upon a time that leaf would've been up against the wall. Now he wanted to be close.

That reality produced a quiet, happy thrill.

When Branch was situated in his leaf she tapped the bedside glowshroom lamp. Except for faint starglow it was dark. It would've been quiet, too, if not for the hushed voices drifting along the tree path across the way.

"Is Poppy having a sleepover without us?"

"She wouldn't do that, Biggie," Smidge said.

"But I saw Branch with a rolled up leaf earlier. Did we miss the invitation?" Biggie asked.

"We can always check."

"Smidge wait! What if they are in there together? What if they're," Biggie's voice became barely audible, "holding hands?"

At this point Branch shifted on the floor. "Guys! We can hear you, y'know," he said loud enough for it to carry. Outside there was a flurry of embarrassed surprise and giggles as the two friends scrambled down the tree path towards Biggie's pod. Branch blew a sort of amused huff through his nose and settled back down.

Poppy had the biggest ear-to-ear grin. She rolled over to the other side of the mattress and peered down. "How 'bout it Branch? Wanna hold hands?" She dangled her arm over the edge.

His response was light and affectionate. "Quit playing around, Poppy." He batted her hand away. "Go to bed."

She laughed and turned away, feeling the impossible twinkle within. It was always there now.

Sleep came easy. She drifted off, nestled in a cozy feeling of safety knowing Branch was nearby. The side of the bed closer to him was definitely better.

x x x

The blanket was fresh and crisp, not the well-worn supple fabric of his sleeping pallet. How desperate was the situation that he didn't have it? His hand hit soft fibers on the ground. Weird. Stranger yet, he had a pillow – a nice one by the feel of it.

His vision opened to a brightly colored world. His still half-asleep mind flickered in panic between this not being his bunker and not any wilderness he recognized. Then the rest of his brain decided to say good morning and he remembered he was at Poppy's. Sleepovers still tended to surprise him like this.

Was she awake yet? He didn't hear her moving around. Even for a Troll Village morning it was quiet.

Branch lay on his side and took the turquoise troll gem from his hair. His troll gem. He'd given up hope of ever having one. Then Poppy changed his heart and he wondered if it might be possible after all.

He touched the jewel to his nose, expecting it to be cool and instead being greeted by warmth. Crystallized joy. Of course. He held proof he was capable of heartfelt happiness, which also meant he could love. Really, truly love. He wondered if Poppy realized this at all.

As much as he wanted to think last night's joke about holding hands was special banter just for him, logic dictated Poppy would have made the same joke with any close friend. If Guy had been in his place it would've been no different. Well, except Guy wouldn't be tempted to take Poppy's hand and pull her onto the floor with him.

Branch put away his gem and pushed himself up, still a bit groggy. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the bed. Poppy was sitting up, lost in thought.

"Poppy, can we t—"

She jumped and slapped her hair over his mouth, cramming a finger to her lips to shush him. She'd noticed the unnatural quiet of the village too. Branch dropped into alert mode. He scanned the room for anything out of place and listened.

Poppy took her hair back and signaled him to relax with her palms open, pushing the air down. Then she held up a finger. She wanted him to wait. She got out of bed and took the calendar off the wall, bringing it over to point out the date. A sticker of a speech bubble with an X through it marked the holiday.

A day with no talking? Was writing allowed? Branch mimed holding a pencil and writing on his open palm. Poppy shook her head no.

Compelled to figure out the rules, he got up and picked a scrapbook from a cubbyhole, opening to a middle page. He pointed at a word. Her response was negative. He pointed at a papercraft troll. This was okay.

So: no words of any kind, but actions, pictures, and drawings were allowed.

What about singing? He strummed an imaginary guitar and Poppy nodded yes, but when he opened his mouth she grabbed his hand and silently shushed him again.

He definitely wanted to see what the village was like today.

Now that she had his hand, Poppy led him into the kitchen and bade him sit at the two-person dining table. The room was small but well organized to fit everything a cook could want.

Branch watched the pink sprite dance her way through pancakes and fresh fruit as if she'd already been awake for hours. Somehow she avoided getting batter on her long sleeved pajama top and bottom, which, he noted, were loose-fitting and lightweight. The comfortable pajamas and slightly mussed hair made her look snuggly.

Though if you wanted to cuddle a pixie you had to catch it first, and this one was impossible to pin down.

Poppy poured batter into a pan and cast a glance over her shoulder to see what he was up to. Since the answer to that was "looking at you," he simply raised his eyebrows. With a smirk she turned back to their breakfast.

Both hug watches chimed. Poppy set a plate of two large pancakes doused in redberry sauce in front of him. A spiral dollop of whipped cream peaked the cakes. Before she retrieved her own plate she gave him a little side hug and pressed her cheek into his hair.

An overwhelming surge of affection tugged his heart. He didn't remember reaching up to hold the hand draped over his shoulder. He let go. Bubbles were rising, rising in his chest, threatening to burst into song.

The pancakes were light and fluffy. Tart crushed redberries tamed with sugar made him crave more. He poured extra sauce from the pitcher plant over his pancakes. She'd made this for him. Only him. Nobody else was here. Without words to describe how much he appreciated a homemade breakfast, he was limited to a nonverbal, "Mmmm."

Poppy laughed, her sparkling eyes saying, "Well I'm glad you like it."

She made him so happy. He couldn't shake the warm feeling swelling inside his heart. He didn't want to.

He chased down remaining sauce with the last bit of pancake. Then he took the dishes to the sink and started cleaning up, wiping a couple of batter spatters off the counter, washing the mixing bowl. Poppy brought her empty plate over and rewarded him with another quick hug before exiting the kitchen.

A life together could be like this.

He flipped through the cabinets to figure out where the mixing bowl went and kept track of where everything was as he did so. He hoped he'd get a chance to use the knowledge in the future.

The felted bathroom door was closed when he finished, so he took the time to put away his makeshift bed and brush out his hair. He stepped outside to feel the sun and see what was happening in the treetop this morning.

This proved to be a mistake.

Biggie and Smidge were playing a game of cards over by the crook in the tree path, waiting to see who came out of Poppy's pod. They were joined by a very bright, very glittery Guy Diamond. Guy jabbed his elbow into Smidge's side. Biggie's cheeks couldn't be any more red.

Frankly Branch was surprised the three of them hadn't barged in earlier. It was rare for his friends, or any troll for that matter, to show that kind of self-restraint. Especially Guy.

Unless…

Did they think he and Poppy were…?

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Branch put his palms up in self-defense and shook his head, wide-eyed. This was not what it looked like.

Guy snatched Smidge's hand, pointed to their clasped fingers, and then at Poppy's pod.

Branch shook his head no.

Guy kissed Smidge on the cheek.

No!

Branch protested vehemently, but there was no stopping Guy. The glitter troll cupped Smidge's surprised face in his hands and turned her to face him, making kissy lips. Smidge burned Guy down with a death glare. Guy then looked at Biggie, who wasn't willing to demonstrate either. Not with his face buried in Mr. Dinkles.

By the time Poppy came outside, Branch was flailing wildly, trying to hammer a nail into the mud that was Guy's mind.

Everybody froze. All eyes turned to the cheery but confused queen.

Mr. Dinkles violated the holiday's one rule.

"Meep."

Branch couldn't understand worm, but he could guess what Mr. Dinkles said based on the unparalleled blush that raged over Poppy's face. Even her ears were red.

Nobody moved.

After an eternity Smidge threw her hands in the air, stomped over, parted her hair down the middle, wrapped one half around Poppy and the other around him. The solid wood under his feet flew away.

The next thing he knew, he was floating in the air on his stomach, arms bound to his sides. A few feet away Poppy was in the same boat. Slow and steady she drifted closer. Specifically her face was getting closer to his.

Branch struggled to free his arms but Smidge was too powerful. Poppy's expression was locked in shock. He looked into her eyes but she wasn't seeing him at all. Wide white circles rimmed with beautiful thick eyelashes.

Their noses were getting dangerously close to touching. Poppy snapped out of her stupor, a rush of unclear emotions flickering over her features. She settled on a weak, apologetic smile.

At the last moment Branch braced his hair against the mint circle holding Poppy and tried to push back. Hair-to-hair he couldn't match Smidge's strength but he had to try. He screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away as best he could. Poppy's nose would press to his skin, and then– and then–

He didn't feel her. Nothing happened.

His feet were on the tree and he could breathe again. Silk strands unwound.

Smidge put Branch and Poppy down with plenty of distance apart. She thrust her open hands at the two of them while staring down Guy and Biggie as if to say, "See? See? Are you happy now?" She folded her arms.

Branch felt irritation kick in. Maybe – and it was a big maybe – teasing would've been tolerable if there really was something going on. He didn't appreciate the reminder Poppy didn't want to kiss him, obviously hadn't even thought about him that way. So yeah, thanks for that guys.

Branch rubbed between his eyes and threw a hand out before storming off.

What a wonderful morning, ruined.

He explored the village for ways to brighten his dour mood. Mushroom square was full of trolls doing usual troll things: playing games, performing music, sharing, dancing, chasing each other with the gross thing of the day pierced on the end of a stick. He squinted. What was that? It was long, floppy, and slimy.

Daily life without words was fascinating.

One troll gave another a picture-only invitation. An invitation may or may not end up in a hug; today it always did. There were lots of little gestures and touches. Every action had to be simple and direct or it could be confused. Good luck if you wanted to communicate any complex thought or feeling.

Branch continued on to the market, curious how trades worked when no one could talk. He didn't quite make it before the sound of four-footed cavorting caught up.

Cooper craned his neck and studied Branch's expression, then offered one of his blue feet. Wary about falling into another trap, Branch ignored it, but Cooper wiggled his toes, insisting.

He sighed and took Cooper's foot. Cooper moved Branch's hand to the soft striped fur. It really was unbelievably fluffy with a soothing, calming effect. The fuzziness made him feel a bit better. He felt the corners of his mouth lift, which seemed to be what Cooper wanted. The leggy troll raced around in circles and pointed to where Harper was painting portraits.

Cooper pushed Branch behind Harper's easel and made a ridiculous face: a wide, toothy grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth, eyes crossed. Cooper snapped back to normal silly and pointed at Branch. He was supposed to make a face too?

He tried a couple of the forced smiles that looked weird, but nothing was goofy enough to satisfy Cooper. Branch wasn't sure what to do. He tipped his head in question.

Cooper pulled a large palm frond from his hat. He fanned Branch with it. Frond, huh? He needed to relax. Chill out. Let go.

He rolled his shoulders and shook to loosen up.

Branch puffed his cheeks and slapped his hands over them, cramming them together until his lips were mushed into a squiggly line. He crossed his eyes, quirked his ears up as high as they could possibly go, and stuck out his tongue.

Harper burst out laughing. Cooper took his place beside Branch.

Harper hurried to capture the fleeting moment. Branch held the pose and hoped his eyes didn't get stuck. They were starting to hurt. Eventually he made out a blur that was Harper's thumbs up. She hung the canvas on the drying wall with the others.

Branch observed the art while Cooper drowned Harper in a fluffy hug. There were a couple of other funny images, but the one of him and Cooper was absolutely outlandish. Harper focused on their faces, filling the whole canvas that way. The top diagonal featured Cooper's buggy-eyes, ooo'ing mouth, and droopy ears; the perfect counterpart to Branch's upturned lobes and mooshed face.

He'd never seen himself like this. He couldn't remember making a funny expression that didn't involve some other troll's hands on his face. A smile broadened over his lips. Nobody looking at the wall would believe that was him, but the colors were unmistakable. Harper nailed them. The scrapbooker in Poppy would be jealous.

Cooper got distracted by a shiny flicker nearby, leaving Branch to have a mini gesture conversation with Harper to make sure their portrait found its way to Cooper's mushroom if the goofball forgot to pick it up later.

Afterwards he was free to browse the market stalls. Nobody put their signs up today. Fabric, tape, and leaves covered up names and words on permanent establishments. Not so much as a single name card for an item was visible, much less a menu. Choosing items involved a lot of pointing. Tug's tourist kiosk was closed. Come to think of it, Branch had seen her earlier at mushroom square sweating bullets over being speechless.

He met up with Milton for lunch. He expected conversation would be minimal, but Milton flicked out a deck of cards and placed four face up. The first was a generic blue troll (Milton pointed at Branch), the second a generic pink troll, the third a party hat, and the fourth a question mark. What happened after the party last night?

Milton pushed the deck across the table.

Branch thumbed through and chose a starry moon card, a sleeping bag leaf, and a ZZZ snooze, then handed the deck back.

Milton wasted no time in swapping the trolls on the table with a picture of two hands clasped next to the question mark. This again? Really? Branch shook his head. Milton laughed and swept up the cards, switching the topic. They had to improvise a few times with doodles but sticking to the premade images made the conversation entertaining and challenging, like a two-person puzzle.

Afterwards Branch headed to the river beach. He'd already slept in his clothes. Treating them as swim material was just another thing on the list before they got washed.

He picked a spot further away from the main group of trolls and let his mind focus on molding rough grains into a row of identical cubes, one after the other. The kids would probably enjoy stamping on them later. Or the adults for that matter. Or, uh, him. Smush. Yep. Satisfying.

Now covered in sand and hot from the sun, Branch slid into the cold water and ducked under, letting it flow through his hair. He resurfaced and moved upstream deeper into the woods, sandy banks turning to pebbles and then earth and grass. The river passed underneath a fallen log and wound its way through the woods. If he swam far enough he'd reach the underground source it sprang from closer to the bunker.

Branch paddled to shore and clambered over the grass lip. He wrung out his hair and listened to the forest. Bright notes of a stringed instrument echoed off the trees. He wandered closer to the village, ear tuned for the sound.

The strings played again, repeating the same line. It was a call and response. Nobody sang the lyrics, but he could still hear them in the tune.

Hey there, hey there
Can you hear me out there?

Branch stopped. This time far off to the left Cooper's harmonica answered with the second line.

Hey there, hey there
I can hear you out there

Yet Cooper wasn't the one the seeker was looking for because there was a pause before the ukulele strummed through the first line again.

Branch sifted through his hair for the instrument instantly recognizable as him: a hand-carved vertical wooden flute. Lightweight. Made good kindling in a pinch.

The flute's low, haunting tone hummed through the trees and the ukulele answered it back. Poppy was looking for him.

It's me, it's me
I've been waiting for you

I'm here, I'm here
I've been waiting for you too

He followed the call back to town, piping on the flute in the musical gaps to show he was on the way. They found each other in the quieter section of the village where the road to the lookoff began.

Poppy looked him over head to toe and raised an eyebrow at his wet hair. She seemed satisfied with the inspection. Was she checking on him after that morning's incident? He wanted to ask if she was okay too, but Poppy was already leading him by the hand to a caravan of heavy duty delivery beetles.

Smidge and the stronger trolls loaded the open bugs with construction materials. Without a doubt the supplies were headed to Bergentown. Branch hurried over to help a troll struggling to lift an unbalanced stack of support beams off a flatbacked transport bug.

He'd missed the Trollberg planning during the days spent coping underground. Branch worried about whether Poppy had thought the move through. Sending this much over a great distance was dangerous. Tools, equipment, and critters filled the caravan. Provisions and entertainment items were distributed across a couple of beetles in case one failed. She'd considered something like that?

He looked at her.

Poppy's hair formed a set of steps trolls used to get in and out of the last beetle. She held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and used the other to thank the catering service, directing them where to set up food for the helpers. Then she held the sandwich in her mouth so she could retrieve a clipboard and pen to make notes.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his across the field. He realized he was staring, standing there with a supply crate suspended in his hair. He finished loading boxes of rainbow building fiber into a nearby beetle.

The delivery train was packed and set to leave in the morning. Everyone gathered around the food while Poppy went to the front of the caravan. Branch broke off from the group to check on her.

She used the little gestures he'd seen all day to communicate. She took his hand and patted the back of it, waved at the scene behind them, and pointed to him. She wanted him to lead the group.

Branch lifted up their joined hands. Together?

Poppy shook her head.

She was sending him away.

Branch stepped back. The journey one way would be three, four days on foot under heavy load. He circled a finger around his hug watch. How long would they be at Bergentown when they got there?

She held up seven fingers. A week. Then she closed her fists and presented the same number.

Branch took another step back. All in all they'd be apart for three weeks if he agreed. Too long. That was loo long. She'd been buttering him up all morning to ask so much.

He couldn't...

Poppy sighed and took him by the shoulders, turning him to face the trolls enjoying refreshments. The group shied away from the edge of the forest, some of them casting wary glances in that direction, wondering what tomorrow would bring. The delivery beetles sensed the unease. The lead bug shuffled its weight from one foot to the other.

Poppy tapped his chest three times. They. Need. You.

He looked at the trolls, then at Poppy, then back at the trolls. He felt his shoulders sag and ears dip as his resolve crumbled. In defeat he slowly nodded.

Poppy's genuine, radiant smile made him regret leaving the village even more.

She slipped gentle hands under his, guiding them up and together. She waited to see if he'd pull back or resist, but he didn't, so she closed her eyes, brought his hands to her lips, and kissed them.

Branch's mind went blank.

Poppy's hands supported his, her lips ever so lightly pressed to his fingers, her nose brushing his skin. She let go but he was still there, still seeing pink-on-teal, still feeling her touch. A vision of a queen bidding her knight farewell.

In a dream Poppy whistled, calling the royal flyer bug down from the sky. She passed the reins to him, along with a rolled up copy of the construction blueprints.

He was doing this, then. He was doing it, and when he got back, he was going to use his words.