[PRP] Check-up (Muerte & Aprife) FIN

[Melancholies]

 

[Melancholies]

It was quiet save the whistle on the wind and the flutter of feathers under the caress of the breeze. The wind was soft as it lofted through the window, carrying with it no tells of taint or sin. It was a false sense of security, a calm that masked the death that reeked the forest like a warm blanket

Fingers thrummed against the table, muffled and silent, ever impatient. Papers scattered the desk and the floor and the cabinets, but only a few ever seemed mussed over, the words gracing them short and vague, "I know of a group that could benefit from your services,"; tired eyes glossed over the single sentence, mind buzzing internally with thoughts.

"If you'd like, we should talk."

The thrumming stopped abruptly as the greenblood rose to his feet. At once a single shudder seemed to ripple around the room, almost eerie if not for the movement coming undone, each individual featherbeast making itself known. One in particular—the closest to the scientist—peeked from its rotund fluff, ruffled and puffed and looking ever so pleased that the greenblood couldn't help but reward the creature with an affectionate scritch.

He had responded shortly after receiving the letter, equally short, perhaps more so; two words, "I'm interested."

Muerte wasn't sure when to expect the other troll, not that he supposed it was necessary to know. His lab coat billowed lazily in the weak wind as he turned his attention to the open window, eyes squinted behind his thick glasses. It had been months since that incident, the insufferable blueblood at his hive screeching about the almost-corpse in his arms, throat slit into a yellow waterfall of blood. He barely remembered the yellowblood, surely didn't remember the poor b*****d's name. Something with an A, something that he surely documented somewhere, something he surely didn't care enough to look up.

He was, however, always open to any conduits for his skills. If this troll knew of anyone who could benefit and the gain was right, Muerte would certainly hear him out. Certainly the fool who narrowly escaped death would know better than most how useful his abilities could be. If anything, he was very proud of his work, and to see how the idiot was faring after his brush with fate would prove interesting enough to the would-be doctor. His work was top notch, and he craved to witness it as such.

And so he spent the days as usual: busy and working and science and medicine. Something about the atmosphere was different today.

Outside, the trees trembled in tandem. Featherbeasts rose to the sky at once, scattering in different directions, not spooked but alerted. Someone was there, coming in this direction. His visitor would be here soon.  

[saedusk]

The letter grasped in his hand now had been a bit of a surprise, he had to admit, giving it another quick glance before shoving it into his pocket. When he'd gotten the mailing information from Zeffer, he hadn't quite expected an answer, but it came anyway, even shorter than the invitation he'd sent in the first place. That was all he needed, that was plenty, perfectly satisfying. A sharp grin split his lips as he traveled through the trees, and he was undeniably pleased despite how much he hated this place by now, the painted forests of Four Fronds. No matter what, he would get what he wanted.

Finding his destination was a little difficult and took longer than he'd hoped, he was working with his matesprit's questionable directions after all, but in time he found it, hidden away from prying eyes in a place he wasn't sure he would've discovered without help. Aprife had been here once before, sure, but that had been under the most dire of circumstances and even the trip back home a few days later had been clouded by a haze of disorientation and the remnants of pain. Sometimes, he thought bitterly, raising a hand to his throat, he still felt that ache. It burned the same way his chest did when his anger began to swell, but he soothed himself with more promises of accomplishment. Now wasn't the time to lose his head, not when he was looking up at the very vine-covered hive he had been seeking, not when he was so close to spinning the wheel of fate in the direction he preferred. The troll who had saved him from an early grave had skills the rebellion could use, skills that could give them an advantage, and he wanted them. For the Initiative and for himself in turn.

When he got close, the flutter of many wings caught his attention momentarily, turning him from the path. It was almost strange, realizing just how many featherbeasts there were here when compared to, well, anywhere else he'd walked to get here if he were being completely honest. While it might have seemed like a small, useless tidbit to most, a silly thing to even bother noticing, Aprife knew better now than to ignore it, or anything at all. A lack of information had gotten him into one too many close calls, one too many times he thought that maybe he wouldn't make it out completely unscathed. Now he paid attention, truly, to his surroundings, to everything and anything. Now, he would never be caught unaware again. That was yet another promise he'd made to himself. Waiting only a moment longer, until he was sufficiently satisfied that the quiet had returned in force to the forest, he turned back to the hive.

The knock he chose as his introduction was loud, tight-fisted one, because Aprife had always been nothing if not loud and obnoxious. That was no longer possible, not in the traditional way—oh, there was that burning sensation again—but he found ways to make due that kept him from growing too enraged at his own newly gained shortcomings. Even if he could no longer yell, he would still make his presence more than known in more ways than one. This was no exception.

He sure hoped the greenblood was home tonight, they had important matters to discuss.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The knock was abrupt. The silence that had swelled around the hive and the forest was a short lived one, it seemed, as Muerte lazily turned his attention to the stairwell behind him. A wall of beady eyes followed his movement as he took to quiet, lofty steps, the sound of boots quietly thudding against the sullied tile. It was almost as if the blood stains were part of the decor now, like they'd always been there. He'd lost track.

Strolling casually through his descent, Muerte found himself lost to idle thoughts. While he had agreed to this meeting, enticed by the possibility of his abilities rising to fruition, he graced himself with a mental scowl. Perhaps he should have thought this through more? He wondered just what sort of group the yellowblood fool could possibly be affiliated with. Were they all just as careless? While the thought made his eyes roll, he had to remember that such rash behaviors led to injuries and well, ultimately to him. If he could handle one imbecile then certainly he could handle more, and if he could handle them all then he would find himself procured in a most advantageous position. So he hoped.

He didn't know any details, credit so rightfully given to how short and vague the note was in the first place, but any sort of standing that provided him with necessary equipment was already—though he loathed to admit it—better than anything he had here. His tools did what they needed, but at the end of the night they were merely hand-crafted and flimsy. He was certainly a scientist and a doctor, not a craftsmen.

And unfortunately, his line of work tends to go sourly under appreciated in this sort of society. He had to remind himself to be calm and cautious and collected and not let the sound of esteem and respect go to his head. For all he knew this 'secret organization' would turn out to be something completely laughable.

The door was looming and oppressive in front of him.

He blinked. Eyes dotted with pale flecks of green and the promise of growth found themselves at a gate of opportunity. For the briefest of moments Muerte found himself small, craning to reach the handle, the silence creeping on him like shadows, long feathers stretching from crevices and cracks, smother.

Enough. He had dawdled enough, lingered enough.

His gloved hand found the handle quickly, stiffly, hinges creaking as he found himself looking up to a rather tall individual. A scoff caught in his throat. The moonlight that shimmered in burned the shadows back to the depths of his mind. All was clear. He cleared his throat, dignified.

"I see you've made it here in one piece," He murmurs, looking slightly disdain, attempting (and failing) to size up the taller troll before stepping aside. "In. I have been ever-so-curious about your prior letter."

saedusk

show spoilerhide spoiler

 

[saedusk]

There was no way Aprife could've know the truths behind the situation he had willed himself into with Muerte, not now, at least. At this early stage he was simply building the groundwork, reaching his influence wherever he could. He was looking to gather the best of the best for the cause and even if he didn't know the extent of the greenblood's ability, he knew enough about his own previous injuries to understand that he knew something of medicine. What else he held skill in, Aprife meant to make it his in due time.

"Of course," he drawled wispily, his voice fading out near the end. "I've learned enough to handle myself." Not to mention he'd learned just as much about attracting flies with honey and not vinegar, he was quick to take the invitation inside. Forcing his gracious host to wait probably wouldn't earn him any brownie points, the way Muerte was looking at him made the yellowblood think slow and steady wouldn't win him any races tonight. Onto the task at hand, no sense wasting any time.

"Glad to hear it." His arms were crossed as he glanced around, taking in the hive he hadn't had a chance to examine when he was here the last time. Suffice to say, this guy might actually have more junk laying around than he did. A bit surprising, but it was something he'd mull over another night when there was more time to do so. Aprife was certainly sure this wouldn't be his last visit here, not if he had anything to say about it. Right then, speaking of something to say, he looked back to Muerte, poised to introduce his proposal when the bag he has slung against his hip started moving.

It might not have been the most professional idea, nor would it make him look very cool, but Bumbs had refused to let him go alone, despite his age. Chalk it up to almost dying. Now it seemed the fluffy little monster had been roused from his from slumber and was nosing out, pushing himself from under the flap of the bag. Aprife didn't try to stop him, but the interruption had paused him and he hadn't yet picked the groove back up. He'd go back to playing salesman in a second, for now he simply sighed and lifted the flap to set his lusus free, and free he went, buzzing up into the air and into the unfamiliar territory as if he weren't even phased.

"I guess I should introduce you," Aprife supposed, looking somewhat apologetic as he motioned to the bee. "Bumbs, my lusus."

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The door closed behind the yellowblood with a rusty, creaky sound, bolt heavily clicking back into place as if it had never opened. The light was dim; on the first floor, the rays from the moons scarcely made it through the boxes and junk piled in the windows. Beams were cast down between cracks and holes in the debris, otherwise serenely atmospheric if not for the eerie quiet and calm that accompanied it.

Muerte preferred it this way, really. Or rather, he didn't care. His time was spent in his lab working, slaving, learning. There the windows often lay splayed open, birds filtering out, his only true company. The greenblood had taken a step towards the stairwell, ready to bring his guest to a more appropriate place for discussion, but found himself halting instead.

Head slowly swiveling around, a gloved hand found itself adjusting his glasses up on his nose. His attention immediately darted to Aprife's waist and the bag that lay attached there, trying not to bristle as the contents began to move. Nose slightly stuck up, he waited impatiently for the reveal.

"You brought your lusus." the question sounded more like a statement, words coming out dry and dull. His eyes narrowed slightly. He could almost taste the disgust in his throat, but instead gave an exasperated sigh. He could ignore the creature, he would ignore the creature. Perhaps going upstairs was a bad idea; he loathed the thought of the thing interacting with his precious featherbeasts.

"It's a pleasure" he drawled, voice saturated now with sarcasm, "While I would love to get acquainted with your lusus, I believe we had—ah yes—other matters to discuss?"

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

The honest answer was, his lusus had more so brought himself, but the implication was clear in that tone and it kept him from saying so aloud. It hadn't been a question, that was obvious, and Aprife didn't mind keeping the tidbit out of their conversation. Truthfully, it was unimportant. What did matter was assuring things stayed civil and he was able to say his piece. What mattered even more was selling the greenblood on the idea. Time to reign things back in.

A loosely waving hand in the air would catch Bumblesuckle's attention, thankfully without much delay. Even better still, he returned to Aprife's side without a fight, hunkering down into a round, indiscernible fluff on his shoulder with one last buffer of wings. Might've been that protective, fatherly instinct keeping him from straying and exploring on his own, but whatever it was it was surely a relief. His lusus getting in trouble, and so getting him in trouble, would've been an awful impression to leave on this important meeting.

"You're right," he agreed, giving no indication he felt anything over that thickly dripping sarcasm. "Let's move on, I have a proposition for you. You remember the letter?" He paused, letting the question sink in. It hadn't been overly complicated, but neither would his explanation tonight be. It wouldn't do to so easily betray his affiliation until he was sure Muerte was both in and at least vaguely trustworthy.

Something told him, maybe it was the location or that cheery, social disposition, this guy didn't leave hive often. Hopefully that would save him the trouble of worrying about whether Tete would go around divulging his secrets to strangers. Only Aprife was allowed to do those sorts of things, disservices like giving away someone's life story without a second thought. Ah, but now wasn't the time to reminisce.

"I'm with an organization pushing advancement. We need trolls who know what they're doing." Would playing on pride work with Muerte? He'd find out if he was lucky. "I know you're skilled. We need your help to move towards our recognition. You could make a name for yourself. Still interested?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Unfortunately for Aprife, Muerte was hardly considerate, mind conspicuously narrow. He didn't care why the lusus was here, only that it was. Even when the fuzzy creature came to rest on the yellowblood's shoulder, Muerte still found a sneer tugging at his lips. He didn't care much for the creatures, despite having been raised by quite a loving one in his time, or perhaps that was just what made it hurt more. Not that he would be so weak, allowing a simple disgust to play as his folly. He didn't have time to play the emotion game.

They had business to attend to, propositions to talk about. Muerte Perist was a very busy troll, and though he had agreed to this, his patience was already wearing thin. Perhaps it was lack of communication with other trolls, or being rattled from earlier, or probably both. Most likely both. He gave a disgruntled huff. At least Aprife was agreeable. He could appreciate that sort of sensibility in a troll.

The scientist folded his arms, leaning back against a stack of precarious boxes, filled with god-knows-what. He studied the yellowblood carefully as he spoke, whispering and light. He wondered why for a brief moment, before his eyes immediately snapped to the scar slashed clean across his throat. Though it felt like that night had happened sweeps ago, Muerte reminded himself calmly that he wasn't one to keep up with time, and in the end it was a construct that didn't phase him much to constitute his effort. Was his voice a result of that night, that injury? It made sense. Usually Muerte was numb to these sorts of things, as nothing directly pertaining to him had any impact on his thoughts at all.

But, in a way, this one did pertain to him. It had been his work, his skill. He had saved the b*****d from an early grave, sure, but he hated to think his work had gotten so... sloppy. True, he didn't operate far as often on the living as he autopsied the dead, but pulling that excuse left a sour taste in his throat. Scars were always a symbol of imperfection to Muerte, be it a sloppy defense or carelessness on part of the troll, or an innate ineptitude at fault to their doctor. He pursed his lips.

As it were, Muerte was a product of hubris, and the plays to his pride would ultimately do well. Though his eyes were narrowed and lips a taut line, he gave the taller yellowblood a once-over. He was pretty skilled, regardless of his imperfect work. Impromptu occurrences considered, the troll in front of him could easily be a corpse, and ultimately he wasn't.

"Of course I do." He was quick to say. The letter itself had been short and to the point as well as his reply, it was hard to forget. "B-u-t, I don't associate myself nor my genius with just anyone."

He waved his hand, somewhat dismissive, somewhat grasping for the right words, "You're being... vague." Muerte conjectured, his thorough once-over turning a little more suspicious and a little more haughty, "My work isn't free, and I don't care much for commitments—you understand? I do suppose under the... right circumstances..." his words trailed off quietly, eyes looking disinterested even though it was quite the opposite. He was definitely open to discussions and terms and the like, but he didn't appreciate being left in the dark either. He rather hated it.

He would not be anyone's fool.

"Do keep talking, however." Just food for thought.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

A quick observation told him Muerte's eyes were certainly no longer on his face, just like they were no longer giving him any sort of thorough once-over or even sizing up his lusus. No, they were lingering now, and what he thought they were stuck on was something Aprife felt no great urge to talk about. It was already difficult enough to listen to himself speak, to hear only a shadow of who he had been prior. Now wasn't the time to dwell, but it still made his stomach twist. For a moment, anyway. One short, heated moment of anger that flashed through his system and was gone, leaving only a tingle down his limbs.

He was busy, far too busy to be plagued yet again by these musings. A second time in one night was just too much. It would be better to focus on the positives, too, on the things that made this meeting of the minds a special one. The good doctor Muerte had saved his life, he supposed he owed him the benefit of seeing what he'd accomplished. Maybe that would bolster his decision towards joining the Initiative, having a visual confirmation of what he could do? Hey, check it out, you really are good. Wouldn't you like to keep pushing your limits?

Aprife had no way of knowing the true disgust his 'savior' felt over the enduring hint of what had transpired.

"I can't promise you beetles, but I can assure you we're well equipped to provide you with the top tools of the trade." Most of it was a blur, but he thought he could remember some of the scientist's workplace and tools, at least. Too bad he couldn't go scope it out now, but surely they weren't as good as what could be provided if he chose to join. "Think of it as a grant in equipment. Whatever you need for your work and experiments," he waved a hand in a vast, encompassing manner, "yours."

It was all a fib, of course. There was no way he could promise these things, not on his own, not at his level, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. Certainly if he could show the higher-ups the value of his new recruit they would be willing to keep him well stocked and working. That was what drove Aprife to feel no fear in making these promises. One had to take chances, after all, to make it to the top. What was that old saying? Ah, it was better to apologize than ask permission.

"I'm not looking to pull the wool over your eyes, but I have to be careful... selective." He understood Muerte's point, would his be understood in return? "I will say this: there's a lot riding on this for me, too, you won't have to be the only one putting yourself out there. You don't have to make any choices right away." After all, he'd be back, he'd come back as many times as it took.

"What are you looking for in a deal?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Fortunately for Aprife, Muerte himself had no ways of knowing the fib to be a lie, but just as unfortunate it was like the doctor to take things with a grain of salt. His hand fiddled with the green fabric around his neck, adjusting the cravat as he thought over the yellowblood's words carefully. His tools were far from shabby, but taking the time to craft them was time that could have been spent on his actual work. A quiet hm worked its way up from his throat, musing and pondering all the while.

Selective. For what? Muerte wondered. He supposed if they were speaking strictly in skill, it would make sense to be selective with choosing only the best, and Muerte had to admit that he was pretty damn good. Selective. What sort of risks was Aprife speaking of? A lot riding on him, as well? For what reason was there to be so hush-hush? The greenblood merely adjusted his glasses again, brow furrowed behind him.

Though if there was any question that caught him off guard, it was the last. What was he looking for in a deal? His dealings were usually very straightforward: he gave in return for equal payment. He offered his skills for a variety of methods as well; he wasn't picky, not terribly, so long as what he got was remotely useful. Muerte was very resourceful. Beetles were not necessarily the only thing he wanted nor needed, albeit they were useful, but so were other things: tools, pride, bodies...

A lot of things worked, really.

But out of this encounter, what was it he really wanted? He supposed when he agreed to this meeting, he really had no true goal set in mind. He simply decided to humor the yellowblood, see if he could pitch a good enough spiel to make it worth his time and worth his damn. Had he accomplished that? Not particularly, with how vague he was. Muerte's eyes squinted slightly as he perused his thinkpan. If he were to accept this proposition, then it would indeed be a gamble, and while Muerte could see gain in wagered risks, he wasn't sure if he was willing to take the chance. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm just not sure I can walk into such a proposition so blind. Trust is a fickle thing, yes?" he looked the taller troll over, "I hardly know you, let alone what your motives and goals are. You can see why I'm hesitant, I assume."

"I'm looking for something worth my time, as I do so hate to have it wasted. I need to know that who I'm working with—or who I'm working for—aren't a bunch of moronic fools. I need a guarantee. Proof that my efforts wouldn't go to waste. Knowing nothing of your group, it would be a shame if I were to agree and, ah, hah,—find it not to my expectations."

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

For once, Aprife was uncertain, hanging on the edge, wondering just how much further to go or to simply let himself fall. Telling Muerte exactly who he was working for would be the biggest of gambles, one he wasn't sure he was willing to take just yet. Perhaps this meeting was best left as a setup rather than a conclusion, and he was sure it was by no means a setback. He'd planted the seeds of his idea in the greenblood's think pan, that was enough.

"I can't help but agree with you," he assured, shrugging ever so slightly. Bumbs wiggled on his shoulder. "Fickle and dangerous. They were both still dancing on the edge of anything forming between them. It's true, they were strangers, and Aprife would no sooner trust a stranger with any real, well-kept secrets about himself than he would with undue information about the Initiative.

Something would present itself, the yellowblood had strong feelings on that subject. It might not have been clear just yet the best way to proceed, but his mental eyes were wide and he'd search for whatever he could use on to get his foot in the door with this guy. It was only a matter of time.

"I completely understand, I wouldn't ask you to make a decision right away. And if you don't mind, I think I need a little time to consider things, myself." It was a pretty obvious 'I'm not ready to tell you what you want to know yet,' but at least Aprife wasn't trying to be cunning this time. "I know there's no way your efforts would go to waste, but your true guarantee will have to come later."

This time he didn't pack Bumbs away in his bag, instead he kept the warm insect balanced carefully where he was as he moved casually towards the exit. "I hope you'll accept this for taking up your valuable time." From his pocket he produced a small pouch of beetles and they clicked together quietly as he held it out to the scientist. He couldn't promise any sizable payment, he'd mentioned that already, but Aprife had a decent stash of his own, enough that he could offer this much. Anything to sweeten this meeting in Muerte's mind.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

If there was anything that spoke more to him than this entire conversation, it was the satchel Aprife produced from his pocket. Muerte was fairly good at keeping a straight face, but his eyebrows rose slightly, curiously as he took the pouch into his own hands. One peek into the contents, his eyes widened ever so slightly.

Ah. Well then.

He swiftly pulled the bag taut again, face completely serious as he gave Aprife a rather steeled look. He wasn't won over, not yet, but it was obvious that he was at least a little won over. It wasn't as if the doctor had a decent income living alone in the woods, and even if he did the cost of his experiments far exceeded any amount he ever made back. Not that he ever sold his creations or did much of anything with them, but whatever.

"Acceptable," His tone was professional, voice short as he quickly stowed the currency away into a desk drawer, cramming it in among the other miscellaneous junk he had collected in there. It didn't matter. He knew where it was and he'd be able to find it again later. "I'll think about it." It was as close to a yes as the yellowblood was going to get, but anything that wasn't an outright no was at least a step in the right direction for one Muerte Perist.

But if there was more from where this came from, Muerte was definitely interested. Any source of income, whether it be beetles or bodies, was definitely one worth keeping tabs on.

saedusk

oh yeah we should prob finish this sweats

 

[saedusk]

If there was one thing that spoke universally to nearly every troll—not all, Aprife knew that, but in this situation those outliers didn't matter—it was cash. Though gone in an instant, he caught the look of vague surprise on Muerte's face. Perhaps after promising no beetles, producing a pouch of them was a sweeter incentive than originally anticipated. That suited him just fine.

Beetles, check. Bodies, well... Had he known, Aprife would've promised more bodies than the doctor could ever anticipate. Not through any mystical future-sight, no, through experience alone. Unfortunately, calamity followed the Initiative around like the plague, and the body count would surely only rise. On second thought, revealing that might've been a bit of a deterrent in the long run. The strong and the purposeful would survive either way, but still...

"I'll contact you again soon," he promised. He wasn't sure whether Muerte would truly appreciate that promise or not.

Aprife stepped out into the night breeze as Bumbs lifted his head towards the flutter of featherbeasts taking off from the nearby trees. Without a wave or any other farewell, he crossed the doctor's lawnring and ventured out into the forest.

Melancholies