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The Differences Behind a Screen

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compressedCarbon [CC] began trolling renagadeMuffin [RM]

CC: <bad. bad pleasKe i have free timeeeee
RM: [3> what?? {(・-・;)}
CC: <i wanna MEET YOU
RM: [3> ?? huh?? {(O_O)}
RM: [3> skeppy im busy!!! {(。•́︿•̀。)}
CC: <youre ALWAYSk BUSkY!!!!
RM: [3> I ALWAYS HAVE THINGS TO DO!!! {(・□・;)}
RM: [3> i- {(. □ .;)}
CC: <yeah bad?
CC: <bad???? r u there?????
CC: <bad you dont have too itsK fine
RM: [3> yeah i {(。.︿.。 )}
RM: [3> i concede {(。-︿-。)}
CC: <wait what
RM: ill send you my address {(-ω- ;)}
RM: [3> me too !! o{(^▽^o)}
CC: <jusKt let me know when !! i can get anywhere esKpecially with royal money
RM: [3> ...did you blackmail the heir again {(¬_¬ )}
CC: <itsK not blackmail if itsK consKensKual
RM: [3> oh my GOSH skeppy leave dreeam alone {(¬д¬。)}
CC: <no way lol
RM: [3> ughhh im gonna go clean. Im TRUSTING YOU SKEPPY {(;¬_¬)}
CC: <yeah yeah okay <><><> best moirail
RM: [3> best moirail!!! <><><> {(o゜▽゜)}o☆

compressedCarbon [CC] ceased trolling renagadeMuffin [RM]


Skeppy leans back in his chair, grinning. Finally, after perigrees of begging, he's finally meeting with Bad in real life. Bad’s always been nervous about it - which makes sense, honestly. After all, Bad uses hemoanon grey. You don’t use that if you’re secure about your caste, and Skeppy is an indigo. No matter how pale they are for each other, being a lowblood alone with an indigo can’t be a comfortable thought.


Maybe Bad thinks that Skeppy would care about his caste. But, like. He doesn’t. Honestly. It doesn’t matter what Bad’s blood color is - he’s still his idiot best friend.


...Maybe it matters to Bad. Skeppy sighs, pushing away from his desk. He doesn’t want to make Bad scared - angry, sure, but never scared.


He falls asleep in his indigo sheets with a soft smile on his face, his hoverboard ready to be tuned up for his journey.




A week later, Skeppy hops off his hoverboard, nearly shaking with excitement. Bad lives in a secluded little hut in a forest near a lowblood town, and Skeppy takes a second to appreciate the springy dirt under his shoes while he skips to the stoop.


He knocks loudly, rocking on his heels. 


No response.


He knocks again.




Bad knows he’s coming today. He’s sure it was today. Is - is he gone? Running some errands?


Before he can think too hard about it, the door opens. A small troll in a long hooded cloak stands in the doorway. Skeppy blinks down at him.


The troll is shaking, just a bit.


“Bad,” Skeppy says, reaching out a hand, “I’m so glad to see you!”


“Skeppy,” Bad breathes, grabbing Skeppy’s hand and slumping. “Oh my goodness, you scared me!”


Skeppy tilts his head, feeling the weight of his indigo helmet bump against his hair - oh shit, his bright indigo helmet. He slips it off, shaking his hair out, and flashes a toothy grin at Bad. “That better?”


“Much,” Bad says. He’s still trembling.


“Well, aren’t you gonna let me in? I wanna see your place,” Skeppy says.


Bad jolts, eyes widening. “Oh, I’m such a muffin! Come in, Skeppy.”


Skeppy steps past Bad, looking around as the door shuts behind them. There’s pastel posters on the walls, the pale muffins an odd contrast to the black stone. The floor is black too, and Skeppy sets his helmet on a grey couch.


“I was just finishing up some sandwiches,” Bad says, looking up at him with a shaky smile. “Wait in here, okay? Feel free to look around, I’m almost done.”


“Cool,” Skeppy replies, watching Bad scurry away into another room with narrowed eyes. Huh. Okay.


Skeppy turns around, studying the space. There’s another door, facing opposite to the entryway. He opens the door, seeing a recuperacoon, a closet, and a desk.


And...that’s it. Bad’s hive has three rooms. The concept makes him feel - bad? Kind of? His own mansion has four floors. Sure, he’s always known that lowbloods don’t get as many materials to build with, but actually seeing the disparity is different, somehow.


He sighs, shaking his head. He can’t focus on that right now - he has a room to search. 


As Skeppy scours the room, he notices something more and more. There’s absolutely no sign of Bad’s blood color. Not even the customary t-shirt with blood symbol. Bad just has black clothes and cloaks.


He doesn’t care about Bad’s caste. He really doesn’t. It’s just...weird, not knowing. Even Dreeam, who complains about being treated differently for his caste all the time, sticks with his fuschia. Then again, Dreeam is the highest blood possible. He could literally just command the drones to cull whoever he wants, no questions asked. 


There’s a loud clatter, and Skeppy jolts. Bad must’ve dropped something. He steps out of Bad’s room, looking out at the kitchen. He catches a sound - a sharp hiss.


Skeppy isn’t overly familiar with sounds of pain, but he is familiar with Bad, and that is definitely not a normal Bad sound.


He jogs over to the kitchen, blood-pusher racing, and freezes in the doorway. His eyes widen as he spots Bad hunched over.


“Bad? Are you okay?” Skeppy asks, eyebrows furrowing as he steps forwards.


Bad whimpers quietly.


“What’s wrong?” Skeppy runs his eyes around the room, and spots the handle of a knife by Bad’s leg, on the floor. “Oh, did you drop your knife?”


“I cut my hand,” Bad admits, uncharacteristically quiet.


“Oh - uh, do you need a bandage?”


“N - no, I’m okay. Uh, just - go to the living room. I’ll be out in a minute,” Bad stutters out. He hasn’t even glanced at Skeppy.


“Are you sure?” Skeppy prods. There’s something off about how Bad is acting. “Wait - Bad, you know I don’t care that you’re a lowblood, right?”


Bad makes a sound that’s half-way between a laugh and a sob. “I - just go to the other room, Skeppy.”


And - well. That’s not the response Skeppy was expecting, but Bad made his request very clear. Skeppy can make Bad scream with rage later. Right now, smashing through his words would only scare him. Indigos are one of the most physically strong castes on the spectrum, and if Bad is such a lowblood that he’s hiding a tiny cut...making him scared is just cruel.


So, Skeppy steps back. “Okay,” he says, “let me know if you need anything.” He casts one more glance around the room before he starts backing away.


And through Bad’s legs, right under the fringe of his cloak, bright against the slate ground, is a drop of bright red liquid.


Skeppy steps back again, this time out of confusion. Another drop splatters on the ground. Bad leans down - to start cleaning, maybe? - and Skeppy-


Skeppy sees the blade of the knife. The edge had just the slightest bit of neon red. And by the way Bad twists to look at him, eyes wide, he must’ve made some sort of sound.


Bad looks down, spotting the evidence. His face pales.


“Bad?” Skeppy asks, very carefully. “What’s going on?”


Bad somehow pales even more, which just looks kind of unhealthy at this point. He’s staring at the floor.


“Bad, I - it’s okay,” Skeppy tries. Fuck, fuck, what does he say to this? What can he say to this?


Bad drops to his knees, clutching his hand. Neon-tinted tears fill his eyes in a diluted match to the thin layer of mutant blood on his skin. There’s not much, not really. There’s just a few drops of candy red, a dozen at most, but the color is blinding against his slate grey skin.


“I’m sorry,” Bad whispers, his bottom lip trembling.


Skeppy snaps out of whatever funk he was under. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know what to do, he can’t leave his gogdamned moirail kneeling besides his own blood and crying.


Taking a deep breath, Skeppy sinks to his knees and inches towards Bad. “Hey, Bad, c’mon,” he says, hands rising without much purpose.


“Don’t turn me in,” Bad sobs. Skeppy feels indigo tears prick at his eyes.


Bad, ” Skeppy demands, “I would rather die. ” The very thought of sending his moirail - his best friend - to the drones makes him shudder.


“If you don’t,” Bad stops, sniffling, “if you don’t want to be my-”


“Bad,” Skeppy cuts in, slightly offended. “If you are about to say that you would be okay if I wanted to stop being your moirail, I will scream. Shoosh.”


Bad sniffles again, wiping at his eyes with the blood-stained hand.


“C’mon Bad, let’s get this cleaned up.”


“Skeppy - I’m a mutant,” Bad blurts. “I’m not supposed to be alive. I’m sorry I never told-”


“If you ever say that again, I am going to pap you until you can’t freaking move.”


Bad stares at Skeppy, an awed light appearing in his eyes.


Skeppy smiles, reaching out to pap Bad’s cheek. “Dude, I’d never turn you in. I wouldn’t hurt you like that. Bad, you’re the greatest moirail ever.”


Bad sobs, a soft grin on his face. He leans forward into Skeppy’s chest. “Good friend, best moirail,” he murmurs back through a clogged throat.


They sit in silence for a moment. Skeppy carefully rubs at the visible parts of Bad's stubby little horns, smiling wider as he lets out a weak purr.


Skeppy looks down at the floor, raising an eyebrow at the knife in between them. “Seriously though. Let’s clean this up.”