badpirattitude | Prisonstuck X

The rest of the room is quiet. The only other inhabitant has left, having apparently risen even earlier than Dualscar. But there is a small tray on the desk, a breakfast for the seadweller, including one half of an orange, already peeled. A note is propped up against it, slightly stained.

rii2e and 2hiine

waiitiing near the entrance. diidn't leave. can joiin iif you feel liike iit.

True enough, the Psiioniic is waiting down by the entrance of the hive, a book in his hands. For once, he isn't pouring into it, attention completely snared. It seems to be there more for the purpose of giving his hands something to do. More often than not, he looks up towards the door, waiting. His drone is besides him, obediently handling more oranges.

Dualscar reads the note, and because there's no one around to see him, he tucks it away in his sylladex like the little treasure it is. He quickly devours the breakfast left for him, smiling slightly at the half orange, getting the sense that it would have seemed like too much of a loss to leave a full orange behind.

Then he dresses, taking his time and making sure he's in full armor, completely resplendent and with all the markers of his caste and blood color showing, and heads down to meet the Psiioniic.

"Good morning."

He says it quietly, under his breath. There are terrible things that will happen today, and awful things they need to discuss, but he's loathe to break the quiet sweetness of the morning with unpleasantness. He stayed, the Psiioniic stayed, and Dualscar feels something jog in his chest that he's never felt before.

It's easier to hear Dualscar approach than see him. That armor of his, the swish of his cape... Yeah. Quietly shutting his book, the Psiioniic looks up at him and does his best to smile. It's small, but it's there, and it's honest.

"Hey." Looking him over, he twists in his place to look at him better.

"Tho you're not hurting too bad?"

There's a reason he's wearing all the formal regalia today.

Geesh, way to bring up a sensitive subject immediately! Dualscar gapes for a moment, then recomposes his face and stops his fins from waving around.

"I'm fine, no troubles."

He looks back at the door, his expression pensive.

"So you wwant to be there wwhen she's delivered?"

The look just makes the Psiioniic snicker and resolve to do such things even more in the future. That look is adorable, and he can only wonder what those wiggling fins mean to say.

But then the serious topic comes up, and the smirk drops from his face. Turning back to the door, he nods.

"It'sth going to be terrifying for her if there are jutht highbloodth around... There needth to be thomeone who can comfort her."

... great. Dualscar draws in a deep breath, and then tells the Psiioniic one of the last things he probably wants to hear.

"You'll need to put your helmet back on, then."

Expecting an argument, he plows onward quickly. "It wwon't be for long, I'll take it off again as soon as the captain is gone, but it will raise questions if you're wwalking around wwithout it, questions wwe can't afford. You'll have to play the part of the broken slave and that, unfortunately, means not having control of your lightshowws."

A wretched scraping noise goes throughout the hall as his nails drag across the cover of the book. The Psiioniic keeps his face turned away.

"...I underthtand."

A deep breath and he sets the book down on the ground. Pushing himself up to his feet, he turns to face Dualscar.

"Jutht get it over with."

"I'm sorry."

Dualscar gets the helmet out of his sylladex and moves to put it on, but pauses at the last moment.

"I'm not going to latch it. It wwill look like it's attached, but you'll be able to get it off if you have to."

He dips his face a little, trying to meet the Psiioniic's eyes.

"I'm trusting you, okay? You're going to hear some unpleasant things today--I'm going to say to say some awwful things, you should expect that--but I trusting you to not bloww our cover. No lightshowws, no backtalk, just the perfect, broken slave, yes?"

Right now, the last thing he wants to do is look up into Dualscar's eyes. It's no fault of the seadweller's, it really isn't. But to have his freedom, to have his psionics back, flowing through him and filling him up properly, unrestrained... and now it'll be gone again. Even if just for a short while, gone.

But then he dips his head down, and, almost reluctantly, the Psiioniic meets his gaze. Trusting him... Taking a deep breath, he heaves it out as if it takes effort. The smile he gives is dull and tired. "I wath able to thtay hidden for thweepth before Eth found me. I think I can fake thith." A bitter laugh. "Unleth he toucheth me, and then I make no promitheth that I won't knock him out."

A momentary pause and then he tilts his head up further, one hand going to rest on Dualscar's chest, over his heart. "Kith me." Before the helmet comes on. Before the other captain visits. Before they have to play the roles their blood assigns them.

Dualscar makes a mental note to not let the other captain touch the Psiioniic. It shouldn't be hard, since the other troll is a blueblood and the Psiioniic is technically the property of seadwellers right now, but either way, he'll need to be very clear and very firm on that.

At the Psiioniic's request, though, Dualscar's arms drop, and he holds the helmet at his side. Reaching up with his other hand, he touches the side of the Psiioniic's face, where he would have fins if he were a seatroll, and tries to smile at him. It probably comes out looking more like a grimace, but at least he tried, right?

"Of course... Artollo."

It gives him a thrill to say that name, to know that the other troll trusted him enough to tell him that, a piece of information that is usually only shared between matesprits, and this time his small, shy smile is more genuine. He leans down and touches his lips to the Psiioniic's, and the taste of him under his lips brings back a flood of pleasant memories, of sensations and warmth and joy from the night before, and for just a moment... Dualscar is happy.

That's right... Artollo. The name he hasn't heard from another in ages. It makes him shiver and press up against Dualscar while his free hand slides up to hold onto his shoulder. In this kind of world they're stuck in, to have even just a little bit of security, to be kept in this warm position...

"Trafal," he murmurs quietly against his lips before kissing him again, eyes slipping shut.

They'll have to stop soon, of course. Things to do.

...Just not right now. Not immediately.

A pleasant shiver runs up Dualscar's spine when the Psiioniic says his name, and he could lose himself in this kiss, he really could. No small part of him wants to scoop up the other troll and carry him off to the room behind the shelves in the library, and lay him down and spend the rest of the day exploring each other's bodies, learning all about this new, gentle kind of sex, sex without violence or pain.

But there's no time for that, and he reluctantly breaks off the kiss.

"Can't... things to do..."

Another little smirk, and the Psiioniic tilts his head to the side, eyelids half closed. "I jutht wanted a kith. What were you thinking about?" What? He did say he could sass Dualscar however he liked. The seatroll probably likes it anyway; he can tell.

Besides. He wants just a bit of freedom before he has to play the role of the broken slave, a chance to enjoy himself. The smile fading from his face, he closes his eyes and braces himself for that horrible numbness, that loss of power.

Dualscar does kind of like it, is the thing. It's almost refreshing, having someone sass him and give him backtalk, especially since the Psiioniic does it in such a friendly way. It's what he thinks having a friend must be like, and he has a retort on the tip of his tongue until he sees the way the Psiioniic shrinks in on himself, getting ready for the inevitable.

"Hey..." There really aren't words for this, nothing comforting he can say, and he contents himself with running his thumb over the Psiioniic's high cheekbone.

"I'll get rid of him as quickly as I can, okay?"

It's the best he can do, and he brings the helmet up again, holding it loosely in one hand.

"Are you ready?"

"Ath much ath I'll ever be, I gueth."

Which means never. He'll never be properly ready for having his powers restricted and taken away from him. But what can he do? Sometimes... Sometimes you had to sacrifice something to do the right thing. Isn't that what Signless said?

Sacrifice a life of the most security a lowblood could get for a chance at freedome. Sacrificing anonymity for being known throughout all of Alternia. Sacrificing the only power granted to you just to make sure another could be released from pain.

The Psiioniic takes a deep breath and holds his head up, waiting for the feel of the helmet.

Dualscar does it as quickly as he can, all in one smooth movement. The helmet goes up, slides down over the Psiioniic's horns, and clicks shut under his chin. His fingers deft and swift, Dualscar touches the clasp on the back of the helmet and slides it home, but does not lock it.

"If you need to get it off in a hurry, the clasp is back here. Just slide and release, because I'm not locking it."

He drops his hands from the helmet, and catches the Psiioniic's chin in one hand.

"As soon as he's gone. I promise."

Feeling a hand at his chin brings to mind old, unpleasant memories. For a split second, the Psiioniic stiffens up before he opens his eyes to look at Dualscar. "I'll hold you to that."

A soft chirping noise reminds him of the drone's presence, and the Psiioniic sighs as he looks to the creature. Quietly, he makes a few chirrups in return, gesturing for it to take the oranges and leave. If he looks too spoiled, it might be a bit suspicious.

"When did he thay he would get here?

For just a second, Dualscar feels a chill run through him, when he sees the steel in the Psiioniic's gaze, and he pities any fool who would try to cross him when he had full use of his psionics.

Then the Psiioniic is looking at his drone and talking to it, and he's himself again. Dualscar is glad he sent the drone away himself; he wasn't looking forward to asking him to do so.

"Any time noww."

He looks himself over, making sure his uniform is spotless and his armor gleaming, running one hand through thick, wavy hair.

"Wwhat do you think?"

He stands at his full height, arms crossed over his chest, sets his face to a sneering highblood mask, and looks down his nose at the Psiioniic.

"Intimidating?"

The second that sneer comes on is the second a foot snaps up to slam into Dualscar's knee.

...He really is rather out of touch with his "lowblood" side.

With the muscles in his face twitching, the Psiioniic takes a few steps back. "Atholith. But I gueth that'sth the thame thing when it all cometh down to it." In his defense, that's the same look he had to deal with time and time again back in the prison. Of course his first response is going to be... Unpleasant. Especially without chains to hold him to the wall.

Looking away, he tries to get his body to go limp. Not tense, but limp as having given up. He doesn't want to remember how well he played the tool and slave, but he does. At least it's useful. Not tense, because that made a troll look ready to bolt, or scared. Back straight, head bowed... That's what they looked for in the perfect slave.

Dualscar's upper lip rises in a snarl when the Psiioniic kicks him, and he almost belts him across the face for it. But when he shifts forward, his hand clenched into a fist, the way his weight moves sends a dull, pleasant ache pounding up from between his legs, and he stops himself. He remembers the lightshows curling all around him last night, and the way all the books started floating in the library, and he gets some glimmer of appreciation for everything the Psiioniic is giving up, even if only for a short time.

He drops his fist and instead brushes some dust off his knee where the other troll kicked him. Then, just as the Psiioniic fell into the role of a slave, Dualscar embraced the persona of a highblood, holding himself erect and arrogant, his face gone cold and cruel, his eyes glittering purple chips of ice inside his skull.

"Outside. Now."

The words are short, clipped, orders barked from a rough throat, and he turns, his cape billowing behind him, and strides outside to wait for the captain.

The Psiioniic doesn't see the cold look on Dualscar's face. He only sees the tips of his boots but really, does he need to? Not with that tone. With the way he holds himself, it makes him want to shudder from how well he remembers being a slave, how deeply carved into his being his past is. With his head down, he follows after. All these perigees, and his hair has overgrown so now his bangs flop into his eyes, hiding them mostly from view.

Not too close, because you weren't supposed to get in the way of highbloods, but he can lag too far behind, can't be too slow.

God, he hates that he can remember this.

Dualscar stands near the shoreline, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet apart, watching the waves through narrowed eyes. There's already a large ship anchored in the harbor, and a small rowboat, powered by maroonblooded slaves, is making its way towards them. He rolls his eyes when he sees the blueblooded captain of the ship is standing up, the better for Dualscar to see him, and he hopes the oaf will slip and fall into the water.

But he doesn't, and before long the ship has run aground off the shoreline, and the captain is climbing out. Behind him, two of the maroonbloods are picking up a small form, curled up and wrapped in a ratty blanket. Even from this distance, Dualscar can see the troll in the blanket shivering.

It takes work.

It takes work to hold himself back. Work not to give into his emotions. Work not to stab the stupid, arrogant blueblood whose expression the Psiioniic can easily imagine because he's had to face the same kind again and again all throughout his life and he's sick of it. Work not to tear off the helmet and use it to show just what should happen to the people who think it's right to reduce another to this status.

The Psiioniic bites down on the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood and keeps his head down. He doesn't see the Helmswoman- christ not even that, she's more a Helmsgirl so young from what he heard of her voice- but he can hear her small little gasps of pain from being forced to move about.

Dualscar keeps the transaction quick and professional. He brushes off the captain's attempts at learning more about recent courtly intrigues, sneering down his nose at him and making it quite clear that he doesn't know the gossip because he's not supposed to know it. He gives the little helmswoman--cod, she can't be more than seven sweeps old, she's just a wiggler--a cursory glance, and backhands the other captain when he has the audacity to make a snide remark about "the mighty Dualscar finally upgrading." Then he smirks as cerulean blood drips from the troll's lip, split on one of the heavy rings he wears, as they exchange the boondollars. The blueblood tries to jack the price up a little, and Dualscar undercuts him viciously.

Highblood business as usual.

Once it's all completed, Dualscar turns to the two maroonbloods--poor, wasted creatures that they are--and the little bundle they're supporting.

"Give that," pointing at the helmsgirl, "to that," pointing to the Psiioniic, "and then all of you get the hell awway from my hive. You're bringing dowwn the property values."

The Psiioniic is far too used to filtering out background noise in favor of the more important things. Right now? Dualscar's bickering with the blueblood is very much meaningless background noise. Right now, all his senses are focused on the other lowbloods in this gathering. He takes a quiet, hard breath when he hears them move towards him and finally looks up.

The familiar sight of malnourished pings and aches something inside of him and not for the first or last time, he realizes just how fucking good he has it. Running away from it all to join Signless, where Disciple always made sure they had food on the metaphorical table no matter how long it took her to hunt, and now with Dualscar. Really, how better can it get, shacking up with a seadweller like this? It's almost disgusting, really, enjoying these kind of pleasures when there's still so much unfairness in Alternia to others of his blood, and lower.

As the maroonbloods approach, his legs give a small twitch with how he wants to rush over there and take the little troll they carry. Instead, he waits, taking her into his arms and remembering again how it feels to carry a heavy burden. But he doesn't care and only takes a deep breath, holding her tighter against himself. Quietly, so that the highbloods don't hear, he hums quietly in her hear, an old lowblood tune.

You build a wall, I'll dig a hole...

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