[PRP] Phantom Play (Trusci & Masoal) FIN

[saedusk]

 

[saedusk]

Jingle jingle, pause, jingle jingle.

Sharp eyes watched him, alert ears swiveled forward, swaying each time the bell moved from palm to fingertips and back. Masoal was playing a game, a game of no real skill or consequence, but one that amused him nonetheless. Fossamom, on the other hand, only wondered when he'd begun to move so slowly and when she might expect him to pick up the pace again. They should've been to Four Fronds by now, perhaps all the way to the store, maybe even down an aisle, gathering goods. Yet here they were, still within the confines of the trees as her charge rolled that bell between his hands, paying so much attention to the toy that he no longer appeared to even be watching where he was going.

It was tempting to swoop in front of him and trip him up with her tail. That would teach him to pay more attention. The creature grunted in annoyance, but there was moonlight filtering back to them as the trees began to thin. Perhaps the lesson could wait, if only because she felt such relief at finally reaching the edge of the forest. She had certainly been growing impatient.

The tealblood at her front had been in a mood all night. He didn't feel much like training, no, stretching out in the window to watch the wildlife back at the hive sounded more his speed at this point. Lazy, mom would've called it, but even Masoal felt like relaxing sometimes. It was a rare attitude, though, so she had given him a little leeway, just this once, allowing him to skip their nightly training as long as they went into the Fronds for supplies instead.

It was an okay deal, he thought. Jingle jingle. The wild animal felt strangely at peace. Jingle jingle. He tried not to think about how awful it would be to step foot in town, to be forced back on high alert. This was better than clambering from tree to tree, simpler and easier than sparring, but socializing was far from a strong suit. Jingle jingle.

Ah well, for now he'd keep his pace slow. They were barely out of the trees now and he sought to sustain this leisurely amble as long as his lusus would allow.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

She was going into the hornet's nest tonight.

Trusci Modsat was nothing if not daring, and while it was probably not the best trait for a lowblood like her to have, she had still miraculously avoided any serious danger. There had been some close calls, sure, but in the end she always got out of it relatively unscathed. Honestly it was some dumb ******** luck that she managed the way she did, but the yellowblood instead liked to think she was just that good.

The trees were sort of pretty.

Trusci had heard plenty about the Fronds and did well to steer clear of the woods, something dark and paranoid and unusually heavy settling in her throat. She knew about the hunting games here—it was hard not to—and it made her feel sort of sick. Though she was only a child, she still really disliked the fact that the hue of her fluids marked her as a punching bag. Blood had nothing to do with worth, that's how she saw it.

Naievity be praised, while she knew of the horrors of her world she was still young and blessedly innocent. She never witnessed these things, no, only heard. Such was the life of a journalist. She scoured information like a scavenger, took in everything she could hear whenever she could hear it. Unfortunately for her, this night would be a game changer whether she realized it or not.

Oh well.

The evening was young! She had things to do, places to go, trolls to ******** with. The pink leaves called softly to her, though she knew better as she trailed along the outer edge of the woods. If not for her goal, she too would find herself at an unusual peace. The wind was light on her skin, the moons were bright but not blinding. It was quiet.

Jingle jingle.

Peculiar. The girl turned to look over her shoulder, though when she saw nothing was there she began to swivel around with more fervor. Her eyes eventually located the source; out from the trees came a large white lusus, her stride seemingly lazy and languid. A moment passed and she saw the troll accompanying it.

Though he was garbed in mostly black and gray, her eyes didn't miss the teal rope that clung to his waist. Perfect. A devious smile crossed her face as she ducked behind one of the more sparser trees, a pariah to the rest of the woods. Had she been seen? She hoped not. Carefully creeping around, she tried to urge herself a little closer. Hey, journalists had to know how to be sneaky too!

Or at least observant. If anything, Trusci noticed how intent he seemed on the object in his hands—the source of the sound!—and, as her eyes flashed with feeling, she wondered how funny it would be if she just, oh I dunno, sent it flying out of his hands. She used her powers often enough to have a decent grasp on it, but she was still young and they were far from being perfect. Still, she was sure she could manage this, despite the distance.

Her hand bunched into a fist, swallowed by a teal light, before she made a flicking motion with her fingers, hoping her focus on the bell would do the same.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

The sway of those very same pink leaves that a certain yellowblood walked under caught Masoal's otherwise occupied attention as they cast a shadow against the ground along the edge of the trees. One second longer and he would've stopped completely, too captivated by the wholly simple display to continue. What a strange, strange mood, Fossamom thought as she leaned down and butted her forehead against his back to keep him moving. This behavior almost seemed more significant than any of the other times he'd acted this way.

To her credit, the nudge did keep the tealblood going, though not without a hiss of protest. She let that one go, yet another one of those 'just this once' scenarios. If he decided to get uppity with her again, kindness wouldn't be as readily available. Masoal was moving just a bit faster, at least. That was surely a benefit.

The game had stopped when Fossamom had made her displeasure known, but his hands were already in motion to begin anew when the gears of some plot unseen began to turn. Imperfect or not, her powers were enough to lodge the loosely cradled bell away from its owner and into the air. Reaction came with split second speed, another feral hiss ripping from his throat. He hadn't thrown it. Likewise, mom hadn't knocked him again or flicked her tail or anything that might have sent the little sphere flying.

Maw gaped, eyes harsh and wide, Masoal stared, the fine hairs on the back of his neck bristling as he realized it wasn't coming down. What specter had grabbed his toy away from him? What was happening? The forest child was completely unequipped to understand. Panic spread through his veins, paralyzing him in place. Mind suddenly blank, he had no clue what to do. He was afraid.

Behind him, Fossamom looked unamused.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

This was so ******** good.

Trusci had to bite back the laugh. The tealblood looked absolutely beside himself with confusion, his expression not nearly enough to give her a total idea of the panic racing through his head, but she caught the gist of it: he was freaked the hell out. It was so, so good. She couldn't have asked for a better reaction really. This was absolutely priceless.

Good things come to an end eventually, however, and in her fit of amusement her concentration broke. The bell wavered slightly in the air before it fell to the grassy floor, jingle dying quickly as it made contact. Ah well. Trusci had her reaction, and so she let the roar out finally, laughter howling into the night. She supposed she owed the kid a face to the incident, at least. Yeah, it was me the whole time sort of deal. Powers weren't an uncommon thing, anyway. If she was lucky the kid would still be riled, or perhaps more ruffled at the thought he'd been caught off guard by a lowblood. Hilarious.

"Man oh man, the look on your face..." she finally stepped out from behind the trunk, snickers urging their way out of her lips. "You look like you saw a ghost or something!"

With her big reveal out of the bag, she walked forward, albeit a little cautiously if only because of the hard glare from that Lusus, though she seemed to be directing most of her displeasure at her charge. Trusci, now closer, was able to lift the bell off of the floor with much more ease than before, levitating the object over to her.

"Surprise! Got'cha good, huh?"

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

There was no way she could know him, that much was true, no way she could understand just what she had done. No grand spectacle would come of their blood differences, Masoal could give two shits about the hemospectrum on any given night. Proof of skill was all he demanded, but as he stood there temporarily rooted in place, he was the one who looked more the untrained fool than she.

The bell had fallen, Masoal's eyes had gone with it, but as soon as the unknown yellowblood revealed her position, his gaze steeled and snapped to her. The magic was gone, the hex, whatever it was. While he still felt a tingle down his spine, an uncontrollable worry, a feeling that he so hated but couldn't quell, he came out of it for a moment. It was ridiculous, so much of it was, but it didn't feel that way to him. No, everything was serious. Seriously, frighteningly stirring.

A growl rumbled in his throat at her joke, she was mocking him and he hated that. A ghost, quite honestly, would have been one of Masoal's guesses as to what had gone down with the bell. What else could simply snatch something right out of your hands like that without being seen?

Well, her apparently.

He would find that out shortly, as the bell wobbled up and took off again, straight past him and over to his new company. Body tensing, he fell into a ready stance, preparing for a fight. It was hard to ignore the way his bloodpusher pounded, though, the way it rattled in his ears. The superstitious paranoia was fighting him again. How did she do that? What the hell was she??

"No!" he spat defensively. It had been a while since last he'd spoken, his voice was a little hoarse.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

No!

Trusci blinked, though her show of exuberance and haughty joy never faltered. Unlike the tealblood, Trusci hadn't been raised like a feral beast. She was good at reading posture and detecting body language—and the small boy seemed tense and angry, yes—but poised to attack was not at the top of her assumptions for possible outcomes. This was merely a game to the yellowblood; totally harmless. No one was getting hurt, huh? What did it matter if she played some silly joke on some stupid highblooded troll. It didn't, not to her.

Of course, she would never know how much her silly jest was actually affecting the other troll, her knowledge of weird-a** superstitions basically nonexistent. It would have seemed silly and relative to her. Trolls with powers weren't common, but they weren't a novelty either. There were plenty of lowblood psychics like herself—their powers just manifested differently from time to time. Man, sometimes she wished she could have been one of the cool kids with the power to shoot fire from her hands. Lifting things with her mind was cool too, but it also condemned her to a fate she struggled with accepting. Besides, fire was just really really radical okay? She'd be hot. Ahahaha get it?!

It was probably a very good thing for Alternian society that Trusci Modsat was not endowed with pyrokenesis.

Not that it really would have mattered. Her power was fairly harmless in its present stage, but any ability to spark out flames—when used for the chaotic things she probably would use it for—would probably end in culling. Her death would just be another lost to the realm of wartorn Alternia. Unbeknownst to her, of course, because Trusci honestly believed could weasel her way out of anything.

The bell dropped into her open hand with a decisive, cut off jingle. She'd taken a while to answer, whoops. "No? No what?" she laughed, lighthearted and humorous.

"Whaaaaat? Can't admit that I totally got you? Because I totally did." Trusci smiled, maneuvering the ball in her hand much in the same way the tealblood had been not so long ago, jingle jingle. "You want it back? I can hand it over if you ask. C'mon, I'm not usually this nice."

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

Dwelling on the past was hardly something Masoal dabbled in. Truth be told, he lived quite wholly in the present most of the time, because worrying too much about what had already occurred or what could tomorrow was too much of a distraction. Training required a pinpoint concentration, there simply wasn't room in his think pan for unnecessary things.

Except on nights like this, nights when he was feeling a bit out of sorts, good or bad or indifferently so. This would have been one of those good evenings had the trip to Four Fonds gone uninterrupted. They could've gotten a few supplies, headed back to the treehive, and he would've gladly spent the remainder of his time lazying around. Hell, he might've even gone as far as napping, and Masoal never slept more than his body required, he was always, always on alert. All those ideas, how quickly they'd fallen to the wayside. How quickly he found himself recalling a night some time ago when something strangely similar to this had ended his good mood with serious swiftness.

Chigur. That ******** a**, had made him say please as if he hadn't any right to the bell he wanted to desperately to purchase. Now, here this yellowblood was, she'd stolen his bell, his bell, and she expected him to ask for it back. Thoughts of ghosts and goblins be damned. He completely forgot in that instant that she'd levitated the toy away from him, not simply stolen it, and feeling returned to his numb, tingly limbs. Fingers clenched into fists, back out, back in.

He had no answer for her. Yeah, she had, she'd gotten him pretty good. So good that Masoal could feel Fossamom's bored disapproval burning into the back of his skull. s**t, he was pissed, he was seeing stars. A hiss slid from between his clenched teeth.

In an instant he was running, charging at his goal, he would take back his bell. Take it back and knock her down a few pegs in the meantime. That was the plan and what could she do? She looked awfully scrawny.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Trusci was too busy riding cloud nine to notice the tealblood's change in demeanor. She shook her fist, eyes focused on it, listening to the quiet jingling that came out muffled from her palm. It was a cute little trinket, but she wasn't so much of an a** that she'd keep it. In fact, the tealblood didn't really have to ask for it back; if he looked disgruntled enough, which she was sure he was just about there, she'd probably relent. This was nothing more than silly teasing and petty play, after all.

By the time she went to gauge Masoal's reaction, it was too late. The anger is vehement and he's positively boiling and her smile, while it doesn't die completely, does falter for a brief second. A tiny twitch.

Suddenly he's charging forward.

And he's fast, really <******** fast. True, trolls were built to be little fighting war machines for the most part, and with the proper training Trusci would probably be no exception, but unlike Masoal she hadn't been raised from birth with that independent intention. She was awfully scrawny compared to the tiny bundle of muscle and rage, and her attempt to dodge out of the way was fruitless in the end as the tealblood slammed into her.

There's a sharp burning sensation on her arm, and in the throes of it all Trusci doesn't even recognize the kid is scratching and screeching and hissing. Everything is blank for a moment—she doesn't check out, but her adrenaline makes me freeze rather than react. It's like watching a movie almost, if movies were a split second long and the only sound you could hear from the television were the rivers and torrents of blood pounding in your ears. A loud cry threatened to bubble out of her throat, but instead it hitched, lodged, locked.

"G-Get off!" her voice is hoarse and nothing like it usually is as it tears from her mouth. There's nothing jovial in it, nothing haughty. It sounds afraid, but also angry, as if she was sponging up some of the indignant waves that were radiating off of the small feral child on top of her.

In an instant, instinct had taken over. She always tested and pushed her telekinesis, but she was still young. Her powers weren't fully developed, they weren't there yet.

They were getting pretty damn close.

It was like a gunshot going off in her mind. All of her powers focused forward into a wall—push—shove as she willed the tealblood off of her.

The bell lay forgotten a few yards away, nestled in the grass.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

Victory was but a breath away, he could feel her skin tearing under his claws, hear her voice waver with emotion the same way his prey might warble its last before fading. Masoal was an animal, a hunter, though small and young, he reveled in the adrenaline that came with the attack. All previous notions of rest and relaxation slipped out through his fingertips and toes as a heat burned from deep in his chest to take its place. He felt so real and alive. He hissed, eyes wide, maw gaped, fangs bared.

Despite his euphoria, it was only a spat, a disagreement between children, one Fossamom saw from the outside for what it was. Though the kids might have been caught in the moment, she chose not to intervene. It wouldn't last long, the lusus was certain of that, and while play might not have been the most accurate description, it was close enough that she was far from concerned for either party's wellbeing. She yawned, but her eyes never left the spectacle.

Only a moment later, they widened.

Masoal never saw it coming, couldn't have seen. There was a fearsome vibration of energy that chattered his teeth and made his eyes lose focus. Even with his sharp reaction, the energy struck before he could so much as inhale another chilly gasp of air. The mental shove sent him back, tipping him onto his heels and further when his balance failed him. It was like trying to swim upside down, arms flailing, feet fighting for purchase against slippery grass.

The assailant had been no one, the girl had never moved. Her yellow blood held fast under his fingernails as a testament to his previous upper hand as he went down by sheer force of nothing at all, or rather, whatever had taken his bell from him to begin with, the thing he couldn't see. The tealblood's chest heaved with renewed, vigorous fear. Writhing on the ground felt like a task that took ages before he was finally able to right himself. Limbs shook as he willed up the power to scoot himself away from her on all fours, spitting his wounded pride at her, feral and low.

Eyes darted around the scene. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out for what felt like the longest time, until- "What are you?!"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Coming from the city where personalities were widely differing and plentiful, Trusci hadn't thought it so unusual that she had powers. She knew that within the status quo there weren't tons, but there were enough that most trolls knew it was a thing and—and was it really so strange? Trusci gave the tealblood a dubious look as she quickly sat up, propped on her hands, breathing coming out still in short, startled gasps. The wounds on her arm were far from deep, but yellow still dotted the flesh in tiny crescents where claws had dug in.

When the tealblood had barked at her—What are you?!—she found it hard to answer, because she was a troll like he was, wasn't she? Another part of her swirled with doubt and disbelief. Why was she thinking so hard about this, anyway? He was just a stupid, stinking highblood. And look: he was back to being a startled, pathetic kid!

Well, Trusci was sure she probably sort of looked that way too. Maybe a little less terrified now, though.

The back of her mind hummed with something close to pain but not quiet. It was an uncomfortable pressure, one that threatened to seep into a headache, but instead lingered on that edge. The feeling wasn't totally new. Sometimes when she used her powers a little too much the same thing would happen—like a muscle being strained, except maybe mental? It was difficult for the girl to find words to explain it. Bringing a hand up, she cradled her temple wearily, eyes glaring in an equally suspicious way.

But in the same breath, she had just tipped that guy almost all the way over, and that was pretty ******** cool.

She wasn't dumb. She knew these powers, under the right conditions, could be amplified to some terrifying extremes. She shuddered at the idea of the helmsmen, but at the same time, to be able to propel an enormous ship like that through the depths of space... it must take some incredible ability. She couldn't even fathom, especially where she was right now, cheering about knocking small children over.

"What are you?" was the sneer that came out in place of her thoughts, "You just— you just attacked me! What else was I supposed to do?!" Trusci's arm stung like some silent affirmation. If she hadn't done that, then who knows, she probably would have been torn to shreds and how was she was supposed to explain that to Duckmom?

How was she supposed to explain this to Duckmom?! Glancing down at the tiny knicks made her feel uneasy and angry and upset. In a tiny fit of childish rage, Trusci glanced around—found, grabbed—and chucked the tiny bell back at the tealblood as hard as she could.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

Tense, alert, Masoal was on his feet again, but only slowly rising to full height. Whatever mysterious force had knocked him back was gone, or hadn't decided to show itself once more, and though he remained wary, the jolt of superstitious worry began to ebb away. It always did, leaving a cold sensation in its wake, beads of sweat at the back of his neck. The feeling of helplessness that came with these bouts of panic were crippling to his pride. Someday, maybe, he'd learn to control it a little more, but as it was he was simply a child. He was helpless to his own outrageous shortcomings.

Fossamom had never seen fit to teach him about powers, at least not that he could outright remember, it was just one of those things she expected him to experience and learn on his own. It shouldn't have been any great advantage over him, not if he'd trained properly. Ah well, he was young and scrappy and still had a lot to gain from a few more sweeps of guidance.

An uncomfortable growl rumbled in his throat as he had his own question thrown back at him. What was he? Masoal was never one for soul searching or existentialism, he was far too simple for that. He was a troll, just as she was, but he had no specter to protect him from harm. What skill he had was his own, drilled into him night after night. He had fought his way here with blood, sweat, and tears and to be repelled by nothing physical to speak of felt like a figurative slap in the face.

What was he, he was a fighter. If nothing else, he'd never back down.

"I'm strong," he hissed. "You started it." Yes, he surely was still a child, after all, even if he was strong. She'd taken his bell, his prized little toy, and that simply couldn't be stood for. In fact, he turned his back on her now, plodding with heavy steps back to Fossamom's side. There was nothing else he needed to prove to her, he wanted to go home, a spark of ego wouldn't let him go looking for that bell he'd wanted so badly.

That was when she found it, but rather than keep it for herself as he would've done in her place, she threw it. The shot was surprisingly hard, Masoal's only saving grace was his thick mane of hair. It absorbed some of the shock as the bell JINGLED against the back of his head. Sputtering, he turned on his heel, all thoughts of being bigger and leaving tossed away like the carcass of freshly cleaned prey.

Scooping up the toy, the very prize he'd sought, he threw it right back.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"I did not! All I did was take your stupid b—!" Trusci's voice was caught off as the same object she lobbed at the troll was lobbed right back, catching it with her telekinesis only by reflex rather than anything else. Something in her head throbbed, and the object landed on the ground with a disheartening sound. She grit her teeth through the ache.

"And what does being strong have to do with it, anyway?" she bit back. Obviously, she knew she was better—naturally gifted and all—but what did strength have to do with this stupid scuffle? She fought the urge to spit in the grass, instead stooping down to scoop up the stupid bell that started this debacle in the first place.

"Well fine! Whatever. This is mine now, see?!" she jingled the bell for emphasis, "Mine. I was gonna' give it back, but now I'm not!" for emphasis, Trusci stuck her tongue out at the tealblood, and now she did spit in his direction shortly thereafter. She didn't even want the stupid thing, not anymore (not that she ever really did), but spite kept her tiny fingers clutched around the object possessively. He threw it back, it was as good as gone. Trusci Modsat had laid claim to this bell now, no take backsies!

Nope, now she was going to be the bigger troll! Or maybe her arm kind of stung and she really wanted to go home to put some band-aids on it. Either way she turned around with a huff, deliberately starting to stalk away. Good riddance.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

A jolt, as soon as the bell stopped in midair, Masoal jumped in his skin. No matter how many times she did it—she, or whatever spirit was aiding her—it still caught him off guard, still made his stomach do a little flip. This was getting old, but he couldn't stop himself from experiencing the unwanted reactions. It was such a dangerous flaw. Sometimes Fossamom legitimately wondered if it would get him killed somenight.

The bell dropped, the tealblood stooped, it looked like he was preparing for another assault. Would she stoop down to pick it back up, throw it at him again? He was ready and willing to play the rough game as long as she liked, because he hated to lose. Masoal would come out on top always, it had to be his way. Their confrontation would end when he decided it would. The yellowblood didn't seem to understand the value of being strong. How misguided, but he supposed not everyone could be strong like him. If she was looking for an argument on the matter, a response, she wouldn't get one. Masoal thought himself above answering such a pointless question, all he wanted was for her to wage her counterattack so he could properly plan his next move.

An assault never came, though. In fact, her words cut through his mental image of their encounter like a knife. Hers? Hers? No! No, it wasn't hers, it was his! That bell belonged to him, no matter what his ego had said before. Leave it, you have plenty, just go home it had said. But no, plenty simply wasn't enough.

A hiss and he was running again, at her back, aiming to knock her over and claw his prize away if that's what it took. Unfortunately for him, Fossamom was done playing host to this rugrat wrestle session. She was there in a flash, she was always so quick, and Masoal slammed right into her. This confrontation was over, she was growling at him, low and firm. There was nothing he could do but listen.

Masoal ended his previously good night with one less bell and one very wounded pride.

Melancholies