Chapter Text
Chapter 1
--> BE THE READER...
And you are. YOU are the reader and the PARTICIPANT and these are your MEMORIES that you seem to have FORGOTTEN or just want to REVIEW. This is fine. Because you may not remember correctly know at the moment. Or remember then at all. That is WHY you are here, isn't it?
Well then, let us start...
--> BE YOUNG CHILD.
Please be specific. Do you have any IDEA how many there ARE?
--> Excuse me, I had not thought of that.
Tis fine. Just pick one of the MAIN BRATS.
--> BE SNEAKY MAIN BRAT.
You crawl through fronds and cutter grass, being careful of how far you move from your PAPI and the CARAVAN. You would not want him to be in TROUBLE again. Or WORRIED. As to WHY you are crawling through the grass,,,
Well,,,
You are CURIOUS. And young enough to want to look no matter how bad an idea this just MIGHT be. Not even a full THREE SWEEPS OLD and being naughty and too much like the pale PURRBEAST that you had found stuck in a grate, head caught in the hole that had been there since you could remember. You hope your head doesn't get caught in a hole. Or anything at all. You don't want your HORNS BROKE - and your "MASTER" would do it too, just break them rather than trying to free you gently - because that would hurt so much. And DISGRACE your pAPI- even if that word doesn't make sense to you yet, it seems serious - but, mostly, it would hurt.
Your attention to your surroundings is brought painfully back by hitting something that SQUEALED in PAIN almost as much as you. Well, okay, so you squealed and the OTHER just SQUEAKED a little bit. You couldn't help it, though! It HURT so much!
You close your eyes and hold your throbbing head and horns that still vibrated with the force of the blow. A soft touch to your forehead has you peeking up to meet a small face close to your own, a tiny concerned frown - a pout, really - as the other troll boy peered at you. You squeak this time and tip back. You hit your head AGAIN and groan as you grab the second bump and curl slightly on your side. You suddenly feel silly and stupid and so, so much like the tiny GRUB you once were not even all that long ago and,,,Oh, you KNOW that this is a completely NAUGHTY IDEA!
You will be in soooooooo,,,much,,,TROUBLE.
"HEY. hey. MoThErFuCkEr. You OKAY?"
Your lips tremble and tears gather in your eyes as you look back at him. No. No, you are not okay. And, for once, you say so.
"nO,,,nO, i'M n-nOT OK-kAY,,,"
And then you start to cry.
--> BE THE BIG TROLL.
What have I said about being specific?
--> Sorry. But, you know, he IS a BIG DAMNED BASTARD...
Tut, tut! Language.
--> ...Sorry...
Forgiven. Proceed, please.
--> Of course. Eh hem…BECOME THE BIGGEST TROLL.
You are the KING GRANDHIGHBLOOD with your lil' CHUCKLEFUCK tugging you along as fast as his tiny-as-fuck legs can from the CARAVAN SITE into the TALL GRASS. The pale INDIGO tears falling down his face makes you MoThErFuCkInG FURIOUS and feel a need to get your SuBjUgGuLaTiOn ON.
At the sight of the grubby, tiny crying BRAT with the wide but currently stubby horns set on either side of his (tInY-aS-fUcK) head sitting forlorn and lost in the Tall Grass, you suddenly have far less RAGE than a moment ago. The sight of your cHuCkLeFuCk going to him and cooing like some MoThErFuCkInG CLUCKBEAST to her brood makes you stop in bemused incredulity at the scene. ReAlLy? SeRiOuSlY? hE bRoUgHt YoU oUt HeRe FoR tHiS? a NoN-mEmBeR?
wHaT...tHe...MoThEr...FuCk?
"LiL' cHuCkLeFuCk, WhAt Is AlL tHiS cRaZy ShItE oF mOtHeRfUcKiNg InSaNiTy?"
The warm toothy grin from your tiny cHuCkLeFuCk is enough to let you know he was fine with this OUTSIDER in a way you were unsure and uncomfortable with from him. Though, for once, you caged your dOuBt and did as your cHuCkLeFuCk wanted.
I he wanted a HEALING SESSION, hE wAs GoInG tO gEt A mOtHeRfUcKiNg HeAlInG sEsSiOn...
--> WATCH THE HEALING SESSION.
You can't watch the Healing Session because you in a part of the Healing Session. Well kind of. It is you being healed, the small dribbling of blood from earlier crusting up on the back of your head.
You are sitting with an older female troll, her small frame fitting easily within a large padded throne-style chair as you lean against a long spindle leg that is made of rich dark wood. She is soft spoken, face lined with wrinkles and laugh lines nearly hiding her eyes when she closes them. They are bright indigo, her eyes are, and still sharp and bold. She gently pets your short mane of hair with fingertips and claws, fluffing the strip on an otherwise shaved head.
The BIG TROLL that had carried you here left to step into the biggest CARAVAN WAGON, the door short enough that he had to duck a little to get inside, but the roof was far higher than his horns and you wonder how many hoofbeasts it takes to move the structure. He was going to be gone for some time, the older female told you in thick words that you thought sounded strangely musical for the harsh language, smiling gently enough that the sharp edges of her teeth didn't matter as she hums under her breath. It reminds you of the soft thrumming hums your pAPI made when working, thick and warm in honor of your PATRON, the GREAT TAURUS, the protector of all hoofbeasts. That is where your pAPI got your not-name from.
Maybe you should explain. Your Master doesn't like to name his slaves. Not even pAPI had a name, though he asked to be called RUFIO NITRAM after an ancestor that has been deceased for four brownblood generations. He gave you a not-name too. TAVROS in thanks and adoration of Taurus who has been kind to the Nitram bloodlines, who so kindly granted you great power in communing with beasts, most notably hoofbeasts. It would seem the talent was much greater in you than him and pAPI was so PROUD of that. Your Master doesn't know your names, your pAPI or you. You are glad of that.
You miss your pAPI,,,
The Big Troll steps from his wagon, distracting your thoughts at the sight of the large bowl in his even larger hands and a relatively tiny brush compared to his massive hands. He stops beside the matronly troll that still combs her fingers through the strands of your hair, you looking up surprised at his painted face, the white makeup overlaid with indigo, green, brown, and pink to highlight certain areas. It was fascinating to see and even more so when he starts on the older female's face. His tongue is held at the side of his mouth as he gently, tenderly drags the brush down her face.
Paint blossoms from the bristles, returning to the bowl again and again to dab more upon her face. She smiles is amusement at the way the biggest troll you have ever seen pays such delicate attention to the woman and her face paint and chuckles at his troubles of wielding the tiny brush. The language she murmurs is soothing and lyrical, more like song than conversation, tut-tuting the large troll in a way that makes him duck his head with a barely visible indigo flush showing from under his paint and vividly along his ears and neck. His reply is just as musical, though rougher and fluctuating in cadence and speed. It is quite beautiful and you just allow yourself to listen to the almost hypnotic vocals.
Soon, she is finished and before your can tip your head back to see, a small face peeks out at you from behind the Big Troll's leg, grinning in his SKULL MAKEUP and startling you enough to jump. The sudden intense movement makes your already abused head throb and you to whimper. "oWWIE," you cry softly, holding your head again, tears trailing in copper rivers down your face as you bow your head to the pain that thrums like gongs too loud between your ears.
A large hand lifts your head from between your knees, the matronly troll kneeling before you as the Big Troll holds your face in a deceptively giant paw of a hand. In her arms is the bowl of paints, the brush settled in her hand with familiarity. The moment the paint is applied,,,you feel something sliding away. It takes a moment to realize it is the pain being dulled, the weight of it falling from your tiny, bowed shoulders.
Things become hazy quickly, your head very light, as was your body, and laughter and giggles tremble from your lips like song, colors quivering into view from the source of the sound. You stare in awe at the colors painting the sky in bubbles and butterflies and skittering leaves that play joyfully on a non-existent wind. Then you are released, the big hand sliding tenderly from under your chin. Drums thrum soothingly into existence with a string of earthily hued hoofbeasts once all touch leaves you, flutes joining in as fluttering petal blossoms and herb-shaped leaves that crumble into a mist-fine kaleidoscope fly around you, pan pipes twittering like the wingbeasts that were seemingly released in a wild tempo of color, and tambourines dropped beads of intensely colored glass and shiny metallic coins. And the VOICES! The sound of the trolls singing so sweetly, lovingly in chant rolling from their lips in drops of pure indigo and waves of the salted water crashing against cliffs and sweeping calmly, smoothly over sands.
Darkness was coming in quickly, your mind drifting further and further away from the now into a comforting twilight. When sound ceased, you were left laying in a puddle of boneless goo, relaxed in ways you had never thought before. Before the euphoric high faded, small hands carefully plucked you from the ground, thin yet strong arms cuddling you and something about it brought real, true comfort. Peeking an eye open, you saw the old female, her painted face in a soothing and warm expression that you can't name as she hums and occasionally sings the words. A tiny hand grasps the one that hangs over the old female's arms and you spy the little boy, skull face bared in a smile.
And in your half-awake state, you think you smile back.
--> BE LIL' CHUCKLEFUCK.
You are said lil' cHuCkLeFuCk, cuddling the GRUB BRAT to your tiny chest as you hum GRAMZEE's qUiEt SONG. His face is in your chest so you can’t see the way he grins, but you feel the movement it on your belly and the smearing of the paint across your skin. Since you do not wear shirts yet, you also feel a lot of heat flowing from his skin like a living flame has been tucked under his skin and molded to his bones. It soothes you and calms your oThErS.
You love heat. Adore it! Like you loved FIRE and the PIPE SPRITES that curled from your gRaMzEe'S pipe. Only, with this one, he can be touched and held and you feel so warm...
You curl a finger around his horn tip, another around the ribbon on your neck. It is an indigo ribbon, thin but strongly made. Pulling the knot loose, you unwind the lengthy strip eleven times from your neck and then reach under his shirt, winding it four times around his waist. You almost frown. He was really small. Really, REALLY small. You could count his ribs and back buttons just from feel alone. Your oThErS don't like it but you're not old enough to hear what ThEy actually say just yet. You will be in time, but you know he has to leave and you want to stake your claim on your BeSt MoThErFuCkInG bRo now or someone will try and snatch him up.
A yawn breaks through and you realize you skipped your naptime some hours ago. You whine and growl at having your body rebel so against you, fighting to stay awake. You know that when you wake up, the boy you hold will be gone.
"uM, aRE YOU, oK-kAY?"
It is timid, the words hesitant and slurred as the effects of the paint wear off slowly. The only reason he isn't completely asleep against you is...huh, your GrAmZeE said something about him being hardy and strangely resistant. But that doesn't matter. You have something IMPORTANT to ask.
"WhAt'S yOuR nAmE, bRo?"
There is a moment of silence before he tightens arms threaded around your waist, snuggling into your tummy like a purrkit. You wait impatiently, knowing you didn't ask a hard question but not getting an answer. You about cry at the seemingly blunt dismissal at friend-building when he whispers against your hip one word,
"tAVROS..."
Silence reigns then, you feeling the drowsy need to lie down and dragging your new bro with you...Tavros...