[PRP] In Bloom (Aandes)

[Sypon]

Four Fronds - a series of vignettes taking place in the months following the Chittentown Drought.
disclaimer: implied drug use
solo for growth via the sandglobe

 

[Sypon]

Water was never in short supply in Four Fronds. It flowed through clean, drone-run pipes through the fertile lake soil, below and above the unmarked graves of hundreds of thousands of the dead. Footfalls through the wet murk sounded with tinny echoes. The taste of metal and the smell of organic refuse made each contact with the walls and floors a sloshing explosion of fragrant rot. Aandes’ shoes were soaked through. He could feel the sticking suction of his socks as he ran through the potent waters, breath catching at the back of his throat with the sickness threatening to work its way up. The pipes were unending.

Aandes gasped for breath and only received hot, choking air. The walls were closing in. He slid to a stop at a crook in one of the pipes and turned around the corner to find the water level rising with the minute. No escape. Slimy algae slowed his progress further, threatening to consume his shoes. He was unable to move. The shoes were gone. The space in the tunnel shrunk, water flowed up to his hips and Aandes was crouching through the narrow space. Crawling over disintegrating bodies of trolls and the shapeless white forms of lusii. Surrounded by the stifling smell of burning flesh and oil as he slogged through the mush. There were fingertips around his bare ankles.

He looked down, his vision following behind his movement in a blurry smear. One face, pale as ash, looked back up at him with nothing but empty space in his eyesockets. Aandes was bleeding. Sharp nails dug into him now. More trolls formed from the plantlife and ripped through the metallic confines of his prison. The plants were alive again. He gushed water from his wounds, screaming and screaming until a vine wound its way around his neck and slithered down his throat. Hot tears turned into rivulets as the pipe steamed and filled with water. Aandes couldn’t breathe.  

[Sypon]

With a gasp, Aandes jerked himself awake. He wiped cold beads of sweat off of his forehead and neck, and then the drool from his mouth. The fluorescent lights of his hive made him squint with pain. He pressed his palms into his eyes, blood pusher forcing its way out of his chest. Collect yourself. Maintain your breathing. You’re home. It had been weeks since he had returned to Four Fronds. Eostre had cared for him to the extent that she could – her tough attitude and confident resilience was suited for a troll of her caste. She had successfully navigated a dangerous situation, and pulled through with a glorious victory. She shared enough with Aandes for him to feel a part of it. But even so, he felt alone. Aandes was not a fighter, nor was he accustomed to the brutalities of troll culture. He had deceived himself thinking that he was above it. He was weak. His connections were one time, and flimsy. He was nothing. At the parade he’d told himself to get out and network, to grow and recover… But the memories didn’t cease to disgust him. Everything on Alternia played out predictably enough. The cleverest and most cutthroat could thrive. But even so, a false move meant death. Aandes made one misstep and paid for it . He removed a shaky hand from his face and supported his temple as he looked around the room, weak and weary.

The sitting room was balmy, and the windows were firmly shut. Aandes’ sitting room was small and quaint like the rest of his hive; a tiny nook in his home where he would spend time thinking or gazing out the window on a lazy day. He had too much energy to care much for the space as a child, but now he found himself staying up early and spending most of his time in the room. Even his respiteblock, long since refurnished from his childhood, was too familiar. Aandes filled his days with syrupy thoughts and bitter dreams. He’d lazed through the day and had fallen asleep at the coffee table. That would explain the nightmares. The sound of a door drifting shut caught Aandes’ attention. The nutrition block.

“Pops?”

Aandes called, getting up from his place on the floor. He ran a hand through his hair and realized he hadn’t bothered to style it. He hadn’t been out of the hive in days. Aandes tugged on the front of his shirt defensively and wandered into the nutrition block.

Just in time to see Koalapops lumber out of his little cranny and fall asleep next to the kitchen table. “What are you up to at this time of day?” Aandes asked. He traced the messy tabletop with his hand and organized his mail that had been piling up. The greenblood pulled out a chair and sighed as he sat heavily.

Ads. Magazines. Pamphlets. An earlier Aandes would have pored over the glossy print and bold letters, proclaiming which film celebrities had starred in the most recent box office flick. He slid his forearm across the table and dumped them all into the trash bin. Nothing was exciting any more. Nothing had taste. Aandes laced his fingers together and began to converse with his lusus, hiding his face in his hands once more.

“I dunno what to do, Pops.”

Rasali, his new kismesis, was an option. Aandes was far too embarrassed to contact her; far too afraid he’d lose her so soon for something as petty as him destroying himself. Perhaps she’d like that. Aandes was swimming in doubt. He hadn’t contacted Sascha either since after the drought. He would have been exciting, but Aandes would have just embarrassed himself in any sort of physical activity. He was out of shape.

“What do you think?”

He’d long given up his ice cream route. His bike had fallen into disrepair, and it was too much effort to fix it for not enough profit. His water scheme at Chittentown raised him a fair chunk of beetles, but being the frontman was exhausting. He pawed at a loose beetle on the table. Eostre couldn’t see him like this. She was too influential for him to miss any opportunity to impress around her.

“Doing what I do… It’s like a con. I could do it real well, Pops. I’m good at it.” His brow furrowed. He tracked the beetle with a finger, now hyper focused on its iridescent patterns. “Everything’s ******** up. What’s the matter with me?”

He’d never had a problem looting, stealing, lying or conning. Morality was never an issue. “Did you raise me like this, Pops? Do I ******** people over? I’m a damn piece of s**t.” Aandes snatched the beetle in two fingers and held it up to his eyeline. His vocal cords became taut, his tone tense and thin. “What? Do I care about anyone, and do they give a s**t about me? What do I do for people? Who … cares?”

The battle for Old Hemisect was not without heroes and criminals. The media was on the story and covering its tracks as it pumped out lies. The populace would never know, and they would never care. Civisect covered Old Hemisect like a glossy, technological tomb and took the secrets and meaning of the city with it. Just like how the protests in Chittentown would blow away with the next sandstorm. Flashes in the pan were all that existed on Alternia – ancestors and legendary heroes were wriggler’s fairy tales. No one could escape the next Empress. No one could break the cycle. It was a fool’s errand to try.

“Is it always going to be this way?” Aandes was seething. He grit his teeth, pain still present from his waking nightmare. No matter how much Aandes had, he would always want more. Lowbloods and midbloods could rise through the ranks. They could live comfortably, perhaps. But the queen would always end, and at any moment you might be snuffed out. Gone. He crushed the beetle between his fingers. “Nothing ******** matters, so why do anything? Right?”

Aandes’ eyes brimmed with tears. He looked for comfort with Koalapops. He was sound asleep. Aandes got up, quiet and careful. He took a last look around before clicking the lights off in the kitchen and walking with a slow and measured pace back up the stairs to his respiteblock. He just had to make it to his recuperacoon, and everything would be better until he woke up again. Aandes just wanted to sleep forever.  

[Sypon]

Nights passed by. It was on a particularly misty morning that Aandes finally took a walk outside. There was no thought towards it. He’d been trying to urge himself to get out of the hive for weeks, and finally he’d caved without ceremony. There was nothing to risk, but any task seemed monumental. But today, he was lost in sentimentality. It had been sweeps since he’d frequented the wishing well, his old break spot. He had no bike to ride now, nor did he bring any beetles to toss in. He pulled on his hoodie, brushed his unstyled mohawk to the side, and walked out the door.

The night had begun to pick up a good early mist. Everything was cool and damp. Dew on the grass and underbrush tagged a ride on Aandes’ sneakers as he padded near the lake, surveying the surroundings with a glazed expression. His route didn’t mean much to him anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he could remember if he pedaled clockwise or counter clockwise.

Trolls made their ways home along the path. Highbloods didn’t give him the dim of dark unless he’d known them, and those he’d interacted with were merely clients. No one offered a smile or a wave, and even so Aandes was struggling to find his own joy to meet them with. It seemed to be for the best. There was nothing wrong with Aandes. He was no lowblood, suffering on the streets. He was no rebel losing his life for an impossible cause. By all accounts, life should have returned to normal, but everything turned to sawdust on his tongue. He couldn’t help himself. Something in his thinkpan had just shut off.

Aandes found the path to the well and stood before it with a bitter frown on his face. Was this supposed to make him happy? What was this bullshit? He put his hands together inside of his sleeves and clawed at his skin. Seeing the wishing well wouldn’t fix anything. Aandes clenched his teeth, feeling his snaggletooth press into his lower lip with spiteful solemnity. This wouldn’t fix him.

Time slowed as Aandes stood in front of the narrow path. He wouldn’t have time to make it home before the sun rose if he waited much longer to make a decision. He raked his forearms and finally turned away from the path. He couldn’t do it. Going down the path would erase all remaining magic that the well possessed. He walked back along the road, and straight to his hive, never looking back.  

[Sypon]

The endeavor was exhausting. He stripped off his hoodie when he entered his hive and threw it over the back of a chair. “I’m home,” he announced. Aandes wiped his hand down his face and entered the nutritionblock. On the table laid a green spread, and Aandes’ bile sack dropped. “What’s this…?” Aandes whispered. He could see his lusus basking in his cranny, his tail curling in his stupor. Everything smelled like Pops in the room. Aandes leaned in and took a whiff, feeling the pungent stench reach his nostrils. He recoiled. Oh.

Koalapops had always been greedy. Aandes wondered now what had made him so careless. Perhaps he’d just had too much before dropping off in the hive. Maybe he just forgot. With a pang of jealousy, Aandes realized the care with which his lusus treated his habit. And how little any of that translated to caring of a young troll. The greenblood couldn’t muster enough emotion to light a fire in himself. He couldn’t be angry. He couldn’t look down on his parent: he’d brought him this far, anyway. Being a second priority was something he’d been taught from a young age. The self was always first. He was a good boy in that regard. He never cared much for others – at least, not enough to risk bringing trouble about without jettisoning out of reach at the first sign of danger. His goods, his money, his property, his life. It was all his, and no one could have it. Imparting that was Koalapops’ greatest success. Everyone was a liability.

It became apparent that Aandes’ lusus no longer cared if his charge got into his stash. As he was no longer a liability, they were no longer close. Aandes ran his hand over the tabletop. It occurred to him that he was barely close with himself at this point. Aandes’ mouth turned into a half-smile. His snaggletooth bit into his lower lip and he raised a hand to his eyes. Anonymity was something that Aandes had slipped into without realizing it. He couldn’t imagine a more hopeless place, and at the moment he was entrenched in the feeling. He sank down at the table. Limp, lost. Dull eyes stared straight ahead, lost in the foliage, knowing full well that they were toxic but unable to conjure a reason not to consume. His fingers rapped upon the table as he stopped himself from reaching forward.

Lucidity was the only way to be engaged with every angle of any given situation, and the only way to stay on top. Being out of his own control was unthinkable. He wouldn’t be himself… Whoever he was.

That was fine.

Aandes slipped away.  

[Sypon]

Days and nights blurred – a dangerous thing for a troll. Aandes’ automated hive blinds were the only thing keeping him safe and aware of the sunlight, and at some points he nearly wandered outdoors during daytime hours. Early on, there would be no danger of leaving. Now, he was restless. There was never any food in the hive– and switching between having no appetite and cravings for garbage made fetching food a pathetic affair. It wasn’t so much a problem, any more. Dark shades and a hoodie would do for his pride, and then back to the hive shortly after.

He’d blown through his beetle reward and the beetles he’d made from his business during the drought. If there was something that lit a fire under Aandes, it was the pursuit of maintaining of his way of life. Now it was easy. Minimal effort. He had no intentions of social climbing – just surviving. No vicious tendencies to violence and sitting on inadequacy and invisibility. A terrible troll in every regard, but the new standard of living was all that could be mustered.

Aandes would meet the demand for a service that he could provide. A sucker was hatched every minute after all. So long as he could skate by with desperate trolls, trolls with beetles, back-alley trolls, and any other sort of faceless customer of Four Fronds, he would survive.  

[Sypon]

Weeks later, Aandes crawled out of his recuperacoon fully clothed and into his ablution sprayer. With a slimy hand, he cranked the hot water and stumbled backwards, sliding down the wall to rest on the wet tile. Nearly scalding water drenched him, and he rubbed at his face with evening sleep. His face was an abject mask of horror from how much his make-up had run. Dark blotches of mascara melted down his cheeks, and with a moan he pulled up his shirt to remove the ghastly make-up all at once.

“Hhhaahhhhh…” Aandes knocked his head against the glass and closed his eyes.

Only when the temperature changed from nearly scalding to blast of icicles did Aandes move from his spot on the sprayer floor. He wrapped himself in a towel and wiped the fog from his mirror before observing himself. A finger held up his top lip, then lowered his bottom before he smacked them lazily together. Aandes checked to see if the bags under his eyes were residual make-up smears or dark shadows. The result was the need to primp.

Alternian grey make-up was the spot. He slathered on thick swaths of it and blended with ferocity. Good enough. He pinned his hair and loped out the door and down the steps to the nutrition block. Packages were lined up neatly on the table top. With uncaring observance, Aandes paused to inspect them. It was an idiotic move to leave the packages on the table where Pops could get them, but fortunately the lusus was as incompetent as ever. Aandes’ station hadn’t improved significantly in the past few weeks, but at least something in his life was organized. He pulled up his hood, filled his bag, and slipped out the door without a sound.

Aandes was a salesman, after all. After becoming listless from inactivity, it was only natural for him to return to what he was best at – even if the routine had lost its meaning, some might say it “kept the mind busy”. Whatever it was, it was making Aandes fistfuls of beetles. It was stuff. It was filling, not enriching, not tasteful. Alas, Aandes had lost his taste.  

[Sypon]

Time trickled slowly on. Aandes had settled. Nothing was of particular importance, and as time and consumption wore away at his trauma he slipped into apathy – as though the drought had never happened. He was out and about more often, collecting information, dealing, schmoozing. Tonight was particularly unique. A vague strain of irritation was flowing through the greenblood.

He was sifting through papers at the nutrition block table. Dates, names, numbers, details. The mail he continued to neglect. And product, left over and in need of distribution. Paperwork was piling up, and Aandes had finally worked up the ability to look through them. Financial documents. Napkin notes on potential clients, receipts and documentation proving or disproving his location. Covering his tracks. And, in some cases, digging up dirt on others. In his younger days, Aandes didn’t realize how big an impact blackmail could make. There could easily have been more. Now, every choice he made might label him as some kind of low-brow peddler, a simple crook. What did Rasali call him? A “small-time sleaze?” Not that he wasn’t at the moment, but it was a distinction that could haunt him forever.

Days ago, perhaps, the very thought of this would have passed right through Aandes’ thinkpan. Tonight there was something itching at him about it. Something he couldn’t put a frond on for the life of him. He just knew he hated the idea – and there wasn’t much he could do about it. He tried to find answers in the papers.

He flicked back and forth between documents, and soon found an odd, folded stash of financial forms he hadn’t seen in … Well, since the drought. Forms from the Fluid Redistribution Center, crumpled slightly and stowed away. Aandes put a hand to his mouth and kneaded his chin. A ghost from a past life. He carefully unfolded it, poring over it. He had no idea what he was looking at the first time he saw it, and grabbed it by chance. It wasn’t a calculated move; rather, he was throwing out a line to see what would stick. Plans were important, but boldness was the selling point. He hadn’t taken a chance like that since then.

Night after night was the same; no new ventures, no attempt at greatness, and no one to share it with. Shady dealings with the rabble of Four Fronds were sustaining him; phantoms who he had at the tips of his fingers. Against highbloods, extra leverage was needed for protection. He simply needed to flip the switch to get rid of a lowblood loose end. They were not connections Aandes cared for, and he could disappear immediately if he needed to. It would be as though he was never there. He could disappear immediately. Disappear. Aandes tapped his fingers on the table with growing ferocity as he repeated the sentiment in his mind. His hand moved up to his forehead and he looked through the words of the paper as though seeing right through them.

At the Parade he’d had conviction. There was a chance he was someone – if he would just make a difference in someone else’s life perhaps his disappearance would mean something. It was what he and Rasali had vowed to each other, wasn’t it? A meaningful relationship. Trust, hate so deep that neither would let this happen to the other. He had failed again. He scraped the surface of his insecurity and relapsed, and finally Aandes was having a reaction. The greenblood pinched the piece of paper in its center, crumpling it in his hand. He felt the edges against his skin and pressed it into a tight ball. Aandes gritted his teeth and released a small hissing cry. Mint tears grew heavy and rolled down Aandes’ cheeks onto the table.

His shoulders shook. Aandes curled up a fist and put both hands together, pushing into his forehead as he leaned over the table. A sharp wail now. Aandes dropped the paper on the table with a light clatter and pulled his hands apart into fists. He slammed them into the table, feeling a sharp sting and the sensation of his nails slicing into his palms. Aandes screamed.

The room turned into a whirlwind as soon as Aandes released an incensed cry, sobbing as he backed out of his chair so fast that it toppled to the floor. His fingers spread to grip the table and with a jerky movement it was cleared of clutter. A stray glass found its way into his hand, and was shattered against the wall. Aandes heaved. His thin chest rose and fell, eyes ablaze. Aandes clutched himself around the chest, as though trying to pull something out. Shivering and with eyes screwed tightly shut, Aandes howled and wept.

He sunk lower and lower over time. Aandes laid under the table, and finally let his muscles relax. He stared at the ceiling through narrowed eyes, still puffy and damp. He was defeated, but he had not lost. Something had stirred in Aandes: fear and anger.

The greenblood pulled himself up and took stock of the nutrition block. It was a mess, but he was exhausted. A curious thought came into Aandes’ head, and he quietly decided to test himself. If he cared enough tomorrow to put the block back together, he would cut his ties. If not for his own benefit, then out of spite. The process would begin tomorrow, he thought, if this wasn’t a fluke. Aandes went to his recuperacoon feeling dreamlike. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was some kind of expectation – and that expectation, that urging towards an outcome that Aandes couldn’t quite grasp, was hope enough.  

[Sypon]

The next evening, Aandes opened his eyes and pulled himself out of his recuperacoon. He made his way at an even clip to the ablution sprayer and let the warm water seep over him. Aandes ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath through his nose. When he stepped out of the sprayer and looked in the mirror, he grimaced. ********, he was ugly. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, his lips drawn. His skin’s complexion had begun to break through poor hygiene, and the signs of wear were such that even masterful application of make-up couldn’t hide it all. But he would damn well try.

With shaky hands, Aandes willed himself to prep. He looked tired. Of course. Aandes tried to muster a cheery expression and just sneered at himself instead, then rolled his eyes in disgust. Close enough. He hardly recognized the troll in the mirror. Styling his hair was still out of the question – it would need a full do-over. The mint stripe had grown out. Aandes frowned. After dressing himself, he exited the ablution block and headed down the steps.

Right. Seeing the destruction he had caused the day before, Aandes took a breath at the foot of the stairs. He nodded quickly and procured a trash bag. Sweeping everything inside, papers, goods, glass, and all, he closed the bag off and placed it in his entryway. Fresh start.

Aandes looked at the bag intently. The papers were a safety net. He pulled open the top of the bag, looking inside at the broken glass and paperwork. Aandes’ bit down with his snaggletooth in thought. Finally, with a huff, he went to fetch rubber gloves – the papers couldn’t be let go just yet. The greenblood extracted the pages delicately, examined those he deemed most important and set them aside. For good measure, he shredded the rest before replacing them. He only needed to insure his own safety. The rest was trash. Closing up the bag, Aandes headed outside to the garbage bins. Each step was faster than the next, until Aandes was sprinting to the cans. His stomach turned; knuckles whitening, he unclasped the bag with immense effort and slammed the lid shut. It was gone. Aandes clenched his fists and gave the can a kick, clutching the sides of his head. He stalked back to his hive, buzzing.  

[Sypon]

Aandes gasped awake from sleep. “S-s**t!”

He’d really done it. Yesterday had come and gone. Was there any turning back? His blood pusher fluttered uncomfortably against his chest. Aandes whipped out of his recuperacoon, toweling off and getting dressed as he stumbled through his hive. Clambering awkwardly down the steps, pulling open the door and looking out towards the bins. Garbage night. It was all gone, but even so, Koalapops’ coiled tail poked out of the top of the can. Aandes roared. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Still half-naked and flushed green with anger, Aandes wrenched his fat lusus from the can by the tail, toppling it over as he did. Koalapops came to life with sudden ferocity, clawing and scratching. He nicked his charge’s arms and face – with a sharp gasp, Aandes dropped him on the ground. He covered a slice on his nose and cheek with quivering fingers, hissing. “Fine! Stay in there, you goddamn piece of garbage!”

The koalameleon slowly stood back up on the ground, watching as Aandes stormed back inside. He turned his head back to the can. It was, indeed, totally empty. He looked back towards Aandes and beeped pathetically. The lusus followed Aandes inside in an attempt to console him, but by the time he got to the front door his charge was walking in the opposite direction, away from the hive. “Son…”

Aandes passed right by. He had no more regrets, not any more. The sight of his lusus had made up his mind. Self-hatred fueled his boldness, and the spiteful greenblood had business ties to sever. There was something better than this.  

[Sypon]

The soles of Aandes’ sneakers crinkled each leaf on the path to the woods in a distinctive rhythm. The pace was a quick but uneven clip, faster than a leisurely walk to the point where one might be alarmed by the speed of his travel. His hoodie was drawn up. Hands stuffed into his pockets, arms extended and taut. Aandes was breathing quick and heavy, and with each stale cutting breath Aandes was more sure of his long trek to Rasali’s hive.

The sun was going to rise shortly; Aandes felt the heat begin to pick up and bead sweat on his forehead. The night had stretched on for millennia, and at the end it felt as though it had been a whole lifetime. Since waking and confronting his lusus, Aandes had done what he had felt drawn to do. It had cost him. But, what he suffered now wouldn’t follow him into the future – and wasn’t fatal. He was lucky.

The greenblood squinted his eyes to see into the distance, through swaths of trees along the path to the springs. A huge slash across his lip, a gash on the bridge of his nose and a bloody darkened eye socket were the most visible injuries on his thin body. But, his brisk limp and audible breathing suggested something greater. Aandes rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, adding another smear of mint blood to the faint mark already building on his fingers. He swallowed in a thick metallic gulp and looked behind him. Thankfully, he was alone. It was dreadful, too. He could only hope that Rasali was at her hive.

Aandes deserved the pain. The catharsis had steadied him to action, but he still had no answers. He was still a wiggler, who – for all of these weeks – had not reached out to those who would have cared if they had known. There was still hate; there was still hopelessness and doubt. But, looking up, there was perspective.

There is something better than this, Aandes repeated to himself. There is something better. He had gained hope. It was solid now – real, tangible feelings of hopefulness. And now, Aandes realized, was the faith that Rasali would reciprocate his feelings. He had to trust that she would help. That she would listen, take him in, and strengthen him so that he could be an even greater challenge to her – so that he could do the same, and so that they could thrive. That’s what kismeses were for. Aandes was an idiot. His chin wobbled with a grim smile. A tear slipped from his good eye and he sniffed and wiped it away at another pass of his running, bleeding nose.

There it was, through a thicket of trees. Rasali’s hive in the distance. The dirt road led Aandes right to it, and as he stepped onto the property a sense of lightness came over him. As the sky brightened, he looked forward and focused on the quaint hive. Finally, respite. Aandes made his way to the front door and knocked.

End