Chapter Text
John Dory considered himself lucky...at least when he was younger. He was born with a soulmark. The words twisted and twined around his wrist in orange slightly messy handwriting.
When he hatched from his shell, his parents and grandmother took great joy in finding the smudged mark on his tiny body. Trolls with marks usually lasted longer then the ones who didn't in the troll tree. The bergens had noticed that when two trolls had marks it lead to more trollings, meaning more food for them. The mark on John's wrist meant that their son would at least be safe until he was married with children.
As JD grew his mark became clearer, and eventually eligible. When he read it the first time...it was kind of confusing.
"What in the Name of Reba are ya doin'?! Ya come in here like a twister an' on top of that ya ruined my flapjacks!"
He had a lot of questions. Who was Reba? Why was 'you' spelled like that? What was a twister? And most importantly what were flapjacks?! He didn't want to ruin his soulmate's flapjacks! They were clearly important to her. Even if John had no idea what they were. Sadly, no matter who he asked, be them his parents, grandmother or teachers, no one could tell him.
As a trolling he would spend hours stressing over this little fact of the future meeting with his soulmate. It sounded like she would hate John off the bat. Dad tried to make him feel better, after all he had met Mom by dropping a berry basket on her head and it worked out for him. Still as a child this was a crisis, and for a long time, he dreaded meeting his soulmate.
If only that had stayed his single worry.
When John had become a big brother it was the best day of his young life. Spruce had hatched a little late, but was a healthy baby. He had been so small and chunky, all JD wanted to do was squish him! And even better Spruce was born with a mark too. A little yellow smudge rested on the baby's caller bone. His little brother was safe like him. That had been the same with Clay. The third brother was born with bright eyes, wild hair, and a hot pink smudge on his back. Floyd...didn't get a traditional mark, instead of words the fourth brother had a navy spider web marking on the back of his hand.
Branch also hatched with a mark, a smudge of hot pink around his wrist, but JD never knew what it said...having left long before the words cleared enough to be read.
Still, all of his brothers had marks. That meant they would most likely reach adulthood. Which when living in a passive hell with death knocking at your front door it was more than a comfort.
Overall, John had been happy those first 14 years of his life. He had his parents, his grandmother, his brothers, dreams of music, and seemingly a love story was going to be added to his name in the near future.
Then his parents died.
That day had started out quiet. Trollistice had just passed and it seemed like they would be safe as a family for another year. Mom had been planning on making nectar cookies before her latest baby hatched with in the next few weeks, so she and Dad left the pod to forage. Leaving john and his brothers with Grandma. They had forgotten a basket, so John had run out to return it to them. It all happened so fast after that. He remembered Mom thanking him with a hug. Them all laughing as they harvested what they needed. Then suddenly Dad was screaming for them run. Mom shoved Branch's egg into John arms and told him to hide and keep them safe. John did as he was told, only to hear their screams slowly drift away as his parents were captured and carried away. Never to be seen alive again.
Things were never the same after that. Suddenly John was the man of the house, and that came with responsibilities he wasn't ready for. Grandma helped best she could. Minding the younger boys, cooking meals and cleaning the pod. But her pension wasn't enough to feed a family of four growing boys and a baby. Picking up the slack meant John had to work. Now frankly John Dory was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but at the time he had been young and strong. He started out making money by doing chores for the neighbors, moving furniture or working in their gardens but that wasn't enough. Working on the escape tunnels was always an option, but John couldn't put his Grandma through that. Her husband had died when the first network of tunnels collapsed. Risking his life like that would hurt her more, especially so soon after her daughter and son-in-law's deaths.
so, John started preforming. He could sing, he could write songs, and musicians were paid nicely in the troll tree. Eventually Spruce joined him and the rest slowly followed. That's how Brozone came to be, and well how it ended was another story. Still in those three years after the his parents death and before he escaped the troll tree, John didn't have much time to ponder over soulmates.
Out in the neverglades, it wasn't much different, only now his thoughts were preoccupied not with band stuff, like finances and show scheduling, he was instead thinking about where his next meal came from, what the hell would he do if it stormed, and where did someone get a good weapon because he really needed one apparently. Living in the wild was a hard curve to learn but John managed. He even managed to make a friend. Rhonda had been a surprise, and maybe John should've left a mysterious egg he didn't recognize alone, but he didn't regret it. The young troll had always wanted a critter, but with so many kids in the pod there simply wasn't enough space for one. And Rhonda was the cutest little critter always running around and bumping into things since the moment she hatched.
John Dory stayed out in the glades for another three years, before his eyes drifted towards the orange writing on his wrist. He was nearing twenty and he still hadn't met her. Homesickness struck him hard after that realization. He suddenly missed civilization, his people, his family. John Dory when home...only to find it didn't exist anymore.
John wandered aimlessly after that. Both mentally and physically. He had no goal. No way forward. Before it was enjoy his freedom form the stresses of his previous life and before that it was take care of his family...It was almost funny, now he had one but he would give anything, even his own freedom, to have what he lost back.
The desert called him for some reason. The Flats were so different from anywhere else had had been. John was striving for anything to feel at least remotely exciting anymore. Anything new to distract him from the pain of grief. Rhonda was up to his hips by this point and could carry supplies. However, like the idiot he was he didn't think to pack her up with extra water.
At first John wasn't worried, he didn't get thirsty quickly. It only felt hot. Like he had just laid out to sun bath for a few hours. But as time went on and the deeper into the flats he went the worse he felt. It started with a head ache that was at first uncomfortable but grew into a thumping that sounded off to the sudden rapid beat of his heart. Then his vision started twisting and swirling, the desert in front of him becoming distorted beyond the point to which he couldn't blink it away. His stomach joined the party by corkscrewing inside of him violently. John knew he was in real trouble, when his legs buckled, and he fell onto his knees vomiting up the little precious water he had drank. Teal skin now flushed purple with blood was hot to the touch, and head spinning so fast it was a miracle that he managed to shuffle away just far enough to not fully collapse in his own sick. He laid on the hot ground, panting through dry cracked lips. This was it. This was how he died. He thought, before looking at his wrist and tears sprouted form his eyes. He would never get to meet her.
Rhonda whimpered and whined as he nudged him. John felt bad about it, Rhonda was the one good thing that he had left, and now he was leaving her too. He knew she's be fine. With her hard shell the heat wouldn't get to her, and predators wouldn't get an easy meal out of her. Still Join felt guilty about leaving his baby alone. That's the only thing you can do right isn't it John Dory?
Rhonda's whining turned into wails, and nudging got harder. Still it was useless. John's body was spent, the heat and exhaustion make his limbs numb and shaky all at once. He was practically melting in the desert sun. Every nudge just made his legs and arms flop around like warm jello, and further stirred the boiling bubbling pot that had become his stomach.
"Sorry, girl," John rasped, "I don't think I can get back up. Watch out for yourself okay?"
Rhonda wailed, and grabbed on his leg beginning to drag him across the ground. John had no strength to stop her. It wouldn't matter where she took him anyway. No troll he knew had a marked grave. His family certainly get the ones they deserved. But he was okay with that fact, after all soon they'd be together again.
The tug on his leg sudden began harsher. Rhonda must have started running. To what? John didn't know, nor did he care! Opening his eyes at this point would mean throwing up again, and frankly John didn't want to die anymore disgusting then he already was. So he just limply allowed the little critter to drag him away.
Then someone started screaming. On some form of instinct and maybe a last adrenaline rush, John managed to startle. His limps flailed weakly and wildly, Rhonda let go of him, there was some metallic clang and suddenly he was doused in something thin but sticky.
"What in the Name of Reba are ya doin'?! Ya come in here like a twister an' on top of that ya ruined my flapjacks!"
John stop struggling for a moment, and throwing all caution to the wind, opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and still twisted, but his breath was taken away from him. She was stunning. If he had the time he'd memorized every little detail of her, from her eyes to her hair, to her smile and write them into a song that would go down as his finest work, he would. But after just a glimpse she drifted away from him again. His eyes slid shut, and of course he just had to vomit on her feet, before fully succumbing to darkness. At least John got to meet her before he died. His only regrets being that he would never know her name or what Flapjacks were.
Delta Dawn had been through a lot in her short life by the time she reached 18.
She was the eldest daughter in a family of four, with only her little sister, Carrie born five years her junior. Their parents had kicked the bucket early. Killed by rattlers when Delta was only 13 and Carrie 8. Their folks' loss hurt but grief was something common there in Lonesome Flats, Delta and Carrie healed and moved on with time. They were sent to live with their estranged uncle on the outskirts of town and the troll was a drunk on his best days. Delta grew up fast after that. Faster then most country trollings, and that was saying something, considering that once their legs stored themselves out they pulled their weight in farm work. She'd take care of Carrie when it came to meals clothing or school, all while minding the house, her own studies and working nights at the local saloon. It was a hard and sad story, but that was the normal life of any country troll.
What wasn't normal was the small string of words around one of her ankles. Soulmarks weren't common among country trolls, much less ones with words. Everyone day someone was dying. Most romances and marriages would end in tragedy just after a few years. So, the living partner would eventually pair up with someone new to heal. The idea of forever happiness with your perfect someone was more fictional then fairytale. So, when Delta hatched with a teal smudge on her ankle, it was more surprising than anything. Carrie was always a romantic and she would spend hours telling Delta just how lucky she was to have a perfect one for her. Delta took the knowledge of a soulmate with a healthy dose of skepticism. After all just because they would be made for each other didn't mean it would end in happily ever after. Especially considering what he would say to her.
"I really am dying aren't I?"
Some Delta hoped they would be said in a joking manner, but sometimes life was like that.
Besides soulmate or no soulmate Delta had her own things to worry about. Every country troll could sing, but apparently she was special. She had simply been singing while cleaning some tables one night, and then she was pulled on stage the next. Contrary to popular belief, Lonesome Flats wasn't just one town, it was a collection of small settlements all around the territory, that members of which would constantly travel, trade and livestock drive to each other. Apparently, some of the travelers found her voice pretty, and it drew in more customers. Her boss put her on stage and in tern came a raise. Preforming was fun, but it wasn't Delta's calling she knew that. Oddly enough, she found her gift for leadership when the saloon was being robbed by a bandits. She didn't like to go into the details of that day, but let's just say that when the sheriff arrived, the situation was handled and there were three varmints all tied up with a bow of rope ready for the town jail.
That's how Delta got involved in law enforcement. The job paid better and with it she finally was able to pull her and her sister out of their uncle's care. Delta was mentored underneath a troll named Growly Pete, he was quiet but Delta came to like him. She worked hard keeping her town and sister safe...if only some trolls could be grateful.
"Why are we doin' this again?" Carrie moaned for the 14th time.
"For the millionth time," Delta resisted rolling her eyes, "because Pa always did. Every autumn we'd all go out and camp underneath the stars for his birthday."
"I know that, but why are we even doin' it in the first place? He's dead has been for years," Carrie complained.
Delta just snorted in a annoyance. Despite her efforts, Carrie had turned into a city country gal. Carrie did enjoy much of the chore work other then cooking, and keeping the home. Much less other jobs. The only open that actually seem driven to work for was that singing gig Delta gave up. Granted, Delta did think that Carrie could thrive on stage. Her little sister had always be the pretty one. With her sandy red hair and tail, her ivory coat, and near perfect face dotted with a stunning set of freckles. Carrie could sing too, her voice just as pretty as her face. However it was what might happen back stage that Delta was worried about. Hopefully, such things were still a few years away, after all Carrie was still only 13.
Sadly that teenage study was kicking in early too.
Camp was set up at the usual spot. Delta started the fire while, Carrie was told to put up the tents. The teenager did so with complaints but completed the task. Thankfully by the time the sun went down the sisters were neck deep in the smell of dinner cooking and gossip. The stars twinkling over head in a gentle display, as they laid to rest.
Delta was the first to wake up the next morning. She started by cleaning up the mess they left the previous night and then got to work on breakfast...or well, judging by the position of the sun...probably lunch by then. However, flapjacks could be eaten at any meal in her opinion. She had just finished the batter, and spooned the first batch onto the fire side grill. For a moment all was peaceful the sun hot, the sky clear, the flapjack sizzling as they cooked...of course that the moment it all went to hell.
First came the subtle rumbling of what sounded like one of the cattle on a rampage. Not a stampede, thank Reba, but something was coming towards them. Then Delta noticed the dust cloud. It was small but it was fast. Only took a few seconds for it to move from on the horizon to a mere few inches from them. Carrie popped her head of ou her tent to too see what was happening only to shriek and duck back in as the dust cloud collided with their camp. Delta darted away, only to heard the metal clanging of her cook wear toppling and the fire doused in batter. When the dust and smoke cleared, Delta stared at confusion at a little tan and red critter with big eyes, and what looked like a troll's foot in its mouth. Said foot was dropped and that foot was attached to a leg which was attached to a troll. A troll covered in pancake batter.
"What in the Name of Reba are ya doin'?! Ya come in here like a twister an' on top of that ya ruined my flapjacks!" Delta
The troll looked up at her with a flushed face and shuddered.
"I really am dying aren't I?" he muttered, before throwing up and passing out.
Delta froze. Those words. This was him?! This idiot and his pet?! This passed out idiot and his pet. Oh Reba he's passed out. Vomit and batter forgotten she kneeled down to check his pulse, noticing the marking on his wrist. Oh, poor thing had to walk round with her angry swear on his arm.
"Is he dead?" Carrie said peeking out of her tent.
"Not yet," Delta called back.
Carrie walked up to them, "How!?" She shrieked again, "He's missin' half his legs!"
"Carrie!" Delta snapped, "Just start packn' we need to get him back home!"
With her sister running off to hopefully clean up, Delta turned her attention back to her soulmate...oh that was weird to think about...His heart rate was fast, breathing was labored and skin was clearly flushed. Heat stroke, she needed to cool him down. Fetching the water canteen from her hair she removed her own bandana and soaked it before applying it to his neck. While doing it, she took in a little more of his appearance. His skin was probably a muted blue (once he wasn't flushed due to overheating she'd really know the tone), not a common color out in the flats, but it was a nice change. His hair was long and shockingly strait and stiff. The turquoise of it like an ashy oasis. And Carrie had been right, he only had two legs...that was weird...his lack of hooves were also a little off putting. Instead he had like miss-shaped hand-like things on the bottom of his legs. The tiny stubbed finger like appendages on them were kind of cute, but would take getting used to. Who ever her soulmate what he wasn't from the Flats.
Delta swallowed, if she ever wanted those answers she had to get him back to the town. She looked up at the critter that dragged him to her.
"You won't bite me if we move him would you?"
John Dory was sore...and he had a headache.
He was warm but not uncomfortably hot and laying on something wonderfully soft. Wasn't he dying in the desert? How did he get here? He rubbed a hand across his face, and groaned. Blinked his crusty eyes open, John was greeted with the interior of a bedroom? There was a small dressing table on the far wall, next to it a door that lead to a bathroom. While on the left wall was a wardrobe and another door that John assumed lead to the rest of the house. There was a fan on the ceiling with a really old looking light. And the bed. The bed was giant. John was alone in it but it would easily fit five more of him on it. Its sheets were a soft blush, light yet very soft.
How did John get here? Some part of him said to get up and get answers, but John was still feeling crappy. It wasn't as bad as before, but moving still didn't feel like a good idea. Especially after he took stock of himself, and learned that he was only dressed in a rough towel tied around his waist. New, more important, question, where were his clothes.
Footsteps came from behind the door, it was a lot of footsteps, very loud footsteps. Either there was more then one person or they took very tiny steps. The door opened with a creak on the hinge, and entered...a goddess. Her hair was a blazing bright red, tied into a ponytail, that sprouted and spilled out into a waterfall of bouncing delicate curls. Her complexion was one of warm honey, welcoming and sweet. Her eyes the perfect shade of forest green iris that gleamed from underneath her thick full lashes. John raked over every minute detail of her as she walked into the room. Her arms were strong and in one hand was a pitcher, and a cup in the other....she had four legs? Where those hooves?!
"Oh you're awake," She said, her voice smooth strong in encased in an accent that John didn't recognize, but he loved it.
"Are ya feelin' alight? You've been out for nearly two days," She said.
John's tongue was suddenly replaced with a block of cheese. How did he talk again?
"Uh...cat got your tongue fella?"
"...maybe..." John squeaked.
She snorted, and john found he loved the sound.
"Well for someone who was so dramatic with his entrance that it costed me my flapjack breakfast, I was think you'd be more of talker."
Flapjacks. Flapjacks? Flapjacks?!
It was her. Her! The woman that John had been waiting to meet for twenty years. He thought she'd died with the rest of the tree and his family. He'd forever been alone. Thank you Madonna your mercy on him will never be forgotten.
"It's you," John said, "The one with my words."
"I am. I'm sorry about that."
John shot up, soreness be damned, "Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"Well, if it weren't for me you wouldn't have walked around all your life with a swear on your arm," She said looking sheepish.
John looked at his mark in confusion, "Flapjacks is a swear word?"
She looked at him like he was crazy, "What? No, I meant Reba. I really shouldn't take our former leader's name in vain."
John nodded, hoping that his parents weren't listening. John used to quote his words all the time as a little kid to make sure he didn't forget them. Apparently that wasn't all that appropriate for a small child.
"So, what are Flapjacks?"
"Food."
"Oh...."
She huffed and walked over placing the pitcher on the nightstand before filling the cup.
"You're not from 'round here are ya," She said handing him the cup.
The water was heavenly on his throat, "You could say that," he sighed, "So If I got stuck with a swear, what did I get you stuck with?"
"Well, thankfully I could hide it well with pants, but it's not as bad as mine."
She kneeled on the bed, and pulled the leg of her pant up to expose her ankle. John winced at the rather morbid words.
"Sorry, he said."
"Don't worry 'bout it, there's been worse. I'm just glad you gave me a chance to save ya."
"You and me both, still not sure what happened."
"Dehydration and heat stroke, nasty combination and sometime fatal, doc says your lucky."
"I feel lucky."
She chuckled, "Well then Lucky boy, don suppose I can know ya real name?"
"John Dory, you?"
"Delta Dawn."
For the first time in a long time John's smile felt real. All he needed was to spill a pretty girl's breakfast on himself...he probably owned a new breakfast. He still didn't know what exactly flapjacks were, but maybe she's be open to trying pancakes.