Huntin' Lesson
A pair of thick, pale violet fingers straddled the smooth wooden shaft. The thumb folded in at the softer center of the hand, pointing down at a crippled angle, a thick, flat claw with a slightly rounded-worn point hovering over the palm. He liked to dig.
The claw was a very dark brown, nearly black. The thumb flexed and was still. The bowstring was drawn rigidly taut; his arms did not shake. Lean as they were, the muscles there were strong. Betty bared his teeth, tongue caught between them, as he loosed the arrow. It disappeared in the air and reappeared in the tree with a hollow thunk, just as the troll opened his left eye and waved his hand in the air, hissing through his teeth in pain. "Hooh det sting!" he exclaimed in surprise. His hand was a bit raw, his bow arm a bit skinned from the lack of bracers. He still needed practice, if he was to become a hunter.
"Yeh gon' see, mon." The troll lowered his sore hand, careful not to swing his raw arm as he lumbered over to the tree to inspect his 'kill' (Though, truth be told, the tree had been quite dead when he found it). "Betty gon' be eh good hunter," he smiled up at the dead, leafless dick-tree and its many arrows. "Me only guts teh prectice."
It wasn't a dick-tree when he'd discovered it. It was just a plain old dead tree, a week or so prior, if Batshit had to guess, though he wasn't so good with time. Shortly after he had started his target practice, someone (or someones) had taken it upon themselves to paint a big, purple penis on the side of the tree. Now, Betty could easily have opted to shoot the other side of the tree, except the tree had no other side. That had been ripped off by lightning. So it was really more of a tree-skin... with a massive purple dick on it, complete with balls. At least now he could find it without looking so hard.
Batshit had found a pot of yellow paint laying out, and since nobody was looking, he had borrowed it to paint a crude smiling face right on that purple dick. Something about the dick-tree had struck him as sad. Maybe it was the fact that the dick was so big, and all alone in the woods through all hours of the day and night. Maybe because it was purple and had no friends. Perhaps it was the fact that dick-tree had been struck by lightning. Whatever the case, dick-tree now smiled down at Batshit while Batshit shot dick-tree as close to the face as he could manage. They spent many hours smiling at each other.
"Batshit! Weh ya at!"
The troll's smile froze, eyes narrowing slightly. Dick-tree's smile remained much the same. Affording dick-tree a final nod, Batshit turned and cried out, his voice cracking, "Me right here, mon! Jest precticin' me errows, mon!"
There was no answer, and the small male shifted from one two-toed foot to the other in the tall, dry yellow grass. He'd chosen a clearing in a small, burned-out woods for his target practice. The sun had been warm at his back as he'd skinned his bow arm, burned his finger, and sunk the odd arrow in dick-tree. Now, as he faced the general direction of the other voice, it was shining right down into his face, rays seeking out his eyes, blinding him.
A hand rested along a sloped, hairless brow, where a bit of sweat had begun to stand out. Try as he might to shield his eyes from the sun, he couldn't make out the troll or trolls that sought him. Just as he had parted his lips to cry out, though really he thought he might prefer to practice alone, the dead old and skinny new trees revealed a pair of large forms. Batshit grinned chummily, lowering his naturally stooping form, perhaps just a bit further. He let the shade-hand fall to his side, to match his other lazily dangling arm.
Khai and Taak, brothers who easily could have been mistaken for twins, though Taak had been born two years after Khai, approached the smaller, oddly-colored troll. Both brothers were young, the older of the two, Khai, having just turned seventeen. They were tall, identical in height at over seven feet. As far as trolls went, this wasn't at all unusual, but to the purple troll, who had to crane his neck to look up at them, their stature was quite impressive.
Both brothers were over a foot taller than the little hunter-in-training. The fact that he was purposely slouching further than normal, bending his knees apart as he looked up and nodded at first Khai, "Ey, mon," and then Taak, "Ey, mon," not helping correct his diminutive stature. Neither troll returned the greeting directly, opting instead to stand with crossed arms, leaning hips and squared shoulders like a pair of matching guards... Off-duty guards, with smirks.
Khai rolled his eyes toward Taak, "His face still yellow. You believe dat shit?" Taak shook his head, licking the base of one thick, upturned tusk as he shrugged a shoulder at his brother's query. That was the big difference between Taak and Khai. Were they to shave their heads and wear the same clothes, or forsake them entirely, the two could be told apart by their tusks. Khai's curled outward at the ends, whereas Taak's curved up from his lips before curling outward. "Me swear his dumb ass don't bade."
"Batshit!" Khai tilted his head, staring down at the troll and raising his voice as though the troll were too far down to hear him. Or as if his massive ears weren't built for picking up sound. He was greeted with a smile as the littler troll lifted his chin hesitantly.
"Yeh, mon?"
"Don'tcha never take no bats?"
Batshit's lower lip dropped to leave a bit of space as he inhaled slowly, shaking his head and blinking. "Nu, mon. Me don' like fi tek too many." A bead of sweat ran down the side of his jaw. It was tinted yellow by the leftover paint he'd spread over his entire face several days prior. He and dick-tree smiled the same color.
"Ya been wearin' dat shit sum like two weeks, ya nasty bitch," Khai spit.
Taak nodded, uncrossing his arms. "A true, mon. Pretty nasty." He looked around idly, stretching tall and rolling his shoulders as Khai continued to stare down at a grinning, wilting Batshit. "Coo pon dis, mon. Batshit, ya be shootin' off ya arrows, eh?" Taak stomped over to the dead purple and yellow tree and yanked out an arrow, inspecting it half-heartedly before becoming bored with it and dropping it to the ground, broken.
Taak had dark blue hair that was tied back at his neck, dreadlocks that would spill over his blue shoulders and chest and back if he were to unwrap the thong that held them in place. Khai was blue with dark blue hair, as well, only he wore his in a mohawk that made him look even taller. It was at the shining, blackish-blue mohawk that Batshit was now staring. His own hair was held back in a thick tail, braided clumsily, with loose bits that seemed to fly everywhere no matter how hard he tried to get it all out of his face, so that he wouldn't have to look at his crazy violet-pink hair.
"Hey. Stupid." Batshit continued to smile up at the dark, proud crest that crowned the scowling Khai's head until Taak flicked the smaller troll on the back of his long, thick, ear. "Stuuuupiiiid."
The troll yipped quietly in surprise, ducking his head and then slowly rising into place, his ear twitching in outrage. Taak could flick hard. To add to the list of biological insults that Batshit could complain about, if he ever decided to complain, were his ears. Not only were they purple to match the rest of him, but they didn't stand up and back like a troll's ears should. The short, pink-haired, purple troll's ears stuck out sideways. He was quite conspicuous for one so small.
"Surry, mon," the smaller troll apologized, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Maybe was apologizing for being an elf, too. It was as good as any other reason he could think of. He reached up with his left hand and rubbed his ear carefully, turning to look up at the ear-assailant.
"Ain't ya gonna ask us what we doin' out here?" Taak's tongue snuck out to lap at the base of his tusk. He had a habit of doing that. He re-crossed his arms over his broad chest and winked in Khai's direction before settling his crimson gaze on Batshit.
Batshit's left hand nervously fumbled with the waist of his worn and faded linen pants. The legs had been too long, so he had cut them with a knife. They were a bit uneven at the bottom. His right toyed with the hem of his equally worn-out gray (once black, but long before it became his) shirt. He continued to smile, though his lower eyelids were raised arches as his eyes flicked nervously back and forth between the two brothers. One brother stared impassively, as the other waited with a look of amusement.
"It... it elright me esk det? Me ent s'pose fi esk det?"
The two brothers looked at each other, Taak raising a brow. He blinked down at Batshit. "What?"
"Me esk yeh 'whet yeh bot do out here, mon?' den yeh gon' smesh Betty in di fess?" The puny, purple troll was now dancing from foot to foot as he grinned desperately up at Taak. Taak raised his hand, causing Batshit to flinch and crouch lower, though the face the troll brought it to was his own. He stretched his forehead, eyelids, and then his mouth in exasperation, careful to maneuver his long hand between his tusks.
"He stupid as shit." Though his disbelieving and harried gaze was fixed on Batshit, his words were for his brother.
"Mon, dis ain't news," Khai answered Taak. Then, to Batshit, "Ain't nobody wringin' ya stupid neck, stupid. Quit actin' like ya ears be closed, or me open dem fi ya." Khai had uncrossed his arms, and relaxed into a slight slouch to match his brother's as they both eyed the nervous runt. "Well, stupid? Ya ovahstand or me gots ta open ya donkey ears?"
Batshit nodded enthusiastically, the ears in question swaying and bowing in agreement or submission. They didn't want to be opened either, apparently. "Y-yeah mon, no mon... Me lissnup good, mon!" He gave a nervous chuckle. He gave a startled cry when Taak reached out and clapped a large, leather-clad hand on his shoulder, partially because he was scared out of his mind, and partially because he just wasn't used to anyone touching him. Not that he would have minded, under less confusing, dangerous-feeling circumstances. His hackles rose, making his back itch beneath his shirt.
"Mon, me in so much trouble," he moaned anxiously.
"Nah, Batshit. We just come out here fi give ya huntin' lesson." The hand on his shoulder squeezed him so tightly that he squeezed his mouth shut, nostrils flaring as he grinned up into the faces of his assailants... teachers?
Batshit's hands opened and closed at his sides, his bare feet slowing in their mindless march to nowhere. "Huntin'..." He had to stop to swallow, "-keh... lesson?" The hand on his shoulder, gloved of course, released his sore muscles and fell away. He couldn't help but notice that Taak wiped the hand on his pants, as if he had touched something particularly nasty. He supposed he had...
Khai tilted his head, eyes narrowing, and Batshit quickly interrupted, "Me hear! Me hearit mon! Huntin' lesson mon! Lead deh weh, mon!" This, followed by another nervous chuckle that died off as the two larger trolls turned and began walking across the clearing.
They marched briskly, and his legs weren't as long as theirs, so he had to run to keep up. Luckily, he was a good runner and had a lot of stamina. It was really more of a jog, anyway, but the difference in leg length gave the appearance that the brothers were indeed taking a bouncing pet for a walk.
They headed through the clearing and into the thin wall of trees that separated the dried out and struggling woods from a greener field, which would then give way to more trees and grass and eventually distant mountains and... who knew? They were walking away from the village and the river. He had wandered this way a bit, alone. Never far enough to get lost for too long, but he knew the field when they entered it. There were trees on the very far side that grew fruit. It was a big field, the trees far too distant to see the fruit from where they stood. He had never made it as far as the mountains.
They stopped, both brothers removing their bows from their backs, far nicer bows than the one Batshit had found. Both Taak and Khai turned to look down at Batshit, one standing on either side of him. He still held his pathetically worn-out bow. But what would they hunt here? Butterflies? Batshit looked first at Khai and then at Taak, because he seemed a little less scary.
"We gon' kill enimels, mon?" Batshit's bow dragged on the ground as he looked up at the younger, but no smaller, of the two brothers.
Taak glanced at Khai and then back down at Batshit, eyes sparkling with amusement, or perhaps mischief. "Nah, mon. Dis be prize huntin' we doin'," he snorted and his brother chuckled quietly. For some reason, Batshit couldn't join in. He certainly didn't get the joke, but that didn't usually stop him from laughing. His back was very itchy.
"Me ent nev- Me... Me dun-dunno deh rule fi pr-prezz huntin', mon." He wished he was on the other side of the field, eating apples or sleeping in the grass or even sniffing his stinky armpits right now, as long as he was doing it alone. This was bad news. Big trouble. He was in so much trouble. He just knew it.
"Drop da bow, Batshit." Taak said this, or maybe it was Khai. Batshit was shaking, now. Something was messed up, here. He was in so much trouble. He continued to clutch the bow loosely in his right hand. His left became a fist, the two fingers curling in tightly as the thumb popped out. His mouth opened wide as the arm raised, the thumb pointing in a well-practiced arch as it rose and planted itself in his mouth, between his teeth. His lips closed. Batshit sucked on his thumb noisily, twice, before beginning to chew on it quietly.