The Thirty-Third Day of Dark: 8:00 AM: LOG 00030

How long have you been out here, wading through ice and snow? You're guessing it's only been a few days, but you're certain that it's more like hundreds of years. That's what it feels like. A century of wading around balls-deep (and trolls don't even really have balls to begin with) in a massive moral crisis. And the freezing cold doesn't help, nor does the fact that your current place of residence is an old mausoleum. Sure, you're happy to have something over your head for once, but you do not appreciate having to sleep next to a coffin with some long-dead dude inside. It's not as if he can do anything to you; again, he's dead. But it's bothersome and off-putting. The rat skeletons piled in the northeastern corner don't really help, either.

Waking up to Dave dangling a rat skull above your head also isn't doing wonders for your currently sour disposition.

You swat the skull away with more force than needed, and its brittle structure cracks once it hits the stone wall. To this, Dave responds with a pout. "You probably just fucked up Great Great Great Great Great Grandrat's remains, dude." He tuts. "That's not cool."

"Neither is instigating me before I'm awake," you grumble, rubbing the back of your head as you sit up. If you've learned anything from this experience—which you have—one of the major things you'll know for the rest of your life is that stone floors are the fucking worst to sleep on. For each level of discomfort, the stone floor raises a masochistic bet of freezing cold.

Dave, of course, doesn't have to sleep on the ground. Rather, he tilts his chair back and lounges like a king. Not that you're complaining; the alternative is you getting him onto the ground. Still, it gets your metaphorical hoofed bleatbeast (you believe it's called a "goat" in Human terms). From his current spot, Dave offers a flash of a smile. A sort of there-and-then-it's-not thing. "Rose and Kanaya said that they found some shit about John, though, so it looks like we'll be going back to the Tin Can soon."

"And you find nothing wrong with referring to your own house as a fucking article of commonplace garbage?" you mutter.

After a moment of faux thoughtfulness, Dave shrugs. "Not really." By now, the battery on his chair has long since died, though it seems that he instinctively tries the joystick. Sure, it's solar powered, but that only operates the tilting mechanism. Apparently, moving was low on the developer's list of priorities. "Mind pushing me outside?"

You stretch your leg out as far as it can go and nudge the chair with your toe. It's just enough of a push to get it up to the door.

But, obviously, not enough.

A loud groan escapes you as you stumble to your feet and wheel Dave forwards. Being that you still have to pee, you slam the door of the mausoleum shut behind him.

"That was fucking rude," he says this loud enough for you to hear it inside. His voice is thick with clearly artificial offence.

You, playing along with his odd game, roll your eyes. Deep down, you're amused, but your bladder is too full to truly appreciate that amusement. "Get over it, Strider."

"Theoretically, someone could jump me right here and I'd be defenseless."

Shit. The realization hits you and, after finishing your work, you open the door. "Whatever, jackhole. I'm so done with your bullshit at this point." You gold your arms across your chest and lean your back against the mausoleum's outer wall. "It's been days. I hope Rose and Kanaya have some good shit for us."

The Thirty-Third Day of Dark: 9:30 AM: LOG 0031

"He's at the Southeastern Royal Prison," Rose announces her finding only after downing an entire large cup of coffee. Honestly, you're amazed Humans can tolerate the stuff. It causes digestive problems and headaches in trolls. Besides that, it tastes like you licked the ass of the nearest incontinent senior citizen. Nonetheless, you know that her words are false. At least, according to the last intelligence report from a week ago, its innacurate.

So, in the interest of speeding your return to the so-called Tin Can, you speak up. "I heard he was at the central prison," you suggest. Clearly, you can't just admit to having such inside knowledge without giving yourself away. Rather, you commend yourself for posing it in such an inauspicious way.

"He was," Kanaya interjects. She sounds confident of her statement, which brings up the question of where she got such intel, but that is ultimately beside the point. "He was recently moved to a lesser security prison."

Confirming her girlfriend's declaration, Rose nods. "They're thinking of releasing him soon."

"So we can go back to Dave's place!?" You ask the question on a whim, and you know it's whimsical as fuck. Still, you would happily submit your genetically screwed self to the High Alternian Council in exchange for somewhere to sleep that didn't include ancient Human remains.

"Not yet!" Rose says this cheerfully. And you would expect her to; she and Kanaya have some choice rooms at a local motel. Sure, they might have cockroaches, but they don't have motherfucking dead people next to them at night.

You, meanwhile, react with a loud groan.

In his usual brand of tactlessness, Dave pats you on the back. "There, there. I'm sure this will be done in less than a year."

You can't tell if he's serious. If he is, you just might end up killing the bastard.

Fuck morals. You are a pure and simple troll. All you want is a nice, warm place to lay your head and to not have to shit in the ice.