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English
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Published:
2015-05-10
Updated:
2017-04-14
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29,384
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14/15
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A Constant Condescension

Summary:

The past beats down John Egbert's front door one day, forcing him to venture alone into the life that took his mother and grandmother. Well, not completely alone. Dave tagged along as well. In a world where an underground resistance challenges the tyranny of the empire, John Egbert will disappear. The Heir of Breath will rise in his place as a decades-old organization gears up toward its final goal- to take out the empress herself.

Rated for violence, suggestive situations, and Karkat Vantas.

Chapter 1: Act 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A woman hurried on the streets of night, hood pulled over her head and precious bundle clutched to her bosom. Rain poured around her, slicking the side walk. But her feet refused to slip, balance strengthened by years of working on her feet. The years were evident in her appearance. Her formerly silky black hair had turned lighter, streaks of grey adorning it. The skin of her face was more wrinkled than it once was. But one could not say she wasn't still beautiful.

A sharp, jeering laughter cut the air like a slicked blade, and the woman quickly pressed her body into the opening of an alleyway. A pair of patrols rounded a corner of the sprawling expanse of the capital's streets, never noticing that the woman was concealed in the shadows as they passed by. She was thankful yet again that her cargo was asleep, as an alerting scream was the last thing she needed with over a hundred elite laughsassins after her.

She had given her best 44 years to the agency. Now, death at her doorstep, she would give them the only thing she had left.

Nearly an hour later, she had found the entrance to the underground she was looking for and navigated the tunnels to a door she had been going in and out of for as long as she could remember. She knocked on it, gaining entrance shorty after.

"What are you doing here?" The troll who let the woman in asked. "You need to get to hiding. They know who you are."

"I couldn't leave without making sure he was safe." The old woman produced her bundle, the baby still sleeping. "I know they will find me. I won't try and avoid my fate by pretending they won't." The old woman laughed. "The witch will probably want to cull me herself, for all the grief I've caused her. But I ask of you, my dearest friend, will you take care of my grandson in my place? And make sure he knows that I'm proud of him, no matter what he grows up to be?"

The troll known as the Disciple took the infant into her arms and nodded. "What is his name?"

The woman smiled wistfully at the sleeping child, crop of black hair on top of his tiny head. "Jake."


Five years later, a small boy snuck into the dark room of his guardian. He pulled a trunk from where it was wedged behind the recupercoon, opening it. There were stacks of papers, a folded pair of grey and red leggings, all things kept for sentimental reasons.

The child picked out the framed photograph from long ago, from long before he was born, or even before his mother was born. He had long since memorized the names and faces of the trolls and humans lined up for it, smiling merrily.

He found the face of his grandmother, arm in arm with her brother. Long dark hair floated around her face and over her shoulders. She was laughing, probably from something her older brother had said to her. He was quite the jokester from what the boy had been told.

The boy was grabbed from behind and lifted up, much to his screaming protests.

He just wanted to look at her a bit longer.


Dirk Strider crouched behind the low wall that surrounded the alley back entrance of the massive factory, fingers drumming softly over the hilt of his katana. He wanted to squirm out of his uncomfortable position between the wall and heavy wooden crates, but doing so would only disturb the stacks of goods and bring them unnecessary attention from the guards. He let out a nervous breath, feeling his partner's eyes on him.

"You alright, there, old chum?" The distinctly male false British accent that was Jake asked him in whisper.

Dirk nodded. "Fine."

"Excellent. Because here comes our consignment now." Jake was visibly smiling, shifting the material of his pale gold mask. Dirk returned it weakly under his own red-violet.

The truck approached, upturning gravel. As it stopped to get clearance with the gate, the duo left their hiding place in favor of entering the back of the vehicle and ducking among the bags of untreated grist, each bag labeled in Alternian what type it was. Any sort of Earth language had long ago been banned from writing and all books either translated or burned. No sooner after they were flat on the truck floor did a beam of light pass overhead, illuminating the darkness in its narrow ray. It swept back and forth, surveying the truck before leaving, allowing the truck to move into the loading dock of the factory.

When it stopped again, Jake looked to Dirk for confirmation. The team leader nodded. Jake pulled two pistols from his belt, loading each silently and swiftly.

The back of the delivery truck was pulled completely up, flooding it with the cruel, artificial light of the grist processing factory. The air was acrid and hot, making sweat bead beneath Dirk's mask. Humans and lowbloods began hefting bags, moving them to their place. Choosing an opportune moment when there were very few eyes on them, the two young men stood up, katana drawn and pistols raised.

Jake cleared his throat, gathering the horrified attention of the workers. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman. It would seem we have a bit of a predicament. We have a mission to carry out, and you have work to do. Now, I'm sure with a bit of cooperation, we could all be happy. If you would kindly direct-"

A series of screams cut through the air as armed imperial soldiers swarmed the large crowded room, beating down anyone that got in their way to the intruders.

"I don't think they're going to work with us, Page." Dirk said calmly.

"Always an unfortunate occurrence. It's a shame, really." Jake replied. A mere second later, they were in action. Dirk slicing, spraying a rainbow of bodily fluids, and Jake smoothly alternating shots, hands jerking upward slightly after each bullet was sent into their target.

Before long, the factory floor was empty of life, the workers having fled soon after the fighting began. "A job well done, I say." Jake said with the cocky grin he seemed to favor. "I don't suppose we're going to ha-"

"Look out!" Dirk yelled, hurling his sword under Jake's arm and into the gut of the last surviving guard. The troll grasped at the blade, unable to believe his fate as green blood poured past his lips. He fell to his knees, gasping. He met where the eyes would be on Dirk's face if the mask was removed.

"I know who you are." He croaked out feebly. "The Prince of Heart," his head turned to Jake. "And the Page of Hope. Some say you're going to save the world."

"And what do you say?" Jake asked his would-be killer.

The troll scoffed. "I say you'll both be dead in a sweep. You can't beat her."

"We won't know that until we try." Dirk said blankly. "Now come on, dude. We've got shit to do."

Jake smirked, hand touching the loaded bag on his back.

Within an hour, all of the high power explosives adorned various points of interest of the factory machinery. A long copper wire was unwound from its massive roll as they moved back outside. When they had reached the edge of the grounds.

Dirk attached the crown jewel of their weapons cocktail, a premium timed detonator of Captor (the younger, thank Jegus) engineering, to the end of the wire. A soft click denoted the beginning of the 30 second count down. Jake and Dirk strolled back down the alley, not even batting an eyelash at the cataclysmic explosion occurring behind them.

Jake removed his head covering, shaking out his dark hair and combing his fingers through his sweat soaked bangs. In doing so, he managed to smear soot on the side of his jaw.

Dirk, sans mask, looked at his team mate, trying to say something that had weighed on his mind almost constantly for a long time.

"Jake?" He asked, sighing. "Can you take care of the report?"

Jake have him a knowing smile and nodded. "Now go home and take care of your brother."

Dirk shoved his mask and matching sweat shirt into his bag before he turned the corner, back on the street. Fingers pulled the ironic anime shades from their place in the side pocket of his backpack, inexplicably still unbroken after all they had gone through in that location. He kept his head down and hands in his pockets, gradually rejoining the world of normal people. Humans and trolls alike moved on the streets, giving way to those above them on the hemospectrum. As he got nearer the edge of the business district of the city and his apartment building, he saw something that hadn't been there that morning. A row of wanted posters lined the side of a brick building, showing skilled depictions of several masked faces.

Traitors and Renegades one read. Known them by these signs. Beneath the fuchsia ink were sketches of the Resistance's symbols in a 3x4 grid. The siren song line to bounty hunters and legislacerators had all of the most notorious agents, and a few that had taken care to stay out of the public eye.

The Knight of Blood, Sylph of Space, Seer of Mind, Rogue of Breath, the ever-so-outdated Seer of Blood, Bard of Rage, Jake's Page of Hope, even Dirk's own Prince of Heart, an 8,000 boonbuck bounty on his head. He had cost, with Jake, at least seven times that in damages to the Baroness. His fingers gripped one flier, not discriminating, ripping it from the nails that held it up. It swayed and fluttered to the ground before touching the puddle that would undo all of its type and sketching in only a few minutes, but its defacer walked on without ever seeing the paper fall.

When he got home, he climbed up to the top of the building, unlocked the 28th floor apartment and went inside.

Dave was at the kitchen table with his friend John, probably studying.

"Hello, Mr. Strider." John greeted in his obnoxiously well-mannered tone.

"Hey, Bro. How was work at the grist mill today? See enough crushed spirits grinding their bones down for the good of the empire?" Dave said, the little smart-ass.

Dirk opened the fridge, pulling out a milk carton and taking a heavy gulp before returning it to its place beside the carton of . "Greatest day ever. I'm thinking about getting more hours so I can spend more time surrounded by its glory." He slammed the refrigerator door, going down the hallway to his bedroom.

The second the door made loud contact with its frame, John turned to Dave. "Do you think it was really that bad?"

Dave sighed and slapped a hand over his face. "No John. My bro is committed to spending his entire life in a sheer cesspool of human oppression. I hate myself everyday for being the one thing in the way of his dream. So thank you, Egbert, for ripping open the nearly-closed wounds of self-loathing in my mind."

John blinked slowly, then smiled at the joke.

Dave's phone buzzed, probably a message from his totally-not-girlfriend, Jade. In reading the text, he took notice of how late it had gotten. "Shit, John, you should probably stay the night. Unless you left right now, you'd miss curfew. And the last thing I need is having to see your blood stains on the sidewalk while I'm on the way to your house for your funeral."

John checked his own cell phone, evaluating his odds. "Alright, I'll call my dad. I just feel kind of bad, because Jane's doing something tonight, and my dad and I were going to hang out and watch some movies." He punched in the number, hearing the dial tone for a while before it went to voice mail. He didn't let himself be concerned for long before he sent a text telling his dad where he was.

Down the hallway, Dirk was leaning against his door, panting heavily. His fist swung behind him as he flipped the position of his body, creating another patch in the field of indentations in the shape of his knuckles. He had had to replace that sheet rock so many times, he eventually just stopped fixing it and let the punch marks accumulate. It's not like the landtroll was going to do anything about it.

Spots of scarlet now on the backs of his knuckles, Dirk decided to address the direct reason for his frustration.

He had the perfect opportunity, English wouldn't have even known it was coming. I love you. Was that so goddamn hard? Instead Dirk had asked him to do his paperwork for him.

And Jake had just stood there like a clueless, cheery dumb ass. With his stupid smile permanently fixed on his face, his tan skin, his irritating soft hair that swished when he moved his head, green eyes that make you feel like you're drowning in warmth and made Dirk's knees wobble, strong, toned legs in cargo shorts, leading up to that firm, shapely-

No! Dirk mentally slapped himself. Now was not the time to be having erotic fantasies about his best friend. His backpack was thrown to the floor, katana sheathed on the back. The way the world was at this point, no one thought twice about someone walking around with a weapon on proud display instead of their strife specibus. He stripped off his shirt, pants, and shoes before falling face-first on his bed. He lay there breathing for what seemed like a few hours before exhaustion overpowered his active mind and gave into sleep.

Notes:

Oh my, what's this? I posted a fanfic I've had half-written for a while instead of studying for finals or trying to finish the other fics in progress?

Thanks for reading this far! Review and tell me what you think!