Rock on,Floyd

Riff And carol

As Floyd felt himself slipping into the warm embrace of sleep, a sense of tranquility enveloped him. Everything around him was quiet, the perfect ambiance for a peaceful night's rest. But as he drifted closer to slumber, a nagging feeling tugged at the edges of his consciousness. It was too quiet—unnaturally so.

In an instant, Floyd's eyes snapped open, his senses suddenly heightened. The tranquility of the room shattered as he jolted awake, too quickly for his own good. With an audible "OW," he banged his head against the top bunk, a sharp reminder that reality could be far less forgiving than his dreams.

Grimacing, Floyd rubbed at the sore spot on his head, attempting to soothe the sharp ache. As he did, the distinct sound of slow clapping echoed through the room, drawing his attention. Turning toward the source, Floyd's gaze landed on an unfamiliar figure seated on the beanbag.

This new presence was a muddy blue-skinned Rock Troll with dull blue hair cascading around a face highlighted by a purple nose and vivid pink eyes. The troll's attire was a bold statement of rock and roll flair mixed with a unique twist. She wore a fitted, black leather jacket that glistened under the room's dim lighting, adorned with patches and studs narrating tales of musical escapades and nocturnal concerts. Her shirt, a daring piece with a vibrant cheetah print, was neatly tucked into a pair of tight, distressed denim jeans, creating a striking contrast that somehow worked perfectly together. Leather bands, each decorated with studs and chains, adorned her wrists, clinking softly with her every move, and adding a musical undertone to her presence. This troll, with her blend of rock-inspired fashion and the untamed essence suggested by the cheetah print, exuded the wild spirit of rock music with a flair all her own.

The troll offered Floyd a smirk, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Gotta admit, that was pretty funny," she remarked with an effortless cool, rising to her feet. Floyd, puzzled by this unexpected encounter, couldn't help but inquire, "Who...are you?"

With a flair for the dramatic, she paused for effect, radiating an air of mystery before playfully drumming on her knees as though building up to a grand revelation. "I am," she paused again, leaning in as if about to disclose the world's biggest secret, "the one, the only..." And then, with a swift shift back to her relaxed demeanor, she casually dropped, "Carol."

As she continued, her movements became a mesmerizing dance of shadows, her arms cutting through the air with purpose. Despite the laid-backness of her facial expression, her eyes sparkled with a sharp, unsettling intensity. "Skip the introductions," she murmured, her voice a dark, velvety whisper that seemed to echo around the room, creating an atmosphere thick with anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, she closed the gap between them, her presence looming like a storm cloud. "Floyd," she said, her voice dropping to a menacing growl, each syllable heavy with threat and dark promise, making the air around them feel charged with ominous energy.

Floyd's expression shifted to one of sheer terror, his voice barely a tremble, as if every word was a plea, "Please, don't hurt me—" He shrank back, attempting to vanish into the safety of his blanket fortress.

Carol's response was immediate and uproarious laughter. "Oh, you're a blast! I like your spirit. Relax, I'm not here to cause harm. I'm on friendly terms with Barb and... mami," she explained, her amusement still evident in her tone.

Floyd's confusion only deepened, prompting him to inquire, "Mami? Who's that?"

Carol paused, a sly grin playing on her lips, "Ah, right, this would be your first delightful encounter with me—the incomparable Carol. I refer to Rebel as 'mami' because she's practically the epitome of a mom friend, always looking out for us."

With surprising ease, Carol hoisted Floyd, settling him securely in his wheelchair. It became instantly clear—either she possessed considerable strength, or Floyd was remarkably light.