#I BETTER SEE MY QUEEN SSOON

[leowifefang]

isurd <3333333 the guy ever..........

[chuckling-chemist]

Extra 2: Crowning

((This was the already planned extra, as like last year I wanted to actually write something to have to do with the crowning. I realize it’s late but I finished it at like 1:30 a.m. and wanted to actually sleep. Honestly pretty straightfoward in all sense. Like I said in the tags of the last one, not nearly as dark.))

“Esteemed guests of the 12th Perigee Ball, may I please have your attention for the moment I’m certain many of you have waited eons for!”

It took some time, but with the quieting of the band, so too did the crowd of trolls scattered throughout the ballroom. A flashy tealblood dressed poet’s shirt decorated in a teal, double breasted vest and ascot, pranced up to the stage. The faux feathers attached to the vest moved the barest bit, enough so no one watching them too close would make unfortunate presumptions about the construction of his suit. Zamiir Paradi, the host. Who else deserved to announce the prestigious winners?

The stage lights centered on him. He pulled a gold-adorned envelope out from his sleeve dramatically, flourishing it underneath the bright lights to give it a shimmer. A wide smile graced his face as he scanned the letter.

“It appears this sweep, our winners are the gorgeous model Ferroc Lutris and stunning Grubtube star Kinesa Mamono!”

The crowd exploded into uproarious applause before Zamiir had the chance to request it. They were celebrities, well-liked and even better-known. For them to win was only natural.

Still, a seadweller and brownblood hung against a wall, eyeing the winners graciously taking center stage suspiciously. The brownblood wore a short, loose bright red dress that draped around her knees with a black tie around the back holding the whole thing together. Mayola wore the same outfit. She’d gotten too attached to the dress.

“You know who they hell they are?” Valeba asked. She hated to admit she focused on such a frivolous crowning as much as she did, but after the events of the early morning she needed the distraction. If she focused too much on the world outside sanitized highblood life, she might go crazy.

“Uh...the tacky jade’s a model. Think I’ve heard Ace drop his name once or twice whenever she bitched about them. No idea about the other jade though. Guess she’s Internet famous? For whatever that’s worth.” Mayola shrugged helplessly. Valeba could tell Mayola was doing the same as her, trying so damn hard to ignore the stupid riots. “Then again, guess if she weren’t famous we wouldn’t be seein’ her here, huh?”

“Guess not.” She crossed her arms. Dontoc had told her all about last sweep, when two lowbloods won. She’d even drummed up some excitement to see it happen again. Oh well. Who knows, maybe the rebellions scared them.

The two watched silently as the whole crowning ceremony started up. No matter how much she focused, the only things returning to her vision was what she saw on the screen. Did they not know here? Or did they just not care?

Mayola glanced slyly over at Valeba. She must’ve been thinking the same thing. “Ya know...if we dip now, everyone’ll be too busy to notice royalty slip away.”

Those were the best words Valeba heard all night. “Oh God, yes.”

The two trolls accepted their crowns, both equally decorated in diamonds that sparkled underneath the lights. Zamiir managed to slide Kinesa’s on without much work, the two trolls being almost matched perfectly in height. Ferroc’s crown troubled them more. The jade ended up taking a kneel, dipping his head to let the host place it atop his head. It rested just above his horns. The two crowns weren’t identical, but they were close enough.

“Two jades, eh? Interesting. They even look matching, just like everyone else. Maybe I can get in and talk to them. Get an interview about why they think they won,” Gonzor said. Not a single piece of his attire from last night changed. He liked it. The colors looked good on him, he thought. They drove attention away from other, less Empire friendly aspects about himself. Not even his position much changed. He sat at the bar, away from all other trolls to observe the spectacle safely from a distance.

The bartender gave him a cold smile. “Good luck with that one. I’m sure once they realize who you are, any interest in drumming up notoriety will disappear in a snap.”

Gonzor laughed. The longer he was here, the more he relaxed. Better than the alternative, anyway. “Ah, they’ll never know. Trolling Stone’s pretty underground all things considered, and my artist isn’t here to completely fuck up my chances.”

The bartender smiled coldly at him. “Perhaps. But they’re smart. Business trolls tend to be, of course. I’m sure they’d pick up on whatever intent you have.”

“Eh, maybe. Who knows. Most trolls don’t if ya think about it.” Gonzor pushed his sunglasses up, keeping light green eyes obscured from the bartender. “Do you know?”

The bartender only took a cursory glance at Gonzor before he answered. “You’re a reporter. Paparazzi most likely. An oliveblood looking to write a juicy article on the celebrities here to achieve a blip of fame. They’re the only ones who come here.”

He grinned. “Sounds about right. That’s all Trolling Stone is, after all. Just another plain tabloid.”

Oh, how wrong he was.

The band started softly, with little more than the percussion tapping off a basic rhythm to keep the tealblooded singer on tempo. Dontoc glanced up from reading a host of frantic messages from Pallia on his palm husk just long enough to catch the Ball King and Queen collect on center stage to dance. That was something they did, apparently. A cute concept, even if it wasn’t much his thing to try to win himself. The whole thing also kept Careen off his back, which let him message Pallia to affirm he was perfectly safe sorry for taking so long, ask what on Alternia she was talking about, and if she was okay or if he placed undue stress taking so long. He only hoped she saw it soon.

“They’re just so deserving, don’t you think? Better than last sweep, anyway.” Careen sighed, resting a cheek in her hand. “How fitting that a glamorous fashionista and a model get paired up to feel like seadwellers for a night. Sure they’re jadebloods, but jadebloods are just so special in our society.”

Dontoc chuckled. “I suppose I shall take your word for it; however, I am afraid I do not know who they are.” Careen’s disappointed expression made his own pleasant one evaporate immediately. “Ah...forget I said anything,” he added.

“I didn’t think you voted for them though. Or wait, did you?” Atenic asked curiously. “After all, you’ve always preferred two trolls of the same or similar caste together!”

Careen answered with little more than a scowl thrown in Atenic’s direction. She turned back toward the scene at the center of the floor, enraptured by the glittering gold and colorful patterns the two had. The perfect distraction for him to catch his palm husk’s message from Pallia before it buzzed. don’t worry about it. you’ll be at ssandyhorn tomorrow right? I can explain then. jusst glad you’re ssafe :)~

Yes, I Should. For Once, I Shαll βe Home For 12+h Perigee.

Dontoc paused with a frown. The message felt like it...missed something. He looked up for a brief second to scan the table. Whatever he wanted to send, he didn’t want them watching. Careen, naturally still seemed completely unconcerned with him. Atenic stared longingly at the two trolls on the dance floor while she absently pushed crumbs around her plate with a fork. Sireot and Pereon were nowhere to be found. He only imagined Pereon had somewhere better to be. No one here noticed him. Not that he could blame them, all the glittering gems and gold jewelry reflecting from the lights managed to distract for a second until he remembered there was something more interesting.

Reαlly, I Miss You +erribly, Pαllia. I+ Shαll βe A Relief +o See You Once More.   

He stared at the message. Was it too much? He hoped not. It felt right to say, but he’d been wrong before. Then again, in direct concern with Pallia, they’d been mostly on the nose as of late.

With a slow breath, he hit send. No point going back now.

Her response was equal parts instant and gratifying, slowing down his already racing heartbeat. Figures of all trolls, Pallia would know better than to leave him in wait.

missss you too. leasst i get to sssee you ssoon?

Sooner +hαn βo+h Of Us An+icipα+e, If We Are Lucky.

The song ended on a few gentle piano notes. Spotlights turned back off, letting the usual 12th Perigee colored lights take hold of the room again. He looked up to see the two jadebloods laughing as they parted, making a joke of some sort most likely.

Zamiir tapped the microphone on the lapel of his vest. “That’s it for the 12th Perigee King and Queen. Thank you to everyone for participating in the vote! You’re the reason this stunning event stays alive. Happy holidays to all of you!”

The song shifted from a pleasant, upbeat tone to a soft piano piece. Whatever hold the song and dance had on Careen released her, and she turned back around to the table. “Dontoc, dearie, we should dance! We only have until midnight.”

“Indeed we do, Careen.” He thought back to Pallia, imagined her here with him right now instead of Careen, and the smile on his face almost felt genuine. He’d be away from Careen and with Pallia soon, anyway. “May as well take advantage of it while we can.”

[pleasingwords]

The Underworld

In the twelth year of the reign of King Ramesh, Pritya’s husband Ro fell ill with a terrible fever. Pritya stayed by Ro’s side for days at a time, patiently caring for him; but none of the village wise-woman’s remedies aided him, and after two moons, Ro passed away.

Pritya’s parents had often been disappointed in her, but on this occasion they put the past aside. Together with Ro’s family, they performed the ritual mourning, dressed Ro in the traditional clothes and clasped his hands tightly around a pair of coins. Then they left Pritya to mourn him alone.

But she did not stay. Instead, come nightfall, Pritya gathered supplies - a torch, a machete, a handful of change - and set out into the jungle beyond the village.

The trail was dark and overgrown. Even with the dim light of her torch, Pritya would have been hard-set to recognize the way, had she not followed this same path so many times in her youth. All the children had been warned many times against leaving the village, trekking to the abandoned temple, clambering over the skull-covered facade and playing hide-and-seek behind the dark-stained altar. So of course Pritya had delighted in leading the other children to do just that.

Even she, the boldest among them, had never dared to tamper with the huge, round stone door at the rear of the temple’s innermost sanctum. Writing covered it in a dense spiral; Pritya had always imagined that, as the door rolled open, those spinning words would reveal sacred mysteries. But countless years of rain had rendered all the door’s text illegible, and vines now covered its tracks.

Pritya took a deep breath. Then she stepped forward and wedged the blade of her machete behind the door. She shoved with all her might, willing the door to roll open. For a moment it did, rocking forward -

- and then back again, snapping her machete in half.

Pritya stood looking at her broken machete. Then she shouted, furious, “My husband is dead, and you fickle gods would stop me with THIS indignity?” Reversing the machete, she shoved the handle into the crack instead, pulled with a reckless strength - and rolled the door open. Dark steps led into unknown darkness beyond. Pritya did not hesitate before taking them.

It was impossible to tell the passage of time in the darkness. Strange noises rose all around Pritya; the swish of cloth against cloth, leather against stone, somewhere in the indefinite distance. Pritya stared straight ahead, focusing on her anger. Then she bumped into someone.

“Ah!” she said. “Very sorry, sir? - “

There was no response. The dark shape continued to shuffle forward, clenching its fists, ignoring Pritya as she brought her torch close enough to it to reveal the ritual clothing in which it was dressed.

“Honorable dead,” Pritya said, giving a quick bow. “Best wishes in your journey!” Then she hurried forward.

As Pritya descended, a dim red light began to suffuse her surroundings. All around Pritya, she could see more stairways criss-crossing the rough rock of her surroundings, merging and growing like tributaries flowing into a great river. Down all of those stairs came the dead, clothed in their ritual finery, shambling forward in crowds of ever greater density as they approached the bottom. And, there at the bottom...

“Ro!” Pritya cried out, dropping her torch and breaking into a run. He stumbled forward like all the others, staring blindly ahead - but she would know him anywhere. “Pardon me, excuse me,” Pritya said as she shoved her way through the legions of the dead. She had to reach him before-

A vast mass of glittering scales crashed down before her, sending Pritya to a skidding halt. She followed the thing - a tail? - with her gaze, following it upward to its source. Her eyes opened wide.

“Hello, little one,” a smooth voice purred from above. “What brings you here?”

“Honorable Guardian of the Underworld!”, Pritya said, bowing repeatedly. “My husband, Ro, passed away this day. I have come here to bring him back.”

“Why?” the Guardian asked, lazily tilting its head. Light glinted from the crown of jewels on its forehead.

Pritya stopped. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

The Guardian smiled, a wide, toothy grin. “You’ll need a better answer than that,” it said.

Pritya opened her mouth to argue. Then, seeing the Guardian’s tail slither off the path, she paused.

“Eventually,” the Guardian finished. “But it’s no feathers off my wings either way. And besides, I like you.” It yawned. “Go on, now.”

Pritya ran.

Beyond the Guardian, a vast avenue stretched, paved in glittering gold. (Cursed, Pritya knew.) To each side stretched the city of the forlorn dead, home to those who had entered the underworld without the means to pay for passage onward. Cramped and dismal, filled with crowds blindly shuffling past one another… Pritya found it unbearably depressing. She’d felt the same on the one occasion she’d visited a city of the living. Imagine going from one to the other?

Pritya was moving faster than Ro, but the honored dead blocked her movements at every turn, and the Guardian had cost her precious time. By the time she reached the city’s far edge, Ro had already boarded a ferry, rowing its way across the blood-red river Vaitarna.

The banks of Vaitarna were lined with the dead, slowly shuffling toward the waiting ferries. Pritya by now had no hesitation in pushing her way to the front of the nearest queue, slamming a handful of coins into the gloved hand of the waiting ferryman. “Will this do?” she asked.

The ferryman looked at her quizzically, forked tongue slipping in and out of its thin mouth. “Ssure thing,” it said. “Welcome aboard, little lady.”

Pritya stared past him, onto the river. “I’ll double it if you leave immediately,” she said. “No more passengers.”

The ferryman thought about it for a long moment, while Pritya’s teeth clenched involuntarily. Then it turned and slithered onboard the ferry, beckoning Pritya to follow him. “No extra payment needed,” he said. “I’m more interested in the… sstory.”

Only a handful of dead stood on the ferry’s deck; Pritya could see in all directions, from the dwindling city behind them to the strange flying creatures that circled above the red river. After a glance, she ignored all of it, focusing her gaze on the ferry bearing Ro so tantalizingly close to her.

The ferryman made an inquisitive noise, and Pritya started. “I am here for my husband,” she began. “He was a mighty warrior in life, and a fine friend to all who knew him. No man less deserved death.”

“Children?” the ferryman inquired.

Pritya flushed. “Not yet. We had hoped, perhaps, someday…”

“Pity,” the ferryman said. “But in a way, it’s for the besst. You’re still young, no entanglements… you can move on. Why defy the laws of the gods for this one man?”

Pritya had taken time to think after her last encounter. “Duty,” she said. “I am an honorable wife, and a good wife will do anything for her husband. Right?”

The ferryman hissed. “Maybe it’d be better if I jusst turned around now,” it said. “You don’t even sound like you believe that yourself. And you’ll need a better answer than that very ssoon.”

“No!” Pritya said. “I’ve made it this far. I’m not the type to give up!”

“Maybe not,” the ferryman said. “Well - good luck to you, that’s all I can say!”

As the ferry slid into the dock, Pritya leapt off, not even waiting for the ferryman to secure it to its post. Before her stretched yet more stairs, this time leading upward, into a grand palace. Ro shuffled into its skull-bedecked interior as Pritya watched.

“No!” Pritya cried, knocking a pair of wizened figures to the ground as she rushed forward. “I’m so close!”

Beyond the palace entryway lay a great courtyard, a fountain in its center bubbling black fumes. Their vapors were said to grant priceless insights; Pritya rushed past them. Beyond lay a grand corridor, bedecked with paintings of terrible antiquity. And beyond that was the throne room, the heart of the Underworld: the court of the Queen of the Dead.

A hundred feet high she stood, her skin black and smooth as obsidian, a necklace of severed lingams around her chest. With a hundred heads she pronounced judgement, and with two hundred arms she reached out, liberating the dead from the cruelty of existence. As Ro shuffled into place in front of her, the Queen smiled down upon him. Gently, she reached down with one hand and tore the beating heart from his chest. Bringing it high, the Queen grasped the heart with a second hand, and readied herself to tear it apart.

“No!” Pritya shouted.

The Queen’s two hundred arms paused their ceaseless motion. One hundred heads peered Pritya’s way.

“Why, hello, honey,” the Queen said. “What’s your name?”

Pritya bit her tongue. Transfixed by the divine gaze, she forced herself to speak. “P-Pritya, your Divine Majesty,” she said. She went to her knees. Staring at the floor, she said, “That man is my husband. Please - spare him!”

“Which one, honey?” the Queen asked. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Pritya looked up. Nervously, she pointed.

The Queen nodded. She tore ninety-nine hearts apart and devoured them, blood dripping down ninety-nine jaws. The hands before Pritya stood motionless, holding Ro’s heart in their grasp.

“Pritya, honey, I really appreciate you coming all this way,” the Queen said. “I don’t get visitors very often, you know. But there are rules. I am the Queen of the Dead, and I cannot return them to the agony of life without a very good reason. I assume you came with one?”

Pritya watched the Queen rip another ninety-nine hearts from their chests. She gulped. “I don’t know. I’d hoped just getting here would be good enough…” she admitted.

“Honey, honey,” the Queen said. She shook all hundred heads. Blood spattered across the crowd.

“Duty,” Pritya said. “I am a dutiful wife, just as everyone has always taught me I should be. I did everything I was ever asked to do, and more. I subsumed my wishes to my husband’s; I sacrificed for his happiness; and now I have travelled to the depths of the Underworld for him. If there is any justice in this world, you will let him go!”

“Oh, honey,” the Queen sighed. “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard, and I’m the Queen of the Dead.”

“Look - it sounds like you’re better off without this guy. I’ll give you some divine gifts, and you can start a new life, just for you,” the Queen said. “Or, if you really were serious about that stuff... “ She frowned. “Isn’t there some kind of ‘suttee’ pyre you’re supposed to be jumping in around now?”

Pritya gasped, furious. “I loved him, you awful woman!” she cried. “None of my life was of my choosing, and by all rights I should have hated Ro for it. But Ro’s life was set by those around him, too, and he treated me as a fellow warrior, a secret conspirator against the world that took us for granted. He was kind and giving, gentle and funny. He was my moon and my stars, and if a heart beats within your chest, you will let him go!”

The Queen sighed.

“Honey,” she said. “If love were enough to spare men from death, not a single heart would ever pass these hands.” And her grip tensed.

“Wait!” Pritya said.

“What now?” the Queen asked.

“Just… hold on,” Pritya said. “I need one more minute to think.”

“Sure,” the Queen said, her voice kind. “Take your time.”

Pritya thought.

“What was the last time someone worshipped you?” she asked. “I mean, voluntarily, full-time? Not just, oh, Queen of Death, please spare so-and-so this horrid fate?”

“That’s a bit of a sensitive subject,” the Queen said, wrinkling her nose. “Do we really have to go there?”

“Please,” Pritya said.

The Queen thought back. “Oh… two hundred, three hundred years?” she said. “Not sure exactly. Time just flies by when you’re not paying attention…”

“I have a proposal for you,” Pritya said, her thoughts crystallizing. “I will worship you. Full time, voluntarily, your High Priestess in the mortal world. I will restore your temples, gather acolytes to follow you, sacrifice to your glory at every holiday. And in exchange, you will release Ro to me.”

“Let me get this straight,” the Queen said. “I let your guy go, and in exchange… you get a promotion?”

“Take it or leave it,” Pritya said, haughtily turning her back on the Queen. “If you don’t like it… well, I believe I have a ‘suttee’ pyre to set, don’t I?”

Her hands, clasped carefully in front of her, trembled.

From behind her, Pritya heard the Queen laugh.

“Well, ain’t you a ballsy one,” the Queen said. “What the hell. You’ve got a deal, honey.”

Pritya supported Ro for the entire journey out of the Underworld, resting his arm on her shoulder. He seemed purposeless and lost for most of the trip, his chest still visibly raw and red through the tear in his robes. As they ascended the stairs back toward the surface, though, his stance began to straighten, and color returned to his cheeks. He began to mumble groggily, “slurghff… ugh… feel like the walking dead..”

“There’s a reason for that, dear,” Pritya said comfortingly.

“Oh!” Ro said, his head snapping upright. He said very little for the rest of the climb up.

“I’ll want your help for this one,” Pritya said as they reached the surface, stepping carefully over the broken machete left in the entrance. “This door is heavy enough that I could put out my back rolling it shut…”

“Hold on,” Ro said. “My love, my feisty fawn, what you said down there was unbelievable. What you did for me, even more. I am the most blessed of men to know you.”

“But the sacrifice you’re making is more than any woman should be forced to make. To be the priestess of the forbidden Queen of Death? Dedicating the rest of your life to her dark worship? My love, I would give up my life again before I saw you forced into such a grim, joyless existence.” And with that Ro made a move to turn back toward the darkness.

Pritya caught his arm with her hand, turning her back toward him. She was grinning. “My love, my darling doe, you’ve gotten it all wrong. Becoming the priestess of Death isn’t a punishment. This is what I was born for!”

“Oh,” Ro said.

“Now, come on,” Pritya said, putting her shoulder to the door. “Once we get back, we’ll need to figure out how best to reveal your rebirth - the first miracle of the Queen of Death needs to be splashy, obviously. Of course we’ll also need to get some paraphernalia… sacrificial knives, a properly terrifying skull mask, ooh, and perhaps some severed lingams…”

As Ro traipsed back to the village, following in Pritya’s footsteps, he could swear he could hear a deep, rumbling laughter coming from somewhere far below.