Incipit: I'm sick. Not actually sick, not covid sick, just the little kind of sick where the nose runs a bit and the throat is a bit sore and the brain heats a bit too much to be doing arcane mathematics for Godot shaders. so here i come instead. Writing Homestuck OCs. My beloved.
Aquassa, Sign of the Stylist: This one's pretty abstract looking.
Constellation: Turns out a Stylist is a pretty vague job, right? Most commonly it's a hairdresser, but anyone who arranges things to be stylish is a stylist. Let's start by going down the Hair path. Hair has some association with magic in popular culture, but i'm not so sure what it is or where it comes from. Aquacin, the Knotted Wand was alledgedly a "mystical" constellation as well, so maybe a magic theme can be a unifying trait amongst Violet constellations. Ok, future Aks here. I didn't find shit. Mostly it's vague witchcraft shenanigans about connecting a non-descript spell with yourself. There's always the myth of Samson, but i'm not a big fan of the Bible.
Hmmm. Let's take this from another perspective. I know i want this troll to be a parallel to Maipur because of their opposing aspects, sways and hemospectral status. Maipur is a Landscaper, at least in name, and by the "anyone who makes things stylish" definition a Landscaper is a kind of stylist. If the metaphor of Artist's constellation was "Skill honed through trained repetition", then Aquassa should be a denial of that. Not "Skill from inborn talent", that's too boring. Maybe Holisticism? "Things will always end up fitting together by themselves". Characterizing a character by "Skill honed through trained repetition" means characterizing them not just by "trained repetition", but before that by their need to be skilled in the first place. So the opposite of that is a character characterized by not needing to be skilled. But i'm not diving into the character yet. Constellation, constellation! While i was spitballing about hair i had the idea of a "hair-cutting constellation". The circle on the right would be the head, the bar on the left the cut-off hair and the bar separating the two would be the scissors. But with the new thematic this doesn't really work anymore. So, what object is Holistic? What object will function by itself? After some thinking i've settled on a Fruit Tree. A Fruit Tree is a lot more independent than a crop, i think. You don't have to replant it after every harvest and they're more resilient to changes of weather and temperatures. Official constellations don't have any plants, so some might say a fruit tree isn't appropriate for a constellation, but to me that just means it's new grounds to explore.
Physicality: First thing, as a carry-over from the Hair-based brainstorming this troll will have long straight hair. Genuinely long, going down to his ankles. And mimicking that hair, his horns are also long, thin and pointy, starting from his forehead, curving over the top of his head and ending up behind his nape, meaning if he tries to look upwards he risks stabbing himself in the neck. He's supposed to be a parallel to Maipur, so an Idea would be his strifekind would be a mundane object like how Maipur fights with a Paintbrush. Scissors is the obvious answer, but i'm trying to move away from the hair thematic, so i'll go with Shears instead. Clothing-wise, he's a proper noble in fancy clothing. He wears a long cape on his back colored dark-violet on the inside which gives him a sort of Dracula-type look. As for Psionic powers...
Lore: « Throughout history it has been the common understanding that sea dwellers cannot manifest psionic abilities. From this assumption, many theses have sprouted throughout academic circles. Sometimes, the naturally strong and psychically resistant constitutions of violetbloods hinder the mitosis of echocerebral cells during the larval and prelarval stages of development. Sometimes it's the process of anti-senescent regeneration which consumes psioactive agents in the blood. These are interesting theories worthy of a profound examination, but in this text, i would like to linger upon the possibility that the assumption itself is flawed. If, hypothetically, violetbloods could manifest psionic phenomenons, what sort of properties could we observe in them? Well, for one, by looking at the concentration of vascular molybdenum [...]
In conclusion, if Violet Psionic Manifestations were possible, they would be on the extremely trained end of the spectrum, further even than Chucklevoodoo and Catharametry. Perhaps completely opposite from Indigo's wholly innate "Mutations". They would have to be Fast in activation, almost as much as Burgundy Psionics, but also Short-reached in effect, somewhere just below Teal Manifestations. Most importantly, we must not forget the Sociological aspect of it. If it is a power that has remained undocumented, it is likely that it is one that can be fully or greatly utilized while remaining undetected. » - George Wiccus, 956, Encyclopedic Catalogue of Psionic Manifestations in Trollkind and Related Faunas, Volume 6, p.4-13, Never published.
Short Story:
You stand before a large orchard. Behind you is an ornate gate of black metal. Forward, on the other side of the orchard, looms a dark, dark mansion. So dark it could disappear with just the gloom of the dusk. As soon as you passed through the gate, this one Sea Dweller came out of the mansion and started walking towards you. You thought you'd wait around, you know how much these jackasses care about manners and whatnot, but the little shit sure is taking his sweet time. You've been here about 15 minutes and he's barely gotten closer. You're pretty sure he stopped to prune one of his trees at some point. So, what the hell, you lean back against a tree and take out your machete. He sends you a death glare like he thinks you're gonna start hacking at his trees or something. If bitch had objections, bitch shouldn't have been 300 meters away. The base of the blade is made of flint, so you knock a piece of steel on it and use the spark to light your cigarette. That's all you need it for, man. You put it back and he mellows out. Good to know you exist, at least.
Another 30 minutes pass where you're just chillin. You've been hopping planet to planet throughout the outskirts of the empire trying all the different cigarettes you could get your mitts on, and you gotta say, these ones are preeetty good. The way the smoke kinda grips at your throat, then lets go, like scratching an itch your hands could never reach. What was it, Xoribon-, Xorabok-, Xoripokics? You can't read the shit that's on the box. Anyways, Solid A-Tier to whatever it's name was. Not quite on the level of the Artisanal Cadaczan Ballots in S-tier, now there's the ultimate form of tobacco. As for Troll Cigs, of course, most of them belong in the F tier. They take a larva, dig a hole in it, stuff it with random chemical products and call it a day. They don't even wrap it or anything, pretty sure one of them you tried had plastic glitter in it. Absolute disgrace. The olives got some good shit, but half the time it's laced with some crazy bullshit that'll send you to death's door. That's how it is with your species, they've got no vision, no artistry, and when they ever do it's a shallow attempt at upping numbers on a—
"I trust you are Maipur Lenote."
You turn your head towards towards the haughty aristocrat who finally finished his mosey. What, is this bitch being impatient now?
"That's me"
"Your earlier taunt was in quite bad taste. Do not do it again."
You pull out the machete and turn the flat of the blade towards him so that he can clearly see where the metal turns to rock.
"It was no taunt, sir. This is all i've got on me to light a cig. I don't carry lighters, y'see, makes it too easy for some psions out there."
Lies. You doubt he'll buy it, but set a trap and you might catch a prey, set a hundred and you surely will. The aristocrat frowns.
"Irrelevant. Walk with me."
Damn, this guy's bossy. You put out your cigarette on your fireproof jacket and stuff it in your pocket. You might be a killer, but you're no litterer. The violetblood begins to walk and you follow.
"I've heard formidable stories about you. Taking on entire groups at once, taking on highbloods, taking on powerful psions and weaponmasters alike."
They always start with that. You don't know why they think you'd be flattered to hear that. You don't know why they think you're proud of killing hundreds.
"I've also heard you're an aficionado of the arts, a master of painting, gardening, scenic landscaping. Remarkable."
Ok, well, now you're blushing a little. He gestures to the fruit trees all around.
"As you see, I am something of botanist myself. My collection collection contains specimens from all over the galaxy, and beyond. I hear this one is even from another universe altogether."
He stops and points to a tree filled with red berries.
"I do know the claim sounds far fetched, but i do not believe it is not unfounded as i obtained the saplings from one man of great wisdom and class. Not the kind to spout petty lies. Have you met him, perchance?"
Bro bought some random tree marked up from a scammer in fancy clothes. You swear, violets are so easy to trick. You just shrug as an answer and he seems content with it.
He reaches his arm into his long cape and draws out a pair of pruning shears. A classic trick, hiding one's hands to pretend you're getting an item from physical storage when really you're just pulling it out of your strife deck or sylladex. If anything it gives you more information than he gains. Bad move, bitch. He uses the shears to prune a branch filled with berries and hands it to you.
"It's unfortunate, had you arrived half a season earlier you could've seen it in its flowering state. It blooms with bright pink petals that fall with the sway of the winds. Quite the regal sight. Care for a sample?"
Bitch. You just like calling this guy a bitch. In your mind. He has a really callable-a-bitch face. But anyways, you accept and captachalogue the branch. Then you reply:
"To be honest, i didn't think you called me here to talk about this type of work."
"Ah, yes. I suppose it is for 'work' that i have let you enter the premises. So tragic how rarely 'work' aligns with 'interest'."
You both resume walking. You thought he was going to continue with something, but he just keeps walking in silence and looking at his trees. Now piping back in is awkward, but you do it anyway.
"You want me to kill someone."
"Hmm, no, not exactly. There is a group. More a ragtag posse of societal rejects than any sort of real organization. Their leader stole one of my ships and now they are traversing the cosmos, tracking an item we wish to have for ourselves. For my part i wish nothing more than to see him charred husk on the floor, but..."
He hesitates.
"My moirail, you see, used to be matesprit with him. And well, with all the pale affection i have for her in my collapsing and expanding bladder based aquatic vascular system, objectively speaking, she is... Shall we say...
Batshit fucking insane, on her better days. She would have his legs cut off at the knee and nailed to the ground, the lids of his eyes surgically removed so that he may never avert his gaze, and then all of his good friends slowly killed off in front of him while he begs with the regret of having ever 'betrayed' her. Or so she says."
You really wish you could take or dismiss jobs based on morality sometimes, but that's not a luxury that's often affordable when one is in the business of contract killings. You've got a lot of people on your tail, especially right now, and if you want to live another sweep you're going to need the cash and means this guy is willing to part with.
"Well, i'm not asking you to go so far. Just making sure most of them die will be enough. Personally, i'm interested in however much closer you can bring us to the aforementioned item. Find us even an inch of information and you shall have rewards beyond value"
Fancy nobles and their metaphorical ramblings. What could he possibly have to give better than Money. You keep walking towards the mansion in silence. You'd like to think the years have toughened you, molded you into this hard-boiled lethal mercenary that knows no pity and no remorse and yaddi yaddi yadda, but the truth is it still sticks to you. The screams of agony, of visceral hate, even from people who would laugh doing the same. You hate things that stick to you. Sometimes you wish a great wave of death would swoop away through the galaxy and wash away every troll and their starships clinging to the void of space and let them crash down on the sun and planets all around. And only you would be left. Civilizations of the entire universe would cheer and start anew. They'd make art and products more beautiful and pleasant than your entire species has even tried to produce in the thousands of years of its slaughterous existence. And you'd be left jumping from planet to planet, seeing it all, trying as much as you can with the time in this world that is actually yours to u—
"May i ask a question?"
Ugh, hasn't he talked enough?
"Shoot"
"There are millions of low bloods, fighting and killing each other, right now and at any given moment. No doubt you've been amongst them at one point. But where they have confronted death twice, thrice, maybe a dozen times, you've met countless more foes, some outclassing you in number, in sheer strength, in psionics. What is it that makes it you came out on top, and they perished?"
You consider answering with something stupid, that a noble would like, like "idk, i guess i'm just better", but in your walk, obnoxiously slow though it was, you've grown just a smidgen of respect for the man and his strange passion for arboreal botany. Here you were, thinking shit about your species' sense of artistry, might as well say something worthwhile.
"I think it's just luck. No matter how skilled, strong and prepared you are, at the end of the day you enter a battle with some amount of unknown information. Everyone risks death, i've just been lucky enough to hit twelve on every roll of my d—"
"WRONG!"
His scream makes you take a step back. Shadow hits your face. Dusk has set. The sun is now behind the Mansion.
"It is because you are better, Lenote!"
Its mass cannot be distinguished from its shadow which has now passed your head and runs ever deeper from whence you came.
"Highbloods are stronger than Lowblood, Psions are stronger than Mundanes, Number is stronger than being alone."
You now realize that at some point the man shifted from leading the walk to walking besides you. He takes a step closer to you, or so you think. It's too dark, you can't be sure.
"And you, Maipur Lenote, could come all this way to my doorstep because your talent with the flame and the blade, because your cunning as killer, it allowed you survive even without those cheap advantages of circumstances."
You could swear he has gotten taller. But you could not, you cannot see. You hear movement from where he is, but it's not his, it's something else. Is there a beast there, with him, in the shadows? An alien? Why would it not sneak up from behind you? Throughout this talk you've been certain you could kill him with relatively little risk if need be, but now you're not so sure.
"We ask this job of you, Maipur Lenote, not because you are some petty mercenary. But because you are an Artist. with Death."
It's lunging towards you. You take out your machete and swing in the air. You hit nothing. You equip your Giant Paintbrush and the steel plate under its hairs is hit by the flint of the machete. Sparks fly. It ignites the tar coating your brush. Light again.
He is just standing there. Normal Sized. No beast anywhere. Nothing lunging at you. Just a bitch with a smug face while you're flipping the fuck out.
"Is there a problem, Maipur Lenote?"
"Uh, yeah, it's dark as shit in here. I was just getting us some light."
"Ah, I see. I happen to have excellent nocturnal vision, so i don't always notice these things. My apologies."
Excellent nocturnal vision my ass, you think. His pupils were completely undilated, there's no way he could see shit in there. Finally, you reach the manor's patio.
"We have arrived."
He opens the door and signals you to get in.
"Come on in, the rest of The Court is eagerly awaiting to meet you."
"You're not gonna ask me to leave my weapons at the door?"
"Of course not, we have manners."
You step through the doorframe. As the doors closes behind you, you think back to your talk with that man. Or rather, the one he has had with you. You think that, in your little game furriers, you might have ended up the prey.
Excipit: Gods damn, i love writing. You forget how fun this shit is when you start thinking about how you "should write" instead of actually doing it. I've cut the Lusus and Personality section. The former, i think i'm doing away with since it's not relevant most of the time. Ajiana Carcha (this guy) had a very weak mosquito-type lusus who died from getting crushed/killed when he was pretty young. It broke his heart really badly </3. That's enough lusus info, imo, maybe i'll integrate it into Physicality for future posts. Personality i'm not doing away with, but when you've got such an extensive short story, plus for an antagonist who you generally want to keep mysterious more than a protagonist, i think it's not necessary. I dream of a day where i'll be able to just say stupid non-sequiturs in the Excipit. Instead most of it is taken up on the actual subject of the post. Ugh, so annoying.
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