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Not-Enrique briefly debated killing his boss.
Not out of any sense of malice, per se, but he assumed it was always in the back of a changelings mind, how to off your boss and take his job.
Nah, Not-Enrique didn't want the bossman's job. If Strickler wanted the Janus Order, he could have it.
In fact, he'd been running himself ragged trying to keep the order from splitting down the middle, between those changelings that were loyal to him, and the ones still devoted to Gunmar. Still, it didn't hurt to recognize a prime opportunity like this.
Strickler was hunched over his desk, face down on his folded arms, occasionally letting out a quiet snore or two.
Carefully, Not-Enrique glanced around the hallway to ensure he hadn't been spotted, then he slipped into Strickler's office. The classiest one in Janus Order HQ.
Not-Enrique wasn't surprised to find the office poorly decorated. From what he'd seen of the bossman, he mostly poured his energies into his human life. It was his school office that had all the knicknacks and personality. The Janus Order was just a place for him to work.
Strickler snorted in his sleep, shifting.
Not-Enrique froze mid-step, his bulging eyes locked on the older changeling. Strickler didn't stir, but his hand fell from the desk, resting at his side. Not-Enrique's eye caught a glint of yellow.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully for a minute.
“Let's see what all the fuss is about.” He whispered to himself, reaching. With a pick-pocket's precision, he slipped the ring off Strickler's finger, placing it over his own.
In an instant, his mind was filled with the image of Angor Rot, hunched over a deer carcass beside the road. It had clearly been there a while, judging by it's swarming eyes. Not-Enrique could practically smell the sour meat Angor was readily shoving into his mouth.
A sour gurgle rose in Not-Enrique's belly at the thought of it. Of course, he'd eaten worse, back in the Darklands, when... Nope. He forced that thought down, folding it up and stuffing it neatly into a box in the back of his mind, along with the rest of his memories of the Darklands. Never to be opened.
He saw Angor raise another handful of worm-ridden meat and dry-heaved.
“Hey, hey, hold on a second!” Not Enrique blurted out, then froze.
Angor Rot did the same, pausing with a handful of gray flesh lifted to his lips. Strickler mumbled something in his sleep, then groaned.
“Bular....don't....”
Then he fell silent once more. Snoring quietly. Not-Enrique scampered out of the office, hugging his ringed hand close to his chest. He made his way to the exit, keeping his hand covered.
“You can hear me?” He whispered, startled.
“I always hear the voice of the one who bears my flesh.” Angor Rot rasped in a voice that sent little fingers of fear dancing up and down Not-Enrique's spine.
There was a pause, then Angor Rot spoke again.
“You're not Strickler.”
“No,” Not-Enrique swallowed a lump in his throat, “He asked me to look after the ring for the night.” And before you ask, I ain't giving it back, so don't bother.”
Not-Enrique slipped out the door to the Janus Order, blinking in the chill air of the autumn night.
“What do you want of me?” Angor Rot demanded, his gaze lingering on the deer carcass.
Not-Enrique scratched his scruff awkwardly.
“You're gonna make yourself sick eatin' that.” He ducked down a nearby alley, “I don't like this psycho-bond talkin, why don't you come here and we'll talk like civilized trolls. Get you some real food.”
There was silence across the bond of the Inferna Copula. Not-Enrique saw Angor Rot pick up his shadow staff, watched as he summoned a portal. An instant later, the ancient assassin stepped out in front of Not-Enrique, and he jumped back at the sudden appearance, his hackles raised.
“What're you trying to do? Give a bloke a heart attack?” Not-Enrique put a hand to his chest, gulping breaths. “Alright, I'm gonna teach you about a little magic spell I call 'Doordash.'”
he pulled a cellphone out of his diaper and began typing on it.
“You look like a pickles and onions kinda guy, am I right?”
“Why?” Angor Rot growled quietly.
“Cause I need to know what you want on your burger.”
“No. I mean why have you summoned me? Do you seek for me to kill Strickler so that you can take his place in the Janus Order?”
Not-Enrique hummed uncomfortably, his tiny clawed finger tapping away at the cell phone keys.
“Look, I know what it's like to be on the short end of a leash.” he said, “If you had one night to do anything you wanted, what would you do?”
“Kill Strickler.”
“Well, yeah, obviously,” Not-Enrique shook his head, “but besides that.”
Angor Rot's eyes rolled slowly in their sockets.
Not-Enrique shrugged. “Like I said, let's start with some grub. I'm telling ya, these humans can come up with some great stuff if you don't eat em.”
“Strickler has forbidden me from killing any humans but the Trollhunter.”
Not-Enrique's eyebrows rose at that.
“Huh. That's awful decent of him.” He started toward the alleyway beside the Janus Order building.
“C'mon, our foods gonna be here soon. You don't wanna get caught, do ya?”
Angor Rot smiled for the first time.
“If the humans were to see me, they might uncover Strickler's deception. They would burn him.”
“Uh, actually, more like experiments and dissection tables.” Not-Enrique shuddered, “But nice to know you're keepin him in your thoughts. Oh, blimey!”
A car turned a corner, and Not-Enrqiue ducked into the alley.
“C'mon already!”
Angor Rot clenched his teeth, but the ring bid him to obey. He slipped into the shadows of the alleyway just as the lights of the car washed the Janus Order building in white light, illuminating the sign that said 'Omnireach Travels.'
“That was a close one.” Not-Enrique said. “You seriously don't care about getting caught?”
“What could humans do to me that is worse than being bound to the ring?” Angor rumbled, his eyes locked on Not-Enrique's finger.
Not-Enrique swallowed, tucking his hand to his chest.
“Not that it's any of my business, but...” he glanced toward Angor Rot, curiosity warring with caution. “Why'd you do it? Of all people; why'd you go to Morgana for help?”
Angor Rot growled low and deep in his throat. Not-Enrique winced, and was about to say 'nevermind' when the troll assassin offered up and unexpected answer.
“I do not remember why I wanted Morgana's power.” Then, “When I try to, it is a cycle. I recall trading my mules for directions to her whereabouts, and my goats for the incantation to summon her. The rest of my beasts went to a night market in Istanbul, but as for WHY I sought out the sorceress....”
He growled again, sounding more tired than frustrated.
“---There is nothing.”
Not-Enrique winced in sympathy. He may have been lower than a thrall when it came to Gunmar's army, but at least he got to keep his memories. His ear twitched at the distant sound of an engine approaching.
“Oh, blimey! There's our burgers!” Not-Enrique shot a look around, his gaze landing on the alleyway beside 'Omnireach Travels.'
“This way!” He urged, scurrying toward the alleyway on all fours.
Angor Rot obeyed, if only the ring offered him no choice.
The driver emerged humming to herself, two greasy paper bags clutched in her hands. She dropped them beside the door to the Janus Order, knocked, then took a picture with her phone. Not-Enrique heard a low growl from behind him, and was surprised when he recognized the sound as a troll's stomach.
“You can smell em already, can't ya?” Not-Enrique asked.
“The human.” Angor replied simply, eyeing her up and down.
Not-Enrqiue blinked, then made a face. “Eatin' humans? Now that's just gross.” he complained, “Trust me, you're gonna like this even better.”
The human, blissfully unaware of the troll that wanted to eat her, turned, and headed back to her car before driving away. Not-Enrique gave her a few moments before plodding out of the alleyway to retrieve the bags.
“'Ere we go, animal style for me, extra pickles and onions for you.” he offered the bag to Angor Rot, and the troll assassin stared at it long and hard for a moment.
“To Gumm-Gumms, sharing food is a promise.” he said, “I make no such vow to you.”
“Not a Gumm-Gumm. Changeling.” Not-Enrique corrected, “And don't overthink it. It's not a promise, just a couple of burgers. C'mon, give it a try.”
The paper-wrapped parcel crinkled as Angor withdrew the sandwich from the bag, sniffing it suspiciously. Not-Entique took a massive chomp of his own burger, letting out a muffled 'Mmmmm' as his tongue was awash in the rich flavors of meat, cheese and greasy paper.
“I'm telling you, you gotta try this!” He insisted, taking another bite.
Angor held the cheeseburger more firmly in his hand, his wickedly sharp teeth parting as he managed a bite. A split second later, he devoured the rest in two gulps, licking the grease from his claws as he did so.
“There!” Not-Enrique exclaimed, “Ya see? It's good once you...” His voice trailed off when he realized Angor Rot was staring intently at what was left of the burger in his hands. Not-Enrique hesitated a long moment before holding it out.
“Here.” He said, “Go on, it's fine.” Angor Rot didn't thank him. He merely took the burger and quickly devoured it.
“Jeeze,” Not-Enrqiue stated, “When's the last time you ate?”
“What day is it?” Angor rot replied, his bony brow furrowing.
Not-Enrique frowned.
It occurred to him the bossman might not realize that even an undead troll needed to eat. A roiling growl rose from Angor's middle, and Not-Enrique winced.
“Guess the burgers were just an appetizer.” Not-Enrique was suddenly keenly aware that Angor Rot was not only a troll, but a troll known for devouring the souls of others while hungry.
His instincts were telling him to head back into the Janus Order, return the ring, and try to forget this whole idea in the first place. But he'd never really been one to follow his instincts.
“Come with me.” he sighed finally, “I know a place where we can get some chickens.”
The two of them traveled in silence for the most part. Not-Enrique knew better than to try and make conversation, and Angor, to his credit, kept pace with the smaller changeling. When they came within a mile of their destination, Angor paused, tilting his head back and scenting the air.
“A farm?” he rumbled, looking to Not-Enrique with a furrowed brow.
“Kinda.” Not-Enrique said. “It's more like a sanctuary slash dumping ground for unwanted animals.”
The Arcadia Oaks Rescue Ranch was a newer addition to Arcadia. Word on the street was that the owner won the lottery and dedicated the money to mistreated farm animals. Not-Enrique's parents had brought him here for the petting zoo.
“Alright, now, quick in and out. Just take what you need.” A pang of guilt wormed it's way into Not-Enrique's stomach at the soft bleating of the sheep and goats, but hey, a troll had to eat. And he'd certainly eaten worse in the Darklands.
Angor Rot moved with a purpose toward one of the pens.
'Avery,' said a little sign attached to the fence, followed by the words, 'Anglo-Nubian Goat.'
Not-Enrique thought about protesting, a few chickens missing was one thing, but an entire goat?
One look at the sharp set of Angor Rot's eyes warned him against it.
There was a tiny hut in the pen, a place for the animals to bed down and sleep. Angor Rot extended his hand, murmuring strange, glottal words under his breath. A purple glow rose from his fingers, turning into orbs that flew from his fingertips and into the hut.
Not-Enrqiue sighed and covered his eyes. He had a feeling this was going to be messy.
A moment later, there was a soft rustling sound, and Angor Rot smiled grimly as a docile-looking goat ventured out of the hut, it's long ears swaying as he plodded toward them.
It was an unbearably cute goat, brown with a white spot on its face and white ears.
“Aw, Blimey.” Not-Enrique cursed under his breath, his guilt-worm writhing at the sight of the goat's magically glowing eyes.
Angor Rot reached for the creature.
Not-Enrique waited for the flash of claws. The spray of arterial blood.
But instead, Angor Rot set his hand out, and the Goat gave his knuckles a sniff.
“What're you doing?” Not-Enrique demanded, confusion twisting his features.
“I am seeing how well they tend to their flock.” Angor Rot rumbled, running his hand down the goat's back and along its withers.
He knelt, and to Not-Enrique's utter disbelief, lifted the Goat's hooves, one at a time, with a practiced hand.
“She is well cared for.” Angor Rot said, not quite smiling, but there was a note of contentment in his voice.
“Alright, alright,” Not-Enrique hated to see Angor playing with his food. It reminded him too much of Bular. “Just grab the thing already and lets---” he froze, blinking bewilderment as Angor Rot leaned forward and touched his brow briefly to the beasts. Their breath mingling.
The creature remained serene, rather from the touch of magic, or from the fact that she recognized an experienced hand.
“....You're not gonna eat her, are you?” Not-Enrique asked as Angor's palm passed over the creatures back, stroking it's brown and white fur.
“I had goats, once.” Angor Rot replied in a low voice.
“I know,” Not-Enrique smiled despite himself, “You told me.”
He watched as Angor rose to his feet, leaning on the staff slightly as he zeroed in on one of the machines that cost a quarter to give the animals feed. A blast of violet magic, and it had dispensed a cup of pellets, directly into Angor's palm. The assassin knelt once more, and offered the food to the goat, who seemed to consider for a moment before tucking in with a contented sigh.
“The sun'll be up in an hour or so.” Said Not-Enrique, “Anything else you wanna do on your night out?”
“No.” Angor Rot murmured, “Just this.”