One of the major things about being in the troll society was not showing weakness or bother. So when the troll spat in your face, you didn't even flinch. You continued to hold your glare on him, piercing through his skull like pins and needles. A low growl is wrenched from your throat, and without thinking, you raise your fist and deliver a nice, hefty blow to his face.

And it promptly knocks him the fuck out.

"Oh, shit," you mutter as the troll turns limp. You let him go and he crumples on the ground. Okay. Probably shouldn't have let him go. Swiftly, you hook your arms underneath his armpits and start pulling him back toward Lucy's house. Good thing it's the next house over.

You heave him inside -- the humans never lock their doors -- and place him on the couch. "Lucy?" you call. A muffled reply comes from the kitchen. You make your way there and run into her in the hallway.

"What's up?" she asks, looking over your shoulder. Her eyes widen in surprise. "Another troll?"

"I kind of knocked him out."

You are about to formulate a sentence and tell this troll to use his mother grub corn shucking think pan, when you see him raise his fist. You put up your arms to protect yourself, but you're too slow, and the impact knocks your head back against the brick wall. You gasp, and for a moment, you see––and somehow feel––stars, before feeling yourself going limp and hitting the ground. After that, everything is black. You're probably dead.

But when you come to––well, you're only slightly awake, and you feel like you're made of lead––you're laying on something soft. Like a nest or something. Your head feels like it's about to explode in on itself like a star at the end of its life, or something.

"Grrhhh," you grunt, and then you snort, because snorting comes naturally to those raised by hoofbeasts. Everything is blurry. You are in a stranger's hive, and if not already deceased you probably will be very soon. Your heartbeat picks up again. The urge to get the heck out takes over, and you roll out of the strange nest, attempting to stand up. A wave of horrid vertigo hits you and knocks you down. This time you don't hit a soft nest. You exhale sharply and claw at the floor. There's no way out of this until you get your strength back, and that isn't looking likely.

"You knocked another troll out and brought him to my house?!" Lucy screeched, making you wince and raise your hands in defense. You glance back at the troll. He's stirring, but for the time being he seems to still be unconscious.

"I couldn't leave him there!" you insist, expression pleading. "I mean, what was I supposed to do?! What if he'd died?"

"Trolls die all the time from murder whether intentional or not, as far as I know!"

"Not by me, they don't!"

"Grrhhh."

You pause and notice Lucy turn rigid as well. Inhaling deeply, you squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment before looking at the human in front of you and desperately saying, "Please tell me that was your stomach."

Lucy shakes her head, nodding forward. A clear indication for you to look over your shoulder. When you do, it's just in time to watch the troll snort like a hoofbeast and then tumble to the floor. He starts clawing, as if temporary blinded, at the wood. "Oh boy," you say, putting a hand to your face before cautiously approaching the troll. "Hey guy," you mutter, "Listen. Might not wanna move around too much. I think you've got some serious injuries, and I really don't want to be the one to put you out of your misery in the sense of, you know, culling you. Let me help you."

Someone is shouting, and it makes your head throb with pain. You regain some of your wits from your place on the floor for long enough to realize that the troll who had knocked you out and put you in this situation in the first place is talking to you. You swallow and force yourself to listen, looking up and also forcing yourself to make defiant, defensive eye contact as he speaks. You hope that it conveys that you still have fight left, that if he tries to put his hands on you again he will regret having not culled you earlier like he very much could have.

"Don't come near me," you finally snarl with only partial coherence. "I––I don't know what game you're playing," you add, with a wary glance at the nearby human. "Especially being here. But if you lay a disgusting claw on me one more time, I am going to rip off your shame-globes and shove them right down your protein-chute."

How long has it been? Your lusus is probably worried sick.

You recoil when the troll drunkenly snarls at you, withdrawing your hand because you half expected him to bite you. When you turn your head, you notice Lucy standing over you, peering down at him. "Did you beat him like that?" she mutters, and you wince.

"It's not like I meant to. Look what he did to me," you scoff, pointing at your steadily blackening eye, which was throbbing rather harshly. "Plus, he got trapped in the tunnel I come through. I had to...I had to break some of the wall," you mutter the last part. Lucy very obviously pretends she didn't hear you.

"Look," you say, turning your attention back to the injured troll. "Okay, let me help you get back home. Or something. You're pretty fucking messed up. Sorry about that. You shouldn't have charged me like you did, though. I mean, seriously. I understand we're all kinda hostile and you know, all about survival and shit, but I was minding my own damn business! I-"

"Dox, I don't think he's gonna be able to keep up with everything you're spewing."

"...Right."

"I don't need your stupid help and I don't need to hear you both call me stupid and fat in front of my ff, shucking face," you spit haughtily, even though the extra effort it takes to raise your voice even just a little bit has left you even more dazed than before. You don't expect to survive for much longer here. You don't even know how you managed to survive this long.

In fact, why the heck did this stranger bring you here instead of just killing you on the spot? Every possibility surges through your head: he has to feed his lusus, and you're fresh meat; he's made an agreement to keep this monstrous human's appetite sated in exchange for keeping his own life; he's simply a sadist and wants to slice you open or play with your organs or something. The new wave of adrenaline brings you to your feet, and you wobble for a couple moments before falling this time.

"What are you going to do," you wheeze, your voice starting to shake.

You look at Lucy and she looks back at you. You're both confused because when did you ever call him stupid or fat? He must be more rattled in the brain from the fight than you anticipated. You don't think it's best to thrust him back out into the troll side of the wall, but you don't know if you can keep him here and risk Lucy or her mother getting hurt. It's an internal conflict for you, that you ponder with your forefinger to your chin as you stare at the injured troll. Your other hand absently shuffled inside your pocket, fingers wrapping around the box with the trinket you'd gotten for Lucy's birthday. Her birthday. Fuck, it's her birthday.

"What are you going to do?" the troll wheezes, his voice shaking pathetically. Your expression softens for a brief moment before you immediately harden it again. Your chest might be panged with something like pity, platonic pity for the love of all that is and isn't holy, but you're not going to let that show.

"I already told you," you say, your voice coming out a little softer than you'd intended. You don't bother to correct it, even though firmness is probably what you need to exhibiting right now. "I can help you get home if you want. You're just...pretty banged up."

You give a shudder and look sharply away, baring your teeth even though they're painfully obviously herbivorous teeth. Molars evolved to grind up cellulose-rich grasses are not very intimidating, and you know it, and this guy probably also knows it. Still, you spit, "I'd rather you just kill me."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter. The guy is relentless in thinking that you mean him any harm. You look up at Lucy.

"Knock him back out," she suggests.

You simply scoff at her in response, then look back at the troll. "I am not going to kill you," you bark harshly, "and I don't plan on hurting you. For fuck's sake, can you get that through your thick, impenetrable think pan?!"

The human suggests to her companion that he knock you out again, and you respond by hissing at her. You suspect that she has something to do with why the troll is here, and is influencing his behavior. Speaking of the troll––he says something that you almost miss. "...For fuck's sake, can you get that through your thick, impenetrable think pan?!"

This time, when you lurch to your feet, you manage to stay there, albeit swaying unsteadily, and you fix the troll with an eye that focuses on his face for only moments before losing focus. You're actually scared that you're going blind or something. Papa Prongs would have no idea what to do.

"I am not letting you anywhere near my hive and I am not down for this corn-shucking budding blackrom you've got going on, partner," you growl.

You sigh and cross your arms, broadening your shoulders. It's obvious that this troll has some kind of paranoia that is intense even for this society. With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and say, "I have no interest in going near your hive and I have no interest in entering any sort of quadrant with you. The only thing I have interest in is making sure you get back to your hive without some kind of fatal injury. Which, it seems like you're perfectly fine."

"I am fine," you insist, even though you really don't know about that. You look away when the strange-looking stranger rolls his eyes, as if you're insane or something. One of the important things about staying alive on Alternia: don't let others know your weakness.

It's a lot easier said than done in cases like this. But you at least deserve credit for trying.

"I'm fine. And I don't need your help."

"Okay then," you growl instinctively, because that's just what you do to trolls. You're much better at controlling your temper around humans. At least, when interacting with them. They're not so sarcastic or hostile. Trolls are. It's in their nature. It's in your nature.

"Feel free to leave."

"I feel so fu– so free right now," you hiss, and just like that, you hobble out the door of this strange hive. You can see some wide pairs of eyes through the windows of other hives, and you do your darndest to ignore them.

It's a lot easier to feel self-conscious when you're doubled over and vomiting, though.

You let out a breath that you didn't know you had been holding. Part of you had been expecting the troll to attack. Then again, if you were in the shape he was in, you don't think you would be attacking either.

Your thought process is interrupted by the sound of retching. You look at Lily, who simply purses her lips at you. It's her birthday, and you're busy taking care of some strange troll that tried to kill you after getting stuck following you into human territory. All you can do is flash her an apologetic smile before darting out of the door.

Hostility and sarcasm is in your nature. But for whatever reason, so is compassion.

You didn't think you'd hurt him that badly. Maybe he has some kind of concussion, though. After all, you socked him square in the nose pretty hard. He didn't wake up for a bit. But you had no idea how to treat concussions, and you weren't about to take him to a human infirmary. Could you? Maybe Lily knew something. Maybe her mom knew something.

"It looks like you still need help," you say sarcastically, instinctively, standing on the porch and looking down at the troll.

This son of a hitch is still following you. It isn't easy to turn around and hiss at someone while you're retching, but you manage it anyway because you have never felt so humiliated and scared and angry and confused in your life. Your eyes are streaming washed-out olive, and your vomit is laced with dark green splotches that might suggest internal bleeding that you don't quite care about right now.

You don't want to trust him. Maybe it's the ridiculous, inexplicable caliginous feelings (inexplicable what?) that surfaced when you fought this troll. Maybe it's just well-placed fear of pretty much all trolls. But your pride hasn't gotten you anywhere. In fact, you're fairly sure it's dead. Plus, maybe letting this dude help you will result in something like your fan fictions.

But definitely not the red half. Never the red half.

"Maybe I do," you say, in a low growl.