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Stryke often found he was lost in thought this close to dawn, when the shop resembled its more hushed, discreet nature. His fingers ran over a tome at one side of the bookshelves briefly, neatly tidying them after a busy night. It was easy enough to summarize...

A lot can happen in a solar-sweep. Some changes are predictable; like the seasons or ones outer appearance. Still, not everything can always be measured by first impression. Other changes are more subtle: Pump biscuits and think-pans can change. Seemingly small decisions can have a big impact along the way. The real question left to be asked: Did the passing of solar sweeps truly make a troll older, and more importantly, wiser? The truth was, of course... No one could make time stand still. Speeding things along was pointless. The days will always march steadily on like an army, until the time for the next sweep comes.

His attention shifted to what was presently required of him. Pursing his lips as he made mental note of what was still left for the morning closing routine, the remaining employees were sent back to their hive with time to spare. Quickly producing a hair tie from around his wrist, the troll gathered up his hair before hoisting up a chair and flipping it upside down. Carefully, he repeated this, the rhythmic clink of the dishes in the back setting his pace. Each chair was stacked and adjusted before proceeding to the next. Once each chair was fixed and moved, he went for a broom.

While this was hardly a glorified night job, it felt like he’d found something that suited him. At the heart of it, it even gave him a sense of balance. Living a double life as a rebel and an average, nondescript yellowblood hadn’t been as easy as he initially had believed. As the weeks after the devastation at the rebel base passed, the unveiling of the mother grub still resounded with him even as nights blurred into one another.

The details like his fight with Kursha and the events at Bloodfest were all somewhat hazy. Memories of the ghost of Old Hemisect haunted him even now, and within time Stryke found even in the depths of sopor induced slumber he’d catch things in dim echoes. Yet, eventually life seemed to pace itself, and most of the whirlwind drama that had become his daily life died down. He kept in touch with those close to the organization, often times paying Vremea a visit as promised. Life at this slower pace worked well for him, and while Stryke was eternally grateful for its calmness, he found he was restless at times, anxious even.

During those days he'd put more effort into tasks to keep himself occupied. As time crept onward and the days passed, Stryke discovered he needed to find a way to make beetles while at the same time find a way to keep himself preoccupied. It didn’t help he’d outgrown most of his clothing, his tiny shoes further emphasizing his need for work.

As he cleaned, Stryke found a great amount of time to think. The world they lived in was, by far, not one to show defeat when adversity presented itself. Being a soft and passive troll, he felt powerless; a position he’d rather avoid as much as possible. In its place, Stryke had grown increasingly cynical and ultimately sarcastic with his views on the world he’d grown up in. It showed as the teen knocked over one of his stacked chairs in his attempts to make good time, leaving him shaking his head with an exasperated sigh.

“of courssse. how typical. why am I even surprised?” His dull voice broke the otherwise silence of the front room as he bent over and examined it briefly before re-stacking it like those before it. the couches need their pillows replaced... he noted as he stood back up stretching his arms with a sizable yawn. His arms dropped at his sides as he strode across the room. Pausing near several rows of chairs and tables he chuckled. Now as long as everything else didn’t come crashing down he’d be alright. With a roll of his eyes he shrugged off the silly notion, returning to his sweeping duty.

Satisfied with the area he properly swept, he poked his head into one of the adjacent back room doors. “how does it look in the back?” Stryke asked, leaning on the door frame.

“ha, i wouldn’t say desperate to leave, it’s just been a long night.” Stryke replied to the amiable laugh from the orangeblood. “besides everything is running like a well-oiled machine you can’t blame me!” Stryke himself chuckled as he gave a small shrug. Hole in the Wall had a lot of good trolls that worked here, this one happened to be one of them. It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected when he came to work here, but it certainly didn’t bother him. Ducking his head under a low hanging light his curved horns barely missed the feature. Hearing what the other had to say further, a patient smile flickered across the younger trolls face as he leaned on a counter as he made small talk with long time employee.

However his smile wavered when the other mentioned he was young. Having grown around ten inches had made the yellowblood think of himself as older, but of course his stature still had never been kind to him. He was still short at a little over 5 feet tall. “yes, things are in order out here by my account.” He gestured to the room at large. The movement was brief he wasn't very tall, and had to look up to make eye contact with the other troll. “i do intend to travel…and if possible i'd come back here at my journeys end.” He responded without explaining where he’d go, or why. It wasn’t really any of Mr. Vastix’s business, but it didn't mean he had to be completely closed off to speaking.


“seeing more of alternia as a whole would be rather interesting honestly.” Stryke mused, tilting his head at him. He could tell the other had a sense about his personal gauge, which he silently thanked the other for with an incline of his head. “i have time to figure out what isss best…i'll give you that much at least.” Shaking his head, he leaned heavily on his hand giving the other an inquisitive stare. “i wouldn’t get my excellent life lessons otherwise.” He added coyly, as he stood up untying his apron and tossing it loosely over a shoulder.

“i’ll see you tomorrow evening.” Stryke offered the other a quick nod, while abrasive it wasn't meant to be cruel. His gaze traveled after Hemile as he went towards the backroom. For a moment the yellowblood wondered why he’d been curious but chalked it up to nothing to be worried about. He moved around beside the other troll, thanking him before going to clock out.

Trailing back down the way to his hive, Stryke fumbled for a key in his pocket. Once the latch opened, he kicked open the door to his hive, and noticed right away everything was as he'd left it as he’d originally arranged it within the last sweep. Sighing in content, he draped his apron over a chair in the kitchen. Next he shrugged off his leather jacket, kicked off his boots and quickly unbuttoned his vest leaving his trousers, button down and suspenders as he dropped onto a sofa. Several unfinished books were close at hand, but were not reached for just yet. Food, then perhaps he’d read for the rest of the morning until it was bed time.

His lusus poked its head inside not long after the front door was re-locked. Appraising the yellowblood, Skinkdad shuffled across the room settling down near the troll. you ssseem tired.

Stryke glanced up, pushing himself into a sitting position and looking over his shoulder at his lusus. “no, i’m actually jussst fine. there is no reassson to analyze the situation further.” He added clenching his teeth as he slid off the couch and headed for the kitchen block. Not far away his gerbils made the occasional chitter, as if announcing their welcome home to him. Pausing by their cage, Stryke quickly switched out their food dish and water bottle before starting on tea before considering dinner. Lost in thought, he poured over what might come next. The anticipation of waiting would have to suffice he realized at least until something came up.

With his luck Stryke could only imagine he wouldn’t have to wait forever. There would always be the next adventure right around the corner…he was certain of it.