Chapter Text
The sun rose a while back and you're just thinking you should stop playing this dumb tappy game and get to bed when your phone alerts you to a new message.
TC: sO My bIg bRo’S BeInG To sAy aS YoU’rE AlL At bEiNg hIs mOiRaIl nOw.
Well okay. No salutations or social courtesies, just straight to the point. Gamzee Makara, speaking of your Ancestor slash lusus-type person, didn't Kurloz teach you better than that? And for that matter, why are you going behind his back to question his quadrants?
Just laid out there in statement form, there's no way to tell what the kid thinks about it, why he's asking, anything. You wait a minute in case there's more, but no more comes. Fine, you can handle a suspicious teenage troll.
TT: Yep. That sure is a thing that's true.
TT: We are deep in the throes of pale romance.
TT: How deep, you may ask?
TC: GOOD
Rude. Little shit cut you off just as you were getting into your flow. He doesn't stop at that, either, your phone keeps dinging as messages come in quick succession.
TC: it better be motherfucking serendipitous
TC: A MIRACLE HANDED DOWN FROM THE BLESSED MESSIAHS’ OWN FRONDS
TC: cuz you gotta get over here right now and soothe him down
What the fuck.
TT: What's going on?
TC: hE's pLaNnInG SoMeThInG.
TC: aIn'T GoT A NoTiOn oN Me oF WhAt, hE WoN't gEt tO TeLlInG At Me, bUt iT's mOtHeRfUcKiN MaYhEm.
TC: i KnOw iT By tHe lOoK On hIm.
TC: lAsT He gOt tHaT LoOk aLl tO hIm sOmE ReAl bAd sHiT wEnT DoWn, wE HaD To LeAvE ToWn.
TC: i DoN't wAnT To uP AnD GeT OuR MoVe oN AgAiN, We GoT FrIeNdS HeRe. :o(
TC: sO PlEaSe iF YoU GoT AnY PaLe fEeLiNgS uP In YoUr pUsHeR fOr hIm, CoMe pAp hIm dOwN InTo hIs cHiLl aGaIn.
TT: Maybe you could expand a little on “real bad shit” for the ignorant human here. Are we talking “hounded by the legislaceraters” or “gang warfare” or what?
TC: MOTHERFUCKER I AIN'T GOT TIME TO EXPLICATE SHIT TO YOUR SATISFACTION
TC: just tell it at me true
TC: DO YOU GIVE A SHIT
TC: about my brother
TC: OR NO?
TT: Dude, cool it with the caps lock.
TT: Of course I do, I'm pale as fuck for him. But you're not exactly being generous with the critical info here. Like, what kind of time frame are we even talking here? Is this mayhem planned to occur in a week, a day, fifteen minutes from now? Because you may not be aware, but I don't exactly live next door. Is there a reason I can't just call or message him?
TC: motherfuck yes
TC: IT WON'T SERVE
TC: he's all to being
TC: SET AND MOTHERFUCKING DETERMINED
TC: logic and reason ain't got a chance of him up and getting on his listen to them
TC: I GOT ON MY MOTHERFUCKING TRY ALREADY
TC: you gotta get physical with him
TC: AND MOTHERFUCKING PRAY
TC: it's true serendipity
Okay, wow, coming from his kid brother "get physical” sounds hella wrong. Also, what the fuck is up with that typing quirk? It reads like he's yelling half the time, which is not endearing. And you were under the impression that trolls had one quirk, while this kid appears to be careening back and forth between two.
Maybe it's the sopor damage.
TT: All right, so I have to come over. Again, time frame for this mayhem?
TC: ToDaY, I GeT ThE NoTiOn.
TC: nOoN Or tHeReAbOuTs, wHeN NoBoDy'S OuT To gEt tHeIr vIeW On oF ShIt tHeY ShOuLdN't oUgHt tO SeE.
TC: HeArD ThAt mUcH BeFoRe hE sPoTtEd mE AnD ShUt tHaT TaLk dOwN.
Automatically you glance at the corner of the screen to check the time. It's almost nine AM. Shit, noon’s a little closer than you'd prefer, but this is doable, no need to panic. Tapping back a quick reply, you get up and start pulling yourself together to go out.
TT: ...Right. Nobody's out at noon, nope, just those inconvenient diurnal types like the majority of humans. This sounds like a really well thought out plan.
TC: MoThErFuCkEr, yOu tHiNk i aIn'T GoT My kNoW On oF ThAt?
Good for him, the kid’s got a tiny smidgen of common sense. Unlike his Ancestor, apparently. Let's see, hat and shades are on, strife deck is ready, put money and various useful items in your sylladex-- looks like you're ready to go. Fuck, just as you were starting to get sleepy.
TT: And you have no idea what this is about, what the unspecified mayhem might pertain to?
TC: aIn'T I AlReAdY BeEn tO SaY I DoN't kNoW ShIt? :o(
TC: aLl i GoT AwArEnEsS At iS It'S SoMeThInG To Do wItH ThE HeInOuS NoIsE As wEnT On tHaT NiGhT.
TC: when he went out, meaning to be gone
TC: TWO FUCKIN HOURS
TC: and then didn't come back
TC: TIL MOTHERFUCKING DAWN
Oh boy. Rather than wait for him to finish, you head out, eyes on your constantly dinging phone with occasional glances up to navigate as you walk to the bus stop.
TC: and made no explanation
TC: BUT EVASION AFTER EVASION
TC: and finally what does he say
TC: BUT WHAT HE GOT MOTHERFUCKING ROBBED
TC: except it wasn't just money or goods as he was missing
TC: IT WAS EVERYTHING UP TO HIS MOTHERFUCKING CLOTHES
TC: and my pan may be rotted
TC: MIGHT BE HAVING HOLES ALL THROUGH
TC: but motherfucker, why's a mugger gonna steal a brother's clothes
TC: AND MOTHERFUCKING WHY
TC: would my brother what's always been good and kindly to me
TC: STAY OUT COURTING PALE
TC: the rest of the night after when he knows
TC: GOOD AND MOTHERFUCKING WELL
TC: i’d be all up in my fret at it :o(
TC: WHY
TC: would he go all meek
TC: AND MOTHERFUCKIN EASY
TC: and hand over all his shit
TC: EVEN TO THE CLOTHES ON HIS BACK
TC: to some dumbass sneaking little mugger
TC: WITHOUT STRIFE
TC: he wouldn't
TC: HE WOULD FUCKING NOT
TC: up and do that thing
TC: SO I GET DOUBT CREEPING ALL UP THROUGH ME
TC: it was a mugging at all
TC: AND I WONDER
TC: what it was as really took place
TC: AND I FEAR
TC: the reason he's not being to tell me :o(
Well, shit. Sopor damage or not, the kid’s sharp. You're pretty clear why Kurloz wants to keep him in the dark about this, and as a good moirail it's down to you to hold the line.
TT: I understand a mind controller was involved.
TC: HAH
TC: he said as much at me
TC: AND FOR WHY HE AIN'T HURT BY STRIFE
TC: it gets to making some sense
TC: BUT AS TO THE CLOTHES
TC: a mind-bender’s got no more reason for to want or take such as he was wearing
TC: AND AS TO THE DELAY BEFORE HIS RETURN
TC: no
TC: IT DON'T MATCH UP, MOTHERFUCKER
TC: it don't make a shred of fuckin sense
It appears the kid is inconveniently sharp. Problem is, you don't actually want to lie to him-- that's okay for pranks with your own little bro, but not serious shit like this, and not with someone else's. Fortunately he seems to be done trying to get answers out of you, at least for the moment.
TC: ANYWAY
TC: that ain't the point
TC: THE POINT IS
TC: the scheme what my brother's all getting his plot on over is to do with that night
TC: AND WHATEVER EVENTS
TC: are at being stuck in his pan like thorns
TC: WHICH I DON'T MOTHERFUCKING KNOW
TC: and can't get to guessing at
TC: BUT I GOT THE NOTION
TC: you already got your knowledge of it
TC: SO MAYBE
TC: you can be at guessing what plans he might have up on him
Yeah, and then again maybe not. You've known the guy all of two days, you talked to him for a few hours, you don't have any idea what he'd consider appropriate revenge. Assuming revenge is even the goal, which Gamzee seems to suspect. Is Kurloz thinking to destroy the porn studio? Kill anyone who was involved in his coercion? Just kill the director who made the decision to use Kurloz as a fill-in? Paint scary clown slogans all over the building, break in and smash up the equipment?
If it was you making the plans, you'd ignore the physical structure and work on destroying the business. Unfortunately you have the feeling Kurloz is more straightforward.
TC: WELL, MOTHERFUCKER
TC: got any thoughts at it
TT: Possibly, yeah, not that it really matters, since I'm gonna need to come talk to him either way. I can guess the general object of his ire, but I have no clue what his approach would be.
TT: All right, I'm at the bus stop. What's your address? And what stop is nearest you?
He gives you the info readily enough, adding plaintively WhEn yOu bEiNg tO GeT HeRe? Looking up the address, you realize it's just as far away as Kurloz said, but at least you'll be going in the same direction as the rest of the traffic. Well, half the time, anyway.
TT: Given that we are nestled snugly into the plush embrace of rush hour, probably forty minutes, maybe a little more. I'm on my way, though. Hang in there.
TC: yEaH, BrO. GoT AlL My eFfOrT Up aT ThAt.
The bus arrives-- mechanical rather than insectile at this hour-- and you get on, weave between tense or bored people on their way to work, mostly humans with the occasional carapacian, and find a place to stand with a minimum of elbows around your ribs. The air is stuffy with body heat but not overwhelming, not like it'll be in a month or two, and the bus is reasonably clean, so you got lucky. Upping your deadpan expression a notch, you get your phone out and settle in to wait out the trip with a bit of preliminary research.
Close to an hour later, you're walking up a street of rundown apartment buildings, looking for the address Gamzee gave you. Most of the building signage is missing, so you can't tell if you're getting near or if you've already passed it. You're staring through a front door that's hanging open as you pass, showing a dark, empty foyer littered with broken glass, when someone calls out ahead.
“Motherfuck, is that all at being Strider, or some other hornless fucker coincidental-like?”
At first startled glance, you think for a split second the troll sitting on the stoop just ahead of you is Kurloz. Then you notice the silvery grey of his skin, wriggler-pale, the smaller, thinner horns under a shorter mane of wild hair, how skinny his gangly limbs are, and the fact that he's nervously fiddling with his phone. Kurloz is not the type to show anxiety that openly, or much else for that matter.
So this is Gamzee. He's in normal troll black, a thin purple Capricorn sign on the chest of his t-shirt. You'd vaguely expected something more clownish, despite the fact that that would be reckless and dumb. As you approach, you realize his face is oddly flushed, a purple tint across cheeks, nose and ears.
“That'd be me,” you say, stepping up and holding out a fist for the kid to bump.
“Praise motherfuckin’ Messiahs both,” he says fervently, carefully enacting said bump like he's afraid of breaking you. The back of his hand and forearm is slightly purple too. “I been to have my wait on, started to think as what you might not get here in time. Kurloz wants me in coon and shit, but how the motherfuck he'd have expectation as I should sleep with all these brothers and sisters in our hive making such plans--”
“Who's in your hive?” you break in sharply. “You didn't mention you had visitors.”
The little punk has the gall to roll his eyes at you. “Like my bro’d be all up and planning on his lonesome, without calling in the chu--” He catches himself, glances down the empty street. “Calling those as will watch his back. Motherfuck, I'm thirsty.”
Fellow believers, then, probably all purple. “How many people are in there?”
He gives you a puzzled frown, shoving his phone in a pocket. “Not so many as I up and made noise at, I suppose, it's just when they all be to talking at once all excited like but drop to silence the minute they see a motherfucker, all those pairs of ganderbulbs add up quick, if you see my meaning, bro.”
Yeah, you see his meaning all too well. You might just feel it more strongly than he does, because this little endeavor was not proposed as having spectators involved.
“Gamzee, that ain't what I'd call a minor detail. You think he's gonna be happy if I walk in there and pap him silly in front of a bunch of people? I know I'm a clueless human, but isn't pale shit supposed to be private?” Best to focus on that and not the part where you're not actually great with strangers, or groups, or groups of strangers. You're definitely not thrilled at the thought of a high-stakes pale operation in that setting when you're still figuring out how this pale thing is supposed to work in the first place. Sure you've been mainlining pale porn for the last two nights, but there's only so many applicable tips you can wring out of pornography.
“They're all motherfuckin' clade, ain't like some intruders come to get their gape on at it!” He gets to his feet. Skinny as he is, he unfolds taller than you expected; he might have a couple inches on you, or that might just be the hair.
He shifts his weight side to side, gesturing with his words. “Anyway, better a mite embarrassed before those nearest him than forced to leave them behind or be caught by the motherfucking law!” He throws up his hands for emphasis, then staggers, looking sort of dazed. Abruptly you realize he hasn't been shifting his weight so much as swaying.
“You all right?” you say, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“I'm, yeah, just a dizziness all come on me little while back,” he mutters. Still swaying, he grabs your arm, clinging to it to steady himself. “Sun’s so motherfuckin' bright.”
At this hour the sunlight’s only just getting strong, it's really not that bad. Granted, there's no shade on this side of the street, but--
But he's a goddamn troll. Fuck. You're such an idiot. “Let's get inside,” you say briefly, and haul his arm over your shoulders to support him, ignoring the protests of “Aw, you don't gotta, be fine, just gotta get a drink of something up in me, got a wicked thirst…”
He gets the door open and you help him into the dim foyer, closing the door behind you. “How long were you sitting out there?” you ask.
“Bout since I messaged you, bro. Reckoned I oughta be there to show you in, like.”
Fucking idiot teenagers. Shouldn't he have more of a clue about his own physiology? “I appreciate the thought,” you say levelly, “but did it occur to you that maybe you should stay out of the sun?”
He turns to look at you and you get the full brunt of it as realization breaks over his face, shock followed by deep dismay. “Aw, shit, brother,” he says miserably. “I went and been a pancracked dumbass again. I was just so motherfuckin' scared… Guess I figured if it started in at hurting me I'd just duck in here. Don't hurt, though, just feels…” he sways and clutches at you again, one hand going distractedly to his middle. “...Not so motherfucking good.”
Dizziness, flushed skin and nausea. In a human that would be sunstroke, and while you don't know enough about trolls to know if it would look the same, the symptoms need attention either way. You'll look it up as soon as you can stop supporting him.
“All right, show me the way to your hive.”
It's on the fifth floor, and somewhat to your surprise there's a working elevator. Granted, it makes more grinding and clanking noises than you're entirely comfortable with, but it's better than hauling six foot of discombobulated teenage troll up five flights of stairs. As you carefully make your combined way down the fifth floor corridor, you can faintly hear singing. It gets more audible as you go along until you can almost make out the words. Gamzee starts singing quietly, possibly unaware that he's right next to your ear.
“The time is swift approaching now when I must fight and die
My body I will leave behind and to Messiahs fly
My brother faithful fare you well, your fellowship I love
Although I'm leaving, don't you grieve, for soon we'll meet above.”
He’s breathing hard by the time he stops and opens the door, almost hanging from your shoulders. For a moment the singing washes over you full volume, deep voices braided together in dark harmony, three parts or maybe four, you can't tell because a second later it stops.
“Just me, bro,” Gamzee calls out, and you hear a laugh and some murmuring from out of sight before the singing starts up again. Fuck, the resonance of some of those voices--maybe you can record some samples on your phone, if they agree, Dave would do amazing things with that-- Later. Focus, Strider.
You're helping Gamzee through the door into a cramped little dining room when a short, powerfully built purpleblood steps into view, saying, “Where you been, pupa? Your lusus told you--” She cuts off sharp, seeing you, and says over her shoulder, “Hornless here!” The singing stops again, to your carefully suppressed disappointment, replaced by startled exclamations and some muttering that does not sound friendly.
Eyes narrow, she turns back to you. “Who's this, pupa?”
She might be short for a purple, but that doesn't mean much when she's twice your width in muscle, and you don't miss the fact that her left hand is out a little from her side, ready to access her strifedeck. If she's a friend of Kurloz’s, she’d be an idiot to attack when you're half-carrying his kid, but people do dumber things every day.
“‘S a friend,” Gamzee mumbles. He still sounds breathless and he's not speaking as clearly as he was. He needs help with this shit and he needs it now, but strifing is going to radically hinder your ability to assist. “‘S with Kurloz, pale as fuck.”
Finally she seems to register that something’s up with Gamzee and frowns in concern. “Little brother, what's wrong, sugar grub?”
Before you can answer for him, someone else steps around the corner from the next room.
Long limbs in black and purple, mane of hair wild around tall twisting horns, Kurloz looks hella different in his own clothes, in his own place among his people, intent and powerful. He’s speaking in a rumbling growl you recognize before you even see him.
“What's the motherfucking noise all--”
He stops dead, seeing you. His eyes widen and you take note how orange they are, not killing red but getting there. He's been getting worked up for whatever it is he means to do, you guess, although he looks flustered enough just now to erase any hint of threat.
“Yo,” you say, chill as anything. Bystanders will surely conclude that you are utterly relaxed and on top of this situation. The fact that nothing else makes it out of your mouth is merely a sign of how completely chill you are, and not for instance a symptom of any uncool freakout. You are absolutely not wasting time wondering if this random thing the two of you struck up a few nights back has evaporated without trace for him, or if not, if it's about to.
“...Hey, my brother.” His eyes flick across you and Gamzee and he frowns deep and sudden. Moving to your side, he reaches out and scoops the kid up from where he's half collapsed against you, lifting him in his arms like the bundle of ungainly limbs is stuffed with feathers instead of rocks. He studies Gamzee a moment, glancing back at you once or twice.
“Wiggler, what motherfucking japery is this? Tell it at me, what's the haps with you?” he says gently.
“Sunstroke,” you say, cutting across Gamzee’s confused mumble. The snuggly lususly concern is sweet and all, but you're not sure increased body contact is actually the best idea: you're pretty sure he needs to be against something much cooler than him. You need to look it up, find out for sure, but you have the strong feeling pulling out your phone just yet would be a misstep. Best to stay visibly engaged until all parties’ hackles are settled.
“Kid was sitting in the sun on the front steps when I walked up,” you explain. “Said he'd been there a while, hour or so. You know how to treat that, or should I look it up?”
“Motherfuck,” Kurloz growls, “idiot wiggler, no more sense than a new-hatched grub, going out in the Messiahs-forsaken sunlight without hood nor cloak--”
“Preacher, how we s’posed to treat sunstroke?” the short purple calls over her shoulder to the other room.
The gender-indeterminate troll who appears in the doorway to respond makes you blink. Though their face is only a little weathered, their in-curved horns are darkened with age, notched and scarred. Judging by appearances, this particular purpleblood was already old during the Summoner’s Overthrow a century ago.
“Put him down, for one,” they say dryly. “Lay him out on the multiple seating unit so’s he won't tip over, there we'll tend him.” Kurloz holds Gamzee closer a moment, glaring, then reluctantly heads into the next room to follow this--advice? order? You can tell there are power dynamics here, but you can't read them yet. Before he steps out of sight, though, Kurloz catches your eye and nods at you to follow.
You stop in the doorway. The small living room is packed with giant purplebloods. Despite being warned about the visitors beforehand, somehow you were not mentally prepared for six or seven trolls Kurloz’s size to be in here, taking up all available space. You're not a small guy, but damn if these folks don't make you feel petite.
Kurloz turfs two of them off the couch with a jerk of his head and lays Gamzee down. It's kinda cute to watch them all peer at him, obviously concerned. Looks like he's got a bunch of very large aunt-and-uncle-type folks.
“Shift your ass, hornless,” says the short purple behind you, and you realize you're blocking the door. She barges past with an annoyed huff when you move aside, followed by the older troll she called Preacher, who goes over to the couch as the others give way.
“Get his thorax bare,” Preacher says to Kurloz. “Wiggler, stop your moaning, we'll put your dumb ass right again.” They don't sound as tolerant as you expected from the way everyone else is acting.
Gamzee cringes and goes quiet. Kurloz says in a low voice, “He's not well, kin, be kind.” He sits Gamzee up just enough to get his shirt off, saying, “No fear now, little one, I've got you.” Gamzee mumbles something Kurloz obviously doesn't catch, by the way he frowns and ducks closer.
“He said he was thirsty and nauseous,” you report, leaning against the wall just inside the door. “Might wanna look into that, since throwing up won't exactly help with the dehydration.”
“We need no assistance from any Messiahs-cursed hornless,” Preacher says coolly, without looking at you.
“That's my motherfucking palemate,” Kurloz says, and his voice is calm except for the clicking rattle underneath, which you're pretty sure is not a good noise. “What's your thought for nausea?”
Preacher growls, but makes no actual move to threaten Kurloz or the kid, so you stay put. “Get him an ice-grub to suck on, if you got any in the hive, but it'll go by itself once he's cooled some.” They turn to one of the large spectators, one with jagged horns that hook down behind his ears. “Fetch some wet cloths and cold water and we'll get him started cooling down.”
Kurloz gives directions to where he'll find that stuff and Jagged-horns heads for the door, giving you a puzzled frown in passing.
“Hornless for a moirail,” Preacher mutters. “Messiahs-blessed foolishness.”
“He gave me aid full and unstinting the other night,” Kurloz says steadily, “as I told at you previous. Strange as it does appear at being, he's nearer to serendipity than I thought could be in all reality.”
“And you expect as he's to have any true comprehension of moirallegiance?” Preacher demands. “It's no issue to you if he goes piling it up with half his acquaintance? Hornless do that, brother, promiscuous little heretics--”
Kurloz’s ears are going purple and his eyes definitely have a darker tint of orange than they did. He stands up, smooth and sudden, and looms at the older troll, who is nearly as tall but less broad than Kurloz. (Preacher looks to be built of iron rails, though, and you don't know how age stacks up against youth in a fight when trolls just get stronger for a hella long time.)
“I would take it as a kindness if you would lay the fuck off my motherfucking moirail,” Kurloz says.
Is that your cue to step in? Kurloz isn't the one who's out of order, though, and mediating between them is a different quadrant, one you don't want. It's irritating to have the other dude spouting racist crap and badmouthing you when you're standing right here, but Kurloz just drew the line, so if you speak up now to call Preacher on their bullshit it might look like you don't trust Kurloz to have your back. Fuck, you hate guessing at social bullshit at the best of times, and doing romance in public in the clueless early stage of the relationship has got to be the fucking worst.
Before you can double-guess yourself more than twice, though, one of the other purples steps forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, brothers, peace. Messiahs are in fine humor this night, yeah? What could be a more pleasing jest to them than for Chanteuse to find serendipity unbidden in a motherfucking hornless?”
“Hail Messiahs,” Kurloz says without breaking eye contact with Preacher, who rolls their eyes and mutters along with the relieved chorus of “All praise their mirthful names!”
Jagged-horns comes back in carrying a bowl of water, a handful of cloth and a little bag. Turning away from the stare-down, Preacher takes the bowl and starts wetting cloths and spreading them over Gamzee’s bare chest and arms, even pulling his shoes and socks off to put one on each foot. Kurloz rips the bag open, pulls out a plump white thing, and pops it in Gamzee’s mouth.
Seriously you will never get used to troll food. That thing was wriggling sluggishly when it went into his mouth, but Gamzee has no issue with this and you hear him sigh like it's already helping.
“Will this do him?” Kurloz says when Preacher finishes with the cloths and sets the bowl down.
“Not entire of itself, when the nausea passes he'll need a drink-- not Faygo,” Preacher adds. “Haterade would do well. Feed him some of those cave-farmed grubchips, he's at wanting the minerals now.”
“How long? Someone need to up and stay with him?”
Preacher shakes their head. “Shouldn't be long, he'll be well a long space yet before we go.”
Yeah, you were wondering when someone was going to bring up the schedule, point out there are time constraints. If you're going to keep Gamzee out of it and pretend you just happened to show up now, that mention gives you the excuse to ask Kurloz what's going on. (Okay, the pretense will last exactly until he asks you straight out, but you're kinda worried about the kid now and he doesn't need his guardian mad at him for calling you in.)
Kurloz nods and reaches down to tousle Gamzee’s hair. “Good. Then he can get to coon in a bit, rest up.”
“‘M sorry, bro,” Gamzee mumbles. He's breathing better already and he sounds more coherent, but also miserable. “Didn't mean to be all causing trouble for folk.”
“Hush you now, little brother,” Kurloz says, rubbing a thumb between Gamzee’s eyebrows. “Don't you get worry on over it, all’s well now. You settle on feeling better, we'll straighten out your pan on staying out of the motherfucking sun later.”
Gamzee actually pouts at him. Goddamn, you are witnessing a massive set of sad puppydog eyes here. “Aw, bro…”
“Shoosh. Best be up in your gratitude we got guests, or I'd be schoolfeeding you clear on the topic already.”
Gamzee’s expression is split between dismayed and sulky, and he huffs and looks away. It would appear that in certain fundamental ways, troll teenagers and human teenagers are completely identical.
“Gamzee. You worried me,” Kurloz says.
“Worried us all, little brother,” adds Jagged-horns on his heels.
The kid wilts again. “Sorry, brother,” he says, looking up at Kurloz and then around at everyone else. “Didn't mean to.”
“I know,” Kurloz says. “Just you chill.” He sends one of the others off for the Haterade and chips, then stands up and looks at you a minute. His face is hard to read for reason of too much going on at once, but if you had to guess you'd say that look is ‘happy to see you but fuck, why now?’
“Your pardon, kin,” he says, glancing around. “I'm at needing a brief word with my moirail. Get your praise on in the meantime--sing us something sweet.”
“It'll sound all thin and filled up with motherfucking holes without you join us,” complains a spindly dude with massive upcurling horns.
“Persevere and overcome, brother,” Kurloz says dryly. He moves to the door and nods at you. Taking a silent breath, you follow him out of the room.