Chapter Text
Branch is used to the stares.
Losing his colours when he was just a trolling gained him many, mostly worried ones from worried parents, but as he grew older and his grey tones only got duller, the faint blue undertones fading the longer he stayed that way, only served in making the worry shift into uneasiness.
The stares he’s getting now aren’t malicious; quite the opposite, actually, curious and full of cautious wonder, trollings pointing at him with exaggerated gasps having to be quieted down by harried parents.
He brushes a hand over his cheeks, hoping the gold glitter freckles would go away like dust is swept away by a mop, but to no avail.
Sighing, he goes back to his bunker; Floyd is waiting for him with some type of flowery tea brewing in his usual cup, a walking cane resting against his chair. There’s not much Floyd can do without growing exhausted quickly, nowadays, and while their other brothers agreed to visit on a regular schedule, they all have their lives to go back to.
Bruce has his wife and kids, Clay has, apparently, a tribe to keep safe, and JD is simply unwilling to let go of his nomadic lifestyle, so Branch agreed, even if hesitantly, to house Floyd for as long as it was needed.
“Did everything go okay?” Floyd asks.
Branch nods. “Trolls keep on staring, but I guess it’s expected.”
“As long as they don’t make you uncomfortable.”
“How’s the cane?”
Floyd frowns at the obvious avoidance but says nothing. “It’s fine, thanks. Was it really necessary?”
“Yes,” Branch says. “And Poppy wants to bedazzle the whole thing, so be ready for her to drop by anytime this afternoon.”
“She’s nice,” Floyd says. “She means well.”
“She does. Thanks for the tea.”
“It was no problem, Branch.”
Poppy giggles as she gives out invite after invite to every troll in the village; the 20 years of Freedom party ready to blast, and Branch willing to at least come by for a few minutes, she can’t help feeling giddy at the prospect of finally, finally having the older troll attend one of her parties.
Of course, she had to endure a long, boring lecture on crowd safety and noise pollution, but she doesn’t think lowering the volume a little bit would be too bad- ‘trolls can go deaf from too loud noises, Poppy,’ Branch had said, and Poppy trusts him to know this kind of thing better than she does, so she listens- or making sure water and a first aid kit are easily accessible, just in case, would certainly not be the end of the world.
Branch promised to come to the party if she made it less, well, less , and for her friend she'd be willing to move mountains.
For all her friends, not just Branch, of course, but she’s just so excited for him to come, that she wants to make sure he’s as comfortable as he can be for how little he might stay.
Creek has always been the kind of troll to preach inner peace, steady communication, and healthy choices.
Seeing Poppy interact so freely with Branch doesn’t exactly help with channelling either of these things.
He doesn’t hate Branch, of course he doesn’t, but as Poppy’s boyfriend- as unofficial their relationship may be- he thinks he has the right to question if she’s making the right choices.
Knowing she’s listening to Branch, out of every other troll, to help with organising a party thoroughly baffles him.
Why didn’t she ask him anyway? She knows he’s a total party guy, even if their preferred songs aren’t always a match, but they generally agree on everything else!
Frowning, he performs his usual duties with those same, negative thoughts in his mind; the other trolls at his yoga lessons only vaguely notice, but none of them is close enough to him to actually dare ask.
Spotting Branch fixing a troll’s pod at sunset is what makes him decide to ask.
Branch is unused to positive attention; he is, however, familiar with his repair and crafting skills being appreciated and getting asked to fix one thing or another by the other trolls in the village.
Fixing pods- especially the high hanging ones- is something he’s done a lot, and one repair job now takes him very little, compared to when he first started out; his clients keep him hydrated and fed as he works, sometimes even coming to chat for a bit, buy he’s generally left alone to work quietly, something everyone knows he prefers.
Creek approaching him is so far removed from a preferred situation he almost leaves there and then. However, he prides himself on being professional and leaving before completing a job just because he sees someone he doesn’t like is not it, so he grits his teeth and goes back to his duty, trying to increase his working speed to avoid Creek as fast as he can.
“Namaste, mate, I see you’re as dutiful as you’ve always been,” Creek says, not quite yelling but still too loud for Branch’s tastes.
“What do you want?”
“Can’t I simply encourage a fellow, hardworking, troll?”
Branch scoffs. “Do you take me for a moron?”
“Of course not, mate-”
“-Don’t call me ‘mate’.”
“- Branch,” Creek corrects. “Do you really hate me so much to not want my company?”
Branch stills, ears perking up lightly. “I don’t hate you. I simply can’t stand you.”
Creek steps back, eyes wide, letting the grey troll pass.
“Goodbye, Creek.”
The party starts early; it was Branch’s advice, really, to start at sunset with a more relaxed music choice, giving the trollings a chance to have an in in the fun in a more controlled environment, then, once they’re asleep in the nursery pod set up for the occasion will the party fully turn wild, music louder with harder songs sung thorough.
As promised, Branch is there helping Poppy with the final details, setting up a water station right beside the snack bar to go along the few choices of fruit punch, monitoring the trollings alongside their own attentive parents as they give their own performance a try.
That’s where he stays for the most part, Floyd even joining right as the trollings get put to sleep, his cane perfectly shiny with all the rhinestones Poppy stuck to it only that afternoon.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Branch passes his brother a drink, the older troll accepting the cup with a grateful nod. “Everything’s okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. I can’t believe it’s been twenty years.”
“Me neither,” Branch agrees. “I just hope nothing goes wrong.”
“
Hey
,” Poppy starts, spreading her arms wide, her sparkly dress glittering under the lights. “
Callin' all grown-ups, animals, and kids
Right this way
We have prepared for you today
A dazzlin' display
Presentin' the one and only Branch!
”
“ Go! Go! Go! Go! ” the crowd sings, clapping their hands in rhythm.
“
Ladies and gentlemen
It's Poppy and me again
My rhythm comes from the heart of Troll Village
And I bring a bit of it to every city I'm livin' in
I was given a gift
I'm never givin' up or givin' in
The time-honoured traditions of the Tribe,
” Branch sings, fast-paced and perfectly in tune, the other trolls cheering him on, though their baffled faces make it clear how unused they still are to hear him sing.
“ In a collabo with Branch, the fabulous friend ,” Poppy interjects, grabbing Branch’s hands and spinning him around.
“
We have battled the elements and villainous reptilians
,” the two join in together, “
By bouncin' to the beat of our own drums with brilliance
My fine feathered friend has flown the whole meridian
And this party can't help but bring the pretty in
They shine like a diamond of the finest obsidian
And tango like a eccentric ballerina
But dang, yo
Y'all don't understand my singin'
'Cause I'm runnin' rings around
This riveting rhythm and swingin'
So gimme the rhythm and gimme a minute
And gimme a limit so I can exceed it
A brand-new song's just what we needed!
”
Then everyone joins in, pairing up and dancing together. “
Hey
Lo le lo lai
Lo le lo lai, lo le lo lei
”
“
And if you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands?
” Floyd joins in, using his bedazzled crutches to dictate the rhythm.
“
If you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands? Go!
” the crowd repeats. “
Hey
Lo le lo lai
Lo le lo lai, lo le lo lei
”
“
And if you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands?
If you like that dance
Won't you clap your hands?
” Poppy sings once more, her voice distinct from all others.
“ Go! ” Branch shouts. “ Que diga ¡presente! ”
“ Que diga ¡presente! ” Poppy echoes.
“
¡Presente, presente!
” the crowd answers, then they all sing together. “
And if you like this song
Won't you sing along?
If you like this song
Won't you sing along?
And if you like this song
Won't you sing along?
If you like this song
Won't you sing along?
Go!
”
“Hey,
” Branch and Poppy sing once more, hands joined together as they dance in synch with each other. “
Lo, le, lo, lai
Lo, le, lo, lai, lo, le, lo, lei
Lai le lo lei
If you like this song
Won't you sing along?
If you like this song
La, lo, la, lo, la, le lo lei
We are one of a kind…”
Fireworks explode high up in the sky, taking the shape of flowers, hearts and starts, and Branch frowns.
“I thought we agreed on no fireworks.”
“Come on, Branch, let it be!” zshe cheers. “They’re so pretty, and everything’s going so well…”
He sighs. “Fine, fine, just- try not to go overboard, okay?”
Branch lasts one more hour before he can’t deal with the crowd or the loud noises; he scurries back to his bunker, reminding himself to tell Poppy and Floyd instead of just disappearing like he did other times, and makes himself a cup of tea.
He takes deep breaths, hand over his thundering heart.
His hand is a pale blue, fading back to a dull hue now that he's by himself, though the gold, glittery sparks left over from the family harmony- gold that also stayed with his brothers and Poppy- are as bright as the first time he saw them.
The music of the party can be heard even through the layers of soil separating his home from the village; he hears Poppy singing alongside Creek, their other friends joining in, a quick paced, funny tune he can’t quite dischern the words of; DJ Suki, as skillful as ever, matching her beats with their rhythm, and the crowd cheering them all on.
He can easily imagine the light show illuminating the night sky, a win for Poppy’s party planning skills even despite his concerns, and he remembers the pale, blue lights she’d decided on using as her main, outlining shapes and words filled with colours.
He gets ready for bed humming a BroZone’s song, throwing his usual clothes into the repair bin once more- his vest, once Floyd’s, is something he keeps immaculate, having used high quality thread and fabric to repair and substitute pieces at it started falling apart from use, the same can’t be said for his pants, now more patches and frayed edges to be practical, but he only throws clothes out if they can’t be repaired any longer, so into the repair bin they go- and he slips into his night clothes and under the covers in record time.
Then’ he’s abruptly awoken by frantic knocking on his door, and Poppy’s barely contained sobs.