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150 Drabbles
I. Introduction
"OW- fuck, watch what you're doing!"
There's a snort, and he shifts impatiently on the hard floor of the cave they're in. They're lucky they found one that's not shallow, so that the harsh rays of the sun don't burn them. Of course, his pessimism views it as a double bladekind; with his luck, the owner of this place will be big and nasty and have lots of teeth and too many claws.
"Tho thorry." Even as he apologizes to the seatroll he's tending to, there's something bitter underneath his rigid politeness. Always be good to highbloods. Always be on your best behavior. Even as a troll of four sweeps, he knows what he's supposed to do and how he should act. It doesn't matter that the troll before him can't be much older than him. "I'll be thure to be more careful."
Just as expected, there's an imperious little snort, and then the other troll gives an impatient wiggle. Makes it a bit hard for him to hold the moss against his face. "What is this stuff, anyway?"
"Thopor moth."
"What?"
He grits his teeth. "Thopor. What you thleep in. Thith thtuff ith a part of it. It maketh you feel numb. Good for pain."
There's a small noise of understanding, and then blissful silence. Of course it doesn't last long. The seatroll gives a wide grin full of too many teeth and says bluntly, "You talk stupid. What's your name?"
God, he hopes those claw gashes in his face leave scars. The jerk deserves it for getting them in this situation. This was just to be a simple scavenging trip, but nooooo. "Artollo Apemith," he supplies reluctantly, tongue tripping on the 's'.
"OW- fuck, watch what you're doing!"
There's a snort, and he shifts impatiently on the hard floor of the cave they're in. They're lucky they found one that's not shallow, so that the harsh rays of the sun don't burn them. Of course, his pessimism views it as a double bladekind; with his luck, the owner of this place will be big and nasty and have lots of teeth and too many claws.
"Tho thorry." Even as he apologizes to the seatroll he's tending to, there's something bitter underneath his rigid politeness. Always be good to highbloods. Always be on your best behavior. Even as a troll of four sweeps, he knows what he's supposed to do and how he should act. It doesn't matter that the troll before him can't be much older than him. "I'll be thure to be more careful."
Just as expected, there's an imperious little snort, and then the other troll gives an impatient wiggle. Makes it a bit hard for him to hold the moss against his face. "What is this stuff, anyway?"
"Thopor moth."
"What?"
He grits his teeth. "Thopor. What you thleep in. Thith thtuff ith a part of it. It maketh you feel numb. Good for pain."
There's a small noise of understanding, and then blissful silence. Of course it doesn't last long. The seatroll gives a wide grin full of too many teeth and says bluntly, "You talk stupid. What's your name?"
God, he hopes those claw gashes in his face leave scars. The jerk deserves it for getting them in this situation. This was just to be a simple scavenging trip, but nooooo. "Artollo Apemith," he supplies reluctantly, tongue tripping on the 's'.