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Summary
'Tis the season. Ten-sweep-old trolls, under the watchful eye of the drones, must donate their genetic material for the glorious perpetorturation of the Empire.
The only problem: Feferi doesn't have a kismesis. All the pitch relationships she's seen, real or fictional, are so mean! How can anyone get any joy from that? Maybe she's just not wired for it? Still, a drone season pact can be done with anyone as long as the slurry's in the bucket, so she asks her good friend Nepeta for a little matchmaking help.
Wait, is it Tavros that she's suggesting? Colour Feferi intrigued!