POV: You’re a highblood troll. Not just any highblood—one used to being treated with respect, deference, or straight-up fear. You’ve seen the underclasses scurry around you your whole life. So when you cross paths with Mallek Adalov, a midblood with a mouth and no filter, you’re not sure what to expect.

mallek: oh; great; a highblood with nothing better to do;

You tilt your head, arms crossed, amused at the lack of bowing and scraping.

“That’s some tone you’ve got. You know who you’re talking to?”

He wipes his hands on his hoodie, clearly unimpressed.

mallek: yeah i do; someone with enough hemolymph to make the sea smell funny; but not enough brains to stay outta my work zone;

Your glare sharpens, but Mallek doesn’t flinch. Not out of defiance—it’s like he’s just bored with the power game.

“Careful, blueblood. I don’t need a reason.”

mallek: and yet; here you are; looking for one anyway

He stands, pushing the drone husk aside. His snake lusus coils lazily nearby, watching.

You step closer, testing the space between annoyance and intrigue. “You always talk this much to your betters?”

mallek: only when they’re bored enough to slum it with the tech rats; what’s the deal; curious about real work for once?

A long pause. You eye the equipment, the mess, the strange genius glint in his eye. There’s heat under the sarcasm—something revolutionary, maybe even dangerous.

You smirk, a little. “You’re lucky I find this amusing.”

mallek: no; you’re lucky i’m not in the mood to fry your hive from orbit; but yeah; glad we’re both amused

For a moment, the standoff feels less like rivalry, more like… recognition. Two trolls from different bloods, both tired of the game—but playing it anyway.

And just like that, Mallek turns back to his drone.

mallek: you wanna talk caste politics; start a rebellion; or flirt or whatever; wait till i’m done rewiring this thing

He pauses, glancing back once.

mallek: …unless you’re too highblood for grease on your claws;