Chapter Text
Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Dreamworks Animation Studios, 20th Century Fox and associates. I only own the plot. Therefore, I own nada and make nada.
Roses Are Red. . .
Branch pressed his palm against the lid and pushed upward.
He shielded his face against the sunshine streaming through the forest canopy as he pulled himself up along with his backpack.
Bright, sunny, slightly muggy, birds chirping and the distill quietness that came naturally every early morning. Branch lived for these peaceful moments; the only times he was spared the rambunctious antics of his fellow Trolls. Judging by the position of the sun, he has about two hours to gather supplies and meet with the healers before the rest of Troll Village woke to begin their daily musicals.
Branch swung his backpack on while reading over the list of herbs needing to be restocked. “Let’s see,” he murmurs, eyes skating over the written items. “Stevia, basil, sage, settles, lemon tea leaves, medicinal posies—posies? Really?” He must’ve been delirious when he wrote these out. Branch rolled his eyes and kept on reading, “Mint, witch hazel, thymes, anddd. . . yikes.”
Oh, yeah. Branch sighs at the last item, absently tugging the strap of his pack. Violets. He’s been having trouble finding a decent patch within walking distance of the village. Last time he had a request or need for violets, he spent two days scouring the forest just to come up with only one withering flower. He wasn’t sure he was up to making such a trip unless the demand for it was absolutely necessary.
Branch made a mental note to ask the healer asking for it whether or not the violet could be substituted for another herb. After that, it’s off to collect lumber for fire and repairs to his watch hut. It astounded him how little the other trolls cared for their own safety. A Bergen could show up anytime now. It’s only a matter of time. For every party thrown by their beloved Princess Poppy, there’s more evidence loudly announced to the world that ‘hey, delectable, sweet and scrumptious trolls still exist, so come chow down for your own taste of true happiness.’
Sure no one was twisting his arm to make him act as the village’s personal lookout, but someone has to do it. Not everyone can have the luxury of being carefree and irresponsible twenty-four seven.
Whatever. The duty may as well be Branch. No one’s as suited to being the protector then other him; outside of the king when he’d been in his prime of course, but the old guy’s darn near senile. And Branch’s made his home in the forest, being able to navigate through it so thoroughly it’s become second nature for him to wander without a second thought as to how to get to where he needs to be or fear of being lost. Such as it was now as he trekked through a blackberry bramble.
He used a walking stick he picked up along the way to stab a few of the riper ones and ate each to sustain his hunger for a while. It wasn’t long before he came upon the section of the forest he’d been searching for; a congested coppice chalk full of the ingredients he needed on his list. Unfortunately, this part of the woods just so happens to run parallel to a shallow streamlet where most of the trolls in Troll Village came to wash.
To avoid detection, Branch kept close to the underbrush and slowed his movements, being mindful of stepping on dry leaves and twigs. The humidity allowed for the right conditions for a few of the herbs to grow close to one another, so that meant he’d need to be on the lookout for a lot. He didn’t waste time searching for basil, feverfew flowers, marigolds, lemon palms, and peppermint. Especially the peppermint. He definitely has to get peppermint for his tea.
When he found a decent patch of basils, he got to work on plucking some of the leaves, then set off to do the same to the rest. He needed to hurry though. As time went on, more and more trolls began to frequent the stream’s edge to either wash their laundry, gather drinking water or went further down to an isolated area to bath or swim.
It’s as he kneels in front of a stupid patch of marigolds that positively glowed with vibrant yellow petals and green leaves, because it’s simply impossible to ignore the promoting benefits its colors showed, that he heard a loud commotion of excited voices.
Branch inwardly groans when a familiar shrill voice loudly greeted everyone with a happy, bubbly, “Hiya Clover, what’s good Sheen, what’s shakin’ bacon Raven, how’s it hangin’ David!”
In sequence to Princess Poppy’s morning solicitations, the rest of the Snack Pack just as proudly offer similar greets in the same annoying fashion. Too loud. Too cheery. Too loud. Too friendly. Too freaking loud!
And too close for comfort. Branch snatched what he could of the feverfews he’d made it too and determined the rest of his mission an aborted cause until another day and stuffed his pack. He swung it over his shoulder and started for home—
“Hey there, Branch!”
Too late. “Son of a . . .” Wait, what’s he upset for? She may be the princess, but he didn’t owe her a hello. So he kept it trucking.
“Branccccchhhh! Heyyyyy, come on, I know you hear me! Branch!”
Good heavens, her voice could carry for miles. Branch decided it would be better to stop here and get it over with instead of being the cause of her potentially leading a herd of bergens this way.
Princess Poppy bound over to him, all wide, shiny smiles. “One, two, good morning to you!” She cheered. “Three, four, it’s you we adore!”
“Five, six, put up your sticks!” The Snack Pack supportively swings in, gesturing towards his pack. “Seven, eight, there’s a party at the lake!”
Delighted with her cleverness, Poppy leaped into the air, doing a turn that made her come down with one leg cocked back as she balanced on the other facing Branch with a colorfully, decorated invitation in her hand. “Nine, ten, we’ll see you when? Ten!”
Branch narrowed his eyes in turn to each idiot, but more so on Poppy since no one else could work up a noisy crowd like her. “You won’t see me at all because I’m going back home to the warmth and safe refuge of my bunker. Where I know bergens won’t find me because it’s quiet and hidden and quiet!”
The whole Snack Pack gave a gusty sigh as they either brought an exasperated hand to their face or shook their heads.
Poppy, however, was undeterred and simply held out the invitation, wearing a sweet smile. “Come on, Branch. Live a little will ya? All you ever do is work.” She lowered her foot and shrugged. “Haven’t you heard that all work and no play makes a Troll turn grey? It won’t kill you to have some fun once in a while.”
“No, it’ll kill y’all instead of me because fun is what attracts bergens!”
“Oh Branch,” mumbles Biggie. Then he adds a little louder, “It’s been twenty years. Twen-ty. Not a single bergen’s found us and we’ve been as loud as ever. In fact, I think we broke a record last week for Copper’s birthday, didn’t we?”
The others gleefully shared nods amongst themselves as memory from that party still left Branch with nightmares. It just so happened to be the day he’d left to get violets and he’d guesstimated that he had to have been two good miles away from the village. The music was literally tapdancing on the edge of his eardrums. And he’d found traces of glitter raining from the canopy that he was still trying to get rid of in case a bergen found it.
“You all got lucky,” Branch counters sourly. “Just wait, you’ll all see. Just keep throwing your obnoxious parties and singing and dancing. See if it’ll save you when a bergen snatches you up!”
“Oi, there Branch. Branch, Branch, Branch, you overly sensitive thing. Must you be so grouchy?”
'Oh brother.' Branch's eyes roll so hard, he feels an ache twitch in the back of his head.
He could tolerate Poppy. Her upbeat jubilance was sometimes a small pleasure to appreciate when he was alone in his bunker, but mercy, when it came to this guy, Branch felt. . . all the way off. And he didn’t like being thrown out of his element and for some reason, no troll on the planet had the ability to get under his skin like this one.
Branch screwed up his face as he watched Creek float—if it could even be considered that. . . no—more like being airlifted by a little firefly. Who knows what happened to the beetle he’d been using just three days ago. He changed his methods of transportation like underwear.
Creek glided down on his feet, then turned to bow his brow against the firefly’s head and whispered, “Thank you for the safe travel, sister. Namaste.” He waved it off and promptly wedged himself between Poppy and Branch, openly invading Branch’s personal boundaries.
“No need to be a pessimistic fellow there, Branch.” Creek batted his eyes, and puckered his lips to add, “A bit of fun every now and then won’t send you to an early grave.”
Branch took a couple of steps back to keep his composure straight. So long as he lives, he’ll never figure out why being near Creek caused an odd sensation in his gut. It’s so weird and fuzzy and warm and tickly. Branch didn’t like it.
Sometimes he did in private, but often times Branch really didn’t like this feeling. That’s because it was super hard to ignore or get rid up. It’s all because of Creek. The anger this jerk often elicited out of him was outstanding. Branch despises the power of persuasion Creek seems to possess. It wasn’t enough he could sway Poppy into doing whatever he wanted, but it works on nearly every troll he encounters.
It was understandable though. Branch wasn’t a total prude. He could see why so many trolls would be attracted to Creek. His thick hair is a dazzling electric blue that rose and swirled upwards into turquoise and curved into spring green tips. Not a single strand stood out. Then there’s his infuriatingly, devastatingly, fantastic color scheme body. How many Trolls were born with skin a shade of purple, accented with silver freckles and smooth as clover leaves? Not to mention that orange nose. And those cunning, luminous oceanic eyes, like what one would imagine when staring into a raindrop. They were bright and mesmerizing and aggravatingly forever filled with cool amusement. That jerk had no business being so attractive with a sinewy body and—and a saucy voice—
“Oi mate, feeling alright there?”
Branch snaps his eyes up and realizes with horror that he’s been openly checking out Creek. He’s somewhat confident that his natural scowl covered up any mild interest since they all seemed to be focused on Creek. He prayed it came off like that.
Creek crept to Branch’s side and playfully shoulders him. “Say, it might have escaped your notice, but you’re coming off as a bit of a downer these days, mate. Remember what I said before about taking time to practice some positivity? Try it. Today preferably. Just a taste of that good ole optimism will probably add some color in your life, eh?”
Copper and Biggie chuckle under their breath.
The sarcastic suggestion causes Branch to perform the most epic eyeroll of his lifetime. He’s grateful for the distraction of his earlier staring and even gladder to be reminded of how much of a total jerk Creek is despite his good looks. Such a pity too. Someone that attractive has no business being this annoying.
Branch slightly shakes his head, hikes up the straps of his pack and stares at his adversary, bored. “You know Creek, if you put in as much effort learning to dance instead of trying to pass yourself off as a bogus guru, you’d probably have the two-step mastered.”
The whole Snack Pack as well as Poppy all gasped. Even Creek was left assuming the most dumbfounded expression Branch had the pleasure of causing. It wasn’t a huge shock. Creek wasn’t well known for his dancing skills. He easily disguised his handicap with songs, and during parties could easily fall into a light head bob that went to the beat. But as far as actually doing anything remotely coordinated? That’d be as possible as teaching a fish to walk out of water. He made a simple slow dance come off like people with two left feet were experts. The dude is an absolute wreck.
Creek knew it, Poppy knew it, the Snack Pack knew it and the rest of Troll Village knew it. It’s just no one is brave enough to point out the obvious because a handsome troll like Creek doesn’t have flaws. Too bad Branch wasn’t planning to be subtle. If Creek wanted to trade comebacks, he challenged the right one today.
Until, Creek came back with something a bit more. . . hurtful.
“You’d know what that’s like eh, Branch ole boy.” Creek reconstructs his arrogance, eyelids lowered, smirk crooked and stupidly perfect. “Seeing as all you have is yourself to dance with, who are you to judge my skills? When there’s only you of course you’ll think you’re good at everything. I guess being stuck as a bitter loner has it perks.” Seemingly satisfied with his burn, Creek folds his arms and expectantly awaits Branch’s predictable outburst.
Normally, Branch wouldn’t indulge, but the creep knew precisely which buttons to push and oh boy, he was especially tap dancing on a touchy subject.
Branch’s fingers tightened around his pack straps as he took a step forward. “Let’s get something clear, Creek. I’m alone by choice. That messed up legwork you try to pull off isn’t by choice. It’s permanent. You’re stuck bobbing your head off it’s axis since it’s already on the verge of tilting off the edge from being so swelled!”
“Is that right?”
“Darn right, pal!”
Creek barks a short laugh. “Coming from an overly bitter, sourpuss like you? Who’s really the handicap one here? I’ve yet to ever see you crack so much as a grin. Why’s that, huh? Lips too fat to manage it or are you afraid it’ll crack that mug of yours into something worst?”
“Oh, believe you me, I’ve had plenty of laughs at your expense.” Branch then holds up two fingers. “Twice in fact; the first time I’ve seen how pathetically you dance and the second time was when you realized you can’t dance—”
Creek’s smirk finally dropped. Branch’s own came strong. Looks like he struck a nerve.
“Funny how you have the audacity to criticize others, Branch. You don’t sing, dance, smile, or laugh, so tell me what a real Troll is? Because if we need an example of what not to do, you’d make the perfect lesson.”
“OK!” Poppy loudly intervenes, clapping her hands together with a hopeful smile to diminish the tension. “Who’s up for cupcakes?”
But the damage has already been done. Branch’s lips stretched into a grim line as his narrowed gaze focused so intently on Creek, he had the gratification of knowing that he could make the jerk buckle. He opened his mouth to finish their argument with something more lethal, but that last comment cut him pretty deep.
“Forget you guys.” Branch turned on his heel and marched off into the woods.
Guy Diamond steps forward. “Branch wait!” But the lonely grey troll continued his haughty trek until his short black hair wasn’t visible. “So, you’re not coming to the party?”
“Nope, I’m not looking to grant my death wish today!” Branch shouts back and is gone.
Since he wasn’t considered a real Troll, what business does he have being around them?
‘Stupid Creek.’
O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O
When he disappears from view, Creek lowers his arms, mind racing through a multitude of emotions. Anger, disdain, annoyance. . .regret. . . shame. . . He’s gone and done it again. He brought his fist up to lightly smack against his brow. ‘Way to go Creek. That's a fine way to show your crush you totally dig him. Show him you care by deepening his wounds by saying he isn’t a real troll.’
Creek subconsciously took a step in the direction Branch left in, then stopped himself and clenched his other hand into a fist. Curse his pride. One of the shared traits he and Branch had that he wished to the heavens they could do away with. It’ll be another lifetime before one of them apologized to the other. Their encounters always ended this way and to be honest, Creek was getting sick of it.
He wanted a different kind of meet and greet with the lonely troll; something other than their usual exchange of insults. But the likelihood of that ever happening, well, Creek was smart enough to know he’ll be six feet under.
Still, Creek kept a secret smile to himself as he thought over Branch’s facial expression whenever he got mad. That adorable purple nose of his always has a way of wrinkling up like a prune. The way Branch’s lips toot to the side like someone’s pinching his cheek, never fails to wring a chuckle out of Creek. OK, so he’ll admit getting Branch mad is an inner fetish. No one, outside of one Troll in this whole universe knows how he feels for Branch and getting the lonely troll worked up was part of the fun.
What wasn’t there to like about Branch? He’s everything an irresponsible troll needs in their life. He’s courageous, intelligent, selfless, caring, quiet and Creek’s personal favorite, mildly aggressive and strong. It only took one lazy afternoon stroll in the woods one day to figure out just how strong Branch was when Creek accidentally stumbled upon the pale blue troll hacking up lumber with an axe.
That day Branch’s moss-sown vest was discarded on a low hanging tree limb while he vigorously brought his axe high up and down, as the sunshine glistened over his sweat-coated body.
And holy candy corns, that bloody troll is delectably gorgeous.
And that thick black hair? There isn’t a comb invented that can tame that short stalk of unruly mass. It rose up and sprouted at the tips in a controlled disarray, like an oily volcano. The style is overly typical for most trolls, but the effect it has on Branch makes him unique because no one knows what his real colors are. It added to his mysteriousness. What color schemes did he have? A darker or light shade of blue? Or probably an off the wall hue like auburn or a glittery fuchsia. And his hair. . . What color would it become once he knew happiness? Would it grow, curl, split, or blossom on his head like a flower.
Creek had shivered into a tizzy just imagining the possibilities.
But moving on. All trolls naturally possess a pudgy belly and Branch was no different, but it was his arms and legs that stood out. His arms were roped with taut, defined biceps, made for carrying and those legs, they were thick and sinewy with calves thick as, well, a branch.
Creek developed goosebumps as his eyes skated over every single visible inch of flesh. The only reason Creek had to stop his show was because he’s stepped on a stick and the sound alerted Branch to another being nearby. It didn’t take long for Branch to hasten his task and disappear inside his bunker for the rest of the day.
Creek had already been fascinated by Branch, but from that day onward, he wanted Branch more than a plate of chocolate strawberries. He. . . he loved him more than happiness could stand to offer. Creek just didn’t know how exactly to go about saying it.
Sighing under his breath, Creek shakes his head and turns—to discover all eyes were trained on him, each member of the Snack Pack and Princess Poppy wearing expressions ranging from confusion, discomfort, or anger. The latter being more visible from Guy Diamond and Princess Poppy.
“What?” he questions irritably. “Don’t even go there, he started it!”
“That’s no reason to hit below the belt!” Guy Diamond snaps, hands planted firmly on his hips. “I swear it’s like you get a kick out of makin’ him angry. As if he isn’t already bitter enough, you go and say stuff that makes him hate us more!”
“That isn’t my intention at all!” Creek hotly defends, frankly surprised to be lectured by Guy Diamond of all Trolls. It was apparent that the others were just equally shocked. “I want him to be happy as much as anyone!”
“Do you? I can hardly tell, Creek. You know he has a hard time gettin’ along with others. Instead of belittlin’ him, try seein’ things from his perspective. The guy’s just worried for our safety.”
Creek blinks stunned, then his eyelids thin to suspicious slits. “Right, just worried for our safety. Glad to know you’ve been paying such close attention.”
Guy Diamond’s smirk had no problem relaying what Creek was inwardly suspecting. The fact that another possible contender was in on this left a hard feeling settling at the pit of his stomach.
“Someone has to,” Guy Diamond proudly counters, unfazed by the bewildered looks coming from his friends. “It certainly won’t be you.”
“OK!” Poppy gives the loudest handclap in the universe and it works, silencing the pair and shattering the tension. “I say a cupcake trip is in order. Biggie you mind whipping up a few? I’m dying to have your chocolate sprinkles.”
Biggie sags with relief at having something to do other than witness a potential fallout. “Of course, Poppy! I got a new recipe I’ve been wanting to show you guys anyway.”
“Great, you guys go on. Me and Creek,” she puts emphasis on Creek’s name to warn to not move an inch because they were definitely going to chat, “will catch up.”
“Sure thing,” the twins said.
“We’ll see you guys there!” DJ Suki waved, and began ushering the others towards the village.
Not once did Poppy take her eyes off of Creek and Guy Diamond’s near nose to nose staring contest. Neither of the two bothered to acknowledge the princess impatiently tapping her foot. After a full, and rather impressive, five minutes of this nonsense, Poppy walked up to the two and pulled them apart.
“Right, so would either of you mind playing the bigger troll and saying sorry?”
That suggestion pulled their anger from each other to her as they shouted, “No way!”
Poppy rolled her eyes and shrugged. It was worth a shot. “Guy Diamond, why don’t you go check on Branch to make sure he’s doing alright? Me and Creek need to talk.”
Guy Diamond’s smile was positively wicked. “Of course, Poppy.” Then he tauntingly looks Creek up and down, “I’ll gladly go make sure he’s fine.” With that said and a glittery swish of his hips, Guy Diamond bound off in the direction they last saw Branch heading, leaving behind a gape mouthed Creek.
Creek stared off after Guy Diamond, then turned his astounded expression toward Poppy. “Seriously? Did you really just do that?” He gestures demandingly and folds his arms.
Poppy chuckles at this. “Don’t worry, he won’t try anything.”
“Really? Because it looks to me like he can’t wait to ‘make sure he’s fine’” Creek sarcastically ends with air quotes.
As usual the sarcasm flies right over Poppy’s head as she waves off his concern. “Branch won’t give him the time of day. But that’s hardly important. What is, is you explaining yourself because even for you Creek, that was way out of line. Didn’t we talk about this?”
Creek gave Poppy a long hard look that eventually melted into one of solemnness. He knew she was right. There wasn’t a point in hiding his feelings for Branch from her. She’s the sole troll who knew how he felt for the loner.
Many of the villagers assumed that the he and Poppy were already a couple or on the verge of reaching that point, but that was hardly the case. Neither of them intended to deny nor confirm the rumors. It was easier to simply let people think what they wanted. That way they wouldn’t have so many trolls asking them out as dates to the parties.
Whenever they accompanied one another to parties, they often shared conversations or exchanged kind, warm smiles at each other. It was common for others to get the wrong idea, but they always found each other as a means of comfort. Creek was Poppy’s outlet during the few times she became overwhelmed with her duties as royalty and Poppy was Creek’s shoulder to lay on whenever he’s down about his inability to dance or his feelings about Branch. But lately, she’s been encouraging the idea of finally confessing his feelings for Branch, and like the dickens he planned to do that. Branch would strangle him a new shade of purple.
“I dunno, love,” Creek finally murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down his arm, saddened. “I wish I knew how to control what comes out of my mouth, but Branch’s an expert at pushing my buttons. He knows just what to say to get under my skin.”
“So do you.” Poppy walks over to her friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You two are a match made in heaven,” she suddenly giggles. “It’s so cute how you both go at it like an old mated couple. I can only imagine what’ll it be like when you two finally share a pod.”
Creek gives a small smile at the fantasy. Him and Branch sharing a pod together in the midst of Troll Village. Waking every morning to that sweet smile, helping Branch every day during one of his excursions in the woods, and welcoming Branch home to a plate of freshly cooked pastries. Creek sighs longingly, smile broadening and warmth coloring his cheeks.
“Whoa,” he hears Poppy whispering and looks up to see her eyes low and delighted. “You’ve really got it bad, don’t you my man?”
Creek nods and groans. “I love that idiot.”
“Then what are you waiting for?!” Without warning, Poppy starts to shove Creek towards the forest. “Go tell him how you feel!”
Creek digs his heels into the ground, eyes wide and frightened. “Are you mad? He’ll sooner wring my neck. He hates me!”
“No, you think he hates you, just like he thinks you hate him!”
Poppy has more strength then a happy pink troll should own. She manages to give a proper push and Creek’s stumbling forward. He catches himself, glances over his shoulder and after locking eyes with a pair of determined pink irises, Creek admits defeat and starts his dash towards Branch’s bunker.
O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O*o*O
Branch didn’t go home. He didn’t feel like being in the dark and opted for finding a secluded area in the forest to mope.
Fine, to pout. He was pouting and knew it was childish and could care less.
He ventured until finding a small pond full of gold and burgundy trout to toss stones at and watch scatter, reflecting under the sunshine like glass shards. He sat cross legged on the pond’s edge, studying his reflection being broken by the ripples and listening to the waves brush the little shore.
“Stupid Creek.” Branch flicks a stone into the water, frowning. “Stupid jerk.”
Not a real Troll? Guess Creek would know. Any troll who is a troll would consider Creek to be the cream of the crop. Doesn’t mean it hurt any less. Branch couldn’t hold it against Creek though. Branch did start the argument this time by calling on Creek’s sore spot. But that’s just how Branch is. He’s always had a loose mouth partnered with an even looser tongue.
It’s kind of funny. Creek would always go out of his way to make fun of Branch and Branch would stop at nothing to make sure he could dish it out just as well. At times, it was fun to see Creek get ruffled and other times, Branch would get annoyed at himself with the victories from their verbal bouts.
Truthfully, he was getting tired of the arguments. They were getting to the point where insults were viewed as a form of salutation. If Branch ever heard a simple hello or hey come from Creek, he’d be worried the troll was dying or leaving or something. None of which sat well with him.
“Darn it.” He tosses another stone in the pond, then perches his chin on the back of his fist.
And here cues those silly little flutters in his belly. Despite all the smart aleck remarks, sassy comments and backhanded compliments, there was still something just so-so magnetic about Creek. Thinking about him, seeing him, listening to him, everything about him never fails to leave Branch inwardly reeling.
What’d it be like to have a day with Creek that didn’t involve them being at odds? Could they share a cupcake, join one another for a nature walk, or heck, have a conversation? Branch bets there’s more to the guy then his charms. Branch would like to think so. It’s more fun to pretend there is at least.
Branch lost track of how long he sat on the side of the pond, tracing the moist dirt into patterns, shapes and letters, and then a name. . . then one particular drawing transforms into a certain purple curly haired troll. It’s all quiet, his mind’s at ease, and he’s perfectly content daydreaming about what happiness is like until the noisy crunch of dry leaves has him on his feet in seconds and poise for defense.
Then Branch is retracting his hair from when it’d stretched into a whip and felt himself flush when spotting who it was. Guy Diamond warily peers around a tree, hands up, eyes huge.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean. . .” Branch stops, thinks, then shakes his head. “Actually, yeah I did. I was gonna scare you off, but I’m not in the mood to be a jerk.”
Guy Diamond’s lips upturn on the side. “Gee, thanks and here I thought you were born rude.” He plants his hands on his hips and tilts his head to the side. “So, umm,” he loses his smile, “are you alright?”
Branch cocks an eyebrow. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just ya know, curious,” Guy Diamond kicked a bit at the grass, averting his eyes. Then he glances up. “Sorry about what happened with Creek. I should’ve stepped in to say somethin’. He tends to get outta hand sometimes. Even for him,” he adds with a small frown.
It was Branch’s turn to place his knuckles on his hips, “Shouldn’t he be here apologizing for his own mouth? He’s a full-grown troll. . .” Branch notices Guy Diamond’s shoulders deflate and softly says, “But I appreciate the sentiment.” He laughs a little. “This is weird, having one of you come check on me. I’m not use to the service.” Branch turns to face the pond, now a shimmering flatbed of polished sapphire.
“We’re never joking when we say we care about you, Branch. We all do. . .” Guy Diamond’s cheeks color a bit. “Some of us more than others.”
Branch turns around, surprised. “I guess,” he eventually says after a small pause, then faces the pond again.
Silence settles in the tiny clearing. Guy Diamond takes advantage of the quietness to get nearer until he’s alongside of Branch and together, they share the view of the area.
“It’s nice out here,” Guy Diamond comments. “You come here often?”
Branch cuts his eyes suspiciously when he replies, “Yeah, when I need to think or get as far from the village as I can. Or when I need to come up with defensive tactics against the bergens.”
“Whenever they show their ugly faces, right?”
“Right—wait, you think they’ll show?!”
Guy Diamond chuckles at Branch’s reaction. “I dunno. Maybe. I know they’re lookin’ for us. They may show up some day, but it’s good to know that if the others aren’t willin’ to be on the lookout that we have someone who is. I know we’ll learn to recognize you for your efforts someday. Right now, I think it’s easier for everyone to just be happy for our freedom and not have to live everyday scared. I doubt you want all of the children to be terrified of coming out to play, right?”
“I . . .” Branch presses his lips together in thought. “No, I never considered it. I just want everyone to be prepared. They will come you know. If Poppy keeps stirring these loud and crazy parties, it’s only a matter of time—”
“Branch.”
Branch scowls at being interrupted.
Guy Diamond smiles, “While you’re worryin’ about us, who’s worryin’ ‘bout you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“We can all do that, but. . . who’s takin’ care of you?” Guy Diamond fully turns towards Branch, letting the sun beam all over his glittery exterior. The effect’s just as he desires.
Branch’s eyes can’t hide his interest. Glitter’s a natural come-hither aphrodisiac for trolls and to be such a troll with a body coated in the stuff, well, it’s a safe bet that you’re wanted by all. Guy Diamond goes as far as to gradually strike a sensual pose, and winks.
Branch blinks rapidly and averts his gaze elsewhere, but he’s sure it’s too late to deny he’d been checking out Guy Diamond of all trolls.
“See something you like?” Guy Diamond teases.
Branch snorts. “Hardly.”
“Ah, your lips say no, but your eyes say,” Guy Diamond gets closer, lowering his voice, “I wanna touch.”
The disembodied whisper shoots through Branch like an electric wave and he stumbles off balance and to the ground. Guy Diamond laughs, slapping his thighs. Branch doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest and opens his mouth to say just that until a silvery hand is stretched out to him.
Branch pouts, but takes it anyway and lets himself get hauled up to his feet. He dusts off his vest and shorts.
“Ha, ha, funny troll,” he grumbles, a little amused. It was kind of funny. “So, did you come to check on me or check me out?”
“Both,” Guy Diamond has no problem confiding, even if there’s a shine of a blush showing through his cheeks.
“Oh. Oh. . . wow.” Branch rocks back and forth on his heels, feeling the beginnings of an overwhelming awkwardness. He’s never had anyone admit they like him or heck, found him attractive. He didn’t think he was ugly by a long shot, but it’s different when you have someone openly give their opinion about your appearance. It’s sort of embarrassing and kind of welcome. Still. . . it sucks he’s late. Guy Diamond would make one heck of a boyfriend.
“Listen, Guy, um,” Branch scratches behind his tower of hair, searching for the right words to say. “I don’t think I’m the kind of guy you’d want. I mean, have you met me?”
“Yeah, s’ why I’m interested,” Guy Diamond says simply and shrugs.
“What’s there to like?!”
“What isn’t there to like?”
Branch clamps his mouth shut.
Guy Diamond steps closer. Branch’s eyes are glued to the ground until a soft hand cups his cheek, guiding his gaze up into a pair of light blue eyes. Guy Diamond’s smile is as radiant as his body. “What isn’t there to like?” He repeats giving a wider, more devilish smile that stupidly makes his teeth sparkle.
“Plenty if you’re a real troll.”
Guy Diamond examines him attentively for long moments. Then he says, “Guess I have a lot of options then, huh?” And he’s leaning forward until his lips delicately press against Branch’s cheek with a neat little touch, it’s there and then gone, as light as the beat of a butterfly wing.
Branch tears himself away, eyes enormous, hand suction cupped to his cheek in shock.
Guy Diamond winks and turns to leave.
Branch shakes himself from his stupor and runs to cut the troll off. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you don’t get to just do-to do that and leave? I own you a punch at least!”
Guy Diamond holds out his arms. “Go ahead. It’ll be worth the pain—”
Branch’s fist is already flying straight into the glittery troll’s green nose before he has a chance to breath the last of his sentence. He flies through the air and lands flat on his back, jaw throbbing like he’d been stuck by a jellybean bee.
“Next time, ask!” Branch huffs, then goes to snatch up his belongings and marches off home, grumbling something about disrespectful, perverted trolls.
“Ow,” Guy Diamond sits up, cradling his jaw. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Still, he’s happy to have gotten a kiss. It was definitely worth it and that blue skin is just as soft as he imagined. Almost like kissing the hide of a plum.
“You’re lucky he got to you before I did, mate. I promise I hit way harder.”
The voice behind him is full of smooth rage, a tone that had no business coming from a happy troll, but Guy Diamond could understand. He’d be reeling if he caught someone else kissing his candy crush.
He doesn’t let the fact he’s been clocked get to him and glides up to his feet and pivots to face Creek leaning against the side of a seedling, arms folded, face dull. But the anger’s unmistakable in his dark blue eyes.
“Creek,” Guy Diamond greets, dusting off his arms. “You’re late. He’s already gone and I’m about to do the same.”
“That’s fine, I prefer you leaving now before I change my mind about swelling your other cheek.” Creek shoves off the tree and stalks towards the sparkling troll, giving off an aura potent with untamable anger. “But before you do, let’s say you and I have a chat like a pair of mature trolls.” He clasps his hands together once and rubs them together, smirk lethal. “What do you say?”
Guy Diamond sucks his teeth, unimpressed. “I think I’ll pass. ‘Sides, there’s a party calling my name and there’s no party without Guy Diamond.” He shimmies his body in the sun and strikes a pose.
“Oh, I think you can spare a few minutes, chum. I won’t need that long to get my message across.”
“Message? Hmm,” Guy Diamond mockingly taps his chin, then snaps his fingers. “Oh, you mean about Branch. In that case, I definitely don’t have anything to say to you.”
Creek halts directly in front of Guy Diamond. By now his once curly hair has whipped itself into a perfect pinpoint. “I won’t beat around the bush then, so I’ll only say this once. Stay. Away. From Branch.”
“Or—”
Creek spins around and in the next second, he’s whipping the tip of his hair straight at the center of a tree with such precision that it split as if sliced with a razor. Splinters scrambled up the bark, wood slivers crackling until it collapsed within itself.
Creek retracts his hair into its flipped curl and faces Guy Diamond.
“If anyone’s going to add some color in his life, you’re looking at him.” Creek puffs his chest out, arms folded, chin high. “Best to get that fact through your glittery head, mate. Branch is mine.” With that said, Creek heads back to the village, never looking back.
Guy Diamond looks worriedly at the broken tree, then touches a hand to his jaw. “I sure hope this is worth it, Poppy,” he whispers. “I kinda wanna keep my head after this.”