Chapter Text
“Equius…” It isn’t just the fact that she calls you by your given name that unsettles you – you’ve held the title Executor for three sweeps at this point, after all – but that she’s drumming her fingers on the arm of the throne. This is a bad sign. She drums her fingers when she’s nervous or excited for one thing. The second thing is that you don’t get called in to the throne room of Her Benevolent Serenity for something small. On top of that, she has called you by your given name, a callback to the days when you and she were young… And this likely means that she feels she is doing you some sort of service.
You never want to be the one on the receiving end of a favor in Beforan culture. It means that someone above you has determined that you need ‘help’ and they’re about to force it on you. You hesitate just a second before answering. “…Your Serenity…?” This is about to be bad. You can tell just from the way she’s smiling. It’s a smile that says ‘Oh, you poor thing! Let me help!’
“You don’t have a matesprit, do you?” Her leg is jiggling now, just the slightest bit. She doesn’t let you answer, just plows forward. “And I think I saw that you’re scheduled for the drones in… Three perigees?”
“That should prove sufficient time. I have exemplary-“
She interrupts your explanation. “I have a perfect solution!” Oh no. No, no. You still have time! This can’t be fair. She’s about to have you culled by a Subjugglator, isn’t she? A pail culling on a blue blood.
“Your Benevolence… I assure you, I have several candidates in mind and if you’d just allow me the remaining time-“ It’s a lie. You have absolutely no one in mind right this second. You’re on the edge of panic. Pail culling with all its fancy trappings pulled away is nothing more than lawful rape. The thought of one of those clowns touching you with their sticky fingers, whispering that it’s all for your own good… You’ve broken in to a cold sweat.
“He doesn’t have three perigees though. He was due for the drones last perigee and when he didn’t provide… “ Her smile turns into not just a frown but near tears. “They brought him in and I just can’t think of anyone else!” She wipes at her eyes. She is honest to gog shedding tears over some lowblood that couldn’t find a matesprit in time. Your empress is crying for, more than likely, a peasant.
Even her tears don’t change your stiff posture. She’s not culling you, she’s asking you to cull. You’re not sure which is worse. Until this point, you’ve stayed as far away from enforcing pail culling as possible. There are some trolls that truly delight in ‘helping those poor unfortunates who can’t get a date’ fill their pails, but you’re not one of them. You cull the young, stepping in when a lusus proves inadequate and reassigning the sometimes nearly-grown troll. You cull the old, forcing them in to the care of higher classes suited to taking care of their needs.
You are a glorified social worker, but that’s what it means to be caught between royalty and servant classes on Beforus. You couldn’t imagine being anything else when you were younger and you can’t imagine now. You’re good at what you do- perhaps the gentlest of enforcers – and that is why you hold the title of Executor, placing you at the very top of your profession.
“Feferi… Please.” You call her by name for the first time in sweeps, appealing to her as your friend, not just your empress. “Don’t make me do this.”
She pushes her goggles up this time, wipes at her eyes thoroughly. “It’s Tavros.”
“…What?” How does she even know about Tavros?
“I said it’s Tavros… And I couldn’t just let someone else decide who culls Tavros…“
“Then give him an extension. I’ll help him find a matesprit and-“ You make a mental rundown of possible candidates for him.
“No. If I gave him more time, everyone would want more time. He has to be culled. I’m asking you to do this because I know you’ll be gentle with him.” She turns those bright tyrian eyes on you, brimming with tears still to be shed. She is perhaps the worst of witches because her intentions are good, but her methods are cruel.
There’s no way that you could do this. The last time you actually saw Tavros, he was a naïve boy dreaming of fairytales while you were fully grown. This is the problem with extreme class disparity. He was in his wrigglerhood when you were training for your prestigious position. To you, he is a boy and to him you have always been a man. You are almost old enough to be his ancestor.
“Equius… Help him.”
You can’t tell her no and you know that. Saying no to the Empress would result in obedience training. You couldn’t bear that humiliation. Not again. “…This is ridiculous. I have other extremely important assignments…”
She jumps up, embraces you, and you just stand there, letting her. You know better than to flinch from your Empress when she seeks comfort – you learned that lesson a long, long time ago. In fact… Your very first meeting with Tavros… Wasn’t it at that time?
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The previous empress doesn’t have the sort of sweet disposition that Feferi has, but culling is still the same and disobedience is always treated harshly. You’re afraid to be touched, afraid of even loving contact, because of your natural strength… And it has landed you here. Tied and beaten, put on display like a caged animal.
You should have simply let her hold you, pet your hair, whisper encouraging words… But you chose to defy the whims of the heiress. It’s rare for a grown troll to be in your position – most learn quickly. Your proximity has left your appreciation of her power lacking. To you, Feferi isn’t yet the Empress, simply a girl you know.
You’re being treated like a creature rather than a thinking, feeling troll. Your hair is matted, your body bruised. You’re covered in blue dried almost to black… And you’ll stay that way until they feel the insolence has been sufficiently beaten from you. No one will stand up for you.
The ball that rolls in to the area is followed by a child. He looks at you with wide-eyed horror and fascination. You are the first culling he will ever witness and it’s enough to frighten him. The bull-horned sign emblazoned on his outfit is a shade of orange, marking him as an umber. He is Tavros Nitram, though you don’t know this yet.
The rope that they’ve tied around your neck is nearly strangling you, but you can’t move. You’ll always have the scars to remind you of your failure, though you’ll hide them behind high-necked uniforms in the future.
He doesn’t scamper off immediately, nor does he rush to recover his ball. Your state scares him, but at his core he is a caring boy. He hesitates before getting close. “Are you, uh… Some kind of… Criminal?”
“Yes.” It’s the response they’ve drilled in to you over the last three days. “Anyone who refuses to love our empress Is a criminal.” She doesn’t love you and she didn’t want your love – she’s simply the sort who shows friendship through physical contact. It’s no use explaining to anyone though, even her pleas for your release are ignored. The current reigning empress won’t hear a word of it.
“Well… That’s… Uh… Good to know.” His grey eyes meet your already blue ones. “Do you… Hate her… Then?”
“No.” It’s a simple, truthful answer. You may not love her, but you care deeply about her. She is a kind girl deserving of warmth and affection. She has yet to put her maternal instincts to the horrible practices they will become.
He studies you, gaging whether you’re dangerous or not. “I’m… Tavros…” You know that he’s asking for your name with the silence, but you don’t answer him right away. Master-less barkbeasts have no names. “Uh… So…”
“Equius.” You know you shouldn’t, that you’re just going to regret it. You just don’t know how much yet.
“Equius… That… Really fits you.” He gives you a genuine smile and you’re left wondering what kind of lusus has been given the care of him, how he can be so cheerful in the face of what should be his greatest fear. “Well… Uh… I should… Probably go…”
You think that it’s the last you’ll see of him, but you’re wrong. You still have a week of being chained to a pole. Though the beatings will stop, the humiliation won’t. Tavros will be the only person to show you any sympathy, and for it you will make sure that his wrigglerhood is undisturbed, intervening in things you should leave alone. You’ll think that no one takes notice of your interest in a specific lowblood… But at this point… It’s obvious that’s not true.
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You return to your hive, your respite block. She has given you the day to collect yourself, cleared your schedule for the week. It’s just another form of help that you don’t want, but you’ll take it regardless. You never thought that you’d have to actually see Tavros again – the extent of your presence in his life for the last several sweeps has only been viewing reports on his activity, carefully altering them to show a model citizen when something comes up… You have turned quite the blind eye to some lax parenting decisions made on the part of his bull-fairy lusus.
Your hive is a lonely place. You never have time for a matesprit or even a kismesis. The closest you could come to either is your co-worker, a legila- verbally converse about a hellbound entity. There is a scrap of paper waiting for you. You hate how she does this, breaking laws she is meant to enforce just because she can’t be bothered to visit you and converse in person.
If only there was some sort of system in place to deliver these memos of hers, perhaps even using a colorful flag to denote whether you have received anything. No. That’s ridiculous. Perhaps some form of technology will be invented to prevent her from sneaking in to your house to pester you with her nonsense.
H3Y 3X3CUTOR BLU3B3RRY SW34T! WH3R3 D1D YOU GO 4NYW4YS? >:?
1 H34RD YOU GOT C4LL3D 4W4Y FROM 4 PR3TTY 1MPORT4NT C4S3 TH3Y S41D H3R ROY4L R4SPB3RR1N3SS W4NT3D TO SP34K TO YOU D1R3CTLY
>:] > :] >:]
TH4T W4S M3 W4GG1NG MY 3Y3BROWS 4T YOU SUGG3ST1V3LY B3C4US3 W3 4LL KNOW 1T H4D SOM3TH1NG TO DO W1TH 4 C3RT41N TROLLS M4T3SPR1T QU4DR4NT
You crumple the paper in one fist. You are completely humiliated by the news that they are already talking about this, speculating that one of your quadrants has been forcibly filled. If you know your co-workers –and you’re quite adept at predicting the reactions of the Neophyte – the grist mill will be full of tawdry tales of how you were restrained by not one, not two, but three subjugglators while the empress herself had her way with you.
You feel dizzy, likely from the spike in your blood pressure at the very thought of such rumors. Ridiculous. Even wrigglers barely out of the caverns know that Her Benevolent Serenity has a matesprit. Should His Tyrannical Wizardry catch wind of these rumors, though… He has some very different ideas of corrective culling.
You can almost hear him now. Wwell Eq. Wwhat’s this I hear about you and Fef? Of course, the question would only be a courtesy. He’d never listen to your side of the story. The two of you have never exactly been on good terms. It’s not really hatred, more disdain and unease.
Every time you’ve met him, you’ve ended up on the wrong end of a legendary rifle, trying to explain yourself before he gets bored and simply shoots. It’s not exactly conducive to friendship or even tolerance.
Your nerves are completely frayed. This train of thought is not helping at all. You sit at your desk, pulling the drawers open as far as they will go. Behind the carefully filed paperwork, there are tangles of wires, collections of bolts. You’re very careful about not letting others know of your hobby – it’s easy to be taken advantage of when you have the ability and tools to fix the broken.