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UNSPOKEN
A Dreamworks Trolls Fanfic by C. Prince
The Red Hair Chair
Time in Trollberg felt like forever.
Smidge flew home after everything was unpacked. Branch buried himself in construction. He surrendered his services to the project foreman, doing all he could without the use of his hair.
A lot of the work was unfamiliar. The principles were the same, but tricks of the trade for pods and structures dependent on something other than ground support were different. In addition, much of the construction required artisanal skill he simply didn't have. Until recently he'd only cared about functionality. Appeal didn't matter when there was no one to look.
Apart from that, he was proud to find some of his methods were superior to convention. He taught where he could. In return he picked up techniques that would be extremely useful at home.
In the evenings mail bees brought tiny letters and gifts to the builders. Branch was thrilled to get mail from his friends. He wrote back, usually including some unusual local plant or odd scrap from Bergentown. Mail departed from Trollberg in the morning. Even the quickest response wouldn't arrive until the next day.
Milton came up with a mail scavenger hunt game they played back and forth. "Something metal," was the current prompt. Branch stuck a fragment of chipped plate from one of Gristle's broken electronics in an envelope, along with a note. "Something small but complicated."
Even though they were together in Trollberg, Cooper thought it would be funny to send Branch a plain, double-wide piece of blue cardstock. Branch added the paper to his collection.
What he wanted more than anything was a letter from Poppy. She was silent. If it wasn't for the positive notes from his friends he would've been worried something at home was wrong.
Poppy,
Things are going well here. I had some trouble with a predator in the hot sands. Here's a diagram of what it looks like. It's not interested in individual trolls unless provoked, but it will come after larger prey like delivery beetles.
It's not easy being away from home right now. I miss your smile.
Hugs, Branch
His hair regained its colorful spring after a few days and he eased into exercising it. He spent free time out in the woods, collecting seeds and planting them in Trollberg, feeding Lifesaver, taking her for a spin. Often he got caught up in Cooper's shenanigans around town. They explored a lot.
Branch socialized with the crew and learned a few names, sometimes answering questions from curious bergens. Bergen technology was fascinating and he interrogated Gristle whenever the king had time.
But the nights. The nights were by far the worst.
He relived every moment with Poppy.
Memories that were once fun and sweet and hopeful were now agonizing knowing he had to wait to make new ones. He tried to distract himself by thinking of romantic things he could tempt her with, but it always came back to the feel of her kiss on his hands, those cherry soft lips trailing up his arm, along his neck, and finally to his own.
He yearned for that kiss so, so bad it was physically painful. His soul twisted and twisted until all the threads were stripped bare.
Branch clutched at his heart, rolled over, and groaned, lying awake in the secluded nook he'd made for himself at the base of the tree. He dragged his lovesick self out of bed and paced, using the movement to drive away unwelcome fantasies. Then he sat down to sketch building concepts.
He was dozing off with the pencil in his hand when buzzing caught his attention. At this late hour a delivery bee found its way to his camp. The critter clasped an envelope between its feet.
Branch opened it. The contents didn't make sense.
He tipped the envelope over the table and sifted through the cutout letters. MRS EIO. He rearranged them. IM ROSE… IM SORE... IS MORE… I MORSE…
"Well little guy, either your name is Rose or you're sore. Looks like you're staying here tonight."
The nonsensical delivery put him on edge. There was no name on the envelope. What was the code trying to say? Was someone in trouble? He obsessed over it until sleep descended.
The next day's evening mail included clouds. Paper clouds.
"Okay very funny Cloud Guy," he said loud enough to look crazy in front of everyone when no pesky clouds materialized. Cloud Guy was still on his list of suspects, but there was another likely prankster on the loose.
"Cooper, do you recognize these?" He presented the letters and clouds.
"Yeah. That's a cloud. That's an E, and an S, and—"
"No. I meant, didn't you mail me this stuff?"
"I might have," Cooper said, looping his head around his neck in a knot. "But I definitely don't remember doing it."
Somebody was messing with him. He was sure of it.
This time when mail came he was already there. Sure enough, one of the bees brought him an unmarked packet. What was inside made him rush down to his shelter and spread all of the pieces on his workbench, along with the big sheet of blue paper.
Poppy didn't write because she was mailing him a scrapbook page, one piece at a time.
A stupid smile spread over his face.
It was a scrapbook puzzle. He had to put the pieces together. The letters didn't make sense because there would be more. Better not glue anything down until the end.
Every day he got something new: tiny pods, trees, leaves, parts and clothes for his character, a tree path to stand on.
By week two he puzzled the troll tree setting together. Without any instructions it was impossible to figure out how to pose the paper version of himself. He received a mini Poppy to add to the page. How close should they be? Holding hands, hugging? ...Kissing? His imagination was all too eager to supply a fairy tale where their usual banter brought them closer and closer, each quip softer than the last, until it was little more than a breath, until—
Both characters came with closed eye shapes and smiles (or frowns, depending on how he turned it). Their arms were slightly curved. He layered their colors together into an affectionate embrace. It felt like he was reconstructing a shredded invitation, except back then Poppy never made their characters touch.
Once she'd realized how important personal space was to gray Branch, she respected it. Never giving a hug without permission, maintaining a comfortable distance during conversation, standing back to deliver party invitations. His past fear of intimacy wasn't slowing her down now, was it? Because he was ready. He was ready for more, if she'd have him. He'd never seen her kiss anyone else's hands, so...
He was fiddling around with the cutouts when the sound of an argument from the street reached his ears. He peered outside.
In the early evening shadows, two bergens angrily poised outside an entryway shouted at each other in a language he didn't know. Branch's stomach started to turn as the argument intensified, screeching its way past anything he'd seen a troll do. Furious, rigid stances, nasty fast movements of arms, loud yelling.
Branch backed up against the tree trunk and covered his ears, wincing with his eyes closed. This was too much like then, too much like then. He dreaded the shouts, the sirens, the brutally loud bangs and screams.
At some point the fighting stopped. It hadn't happened, then. Not this time anyway.
He sank down to the floor, shaken.
Trollberg's base construction was almost finished. Another crew would continue where they left off, using local materials to put the artsy swagger on the main building and furnish the pods. There was still so much to do, but at least trolls had a place to stay and a frame to build off of.
If they should stay here at all.
He'd been saved from that slug by a bergen. Bridget and Gristle were nice people. There were Chad & Todd, Bernice, Nangus, Groth, but the others… He really hoped Poppy knew what she was doing. He'd talk to her about it, just in case.
But first he had something else he needed to say.
Branch prepared supplies for the trip home. The moving beetles should have extra food and water inside.
The next scrapbook pieces were Poppy's pod, which was big enough to go smack dab in the center of the page. Then he got two letters: PI.
Paper Poppy and Branch held each other close, all smiles, in front of the queen's pod. Around them village homes dotted the background, tucked away in leafy boughs of the troll tree. Cloudy blue skies filtered through the gaps. Beneath the two hugging trolls were the words, "I promise."
He sucked in a breath. He didn't often get nervous, but now was one of those times.
Promise what?
At mail hour he waited a long time up in the tree, long after the last bee flew and all the other trolls left. He waited for another anonymous envelope, but none ever came. All incoming mail dwindled away. It was time to go home.
The instant they entered Troll Village the party began. Family, friends, and children raced to hug those who'd been gone nearly a month.
Branch didn't realize how tense he'd been the whole time until that moment. He felt stiff, like a spring coiled for three weeks. Up on Lifesaver he had a vantage point that made it easier to spot trolls in the sea of color. Relief turned to foreboding.
"Tug, where's Poppy?"
"I'm afraid I am unable to answer that question. I have not seen her."
Smidge would know. He located the pink bow. "Smidge, have you seen Poppy?"
"Well… no." She fidgeted with her hands.
"Where is she?"
"She's not here."
"I can see that. Is she at another party?" He couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. This was THE party right now. Everybody was here at Trollberg homecoming.
"I think you should check her pod."
He felt sick.
With everyone at the celebration, the pods were eerily quiet. The queen's home was spotless inside, everything organized and put away. An unmarked envelope sat on the center table. He dumped it out and looked at the cutout letters. They matched the ones he had. There was his answer.
I'll come home.
I promise I'll come home.
Branch was outside now. Biggie tried to run, but it was no use.
"Branch, funny to see you here," Biggie laughed nervously. "Your hair…"
"Is turning red? Never mind that. Have a seat." Branch created a hair chair. It was red.
"Ooooo, I knew this would happen," Biggie said, slumping into the chair when Branch kicked his heels with it. "She made us promise not to tell you. The whole village. Everyone."
"Where is Poppy right now?"
"I don't know Branch!"
That was fine. He could track her down, same as before. He ticked off his fingers. "When did she leave, and which direction did she go?"
Biggie looked around. "From here, it would've been that way."
North, toward Bird Cliff and Bummer Territory.
Biggie hadn't answered his first question. Branch folded his arms and waited. His friend mumbled something, refusing to make eye contact.
"Try again," Branch said.
"Three weeks ago," came the tiny voice.
All the color drained from Branch's hair until it was stark white.
She could be anywhere by now. Only the most obvious footprints lasted that long; with all the other wildlife it would be near impossible to track her except for big signs like campfires. Worse, Poppy had zero survival skills. She'd lasted less than twenty-four hours on her own. Yes, she could fight, but doing that when injured, sick, or taken by surprise was different.
He remembered cutting her unconscious, burned and bruised body from the spider webs.
Three weeks.
His hands were clenched with fistfuls of ashen hair. Poppy didn't stand a chance, and he had no way to find her.
