Chapter Text
"Goddamn it," Sollux announces to no one in particular, "it's the third time this week." He lets out a small, resigned sigh as his body contorts into a wall-sitting position and his legs freeze in place. Gradually, inevitably, inexorably, he will metamorphose into that humblest of furnishings; a chair.
Depending on the season and the inconstant proportion of day to night, being a secret werechair on Alternia had been, in turns, horribly inconvenient and no trouble at all. He had simply learned to deal with it after being bitten by a rogue papasan as a child. However, in the Veil, the irregular path of the meteor has wrought strange and unexpected changes in his transformation schedule; at times he even walks about with ordinary arms and slender, elegantly scrolled chair legs.
Elegantly scrolled chair legs that, as it turns out, drive at least one other troll wild with unspeakable, forbidden passion. A passion as regular and familiar as the tides, yet infinitely more tempestuous. A passion for furniture.
In fact, though no one openly mentions it, all this exposed wood provokes the creation of far more wood, although in a more organic fashion befitting a classy double-entendre about trolls who get boners upon seeing other trolls turning slowly into chairs. Unaware of this, however, and behaving as he has all his life, Sollux thus begins his gradual transformation into a beautiful oaken fauteuil.
Meanwhile, Eridan grins broadly as he strides down the hall in a tremendously puffy pink dress, swollen with eggs in an alarming manner that cannot quite be concealed by his dozens of petticoats. This day, he thinks, could not in any conceivable manner improve; who would have guessed that all one had to do to make John forget about not being a homosexual was to dress up as a princess? And who would imagine that the compatibility between humans and trolls could altogether negate the necessity of a mother grub? This idea is so ludicrous that he laughs, hurrying back to his room as the eggs shift ominously within him.
However, when he spots Sollux helpless against the wall with his four elegant chair legs and his arms contorted to fuse with his knees, Eridan realizes that this day is destined to be the best day of his life. "Nice legs," he offers with a leer, patting the seat of the chair.
"Fuck you," Sollux replies as he puffs up slightly to make cushions. This is the most uncomfortable part of transforming into a chair, but he tries to put on a brave face, despite the fact that his face is the upper part of a chair back. "What the hell are you wearing?"
"I'm bowled over that you don't recognize me, lowblood!" Eridan declares, tracing his plunging but rather flat decolletage with a claw. "I'm obviously Troll Cinderella, otherwise known as Trollerella."
"Oh," Sollux responds flatly as his glasses clatter to the floor. "I'm a chair," he adds, figuring that in his current situation he has less room than usual to mock Eridan.
"I noticed. Chairs don't have any blood," he says speculatively, stroking Sollux's cushions, dragging a claw down the shining wood of his arm in a way that would perhaps evoke a shudder if he weren't a chair. "Maybe in your pitiable condition I can even find you attractive...lowblood."
"You just said I don't have blood, asshole, you can't have it both-"
"And ya know," he interrupts in a suggestive murmur, "the exposed wooden elements of a fauteuil are often gilded or otherwise painted, but yours are obscenely bare, landdweller." Lifting his voluminous skirts, he climbs astride the helpless chair, crouching and looking down at Sollux's eyes. "Maybe I can do a little painting myself. How about...violet."
"Oh my god," Sollux snaps, "what the hell, I'm a chair."
"And I," Eridan proclaims as the first egg slides out of his nook with a sound mercifully left undescribed, "am a beautiful princess."
"Oh goddamn it," Sollux protests as the spherical white egg lands on his lower cushion, leaving a purple splotch on the sumptuous golden fabric. "You stupid fuck, it's going to take so long to wash out."
"I know!" Eridan answers, already panting with bliss. "You're filthy."
"As soon as I'm not a chair I'm going to fucking murder you," Sollux snarls. "And all your progeny that you're leaving on me because you're an inconsiderate asshole. Who did you even find to mate with you?" Several more eggs fall from beneath the dress, forming a messy heap on his cushion.
"Oh," Eridan moans promisingly, "you'll see." His stomach visibly decreases in size as he expels more eggs with a series of soft, excited whimpers, each egg roughly the size of a fist. He holds Sollux's horns, protruding from the top of the chair, to retain his balance as he crouches. "Welp, that's about all of 'em."
"Gross," Sollux notes. One egg rolls from the top of the heap and cracks on the ground as Eridan dismounts. A black-haired head emerges from it, then a small body. "What the fuck is that?" It stands up, inexplicably wearing a little green suit, as the shells of the other eggs begin to crack and give way to identical facsimiles.
"They look just like their daddy," Eridan says tearfully, holding a frilly fan up to his face. "I'm so proud."
"When I change back, I swear-" Sollux begins, but Eridan interrupts him with a tiny sob.
"You really chaired me up, lowblood," he sniffles, abandoning the scene with a swish of petticoats and leaving a single glass shoe behind as tiny Johns begin to swarm the hallway.