This is no more than an idea, a random musing of a whim, I may continue it, I may create a backstory, it depends on the feedback. If I get three reviews asking for anything, or 10 favorites, it shall be continued.
Your name is John, short for Johonn, Egbert, and you have the highest blood color in the lowblood army. And you get endless amounts of shit for it. Eeeeeeeendleeeeeeeess shit.
Your moirail, Vriska, is the only one who shares your status, and she keeps hers a secret. It's the Serket's secret (she punches you every time you make that joke), and she's kept it well. She's started carrying around a normal tinted lens for her glasses which would render them, well, cool-looking sunglasses to help prevent what happened to you from happening to her. That being your eyes turning your blood color freakishly early. As such, endless amounts of shit.
You sighed as you rinsed the cerulean blood off of your body and watched the diluted substance fall into the ablution trap. Quickly bandaging your ribs, shoulder, ankle, and wrist, you pulled on your casual clothes and hid your limp as you slipped into the raucous rationblock. You quickly grab your appetizing nutrition cubes before joining Vriska at your usual, and completely empty, table.
"Eg8ert. Not a8andoning me, are you? Why, you're thirty seconds l8!" You've definitely been hanging around her too much. You've even started imagining her eights into her speech. You should probably work on that.
"Never, my most beautiful moirail. The sheer thought terrifies me. How could I, lowly servant to you, Serket, ever live without your charitable support?" She smiled and punched you in the arm. You exaggerated the wince to make it seem fake and laughed with her. You were both being somewhat ridiculous, but there was almost always a layer of truth behind your words. In this case, you being late usually meant that you'd been waylaid by one of your 'welcoming parties,' to which you lied in your own weird way that you were fine and joked about the truth. You both needed each other more than you cared to admit and neither of you were even sure who was the stabilizer in your cozy little group of two.
"Well, my nookwhiffing slave, I kindly invite you to share this glorious feast with me!" She made a grand gesture towards the tasteless white cubes that you were fed.
"Why, oh most royal highness, I may have to test your food for… poison!" At which point you grabbed one of her cubes and shoved it into your mouth. Scowling, fangs digging slightly into her unpainted lip (it's not like there were luxuries like lipstick anymore), she narrowed her eyes at you before suddenly springing into your lap and wrapping her legs around your stool's leg. Triumphantly grinning (though you couldn't see much through the ridiculous hair of hers), she plucked one of your ration cubes out of your tray and chewed on it, savoring the "fl8vor of victory." It's not like those things could possibly taste like anything else.
Joking and laughing, you finished eating before wandering up to your shared respite block. She resumed her earlier position on top of you and turned on your shitty TV to watch shitty movies on your shitty couch. Everything you own has been seen hundreds of times, but it was more of a comfort thing than anything else. At some point you lay down, still smothered in a blue-blooded blanket of messy black hair, and, ignoring the unwelcome pressure on your ribs, fell asleep.
Of course, you woke up minutes later held down by your- ow- wrists and- fuck- ankles as you thrashed wildly on the floor, the usual spatters of rainbow blood and gruesome deaths haunting your mind. Once the sleep-rage wore off and both of you were breathing somewhat normally, she pulled her petite, in comparison to yours, form off of you and brushed herself off.
"Thanks, Vris." You panted from the ground.
"You getting up, bulgemuncher?" The disheveled troll grunted, looking down at you.
"Nah, I'm good." Rolling her eyes, she climbed on top of you, again.
"You wanna talk about it?" she rarely displayed this side of herself, and always only around you. She may not be known as a blueblood, but hanging around one doesn't ever do much for anyone in the social department.
"Care explaining the bandages?" she ground out with a raised eyebrow and one visible eye flicked towards the upset neckline of his shirt.
You sighed, "We both know I know you know exactly what happened."
"Who do I have to kill?" she growled.
"Vriska, no. You know that I'm perfectly capable of killing practically every single one of the nubslurpers, but you also know why I put up with this. Why you put up with this." She knew you had a point and rolled off of you. You winced and she noticed. In a moment, your shirt was ripped off exposing your decently muscled, and somewhat mummified, upper body.
Sitting, you sighed again, "Before you tear my pants off, there's nothing down there besides a couple of bruises and a cracked ankle, not major and properly wrapped. Also, if you wouldn't mind just asking, it'd be great. I'm starting to run out of shirts."
She remained wordless as she carefully unwrapped his bandages, exposing torn flesh and blue bruising. Her fingers ran lightly over and around the injuries, taking in the damage. You remained perfectly as feather-light brushes traced claw marks and cracked ribs, forming delicate patterns among the bruises. A head came to rest on your neck as arms wrapped around your shoulders and you pulled them into you, resting your head on her wrists.
It was a simple act of comfort, but it meant so much more. It meant Don't worry, it meant I'd rip their faces of given half the chance, it meant Are you okay, it meant I'm here, it meant I'll never leave you, it meant promises for the future, it meant I'll make you better, it meant Don't go, it meant You'll be safe, it meant Please, it meant everything they felt wrapped up into a tiny little ball, it meant I love you.
It was moments like these, amazingly simple, but so much more complex, calm, but bursting with emotion , moments when you realize the Vriska is the only troll you'll ever be happy with, the only thing tying you to this world, to sanity, that you truly feel the depth of it. Of your life, of her, of the bond you share.
There's no one else for either of you, only one person you can trust, only one person that you can ever just let down your barriers to and just flood them with feelings and tears and let all you troubles wash away with each breath taken in sync. She's your anchor as much as you are hers, and, without each other, this world, these people, would burn. You'd tear them to shreds before tearing yourself apart. Without each other, there'd be no John, no Vriska, without each other, there'd just be two hopeless trolls lost in a war, faceless cannon fodder that wouldn't have any reason to stick around. Without each other, a little piece of anger wouldn't just whisper away with each exhale, until everything slowly dissolved into an flowing sate of tranquility. Without each other, blue tears and blue smiles wouldn't shine in the dim lighting of their respite block. But then and there, in their tiny cramped living space with its shitty furniture and bad lighting aboard a ship of people who hated them stuck in a war against some of the strongest beings in existence, with each other, existence didn't seem so bad.