=>[EVENT] RP Contest - (Holiday Purpleblood)

[Hivestuck]

EVENT
Rp Contest

Premade purpleblood.
Gender can be chosen by the winner. For more information on the festival associated with this troll, go here!

You're an affluent purpleblood, hatched on Quadrants Day, and perhaps being born to a high blood colour cashed out all your good luck chips before you were born. Maybe it's that unfortunate birthmark on the side of your mouth, or perhaps it's just from some unfortunate quirk to your personality, that you have the tendency to pull out the darker emotions in trolls around you. Why exactly, at least from your point of view, is this the case? Does it get you down, or do you not really mind? Not all anger is suitable for a relationship, have you managed to keep your enraged enemies at bay, or have you already suffered a few attempts at culling at your tender young age? How do you see this affecting your life as you get older? In short, what exactly is your opinion on the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that you have to suffer on a daily basis?

Entries must be 250 words minimum, from the viewpoint of the purpleblood, in third person past tense. Please don't edit your posts after submitting!  

[amicableAggressor]

Entries will close on Febuary 14th, 12pm EST.
Any questions about this event should be sent to me.
Please submit entries in this thread!  

[gracie loff]

"FAUSTA VEASNA'S DISCOUNT FORTUNES" was awkwardly plastered on a sign in front of a small shack. The shack wasn't particularly out of the way, and it looked well furnished for.. well.. being a shack. It was painted purple and black, glitter accents shining off of the walls in the shapes of card suites. Lights were strung around the roof. Music could be heard from inside. ( Creepy, ominous music yo. ) No one seemed to be lined up at the shack, but for some reason the yellowblood was lured inside. Was it because of curiosity? Was it because of fate? Maybe it was because of the small, chubby unicorn looking Lusus at the side of the shack glaring into his soul. Smoke billowed out of its nostrils as it gave the troll a glare. Unicorn or not, it seemed bitter and ready to feast upon his thinkpan if he refused.

"O-o-kay. Jeez. I'm going, I'm going!"

The troll hesitantly walked inside, unsure of what he would find. What he did find was a small, young purpleblood sitting at a table. A crystal ball was laid in front of her. It was dark, and the yellowblood could barely make out her face, but she was surprisingly pretty, even with the birthmark at the side of her mouth. With the grace that only a young girl could give, the purpleblood suddenly spoke.

"HEY. YOU. Yea, you. Come 'ere."

The yellowblood looked confused.

She motioned for him to sit down and her focus turned from him to the crystal ball.

"Sit down? Here? What for?"

The purpleblood glared at him, tapping her fingers against the top of the table.

"Uh, HELLO? This is a fortune booth. Sit your yellow butt down so I can give you your fortune, duh."

The yellowblood, still confused, obediently sat down in the chair for fear of being attacked.

"Right, let's get this over with shall we? Let's see what your fortune holds for you, you twerp."

Her eyes seemed to glaze over, her hands motioned around the crystal ball as she muttered incomprehensible nonsense. Was it a trance? Was she screwing with the yellowblood? He couldn't quite figure it out. After a good thirty seconds of rabble she seemed to calm down.

"Ok. So. I looked into the future, see? And I can see that you look fat. That'll be 20 beetles."

The yellowblood gave her a good, long look. He was outraged. Fat? Him?? After attempting to refuse payment he noticed the Lusus from outside stick its head through the door. With a snort, and it's glaring eyes, he realized he had no choice but to pay up.

"You.. you're serious? I have to pay.. for THAT?"

The purpleblood growled, slamming one fist against the table, the crystal ball almost being toppled over.

"You honestly think I care if you're unsatisfied? I work, you pay. You're FAT, ok? So don't make me double the price on your fat self."

He reluctantly forked over his beetles, and was forced out of the door. Before he left he attempted to ask her why she was so.... angry. And rude.

"But.. you can't possibly expect people to pay for this type of thing, right? I mean, why do you have to be so downright rude to your customers?"

The purpleblood rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the male.

"Look, I deal with nutso's all the time. They come in here, they get mad at my amazing fortunes, and they try to undercharge me. I don't care what others think of me, I'm here to put them in their place and get my money. I don't care if you came here looking for your true love, or your lost ball, or whatever it is you were hoping to find. Now shoo. Before I maim you."

For some reason her words angered him. He felt compelled to lash out, but was once again hesitant because of the Lusus grasping at his arm with its mouth. Kicking and screaming he was dragged out of the shack 20 beetles shorter than he went inside with.  

[leon_a_darkangel]

Quadrants Day - Holiday Purpleblood ♠


Marcel Karaar from the time of her wriggling day discovered she was great at inspiring violence in others. If the birthmark on her face didn’t attract all the unwanted attention in Alternia, then the symbol on the child’s dress certainly did. As a result, she’d grown to both despise and love others for the attention often lavished upon her. Positive or negative attention, it didn’t matter to her. Whether it was her abrasive, pushy demands, or her extreme mood swings Marcel always knew just the right buttons to press at the wrong moment. It was a sickeningly delightful game she liked to play, especially when a troll was fool enough to bother her too much. To say the least, Marcel was not the friendliest of highbloods, nor did she give a bear’s a** what the hell others thought of her when she got into one of her infamous spiteful fits. Her bossy rude ways were matched only by her dreamy “purple”-tinted glasses view of the world.

On a particular beautiful moonlight night, Marcel had wandered away from her lusus caretaker, feeling the ever demanding need to seek attention. She found it in the form of a blueblood, having run into him while wandering in the Four Fronds. The stranger with his tiny mouse lusus disgusted her. Wrinkling her nose in disdain, the purpleblood rolled her eyes.

“You should keep moving peasant, you and your tiny a** disgusting squeakbeast.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the horrid little rodent lusii.

“What the hell did you just say about my lusus?” The boy, several inches taller than Marcel growled, gritting his teeth.

Marcel’s voice boomed following the bluebloods reply, malice blazing behind her lidded gaze. “You heard me! Or are your sponge clots broken? Dude. Your insults are as pathetic as your blood color!” The little girl retorted, sneering at the other troll. It was apparent all this blueblood was good for was making boring, lame comments that might as well have put her to sleep.

“Who’s calling who pathetic here? Is your thinkpan as rotten as your mouth?” He fired back.

“Is that the best you’ve got? Gosh you sure are useless aren’t ya? Go on; get out of my sight already!” Mar snarled, snapping her fingers at the kid. She was pointing in the direction he’d come from, as if he was a dog to be commanded. Her blood caste was higher; yet she was just testing him, curious how he’d respond to her aggression.

Sure, she liked making friends or ‘contacts’ as she referred to them, but this guy was a complete joke. Both children traded insults for several more minutes, neither making any real progress in running the other off. As the blueblood switched tactics in insulting her appearance, there was a loud crashing sound from within the forest. A monstrous roar made the other troll’s face pale, while Marcel beamed with malicious delight.

“Ooo! You’re so screwed kid! Haha!” She crowed with childish delight.

Head turning in the direction of the fast approaching lusus, she put on a pouty face worthy of an Oscar. The wrath of her lusus was a force to be reckoned with. A massive six legged bear-like creature, MiiMaa was as dangerous as her own child when left unchecked. All color drained from the blueblooded trolls face as they backed up slowly from the girl, both from her shaking fury and the sight of the massive mother bear glaring directly at him. Marcel's lusus opened her mouth, bellowing in rage at the stranger. All MiiMaa saw was that her cub was angry, it didn’t matter why; she reacted on instinct to protect her.

“O..oh s**t!” He backed up, tripping over his own two feet, squeaking in terror as spit sprayed onto his face, hair blown back by the force of the lusus's roar. His own guardian was pulling at him to back off, the pair fleeing into the night without looking back.

Looking down right smug, Marcel put her hands on her hips. “That’s right. You’d better run!” The purpleblood cackled manically, sounding almost hysterical.

Dealing with stupid trolls pestering her was a no brainier. She didn’t have to threaten to cull most annoying fools. Her mother was usually plenty enough motivation for trolls to buzz off; especially when their presence wasn't desired. The only problem with MiiMaa was when she’d hibernate for long periods of time…leaving Marcel to her emotional lows and highs without any guidance. As fate would have it, her lusus as motherly as she was would sleep nearly the entire night away, leaving Marcel to her thinkpan's fantasy-land for better or worse.

While the blueblood was no prince charming as his insults had been lacklustre, it didn’t stop her from wondering if they could have bickered more. Most trolls couldn’t handle her abrasive attitude and either cried like wrigglers, or ran at the sight of her lusus or after a bit of teasing them with threats of culling. It wasn't like she'd ever done it before, but still she took grim satisfaction in scaring others. Her anger and rage weren't even suitable for a healthy romance, but the child hardly cared at her age. It was no matter! That simply wasn’t her princess or prince charming was all, she reasoned with herself.

Pouting, she climbed on her mother’s back burying her face against her fluffy white fur, making a scene. “MiiMaa!” She wailed, her expression that of a sour, spoiled rotten princess. “When will I find someone worthy of my friendship?” She lamented with a melancholy filled sigh, her mood turning at the drop of a hat.

Her mother grunted in annoyance. Her child was far too young to be so concerned with her quadrants. Especially the one she often would romanticize on about endlessly. Although her mother did approve of her making friends; the bear was not having a discussion about her quadrants unless they were of moirallegiance and auspisticism (for now anyway). Yawning, she shrugged her powerful shoulders. In time my moonlight. You are but a little cub still Marcel, do not forget. There is no need to despair my darling, focus on something else. Come on now, you’ve had your fun. MiiMaa’s tone of voice left no room for discrepancies. The bear was already shuffling along, marching the pair away from the quivering runt of a troll. No troll was good enough for her daughter until they proved themselves. However, no troll compared to her precious, demanding, little hellion.

Marcel knew her mother was right, as always. Yet it was hard with constantly being bombarded by outside sources, and the black cloud that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Relenting, she clung to her lusii, falling silent as she despaired privately so not to bother her beloved MiiMaa further.

 

[Blasphemoose]

That day was the most magical day for the young troll posing in the mirror, today was his day, the wriggling day of Antema Rahven but also the day of quadrents.. Yes,Antema's wriggling day was the same as quadrents day, however. unlike many who fell on holidays, he saw this is a perfect opportunity to celebrate himself. Sure a lot of trolls would probably want to spend the day at some corner shop getting some confection or another to share or just sending simple cards and presents, but he knew for a fact that lots of trolls would love a quadrants themed party to take their subject of black or red feelings to. It wasn't like he needed presents anyway, he had everything he could want or need, he was after all very close highest tier there could be. He was financially set --not to mention he was surrounded by gifts from blackrom hopefuls-- and so tonight was all about performance and really pushing how much fun he could have with this party.

Antema checked the mirror to make sure everything was in place. Hair tied so it wouldn't get in the way, clothes. that were flowy and easy to move in but still very stylish. He knew he was cute, but he didn't know if he'd stay this cute forever so he was going to ham it up for what it was worth, though it would quite possibly clash with the sick slams he was going to throw out in his performance. One step after another he twirled so that his long hair and his clothes flew out. When he stopped, he posed with his arms out, his head posed up ever so slightly showing off his tired looking eyes. "Perfect," he hummed before taking off out of the room, his guests would be arriving soon and the show as about to start.

The party room was large, there was a stage with an impressive sound amplification system and a stand with a microphone. On the other side was a long table set with varying treats and goodies for his guests, most of it was pretty fancy and decorated with hearts, spades, diamonds and clubs. Five trolls stood at the door, he'd hired them to watch for trouble at the party. Since he was not advertising this as a birthday event and as a quadrants day spectacle, he did have a bit of a fee to get in. It wasn't hefty, just enough to dwindle the crowed a bit, since he couldn't hold every single grub in alternia and so he could possibly make a bit of pocket change. After a quick check with the brutes Antema had hired and a look at the sound system, it was time to begin.

Antema's party went on without a hitch and was well under way when things got a bit nasty. As he'd hoped many classes were there, but the crowed wasn't too thick to over run his hive. most of those who could not handle the higher bloods or were too uppity to take part in the festivities with lower hues had left claiming the party as a mess. Antema himself was contentedly overlooking his party from the stage when a bronzeblood came up to Antema and thrust a package to him. This was a new one of the many “haters” he had,. Before he could say anything in the way of rejection, another troll shoved the bronze blooded troll over; this was a higher troll, one who was persistent in her black courtship of Antema.

“And what makes you think you're enough for it scum?”

Antema let out sigh and his face just kind of took a very exasperated appearance as the blue blood started her tirade about it, as though Antema weren't there and couldn't speak for himself. Not everyone noticed what was going on, too busy gabbing or dancing with their perspective partners. There was however a small group that had gathered around. Antema's exasperation quickly turned into utter bore dome and mild irritation.

“I don't like when people think they can decide who I can or cannot like, I get that much too often,” he began. The blueblood and the bronzeblood looked at him. “Now don't get me wrong,” he said gently, “I appreciate the feelings but I just cannot return the feelings for you.” He specifically looked over at the blue blood. “You should especially know this. I don't feel that way about either of you, but I think the way you two are going at it...” he trailed off a bit and then gave a bit of a smirk.

““I-It's not that way!” The blue blood stammered.

“Oh really? Looks pretty black to me and I might say I'm an expert on the case,” a sneer formed on the young purple blood's mouth.

“I told you to shut up!” the blue blooded female roared at him. It really wasn't his intention to cajole the anger of this blueblood, it just kind of came out. He knew that this wasn't going to be the greatest trait to bring to adulthood but even without it, trolls seemed to throw their dark feelings at him with no thought of his own feelings.

“Make me,” he purred. This seemed to be the final straw and the blueblood threw a punch at his face. The punch was caught, not by him but by one of the brutish trolls he'd hired for that evening. So often he'd had things like this happen, it wasn't the worst but he'd learned very quickly that in order to survive he'd need to have someone watching his back, and since everyone needed beetles to survive or for whatever miscellaneous things they so desired, he could hire a handful of them to watch his back.

“You see, I am clever, I am completely over your head but that is not why I simply cannot requite your feelings.”

Honestly, he was so very sick of people like this. The many trolls testing the quadrant waters and sometimes just after his life for reasons he didn't always understand. Okay, yeah maybe he did go a bit far engaging the troll like that. Sure he was an honest enough troll but sometimes he really should have kept his mouth shut and he knew that, but really she had no right to tell him what to do at his own party and how could he be anything but blunt to those who seemed so intent on shoving their feelings down his throat? He didn't think much of what or why they were attracted to him in such a black way, nor did he care, simply for the fact that in caring or pondering what they liked or disliked about him just gave them false hope for requite that would never come.

He shrugged. “Anyway, take her out of here and don't let her back in. If anyone else causes trouble, do the same. Ah, it's my cue to start the performance so excuse me.” Antema shrugged off the situation and stood up. He took his place at the stand “Looks like it's getting close to the end, We all had fun right? Maybe found a new partner for the holiday?” he paused and looked over the crowed who all gave a “Yeah!”

“Alright, so here's the next event that we're going to close with, I have invited a band to come and play for you, we've put together an event for you, so stick around and grab your partner, it's time to blow this thing out and make this a day to remember!”

He was not going to let the dark feelings over take him, he'd had enough of it. Antema Rahven was determined to be more than just black feelings, whatever it took.  

[Micillia]

Chiara Moteku

ChiaraChiara threw the book into the fire after just three pages. It was a boring book, and boring things needed to be disposed of. She watched the flames eat the gift her lusus had brought her, and dared the spiked beast to act. It simply turned over and continued its slumber. So boring. Chiara needed something engaging soon or she was sure her troll body would explode. "Hum, exploding," she thought to herself, "that sounds exciting". Unfortunately It would probably take a lot of boredom to induce something so interesting. No, she needed an engaging task, and she needed it now. There was some gossip going around that a few of the young trolls, ones that just turned old enough to receive building privileges, were moving into some of the vacant or abandoned lots. That might be interesting.
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ChiaraChiara stepped out of her maze of a hive into the suburban neighborhood she resided and scoped the area. Her next door neighbor, a far too friendly orange blood waved at her so she immediately sought out the opposite direction.The orange blood was a problem, and she would need to deal with him soon, but at the moment Chiara could not handle another conversation with the most uninteresting troll she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. As the purple blood strolled, another neighbor noticed her presence and absconded quickly. Chiara recognized the troll, she was one of the purple blood's "friends", or projects as she called them. A few weeks ago Chiara had tormented the poor troll relentlessly, until it had broken down and set fire to the local post office. Sure there would be repercussions if the terrified troll ever grew a backbone, but for now there were only sweet memories. Chiara sighed in pleasure, remembering that night. She still had a lock of the tormented troll's hair as a memento to their bond. It smelled like smoke and lilacs.
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Chiara Chiara moseyed as she reminisced, but was brought back to reality when she spied pray. It looked like the neighborhood was receiving a new resident. The rumors had spoken true, here was a young troll, looks like he just passed the last test a day ago. Chiara watched as a young troll directed the drones. It was such a young innocent thing, a look of wonder on his face as the drones carried out his orders.
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Chiara"Hello" called Chiara as she made her way to greet the newcomer. "I'm the Community Regulator, here to make sure you build a hive suitable for this refined part of town." It was a lie, but Chiara got a thrill from giving herself titles of power. It intimidated others. She gave the young troll's house a look of disgust, it was boring, the same as all the other hives, what an eyesore. She changed it to an obviously fake smile, saying "I'm sure it will start looking better once we get these drones under control"
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Chiara The intimidation was successful, and the young troll visibly shrank at Chiara's attention. "Well its not done yet..." the young innocent thing murmured, squirming under the pure-blood's look. He appeared to grow silent, gathering his courage. "I'm ███████," it blurted out, "a green blood, moving in this next week! Are you really the Community Regulator? I think someone would have told me if there was one... Chiara was impressed, he was brave for such a small young thing. She thought she had scared it into silence, but things were more fun this way. Maybe this green blood would become one of her projects. Only time would tell.
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Chiara "Ahhh...." Chiara drawled, "Another puke blood to join the ranks." She scoffed, "Yes of course they didn't tell you about the Community Regulator, mean trolls like that like to leave cute little ones in the dark... But i'm here for you now." The youngin bristled at the derogatory term, but it turned to confusion as Chiara said with genuine warmth "I do hope you enjoy living here."
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Chiara "Umm, thanks..." he mumbled.
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Chiara Chiara stepped in close, and put her hand on the troll's shoulder. "Here, ill give you a hand. Eyesores like this need a little something" she said, and immediately took control of the drones. They stared blankly at her for a minute, then fallowed her orders. "Yes, and add an extra dead end hallway over there. No! Shingles on the patio AND on the roof!" Chiara barked. The young troll stood open mouthed, dumbstruck as his house, which had at first resembled a rather well built troll-roman style was starting to look like a mad house. Doors opening to thin air, windows looked into the bathroom, stairs that ended half way through. The green blooded troll closed his mouth, steadied himself, and stepped up to Chiara, a look of challenge on his face. "Ah ah ah," Chiara chided, adding a venomous smile. "Is there something you wanted to add?" The young troll paled at Chiara's challenge. "Your right ███████, the bathroom SHOULD be moved into the roof."
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Chiara The young troll began to whimper, close to tears. Chiara hid a grin, but turned towards the troll, a look of concern painted on her face. "Oh no! Did I mess it up? Here! Lets just start over from scratch! Tear it all down!" she yelled at the drones, who were quite adept at destroying, and had the lot flat in no time. The green blood was looking at the ground, trying not to cry. "Im sorry... i just got so caught up in the moment. Thanks for letting me have fun, ill leave you to it. I'm sure it will turn out great. Contact me if you need anything." Chiara went so far as to pat the troll's head, cheering him up a bit. She bid him farewell and continued her walk. The green blood wouldn't have enough allotted materials to build a proper hive now, and would have to take a loan, or better yet, ask Chiara for a favor, making him indebted to her.
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Chiara Chiara mused on the encounter as she continued her stroll. That kid had potential. A few more of the right jabs, maybe become someone the little guy could depend on for a few days, get under its skin, and this could be fun. In the mean time she had to find a solution to the neighboring orange blood. He was really bringing the community down, the entire troll race in fact. As "Community Regulator" it was really her duty to eliminate this nuisance. How else was the troll race going to better itself unless there was someone out there to cull the problem trolls.  

[thyPOPE]

There was a long list of things that ticked Pruden off, and while the order shifted by the second (having to actively deal with an annoyance made it that much more pressing, in Pruden's opinion), there were certain items on it that stayed consistently near the top.

Pretenders to bygone eras, for one – stupid FLARPers simpering on with woefully inaccurate costumes, idiots who put on the airs of the “upper class” or some fabled ancient age without dedicating careful study to the shifts of grammar and diction over time, military-sanctioned archaeologists who went digging into tombs and ruins and desecrated the deliberate placement of trinkets and treasures in the name of repurposing for a stupid higher agenda. Pruden Phaine appreciated a certain degree of anachronism, of course, but there was a wide gulf between imitation (that highest form of flattery) and insult (that gulf was research, and those unwilling to brave its tempestuous waters could hardly call themselves worthy of anything).

Trolls who looked at blood as a measure of character, for another. Anyone who knew anything knew that symbols told all. Pruden had selected her own carefully for its delicate balance of anonymity (how brazen, to link a troll to a glyph that held so much meaning that its personal significance was easily dwarfed - and yet how fitting, for all her carefully cultivated pigtails and dramatically curved horns and regal birthmark told) and ability to communicate Pruden's highest ideal (sweet blackness, which curled around a heart like a vise and turned it on its head, lacerating it with the sort of fine precision Pruden herself aspired to). Symbols were displayed prominently, and difficult to mistake for one another - there was always such care to render them exactly, and it was simple work to produce a tool with which to render a symbol the same each time. Blood by comparison was inelegant. Colors were fickle and seemed to change depending on the environment, and blood faded over time - was the most accurate measure of bloodhue from freshly-harvested blood, or thin streams of blood dried and greyed on the arm, or a bag of it carefully drawn so that it was no longer translucent? In what light was blood ideally viewed, and thus its color evaluated? The truth of the matter was that there was no way to preserve the fidelity between blood and ink (inevitably made from a material other than the color of the blood cut sharp from that specific troll's skin, which inevitably meant they reacted differently to the passage of time and other such phenomena), and then between that and the hue recorded in the empire's database. And of course it was inadvisable to even begin to consider the generally arbitrary division of hue among the seven most common colloquial hemochromatic categories. There was no way to consistently distinguish different colors of blood from one another, and it was upsetting to even consider that any troll with imbecilic notions of grandeur might think otherwise.

Trolls that flouted common laws of propriety were a certain third. Yes, Pruden had already considered that such rules differed for certain trolls, but there was a limit to that sort of thing. Underthings showing beneath a skirt, for example, was so gauche - it was called concealed carry for a reason. Anyone who let the dagger or pistol they strapped to their thighs show deserved to be mocked for their indiscretion, really. In the same vein it was silly to swagger about legs wide, arms swinging, as though you wanted trolls to think you intimidating. At best you might be someone hiding a bigger secret; at worst you were simply showing your hand too early to make it any sort of advantage. What motivation would any troll have then to develop a relationship with you? Best to be composed; follow the template. If Pruden had respect for anybody it was for those who hid in plain sight, and for those who got things done with none the wiser. To do that, a troll had to be polite, drawn in, and unthreatening. That delicate dance of hate was made all the better when your partner was the only one who could even hope to detect the way you made them misstep. Romance, in the best books' opinions (and in Pruden's), was an eternal game of one-upmanship, in the name of the improvement of Alternia. Only those who successfully found themselves worthy rivals (or cultivated sweet piteous connections, something also best accomplished through apparent vulnerability) survived to enter the gene pool. That was what courtesy did.

Of course the list could be neatly summed to a simple concept, rendered here in language that (while imprecise, as with all language) she still thinks remarkably effective at communicating its intent. You, ignorant; me, disdainful.

Perhaps the most common trigger of Pruden's platonic ire was proposals of hate, though. No, that was inaccurate (though proposals of hate did grate on her, too: what was a declaration of feelings without the sweet yoke of challenge to back it up?). It was the attempts to cull her that Pruden disdained. Amateurs, she could call them, and she was right, of course (no one young enough to safely express any sort of resentment for Miss Phaine's character could be called professional at anything).

See, the thrill about romance was that it took balance, and it was personal. There was no use in a kismesis who truly wanted you dead, or in one who couldn't survive on their own merits. And of course like in any romance, it was between multiple trolls, who had to know each other quite intimately, for only elaborate examination of a troll's weaknesses and strengths could allow one to craft a worthy challenge for them to complete, or spot their schemes before any other contender for their finer black emotions stepped in. That was the love that any heroine might wait for: excitement hurtling down the spine, spade all aflutter with the seeds of revenge. There was little Miss Phaine’s ideal, and she cultivated herself for it, that she might someday be the instrument that darkened a lovely, clever, witty troll’s eyes.

That made everything about these farces all the sillier. Unsubtly armed lowbloods carrying the symbols of their employers coming at Pruden with all their familiar brawn? Ernest, her well-muscled lusus, was beyond capable of deflecting them, first by detecting them (well, they were obvious) and then by cutting them off before they could hope to trigger Pruden’s estate’s security system. From there all it took was a brief demonstration of the manor’s ability to render a troll neatly trussed and sliced open to get them to turn tail. Those sorts of schemes were hatched from the thinkpans of the most cowardly trolls: those so frightened of swift death that they sent scapegoats in their place. It was almost too demonstrative of Pruden to send their little minions back, cowed, with bows tied round their necks for good measure. Oh, certainly it was engagement in a fool’s dangerous game (so easily read as flirting) but in Pruden’s defense the poor lackeys usually weren’t involved in the stupidity. It would hardly be proper to allow them to be harmed, as their employers had intended; that’d only be signaling that their strategies were working, which, well, was clearly false. Besides there was an elegance in returning them like rejected packages in the mail. Here was the surprise (or “surprise,” for Pruden couldn’t truly imagine someone who hated her expecting her to fall to assassins) at her neat sidestepping of the issue, there was the resentment for her clear superiority boiling in their stupid inconsistent veins.

(Okay, so maybe she cultivated that hate a little bit. It didn’t hurt to look desirable, and really all she had to do for it was toss easy insults at trolls who deserved them.)

“Elaborate” killing contraptions built in gleaming, despicably distinct hemochrome, with garnishes that bore uncanny resemblances to well-known symbols? Hardly subtle. There was no use in a kismesis who only recognized cull attempts when paraded before their eyes with a sign round the waist, and Pruden was rather insulted that any troll would think so lowly of her. The obvious answer was moving the devices, intact, to well within the forests of the Fronds (any civilized troll lived lakeside anyway, and spending any effort defusing the toy was honestly beneath her). Devices like these were horrible gifts of appreciation for hospitality, which made them difficult to get to Pruden in any form but mail, which meant she was never in any actual danger from them – only a trap linked to a location had any real risk of damaging anything that had a hold on Pruden’s twisted little heart. And besides they were never very personal: they near universally came from trolls who had seen her in public, capricious but demure like anyone of her station ought to be, and ached for it. There was no interest in it for her.

Worst were situations like the current one. It had started so well – with a finely-penned letter of intent, and a request for an introduction. A perfectly reasonable start to a romance, she’d thought, or even merely a friendship.

See, Pruden deserved finesse, from a troll with a well-honed appreciation of her talents and her skill. Someone who knew her well enough to know what made her squeal, and wasn’t so frightened as to eschew personal communications. A long sequence of eloquent epistolary exchange, proving that she and they were of true consequence to one another even without the boon of physical presence. Simple trinkets of appreciation at first, as an elegant method by which to evaluate Pruden’s ability to detect ingredients hazardous to a troll’s health, counter them, and wear the trinkets thus proudly but silently on her person. Coy gifts to jab teasingly at a girl’s bloodpusher, stoking the flame of her ire. The expectation of the same, of a long courtship quietly culminating in mutual respect and delightful antagonism. That was the sort of seduction she wanted, one that culminated at the cusp of her adulthood and her childhood, just in time for Pruden and her partner to settle into a long-distance flirtation with the security of their hatred ensnared, so that they might be able to travel into the stars knowing they were worthy. That was what she was holding out for.

So it was all the more spadebreaking when Miss Grande – the troll in question – immediately challenged her to a fight, after the obligatory tea (accompanied by, as traditional, carefully doctored pastries, but of course Miss Grande had sidestepped them with all the neatness of an excellent partner). Pruden could but look upon her, aghast. It was only their first true meeting, and they were both still of the age where chaperones were appropriate. Neither of them had incentive to want to refine the others’ skill, and besides it was on Pruden’s territory, and risked real fatality (there was no way to have any sort of control over the outcome of bouts like these, and while injuries were part and parcel of a courtship, it was only interesting if it was deliberate).

So when she responded it was with the intent of returning the relationship to its proper course. “Ah, Miss Grande,” she began, clearing her throat prettily and settling her hands demurely on her lap. “I must confess I’ve never previously experienced a problem in this vein, but there must be some sort of impediment to my comprehension – perhaps my dear Ernest was not quite discrete enough in clearing the remnants of our table setting, and I was duly distracted.” She paused here to gather herself. There were suitors that called her father Phantom for his silence – it unnerved them that a hooved creature could glide about on the ground like an owl through the air. There was no way that his meticulous clearing of the table had attracted any attention from either of the girls in the sitting room. He was simply too deserving of his good name. “I must state my surprise at the turn I believe this conversation may have taken, and yet I know you’ll be quite accommodating of -”

“Afraid?” the girl opposite her grinned. She’d pulled out two shiny handaxes when making the proposal – really it was quite clear her intent. They near dwarfed her, not a very compelling sight for anyone. Well, they’d have fit right in her hands were she not so young that her own canine chaperone was present, polite and watchful, at the door of the room. As it was, no one liked the appearance of incompetence. Yet Miss Grande continued. “Might I remind you, dear Miss Phaine, that this is a courtship, with a clearly stated goal parameter? A spar with me is the best test of our suitability for one another – I’d hate to traverse this path with you only to realize later that you’re unfit.” The axes, placed in her lap, gleamed. Pruden lifted an eyebrow in response – unlike some trolls, she thought interrupting while a peer spoke unfathomable.

It didn’t take long for the appropriate repartee to well in Pruden’s throat once it was clear Miss Grande was done for now, though. “Oh, dear – I must apologize, then, for the implication that your statement was worded in a manner such that it might have been misconstrued by myself. It’s evident now that my comprehension of the situation was accurate,” she began, allowing what she imagined to be the frost of her disdain to seep into her tone. “As an esteemed guest on my estate your opinion is of great interest to me; the delightful endeavor of hospitality necessitates that I provide sustenance and entertainment sufficient for a troll of your bearing. Yet there cannot exist a reasonable justification for such an intimate liaison on this particularly early occasion of our acquaintance.” It was true, too. Alternia was long past the age where conflict was ideally resolved in physical combat. That was why machines and starships existed, after all! Face to face combat was a luxury through which the most personal and intimate of matters were settled – or that was its ideal purpose, anyway. She and Miss Grande had nothing to fight about and little to prove.

In Miss Grande’s defense she waited this time for Pruden to finish her argument, but then she hefted an axe. “Miss Phaine, a relation like this one’s a commitment, and a peaceful date is hardly enough to evaluate something with as much potential as us.” Pruden felt her disdain only multiply. She couldn’t take much more – courtship was the prelude to romance. It hardly decided anything!

“I must then offer my apologies for such error in communicating my intent,” Pruden replied, shaking her head. “Romance is a delicate bud that blooms with time and demonstrations of skill and passion. If I may speak so boldly, I urge you to reconsider your respectably frigid consideration of the matter. One single interaction, no matter the quality, cannot be sufficient fuel for a relationship forged on a solid foundation. There is no prudence in committing to any sort of romance so prematurely: if our relationship would have been worthy, we’d have learned it through carefully meted interaction and the meeting of our spirits. As it is a bout is merely an unwise fit of fancy.”

Grande had waited again for Pruden to finish, but she’d already sheathed her weapons. Pruden knew where this was going. “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome, then, Miss Phaine. It’s a pity the practicality of your hive’s security system doesn’t extend to its owner.”

Pruden narrowed her eyes, but the only appropriate response was, well, the traditional one. She stood fluidly, without ruffling her skirts, and coolly glided to the door, where Miss Grande’s little canine lusus growled. “It’s no simple matter for a troll of your temperament to bear yourself to my greeting hall, so I must impose upon the pleasure of your company for a few minutes more. It’d calm my tremulous heart to see you safely to your return vehicle, Miss Grande.” She indicated the pathway as they walked, Grande in stony silence. When they arrived she turned again to her guest. “Do call upon my estate in future, then, Miss Grande; I’ll anticipate your return.”

She watched as girl and lusus bore themselves to their car, feeling a vindictive pleasure settle in her chest cavity as she noticed the quivering of Grande’s proud shoulders as she walked. Perhaps it was true that she entertained flirtations like these almost too often – they always turned to such disappointments in the end. Yet there was no other way to search for that troll who’d someday make her bloodpusher race. She felt a moment of pity for all the fools like Grande who might hope to settle for such a hollow “victory” – but they were annoying, and deserved it, really. Someday Pruden’s romances would inspire volume upon volume of novel; tonight it was simple to record Grande’s passed chance in her diary. There were so many more trolls to meet…  

[quite uneventful]

ImaginationsParadise

“I cannoooot believe I actually signed up for this!” A purpleblooded troll whispered to herself as she hid in a bush with some specs in her hands, trying to be as stealthy as possible. Starting to look back at how many hours she had spent crouching in this position, which was obviously starting to give the youngling cramps, she would exaggeratedly guess about... two and a half hours!!!! She shook her head knowing that her calculations were just too inconsistent. This ominous character is Eridia Tsifer, a pampered kid with a highly distinctive birthmark and such an intriguing job, per say? Since there was nothing else fun to do she decided to calculate her time, for real.

The ground beneath me is a biiiit moist, aaaand… She looked up to the sky, trying to see where the moons were located and recalled their position when she arrived. They did move a liiiittle to the side… After her analysis was complete, Eridia deducted she had spent, at most, 0.5 hours staring at some rust-blooded stranger. In the end, it’d all be worth it to get the chance to shatter his matespritship for good. I should’a made my lusus get me something to eat... I am STAAAARVING! She glanced at her little bird-like lusus sleeping soundly next to her, making her sigh once more. Even sleeping seems like more FUUUUN! Truth be told, this young “un-matchmaker” would actually love to see what would happen if she was to be discovered. Would they attack her? Get creeped out? Ooooh, she was so tempted…! She smiled brightly, letting out a chuckle that seemed more sinister than most. At least something fun would happen.

Blinking back to reality, Eridia’s face fell into it’s usual sneer as she watched the rustblood like a hunter to its prey.

It had been a week since the purpleblood was sent to thoroughly investigate a certain burgundyblood, to her disgust. She wasn't given a reason-- simply told by her customer to do so. This piqued her intrest... Why would he want to interfere with this troll's matespritship? Maybe his morail sent me? Or could it be something else? Something… Like a kismesis? She took her eyes off him and crossed her arms, deep in thought. What could be my benefactor's motives? Sadly, nothing came to mind. Aggravated, Eridia flumped to the ground with a loud huff. The situation had made her so angry, she did not even care about ruining her custom made dress. She hadn’t even noticed she’d awakened her lusus.

After a few more moments of waiting for the other troll, the young purpleblood let out a loud groan. “Ugh! This is so BOOOORING.” She exclaimed, feeling bitter. “IT'S NO FUN IF YER NOT ALLOWED TO HANDPICK YOUR PLAYDATES!!!!” She blamed herself for having accepted the lowblood’s offer. She should’ve known better than to trust a lowblood. The spoiled troll wished to scream some more, but after hearing a loud rustle from afar, she realized just how loud she was. Her eyes widened and the purpleblood quickly covered her mouth. Her lusus seemed to be frozen as well. She carefully lifted her lusus into her arms and slowly peeked over her shoulder, tension growing steadily as she wondered where the other troll was. It felt as if someone was getting closer to her hiding spot. Feeling her pump biscuit thrash wildly in her chest, a dark smile crept on her face-- Now THIS was what she was talking about. It was hard for her to resist the temptation of leaping out of the bushes, constantly telling herself she’d just mess it up more, only to be utterly disappointed.

The troll had left.

Other trolls who were in the area were startled when they saw her emerge from the bush. With a cutting snarl, the purpleblood rounded on them, giving them her best sneer. “What are you losers staring at?” Her eyes glinted in the moonlight, baring her teeth and sneering. “Never seen a trooooll hide behind a bush before?” Watching them rush away, Eridia stomped the ground in anger, nearly bursting from irritation. "MARK MY WORDS!!!!" Eridia shouted. "I WILL FIND YOU... EVENTUALLY!!!!"

 

[quite uneventful]

"Give it."

"What?"

"Give it to me. That thing in yer hands. Now."

A certain purpleblood with pigtails in her hair had a hand on her large hips the moment she saw that bauble in the kids hands. It looked precious to the other, like a memento... Maybe, a keepsake from their former lusus? A present from their morail... Just the thought of it made Lavern Naashi want to know how the troll felt...

"I... I'm not, um, giving it to you." The brown blood said defiantly and held it tighter, making Lavern arch an eyebrow at the troll and retract her hand. With an unpleased snarl, she swallowed her anger and snapped her fingers, jealousy sliding through her veins like oil. "Baba, come 'ere." As soon as her enormous lusus stormed onto the scene, she looked at the other troll, eyes glinting with desire. "Y've got one chance, shitblood. Tell me about it. How you got it, where its from. Who gave it to you. If I enjoy your story... Well, I might just leave. Might." The brownblood stared at the lusus with frightful eyes, not willing to play her game, but as soon as the troll tried to leave, Lavern's eye twitched. She grabbed the kids arm with an iron grip and waddled to a better spot to sit, somewhere she wouldn't ruin her dress... And sat him down, watching him intently. Waiting.

The troll was obviously socially awkward or something. They were just staring at the purpleblood and her lusus for a while before taking a breath and squeezing the bauble in their hands. "I-I... My crush gave it to me a sweep ago... Told me, um, not to lose it. That they'd um, see me again... Then he went to help the army." The purpleblood nodded solemnly, relaxing somewhat before rolling her eyes. The troll sounded like they felt sad their crush had left them to work in the most prestigious and amazing place. "Goin' to the ARMY is a NOBLE CAUSE, mudblood!" She shrieked, teeth bared at the other. The other troll's face went pale and Lavern snapped her finger, Baba placing one large foot on the other trolls chest and forcing them down, making them squirm. "That was a CUTE story. I hated it." She snarled, taking the bauble from the frantic brownbloods hand and dropping it on the ground. "It's not even worth my time! I don't have space in my hoard for shitty treasures." She lifted her leg, stomping down on it. It shattered into little bits and pieces, making the purpleblood giggle in delight. Maybe she should've destroyed stuff for a living. She climbed onto her lusi's back and pointed to the city, looking at the kid on the ground with a sneer.

"Y'shoulda given it to me in the first place, shitblood. C'mooon, Baba, I'm HUNNGRRYY!"  

[Ancient_Guardian]

Sigrid gazed down with hooded eyes and smiled at the trolls roaming the streets below. The city air was practically vibrating with the excitement! Everywhere, shops, buildings, and even hives were decked in red, pink, gray and black, each one trying to outdo their neighbor while roving customers sought gifts and treats for their desired partners or interests. Quadrants Day, a day of love-sick and hate-sick fools of every color. Already, she'd received the black attentions of countless trolls in the hemospectrum, and she'd indulged each and every one of them. Now it was time to reap what she'd sewn and celebrate her Wriggling Day in true style.

An elaborate clock on her wall chimed, alerting her of the time. With a light giggle, the tiny purple blood turned and hurried down the many halls of her hive, her curly ebony hair bouncing behind her. She slowed to a walk as she approached the drawing room, pausing in front of an impressive plaque to check her appearance on its reflective surface. She pursed her lips into a tiny frown, her tired-looking eyes perfectly framed by the raven ringlets that fell about her shoulders, while a mini mic sat pinned to her collar. Satisfied, she lifted her head and stepped inside.

Several of her would-be suitors had arrived and were lounging in her lavish drawing room. The air was rife with arguments, the higher bloods attempting to beat down the lower with a few of the lower fighting back. Oh, how it made her skin tingle to hear their voices, each one delving deeper into their blackest feelings as they quarreled. The tension in the atmosphere was almost as thick as the trolls' passionate hate and it was only going to get thicker. The young purple blood relished the sensation, pleased with this taste test of the fun to come.

Sigrid strolled forward and clicked her tongue, garnering the attention of her guests as she strode to the center of the room. After a few minutes, the voices settled and all eyes were on her.

"Well~, it seems you all made it~," she cooed, looking over the shifting crowd. "Welcome~."

An indigo blood stepped forward, his chin lifted in contemptuous self-importance. "wHat's goiNg oN, Sigrid?" he demanded gesturing to the others, "I tHougHt you already cHose Me over tHis trasH!"

"You've got a leak in your brainpan if you think you got a Blackrom with Sigrid, crap-face!" someone shouted, causing the indigo blood to spin on his heel.

"say tHat to My face, you wHitHeriNg, a** eatiNg, gut suckiNg wHore!" he bellowed, bearing his teeth as his eyes roamed the crowd for the offending troll.

"If that's what you want!" returned a female teal blood whose clothes practically screamed affluence.

Insults, threats and finally fists flew through the air as the two hot-blooded trolls belted it out. Some onlookers joined in the fray, though most just sat back and watched as their rivals tried to tear each other apart. Soon the room was in an uproar and the small crowed became a sea of rage and movement. Sigrid reveled in the emotional charge that radiated from the tempest of trolls.

This was going to be fun. Already, her would-be suitors were battling it out to see which one would get her first. She was almost tempted to leave them there and let them fight it out, but then she might lose some of them suitors to someone else. After all, if the black feelings get too strong, they have might fall for their rival instead of her.

"Now~, now~, everybody~," Sigrid said, her sweet voice amplified by the mini microphone and speakers, "I know competition is fun~, but let's not get carried away~."

It took a little bit, but soon a little bit of order was restored. Specks of beautifully colored blood spattered her floor and a few of the faces in the crowed were well colored indeed.

"Alright~," she crooned, "I said I want you here -all of you- but only one of you will be my kismesis~, and since you all share some sort of black feelings for me~, I decided to see whose is the blackest~. So~, I have a little game for you.~"

The purple blood reached into her pocket and pulled a small remote from its depths, her grin becoming dangerously sweet as she showed it to the others. A few faces in the crowed paled while others seamed to shine with a dark anticipation. They knew she loved games. How could anyone not love games - especially games with high stakes? And what higher stakes could there be than your life? With baited breath, they watched as she pressed the button, and waited. Suddenly the room began to move, revealing the hollow center of her enormous hive while also eliminating the exit.

"There's only one way out~," she chimed and twiddled the remote in her hand. "Catch me and the way out is yours~. Catch me and keep everyone else from catching me 'til the game is up and~, well~, I guess we were destined to have a blackrom anyway~. So~, catch me if you can slugheads~, because the game has just begun~."  

[Hivestuck]

((Late entry))

Buzzwulf

Smoke. Clouds of choking, bilious smog billowed towards the stars behind Karis. She was lost in those shimmering lights, frozen like lost baubles. The smoke turned the stars red. Karis liked red things.

A hundred eyes in fifty head watched her greedily. Meaningless rabble, orange and brown-bloods. Chaff. Karis sneered at their dumb faces, their slack jaws. Others- any others- hated her. Irrationally or otherwise, she’d had to flee and flee. If there was something Karis understood, it was running.

Those eyes had gathered tonight wordlessly, in silent agreement of what was to come. They were already short six, those few who had not been able to wait for her to leave her hive, and had come in after her. The rest advanced slowly, patiently, devouring her with their sight. She spared a moment to look away, back towards the hive that had been. A mistake. Nothing there but loss and frustrations and ashes. Fire still licked the edges of her painstakingly built hive. The six that had chased her inside were only now stumbling out, retching from smoke and nursing burns.

Served them right. It was HER hive, and she could burn it to the ground whenever she damn well wanted. Karis ignored the hissing coming from the basement for now. She should have warning, and there was no way to tell if there were seconds or minutes left. Besides, she’d been prepared for something like this for a while.

Eyes, with hands and mouths attached, sought hers in the dusk. Standing before them in the wreck of her life, her lips pressed into a short line and let their malice crash upon her. Their hatred was unreasoning, like waves with no shore. They simply were, and were everywhere. Simple then, to hate them in kind.

A whisper escaped Karis’ lips, caught on the edge of her breath. The words staggered from her mouth, bidden but not spry.

“I hate you. I hate all of you.”

Ghastly smiles filled faces in unison, like a single retched being. Fifty voices, begging, pleading chanting.

“We hate you too!”

The spell was broken, and they came for her. Karis ducked swiping hands, running around the back of the house. She almost lost her bag as she fought to keep her coughs from the smoke under control. Stumbling wildly, she fumbled with her bag, finding that mask she had brought earlier. Where? There! Straps tightened, cutting into braids and scalp, but she’d put the ugly thing on.

Just in time, too, a loud hissing announced.

The fire had finally reached the canisters of curse-gas she’d been storing in the basement. There was a crash as Char burst from the basement window, grabbing a blue-blood with a meaty hand and smashing him against the wall of the hive. He left a bright splotch on the burning timbers and slumped to the ground. Behind Char’s hulking gray form, she could see yellow-gray mist leaking rapidly from her hive. She’d been siphoning curse-gas from Char for weeks, since she’d started getting odd stares from other trolls, and storing it in canisters in her basement.

Karis heard coughing and sputtering behind her in the curse-gas. Looking through the thick goggles of her mask, she saw trolls everywhere heaving rainbows onto the cold ground. She hated all of them. She hated all of them so much. Next time, she’d use something a lot more lethal than curse gas. Or she’d let Char take care of them.

Her massive, hulking lusus took her hand. They marched together from the red stars.

There would be other towns. Other hives.

 

[Hivestuck]

ImaginationsParadise

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Thank you everyone for all your great entries. As always we had great fun reading them through and picking a winner was hard. Every applicant receives 1ep for participation.