COMMUTATION 1.5

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"follow in lowtaxs footsteps and finally finish something for the first time in your life you piece of shit"

- Comment on a 'drawthread' that broke out into a flame war about a character's sexuality, slurs omitted, anonymous.

All of that speaking has tired you out.

=====-> Be someone else.

How about this boy over here?

oh for fucks sake desu

=====-> BE NIAVIV GLOSNA

You roll out of your cupe, a special, low-to-the-ground model as one of the few things you've ever invested into in your life. Straight into the scattered, empty foils of microwave noodles littered all over your floor. They stick to the sopor coating you and insulate you against the incoming radiowaves of your alarm.

They don't do that, but you pretend they do. It's loud. Eventually you peel yourself off the floor to turn off the alarm. You're lucky your roommate isn't here today. He isn't really here most days. You have a working arrangement.

He works, and you don't.

Okay, okay. Okay. Off the floor (you laid back down after turning off your alarm, because you're terrible and a lost cause). Hup. What have we got on the menu today. On your way up you click on your hive tower, and the whirr of its fans between the combs blasts you directly in the face. More incentive, then.

You trudge into the ablution chamber and quickly rinse off so you don't get sopor (and empty ramen packets) over your chair (you put the ramen packets back on the floor, which doesn't help). The piles of various objects around your room are getting worse. Oh well.

Time to log on. Who are we going to be today?

> Welcome, languorousAggravation.

You navigate to your chat client, booting up five different instances, including one actually vanilla Discourse terminal. It's what you use to make screenshots. The other four are to incite Discourse. You mean discourse.

The only glow in the room is that of your monitors (four) and your eyes (green and purple). Both are fairly dim, these days.

You briefly think about getting a job again. You then put the thought out of your mind, because a new ping comes in on a chat terminal.

> GA has sent you a new message!

You let it sit there in order to entice you to clear out all your other notifications. There are a lot. Let's see.

Rukaka has blocked you again (no worries, you just need to make another new account), there's some sort of goldblood-only event going on, there's some more local vidya tournaments (that you stopped showing up to because you suck) that you're still in the server for and can't get yourself to leave, the usual handful of people just DMing you memes. Streamers having done some stupid shit. Streamers having done some inconsequential shit, but you're going to turn it into stupid shit. The Lilith-tracker is back up.

And that's just the stuff people tell you personally or you bother to actively track, before you even go to the boards! Life is good. Harassment stocks through the roof. To the moon etc. Gods, at least you're not stupid enough for that. |cc| is a stupid place. You'll have no part in it.

You wonder briefly if you could get Rukaka to buy memecoins for you to leave him alone, but decide it isn't worth it.

So, what then is this mystic message that you left for last? Well, you see, sometimes... sometimes you get contacted on purpose, specifically for your talents. Because justice can't do enough on its own to get the job done. You're a good person, really, helping out in these cases. This is a contact that uses you as a proxy to find some of the more consequential dirt on others. You're like a private detective! If a private detective hung out on websites named after weird fruit.

Your grin is wider than your monitor, at this point. You click on the message that came in on your unmodded open client.

GA: i have something for you!
GA: not the usual though

Well, there goes your fun.

LA: well what is it then
LA: worst kind of person (you currently) messages to ask a question without asking desu

GA: it does involve your usual information gathering!
GA: but it's not to deliver justice
GA: we currently need to get access to a computer
GA: you should be able to do that, right?

LA: i accessed your matesprit last night desu

GA: okay, yes. i probably deserve that for questioning you!
GA: but it's not something you can physically access
GA: someone else can
GA: but they can't plug anything in to it, it doesn't seem to have ports?
GA: it's very weird
GA: can you do that?

LA: i could access your matesprit any time
LA: anywhere
LA: using just the internet i could backdoor her in a minute desu

GA: i take it that's a yes
GA: you're upset at something, aren't you?

Fuck, maybe you've been in contact with her too long, if she's starting to pick up on your moods.

Fine, it should be a challenge, trying to access something that may or may not be airgapped. If it has internet access, though, it's just a matter of trying to brute force it over LAN.

Just takes a while.

LA: fine
LA: get me to the person who is closest to the thing desu

While you wait on her, you should get your mood up. Do something enjoyable. Something fun, something stimulating! This means prodding Atsune.

Unfortunately, he isn't online yet. This means you have to procrastinate.

The thing that comes to mind is tidying, which is a thought that disgusts you. Literally and figuratively. You think of all the ramen crumbs and soy sauce stains (you're too cheap for proper grubsauce and if the effects of soy are as theorised online it can't hurt) and shudder. But your stomach growls anyway. The last time you ate can be measured in days, and caffeine (one can already slammed back before this, so routine you forget to pay attention, second already open) does not sustain.

Does make your thoughts go down several tracks at once, blasting eurobeat.

Wandering into what passes for a kitchen you set the kettle to boil by flipping the switch psionically, opening the drawer hiding your stash with your fronds. Glorious, blessed, only moderately spicy instant noodles. You disdain the pourover cups for their price, but it's only because you can do the dishes without having to put your hands in the water.

You sit there and watch the kettle boil. You didn't bring your palmhusk into this room (and briefly wonder where it is before remembering you placed it on your desk) so you're just sitting there as time stretches out. Eventually the water boils and you make your instant noodles. You eat them straight out of the pot you used to cook them, like a heathen, scratching the bottom further in the process. You pass the mirror in the hall on the way back to your room.

Back to the comfortable green-purple glow reflecting off your monitors. Guess who's onliiineee~!

That's right, your favourite. With the grace and longstanding ease of a well-worn habit, you make a new account and show up in his directed messrages, or DMs for short. You've thought of so many different handles to fit your preferred two-letter initial combo. All the better for him to recognise you with.

> lavishlyAffectionate [LA] has started discoursing with latestSymphony [LS]!

You start to type out an introduction, but before you can say anything he quickfires his defence.

LS: I'm sorry for blocking you, Nia.
LS: I just..
LS: I just needed a bit of space. *Flinches a little.*

Oh, truly, like music to your ears. And he's all yours, too. No one else has direct access to him like this, he's too small to appear on the average lolmoobeastseeker's radar. It nearly gets you to make an inappropriate expression. You reign yourself in.

LA: oh atsune
LA: whatever will i do with you
LA: you already know you fucked up
LA: good
LA: so what sort of punishment should i give you desu

Room for interpretation is the most fun part. No way for him to leak this and not have everyone assume it's just some fucked up pitch thing, so he can't stop you. That is, if you had a solid enough digital presence to actually tie any accusations to in the first place.

LS: Well, I, would prefer no punishment...

LA: you dont think you can block me and face no consequences right
LA: youre stupid but not that stupid wwwww
LA: right
LA: are you stupid desu

LS: I'm not that stupid, yes. :(
LS: *She steels herself, drawing in a shuddering breath.*
LS: I just, don't have anything more to give you...
LS: I don't have any secrets left.

LA: oh so maybe you are stupid
LA: i see
LA: sou desu

LS: I promise! I promise
LS: I have more money but you don't even want that..

He's tried to pay you off a couple of times. You've used that when money's really tight, but you despise having to.

LA: thats right
LA: that isnt what im here for
LA: im your biggest fan atsune
LA: i just want to know all about you desu

LS: I don't think that's true..

LA: it is
LA: ive listened to everything youve ever made
LA: even all the unreleased stuff
LA: thats the definition of a superfan right desu

LS: Yes, true, but..

LA: so why are you on my ass about this
LA: do you want to lose your only fan
LA: is that it
LA: the only person thatll ever listen to all the trash you make
LA: i give feedback and help you improve
LA: im so nice to you desu

It is true. That you listen to everything. You have to be accurate enough that he actually has a reason to care about what you say. A rust sweetroot and frondrod approach. You can practically hear him starting to sniffle and sob behind the screen. Isn't this the best entertainment of all?

LS: You do help me with my music, yes, but
LS: I don't know if you need to be so aggressive about it..

LA: wow atsune are you tone policing a lowblood
LA: casteist of you really
LA: thats going in the callout post
LA: next to stuff like your appropriative name desu

LS: It's, not that, that's not what I meant.

LA: i mean i could always doxx you to |mu| lol
LA: do you want everyone to know youre a boy you fucking freak lmao
LA: the choice is always easy
LA: what would your lusus think hm
LA: i could make sure it reaches him
LA: does he know you dress up like a girl and jerk off into your panties
LA: you degenerate desu

> latestSymphony [LS] has blocked lavishlyAffectionate [LA]!

Oh, fuck. A little too hard, a little too fast. You'll have to be nicer next time, but you'll give him a couple of days to cool down, or you'll think of some way to give him a lighter punishment for blocking you. Can't actually alienate him.

He just kind of pisses you off sometimes, is the thing. Because he's a coward. Because he won't tell his lusus. Because he won't risk anything ever, because he always makes the safe decision. It just pisses you off.

And you've managed to put yourself in a sour mood again. You got another message from GA, though, so that'll take the edge off. You close this chat and consign it to damnation. You will never open it again, and never log into this account ever again.

GA: i've gotten you something better than a handle!
GA: invite link
GA: this way you can work with all of us to help out :)

She's the best. Most useful accomplice you could have ever asked for. You don't even bother asking for a primer on what's going on, or responding to her, you just immediately join the conversation...

> hope you brought pizza, languorousAggravation!

.. on your main. Fuck. Well, you can't back down anymore, you guess, so you're going to have to try minimise your losses. No one should recognise you, though, at the very least. You go back to GA's message to thank her, and while doing so you notice the invite link hasn't expired. You switch back to the group.

LA: so i heard there was a husktop you needed access to
LA: is it airgapped desu
GA: everyone, this is my friend LA, or lala for short!
GA: that's the nickname i've been using in my head at least
GA: she's a really talented computer wizard

She's the worst, and you need her to stop immediately. You're revealing more than you'd like, here, but if it's what you need to do to prevent that sticking, then so be it.

LA: you can call me nia
LA: now i heard you had a husktop
LA: can any of you plug it in desu
LG: BONNIE IS JUST CA/CHING HER BREA/H
LG: I CAN FI// YOU IN /HOUGH IF YOU WAN/
GL: the room is_ truly empty right?
GL: nothing else_ in there?
GL: just the sleeping platform_ the desk_ and the husktop?
SG: Bonniiiie was quiiite clear about that.
SG: Unless you want to bother her agaiiin and maybe delay gettiiing any useful answer?

So, you're stuck in a room with a bunch of fucking normie (redacted) dipshits. You'd better not think any slurs around them (they could smell it on you), let alone say any, so they don't pick up on the fact you're one of those, you know. You know. At least for now (lol).

LA: does it have a router
LA: should be one if there is a husktop (and the owner isn't some freak)
LA: look for a rectangular grub roughly the size of a book that is hooked into the wall at your frond height (either set of fronds)
LA: it will have anywhere from two to four different grubs biting it with their (not your) fronds pointing up desu
GL: i know what a router looks like_
GL: either way_
AL: okay i'm back!
GL: oh never mind_
AL: i do see a router!!!
AL: so what do i need to do for that?

You explain the way in which she can expose the router to the broader network, which mostly involves shoving something into its nervous system in just the right way to reset it, making it forget its key. Using the default password, you get her to log in via her palmhusk, and throw the whole thing open by changing a bunch of settings and downloading something onto it. This lets you wake the husktop on WLAN, shove a "critical update" its way, and tear a hole into its security.

You're in.

This whole process takes approximately an hour, not because of your perceived lack of skill, but because doing tech support across a distance is as hellish as it was the last time you had a job. You're glad the tower was already connected, because else you'd have to try and explain how to key a husktop's blood and pheromone keys into said router for a new connection (considering it lacks wires), and even on a default key that process is fucking annoying. Sparks intermittently leave your eyes as your frustration rises further, and you spend a good part of this time idly wondering how to best handle the situation with Rukaka in order to keep your thoughts calm.

You're also taking notes on the new people you've come into contact with as a result of GA's nonsense, scrolling up and checking previous logs, writing down names. You're a little shocked when you realise GL is the rustie that went viral for shutting down a drone by simply standing in front of it and shuffling about in a really odd way. You also now have her full legal name (and as a result her address) and her social media, and a bunch of stuff she thought she deleted off her social media but was still waybacked by some enterprising individual who is probably not unlike you.

You can't decide whether you want to praise her or curse her, standing up to the drones is hilarious either way and has caused a bunch of incredible footage of attempted copycats, but it also made them harder to fuck with as a pissblood now that they patched another exploit (however the fuck patching works, you aren't a puke-coloured freak). You'll decide later whether she gets special treatment.

The shitblood is a little interesting because it looks like she's a genuine goodie two-shoes, and wears a mask 24/7 despite the fact it fucks with her audio quality. You also silently take note of the fact she drinks a worse energy drink than you do. Other than trying to figure out if she has horrific facial scars to make fun of, she's kind of boring, though, unless you want to flame her political beliefs

You can't get a read on the other shade of puke in the rainbow yet because she just doesn't talk. Makes you want to needle her, though. Something about her feels like you've seen her before, but her handle shows no results. Similarly, the loud fuck is interesting but you know better than to fuck with potential oinkbeasts before verifying whether they're the -lacerating or the legis- kind of processed oink product. They seem like a set, and you can practically feel the tension between them, like they're waiting to flip pitch any time. Or worse than that, if you have your say. You make it a mission to find out what their chittr handles are because you swear you've read that annoying quirk in teal before on some screenshot.

Either way, you've lifted everything you can off this husktop (it's really fucking barebones, actually) and you have one actual lead, which is also hilarious. Mirthful, even. Time to see if bronzie can keep her pants clear of her colour.

LA: so youre not gonna like the one piece of usable information on here
LA: but there is an address in here(lol)
LA: how do you feel about a chateau
LA: wanna get fuckin spooked desu
AL: no?
AL: i would like to not have to deal with clowns ever again!
GL: hear_ hear_
AL: after getting jumpscared by a painted clown symbol i don't want to see clowns ever again
AL: did you know it moved? i didn't know they could do that with blood
LA: too bad(wwwww)
LA: youre going to clown hell desu

> latestSymphony [LS] is finally here!

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COMMUTATION 1.4

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"Forgive me, if my speech is unclear and absurd, but I really have no idea how to ask, even though the nature of my petition demands complete selfless humility. Just imagine I beg you on my knees! In any case, believe me, I feel that way."

- A snippet of dialogue from a poor translation of Troll Pathologic.

A troll girl of roughly ten sweeps dressed in a revealingly-cut leotard and an elaborate ruffle collar is standing in the middle of a moonlit podium. The pews in front of her are empty, save for one other troll dressed in ceremonial military lolita. Light shines on her through a beautiful stained glass window, depicting the Empress' rise to power and the attentions of several of her castes of loyal subjects. This prominently includes the jades, the purples and the violets, kneeling in supplication, all three bearing their own symbols. A matriorb for the jades, a golden club for the clowns, and a whalebone baton for the violets.

Of course, this being a church, the clowns take up the center of the triptych adorning the bottom half of the window. Amongst them is one that's dressed eerily similar to the girl on stage, down to the collar of pearls in all the colours of the haemospectrum. She paces across her podium, clearly working up to something, practicing her diction while she moves. Occasionally, she turns her back on the other troll and spreads her arms out over her head, staring in faked exultation at the window crafted to grant the impression of a halo, which settles upon her slender antenna-like horns. They bend up and sideways at a 45 degree angle before cascading down like ribbons fixed in place.

The visitor taps his foot impatiently, but nevertheless humours this private show being put on for him. His outfit isn't represented in this particular church's window.

The church itself is evidently over a hundred sweeps old from its exterior construction, but the interior's decoration is incredibly shiny, with none of the wear or tear expected from the length of time it has existed. The most ostentatious thing in the room is probably the stained glass window itself. The rest is relatively sober, although it does possess an organ, and the acoustics are excellent.

======-> Be the clown.

Excuse me?

======-> Be the clown*girl*, thank you very much.

You are now the CLOWNGIRL. You're standing in a BEATIFIC CHURCH in the CENTRE OF THE CITY. Relatively tucked away in a dead-end corner, you managed to LIBERATE IT from a more traditional clown-sect by virtue of YOUR ANCESTOR'S ACCOMPLISHMENTS. You now use this building to accomplish a VARIETY OF PERSONAL GOALS by performing POLITICAL SERMONS. You're also FOMENTING A SCHISM by letting in THE LOWBLOODS. The more traditionally-minded don't particularly like this.

Your name is CERATO HONING, and currently, you're giving a SPEECH.

CERATO: There is a wonderful school of thought that has been spreading amongst the lower and subsequently upper echelons of blueblood social scienstiffs lately.

CERATO: Or, rather, their debate has been going on for a while.

CERATO: I'm not sure you would be quite acquainted with it?

CERATO: It has been in vogue, as they say, although they probably in turn stole that expression, for them to pay attention to their lower status on the haemocaste. Lower, of course, compared to us.

CERATO: This school of thought is very concerned with social constructions. They argue the reason they're not appreciated more - their words - is because of the idea they are not appreciated more. That it is this very idea that is keeping them, and specifically them, down.

CERATO: This, too, is an idea they stole from somewhere else. Poorly, might I add.

CERATO: But, let us indulge their ideas a little. The social scienstiffs are trying to legitimise this idea in science, but not too broadly. Only applying to themselves.

CERATO: Constructionihilists, as they label themselves, argue that the methods imposed on them for science, their very own ideological doctrine, is nothing more than a blindfold to the actual truth: clowns - and it's always clowns, not fish! they can do something right after all - planted these ideas initially.

CERATO: That they're blinded by now dogmatic rules of science to the truth of the world. That all of it is made up by those atop the pile to keep them busy in their little laboratories. That their work has no meaning.

CERATO: It's funny how this does end up being a wonderful sniping against the more materially minded of their ilk. The ones actually working on important things, like, say, biochemistry and drone rearing. Or designing new biotechnology for the imperial war machine.

CERATO: From their self-inflated point of view, their science, the real game in town, is actually rhetoric.

You perform a little twirl and flourish to accompany the word, before you launch into your next sentence, voice projecting.

CERATO: A mere attempt at swaying a crowd of presumably lowbloods or even my and your own assorted peers - the only relevant actors, really - into the appropriate frenzy that all devolves into enough violence you become right. Or that science is when you civilly persuade them of your own superior point of view. Hah! Who am I kidding.

CERATO: We do all love a little bit of divinely ordained violence, do we not? Whatever form that violence might take.

CERATO: Rhetoric, rhetoric, rhetoric. I can dance a wonderful dance around most others of my caste rhetorically, but obviously this is not solely where the problem lies. I would be spinning my wheels.

CERATO: I could further twist the argument that science, and with it, power, is even less attached to any concrete truth and observable reality! That all knowledge is simply those power plays, the systemic bias against you and me a product of social relations, that what other clowns tell themselves as they shut the door on me and what your delightful associates in your little parliament whisper among themselves about your ideas is only *rhetoric*. Or, even beyond that, simply a story. All form, no content.

The deadpan you deliver this in should be enough to signal your disapproval. A wry lilt enters your voice.

CERATO: Then so much for those of us who would still like to talk about *reality* with more confidence than we allow the evengealists when they discuss their double death and being raptured out of the final destruction of the world.

CERATO: Obviously it can't just be rhetoric.

CERATO: These ways of knowing are embedded in quite material issues. The institutions themselves, in ways, live and breathe these ways of knowing. His Honorable Tyranny being a prime example.

CERATO: No, the problem lies in me not being afforded the opportunity to spin my opponents into metaphorical dizziness. The problem is systemic.

CERATO: Institutions that have decided certain people do not get to speak does not happen all on their own and it is not made entirely out of decisions in the here and now.

CERATO: Inherited status and wealth is a rather pernicious concern amongst my peers. Amongst yours, too, I am told.

CERATO: Aren't you glad we're on the lucky side of that dice roll?

CERATO: Of course, we're both on the unfortunate end of another. You and I are practically sisters in our circumstances, really. It's quite amusing how we're funhouse mirrors of each other.

You smile at him, before continuing

CERATO: To explain reality we have to come up with something different. Relying on the idea of an objective truth however gets us back into the thorn-dense thicket of those privileged positions claiming they belong nearer to objectivity than us.

CERATO: That certain qualities about us make us unfit for objectivity.

CERATO: So we can't simply claim the traditional ways of knowing what's objective and what isn't, lest we shoot ourselves prematurely in the frond by positioning ourselves in the category that is unable to be rational.

CERATO: Additionally, objectivity promises a sort of "god-trick", as heretical as that sounds.

CERATO: By creating knowledge and declaring that knowledge as objectively true, you position yourself outside the process. As if you have no bearing on what's being made.

CERATO: In that sense it's also not particularly in touch with reality, is it not?

CERATO: The knowledge that a seadweller would create - one in which the ability to breathe underwater is taken for granted - does in fact differ from my own experiences.

CERATO: Objectivity is therefore a scam. A losing proposition. But we can't abandon it either, because material issues afflict us like plagues.

CERATO: What's left, then? If we can't claim divine, arbitrary objectivity but we must still ground ourselves in material concerns? Dialectics? Oh, twin gods no. I'm not touching those.

You pantomime shuddering slightly, playing up your aversion.

CERATO: The debate. The debate about objectivity does of course matter. You can't simply give up the fight about defining things. They're actually on to something, for once. It's not like bluebloods are somehow ontologically incapable of grasping at any truth, as naive, shuttered and blinkered as their perspectives may be at times.

CERATO: The consequences of not being trained for big-picture thinking, I'm afraid.

CERATO: No, they do have a point. The debate about objectivity matters, who gets to create knowledge, who only gets to consume it. It's not actually solely academic.

CERATO: Immortality and omnipotence are not our goals. I'm not a heretic. Gods forbid.

CERATO: All I suggest is that we could use some enforceable, reliable accounts of things not reducible to power moves and agonistic, clownish games of rhetoric, or to traditional scienstiff blueblood positivistic arrogance.

CERATO: That is part of what I wish to introduce with the new doctrine I am writing.

CERATO: A certain subjectivity to it all, limited by place and time. Context-bound, to say that what is virtue in one church may become sin in another.

CERATO: My detractors might call it a get-out-of-heresy-free card.

CERATO: Rigid lot. They're the ones that have slipped so much they're losing their grip on the pulse of society. The rot has set in, there.

CERATO: Indulgences abound while they laze away, not noticing the social movement brewing right beneath their noses.

This is perhaps the most open you've been about your disdain for the established order of the Church. It's thrilling, to commit an offence they'd cull you over. You've slipped the noose already before, though, securing this place. They can't touch you yet.

CERATO: All I'm doing is re-interpreting things to grant myself a little more leniency.

CERATO: Slipping the bounds of the noose they've woven for themselves.

CERATO: So, this is why I'm inventing my own, new epistemology.

CERATO: Adapted to the context of each congregation.

CERATO: What's traditionally heresy may be permissible in context. That leniency has always been afforded to our religion off-planet.

CERATO: And these are exceptional times.

CERATO: I think they call for exceptional measures.

A short silence fills the air as you stand on the stage, facing the stained glass, perfectly posed in the light cascading in rays that coat you in a soft, circular glow.

OTOKON: Yo->u're perverting Harawy's theo->ry.

CERATO: Dearest Otokon, perversion is *what I do*.
CERATO: You should know that by now!

OTOKON: I kno->w what so->rt o->f bargain I made.
OTOKON: No->netheless, I kno->w o->bvio->us theft when I see it.
OTOKON: Yo->u're adapting it wro->ng. Yo->ur jump fro->m to->pic to-> to->pic is also-> slo->ppy.
OTOKON: Yo->ur ho->nest tho->ughts also-> started slipping o->ut near the end.
OTOKON: It's almo->st eno->ugh to-> make me believe yo->u didn't rehearse this.
OTOKON: Yo->u do->n't have to-> pretend to-> be wo->rse at what yo->u do-> to-> gain an advantage o->ver me.
OTOKON: I am also-> no->t pro->ne to-> fits o->f idealism that'll delude me into-> thinking yo->u're o->ur so->le so->lutio->n.
OTOKON: I refuse to-> under o->r o->verestimate yo->u as an asset.

During his little diatribe you've snuck up behind him and draped your arms around his neck. You have to tilt your head so your horns don't jut into his face, but you make the angle work. Them lightly brushing against his is the icing on the cake. A shiver runs up his spine, involuntarily.

CERATO: You're so cold, Otokon.
CERATO: I guess that is the natural consequence of being higher up the strata than I am, so truly, what did I expect?
CERATO: But it wouldn't hurt you to loosen up a little, you know?

OTOKON: I have a jo->b to-> do->.
OTOKON: That is all.

He shrugs you off as if trying to dissuade a bug from landing. You tut, walking a short distance away, and spin on your tall heels to face him again. Your eyes betray a certain mirth at making him uncomfortable. He turns up his nose and faces to the side as he continues.

OTOKON: O->n to-> what I'm here fo->r.
OTOKON: Have any jadeblo->o->ds sho->wn themselves in church?
OTOKON: Ho->w are things go->ing o-> the teal fro->nt?
OTOKON: I believe we are lo->sing the teals to-> the rest o->f the Church.

He pauses. You take the moment to admire his arrow-shaped horns, although one of them seems to be curling in on itself? Oh well. None of your concern. Your eyes drift down to the way his outfit accentuates the lines of his body. You wonder what would happen if you bit the frills along his ears..

CERATO: We're losing the teals, unfortunately. Overall, that is.
CERATO: There's a few individuals that show up to my sermons, but not many.
CERATO: A handful seem to recognise what we're doing, and they're the ones to watch out for.
CERATO: We can't have anyone get too wise to their entire way of life being fought over by fish and clowns.
CERATO: Probably this means a rise in terrorism.
CERATO: Or someone who is going to try provide a counterweight to me.

CERATO: As for the jades, none of them bit.
CERATO: That's what Harawy's theory is meant to help with.
CERATO: Not that you'd recognise that.

OTOKON: I reco->gnised Harawy.
OTOKON: I kno->w jade theo->ry.

CERATO: Sure you do.

He scoffs, and continues.

OTOKON: I have co->ntacted so->me o->ther peo->ple to->o->.
OTOKON: Maybe they will pro->ve more successful in jade o->utreach.

Despite your best attempts, you do feel something inside you lurch a little at the hint of his disapproval. You're probably within his margins or expectations, but the idea of someone else succeeding on your own turf won't do. You'll have to redouble your efforts. Before you manage to stop yourself your posture straightens, as if rearing up in threat display. He either doesn't notice, or pretends not to notice.

OTOKON: Additio->nally, we really need a name fo->r the traditional Church. No->w that yo->u're officially breaking with them.
OTOKON: So->mething to-> set yo->u two-> apart.
OTOKON: O->bviously yo->ur co->o->peratio->n with Lilith might pro->ve to-> yo->ur advantage there?
OTOKON: Yo->u co->uld theme yo->urself after her.

CERATO: I already had something planned, don't you worry.
CERATO: I've been snooping around your books, see. Learning your funny little formal fish language.
CERATO: As part of my activities while I spend time with my lovely moirail.

You can't resist sneaking in that barb as retaliation, and watching his brow furrow ever so slightly as he represses his response. You don't miss the slight change though, the sudden stillness.

CERATO: I think the word I've settled on for my little movement is Conscientiae.
CERATO: The conscience holding the old Church to account.

CERATO: Wouldn't it be nice to take them to task?

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COMMUTATION 1.3

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"Discourse was nearly named Kraken before someone told us that was insensitive because of the Heiress' lusus! Not too proud of that one."

- One of the many startup messages for the popular instant messaging and chat client app.

You're a bit taken aback.

BONNIE: uh
BONNIE: sure?
BONNIE: i don't know what you expect me to do really
BONNIE: but i can give it a try!
BONNIE: not like i have anything better to do

ARSONN: AS PER USUA/ YOU'RE A GREA/ HE/P
ARSONN: SOMEONE HAS /O FIND I/ AND I KNOW OF NO ONE BE//ER

BONNIE: so! uh
BONNIE: who is dirack

ARSONN: WE// YOU SEE
ARSONN: /HA/ IS SOR/ OF /HE RUB ISN'/ I/
ARSONN: I /HINK IF WE KNEW /HA/ WE WOU/DN'/ BE IN SO MUCH /ROUB/E GE//ING S/AR/ED
ARSONN: I'VE BEEN CAUGH/ UP IN
ARSONN: WE//
ARSONN: /HINGS
ARSONN: AND /IKE I SAID I CAN'/ EXAC//Y GO /OOKING
ARSONN: SO /HA/'S PROBAB/Y /HE PLACE /O S/AR/
ARSONN: YOU HAVE MY NUMBER BU/ DO YOU WAN/ MY CHA/ HAND/E AS WE//
ARSONN: YOU KNOW ON DISCOURSE

They proceed to give you not only their handle but also Kiarig's. Friends get(?)!

ARSONN: BU/ /HANK YOU FOR S/OPPING BY
ARSONN: AND HEY A/ /EAS/ WE HAVE MORE OF AN EXCUSE /O SEE EACH O/HER AGAIN
ARSONN: I WAS WORRIED /HIS WAS GOING /O BE I/
ARSONN: HANGING OU/ WI/H YOU IS FUN

She scratches the back of her head, embarrassed, in a rare moment of vulnerability for her. From what you know, it's not that she's ever particularly insincere or dishonest, but she does struggle with that. With vulnerability. So you're touched, and it kind of makes you tear up a little. Which kind of makes it unfortunate that Kiarig butts in.

KIARIG: Well, III hope you solve thiiis quiiickly.

And with that, you presume it is time to go. Arsonn apologetically shoos you out the door, and loudly tells you to message her for more information. Considering they gave you both their and Kiarig's handle, you figure it's time foooooooor... a server! Surely, this cannot go wrong.

Kiarig looms at the end of the entrance hallway, staring, as Arsonn leads you out.

> WELCOME TO YOUR NEW DISCOURSE SERVER! What will its name be?

Name: Bonniequest

Channels:

#general
#bots-and-management
#key-information

=> #general - for general discussions!

> affableLapse [AL] has joined the server! we hope you brought snacks!

Okay. All set up... now to invite the other two, and maybe Zhanne? Sounds like a plan! Let's see if they show-

> lividGarishness [LG] has accepted your friend request!
> lividGarishness [LG] has joined the party!

AL: hi!
LG: HE//O HOPE A// IS WE//
LG: GREA/ IDEA ON /HE SERVER I WI// MAKE KIARIG JOIN A/SO
LG: FRE/ NO/

> sereneGrace [SG] hopped into the server!

SG: III wiiill be keepiiing up wiiith updates, but don't expect mememe to contriiibute much yet.
SG: III diiidn't know Diiirack liiike Arsonn does.
AL: aw you two have, like, matching handles! that's cute!
LG: I/ WAS MY /OVE/Y MA/ESPRI/'S IDEA AND I/ IS IN FAC/ VERY CUTE
LG: ANYWAY
LG: IS I/ FINE IF I INVI/E SOMEONE I KNOW WHO MIGH/ BE AB/E /O HE/P ALSO
AL: yeah, sure! go ahead!
AL: i also have someone i want to add anyway, so don't worry!

> Yay you made it, graveLecture [GL]!

GL: what_ is this all about then_
GL: bonniequest?
GL: are you doing_ something strange again_
AL: oh, you know!
AL: my friend LG here asked me to try find someone!
AL: called dirack!
AL: and i figured you might know of it!
LG: YOU CAN SAY MY NAME IS ARSONN /HA/ IS FINE BU/ I APPRECIA/E YOUR ABI/I/Y /O NO/ GIVE AWAY UNNECESSARY INFORMA/ION BONNIE
AL: aw thanks!
GL: okay_ strange_
GL: are you sure you're_ doing something useful_
LG: DIRACK NEEDS /O BE FOUND
LG: ONE WAY OR ANO/HER
AL: yeah! and i really don't have anything better to do right now haha

You wince just a little bit. No sense in not being honest though. Also, wait, again?

GL: well_ your funeral_
GL: i don't think_ i can be that much help_ but i can put out the word_
LG: I HAVE MORE PEOP/E /HA/ CAN HE/P

> Yay you made it, guiltlessAddress [GA]!

AL: oh! hi!!!
AL: you made it!
GA: oh, wow. hi bonnie!
GA: and who are the rest of this illustrious company?
AL: we have a real motley crew here :D
AL: get it
AL: like the band
GL: i got it_
AL: THANK you
GL: you should_ make a channel describing what the point is_
GL: if you're going to_ add more people_
AL: no i think this is enough people!
AL: GL is my good friend who i've been helping lately and she makes me tea!
AL: LG and SG are a couple i've been also helping get settled in!
AL: everyone, GA is my friend from talking about the heiress' inaction online!
GL: that is a lot of exclamation marks_ are you okay_
AL: i'm just excited :D
GA: oh, she just gets like this.
LG: YES I CAN /E// /HIS ISN'/ AN UNUSUA/ OCCURRENCE
LG: DESPI/E NO/ KNOWING BONNIE /HA/ /ONG

You've been typecast. Or maybe cityflapbeastholed.

AL: so! the point is to find dirack
AL: i'll just use everyone's names actually since the group is so small
AL: cyntia, you're good at like, finding out information right?
AL: so i want you to start looking! but like privately
AL: no big posts yet!
GA: oh, so there's a missing person and we can't let anyone know?
AL: exactly!
AL: quick on the uptake :D
GL: i will_ keep an ear out_
AL: i also have its address! so that is where i should be going!

Okay, you have everyone in a group now. That's great! You've got a great thing going. People can become friends! You very swiftly recall that this sort of thing tends to immediately fucking die out if no one proactively stimulates conversation though, as the empty silence after your last message indicates. You wait a little bit, but when no one says anything for 10 minutes, you pull out your trick. The ultimate way to make everyone be friends! From the wonderful warmth and safety of this café you're stealing the internet of before you set out, you post:

AL: so, other than trying to find dirack it might be helpful for everyone to get to know each other!
AL: so why don't we do one of those little introduction games :D
AL: if you would post your name pronouns and maybe a little bit about yourself!
AL: i'll start
AL: my name is bonnie! bonnie belleh! and my pronouns are she/her
AL: in my spare time i like to help people and i also actually run a grubtube channel!
AL: the videos are just new though so no one really has seen them yet haha

The subsequent five minutes of silence hurt.

Fortunately, Zhanne comes to the rescue.

GL: zhanne_ you might know me from_ getting video'd doing something stupid_
GL: and then subsequently_ being given too much weight_ as a "thought leader"_
GL: my leading thought_ is that being appointed leader_ in a decentralised movement_ is stupid_
GL: also_ she/her_ corpse/corpse_

You exhale a sigh of relief and a faux prayer to your saviour, and start to walk out of the café. You switch back to your mobile plan, with the self-assured confidence of knowing the rest of the group is essentially peer pressured into also doing the introduction game!

As you try figure out the map, messages roll in, your eyes flicking to the top of your palmhusk so you can read them as they happen. These streets are a little confusing...

LG: ARSONN AND MY PRONOUNS ARE SHE /HEY
LG: /HA/ IS /HEY NO/ HEY I KNOW S/ASHES ARE USUA/ BU/ YOU SEE /HE ISSUE
LG: CURREN//Y I DO NO/ DO MUCH WI/H MYSE/F I AM A S/AY A/ HOME PAR/NER FOR KIARIG BU/ I AM GOING /O FIND A SERVICE INDUS/RY OR OFFICE JOB NOW /HA/ WE ARE MORE SE///ED IN AND NO /ONGER NEED /O UNPACK BOXES
LG: I WI// A/SO MAKE KIARIG DO /HIS ONE SECOND

Ladies and gentletrolls: we did it. Introduction game win! Kiarig next.. or Cyntia? Cyntia's probably busy arguing with someone on Chittr. Come to think of it, so is Kiarig, probably. You hope they're not arguing with each other. That would be bad.

GA: cyntia, you might know me off chittr. she/her, cis actually. i've had a couple of people assume due to my unwavering allyship that i'm "one of the girls", and i'm very flattered!
GA: but i think it's best to head off that sort of thing immediately.
GA: i'm a jade, as you might be able to tell, so i'm currently in the tertiary schoolfeeding assessment that all jades must go through to decide whether you get put into the caverns or oversee other important biotechnological processes!
GA: it's all very exciting.
GA: some of my classmates are very insane, though, there's this one girl called khidna, and she seems to, you know.
GA: be a real fan of the chemicals!
GA: but i can talk about that some other time, we have more important things to do. trolls to find! and introductions to do.

Wait, Khidna? Khidna Vigean? Didn't it leak those drone pheromone synthesis recipes? It's still in the class and hasn't been culled?

Also, you're lost. That's probably more important right now. Time to stroll around and try find free wifi so you don't have to reload the entire map on data...

You find a free network you throw a throwaway email into and huzzah! Bonnie's online!

AL: thank you everyone so far! that's really cool stuff there cyntia :D
AL: and i hope you find a job soon arsonn!
AL: zhanne i'll keep working on trying to figure out how i can help you!
AL: kiarig just message when you're ready!

Palmhusk in hand with directions to Dirack's, you make your way across the city, through Arsonn and Kiarig's area, and into a different area of just general poorness than yours or Zhanne's. You avoid the centre of the city this way, as the couple's area is to the south. Both of these areas are generally not kind to bronzebloods, but one is suffused with midbloods and the other is filled with purples and up. There's a clear winner here.

The city is sort of concentric, in a way. The poorer areas are located on the outside, most of them far from the river that bisects it. The centre is on the south side of that river, with the properties located right next to the water being reserved for seadwellers. Those on the other side of the river are industry that requires the water, or docking spaces for ships, which is why to the north of the river is poor - access to labour right next to the terrain they work on. You're mostly unfamiliar with that part of the city. You just don't get to that side often, especially as it requires going through the richer centre to cross the river, and you actually live outside the city proper, unlike the others. You could go all the way around, you guess, but then you still have to use a ferry downstream and make a long trek, as the public transport on the other side fucking sucks.

While you wander into the neighbourhood Dirack was last seen living in, you think about public transport a little more. It's odd how it still goes into the centre despite only higher strata living there... until you remember that rich trolls have servants. Ah. That and tourism, if the tourists can stand being around lowbloods. You're sure the ceruleans use first-class anyway.

Your musing is interrupted by finally receiving more notifications.

SG: You miiight already know mememe.
SG: Kiiiariiig. She/her.
SG: I liiike niiiche onliiine subcultures, and my matespriiit, Arsonn.

Ah. Well, you can't convince everyone to be open and friendly right off the bat. With a bit of time you're sure she'll come around!

You start typing out a message to reply so that you can invite her to be a bit more open, but you're interrupted by your palmhusk loudly telling you you've arrived at your destination.

You look up, and are faced with a huge hivestem, the size of which you're generally unaccustomed to. Must have been one of the structures built when there was a huge sudden influx of new workers. Time to go into the lift (sneaking past the ground floor's locked door by just following in behind someone else) and be unable to send your message because elevators mean you don't get cell reception. The lift dings, and you amble out onto the gallery, waiting for your husk to pick the reception back up. Dirack's place (number 8282) ends up being closer to the lift, though, so you don't get time to press send before you're met with a horrible sight.

The door is clad in dark purple paint, arranged in a sign commonly associated with the juggalo faith. A clownish visage stares you right in the eyes, surrounded by arcane symbols, paint dripping like blood, and you scream, just a bit.

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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

Next Chapter

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.

Next Chapter