Chapter Text
Kankri was daydreaming, but he didn’t know it.
Something about the cold air, the pillows beneath his legs, or the empty afternoon he’d spent trying to focus on his readings- it was conducive to flights of fancy. He had sat down beneath a tree, intending to meditate, but his mind was far from peaceful. Instead it was tumultuous; thoughts tumbled and writhed far from his control, and he couldn’t draw the images they spoke of into view.
If anyone had happened upon him, they would have been surprised to find him splayed out on a grey linen blanket, wrinkled papers trapped beneath larger tomes that would intimidate the most well-read of trolls. His eyes were distant, his lips pursed as if about to speak, but no words came. He looked uncharacteristically casual without his hair carefully combed and his posture guarded and stiff. His hands were folded on his chest.
Inside, he was himself but not himself- a troubled but righteous troll, one who knew his prospects and his abilities far better than his feelings. He had been trying to meditate for almost two hours, but he could not calm his thoughts enough to begin. Instead, he had opened his mind to questioning himself. When he did allow himself the occasional bit of doubt, it had to be in private. In those few moments when he questioned himself, he was consumed. Did he know what he really wanted? Was he anything at all? More and more he felt that his opinions, however strong, were falling on deaf ears- and then, what was the point of speech if no one cared to listen?
There were few with whom he could share his true thoughts. He kept to the outskirts of town, remaining solitary unless absolutely necessary. He did have friends, but he kept his distance. It was easier that way- fewer judgements and fewer confusion as to intentions. They often jokingly referred to him as ‘the hermit’, even though it was relatively rare for trolls to live together in the first place. He didn’t approve of the moniker, but for the sake of being good-natured he allowed them this innocent nickname- it was better than the other, more culturally insensitive names they could have chosen.
He closed his eyes, wishing that he could quiet the storm in his head. The wind whipped around him, scattering some of the papers near him, and he was shaken from his introspection with a jerk of recognition as one smacked against his face. He leapt to his feet, hands flying left and right as he tried to gather the pages before they could evade his reach. With a huff, he grabbed the last page, but was confused to find that it was not one of his.
The texture was rougher than the thick, parchment-like pages he preferred. The handwriting was completely different- it was sloppier, more of a scrawl than a script. And it was not just writing, but music. Kankri flipped the page, looking for some indication of who it belonged to, but it was not the first page and had no name or title. He stared dumbfounded at the little strikes and notes that dotted the page before abruptly ending halfway down. The lyrics started in the middle of a sentence- a short phrase about lamplight and warm nights. It was quite poetic, actually- or it would have been, if he knew the context. He looked around, hoping someone would claim it.
“Is anyone- I believe you’ve dropped your paper-“
There was no reply. He was alone.
At first he went to place the page back into the stack of papers, but when he tried to continue his meditation it kept drawing his gaze. From where he sat, he could see just the corner of the page sticking out from under the book, with a single word visible- ‘evening’. Every time he turned away, trying to draw his focus, that word stayed imprinted in his head. He could trace it with his finger in the air- a sweeping stroke that quickly became sharp and blunt. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful rendition of the word, but it was nonetheless captivating for its mysterious appearance.
After about ten minutes of this, he realized meditation was not in the cards for him that day. Try as he might, this distraction was too intriguing, and he wanted to think about it further where he could have some privacy. He carefully wrapped the books and spare pages in the blanket with the cushions he liked, and set off for home.
_____________________________________
As usual, Kankri was greeted by the ear-piercing screech of his lusus. He replied with a well-mannered nod and a wave that indicated he would be heading upstairs. He had work to do.
Having dropped off his bundle and retrieved the sheet of music, he headed towards the furthest room on the second floor of his hive. It was mostly bare, with little in the way of furniture, but it did have something of note- a keyboard for practicing music. It had been a gift from Porrim when she was in her ‘punk' phase, along with a strange instrument called a tambourine and a seemingly useless triangular piece of plastic that said ‘pick me’ in green lettering. Neither of these had gotten much use, but every once in a while he had tinkered around with the keyboard and taught himself to read some music. Of course, he kept these things to himself. If anyone saw him with it he would be more than embarrassed.
With a determined sigh, he dusted off the keys and plugged the apparatus into the energy port on the wall. A dull red light flickered on near the primitive analog screen, that was still set to the mode ‘grand piano 1’ from the last time he had turned it on. For a few seconds he just stared at the page, trying to recall the basic scales he had practiced. He gingerly placed his hands on the keys, and startled himself when doing so elicited a loud noise- apparently the volume was set to maximum.
After making sure everything was set up correctly, he tentatively tried to pick out the tune. It sounded unsatisfying, but that was only because it was unfinished and out of order. The little melody that had been inscribed so far was charming, but melancholy. There was something thoughtful about it; he could almost hear it completed, like an idea that slipped past his train of thought. He tried playing it again, with some embellishment and the addition of a few chords. Multiple times he stopped, and every time he picked it up again, adding a little more each time, until sitting in front of him was a relatively complete section of a song, notated in pencil alongside the mystery writer’s script.
He had no idea that he was even capable of composing. Music was less of a hobby and more of an occasional treat that he allowed himself to partake in, but upon looking at the page again he realized that it was quite passable. Not perfect, but only because he had merely adopted the song, not created it. When he listened to it in it’s entirety, the transition between original and new composer was smooth. On the page, it was abrupt and jarring. The original composer, who he decided to refer to as Mystery Troll, had poured emotion and feeling directly onto the paper in ink. His own writing was carefully planned so as to avoid misspellings, even and as generic-looking as typed font.
It suddenly dawned upon him how ridiculous this was- he found someone else’s work and decided that it would be perfectly fine to scribble his own ideas over theirs, as if it no longer belonged to them. He was shocked at his own audacity, and grabbed for an eraser. Just as he was about to undo the work of the past hour, something stopped him. He didn’t understand exactly how, but he felt like he shouldn’t do it. His confidence faltered. He decided to play it safe- he wrote down his additions on a separate page, and erased the pencil on the original. Satisfied that he did the right thing, he turned off the keyboard.
After the rare treat of music, the weighty silence in the hive seemed sacrilegious, but the song continued in his head.
__________________________________
It had been two days since the wayward page had found its way into Kankri’s hands, and he had practically gone door to door trying to find it’s original owner. He knew how important his own writings were to him, and that he would desperately want to find any missing parts if they were lost. It was imperative that he return the page so Mystery Troll could finish their song.
At first, he had no idea why his knocks at every door went unanswered when there was obviously someone there. He could see them silhouetted in the windows, trying not to be noticed. By the fifth or sixth hive he gave up on trying to get their attention. When he reached Latula’s hive, she stared at him for a few seconds before stifling back laughter.
“Dude. Let me guess- no one comes to the door.”
“How did you know?” He looked genuinely confused, and a little annoyed.
“You showed up at their door out of nowhere with a weird piece of paper- you got a reputation for being the over-dramatic righteous loud guy. Dude, they thought you were, like, a missionary or something. Or worse.”
“That- I suppose that makes sense. I don’t often go looking for company, so my sudden appearance could seem threatening.”
“What are you even doing, anyway? You look like someone stole your woof beast.”
“I was practicing my mindful meditation a few days ago, and the wind blew my readings away from where I was sitting. When I picked them up, this page was one of them. It is obviously not mine, and I have been trying to return it to it’s rightful owner.”
“Lemme see-“ She snatched it away before he could protest. He wanted to chastise her, but he felt it would be inappropriate. She was trying to help, after all. Her eyes narrowed.
“Do you recognize it?”
“Not really. I don’t really pay attention to people’s handwriting. I mean, it’s neato and all, but it ain’t my thing. It could be Porrim’s. She collects some weird stuff, maybe it came from one of her books.”
“Then I really must be going. Thank you for your insight.”
“Sure thing, man- I got you. Later, gator!”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a human thing. Later gator is, like, ‘see ya’, but cooler. Cause gators are the raddest of the earth amphibians. If we’re talking overall badass, though, I gotta say sharks have it on lock.”
“Ah. Well, goodbye.”
He quietly excused himself and headed down the walkway, his feet kicking up tufts of grayish dust as he went. Over the course of the day he’d become more and more frustrated. First no one would answer him, then no one knew where he should begin. Dejected, he allowed himself to daydream again, hoping it would stimulate some sort of epiphany that would bring his little adventure to a close. He was tired. A simple thing like a page shouldn’t have been enough to engage him in silly treasure hunts for mysterious trolls or write lyrical poetry when there were more important things to do. It was bordering on ridiculous. He looked down at the carefully folded sheet of paper. Maybe it was Porrim’s- she had eclectic taste, and she did frequent the park where he meditated.
Porrim lived directly across from Latula, but when he went to knock on the door he hesitated. The hive was much taller than the others in the area- it was made of a dark material that was spotted with several windows and balconies draped with fabrics in a multitude of green fabrics. Each swath of cloth was embroidered and beaded with tiny swirls of gold- just enough to glitter as the wind blew them. He wanted to talk to Porrim, to explain the confusion and frustration this odd little page had given him, but he knew she would probably smile at him and tell him he was making a mountain of a digging-beast’s pile. She never meant to condescend, but sometimes she just didn’t understand his motivations in seeking her counsel. She often forgot that he was an adult like she was- she had that lusus-like instinct to protect and reassure when really Kankri just needed to vent.
Was he taking this too seriously? Any other troll might have forgotten about the little mystery by now. With a sigh, he decided that he would talk to Porrim another time. By the looks of it, she most likely wasn’t even home. There were no lights on inside, and the hive was deathly quiet. Kankri wished his mind could be the same- he needed a break.
A mixture of habit and subconscious thought led him once again to the edge of the woods and then to the seat of the large tree where he practiced his daily meditations. He pressed his back against the bark, feeling it scratching the back of his head. With his eyes closed, he could almost pretend that he felt relaxed. The park was empty- few ever went walking there, and those who did stayed closer to the paths. This- his- tree was just at the edge of a small clearing, and from his spot he could see and hear anyone that might come across him.
Kankri stretched out his limbs in an attempt to shake out the unsettled feeling that had come over him, but it wouldn’t pass. He curled up with his arms around his knees, and realized that he had been humming. It hadn’t even occurred to him until he felt his throat vibrate against his leg, but he was humming. Maybe it was a reflex, or a way to relieve the stress, but having noticed it he found it impossible to ignore. He wasn’t even humming anything in particular. It was just sound, but it filled in the spaces in his mind and that was better than nothing.
He could do a song, he thought- he didn’t know that many, but he remembered a few hymns of the Sufferer that had been transcribed. He tried humming a few bars, but it didn’t sound right. It didn’t feel right. Hymns were meant to be sung. Kankri had sung only occasionally, and he thought his voice was mediocre at best. It was embarrassing. Then again, he was alone- the park was deserted. If he sang quietly, no one would know but the trees. He could even sing the song on the paper if he really wanted to.
“I saw the reflection of the lamplight in your eyes / and never knew that the warmth came from inside / i would give anything to know / if you would go where i would go.”
He paused, almost anticipating disapproval from the thick vines and foliage of the forest, but he couldn’t even hear an echo of his voice. There were chirp beasts singing in the distance, and the grass swayed gently in the wind. He considered heading home, but getting up and walking back seemed like too much effort. His eyes began to droop, and he fell asleep with the piece of paper in his hand.