Chapter Text
The first time Kankri should have taken note of Cronus’ keen interest should have been way back when, on a subdued spring afternoon. With Cronus’ line of work, he inevitably had to travel to where the feral animal population resides, thus has probably mapped out the M5 corridor like the back of his hand. That day was no exception, and he was travelling up from the Quantock Hills before taking a pitstop at Cribbs Causeway.
Kankri, however, was flittering between poorly paid and poorly managed volunteer work, so coordinated his hours accordingly. Which is to say he fucked off, scrawled a ‘Will be back in 5’ on a piece of A4 and taped it to the door on his way out. An hour together to enjoy lunch and people watch was always a mid-week treat.
“What even are those contraptions? I see them so frequently in my line of work, and yet, I am none the wiser,” he mumbled, a hand covering his face as he simultaneously ate his sandwich.
“Whatcha mean?”
Kankri swallowed his chewed-up egg-and-cress bolus with a hand waving over to a young human pushing some sort of flimsy wheeled device.
“Oh, those things?” Cronus thumbed, over in their general direction.
Kankri nodded, and then brought his attention to the sandwich ingredient list.
You see, following the last general election, the latest change to legislation was that all food-related industries hire equal numbers of humans and trolls. This supposedly meant that food products would cater to both cultures and customs in non-biased measure. It would sound like equality, but Kankri was deeply disturbed by the ever-present default grubloaf shoved into an otherwise human recipe. He probably wouldn’t mind if the grubloaf tasted good; it just always ended up tasting like forced representation. Which is why he opted for a classic combination for humans, and was now intrigued as to just what exactly he was eating.
Whilst he was well and truly immersed in the blurb on the back of the packaging, Cronus walked on over to the unsuspecting victim.
If Kankri had looked up at the right moment, he would have seen Cronus’ eyes lit up with delight, his earfins flutter in joyous appeasement, and the inceptus of Cronus’ misaligned obsession.
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The first time Kankri actually took note came after many other failed attempts. However, even the most oblivious would be able to notice the flagrant obnoxious behaviours of a curious Ampora.
It should have been a nice, not-quite-romantic evening out for a pint, sat on the upper deck of the Grain Barge. Kankri needed some photos for his LinkedIn upon Cronus’ insistence as, and he quotes, looked “too clinical”, and “folks are cheering [him] on to finally leave them prison-white walls”.
Such commentary was neither helpful nor wanted. It was as if it were an intentional aesthetic choice and not that his palmhusk camera wasn’t built with adult moult in mind and thus the white balance and aperture had a battle to their mutual deaths. Every attempt was either a visibly distinct Kankri floating in undisclosed brightness, or an amorphous black blob with two red eyes glaring at the camera.
The redblood was under the impression LinkedIn was for professional discussions only, and ought to be void of any resemblance of a life outside of the workplace. So, under the conditional offer that Cronus would be buying the drinks and sharing snacks, Kankri would do his best to offer some candid poses.
The seat they chose allowed for the SS Great Britain to be peeping in the background. Very Bristolian. The locals would surely eat that up. They even timed it with The Balloon Fiesta, which dotted the skyline. What’s not to love? With his fingers crossed, he really wanted that profile refresh to open more doors.
Except, Cronus’ camera kept being discarded on top of the table. There was a pattern to his distraction: it would first be his ears, then his eyes, then his face and neck, and finally his whole upper-body would turn to face the shrill wails of a fatty lump sat in a highchair. It would come with a side of failed attempts to coo from someone who really ought not to have brought a human so small and underdeveloped into such a premise.
As Kankri looked across the table over to the distracted Cronus, and looked further again to the empty so-called ‘buggy’, he made conscious effort to remember this moment. He suspected it would bite him in the bum in due course.
__________________________
It bit him in the bum sooner than expected. Barely a week later, Kankri was instructed to redownload the Trollian app and be amicable to the receiving end of an avalanche of human-baby-related conversations. Being a zero-hour contractor meant he was not entitled to a separate work phone, and the number of weird looks from customers coming in only matched the weird feeling of a continuous buzz from his front trouser pocket. It’s not as though he would put his phone on silent; who knows if an emergency would require his attention?
The only saving grace of the ordeal was that eventually Kankri figured out that said influx of messages coincided with Cronus’ lunch break. At which point, he could feign that the buzzing was but his medical alarm and he needed to guzzle down two Tic-Tacs he ingeniously placed in a discarded GP-approved-and-labelled pill bottle for additional impact to the lie. That, and his ever-lasting moult causing all visible exoskeleton to slough away unevenly; he certainly looked the part of someone needing constant medication.
Cronus initially started his campaign with introducing Kankri to the concept of human-babies and development thereof in Beforean Script. Hence the insistence on using Trollian; other social media apps didn’t have the capabilities to display such font. It was only when Kankri dutifully informed Cronus that: one, there are plenty of human-script resources written by, you guessed it, humans and thus aren’t prone to such waves of mass misinformation, and; two, the use of Beforean Script just makes the whole ordeal feel like contraband, that they returned to other less clunky mediums.
That apparently opened another can of worms as Kankri forgot to factor in the sheer volume of resources made available in English over Beforean dialects. Even as he attempted to rest in a well set up recuperacoon, he could only feel his upper thigh vibrate, rendering him in a constant state of awareness.
__________________________
“You look shit, is everythin’ alright?”
Cronus had invited them both out to somewhere just a little more Vantas-friendly. A little hole-in-the-wall establishment on one of the side roads that jut out of Park Street. For one thing, this establishment listened to their troll employees, and the food choice was a lot more palatable to his non-human preferences. Granted, this country swayed more to Alternian customs over Beforean, still catching up with the ongoing political movements inherited from the first wave of SBURB-SGRUB champions, but the morning menu options certainly attempted to bridge the gap. As did the non-utilitarian décor.
Choosing an early morning time slot also meant, roll of the dice, there would be less humans around, allowing Kankri to fully relax and not have his customer-service mode on. He could speak in as thick of a Beforean tongue as he pleased and not get judgemental xenophobic looks his way. And, after a comforting warm meal, he could contently sleep away in his natural circadian rhythm on another well-deserved late-notice day off. The ‘Will be back in 5’ sign was probably still hung up. Whatever, not his problem now.
Cronus could also let himself sink into the atmosphere. Whilst he was human, a seadweller-looking guy will never not stand out in predominantly human-human company photos. To hush some of the voices in Cronus’ head, Kankri insisted it was simply his overly enthusiastic smile that drew everyone’s eyes up; Cronus being a little under 8 feet tall meant he would inevitably be standing (or hunching) in the back. That wasn’t a lie either; Cronus simply thrived in human company, and the twinkle in his eyes captured in the photographs were only more apparent in person.
In Troll company? It was a more nuanced story.
Even though he still would face microaggressions and discrimination from other trolls, at least that discrimination was stuff he had gotten used to. And if they were seeing him as a troll, then they would be seeing a violetblood, and certainly wouldn’t dare disagree to someone with such haemospectral authority. If he said he was a human, then they better say he is a human. If he said to do a lil jig, then they better fucking well play Riverdance. A bummer all the same that he has to tap into seadweller privileges, but it was very much so the lesser of two evils.
“I dread to think what other topics of discussion you have in store for us both this morning if you start so confidently on addressing my substandard state of affairs. To answer your brief line of questioning— and I must also give fair warning to unpleasantries and vulgar use of colloquial language that may be upsetting to those with distinguished sensibilities, thus potentially rendering this trigger warning irrelevant as you seem to be my only audience: I look like shit because I feel like shit because as of recent my sleep patterns are shit, resulting in me having to up the Sopor and, despite my efforts, continuously waking up mildly intoxicated is shit, and my pay is always shit.”
“Hey, you can’t use that last point as an argument since you chose to volunteer at charity shops.”
“I didn’t choose so much as I had the skillset of a culled troll to pad out my CV and took the one job offer that came my way after uncountable attempts. Regardless of circumstances, I am also acutely aware of my skill to make others feel welcome and spend extended periods of time in the shop vicinity, thus contributing to more purchases, which in turn also results in more donations. Marie Curie ought to be grateful.”
“Respectfully, Kan, because you know I love ya, best buds an’ all, but do you really believe that lie you tell y’self?”
“Which one?” he asked as he raised his peach iced tea glass to his lips.
“C’mon, you ain’t welcomin’. You’re just a lil fireball that gets all them moths to flutter towards ya, and then you rant and rave, and I bet folks are just buyin’ somethin’— anythin’— so they can leave your hellish grip instead of being burnt to a crisp.”
Kankri swallowed before setting the glass down with a soft thud.
“…And that sounds like a very effective sales tactic, which is why I am in demand. So there.”
“You know I fuckin’ love it when you get an attitude,” Cronus sneered into his own glass.
“This is not ‘an attitude’; this is ‘I am hungry, and sleep deprived, and did not need someone commenting on my lack of appropriate appearance.’ Ugh, I can’t even remember if I brushed my hair upon my wakening. I offer my apologies.”
“What?! You don’t think I groove with the messy bed-head look? Hows ‘bout I give you a demonstration later, showin’ you just how messy I can make the bed. Then you can tell me exactly how much I love that head a yours—”
The conversation was promptly ceased with the call of the chef from the cut away opening in the back wall. Cronus, ever the gentleman, kept his seat as Kankri huffed and headed over for collection. With two plates in his grip, and sauces and cutlery hanging on in the curve of his arm, he headed back to the table with mild disappointment.
See, normally Cronus would have been eyeing up Kankri’s ‘choice goods in the back’ as he sauntered away. Frequently, this would be joined with a rub of the hands, and-or a lick of the lips. Very rarely, Kankri would be greeted with a wolf-whistle upon his return.
Kankri, for all intents and purposes, hated it.
Cronus, for those very same intents and purposes, loved it.
But this morning, as Kankri looked over his shoulder approaching the cubbyhole, his gaze was not met with Cronus’ own. Instead, the Aquarius’s attention drifted to the outside world via the large windowpanes.
A buggy. A baby undoubtedly inside. At the bus stop across the road.
Cronus was smiling, open mouthed, and waving via bending and snapping his fingers against his palm.
“Ahem.”
“Oh, shit —well hey there, sweet stuff! Now tell me, what’s a good-lookin’ guy like you doin’ in a place like this?”
“Currently, I am placing down our meals and accompaniments, and then will be taking my seat once more.”
“I think you’d look better comin’ back to my place—”
“I think we need to talk.”
As Cronus pulled his plate a little closer towards him, and reached out for the garlic oil, the smirk on the corners of his lips faded.
“…Have… Have I done somethin’ wrong? I know you said you ain’t feelin’ great, but I think you look mighty fine this mornin’. Even though you also look shit. Just wanted to let you know—”
“It is not explicitly about that. Although I suspect it is associated with that.”
“Kan…”
He reached a cold, grey arm over the table, and rested a hand atop Kankri’s.
“…I mean it. You’re lookin’ delicious. Dunno if I’d rather eat you out or just straight up eat ya.”
“You are hungry and are presented with your ordered meal. Please eat before making such comments on how ‘delicious’ I may or may not be.”
Cronus sighed, but still kept his hand on Kankri’s, anchoring him to the conversation.
“…I… I think I know what you’re gonna say…”
And thusly, Kankri’s attention was also grounded back to the conversation at hand, with a spoonful of his starter yet to meet his mouth.
“You…do…?”
“Yeah I… I don’t think either of us have been that subtle about it lately.”
“Oh…um…In which case, perhaps we ought to say it together?”
“You think?”
“If you feel what I am about to say is what you are about to say, and I too believe that what you are about to say is what I am about to say, then we might as well save time and I will say what I will say and you will say what you will say at the same time.”
“…Not gonna lie, sugarlips, I think you not sayin’ that would save more time.”
“In any case, on the count of three?”
“Sure thin’ boss.”
“3….” “3….”
“….2….” “….2….”
“………1……” “………1……”
“I want a baby.” “I want to quit my job.”