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“This is fucking bullshit,” Tommy says. His voice echoes against wood and water. He’s squatting across a small, stagnant pond from Skeppy, a plank bridge just above his head.
Skeppy’s smile in the dim light is rich enough to supply Bluebeard with a lifetime’s worth of wedding rings. “Aw, but Tommy,” he wheedles, “this is literally trolling 101! Even humans know about it, which means it must be good!”
“My sock is wet.”
“Why’d you step into the river?” Skeppy asks innocently.
Tommy flips him off, but he settles back on his rock with a scowl instead of leaving.
“This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to teach me how to troll people,” he says after a minute. “And this isn’t even a river, it’s a puddle.”
“Tommy, I built you this bridge for the express purpose of showing you how to sit under it, so shut up and wait for goats.”
It doesn’t take much longer for a familiar set of hoofsteps to walk sedately down the Prime path and trip across the bridge.
Literally.
The owner of the hooves lands heavily on the bridge with a thump and a lot of swearing. There’s the rumbling sound of a dense object rolling.
“Who moved the fucking path? Whole fucking SMP gone to shit, a server full of idiots who don’t look where they’re going-”
Skeppy nudges Tommy. “Go.”
The sound of rolling ends and something hits the water with a splash. Both would-be-trolls stop to look at it.
“Mine,” Tommy stage-whispers, diving for what has turned out to be a mostly-empty bottle of whiskey.
“Fuck off, you’re like eight,” Skeppy whispers back. “Gimme-”
It is one of Tommy’s worst fights, and considering how he lost his first two lives, that’s saying something. Skeppy takes a swig of the whiskey. “Now troll him.”
Tommy clears his throat and puts on his best gruff voice.
“Who’s that tripping on my bridge?”
There is the briefest of pauses.
“Oh, is that where the Funny Mic went.”
“It’s not the Funny Mic, bitch, I’m the best troll there’s ever was, and I demand you come down here so I can eat you.”
Tommy makes a questioning sort of eye contact with Skeppy, or maybe it’s pleading. Skeppy gives him an encouraging thumbs-up and a maniacal grin.
“Who the fuck would want to eat me?”
“A troll, that’s who. We love goats.”
“Well. If it’s goats you want, there’s a kid coming this way in a few minutes for some dumbfuck meeting he called. I bet he’d taste real good.”
Tommy opens his mouth. Skeppy nods at him so hard it looks more like headbanging.
“Well, go on then,” Tommy says, just like Skeppy taught him.
“Seriously, eat the kid, he spends all his time sneaking off, you’d be doing me a favour.”
The footsteps pass over the bridge and are gone.
“Can I go now?” Tommy asks Skeppy, dropping the voice.
“You should change your name.”
“Fucking what?”
“Your name. All trolls have a first and last name that are six letters long.”
Tommy’s foot slips and hits the water again. When he regains his balance with both feet on dry land again, he says, “You’re a wrong’un and a prick and you’re trying to make me change my name so you can steal my identity and become the biggest man on the DreamSMP. But I am on to you, Skep-tickle.”
“Why would I want your identity? You don’t even have a troll name.”
“What’s your last name, then, bitch?”
“Serket.”
Tommy opens his mouth, probably to tell him how to pronounce ‘secret’, but that’s when they hear another set of footsteps. A little lighter, much faster.
“Go on,” Skeppy whispers. His smile has, somehow, grown bigger.
“Who’s that tripping over my bridge?”
“Tubbo,” says Tubbo. “So this is yours? Are you new? I didn’t see a welcome message.”
“I’m a troll,” Tommy booms. “And I eat goats like you.”
“Oh,” Tubbo says innocently. “It’s GOATs you want? There’s a GOAT coming along soon. We're supposed to be meeting. He’s a lot bigger than me, lots more to eat or whatever.”
“Well, go on then.”
“You’re doing great,” Skeppy tells him once Tubbo’s receded. “Now, about that name, your name is five and five, so you gotta add letters. I recommend Tommye Innitt.”
“That’s my name already.”
“No, no, there’s an E after the Y and Innitt has a double T now.”
“No.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“You’re a known wrong’un!”
“Wow, rude.”
Hoofbeats echo through the Prime Path, getting ever closer to the bridge. The trolls under it fall silent.
Louder and louder, and as they hit the bridge Tommye says without any prompting,
“Who’s that tripping over my bridge?”
There is silence from whoever’s above them. Then something shuffles and a head appears upside-down over the edge of the bridge.
“Why am I not surprised?” Technoblade asks.
“How’s your crown staying on upside-down?” Skeppy asks him, unperturbed.
“If you ask questions like that, you’ll unspool the very code of reality. Are you hiding after some prank, or is this the prank?”
“I’m trolling, bitch!”
Technoblade nods slowly. “Oh, this folktale. I’m not a goat, though.”
“Tubbo said you were,” Tommye protests.
Technoblade pauses. “How many goats went by?”
“You’re the third,” Skeppy tells him. “Tommye trolled all three.” The laughter he's held in all morning is almost out of patience.
“So I’m the third Billy Goat Gruff,” Technoblade says, and pulls out his ax.
“Oh no you d-”
Tommyeinnitt has left the game.
Skeppy, who has been holding it in all morning, doubles over cackling.