Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was a sticks day.

Branch had a schedule worked out that would ensure he stayed on track with building his bunker. Mondays he dug out the bunker, Tuesdays he gathered fresh food, Wednesdays he got rid of the accumulated dirt, Thursdays he gathered plants, Fridays he gathered stones, Saturdays he went into the village to shop and Sundays he collected sticks.

Sundays were honestly his favorite day. Maybe he didn’t need as many sticks as he was gathering, but he would rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them. Truth be told, he just really enjoyed searching for the perfect sticks. There was also something satisfying about how a pile of sticks looked, all nicely stacked and arranged. Branch was able to let his mind take a break when collecting sticks. He didn’t need to think, he could just collect. Of course he was always prepared for if a Bergen showed up, but he could let his mind go numbingly quiet for a bit, something he desperately needed.

He picked up another stick, caught off guard when it yelped. He dropped the stick, reaching for a weapon in his hair and pointing it at the stick. The stick picked itself up and turned to him, and yep, that stick had a face.

“Hello.” It said in a raspy voice, as if its throat were dry as a bone.

Branch stared quietly for a moment before he greeted it back, “...Hey.”

Branch couldn’t recall anything about talking sticks in the scrapbooks he’d read. Talking flowers? Sure. Talking reeds? Yep, sometimes. Talking bugs? Even those. But talking sticks? Nothing.

He really didn’t like dealing with things he’d never heard of. Too many unknowns. He didn’t know this stick’s agenda. It could be working with the Bergens for all he knew!

“Do you live out here?” The stick asked.

“Maybe. Maybe I live really far away. Why do you want to know?” Branch asked, his distrust heavy in his voice.

“I’m looking for a new home! Somewhere with good music where I can be a part of it.” The stick said.

Ugh, of course this came down to music. “I don’t do music.”

“Oh…” The stick looked down, clearly disappointed by that answer. Branch was used to disappointing people with his unwillingness to sing, so it only stung a little bit.

“You’re a stick, how are you going to play any music?”

The stick pouted at him, shouting, “I’m not a stick!”

“You look like a stick.”

The apparently-not-a-stick looked down at herself, “I’m a little dirty. Under all this dirt, I’m one of the shiniest woodwinds you ever did see. Do you have any water?”

Branch wasn’t sure why, but he felt that this new stranger was of minimal threat to them. Probably not working with the Bergens, but he’d keep an eye on her just in case. More than likely though she’d just be another addition to the onslaught of noise that he heard every day. He nodded, “Back at my bunker.”

Branch led the way through the forest to his bunker. Currently it was just a hole in the ground that was about as deep as his ankles and about as wide as a kiddie pool. He’d really only just started on it, and digging it was a lot harder than he thought it would be. The top had been easy, loose dirt, but the deeper he went the tougher it was to get his shovel into it. Other than the bunker, he had a tent and a campfire that was barely burning. He didn’t like for it to be a big fire when he wasn’t around to tend to it. Cooper’s dad had told him it was dangerous to leave a fire unattended, but he couldn’t put it out fully because then it would still be wet when he came back for the night.

“So what kind of Troll are you?” She asked.

Branch felt himself go stiff at the question. He knew he looked different than normal Trolls, but it always hurt when people implied he wasn’t like them, even if it was true. “I’m just a normal Troll. Being grey doesn’t mean I’m not still a Troll.”

“I know Trolls can come in all sorts of colors, I was just curious what tribe this is. This doesn’t look like Symphonyville.”

“Tribe? We’re the only Trolls I know of. I don’t know what “Symphonyville” is either.”

“It’s where the Classical Music Trolls live!”

“Classical Music? I’ve never heard of it.”

They arrived at Branch’s bunker, so Branch sat down on a log, picked up his kettle full of fresh river water and poured a little bit onto one of his rags. The “woodwind” didn’t have any hands, so it was up to him to help her get the dirt off. She giggled as he worked, apparently very ticklish.

With the dirt off of her, it was pretty obvious that she wasn’t a stick. She was a bright golden hue that sparkled like glitter when she caught the sunlight, and there were small holes on her that were clearly for finger placement to change the notes she played. Branch had never played any woodwinds, as they weren’t a very common instrument to learn, but he at least knew the basics of how they were played. You blow in, music comes out.

“There, all clean.” He said, sitting her down next to him on the log.

“Thank you.” She looked around at his camp, a small frown on her face, “Is this where you live?”

“Yeah.” He said in a clipped tone.

“That tent’s really small, how does your family fit in it?”

Branch felt his hair stand on edge at the question. “It’s just me.” 

He hoped his tone conveyed that he wanted to drop the topic, but either it came out too neutral or the instrument was as bad at reading his tone as Poppy was because she asked, “You live by yourself? Who takes care of you then?”

“I do. I don’t need anybody else. I’m seven, I’m not a baby.” He stood up, “Come on. You said you wanted to find people, I’ll take you to the village and you can be their problem.”

“Okay.” She hopped up into his outstretched hand, “I’m Pennywhistle. What’s your name?”

“Branch.”

“Branch. That means you’re the one who’s a stick.” She said with a giggle.

Branch let out a small huff and kept walking towards the village. You could hear it long before you could see it, and Pennywhistle looked intrigued by the loud sounds of music that emanated through the trees. Of course she did, who didn’t like music besides Grey Branch? He was the outlier.

He stepped out into the clearing that made up Pop Village. The town was bustling, Trolls strolling about, going about their day with no worry about how loud and obvious they were being to the Bergens. Pennywhistle would fit right in, she seemed ecstatic by how noisy and bright everything was.

Pennywhistle was new, so he should probably take her to meet the royal family first. They’d probably want to welcome her to the village and give her a “Super Super Special Tour” or something. It’d definitely be more entertaining than any tour Branch could give, so she’d like it more.

Where was Poppy normally at this time of day? He didn’t really know her schedule, mainly because it seemed like she didn’t have one. It was summer, so school was out, so he couldn’t rely on that to find her. She could be anywhere. Getting ice cream, out in the meadow, at her house scrapbooking, at the library…

…Or she could be right in front of him, talking to her friends. Well, at least she was easy to find.

Now all Branch needed to do was go talk to her.

“Branch? Why’d we stop?” Pennywhistle asked.

Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d completely stopped in his tracks at the sight of Poppy and her friends. It wasn’t that he was scared of them, no, all he was scared of was Bergens and other dangerous things. It just… felt weird to approach them. Branch never approached them. Not anymore. Was he just supposed to walk up to them? Does he say hi?

“Hey Poppy. This is Pennywhistle. She wants to live here.” Maybe something like that? Or maybe “Hey Poppy, meet Pennywhistle. She’s looking for a new home so you should show her around.”  

“Branch!”

Or he could just be noticed and she could run over. That worked too. Her friends followed behind, cautious but clearly curious why Branch was there outside of his normal assigned trip days. He supposed it was probably weird to them, he wasn’t a Troll who ever went off schedule.

“Branch, what are you doing out here?” Poppy gasped, “Oh my gosh, are you here for Toss Your Friend Day?! I promise I’ll catch you!”

“No!” Branch backed up as Poppy reached for him, “Don’t touch me. I’m not here for your stupid holidays.”

“Oh boy, this oughta be good.” Guy Diamond mumbled, making DJ Suki and Cooper snort. Branch ignored them.

“This is Pennywhistle. She’s looking for a place to live, so show her around.” Branch held Pennywhistle out to Poppy, who held her hands out for Pennywhistle to step onto.

“Oh my gosh! Welcome, Pennywhistle! I’m Princess Poppy, it’s so amazing to meet you!”

Pennywhistle turned back towards Branch, something that sounded almost like disappointment in her voice as she asked, “You’re not gonna show me around?” He had to be mistaken though, because why would anyone be disappointed that they wouldn’t have to spend more time with him?

“You don’t want Branch to show you around.” Cooper said.

“I imagine if he did, you’d only be shown the best places to hide from a Bergen.” Creek said.

“What’s a Bergen?” Pennywhistle asked.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that! We don’t have to deal with them any more!” Poppy said, “Pennywhistle, you’re gonna love it here! Come on, I’ll show you around!”

Branch turned around and began to walk back to his bunker. He looked up in surprise as he heard Pennywhistle call out, “Oh, um, goodbye Branch! See you later!” He didn’t turn around, just continued walking back home. He was glad that Poppy was distracted by Pennywhistle, otherwise he’s sure that she would have invited him along, and he really didn’t want to go on a whole tour of the village. Pennywhistle would have more fun with Poppy. She’d probably be miserable with Branch around, so it was best to not get attached.

______________________

Pennywhistle had been without a home for a long time, always wandering and searching for a place where she’d fit in. She’d heard of a place with a large population of woodwinds called Symphonyville and she’d been making her way up there when she’d stumbled on Pop Village. She’d heard about the Pop Trolls before, the Trolls who tried to steal the strings, but the Trolls who Branch introduced her to didn’t seem evil. They were really friendly, in fact! They showed her the whole village and introduced her to everyone. She wasn’t sure she could remember all these names, but she’d try her best!

Pop Village wasn’t like what she thought her forever home would be like, but it was a lovely place. It was bright and sunny, but not too hot, even though it was summer. The buildings were all colorful and there was glitter everywhere. Upbeat music came from every corner of the village, everywhere except Branch’s “bunker”.

Pennywhistle wasn’t sure how to feel about Branch. It didn’t seem right for a kid his age to live on his own out in the middle of the forest. She wasn’t sure what part of his tent was supposed to be a “bunker”, unless he meant that hole in the ground that was barely deep enough for him to stand in. He seemed grumpy, and he apparently didn’t like music. She’d never met a Troll who didn’t like music, that was like their whole thing!

“I hope Branch didn’t say anything to upset you.” DJ said, “He has a tendency to not make a great impression.”

“He seemed nice to me.” Pennywhistle said.

Cooper laughed, “Ha! Nice! Good one.”

She cocked her head, “I’m not joking? He seemed nice. Kinda grumpy, but nice.”

Satin and Chenille exchanged looks with each other, then Pennywhistle, “He wasn’t too…” Satin started.

“... grumpy for you?” Chenille finished. The way she said it though, it was almost like there was another word she wanted to use.

“No.”

“Well I think it’s magnificent that you can handle Branch’s troubling aura. He could use a friend. Maybe you could help draw him out of his shell.” Creek said.

“Hey, don’t forget about me! Me and Branch are friends.” Poppy said.

Creek’s face twitched oddly before he put on a (rather fake in Pennywhistle’s opinion) smile, “Of course, how could I forget?”

That’s all that’s said about Branch, and Pennywhistle gets the feeling that other than Poppy, all of her friends would rather not talk about Branch. He didn’t seem that mean when she’d met him, but maybe there was more than meets the eye going on.

The Pop Trolls arranged a welcome party with impressive speed, and by sunset Pennywhistle was the VIP guest at one of the biggest events she’d ever seen. If this was the standard of a Pop Troll party, Pennywhistle wasn’t sure she could keep up with their endless energy. Their music was nice, though. The song that was currently playing, ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’, was really nice too.

Pennywhistle was in the middle of telling Poppy and her friends about her travels, almost at the point of the story where she ran into some bounty hunters who pointed her towards Symphonyville, when she heard screaming. Branch came barrelling into the party, out of breath but yelling at the top of his lungs, “The Bergens are coming!”

Pennywhistle looked towards Poppy, who didn’t look worried at all, “I thought you said we didn’t have to worry about the Bergens.”

“Oh, we don’t. Branch just… does that.” She gave a tense smile as her eyes tracked Branch running through the party.

“Yeah, he’s crazy!” Cooper said with a giggle.

“Cooper!” One of the adults yelled, “We don’t use that language.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“But yeah, he always does this.” Smidge said, wincing as Branch knocked over a table as he scrambled away, “Oh my guh. Another party ruined.”

Branch looked pale, his eyes darting around the trees as if searching for a threat that wasn’t there. Pennywhistle had never seen a Troll so frantic before, and she’d seen a Troll get captured by a bounty hunter.

“He looks scared.” Pennywhistle said quietly.

“There’s nothing to be scared of though. The Bergens are gone.” Biggie said, and his worm mewled in agreement.

“Yeah, and he’s always yelling at us about playing music too loud. If it were just about the Bergens, it’d kinda make sense, but Branch doesn’t like music at all. What kind of Troll doesn’t like music?!” Legsly said.

“Maybe at my next party then we can have no music and we can invite Branch.” Pennywhistle said.

“No music? What kind of party has no music?” DJ Suki asked.

“A Pennywhistle party!” Pennywhistle watched as two adults tried to herd Branch, who ran back into the forest, “It would be the best way to include Branch.”

Poppy looked contemplative, like she’d just realized something, but her friends exchanged glances, and Pennywhistle realized that they had no interest in making a party that Branch would want to come to.

She frowned. Pop Trolls… were mean! What’d Branch ever do, other than not like music and be scared of Bergens? Every time the subject of Branch has come up, they’ve used the chance to make mean comments or make fun of him. That’s not the kind of community that Pennywhistle would be a part of, no sir.

She hopped down from the chair she was on the second that their attention was off of her and headed towards the forest.

Branch’s bunker was hard to find in the dark, Pennywhistle had to follow the smell of campfire smoke until she could see the flicker of light in the distance. As she got closer, she could see that Branch had calmed down from his earlier outburst, instead sitting on his log staring at the fire with a vacant look in his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice Pennywhistle approach, nor did he notice her take a seat next to him. 

She didn’t want to scare him any more than he already had been, so she quietly cleared her throat. Branch jumped in his seat, pointing a sharpened stick at her. It took him a moment to realize it was her, staring at her with eyes as wild as they’d been earlier. “Pennywhistle?”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your party?” He said with a scoff.

“It wasn’t really any fun, so I bailed.”

Branch’s eyes widened, “It wasn’t?”

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t like it?” He said in disbelief.

“Nope. Why do you sound so surprised? You don’t like their parties either, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m me. Everyone likes Troll parties.” He rubbed at his arm, “What um… what didn’t you like about it?”

“They’re terrible company.” Pennywhistle said matter-of-factly.

“Terrible company.” Branch repeated.

“Mhm. They seemed pretty mean to me.”

“They were mean to you? That’s not like them at all…”

“No, they were mean to you.”

“They’re not mean. They’re just… I’m just… I ruin things. I’m the mean one.”

“I don’t think you’re mean.” Pennywhistle said softly.

It wasn’t right for a kid Branch’s age to think they ruined things. Every kid causes trouble every now and again, it doesn’t mean they ruin things.

“Um, you said earlier that there were other kinds of Trolls. Have you met any?” Branch asked, apparently desperate to change the topic.

“Oh yeah! I met some bounty hunters who pointed me towards Symphonyville. They were from one of the smaller subgenres, not from one of the main six.”

“Main six?”

“Yeah. Don’t you know about the six tribes?”

Branch shook his head and Pennywhistle frowned. Pop wasn’t teaching its kids about the six tribes? Is this how they were going to treat their mistake all those centuries ago, by pretending it never happened and they were the only kind of Troll to exist?

“I don’t really know a lot about it myself,” Pennywhistle admitted, “But there are six main kinds of music, each with their own string. A long time ago, Pop tried to steal the strings and the other tribes’ music, and everyone went their separate ways.”

Branch stared at his campfire for a moment, whispering, “We’re Pop. The tribes are separate because of us?”

Branch seemed to grapple with this revelation for a while, the only sounds being the party raging in the distance and the crackling of the fire. It was probably hard being told your tribe was basically evil, or at least they were at one point.

Eventually Branch asked, “Is that why you didn’t like everyone?”

“No. I was willing to give them a chance, but they proved that they didn’t deserve it. I think I’m gonna keep looking for Symphonyville.”

“Oh…” Branch looked down, tapping his fingers nervously.

Suddenly, Pennywhistle had the best idea ever.

“You should come with me!”

“What?”

“I don’t have a home, and neither do you. We’re vagabonds together! I bet the Classical Music Trolls would have somewhere for you to live! Somewhere warm, with a roof over your head.”

“I doubt they’d like me, especially since I’m a Pop Troll.”

“Maybe they won’t mind?” Branch didn’t seem convinced, so Pennywhistle switched tactics, “How about you help me get there, and then you can head back after if they don’t like you?”

Branch considered it for a moment before he sighed, “Okay. Okay, I’ll help you get to Symphonyville and then come back.”

“Great! Let’s get some rest and head out in the morning.”

“Actually… I think we should leave now. I have an idea, but we have to do it now, while the entire village is distracted with the party.”

______________________

The best way to travel a long distance was undoubtedly by hot air balloon. Branch had no clue why the village had a hot air balloon, they never really went anywhere that wasn’t easily walkable, but they had one.

This wasn’t stealing. Branch was borrowing it. He was going to bring it back after he helped Pennywhistle get to the Classical Music Trolls. And because he was coming right back, he didn’t bother packing up his tent or any of his belongings. He didn’t need to leave a note or let anybody know where he was going. The only people who would probably stop by were King Peppy and Poppy. Peppy if he had a new family lined up for Branch, and Poppy to invite him to a new party. Most other adults just dropped food off to his tent while he was gone for the day, so they wouldn’t find it strange that he was gone. If Peppy and Poppy couldn’t find him they’d probably just assume he was out, so there was no issue. It’s not like anyone cared where he went.

When they entered the clearing that the hot air balloon was in, Branch gestured to it. “Here, we can ride this to Symphonyville.”

“Woah.” Pennywhistle stared up at the balloon in wonder.

“Road trip!” The balloon yelled.

“Shhh!” Branch was quick to shush the balloon. They didn’t need to get caught. Branch wasn’t sure if even King Peppy knew about the other tribes, but if he did, there was no way he’d want Branch flying out to go meet with them.

Ignoring the part of him that was indignant at the thought of King Peppy hiding the information of the other tribes from all of them, Branch boarding the balloon with Pennywhistle. He pulled up the hatch and cut the rope holding them down with his pocket knife.

Branch wasn’t afraid of heights, but even he felt nervous at how quickly they rose in the air, up and up until the trees were far below them.

“I sure do hope the Classical Trolls are nicer than the Pop Trolls.” Pennywhistle said, hopping up onto the control panel, “How far do you think they are?”

“Not sure.” Branch bent down and dug through one of the small compartments of the balloon, grabbing a thick book out and setting it down next to Pennywhistle.

“Whatcha got there?”

“A giant comprehensive manual. In a short four hundred and fifty-six pages I’m gonna know how to fly this thing.” Branch said, rubbing his hands together and cracking his knuckles. He couldn’t help but be excited by the prospect of learning a new skill.

“Ooo!” Pennywhistle looked over at the book, skimming the pages, “Um, are you gonna be able to read all of that tonight? What if the wind gets really strong?”

“Uh… maybe I should have read the book first before we took off?” Branch was beginning to realize he might have been too eager, “Well, I’m a fast reader, just give me a bit. Hey Sheila, keep us steady!”

“You got it!” The balloon called out.

Reading by moonlight was not ideal, but Branch was used to reading books by campfire light, so his eyes were used to it. True to his word, it didn’t take long for Branch to get through the whole book. Just to be thorough he reread a few key parts over again, and Branch was surprised to see that Pennywhistle wasn’t bothered by him taking the extra time. He was sure if he was with Poppy she would have thrown the book overboard and just started hitting the buttons at random, so he was thankful that Pennywhistle was patient.

“Alright, so which way are the Classical Trolls?”

“North! I think the Rock Trolls are to the east. I heard they’re really scary.”

“Well then we’ll avoid them.”

Branch had no clue what a Rock Troll was, but if Pennywhistle said they were scary, they must be. Hopefully they wouldn’t encounter any.

The balloon thankfully had a compass built in, which he knew because of the manual, so Branch checked it and saw they were already going mostly north. They’d sailed a little bit west, so Branch was quick to correct their course. Branch set the balloon to autopilot and laid down on the basket floor. He should try to get a little bit of sleep in before they get to the Classical Trolls. The last thing he needed was to be extra grouchy from lack of sleep and offend them so badly that he makes Pennywhistle look bad.

He didn’t get much sleep, or at least, it wasn’t quality sleep. The high altitude and open basket meant that Branch was very cold and exposed. He’d been cold before, nights where it rained heavily and drowned out his campfire, but he’d always had a tent to hold his heat in. At the very least the balloon had spare blankets in one of the compartments, another reason Branch was glad that he’d read the manual cover to cover.

Branch was up with the sunrise while Pennywhistle slept soundly at his side, evidently not at all bothered by the cold. He hadn’t brought many provisions, but he thankfully had the good sense to always keep some emergency rations on him. He helped himself to some granola and berries, making sure to save some for Pennywhistle, and pulled out a book to pass the time.

Eventually Pennywhistle yawned and stirred, slowly sitting up and looking around. Confusion painted her groggy face, but it quickly passed as he assumed she remembered the night before. Being a traveler must be hard, constantly waking up in unfamiliar places. Branch already hated it when he woke up in a new bedroom while staying with his foster families, he couldn’t imagine waking up in even stranger places by himself.

“Good morning, Branch.” She said with a yawn.

“Morning. I saved you some breakfast.”

“Thanks!”

Branch held out a handful of granola, shocked but not surprised when Pennywhistle started eating it out of his hand like a grazing animal. She didn’t exactly have hands to grab it with, so he should have expected that.

After Pennywhistle had her fill of breakfast, Branch decided to check if they’d made it out of the forest. He lowered the balloon so that he could better see the ground, then leaned over the edge.

“Pennywhistle, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Poking out over the clouds were large mountain-like structures, all covered in ornate golden filigree and strangely shaped holes. Strange music filled the air, music made up of entirely acoustic instruments, nothing electronic at all to it, but even stranger was that there were no lyrics at all. Sure there was the occasional song with no lyrics in Pop Village, meant for dancing to, but the morning song always had lyrics. It was the song that told everyone today would be a great day, just like the last. It had to have lyrics to remind everyone of how great their lives were.

This must be what it meant to be a different genre.

Landing a balloon was much harder than Branch had anticipated. Reading a book could only teach you so much, practical skill and experience were another matter. As much as Branch would have liked if he could have landed the balloon outside of the town, it was clear that the balloon was going down in the center of the town square.

Branch really hoped these Trolls didn’t mind. Maybe he should let Pennywhistle do all the talking.

The balloon touched down, and already Branch could see the crowd gathering around him. Branch wasn’t prepared just for how different other Trolls would be. The Classical Trolls were much smaller than your average Troll, maybe even smaller than Branch, with bodies that looked too small for their heads. They all had the same golden skin that sparkled similar to a Glitter Trolls’, with gems on their stomachs like a Treasure Troll. Mostly notable, however, were the wings on their back that allowed the Classical Trolls to flutter around him.

Branch tried to ignore the stares and opened the hatch to the balloon, carrying Pennywhistle down the steps.

“And just what in the name of the six strings is going on here?”

Branch flinched at the stern tone in the stranger’s voice. The crowd parted, and a Classical Troll wearing a black coat and holding a strange stick in his hand came forward. Branch took a few steps back, cowering under his intense gaze.

“Are we being invaded?” Someone whispered.

“Surely the other tribes can do better than a single Troll.” Someone whispered back.

Pennywhistle was the one who spoke up, “Hello! I’m Pennywhistle, and this is Branch. We’re travelers searching for a new home!”

Oh, she was lumping him in with her. Great. Now he’d have to explain that he wasn’t actually homeless, he had a home, it just wasn’t a normal one.

“Is that so? Well, I am Wolfgang Amadeus Trollzart, Conductor of the Classical Trolls. You may call me Trollzart.” Trollzart bowed to them, “Our orchestra is always open to new instruments, but I must confess that we have never hosted any other sorts of Trolls before. Can you offer us assurance that you’re not here to procure our string?”

“...Huh?” Branch said.

Trollzart huffed, “Can you promise that you’re not here to steal from us?”

“Oh!” Branch nodded, “I promise. I only just found out there were strings yesterday, so I don’t really know what I’d do with it…”

A strange look passed over Trollzart’s face and he asked, “Pardon me, my dear Branch, but might I inquire about your age?”

“Um, I’m seven. Why?”

“And if I might pry further, where are your caretakers?”

“I don’t… have any? I don’t need any foster parents, I’m seven.”

“Good heavens, what are the Rock Trolls thinking?”

“Rock Trolls? I’m a Pop Troll. Why would you think I’m a Rock Troll?”

There were a few gasps from the crowd that had gathered, and the whispering picked up again. Right, the Pop Trolls tried to steal the strings. They’d probably kick Branch out, not that he planned on staying. He should just get back in the balloon now and go home. That’s what he planned to do, so why was he staying and talking to Trollzart?

“Forgive me for the assumptions. What do you say we go somewhere a bit more private?” Trollzart asked, giving the crowd a quick glare.

Against his better judgement telling him to back onto the balloon and leave, that he wasn’t welcome here, Branch nodded, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Trollzart led them through the streets of Symphonyville, greeting Trolls as they passed as if nothing was wrong. Trolls stared and whispered as they passed by, but Branch was no stranger to people whispering about him. He tried to give them a little grace, after all he was pretty sure if a Classical Troll had shown up in Pop Village, they would have found them just as strange. Branch did look quite different from them already, in addition to being grey.

Trollzart stopped in front of one of the oddly shaped mountains, “This here is my home. Please do come in.”

Trollzart flew up to one of the oddly shaped holes and fluttered in. After a moment he peeked back out, assumedly because Branch hadn’t followed him, but how was he supposed to? That was the third floor! He couldn’t just fly up there.

“Dear Branch, are you coming?” Trollzart asked.

“Uh, yeah. One second.”

Okay, he had an idea for how to get up there, but it would take really good aim and some skill. He backed up a bit and took a running start, stretching his hair out and using it like a vaulting pole to launch himself through the window. He landed in a tuck and roll, then stood up.

“Good gracious! What on Earth are you doing?!”

Branch stared at Trollzart blankly, “I don’t exactly have wings to get up here with.”

Trollzart actually seemed rather embarrassed as he realized, “Ah. Do pardon me. I did not consider that our architecture is strictly suited only for members of our own tribe. I apologize for this grievous oversight.” He bowed.

“It’s fine, you don’t really have any reason to care if Trolls who can’t fly can get around.”

Trollzart rubbed his chin, “Actually, that is not entirely accurate. Not all Classical Trolls are born with the ability to fly. Give me a moment.” Trollzart rang a small bell, and a Classical Troll flew into the room, “Millard, please bring a skychair for our guest.”

Millard bowed, “Of course, Monsieur.”

Branch considered asking what a “skychair” was, but decided against it. There was no point in annoying Trollzart with his question when he was about to find out anyway. As long as “skychair” wasn’t code for some sort of horrendous torture device, he didn’t need a heads up for it.

Millard came back with an ornate chair that hovered off the ground. The back, seat and arms were covered in a plush looking green velvet. The back and arms had small bits of exposed wood, which, like the legs of the chair, were ornately carved and polished. As Millard sat the chair down in front of Branch, he saw the reason the chair was able to float. On the back of the chair were a pair of golden wings fluttering away. The chair was smaller than the chairs at Pop Village were, but would likely be the perfect size for Branch and very spacious for any Classical Troll.

Trollzart put a hand on the back of the chair, “Please, sit.”

The chair lowered onto the ground, and Branch nervously climbed on. Embedded in one of the arms were the controls for the chair, which jerked to life as soon as Branch pressed down.

“It may take some time to get used to the controls.” Trollzart said, amusement in his voice.

Branch carefully tested the controls out, quickly figuring out how to maneuver the chair. Controlling the levitation was a bit tricky, but thankfully the chair only needed the height adjusted once and would then fly at that level until you changed it, so he didn’t need to constantly hold onto the controls.

“I think I’ve got it.” Branch said.

“My, you learn quite quickly, do you not?”

Branch shrugged, “I guess.” He stopped and looked around, “Where’s Pennywhistle?”

“Here!” She popped out of his hair and landed on his lap, “I hitched a ride when I figured out you were gonna jump for it.”

If Pennywhistle were a Troll, Branch would be a bit offended. Hair was important to Trolls, and you didn’t touch it or get in it without permission, or without being very close. Little kids and critters, on the other hand, had a free pass to jump in the nearest adult’s hair if the situation called for it, and he supposed that Pennywhistle counted as a critter and the situation did call for it. After all, Pennywhistle didn’t even have arms and legs, let alone wings, so how was she meant to get around?

Branch turned his attention to Trollzart’s home, surprised by how elaborate and almost cluttered it was. Pop pods didn’t have much in terms of decorations, and the pops of color mostly came from the pod itself. Pods weren’t very intricately designed, having a few stripes or polka dots at most. Trollzart’s home, however, had elaborate patterns on nearly every surface. The floor had a detailed tile pattern, while the walls were covered in wallpaper depicting floral designs, as well as golden adornments. The furniture were carved so that they curled or dipped in various places, and some of the chairs had fabric with similar patterns as the wallpaper. Not even the ceiling was spared from being over-decorated, being painted with scenes of Trolls on clouds with hanging crystal chandeliers. Even something as small as a vase consisted of so many small details that Branch was being overloaded by the room itself.

While Pop Trolls wanted things to be as bright and colorful as possible, they also seemed to prefer more simple and natural designs. Aside from being brightly colored, their furniture mostly designed to be practical, unlike here, where the table quite literally had a Troll carved into its legs. Classical Trolls also seemed to prefer gold tones, pastels and a few darker shades like the burgundy velvet that some of the chairs were made from.

Branch rubbed his eyes, which were honestly starting to hurt from how much stuff there was to look at, “Your home is very… detailed.”

Trollzart thankfully seemed to take this as a compliment, “Why thank you. One’s home is the place he must tend to the most, as it is a reflection of himself. When guests arrive, they will know exactly what kind of person you are from how your home is decorated and tended to.”

“I guess that makes sense?” Branch wasn’t sure what his tent said about him.

“You guess correctly. Am I to assume Pop Trolls decorate vastly differently?”

“Yeah. Our stuff isn’t so…” Branch struggled for a word, eventually landing on, “Fancy.”

“Is that so?” Trollzart hummed. He fluttered over to one of the couches and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. 

Millard brought out a tray with a tea set on it and sat a cup down in front of Trollzart, then filled it with tea. He then set out a second cup, filled it and pushed it towards Branch. Branch parked his chair in the free space next to the couch and picked up the tea cup. He noticed Trollzart had his pinky stuck out while he sipped his tea, so he mimicked the man. For all Branch knew, that was how you drank tea in Symphonyville.

The tea was different than the kinds in the village. Every tea in Pop Village could be described in two words: floral and sweet. Even before the many cubes of sugar were added, tea back home was frustratingly sweet. This tea however was… complex. It was floral and sweet, but also bitter and citrusy. There were flavors he couldn’t describe either, but he enjoyed nonetheless. He could help the smile on his face as he drank greedily from the cup.

“I assume the tea is to your liking?” Trollzart asked, his voice warm with amusement.

Branch nodded, “It’s really good. We don’t have any tea this good in the village. It’s all too sweet.”

“Ah, I personally avoid making my tea too sweet as well, so I do not use sugar lumps.” Trollzart sat his cup on its saucer, “Speaking of, my dear Millard, you did not offer dear Branch any sugar or milk for his tea.”

“As you know, I can look at a Troll and tell how they would like their tea. I did not see reason to offer Master Branch frivolities that he would not like.” Millard said.

“It is still the polite thing to do.” Trollzart said, “You are too confident in your ability.”

“Um, it’s okay. I didn’t mind.” Branch said.

“Nonsense. My guests should have access to all drink inclusions.” Trollzart said, “Please, do not hesitate to ask, should you desire any sugar or milk in the future. I would hate for you to enjoy a less than perfect drink on account of us.”

Branch wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Uh… alright.”

“Now, I believe we have important matters to discuss about the subject of your stay in Symphonyville.”

“Pennywhistle is the one staying. I have a home to go back to.” Branch said.

“No he doesn’t.” Pennywhistle said, “He has a tent and a hole in the ground.”

Branch glared at her. He growled, “Pennywhistle.”

Trollzart balked, “A tent? My goodness. Those are unacceptable conditions for a child of your age. I must inquire what leader would allow such a thing to occur.”

“You mean King Peppy?”

“It would seem that is precisely who I mean. This King Peppy allows you to sleep in a tent with no caretakers?”

“Yes? Well, no. Maybe? He keeps setting me up with different foster families, but they never work out, so I head back out to my tent. After a couple weeks, he comes back with a new family and the cycle repeats. I wish he would just leave me alone to my tent.”

“Dear Branch, I find these conditions abhorrent and unacceptable. I do not believe that I in good conscience can release you back into that environment.”

Branch took a moment to decipher what Trollzart was saying, “Wait… are you kidnapping me?”

Trollzart waved his hands, “Heavens, no! Of course not. I just cannot permit you to go back to a king who would allow a child to go without a home and caretaker.”

“So you’re preventing me from going home.”

“Yes.”

“But I’m not being kidnapped?”

“Precisely!” Trollzart said cheerfully.

“I don’t think you know what it means to kidnap someone.” Branch said flatly.

Trollzart just hummed and sipped his tea.

“Do you really want to go back?” Pennywhistle asked softly.

Branch opened his mouth to tell her “yes of course I want to go home” but found he just couldn’t make the words come out. This was ridiculous, of course he wanted to go back home! He had to finish his bunker for Floyd! Except… did he need to go back to Pop Village to make the bunker? He could make it anywhere, couldn’t he? Maybe it would even be better to make it out this way. He hadn’t noticed, but the music had continued to play outside while he and Trollzart talked. It almost… faded into the background. It was soft and gentle, more than even the softest Pop ballad.

He could get used to this.

No, focus, Branch. Why would he want to run away from Pop Village to live near a bunch of strangers? He had no idea what the plants here were like, or how suitable the ground was for digging. He didn’t know where the local shops were, or if they sold the supplies Branch needed. And why wouldn’t he want to go back to Pop Village? Sure everyone there was loud and annoying. Poppy bothered him daily. Music blared through the forest at all times, seeping through even when he covered his head with his pillow. People tried to drag him to parties and force him to sing. He was constantly getting covered in gritty glitter that itched his skin and burned his eyes like they were full of sand.

…Okay, admittedly there were a lot of reasons to run away from Pop Village and live with a bunch of strangers, but what was that old saying? The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t? What if the Classical Trolls were worse? Branch wasn’t sure how it could get any worse, but he also couldn’t imagine what other kinds of music there were before hearing Classical, but it definitely existed. What if Classical Trolls were mean? What if they were pushier than the Trolls in the village ever were? What if they had something worse than glitter?

“Well… I have to take the balloon back.” Branch said instead.

“The balloon can fly itself back.” Pennywhistle said.

Branch couldn’t argue with that, so he stayed silent.

“If I may suggest, perhaps you should stay a few days and we can revisit this topic at a later date. It is due to storm later this evening and all throughout the week, which are less than optimal flying conditions. Your balloon offers no protection from the rain, and I would hate for you to get ill from the cold.” Trollzart said.

Branch stared into his teacup that was cupped in his hands, “Yeah… Yeah, alright, I can stay until the storm passes.”

“Excellent. Millard, would you please prepare a room for dear Branch?”

Millard bowed, “Of course, Monsieur.”

“And dear Branch, we will of course take excellent care of your balloon until you both are able to leave.” Trollzart said.

Branch nodded, “Thank you.”

“I still think you should stay.” Pennywhistle mumbled.

Branch ignored her, “Um, are you sure you want me to stay here? If you have a really good tent, I can stay outside.”

Trollzart made an affronted noise, holding a hand up to his chest, “Heaven forbid it! I could never force a Troll to endure the elements when I am a perfectly adept host, least of all a child. Perish the thought.”

“It’s really not a problem. If it’s a good tent, it’s mostly waterproof, and I’m used to it.” Branch said.

“I am afraid I must insist you stay here in my home. It is simply unacceptable to consider allowing you to sleep in the rain.”

It seemed that arguing with Trollzart would be pointless, so Branch accepted that he’d be staying with the man for the next few days. Maybe he could just stay in his room most of the time and avoid having to socialize with him. He didn’t exactly know if Classical Trolls liked the same icebreakers as Pop Trolls, and he wasn’t keen on finding out.”

Suddenly, there was the chime of a bell that continued ringing, the sound growing more frantic as each second passed.

“Wolfgang! I know you are home! Answer me right this second!” A voice called.

A vein seemed to pop up on Trollzart’s temple as he clenched his jaw, making a small hissing noise as he sucked in a breath. He turned towards Branch and said, “Pardon me, dear Branch, but I do believe that is my lovely elder sister and it does appear that she is in some distress.”

It was odd watching someone get off a couch by quite literally floating upwards, Trollzart’s legs tucking under him as he fluttered out of the room. From the other room Branch could hear Trollzart talking to someone whose voice got louder as it grew closer.

“–truly I cannot believe you would not alert me as soon as something happened.” The stranger fluttered into the room and Branch stared with wide eyes at what was probably the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. She had pastel yellow hair, like Trollzart’s, that was styled into gravity defying curls that were taller than she was. The dress she wore was like none that Branch had ever seen, even amongst the most elegant of Pop dresses. It was a soft mint green fabric that poofed out like a ballgown, with layers of ruffles and delicate lace with portions of the dress pulled up with bows.

“Uh,” Was all Branch managed to say.

“So you are the Pop Troll that has invaded our borders,” She said, “And just what is your purpose for being here?”

“Dearest sister, do mind your manners. Your ignorance betrays you, once again you neglect to pay attention to the gossip you hear.”

Trollzart’s sister slammed shut the fan in her hand, holding it up to her throat, “Do mind your tone, little brother, for I am still your elder. Just what ignorance as you claim have I displayed?”

Trollzart smirked, “Why, it is simple, dearest sister. I believe it would only be in ignorance that you would speak this way to a child of this young age.”

Her eyes went wide, blinking a few times before turning back to Branch, “A child? Truly?”

“Um, hi?” Branch squeaked, waving at her nervously.

Pennywhistle glared at the woman, “Watch it, lady.”

Trollzart’s sister put a hand to her chest, “Oh my heavens, I am so ashamed to have acted so dreadfully to you.” She bowed, “Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”

“It’s okay. Pop Trolls are the bad guys, right? They took the strings, so it makes sense if you don’t want me here. I can go.”

“No! I mean,” She cleared her throat, “No, that will not be necessary. I am terribly sorry to have given you the impression you were unwelcome. Of course you are our esteemed guest, and for me to imply otherwise was unforgivable.”

“It’s fine.” Branch was no stranger to people saying stuff that sounded bad and then frantically backtracking so as to not sound mean. Really he was lucky that Trollzart was being as nice as he was to him, and his sister had no reason to trust him. He was just a Pop Troll who showed up randomly. No one knew him or his motivations, so it was only natural that they should be suspicious of him.

“My dearest sister, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Branch of the Pop tribe. Branch, this is my dearest sister, Germaine Trolleferre.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Germaine bowed, then held out her hand to Branch. Branch had no clue what he was meant to do with it, as it didn’t look like she was going for a handshake or a fist bump, so he looked to Trollzart for help.

“Ah, I suppose Pop Trolls have a different manner of greeting? Here it is polite to greet everyone with a bow. Afterwards, some Trolls may offer you their hand, which you take like so.” Trollzart took Germaine’s hand by placing his curled fingers under hers, lifting her hand up slightly.

“Oh, um,” Branch scrambled out of his seat and stood up, bowing clumsily to Germaine. He could tell that he didn’t look nearly as dignified as Germaine had, looking more like he was bending over than bowing, but he hoped it was passable for a first time. He took Germaine’s hand in his, though unlike Trollzart’s his hand was twice the size of hers.

“We shall work on it.” Trollzart said. Definitely not passable then.

“Ahem.” Pennywhistle mock-cleared her throat.

“Oh, do forgive me. Germaine, this is the newest member of our symphony, Pennywhistle.”

Germaine bowed again, and Branch studied her posture as she did, “How wonderful. I do look forward to hearing you play.”

“Since you have invited yourself in, dearest sister, might I interest you in some tea?” Trollzart offered.

“That would be lovely, thank you. Two sugars and just a touch of milk.”

Trollzart let out an amused huff, “Naturally. How many years have I known you again? Do you think I would forget?”

“Knowing you, dearest brother, I full heartedly believe it might slip your mind the moment I cease to remind you.”

Everyone took their seats, and Trollzart poured a cup for his sister and another for Branch. Germaine stirred her tea, her spoon never once clinking the edges of the cup, then took a sip. Even the way the Classical Trolls drank their tea was refined, a sure contrast to how Branch was likely doing it.

“So, Branch,” Germaine started, “What brings you to Symphonyville? Our tribes have not had contact in centuries, so I am curious as to what caused you to break that.”

“He was helping me find the Classical Trolls!” Pennywhistle said.

Branch nodded, “Pennywhistle didn’t like Pop Village, so I agreed to help her find Symphonyville.”

“How kind of you. I am surprised that your guardians would let you make such a trip alone.” Germaine said.

“Oh, I don’t have those.”

“Have what, my dear?”

“Guardians.”

Germaine stared at him, “Pardon me?”

“I’m seven, I don’t need guardians.”

For some reason, Germaine turned to Trollzart and hissed, “Wolfgang.”

“I am taking care of it, Germaine.” He whispered back.

“Well,” Germaine seemed to compose herself, adjusting her posture as she took a deep breath, “Pop Trolls certainly have a lower threshold for maturity than we Classical Trolls. Is this a common occurrence?”

“Not really? I mean, kind of? All the other kids have parents, if that’s what you’re asking. I just don’t really get along with any of the fosters that King Peppy sets up, so I just leave and go back to my tent in the forest.”

“I see, and this is allowed?” She asked.

“Well I think King Peppy would rather I live with someone, so he keeps trying to find me new families, but they never work out. The parents never come get me though when I leave, so it’s fine.”

Germaine and Trollzart shared a look that Branch wasn’t sure what it meant. Germaine took a sip of tea, as if using the time to gather her thoughts, then asked, “How long will you be staying in Symphonyville? You are our first visitor from another tribe, I would loathe for you to leave before seeing all that Symphonyville has to offer. At the very least, you must see the concert hall.”

Branch chose to skip over explaining why he didn’t really want to see the concert hall, “I’m just staying until the storms pass.”

“Ah, yes, you are quite lucky that you arrived when you did, they are due to start very soon and I heard they will get very nasty. I hate to think of what would have happened had you still been in the air. I am not sure if your balloon could have withstood the winds.” She said.

“Will your house be okay with the wind?” Branch asked Trollzart, looking towards the large, strangely shaped hole that led outside and left the home open to the elements.

“Of course! I suppose now is a good time to close it, before the rain starts.” Trollzart said. He flew over to the opening and reached towards the wall. It had been hard to notice, as the walls were so heavily adorned, but there were shutters on either side of the opening. Trollzart pulled them closed, latching them shut. Part of the shutters were glass, so Branch could still see outside. It had gotten noticeably darker since he’d come inside. “I’m sure Millard has already gotten the rest of the windows by now.”

“Indeed I have, monsieur.” Millard announced as he fluttered into the room, “Master Branch’s room is ready, and I have arranged temporary sleeping arrangements for Miss Pennywhistle as well that should hopefully suffice until we find something more permanent.” Millard turned to Branch, “I hope it is alright that the two of you are sharing a room. I thought that perhaps you might wish to stay with your travel companion.”

“That’s fine.” Branch said quietly.

“Thank you, Millard.” Trollzart said.

“Is it okay if I go lay down for a bit? I’m still tired from the trip here.” Branch lied.

Trollzart nodded, “Of course. Millard can show you the way. Remember to take your skychair with you. It will help you in reaching the other floors.”

Branch let out a small hum of acknowledgment and carefully maneuvered his chair around the furniture. The skychair was not too different from a wheelchair—beyond the fact that it had another dimension of movement to it—but unfortunately Branch did not have experience with wheelchairs either, so the familiarity was in appearance only. Branch quickly realized why he still needed it inside the home, as the only way up to the next floor was a large hole in the ceiling that Millard fluttered up with ease. It seemed that stairs were not something the Classical Trolls had much use for.

The rest of the house was just as fancy as the first room had been, with long corridors leading to all sorts of rooms. One thing was for certain, Classical Troll homes were much bigger than Pop homes. Branch doesn’t even know if his own bunker would be this big when it was finished, and it was gonna have a ten story waterslide!

Despite how small the Classical Trolls were, the doors of their home were quite large, larger than any Troll could ever possibly need. Millard opened one of these giant doors and gestured to the room inside. Ignoring how overly ornate and detailed everything was, it appeared to be a normal room, with a wardrobe, dresser, bed, nightstands and a vanity with a mirror. On top of the dresser an instrument case lined with velvet had been left, presumably for Pennywhistle.

“Ring if you need anything, Master Branch.” Millard said. He bowed and shut the door. Branch couldn’t see him anymore but he assumed that he fluttered off to do whatever it was that he was here to do.

Branch parked his skychair and approached the bed. Like the doors, it was much larger than necessary for any Pop Trolls, let alone a Classical Troll. Its frame was made of heavy wood—which left Branch wondering how Trolls as small as the Classical Trolls had even lifted it here at all—with four tall posts supporting a canopy where dark blue fabric hung down. The posts, the canopy and the headboard were as ornately carved as all the rest of the furniture, and Branch was starting to think that all types of craftsmanship here must take at least twice as long as it did in the village.

The bed was rather tall, making it a little difficult to climb onto, but Branch supposed height didn’t matter much to the Classical Trolls.

‘It must be nice,’ Branch thought, ‘They could have just flown away from any Bergens that showed up.’

If Pop Trolls could fly, they wouldn’t have had to waste time on the tunnels. They could just fly between the bars and far away from the Bergens. Maybe they wouldn’t have even been caught at all. And they definitely wouldn’t have had to worry about getting found each day, because if they could fly, they could live even higher in the trees.

Branch’s fingers idly traced the patterns of the bedspread, numbly swirling and curving over the shapes of leaves and flowers.

“Branch? This place sure is fancy, huh?” Pennywhistle said, shaking him from his stupor.

“What was all that about?” Branch asked, hostility seeping into his voice, “The deal was I help you get to Symphonyville and then I go back home. Why did you tell Trollzart we were both searching for a new home?”

Pennywhistle didn’t even flinch, firmly stating, “The deal was you head back if they don’t like you. They seem to like you so far.”

“They’re being polite, there’s a difference. Once they realize everything that’s wrong with me, they won’t want me around.”

“That’s not true! You’re really nice, they’ll love you!” Pennywhistle insisted.

“What would you know about me, you just met me! You won’t like me either.”

Branch let out a frustrated sigh and flopped back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and facing the wall. He hated this part. The part where the new family is so sure that he’ll magically warm up to them and they’ll say some nice words and suddenly he’ll be fixed, as if they weren’t repeating the same things that every other family said before them. The part where he watches another family realize how broken he is and give up on him. The part where he gives up first so he doesn’t have to watch one more person walk away.

“Just leave me alone.” He mumbled, closing his eyes.

At least maybe he could get some sleep and not have to think about it.