[GRO] Aprife Invasi - Adult

[Hivestuck]

Four Fronds, an iconic, idealistic location, occasional home to the Queen and a center of power and affluence. The workings of the hemospectrum are obvious here, and simply presenting a warmer hue often earns one more unchecked ire than they’d gain anywhere else. That much is true for visitors, but even more so for enemies of the crown, trolls deemed unfit for even the most basic of rights. Let loose in the forest to run or die, their shouts and the hearty war cries of their pursuers can sometimes be heard even over the hustle and bustle of everyday, ordinary high lifestyle.

The city is a stark contrast between leisure and death, but not an unusual one, the way of Alternia is how it’s always been as far as those in charge are concerned. These ideals are not the only ones to exist, but they permeate the landscape here to a vast degree. Change is whispering on the wind, but until it plants its roots firmly, it’s an idea as easily discarded by some as a life can be.

If one were to strain a sponge clot, it would become clear that tonight was one of those nights, and the forest was alive with bloodshed.

==> Take a walk.

It's a clear night, one well lit by the moons, and relatively quiet at first listen. The air is cool, but not uncomfortable, in fact it's almost welcoming.


Only saedusk, Kamileunaire, and Melancholies may post in this thread.

saedusk

If you would like to change locations, interact with NPCs, or finish this growth, please quote the mule.

 

[saedusk]

There was a tight knot in his gut as Aprife stepped outside, hitting the lawnring and immediately glancing around as if someone were waiting for him there. Visiting Zeffer had been a reprieve from the monotony of staying mostly at hive back in New Hemisect, but Four Fronds wasn't exactly a comfort for a branded criminal. It had been a worrisome trip just getting here, cradling his marked wrist so far in his sleeve that even his fingers were hidden. Still, he wanted to be with his matesprit right now, and it was about time he stopped keeping himself cooped up and stir crazy anyway.

Sufficiently sated by the emptiness of the area, he started to walk. All he needed was a little air, a little time to think, not that he hadn't been doing that already. Hands swinging idly at his sides, he got lost in the haze of the cool night.

Aprife had always been a thinker. Taking whatever supposed secrets he could get his grubby, metaphorical hands on, mulling them over, spinning what-ifs and making up stories. That had been his passion and his endless entertainment. It was safe to say that since the events back at the facility, searching for the WACKY, since being incarcerated on Busthind and everything that had happened, he’d been thinking even more. Not about silly things like what the neighbors were having for breakfast, no, but about life and what it meant to follow the road he'd chosen to take.

Everything was so much different now, but he couldn't remember when it had all shifted. Between his games things had gotten serious and priorities came and went like a sudden wind while he was trying to figure it out. For a moment he found himself thinking back to that cold, unforgiving jail cell, back to the way Zeffer had momentarily blamed himself for everything that had happened. It made him droop then and it did the same now as he glanced back to the hive behind him, watching the windsocks fluttering in a passing breeze. Zeffer, his matesprit, a source of support he never knew he needed. They got each other into as much trouble as they got themselves out of, but he wouldn't change what happened for the world. Aprife always assumed relationships were messy business, getting too caught up with someone else was a drag, but he learned more than anything that he had been wrong.

Turning away, he kept walking. It hadn't been anyone's choice but his own, even if he had been following Zeffer that first night, he'd still received the note himself, still chosen to venture into the trees, and that first encounter with the Phoenixes likely would have happened either way. For better or worse, and it was likely a bit of both, he was here, even if he hadn't yet cleared away those fogs of personal confusion.

Where he was going, what he would do, they all hid behind a wall he was tearing down, but slowly. A little time to think, that was all he needed, but before he knew it he had wandered much further than he meant to. Zeffer's hive, while still close, didn't loom as high anymore. Instead a wall of trees, brightly colored and beautifully deceptive as they were, stood tall overhead, blocking his trek with a darkness much greater than the night. The yellowblood hadn't even noticed he'd made it all the way to the edge of the forest, nor did the sudden realization come with any peace as he'd hoped to find on his silly little walk, because something was rustling in the bushes and the fine hairs on the back of his neck were already rising.

Hivestuck

 

[Hivestuck]

Letting one's mind wander on a night like tonight may not have been the worst offense, nor would it have been any other time, but simply a poor choice with equally poor consequences. A hunting party, hardly unusual, was passing through then. They didn't always find themselves so close to the Fronds, as disappearing into the dark depths where the forest became like an unreadable maze was usually a better solution when compared to seeking freedom in a highblood community. Still, on occasion a poor soul would sooner seek the false pretenses of safety, the 'light at the end of the tunnel' that came streaming between the trees where they thinned out near the edge, than true salvation.

As Aprife stood thinking at the edge of the forest, another yellowblood could be seen stumbling between the undergrowth, their clothes tattered and torn, sweat beading against their skin. In their eyes was desperation as they broke from the line and right on their tail were two purplebloods, dressed to the hilt in the best hunting gear available.

There wouldn't be much time to think. The battered yellowblood would be captured soon, that much was certain. Anything that happened now was simply part of the sickening game.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

It was like a scene out of a movie, one Aprife would have laughed at sweeps ago if he hadn't been the one experiencing it all first hand. Of course he knew the hunts were a thing, even if he hadn't seen or experienced one, but he never thought in a million sweeps he'd bear witness to one right outside his matesprit's hive, right on the edge of Four Fronds. All his limbs felt heavy as lead as he watched the other yellowblood, wide-eyed, unsure what to do. Two purplebloods, two too many really, were right on the unknown's a**, and even if they hadn't noticed him yet, how could he even hope to take them both on when they were so obviously prepared for a fight.

He shouldn't. Aprife wasn't a dumb kid anymore and he knew this was a foolhardy thing to do. He shouldn't, but he was, because something in him was bubbling over as he watched the whole thing unfold, a strong, sharp rage. A kinship was formed in that moment, thought fleeting, between himself and this nameless face, the one whose fate he easily could've shared. They had been in the crown's clutches only a short time ago, after all. While he could only assume they wouldn't have been given a fighting chance if they hadn't been rescued, but instead worked to death or culled right off, that didn't mean the thought of the hunts had never crossed his mind at all. In fact, it certainly had, but by now all those thoughts were burning up, buried in a need to do something, anything to turn the tide of this situation.

In an instant he was already darting forward, hand shooting down to his side to take up his weapon. That was when he realized his first mistake. It was missing, his whip, left in Zeffer's hive way back in the distance. There's no way he'd make it, not there and back, the party would have moved on too far to catch up. A curse caught in his throat, but a pointless one, as he was forced to realize his second mistake only moments later. There hadn't been two, and he'd been oh so very wrong in believing he hadn't been spotted already. These hunters were sharp, they'd likely done this before, and he was the one caught unaware.

The blade cut across his throat in one swift, clean swipe, and he was down before he even got a chance to turn and face his attacker. Whoever it was, they were precise, efficient, something Aprife wasn't, something he might not have a chance to be. Face down against the grass, he was certain they'd finish him off, but the would-be murderer was jogging to catch up with his companions, laughing and garbling out something about lowbloods who didn't even run. No wait, he'd been talking, but the ringing in Aprife's ears was too loud and it drowned it all out.

His eyes were wide as he laid there, full not with fear, but with a rage that pooled at the corners and slid hotly down his cheeks. It felt like he was dying, or maybe he was already dead, but somewhere in him it registered that he'd felt this all before, a sickness in his gut and a burning at his skin. In fact, the blurry, vague realization that he had was enough to boil the yellow blood now spattering his skin.

Pain stabbed into his temples like knives, but Aprife got his arms under him and pushed himself up, wheezing and coughing and unable to catch his breath as his own blood choked him. This couldn't be it, he couldn't stop now, there was too much to live for. If only he could make it back to the hive. Even if this was all he had left in him, he had to fight, he had to see Zeffer if nothing else, he had to. There wasn't much thought anymore, but momentum kept his legs moving towards the blurred vision of salvation in the distance. Please look out the window, please. I need you.

Almost there, he'd nearly made it when he had to stop, his bloodpusher was working too hard and too much of his own blood was soaking into his clothes. Not again, he hated this feeling, this aching, this cold. He was so scared.

Kamileunaire

 

[kamileunaire]

It'd been a nice change of pace, to have Aprife over at his hive again. It wasn't that Zeffer didn't enjoy visiting the other's hivestem, but the recent clinginess of Snakedad hadn't improved the already limited space the yellowblood's compact hive had to offer. It was pleasant to have someone other than his lusus around to talk to though, and even better to have his matesprit, especially in a time where they were both still stressed and in need of support. With the worst of his wounds finally having scabbed over, Zeffer was in much better shape than he'd been before, but with the waning of the bad weather, he was mostly content to lurk around the interior of his hive. An unusual thing, when he was always so eager to spend his nights out on the town, or find other mischief when there were no storms to chase. He blamed it on his injuries, and made up for it with games, and roughhousing, and they had even dug up a kite to fly a night or two ago, when a nice breeze was blowing in from the lake.

Their evening had begun like all the others; pulling themselves out of bed, eating whatever breakfast that could be found in the kitchen, and then back into the main part of the hive to find some way to entertain themselves. At some point, Zeffer had gotten a bit too carried away with digging through his old storage, and when the yellowblood expressed the desire to step out and get a bit of fresh air, Zeffer had agreed that it was a good idea. He would find what he was looking for, and join him soon enough. They could rollerblade, perhaps, if Zeffer could find his spare pair, or maybe he would come across something else they could make a game of. The blueblood was quite the packrat, and when he finally yanked a too-small pair of skates from inside the small storage room with a laugh of victory, he turned around and witnessed a scene that instantly put him on edge. Snakedad had descended from the top of his hive, wings bristled, and worst of all, rattle shaking. His tongue flicked madly, and his attention was directed toward the outside of the hive. Something is wrong.

"
The scream that tore from the blueblood's throat echoed through the neighborhood. He exploded into motion as if he'd been shot from a gun, tearing across the grass at an aggressive gait. Someone attacked him. He snarled on the way, and the tears were already stinging his eyes as he slid to a stop next to Aprife. Zeffer roared out in anger at the sight of the blood, and at the grievous nature of the wound. After all they had been through, his best friend, his ******** matesprit, was going to die, all because he'd let him wander off on his own. There was no time to lay blame, though, no time to chase after whoever had struck Aprife down. The yellowblood was still struggling to breathe, and Zeffer couldn't just stand there screaming and crying. What happened afterwards was just as much a blur for Zeffer as it likely had been for Aprife; he had torn his jacket off, shredded it, and pressed some of the fabric carefully to the wound, somehow realizing that too much pressure would only choke him worse. He had tried to walk a couple of steps with one of the yellowblood's arms secured around his shoulder, but it quickly became apparent that the other was simply too weakened to walk. Zeffer gathered his friend up and took off, an idea lighting up his crazed mind. Maybe there was someone who could help....

It only took a few minutes to reach the hive he had in mind, and by some miracle Zeffer had run the entire way without tripping. His eyes remained glued on the path ahead, and the tears continued to stream down his face. He was horrified that by the time he reached their destination, it would be too late, and so he focused on running, and avoiding obstacles. In the shadow of the woods, he used a booted foot to pound on the door of the partially hidden hive, praying to whatever gods that he wasn't out wandering. "HEY, MUERTE!!! MUERTE THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, OPEN THE ******** DOOR, TETE!!!" His voice broke, even as he screamed. Though Tete was a shady b*****d, Zeffer hadn't been able to think of anyone else more qualified to deal with such a wound, and it was too late to turn back. The sound of someone moving inside made Zeffer's breathing pick up, and as the door was opened, he didn't bother to hide how upset he was. "My friend was attacked...you were the only one I could think of...PLEASE ******** HELP HIM, MUERTE!!" Zeffer choked, and sobbed, indicating the yellowblood in his arms, and hoping to hell that it wasn't too late.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The moonlight was pleasant.

Nights seemed to blur together like the green and purple lights from the moons. The constantly drawn windows left little indication to the cycles of dawn-to-dusk, and Muerte often found himself lost to his work. This particular night was no different—they never were—his fingers working delicately on a small, spherical object. Turning the part over in his hand, he smirked a little as he saw his creation taking shape; an eye, pupil red in the center. It looked like a camera lens and was very rough in appearance, but he figured looks could be worked on after the efficiency was perfected. A gentle whirr came from the metal orb as he adjusted the size of the robotic pupil, pleased with how his work was coming along. A rare smile graces his lips, fangs peeking out ever so slightly.

Unfortunately for the scientist, this night in fact was different. At once his room seemed to move. His featherbeasts all began to chirp and shudder, quiet whispering rippling through the flock. They had better hearing than he did, were more cautious, more flighty, so to speak. His head swiveled to the window, curtains closed, locked tight. It wasn't unusual for a hunting party to come close while tracking their prey in the woods surrounding him, and he wondered if it had the small feathered creatures spooked.

That, or it was the insufferable blueblood.

No one else knew where he lived, not intentionally, and Muerte Perist had the privilege of living relatively near-by. While he did not mind visits with a purpose, most of them went without, and he could almost hear the 'tete i'm so bored, tete this, tete that' drawling from the hallway, entry gained from whatever orifice he'd manage to crawl out from. Holding his breath, he was pleasantly surprised when no such noise came, only the breeze outside, and he allowed his shoulders to droop, a sigh to escape, his guard to falter. Must be the hunts after all.

Later, he'd find out it was both, technically. His silence did not last long before there was a loud scream from outside, and for a second he froze from the noise before he realized it was a troll, not his lusus, of course not. His mind swam and his nerves momentarily jumped, and for some reason he found himself rushed down the stairs from his lab, veins throbbing from the adrenaline, a pressure behind his eyes threatening his demeanor. As his focus cleared he realized there were words—kicking at his door (something he would have been angry about had his entire hive not been an dilapidated mess to begin with)—in fact, words from someone familiar.

He hadn't seen Zeffer in quite a long stretch of time. Recently he appeared just as suddenly as he had vanished, face and torso marred with innumerable burns. Lighting, the madman had said, I got struck by lighting!, fabulous. Muerte didn't really care and he never really would and he wondered why he was still surprised every time the buffoon showed up with something new marred to his skin. He supposed getting struck by lightning was at least unlikely, but when there's a will there's a way, he supposed.

However, it had just been that. Every encounter was usually a jovial one despite the circumstances, and he couldn't necessarily remember the last time he heard something so anguished, at least not from him. The sight that greeted him as he opened the door was an answer to all his questions, however. He was shocked into a stunned sort of silence, seeing this scarred b*****d standing in front of him, arms cradling a corpse.

Not a corpse?

Please ******** help him, Christ the poor son of a b***h was alive? For a moment Muerte was caught by the way the yellowbloods head was lolled, limbs limp, blood staining some sort of fabric scrunched tightly to his neck—still somewhat in disbelief, alive? He was almost bothered by the glassy eyes stares forward, unfocused and foddy, and Muerte was never bothered, not by these things. Something about Zeffer crying, this foreign troll dying in his arms... who was the unfortunate troll anyway? Who was he to this blueblood? Simply a friend? The forest seemed very still then, almost as if time had stopped, as if none of this was real. Was he still worked up from earlier? Focus for ******** sake Perist this fool is dying!

Almost in that same instant, the greenblood clicked back into the moment, eyes fierce with purpose behind his thick glasses. Questions could wait, god knows he would get his answers, but even he had to know that wasn't important right now. Zeffer had made the right choice taking him here, yes, he was quite qualified (perfect for the job really), though the minutes-seconds-moments were ticking, the ominous death-rattle like sound coming from the dying yellowblood grating against his ears; "Y-Yes, yes. Get him inside, quickly now, quickly.

He was a doctor, and he was good at his trade. He wasn't going to let anyone die on him, not tonight, not ever.

Hivestuck

 

[Hivestuck]

By some blessed circumstance life continues, preserved by friend and stranger alike. The recovery isn't easy, nor is it without its setbacks, but trollkind is strong and hearty, and healing is more than possible. In time, the damage is most notable by a simple scar, though it's a mark that speaks to only a fraction of the event's true effects. It's changed you in more ways than one. How are you dealing?

saedusk

When you're ready to end this growth, please quote the mule.

 

[saedusk]

The last thing Aprife remembered in any vivid detail was looking up at Zeffer's hive, momentarily admiring the windsocks, and deciding that he really liked the fish one best, especially when there was enough wind to kick it up and make it swim through the air. It was a very brief thought and awfully silly, but his mind latched onto whatever good thing it could before the world spun out of focus, sweeping him figuratively off his feet. A voice cut dully through the haze at some point, filtered and distorted, and it felt more like a dream than anything when he found himself in someone's arms. It was Zeffer, though the yellowblood couldn't remember if he'd known at the time, and he couldn't recall if he'd asked for help or cried for comfort or if he could even manage either of those anymore.

It was unbearably cold, so he shut down almost completely, catching only flashes of color or jolts of sound. He fought uselessly on occasion to push the uncomfortable fabric away from his neck, subconsciously he hated how it felt, but it did no good to try. Time made no sense anymore, but after what felt like forever there was banging, a flip of his stomach as he was laid down on something unfamiliar and just a bit hard, and then there was nothing.

By the time he came to it had been two nights, or so he'd been told before the panic set in. His chest heaved with effort, but he couldn't fill his lungs no matter how hard he tried. When he tried to get up, he couldn't muster enough energy to do more than flail his tingly limbs. It was a frightening, helpless feeling, but it didn't last long. Quickly he was soothed by his matesprit's voice and touch and something sticking his arm, too. There was no time to think about it, so it didn't really matter.

Things made more sense the next evening when he woke again, a little less addled and a little more everything else: exhausted, aching, starving. A headache pounded like a bass drum behind his eyes and around to his temples and, much like the previous night, it was still a struggle to breathe. Every inhale felt shallow and existing was like sitting in the ocean, occasionally letting the water in through his mouth and nose until he was sputtering and coughing and the pain that shot from his wound and down his spine was horrible. Despite that, he couldn't keep it from happening, it was outside his influence and he felt powerless all over again.

Powerless, and worse still, voiceless. Greater than the pain of breathing, the sharp, imaginary needles digging into his neck, or the illusion of drowning was the loss of his greatest outlet. For a long while after the attack, he was unable to speak at all, any attempt came out as nothing, or no more than a wheeze if he was lucky. There had been an awful fear then, a deep-rooted terror that he'd never speak again. Maybe to some that would surely seem better than dying, but Aprife was nothing if not dependent on that talent, the option for yelling and screaming, the ability to project his happiness or sadness in the way he spoke, the simple joy of expressing himself how he always did. It felt like a hollow victory to be laying here, wanting so badly to tell Zeffer how much he cared, to thank him for being there, but winding up unable. He couldn't even properly thank the stranger, Muerte he'd learned (or Tete, he liked that one), for saving his life.

When he was finally allowed out of Muerte's care, he still couldn't speak, or rather he'd given up trying. It was a while even after that before he went back home to New Hemisect. The familiar streets hadn't been any comfort at all, when normally they'd have him completely giddy, he simply didn't want to be alone here. As much as he hated Four Fronds now, Zeffer was there, and he felt less empty that way, but his lusus had surely been waiting for his return for so long now, he was positive Bumbs would think he was in trouble. Well, he would've been right.

Stepping into his hivestem felt like returning to a childhood he'd temporarily forgotten. There were papers and junk strewn everywhere, notebooks stacked in the corner, it was as if nothing had changed, even though he had changed so much in such a short time. On the table by the sofa were those stupid mugs he'd gotten for himself and his lusus so many sweeps ago, printed with bees that were fading from all the washes, as if Bumbs hadn't had the heart to move them into the kitchen when Aprife didn't come home.

Speaking of Bumbs, who looked soft and ruffled like he'd been off taking a catnap, he was around the corner only an instant later, buzzing and rumbling and vibrating out line after line of questioning as he zipped around his charge's head. It was impossible not to smile, it was equally impossible to ignore the swell of warmth inside, the first one he'd felt since stepping off the shuttle and onto the dirty streets of NHC. Aprife easily scooped his guardian out of the air, cradling him close even as his wings still quivered.

It was the first time he opened his mouth to try for nights and nights. The words that came out were weak, his voice obviously strained with disuse and injury, but whatever damage had been done was beginning to heal. It would never reach its full potential again, he would discover that later, but at least he could talk, even if it was gravelly and low, just below a normal volume, he could speak. Even if the expressiveness it used to possess was lost to his wounds, he still had some of it, and he could still use it for himself and the few trolls (and lusii) who mattered.

"Hey dad, I'm back..."  

[saedusk]

Time spent at hive afforded Aprife a while to think, a benefit he took advantage of. There were many things to consider now, many questions and few answers. What should he do, where should he go, should he stay on this path? If there was one thing that being attacked and left for dead had taught him, it was that something had to change. It wasn't as if this was the first time misfortune had fallen upon him, in fact it felt rather like a cycle he was stuck in. From the smallest misstep to the biggest mistake, he'd tripped in every pothole and he was simply and utterly tired of it.

What bullshit, what absolute bullshit, as the yellowblood mulled over the hand fate had dealt him so far, he felt an unusual rage bubbling in his gut. Sure, Aprife had been mad before, more than once, but never like this. It was an unusual feeling, almost stifling, and it was so difficult to fight it back down that he had to stop thinking completely for a while. Instead he watched the way his lusus tended his little garden, letting the anger ease out of him in it's own time.

When the feeling finally ebbed away, he sighed, looking down at his wrist. The brand was hidden now beneath a long, black sleeve, the tracker dug out a while ago, his skin very faintly scarred where it had been. Yet another reminder of what he'd been through, but not the only one.

Looking up, he scanned his desk, and while it was covered in various useless odds and ends, it also contained a few trophies he'd collected, even the ones from events he would've preferred to forget. But maybe... maybe it was better not to dismiss the memories. Something had to change, he had to learn, and he would. He'd remember and he'd be better for it.

Smarter, that was how he'd have to play. If he could be the one who knew the true level of the field, if he could name the players and their strengths and weaknesses, if he could simply know then everything would be better. It would all be smoother, more in his favor, Aprife was sure. The fight for the rebellion wouldn't end, certainly not, not if there were members still underground. The yellowblood's resolve was strengthened for the fight, because this time he vowed not to jump into the fray unprepared.

In time, he would surely come out on top.

Hivestuck

Done!