COMMUTATION 1.2

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"You're a furry? What are you, some sort of lususfucker? Disgusting, get away from me you freak!"

- Overheard between three 8-sweep-old teens.

So, Bonnie, who awaits you next? Why, it's those loveable scamps, and by loveable you mean a midblood pain in the butt. You're going to have to grit your teeth a bit and get through it, because it's for the cause. It's for the cause, Bonnie. You can do it.

The pair you're talking about are ARSONN DELETE, a recently chosen name after a change of heart and the decision to be better, and KIARIG GONDII, a name chosen far longer ago and nearing a level of infamy on the internet that approaches that of the heiress.

ARSONN is a good sort but definitely hasn't undone all of the propaganda associated with being a teal formerly in the legislacademy, and is a little too eager to do things like "blow up drones" and "firebomb the legislacadademy". Good sort, like you said, but she's just... a little too violent, you know? You're worried that if you were to fuck up, the person to commit the vigilante killing that would surely precede the drone strike would be them. You're not sure they wouldn't relish in it.

KIARIG... well. KIARIG is ARSONN's matesprit. They got together a while before ARSONN's change of heart, and she's surprisingly not been a menace about their newfound warm solidarity. As previously stated, KIARIG is approaching a level of notoriety on the internet that is only rivalled by the fish-in-waiting herself. This is in no small part due to the fact she is ceaselessly incapable of not picking a fight—you've never met a more combative oliveblood—but also because she's both openly a furry and works as a receptionist at Troll Lockheed-Martin. You've been trying to recommend she quits but she isn't listening so you've just sort of given up. A real "fuck you, got mine" kind of girl, she is.

Together, they're trouble. Kiarig picks fights, and Arsonn will white-knight about it, and then people will call Arsonn a cop and Kiarig a war criminal, and before you know it Chittr is distracted from Sphyra's failures and is dooming itself to argue about the worker in the least impactful position at Troll Lockheed-Martin instead of going after anyone who actually fucking matters.

So, as per usual, you knock on the door, after having walked a little ways from the poor part of the subgrub into the slightly nicer lower middle class part that mostly sells itself on "not being the poor part of town".

BONNIE: knock knock!
BONNIE: i've come to talk about your scuttlebuggy insurance
BONNIE: can i have a moment of your time?

The tealblood opens the door, trying her best to look unamused and failing. You can't really see past her into the living room, but presumably Ms. Gondii is in there waiting, or in the kitchen prepping tea and biscuits that somehow never seem to be for you.

Arsonn's got their punk jacket on, patches slowly accumulating over time, simple blue jeans and some Docs with teal laces. You spy a couple new additions to her "war jacket". Her straight, pointed, 45-degree angle horns are sharp as ever, so you make sure to keep a little bit of distance as she turns around. There's gouges in the walls of the hallway.

BONNIE: you've cut your hair recently?

ARSONN: I DECIDED I/ WAS /IME FOR A CHANGE
ARSONN: YOU KNOW HOW I/ IS

Ow. Loud.

BONNIE: haha yeah
BONNIE: looks good!

It does not.

BONNIE: did you cut it.. yourself?

ARSONN: HOW COU/D YOU /E//?

BONNIE: oh i just know from experience!
BONNIE: sometimes you can't afford a haircut haha, you know how it is

ARSONN: NO I DON'/

...

BONNIE: yeah
BONNIE: anyway!
BONNIE: uh, what, inspired you to choose this look?

You enter the living room. You can hear rummaging sounds from the kitchen, so you're spared the olive's attentions for now. Arsonn slicks a hand through the short top of her cut, and you're once again reminded that the texture of her buzzed sides would be oh so nice... but you don't like Arsonn enough to be tempted.

ARSONN: OH, YOU KNOW
ARSONN: JUS/ /IKED /HE S/Y/E

You have the sneaking suspicion that Arsonn chose it because she thought it looked "cool" and "punk" and then accidentally ended up looking like some posh violet. You're saved from trying to avoid relaying this revelation by the entrance of the other half of this riveting duo.

Kiarig enters, and the way she looks hasn't changed at all: pristine, shoulder length wavy hair, plain, short horns, impressively waxed and oiled, and pearl earrings. She wears secretary-style clothes even at home, and you wonder if that's because she likes it or because trying to maintain two different styles of fashion would somehow tear her identity apart. In her hands she carries a tray with tea (that you don't like, because she somehow always serves it lukewarm and with just sugar) and cookies (with coconut, which you also don't like).

She places this cookie tray on her side of the coffee table. With visible reluctance, she silently proffers a cup of tea, and you wordlessly reject the tea by waving your hands in front of you, with a smile you make sure reaches your eyes on account of your mask. This is the ritual you two have maintained ever since you choked down the first cup on the first visit, whereby she feigns that she's a polite troll and you feign that you could ever want that swill. She doesn't offer you a cookie.

BONNIE: kiarig!

KIARIG: Bonniiie.

BONNIE: nice to see you, how's it going?
BONNIE: has the latest thing died down a bit, are they leaving you alone?

ARSONN: NO /HEY HAVEN'/ REA//Y /E/ UP A/ A//

KIARIG: As my lovely matespriiite says, they've been rather iiintolerable.
KIARIG: Then agaiiin, III don't know what III expected.
KIARIG: IIIt's not liiike they are ever goiiing to leave mememe alone.

You internally wince a little and make a complicated face.

BONNIE: given any thought to locking yet?

KIARIG: Why should III lock when iiit's not mememe causiiing the problem?

Ah, well. It was a good attempt, Bonnie.

BONNIE: no, no, haha, you're right
BONNIE: unlucky that they're still on you though

ARSONN: I/'S VERY UNFOR/UNA/E
ARSONN: MY DAR/ING KIARIG DOESN'/ DESERVE /HIS

You think it's a very explicable series of events that is not unfortunate so much as it is predictable.

BONNIE: either way!
BONNIE: i take it both of you are all settled in now, right?
BONNIE: cozy as a pur-moobeast young!
BONNIE: all cozy in the hay and full of milk
BONNIE: right?

KIARIG: For the most part.
KIARIG: IIIn no small thanks to you, III must admiiit.
KIARIG: You've been very helpful iiin gettiiing us siiiituated after our move.
KIARIG: IIIt can be diiiffiiicult to make friiiends iiin a new ciiity.
KIARIG: III stiiill don't know how you do iiit.

BONNIE: oh, you know!
BONNIE: a combination of perseverance and being keyed into events!
BONNIE: showing up regularly to something is the core of friendship really
BONNIE: and you know me!
BONNIE: nothing but free time lately, haha
BONNIE: haha

Arsonn doesn't take the hint, and laughs heartily. Kiarig glares at them though and they shut up, chastised.

ARSONN: EI/HER WAY
ARSONN: YOU'VE DONE SOME/HING INCREDIB/E FOR US /WO
ARSONN: I WON'/ FORGE/ I/

She mulls over if she can do anything. Currently in a more stay-at-hive position, she can't bless you with any job-search nepotism, and you have the suspicion they don't actually know enough about you to suggest anything else. At least she has the awareness not to try recommend Kiarig gets you an in, which is a surprising development in her ability to be considerate.

ARSONN: I CAN'/ /HINK OF ANY/HING RIGH/ /HIS SECOND
ARSONN: BU/ ASSURE YOURSE/F /HA/ ARSONN DE/E/E IS ON /HE CASE
ARSONN: WA HA HA HA

She pauses, perhaps in consternation at her old vocabulary rearing its head. You know she's been struggling with that, trying to get rid of her bad habits...

ARSONN: SPEAKING OF CASES, BONNIE

KIARIG: Ugh, dear.
KIARIG: Can't you leave thiiis alone.

ARSONN: I AM /EAVING /HIS A/ONE
ARSONN: /HA/'S WHY I AM ASKING BONNIE
ARSONN: /HA/ WAY I KNOW I/'S IN GOOD HANDS
ARSONN: OR HOOVES AS /HE CASE MIGH/ BE!

Arsonn laughs again. Kiarig pinches the bridge of her nose, but acquiesces eventually after they huddle up to briefly discuss this, having decided that if it gets the issue out of her hair, she's all too happy to trouble you yet again, even at the potential cost of having to see you yet again. Rejoice! More Kiarig in your future!

ARSONN: /HIS IS NO /AUGHING MA//ER /HOUGH REA//Y
ARSONN: ONE OF /HE /ROLLS WE ME/ A/ ONE OF /HE QUEER GROUPS YOU IN/RODUCED
ARSONN: I/'S GONE MISSING
ARSONN: AND FROM /HE /HINGS O/HERS ARE SAYING
ARSONN: I/ MIGH/ BE /HE SOR/ OF /HING WHERE A /EA/ /OOKING ABOU/ MIGH/ NO/ BE APPRECIA/ED VERY MUCH
ARSONN: SOME SPECU/A/E /HERE'S CHURCH INVO/VEMEN/ /OO
ARSONN: /OCA/ ONE'S FINA//Y SHOWING I/'S CO/OURS HUH

This paints a surprising amount of visible anger on the ex-legislacerator-in-training's face. You didn't expect such a strong opinion on the matter of the brewing local schism, but scepticism about whether Honing's church will live up to its professed ideals has been a local hot topic. Well, you say 'local'. It's in the city proper and the nice part of it too, instead of the temperate-dominated subgrubs, positioning it on basically the other side of where you could reasonably hang out. Zhanne's the closest to you out of anyone you know, mostly because you're both poor as bones.

Arsonn mutters a little under her breath about "damned clowns" and other invectives, which shows she's at least heard of what the purples get up to doing to lower haemocastes, but finally finds it themself to continue. She composes herself, and with a genuine and apologetic look, one that pleads "I don't have another choice", she asks:

ARSONN: I'M REA//Y SORRY /O ASK YOU FOR YE/ ANO/HER FAVOUR BU/
ARSONN: COU/D YOU /RY FIND DIRACK VACUOO?

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COMMUTATION 1.1

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"The current Heiress? Yeah, she's useless. We bullied her off Chittr within a couple of weeks of her joining it. I made sure to take part in it, you know, have to be seen doing my part. I've even heard some of the clowns have taken to praying for her - that she dies quick, to spare her further embarrassment. (Laughter.) Anyway, I've heard she's, you know, one of those, anyway. Of course she's going to be treated like this."

Excerpt from an interview with Jacque Dhorse, the CEO and founder of Chittr.

The scuttlebus to the nearest subgrub is comfortable, for the definition of comfortable that lowbloods are permitted. No one higher than olive ever uses these, and the olives and golds realistically don’t use them either. Olivebloods are too seclusive, and goldbloods tend to fly instead. Scuttlebusses are one of the few modes of transport that don't require haemotesting though, which is nice. You zone out to the buzz of music from your grubpod. You always feel like a bit of a poser listening to Troll Siouxs and the Banshee when dressed in essentially frat troll clothes, but it’s not like anyone else can hear it right now.

Arriving at your destination, you get off the bus. It trundles away as you stare after it, procrastinating just a little bit longer before you do your “rounds”. Your mind assigns them scare talons automatically. You’ve been trying to shake that habit.

Well. There’s nothing to it but to get to it. Up and at ‘em, Bonnie! You’re gonna do great. You slap your cheeks through your mask, eliciting a stare or two from the other people at the outskirts of the ‘grub. Off you go! Don’t pay attention to the stares, they’re just trolls that don’t know you yet.

You stroll past a couple of lawnrings, whistling to the tender tones of the Banshee’s shrieks. You don’t know how Siouxs managed to get one to feature on so many tracks. Burgundies have weird powers. Time for your first hive visit for today!

ZHANNE MORTIS is one of those weird burgundies. Half-here, half-staring into space, she’s facing away from you as you let yourself in with the key she lent you. She turns as she hears the door, and her lopsidedly long hair flips over her shoulder. Her side shave has been recently cut. You eye it with poorly disguised desire, sensory stims are the best... For now, you keep your hands to yourself.

Both her horns are filed down to stumps, a consequence of them breaking a long time ago. Other trolls have taken it as a political statement, though you know better by now. She’s not really the kind to do something so shocking with active intent. It’s more like an accidental inevitability.

If pressed, you’d describe Zhanne as having a variety of PROBLEMS. Accidentally catapulted into fame by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, she has now inherited the slew of issues associated with gaining a following out of nowhere. An otherwise reclusive and morbid girl, she’s been handling this change with a surprising amount of grace.

Interrupting your musings, she suddenly speaks, peering at your face intently.

ZHANNE: i have decided_
ZHANNE: i am adding new pronouns: corpse_ corpse_
ZHANNE: in addition to she_ her_

Her eyes are as wide as leafwater saucers but you have sort of presumed that’s just kind of how she looks. Sort of a spooked girl. She continues to stare, peering, seemingly awaiting a response. You know she isn’t looking for your approval, but you nod anyway.

BONNIE: yeah, uh
BONNIE: that’s cool!

You take the opportunity to start talking now that you're sure you have her attention.

BONNIE: so, hey
BONNIE: you said you wanted some tips about trying to maintain an image, right?
BONNIE: that's what you said over chittr, anyway

ZHANNE: that's right_
ZHANNE: i've_ blown up_ as they say_
ZHANNE: not that i'm enjoying it_
ZHANNE: kind of like actual_ blowing up_ seems unenjoyable_

BONNIE: haha, yeah
BONNIE: so, what exactly do you want to know?
BONNIE: it's not like i'm the most in the public eye but you know how it is
BONNIE: you're the target of a harassment campaign or two and you pick up on the tips and tricks, and i'd rather you get ahead of them!

ZHANNE: yes_ so_
ZHANNE: let me explain a bit_
ZHANNE: as you probably know_ a protest action i took_ received a disproportionate amount of attention_
ZHANNE: surviving_ an encounter with a drone_ en route to a swatting event_
ZHANNE: it's not exactly common_
ZHANNE: even for golds_ i think some people say_ they're somehow resistant to being picked up?
ZHANNE: something about gravity_ and of course the armour prevents optical beams_

She shakes her head as if to drag herself back on topic by rejumbling her thoughts into the correct order.

ZHANNE: anyway_
ZHANNE: so_ there's already rumours about_ any potential rustblood abilities i might have_
ZHANNE: even though_ this is all on video_
ZHANNE: and you can see_ what happened_
ZHANNE: i do have something_ that did help_ but it's nothing that fancy like_ theorising i'm secretly a cerulean_
ZHANNE: some trolls are really weird did you know that_

ZHANNE: so_ in confidence_
ZHANNE: i can speak with the dead_

This is, perhaps, the least surprising thing you've ever heard about someone, ever. You can't help but giggle, and your reply is lighthearted.

BONNIE: could never have guessed!
BONNIE: talk about nominative determinism, am i right

Zhanne seems a little nonplussed, but she cuts off your attempted explanation of what that is with the explanation she's heard it before, and continues unabated.

ZHANNE: it's the dead_ that told me_ you can sort of_
ZHANNE: evade?
ZHANNE: a drone on its way_ to another target_
ZHANNE: it's about the pathfinding they do_ if you get in front of it_ in the right way_
ZHANNE: you can delay it_
ZHANNE: and walk away without getting hurt_
ZHANNE: it's just that_ someone actually caught it on camera_

ZHANNE: it wasn't my plan_
ZHANNE: and now_ they're probably going to patch that_
ZHANNE: which sucks_

BONNIE: understatement of the century, wow
BONNIE: soooo... yeah, that's the stuff that happened, yeah
BONNIE: but what do you wanna do about it!
BONNIE: it's in your p- hooves!
BONNIE: just gotta tell me what exactly you want so i don't go horribly off topic haha

ZHANNE: yes_
ZHANNE: of course_

There's something about her which seems so preoccupied. As if she's staring at something else, trying to puzzle out exactly what's going on. You're just happy you're free of psionics, because being able to hear the dead sounds like an awful lot of hassle, you know? Seems distracting.

ZHANNE: how do i correct rumours_
ZHANNE: and how do i lie_

And it goes from a pleasant, not quite carefree but not burdened atmosphere to one that's still laughing but laden with the dread weight of knowledge.

BONNIE: you can lie!
BONNIE: but the fun thing about correcting rumours is
BONNIE: you don't!
BONNIE: you just don't!

And there's a pain in your eyes to rival that of the most overused image macros.

BONNIE: you don't get to correct rumours!
BONNIE: they're there forever until you die!
BONNIE: just look at the heiress!

ZHANNE: oh_

BONNIE: lying is mostly just keeping to one simple story though
BONNIE: it's not that hard, just do it over text
BONNIE: and keep it simple and also stupid

ZHANNE: i see_
ZHANNE: well_
ZHANNE: can i offer you some tea_
ZHANNE: i forgot_ to do that_

BONNIE: no i think i'm good
BONNIE: i don't like to drop the mask
BONNIE: not because i think you're sick! it's just a comfort thing

ZHANNE: don't worry_
ZHANNE: it's fine_
ZHANNE: we're both trans_ i get it_
ZHANNE: but yes_ that is all then_
ZHANNE: i'll be seeing you_ more often?

BONNIE: for sure!

Concluding your conversation, Zhanne affably chases you out the door with threats of trapping your soul in a jar if you stay too long. You protest a little, but amble outside, a smile on your face. Just getting to talk about things with someone who gets it makes everything easier.

Onwards to your next charge! Not that they're actually your charges. You just kind of do this as a hobby, because you're just like that.

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Prologue

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The video starts. A young woman with grey skin and yellow eyes stands in her(?) respiteblock, looking into the camera. She wears a varsity jacket poorly embroidered with what’s presumably her own name. It’s accented with her signclade, in bronze, and it looks to have been frond-sewn on. Her horns stick out to either side of her head, before tapering off, and one of them has a tag in it as a form of adornment. She wears a cute mask that has a bovine motif to it, which reads “got milk?” in large letters.

Behind her there are an assortment of flags in various pastel colours. Underneath these, her recuperacoon hasn’t been properly drained, and the sopor slime hasn’t been cleaned off from when she woke up and climbed out of it. Just out of frame, to the left, is a laundry cocoon. A couple of empty energy drink cans decorate the floor like conquered trophies.

-- BEGIN VIDEOLOG --

BONNE?: hello, everyone! and welcome to my grubtube channel
BONNE?: my name is bonnie belleh!
BONNIE: i’ve started this channel because there aren’t many resources for girls like us out there
BONNIE: and i wanted to help the community out a little!
BONNIE: the power to change things is in our paws! i mean, hooves!
BONNIE: i hope you’ll accompany me in learning how we can band together and meaningfully impact our surroundings

She stumbles a little on the transition into the next topic.

BONNIE: to start with, let me introduce myself properly
BONNIE: i’m bonnie, as i said before, and my pronouns are she/her
BONNIE: i’m a bronzeblood, but the exact details of my signclade aren’t really important!
BONNIE: i don’t believe in the ancestry stuff, really
BONNIE: and before you ask, no, i’m not telling you where i live! (giggles)
BONNIE: so, with my introduction out of the way, let’s get to what you’re here for

BONNIE: presumably, you, like me, want to change something about alternia
BONNIE: else you wouldn’t have clicked on this video!
BONNIE: i’ll be honest: the situation out there is pretty dreadful
BONNIE: us warmbloods have it pretty bad, and it’s only gotten worse
BONNIE: heiress apparent lilith sphyra is one of the most fronds-off heiresses this planet has seen
BONNIE: and her lack of authority and unwillingness to reign in her prospective court has drastic consequences for those not born to privilege

BONNIE: the colder haemocastes going unchecked means more wanton culling than ever
BONNIE: any warmer hue that gets too popular gets an early visit from the imperial drones, which we’ve started to call swatting
BONNIE: for those unaware, while during collection season the worker drones demand pails else you be culled, an out of season visit is only ever for “peacekeeping” reasons
BONNIE: peacekeeper drones are equipped with special weapons and cull with extreme prejudice
BONNIE: but i’ll go over the mechanics of swatting properly in a later video
BONNIE: we’re seeing highbloods call on drones at an unprecedented rate
BONNIE: it’s even affecting the more temperate colours of the spectrum

BONNIE: it’s clear that something has to change
BONNIE: something has got to give, and i’m not intending for it to be us
BONNIE: together, we can protect ourselves
BONNIE: a drone strike doesn’t have to be the end if we’re there for each other
BONNIE: a single highblood can’t stop a group of burgundies
BONNIE: so come, brothers and sisters
BONNIE: we have nothing to lose but our chains!

*click*

======-> Be the moobeastgirl.

You shut the camera off. A successful first video, you think to yourself. Well done Bonnie! You’re going to make it! You hope people think the stolen line at the end of your video is funny, and that those in the know will successfully figure out what it means. If there’s one thing you’re very, very good at, it’s making sure you speak in two languages.

As mentioned, your name is BONNIE BELLEH. You have a variety of SECRETS. One of them is that you’re secretly an anarchist. Another is that you’re not quite what you seem. You’re very good at keeping these, though, even if you’ve practically put one online for everyone to see, now. Ah well, it’s not like anyone’s going to find it, right? You earnestly wish that whoever does find it uses it for good.

You stand in your respiteblock. As previously described, it’s a little messy. You look behind where you were sitting, and realise there’s sopor on the side of your cupe. Eugh, and now that’s in the video. You’re not going to do another take, though. You put it out of your mind, and set your mind to what’s next. What will you do?

Well, now that you’ve gotten what passes for work out of the way, you should probably go socialise. It’ll let you forget about having to clean, at least. Well, it won’t let you forget, but you can pretend to ignore them and remain anxious the entire time. It’s not like that’s much of a change from usual.

Exiting your hive before you can feel worse, you start the trek towards the scuttlebus stop. You live a little way out from any local towns or cities. Some of the more reclusive bronzebloods tend to. It’s encouraged to group up for safety, but you had your reasons to stay separate. Anyway, a twenty minute walk isn’t too far. Plus, the advent of drone-based delivery means your life got a lot easier, if a lot more insecure. Looking up, you spy the full red moon hanging in the firmament.

You don’t know why, but you suddenly get the feeling it’s going to be a long, long night.

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