if LL’s lusus could talk…
[tumblr rp can be hard to follow, even for the people involved, and trying to catch up from the beginning is a nightmare. so we’ve compiled the whole thing in a google doc for easier reading! it’s all pretty with text colors and everything. :D]
[reblogging again because i’ve updated it! new material starts here, including a whole bunch of art!]
oh, yay. Totally missed this. I fell so far behind I wasn’t able to find where I left off :(
So, yeah, yay :D
(via jumpingjacktrash)
SHXP’S LOG
You get an eyeful of bare torso, pectoral region and grub-nubs all blue-blushing and twisted around helplessly in the air, and you try not to think about why your gaze went there so fast, of all places. You had thought you couldn’t be more upset, but then he starts talking and it occurs to you that this cerulean motherfucker’s making fun of you.
The only reason he’s still in one piece is that you’re not sure where to fucking start.
Behind you, there is a loud bang.
You take one look at Galley with his Bad News Headsparks going on and Bel all dangling upside-down and you don’t think, you just act: you drag in a deep breath and bellow at the top of your lungs:
“STEP THE FUCK DOWN, HELMSMAN.”
For a split second after your commanding officer drops you a direct order, you’re too stunned to comply. The only noise on deck is the creak of the hatch swinging shut again behind LL, and all at once when you remember where you are, what you are and what you were about to do to the blueblood you came here to rescue.
You are very dismayed.
“YES, SXR.”
You right the blueblood before you set him down as gently as you can. He looks very bewildered.
“PLEASE ACCEPT MY APOLOGY,” you tell him. “X BEHAVED RASHLY AND ABOVE MY STATXON.”
You’ve only been awake for half an hour and you’re already wondering if this night will ever end.
You are using a voice that you’ve picked up from mostly from military movies and audiobooks. It’s not one you use often. Ever since that time you jokingly barked “FRONT AND CENTER” at Galley and he did exactly what you said while staring at you like you were gonna rip out his spine and use it as a fuckin backscratcher, you save it mostly for situations like this one.
You look Bel up and down. He looks okay. Baffled as fuck, a bit scuffed on one horn, but okay.
You turn and curl your lip at your moirail as if he were three sweeps old.
“STAND AT ATTENTION MOTHERFUCKER.” You scream, even though Galley’s spine is already ramrod straight. You sweep an arm out and gesture incredulously at Bel, as if he were a very prim, expensive vase Galley almost knocked over. “WHAT WERE YOU EVEN DOING DANGLING HIS TIGHT BLUEBLOOD ASS LIKE YOU WERE ALL TO BE BASHING HIS MOTHERFUCKING BRAINS OUT EVERYWHERE??”
You bare your teeth at him as take a few deep breaths. When you speak again you are a little hoarse, but you sound closer to normal—there is nothing about your voice or posture that automatically inspires kneejerk, unquestioning compliance.
“I think you better say goodnight to your boyfriend and haul your ass to your room.”
It’s starting to make sense now. You’ve seen this before in the Reenactment Society; lowbloods who couldn’t pal around even when you weren’t in character. You remember the way they got tense and irritable when you tried, and the way they relaxed when you started giving orders.
If that’s what Galley needs, then that’s what you’ll give him. Even if you would rather have talked troll to troll.
You lift your chin, straighten your besmirched shirt, and let your shoulders settle. You’re not Bel Kadros, hopelessly besotted wannabe-matesprit. You’re Tribunus Gorecrow, the Janißary, famous tactician and spotless officer. Just for now, just until you can handle it on your own.
“Apology accepted,” you say in the voice you imagine your Ancestor must’ve used. Calm, authoritative, untouchable. “I’m not part of your crew and my presence is disruptive. From now on, however, if you have a problem with something I’m doing, tell me.” You take one smooth step out of his way, hands clasped behind your back — this time, not nervously, but with dignity.
You can sulk about this later. Right now he obviously needs a bit of hierarchy.
You hate orders. You hate the way you’re programmed to follow them. You hate that LL knows how you push your buttons and how you can’t stop yourself falling back into command mode. You hate LL. You hate this Belatu for looking at you like that, like he feels sorry for you. How would he know? Fuck them all. You’re not a machine.
You really like orders. You like the way you can just relax and follow them. You like that LL is willing to stop you doing crazy shit, since sometimes you can’t. You like LL. She’s the captain. You like this Belatu because he understands the chain of command. That’s good. Crews with poor command structures are impossible to helm because of the conflicting orders, since you can’t just refuse to follow one. Discretion is a privilege afforded to trolls, and you are not a troll.
This all boils down to a huge relief (disappointment) as you are released (exiled) back to the only place where you really feel safe (imprisoned). You bow to the Captain and to the visiting blueblood, salute, and return to the helmsblock. If you’re careful and a little bit creative, you can get hooked into your station again without anyone’s help. That’s good. You don’t really want to see anybody right now. You’d feel too lonely.
In which these people are amazing and make me cry yet again. ;_;
All: Enter the Land of Cables And Laughter
You watch, baffled, as she goes. Is she seriously going to leave him like this? Sprawled like a doll and drooling blood? He doesn’t need grubcakes, he needs urgent freaking medical attention!
Which… you are not equipped to give. But at least you can do something about the blood. A gentletroll always carries a handkerchief. You may be a lovesick idiot with a holey boat, but you are a gentletroll nonetheless.It is… really kind of upsetting to see someone looking that amused while blood is coming out of his mouth.
you don’t know this guy’s actual name but he smells awesome and his skin is nice and cool on yours. despite the way he keeps poking at your face, you decide he will be your new pillow.
When he flops his head against your shoulder, your bloodpusher siezes up like a rusty machine. He’s getting blood and grime all over your shirt — who cares? You have other shirts. And other hankies, too, so he can stain as many of them as he wants.
You settle into the cable nest and cradle his poor floppy head against you, patiently cleaning his face. You don’t even care if this looks pale, or if someone comes in and sees it. Everything’s gone sort of soft-focus.
“Can I clean under your goggles?” you ask him, and what you mean is, ‘can I keep you?’
HOW DO THEY JUST KEEP GETTING MORE ADORABLE?! IS THERE NO LIMIT?
(Source: lackadaisicallimpet)
All: Enter the Land of Cables And Laughter
You draw back far enough to give him an utterly nonplussed look before you roll your eyes and pap his cheek.
“You loopy idiot. You’re gonna rest here, and me and Bel will go up on deck and check on his pretty ship. You ain’t doing anything else the rest of the night, not even singing that fuckin Trolltanic song over the intercom, or you and me are gonna have words, you dig?”
You arch a brow at him all stern until you’re sure he’s got it. “Now, you need anything before we go? Grubcakes? We still got a few bottles of that glowy nerd soda you like to suck down.”
“mmfhkjjh.”
you intended to ask to be unplugged and left the fuck alone with your hangover and your tattered pride. you did your damn job, it’s not like you could have ignored a distress call from another vessel but you like to think you beat your personal best time, which is pretty decent already.
unfortuantely you can’t quite enunciate this desire through a mouthful of blood, and LL clearly has no idea what you’re getting at. you attempt charades, but OH SNAP, you can’t use your hands til you’ve gotten unplugged!
welp.
You smile at that mumbled sound like he just lavished you with the sweetest of pale supplications and thumb a smudge on his cheek away. Oh, little mewbeast. LL will make it all better.
“You got it, bro.”
You smooch that cheek before you step away from him and beam cheerily at Bel. You clap him on the shoulder in passing, leaving a yellowish smear on his shirt, before you dart off toward the kitchen, a moirail on a mission.
And for the second time that evening you thank both Messiahs you stocked up on hangover cure.
You watch, baffled, as she goes. Is she seriously going to leave him like this? Sprawled like a doll and drooling blood? He doesn’t need grubcakes, he needs urgent freaking medical attention!
Which… you are not equipped to give. But at least you can do something about the blood. A gentletroll always carries a handkerchief. You may be a lovesick idiot with a holey boat, but you are a gentletroll nonetheless.It is… really kind of upsetting to see someone looking that amused while blood is coming out of his mouth.
you don’t know this guy’s actual name but he smells awesome and his skin is nice and cool on yours. despite the way he keeps poking at your face, you decide he will be your new pillow.
They’re just so adorable.
