The Want to be an Individual

“Ok!”  

Gendal blinked, the action hidden behind the thick, coloured lenses of his glasses, turning back to face the other purple-blood taking up space within his hive.  

“Ok?”  

Pavlov was seated upon the communal lounging platform, smile directed down at the hop-beast like lusus that was currently attempting to chew apart the bright colours of his mismatched vest, matching the rest of the clown’s clothing and general appearance; bright, mismatched and colourful to an extreme, a complete opposite from Gendal himself and the appearance of his hive; darker, more respectable and put together.  

If not for the shade of purple of his glasses and some of his clothing, it would be easy to assume that they were of different blood castes from the first glance, just how Gendal preferred it.  

If the troll Gendal Ribdom could be as separated as possible from the reputation and connotations associated with his blood caste then he would be more than content.  

Unfortunately, there were just things that couldn’t be true no matter how much one wanted them to be and for Gendal it was the rest of Alternia’s initial reaction to the purple he wore.  

But that was fine enough, easy to deal with and ignore. Just because the rest of the world saw him one way at first didn’t mean he truly was that thing at his core. Something

that was more than obvious when more than a singular moment was taken to look him over or interact with him in any way, or so he felt.  

“I think!” Gendal blinked, forcing himself back to the conversation at hand and the troll seated on his communal lounging platform from the distraction he’d allowed himself around the safest and least cull-thirsty of his blood caste. Pavlov was still petting his lusus, painted nails digging into soft fur, head tilted as he thought through whatever was running through his head. “That as long as you think you’re happy with what you’re doing then I’m happy for you!”  

It was said in Pavlov’s usual tone of bright, cheery obliviousness, the troll making it more than apparent how little he actually understood what Gendal had just gotten through explaining to him. In great, minute detail.  

The clown continued to prove himself to be a wonderful conversation partner.  

At least he was proving to be more reasonable about this then the others would have been should he have told them, small mercies Gendal supposed. At least Pavlov wasn’t likely to knock him out and drag him back to Church, a best-case scenario if he had spoken to anyone else but this particular clown in question.  

“Thank you,” Gendal decided on, watching Pavlov closely from behind dark coloured lenses as the troll grinned brightly at him, baring his underbite and singular golden tooth. “I am… glad to hear you say so. Thank you for listening to me.”  

“You’re always welcome!” Pavlov returned to focusing down at the lusus in his lap, starting to hum a tune that Gendal was all too familiar with from growing up within the doctrine of the Church.  

A hymn. Something to take comfort and refuge in. Something to remind them all that they were far above the rest of Alternia’s colours for the sheer fact that they could lean on each other for support when they needed it.  

A connection Gendal was wilfully casting aside for something completely new and different from what the Church represented and stood for, everything he’d been schoolfed on.  

The chance to exist as wholly himself, an individual, a singular creature without the Church dictating what he could and could not be. Someone that was him and no one else.  

“You know the others aren’t going to be very happy about this... don’t you?” Gendal lifted his gaze from his blind inspection of the floor back to Pavlov, noticing that the other purple had stopped looking back to him for the first time that night. Pavlov’s voice was pitched softer, quieter, aimed towards the rest of the hive and reaching Gendal’s ears as a product of him being close enough to hear it instead of addressing him directly. “This isn’t really… something that ever happens. Usually, the only way to get out of the Church is to be thrown out and…”  

And they were both more than aware of what happened to those that were thrown out.  

“I am more than aware, yes,” Gendal sighed heavily, slumping against the wall at his back, head tilting backward until he was facing the ceiling over their heads, eyes unfocused and looking at absolutely nothing. “It is just something I will have to deal with further down the tracks.”  

There’s a stiff, heavy silence for a few moments afterward and Gendal drops his head forward to return his attention to Pavlov. The clown was staring intently at the floor in front of him, hands halted on the lusus’ fur, teeth biting into his upper lip and dyed brows drawn into a tight furrow.  

He waits for the other to work up to being ready to continue, as patient as he could make himself be.  

“I hope,” he feels himself stiffen at the unnatural hesitance of the clown’s voice, tension filling his entire form and breath stopping in his lungs. “That they aren’t too unkind to you, when they do find out about all of this.”  

“You are going to distance yourself from this then.” A statement, ringing hollow in its finality.  

Silence. Expected but no less disappointing in its reality.  

“I see then.”  

Pavlov snapped towards him, though his eyes remained focused anywhere but at  Gendal’s face. “Don’t be like that now!” He was pleading with him now, trying to get  Gendal to see and accept his side of the situation. “You really can’t expect—”  

“You are right.” He cut the other troll off before the excuse could be given voice and substance. “I really could not expect you to stand by me after this, regardless of our prior history with each other.” Really he shouldn’t have expected anything other than that, clowns stuck together, after all, wasn’t that the most obvious thing he was leaving behind by permanently removing the paint from his skin?  

Of course Pavlov wouldn’t stay. He wouldn’t risk ostracizing himself from the rest of the Church, not when he had the rest of his life ahead of him and nothing to gain from doing so.  

Gendal understood why Pavlov would choose to cast their friendship aside and leave him to his fate, but that didn’t mean he was pleased with the other troll’s decision all the same.  

Gendal turned his face away from the frown his former friend was giving him. “I would appreciate it if you were to leave now.”  

“Gendal—”  

“Please. I have things I need to prepare for and you should get back before they start to miss you.”  

Endings were best completed as quickly as possible, no need to linger on things that had already been decided upon.  

It wouldn’t do either of them any good.  

~  

One seven-night cycle.  

That’s all Gendal had before one of them came looking for him.  

Honestly it was longer than he’d been expecting. Perhaps Pavlov hadn’t immediately told the rest of the Church his decision? He could only guess.  

Unfortunately there wasn’t anything that could stop the Church from discovering his choice and sending someone in to check in on him. Which was how he found himself stopped by a most unwelcome presence on his way hive from rehearsals one night, close enough to dawn to be considered a bit on the risky side to not be planning on heading inside.  

Gendal wished that it was anyone but the clown standing in front of him, grinning at him with its wild and unkempt appearance, closer to feral than he’d ever imagined a troll being able to be.  

Really, if The Sweet Sister had to have sent someone after him, why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Someone that wasn’t prone to random, meaningless culling at the very least.  

But no, instead she’d sent them. Just lovely.  

Exactly what he needed in his life.  

And of course they had to make themselves known by dropping down from somewhere above Gendal’s head and planting a foot into his chest to send him falling to the ground, standing on his chest once they landed and grinning down at him with their sharp teeth bared in a wicked, manic grin.  

“Now what a we got here?” The words were a mix between a cooing purr and a rumbling growl, rough and dangerous to his ears. The clown was staring straight down at Gendal, watching him with amused eyes as he struggled in vain under their foot, lips pulled back to show off far too many of their teeth. “Sweet little motherfuckin sheep gone and got himself piper’d ‘way from being a right proper respectable motherfuckin part of the flock. Motherfuckers been culled fa less, ya know?”  

“Get… off of me,” Gendal gasped out, hands wrapped around the clown’s ankle in an attempt to dislodge it from where they were crushing his ribs.  

The clown just ignored his rasping command, rolling their eyes as they pressed their foot down harder onto the center of Gendal’s chest. “Ain’t real thinkin ya be deservin it, little black sheep.”  

He gasped under the increase in pressure, sure he felt something crack within the hollow of his chest, and dug his own artificially rounded nails into their skin. He kept his eyes open though they were still obscured from the clown’s view, knowing better than to even dare to take them off of the clown over him for a second.  

Temivo Naspio had earned their place amongst The Sweet Sister’s favour after all, unfailingly ruthless in their actions and driven in completing whatever task she set out for them in the name of the Church. Temivo was more than a simple danger. Even to those higher than them on the hemospectrum.  

“Get off—”  

“Alright”  

Gendal barely has a moment to prepare before Temivo is moving, lifting their foot from his chest and allowing him to drag an easy breath into his lungs, a breath he chokes upon in his body’s eagerness to take the air into his lungs. He turns on the ground, getting his knees under him as he coughs and wheezes on the air he’d been so wanting.  

A foolish thing he was already trying to rectify. He needed to turn his eyes back to Temivo to ensure that they didn’t do anything without him preparing for it.  

It took more time than he wanted to admit it did, but he was finally able to calm his lungs enough to focus back on Temivo, the clown rolling their eyes at him once they saw that they had his attention again, mouth twisted in something between a smile and a grimace.  

“Little lost sheep ain’t even able ta play with the big clowns now?” They mocked, snapping their teeth and rolling their shoulders, horns tossing in a display of power and posturing. “Lookit you fallin without us ta be lookin’ out for ya.”  

“Only because of your own efforts,” Gendal grit out, close to snapping back at the other purple if doing so wouldn’t have ended up as a death sentence for him.  

Temivo seemed to catch it though, of course they did. A laughsassin in training, there was no way they’d something like that.  

“Little black sheep rearing for a fight?” They chuckled, one of their claws reaching behind their head and long strands of messy, wild hair to pull a singular club from their back, solid and permanently stained every colour of the hemospectrum. “Don’t worry none, I’ll send ya crawling back to the Messiahs in pieces.”  

“You will never get me to go back to being one of the ‘flock’,” Gendal snapped, glaring at Temivo through the lens of his glasses. He’d had enough of living as a part of a collective unit, he much rather this individual existence now that he knew he was allowed it. “Leave me alone before I force you too.”  

“Little black sheep gotta be out ya mind if ya think imma listen ta anything said by some blasphemous motherfucker.” Temivo scoffed, hands splaying out to either side of them, one open and empty, the other still clutching the bloody club like the most natural thing in the world. Then their face dropped from its mocking smile, a snarl twisting their lips and showing off more of the fangs in their mouth. Their empty hand moved to rest on their hip while the one holding the club lifted to rest on their shoulder. “Disgusting, blasphemous motherfucker thinkin ya got a right ta be talkin at ya better.”  

Gendal stood, limbs finally steady enough to do so as the last of his patience was used.  “That is enough. You need to leave. Immediately.”  

Another scoff, a dismissive toss of Temivo’s horns. “Or what? Ya gonna sing a pretty little dismissal at me, little black sheep?”  

“Or I will ensure that whatever you do is experienced tenfold by your little doll.”  

It’s a threat they both understand, Temivo’s decisions and actions directly tied to the continued well-being of their chained puppet.  

But Temivo didn’t respond like he wanted them to.  

A grin stretches across the clown’s face, wild and manic and showing off far too many teeth for his liking. There’s a fire in their eyes, burning bright with building Chucklevoodoos.  

“Looks like there’s hope for ya yet little black sheep!” He’s unsure how exactly they managed to speak with each of their teeth at once but the feat is accomplished, nonetheless. “Don’t ya worry none, you’ll be back where ya supposed ta be soon ‘nough. The Sweet Sister’ll be pleased ta hear that.”  

He freezes, limbs and muscles locking as Temivo cackled like some wild laughingbarkbeast before disappearing as quickly as they appeared..  

That hadn’t been his intention at all. How had they even come to that conclusion?  

Gendal stared at the point Temivo had disappeared from, took a deep breath and turned away from it to continue on his way hive. He wouldn’t tell the others about what had happened to him tonight, there was no need to unnecessarily worry them, after all.  

He needed to meet with The Sweet Sister before he told them anything.  

~  

He puts it off for a number of days, feeling eyes on him wherever he went though he wasn’t able to locate where exactly they were originating or who exactly was watching him so closely and so frequently throughout the night. But he can’t put off the meeting for too long, not if he doesn’t want The Sweet Sister to grow impatient and send someone to retrieve him for a discussion.  

Or the more likely scenario of someone else growing impatient with her disregard and apathy regarding the situation and forces her hand themselves.  

Either way, Gendal found himself walking the familiar path to Church before the sevennight cycle ended.  

The moons were high in the sky, brightly illuminating the night and the forest around him as he traveled along the road, the trees around him large and wild, twisting and turning together in an endless web of branches and trunks. Gendal kept his face turned forward, eyes focused on the path he was taking and not anyone that may or may not have been lingering in the surrounding trees.  

He was there for one thing and one thing only, getting side-tracked was not something he would allow to occur.  

He wanted to be in and out as quickly as he could, entertaining anyone else was part of his plan for the evening.  

The forest opened up suddenly to the Church grounds and it looked as it always had during his younger years, a chaotic, senseless mess of bright colours and hives that didn’t make sense, tents pitched everywhere and blood staining the grounds in an array of dark colours. But where once there would have been a feeling of welcoming, of being accepted and tangled into the fold by the voodoos of the clowns within, now Gendal was overwhelmed by the sensation of threat, danger, unwanted. It was enough to make him pause, stumble in his step and breathe deep to push through it and continue, steps a bit slower and more cautious now that he was treading amongst the tents of the Clown Church.  

No-one stopped or waylaid him on his journey to the central-most tent, though he passed a number of clowns, each painted in white and deep grey to show their devotion to the Messiahs and their connection to each other. It was a terrifying experience, knowing that all of these trolls were against him in a unified front simply due to him not being one of them.  

The tent was open and ready for him to step into, the flap of it falling shut as the Chucklevoodoos that had been scratching at his spine and the back of his neck cut off, leaving him off-kilter in their sudden absence.  

“There you are little lamb.”  

Tancol was seated at the other end of the tent, hands folded upon her lap as she waited for him to take the seat before her, the tiny table between them covered by a cloth of purple embroidered with gold and holding a glass sphere holding a swirling, milky lavender mist within it.  

He chooses not to respond to her words and sees her head shift ever so slightly, an ear twitching under her curving horns to pick up the sound of his shoes on the carpet to follow his approach.  

“Are you not speaking to me today, little lamb?” Then I believe you may find some difficulty in communing.” She continues with a chuckle, low and almost echoing in the tent around them both.  

“I would appreciate if you would not call me that,” she smiled as he broke his silence, fangs gleaming in the low torchlight illuminating the tent. “I am not one of your flock anymore, remember?”  

“Nonsense,” she waves away his words, not caring to hear them or him. “You will always be one of ours, no matter if you choose to be rid of your paint for a time.”  

Gendal’s brow furrowed and he came to a stop next to the chair she had set up and waiting for him, staring at the half of her face that isn’t covered by the sweeping hair of her fringe. “But I do not wish to be. That is the point  of all of this; why you had Temivo attack me a few nights prior.”  

“They do as they wish,” his jaw clenched at the denial, Tancol sweeping the accusation and blame away from herself and back onto Temivo, like the clown was able to make any decision truly their own within the Church. “You cannot expect me to control their every waking thought and decision now, can you? They are free to decide and do as they wish, as are all of us, as are you.”  

“Then why are you so—”  

“You are free to play around with your little hate friends until the harshwhimsies draw you away from your silly little distractions and back into the flock.” She continued, volume and tone as level and sweet as it had been the rest of the interaction, not needing to do anything to overpower him. “Even that hornless cull-bait of yours,” his pumper freezes, clenches tight in his chest. “If that’s what you so desire. The Messiahs have already spoken of your return, we can be patient.” How had she known about that? He hadn’t told anyone about—  

Pavlov.  

“Did you pry that out of him or did he tell you willingly? His jaw was clenched tight, teeth grinding together as he forces the words out from between them, hands fisted at his side.  

Tancol continued to smile at him, peaceful and serene and unconcerned with his growing anger. “It hardly matters how I know, only that I do. But do not worry over things that do not concern you,” she waved her hand again, the swirling mist within the crystal ball in front of her, noticeably following the motion. “She will be dead soon, our intervention or no. You don’t really think they’ll let something like that through the Trails do you?”  

No. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t deluding himself otherwise.  

“I want you to stop sending your clowns to bother me and mine.” He switched back to the reason behind his presence there to begin with, Tancol having already distracted him too much from his original purpose there. It was only supposed to be a quick meeting; get in, state his piece and then leave to resume his own life away from her and the string of the Church. It was that simple.  

But she had to change that, of course she did.  

“Now little lamb,” she chuckled again, the hair of her fringe shifting with the motion enough to show off one of the stitches hidden beneath it, stark, vivid purple against the white of her painted face. Gendal felt his hackles rise, something wispy and freezing gripping the back of his neck, holding him in place and preventing him from moving no matter how much he screamed at himself to do something anything—

“I told you that I don’t control the choices of anyone here, don’t you remember?”