Boredom was the unyielding maw of his torment—serrated fangs practically welded to the tissues that held dominion over Serpho’s consciousness. Acuminated claws tap staccato rhythm to the wisteria colored marble that he leaned his elbows upon, lest he crack his forehead to the surface, lulled to sleep by the swan song of this omnipresent tediousness. Not a soul lingered within the bakery this afternoon aside from the troll and his crippled carapace within the kitchen, out of sight.

Serpho shifted the yellowing, bulky tome before him so that it stood straight atop of the countertop—sentinel to the store, as he should have been. There is the telltale crinkle of pages being turned, but its sound too soft, too smooth for such an aged book. The young troll nearly slips—curses in a whisper of breath—almost gives away his cover and a look at his comic book to any who were diligent enough to spot him. For once, it was a fortunate happenstance that business was so slow.

Rusty eyes swerve this way and that within their sockets, wary. He had to be. After all, this comic book was an object to be revered (as far as Serpho was concerned). This volume was no longer distributed, had not been for decades. Captain Alternia: a bronze blood who was granted supernatural strength only comparable to that the high bloods were endowed with. It had been a popular, back on his home planet, or so he had been told. But when the trolls lost the war--were sent to Prospit and Derse—the hero was changed, forced to fight for carapaces and humans alike, subservient but happily so. The propaganda only got worse when the Condesce gained the reigns. Through ectobiology (whatever convenient to the plot that bullshit was), the Captain was now a highblood, a sea-dweller of all things! It was not even the blatant attempts at manipulating public opinion that Serpho held such distaste for.

No.

It was the utterly shitty writing.

And that was why Serpho had sold away nearly all he owned that held any sort of value. Just so he could get his hands on these verboten items. He had walked back from the slums barefoot, but victorious, his favorite shoes now in the ownership of a less than savory yellow-blood nearly twice the young troll’s age. It had all been worth it.

Serpho’s attention snaps back to the present with the fleetness of a whip to victim’s flesh. His tongue laves over his dry lips nervously. The premises was just as barren of sentient life as it had been before he had been lost in his thoughts.

Someone needed to buy something—anything--so Serpho could finally go exploring again.

”Captains would never have to linger in such drudgery as this,” the troll muses bitterly before turning another page.

The door opened easily, producing a delicate tinkle from somewhere deeper inside the bakery. A white booted foot stepped inside with a click of the heel, and another followed, the crispness of the material providing a sharp contrast against the dull floor. With a swirl of fuschia skirts, Nirana Vactes entered the Purple Pound Cake Bakery.

Her nose crinkled slightly as particles of dust rose in clouds around her. This place was so dreary. Well, that was the lower district for you. She hadn't come expecting much more from the place.

Why had she come at all? Well, it was her self proclaimed day off, the day of the week she always took to stroll up and down the streets, making it a point to visit every single shop and speak with every person she met. Nirana didn't like people all that much. There weren't many on Derse with whom she would take the time to speak to more than once. It was the idea of new people - oh yes, different people with different things to hide, more questions to answer, riddles to figure out, expressions to read. People were intriguing things. Brand new behavioural patterns to analyze, varying greatly from person to person. She loved all of it.

With this purpose in mind, Nirana conducted a quick visual scan of her surroundings. The cakes and tarts stood in neat, precise rows in the displays. The walls and furniture were plain and a little worn, a common indicator of class and location. She appeared to be the only living creature within the building.

What a shame. Oh well, it wasn't like she had not seen many bakeries almost exactly like this one in the lower district. This one would have yielded no different results.

Suddenly - movement. A turn of a page. Nirana had missed spotting the troll at the counter, dressed as he was in purple close to the colour of the wallpaper. Unconsciously, she took in the simple, stained clothing, the messy hair, and - oh lord - the apron. Stifling a snigger, Nirana made a split second decision not to play the innocent, giggly young girl's persona she usually took on. Today, she felt a little more like playing with this lowblood a little as a haughty, high-district seadweller.

Nirana stepped forward, making sure her heels clacked loudly and her many bangles clanked together. "Hello, do you work here?" she demanded, enjoying herself immensely. "What's that you're reading?" she added, losing the ability to conceal the wide smirk on her petite face.

Amidst the vibrant inks painted so lovingly upon the page and the equally effervescent hues scrawling themselves across the planes of his daydreams, Serpho does not register the presence of a customer’s entrance into the bakery until she calls to him. Startling, the young man once again nearly manages to drop his comic book to the floor, but catches it with his thumbs. Head snapping up, he looks this way and that for the customer while his hands fumble to close the book around his treasure. As soon as he finally lays sight upon the female, the troll manages to ungracefully slam the heavy tome closed and onto his fingers.

“AUUUUGH-!!! I mean, salutations, valued customer!”

Wrenching his digits out of the pages’ ruthless grip, he shoots the girl a sharp-toothed grin whilst attempting to not dwell upon the throbbing pain. Never again was he going to utilize a historical text for such purposes as subterfuge. For a long moment—too long to assure a good deal of awareness to his character—Serpho simply stares at his new companion, attempting to collect just what she had inquired of him as well as comprehend just who she was. Out of whatever decorum that had been instilled in him, the troll manages to settle upon attending to the former matter first.

“Yes, that’s correct, I do work here. Is there anything I can help you with this fine afternoon?” Shooting the female a charming smile, the young man laces his fingers together and places the interwoven appendages over the volume resting before him. He glances down, then back up to the customer. Serpho pales. “…reading? Oh, oh, reading! Um,” The young man raises his hands to look at the title printed in neat, silver print across the front. “The Alternian Enigma: Troll Society and Its Developments—Volume Seven.”

Volume Seven? Good Lord, who could actually manage to trudge their way through the first? And why was something like this even in the shop? His carapace must have borrowed it from the library or some such. The elder was an erudite fellow, despite his homely station.

Coughing awkwardly, the young man shifts upon the stool he had been perching upon to get a better look at the other troll before him. Expensive garbs, violet eyes, fins: Serpho had a sea-dweller upon his hands. He knew better than to judge a person upon their standing in the hemospectrum, but this girl set his nerves on edge. Perhaps it was the haughty way she was looking at him, or how confidently she held herself—so regal and refined. What in Skaia was someone as high born as her doing all the way down in the lower districts like these anyhow? Serpho had maybe once in his life actually spoken to a sea dweller, or at least seen one in person. And now here was one just standing in his and his carapace’s shop like she owned the place. Under normal conditions, he would have just asked what she was even doing, reducing herself to immersion amongst such dull poverty, but right now, Serpho just wanted to get out and explore. Insulting your ticket out of the shop would not do at all.

“You like books?”

A pinnacle of articulation he was. She would undoubtedly be impressed.

Nirana tried. She really did. But even so, she could not keep the smirk off her face. This boy had to be the most amusing thing she'd seen in weeks and weeks. She could handle the messy hair, flustered comments, and even the ridiculous apron - but coupled with the attempts at sophistication? Good lord.

The only response she provided to the title of the tome was a single raised eyebrow. Somehow, she had a difficult time believing that the book was actually being read, and was not just there for show. After all, he'd had to check the title of the book. He should really be glad that she was finding him more laughable than pathetic, glad that she was in such a good mood today.

But then his question came out of nowhere.

"You like books?"

What was she supposed to say to that? For the first time since... who knew, Nirana was completely thrown. Maybe she did? But definitely not fiction, that was a waste of time. Then again, she didn't actually enjoy reading books, but they were certainly very useful. Preference didn't play a major role in her day-to-day life. And now she'd waited far too long to respond to a simple question and a tiny bit of irritation tugged insistently at the back of her mind for giving up control of the conversation, for being unprepared, for letting the boy get to her like that.

She settled for a hurried "I don't know. Sometimes." Maybe she needed to spend some time thinking about it. Then, maybe next time someone asked about her personal preferences she'd be completely prepared for it.

With an effort, she attempted to retrieve her rhythm. Propping her elbows on the counter, she smiled mischeviously, eyebrows raised and eyelids low. "You look a little bored. I suppose I'll get a small cake. Take something for yourself too. I hope you will join me at a table." She grabbed a loose handful of money and sent it clattering onto the counter with a flick of her wrist.

"Oh, and please, keep the change."

Had Serpho gone and said something wrong? This young woman was taking such a time to answer what he had presumed to be a rather innocent question. Had some new law been enacted by the dictatorship to ban all reading material? Did high bloods stop reading? The rust blood could be so far out of the loop for all he knew. It was not as if he made a very concerted effort to keep up to date with the latest edition of Derse’s newspaper. Blatant propaganda and bias towards the government aside, the paper still held a bounty of information. He was such an idiot!

When Nirana finally deigned Serpho with an answer, he could not help but emit a sigh of relief. Oh good, good, his disregard for the latest and greatest had not done him in. Not that he had actually been horribly worried. Just mildly wary of what was to come. Yes, that was it.

As the other troll leans onto the counter, shooting him such a look, the rust blood can only pull back just a tad to better assess her expression. Why was she looking at him like that? Did she want something? What was she planning on doing to him? Wha-

Oh.

Oh.

Well. This was unexpected (though certainly not unpleasant).

Leaning one elbow onto the countertop, the other resting upon his hip, the rust blood makes a show of slowly nodding as if immersed in thought. At last, he offers a sigh, nodding his head a bit for emphasis,

“It seems you have caught me. I am truly, utterly, horrendously bored.”

He peers at the younger troll out of one eye before pushing himself off of the counter and sauntering over to the row of cakes. For a long moment, he stares at the delicately organized rows of pastries, trying to choose just the right one. Briefly, he considers of a more modernized, simplistic look, but judging by how ornately this young woman dressed, simplicity wasn’t quite her style. No, he’d have to go big or go home if he wanted to impress. Tongue protruding from his mouth, the troll debates between two cakes before finally settling on the tried and true method “eenie-meenie” and taking out her pastry. It is royal purples and lilacs, with winding silvery patterns woven into the fondant and sugary roses aesthetically placed upon its top. For him, Serpho was happy with a red-velvet.

Rather proud of himself for such an artful choice, Serpho makes his way over to the other troll sitting delicately--poised and proper--at one of the tables nestled into the corner of the shop. Grinning from ear to ear, he places Nirana’s cake before her, and then easily drops into the seat at her opposite, arm slung over the back of his chair. It’d been a while since he’d had the chance to actually eat one of the shop’s cakes. His carapace had a tendency to get irritated when Serpho consumed the wares.

“I have to thank you for the kind invitation, Miss. That, and my thanks well for the change. You did not have to, but I nevertheless appreciate it.” Perhaps she had been showing off her wealth, perhaps she hadn’t been. Whatever her reasons were, Serpho was not going to question them. Extra money did not come in often, no matter how minute or grandiose the amount. Every little bit was important.

Serpho takes another moment to assess the other troll before wiping a hand on his pants leg, then, offer her a hand. “My name is Serpho Mirfak.” Normally, he wouldn’t be inclined to think she cared. But, she’d invited him to eat with her! And it was polite to offer anyhow. Especially if you were going to ask, “Might I inquire of your name? I’d hate to simply call you ‘Miss’. It sounds so…huffy? Impersonal? I’m not quite sure, but I’m not all too taken to it. Er, I hope you don’t mind.”

Nirana appraised Serpho's choice with a sort of polite surprise accompanied by an upwards twitch of the corner of her mouth. Nice. Tasteful. It looked good. Actually, it was just the kind of indulgence she liked - frilly and sophisticated, and maybe a little overdone. Maybe she had judged him too quickly. She eased herself into the chair, unconsciously tucking it in behind her so that it didn't scrape loudly on the floor, propped her elbows up on the table (manners, manners! But somehow she didn't think the boy would mind, so she let herself go a little bit), and started picking at her pastry.

Listening to him talk, Nirana couldn't help but keep smiling. It was strange, wearing a smile that she hadn't picked out, refined, practiced, and put on herself. Serpho was just so... interestingly amusing. She could easily guess at every single thought that passed through his mind just by looking through the transparent window that was his face. And because of this, she knew everything he said was sincere, not because he was trying to be, but because there was not much of a word filter between his brain and his mouth. How refreshing. Having spent most of her days dealing with nobles with expressionless masks for faces and padlocked lips, talking to someone like this made a welcome change.

And the most interesting thing was, she wasn't even bored.

Yet.

"My name is Nirana Vactes," she stated without even really thinking about it, shaking his outstretched hand. A second later, she realized her mistake - too late. He was rubbing off on her. Whatever, it was no big deal. The stakes weren't high here.

She glanced over his face, a quizzical expression on her own. There was one thing she didn't understand, just one. "If you are so bored, why don't you just leave?"

While Serpho was not the most observant of all souls, he could sense that the sea dweller before him sat with a level of ease here in the bakery. That ease being only at a certain level because, frankly, there were not many people on Derse who possessed such a degree of insipidity that they did not have some sort of guard up. That was a fantastic way to get oneself killed very, very quickly.

Anyhow, he should be rejoicing! Nirana (Nirana, Nirana, Nirana; he’d definitely have to remember that) had actually given him her name. Today was just full of surprises, now wasn’t it? He could almost entertain the thought that the two of them could be friends—they could go to the market and window shop, he could show her all of the low district’s nooks and crannies, she could tell him about the Moon because there was not a chance in Skaia he was stepping even close to there. The two of them could go on such grand, exciting adventures together: a low blood rogue and a sea dweller noble! Oh, the scandal!

But almost is almost and dreams don’t always come true, now do they? Especially not for dirt on your shoe rust bloods.

Serpho flinches, seeming to recoil as if Nirana had punched him straight in the nose. Body slumping more and more in his seat, the young man fumbles for words, “I-I’m not…I cannot…” His chin jerks towards the back of the bakery, in the direction of a high arching doorway. Beyond it lies the establishment’s kitchen, and in turn, Serpho’s carapace. Cheeks a ruddy maroon, the troll pushes himself back up into a proper sitting position. His posture is still slouched with shoulders pulled high enough that they near brush his ears. “I can only depart for a while, when I do.” Searching for some sort of escape, Serpho looks back to his companion sitting opposite. She didn’t seem like one much to be interviewed herself, but still, he was curious and definitely a little desperate.

Coughing awkwardly, Serpho prods, “Do you like to explore?” Seemed harmless enough, right? He wasn’t asking why she was all the way down in the low district of all places. That seemed like a bad way to go. Nervously, he drums his fingers along the table before leaning his weight onto his elbow. Fortunately, since the tables were secure, at least the surface would not go toppling over. The nailing of the tables to the ground was a security measure his carapace had installed when the raids began, but before that, Serpho could not count the amount of times he’d tipped one over in a graceless show of his natural lack of elegance.

“…because if you do and you are ever in need of a tour guide through the low districts, I would be happy to help.” Serpho purses his lips, glancing from Nirana’s face to the table. He hoped that did not sound creepy. Or strange. Or any combination of the two. While he was well meaning, it wouldn’t be out of the question that she might assume he was out to steal something from her. There were certainly low bloods that in his position who would be happy to try and rob her of her riches. Something told Serpho that they would have a hell of a time, though. Not just any sea dweller made it all the way from the Moon to the low district through luck alone…