Work Text:
Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you think that you may have made a grave mistake.
You do not understand how such a thing could have happened. For your entire life you have stared to Skaia for guidance, and its monolithic surface (sky-blue, the humans call it, but that’s only by Earth standards) has shown you nothing but a single sunny alpha timeline, assorted pieces in the collage of your companions’ lives, the beautiful path to your brilliant victory over the Black King, bringing you into a brand-new universe.
Needless to say, it showed you hardly anything that happened in the Furthest Ring.
KARKAT: KANAYA ARE YOU OK
KARKAT: HEY
KARKAT: OH GOD
KARKAT: WHAT HAS HE DONE.
KARKAT: KANAYA?
KARKAT: PLEASE TELL ME THAT'S JUST GRUB SAUCE.
KARKAT: PLEASE JUST BE GRUB SAUCE PLEASE JUST BE GRUB SAUCE PLEASE JUST BE GRUB SAUCE
KARKAT: HAHA, OK, MAKE-BELIEVE TIME IS OVER!
KARKAT: OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD
Your life is now over. Though you were precise with your words in your lifetime, even you once typed that phrase a handful of times in hyperbole. You never realized how true it could be, or in how many senses. You are now, in fact, literally no longer alive. Your heart does not pulse in so much as a single beat, save for the moments (exceedingly rare, and they only become more so with time) when you are excited enough that, were you still a troll, it would skip one. Though you are still called a troll, of course, because human beings have no reason to bear with the notion that any alien with candy-corn horns and bags under their eyes does not qualify.
There are only five and a half of your species now; nobody except for you thinks it would help to reduce the number to four. Apparently there’s no such thing as undead solidarity anymore, even though you’d think it to be old-fashioned by definition. While you’re on that matter you think if the number were three it would be perfectly fine – no, no, that isn’t true at all, you want it to be higher: three thousand, three million, three or thirty billion stretching across the stars and galaxies as they did once before. But that will never happen, because the one thing, the one responsibility you seriously took upon yourself exclusively during your life, has been destroyed.
Even though you and your idol remodeled the lab from top to bottom, every so often you still encounter a small shard of your destiny in some dark corner on the floor.
You are a rainbow drinker, and so you do not dream. This was supposed to be a blessing, if you were in your native habitat, where you would have all the more time to partake in daring feats and debauchery, and desperate departures were you found out. Though here that particular ability is closer to a curse in some respects, you do not have any particular wish to sleep again. As miserable and empty as your (non-) life has become, you feel at hive in the stronger, shinier body that is now your own. Blood running down your throat makes the light on your skin pulse with life again, and has become your normal. Your natural. You are not disappointed by any means that you became what you are now.
You are not even angry, anymore, about your death. One for one makes it fair, after all, perhaps even one for two if you look at it for the sake of a friend who was one of your closer ones. Though that is reaching. It was halfway down the list of the furthest thing from your mind at the moment you made the decision that destroyed you both, and no matter how hard you try you will never even come close to making it count as one for three. It didn’t register for hours to try to consider not looking over during that dumb duel a mistake. Prince against mage, finally equals: Fair. You didn’t pay any heed at all until after that critical chorus of honks, and that part, perhaps, is something about which you are unhappy. She never would help you tell without saying glub but if it meant new permanent company – and, as much as one part of yourself hates another for thinking it, prey – you wouldn’t care if she could never say another word for the rest of her life. Finding regret in that part of your stance, though, is hard to pinpoint, and so you don’t try. That comes later in the scene.
So one for one is fair. None, none at all, for however many… You tell yourself over again that it was two, only two, you have no idea why you feel he took something more from you when all he did was murder your server player and his girlfriend, without motivation, and now walks free as a chirpbeast without anyone keeping him from doing it again except his cosmos-crossed moirail. For you that is more than enough anyway. None for two is not fair. It is not just.
(That is the only thing you two agree on anymore. Everything else seems impossible. She is seventh on the hemospectrum and you are sixth, but you face away from each other on opposite sides of an unbridgeable gulf.
You would have stood for one for one, but it was much closer to one for something you would have called none if you had been in a sensible frame of mind at the time, and sometimes you think, when she disappears for hours into a room that’s not her own and comes back with +1 Mangrit, tetrahedral woundlets on her feet, and the faintest of teal lines staining her face, that she also knows it.)
At any rate, one for one or more is what you brought about, and it’s fair. The only thing that is not fair – actually it’s not one thing anymore but a thousand little worthless ones by now – is something that you can no longer pin on a person, in the philosophical plasma where you have been floating, and that is what agonizes you the most as you lie on your back staring at the ceiling during the especially dark part of this journey’s requisite endless daynight that your human copassengers have deemed an appropriate sleeping period.
You know, for near certain, that the critical moment (for you and no-one else it is the critical moment, that is the real moment when the universe ended) did not happen in every timeline. It was like a coin flip. With your perfect vampiric memory, you can see every frame of that moment in your mind’s eye. You glance down, he follows your gaze, and he destroys you – no, he double destroys you, that part is the hardest to parse properly. It was all so fast. It shatters, you shriek, you attack, he aims, he fires, you fall. Everything transpired in barely a second, and it hurts to linger over. (The hole in your chest is hard to heal, what with how rarely you can truly feed, and it still takes great control to allow it not to gape.)
You focus the most on the long moments before that one, those non-movements of both your eyes – you just locked gazes with each other for what feels, looking back now, like such a long time, your lipstick in your hand and the wand that was your final gift to him in his – what did you expect to happen? You had your weapons out but there were still so, so many seconds left before you would look the wrong way, pay the price, and make the decision to kill him and prompt the highblood’s only possible response. What were you waiting for? What did you want him to do? What did you want to do to him, before you wanted him to die?
You don’t know. A piece of the puzzle is missing, some mysterious motivation lurks cloaked in morbid white within your undead heart. Something went wrong, your eyes wandered when they should have remained fixed so you could – do what? Why?
You can’t say. All you know, as, after yet another dreambubble where no-one lets you feed, you press your lips to the violet stains on your chainsaw’s blade, is that you do not blame their source.
(The flavor is exactly what you would expect from the dead Prince of Hope, desperation and genocide: Caked gluts of sugar and plum wine that died on the vine. Sometimes, just sometimes, you are lonely enough to wonder whether it would have tasted different had you been able to drink it while he were still alive. Why didn’t you get the time? You’ve consulted the greatest authority Earth has to offer on the subjects of time or music, but all he’s been able to tell you is that Desperation And Genocide could have been a good name for a rock band.)
No, you do not blame their source at all. You blame Skaia. Skaia, in all its holy and infallible providence decided that you should--oh, no, that you deserved, to fail in the alpha timeline. There is something that you did not do, which would have doomed you in the long term but saved you in the short, and beams bounce off the black barriers around you as you lie ever so still, hands behind your head, nothing but black ceiling before your eyes, you lie ever, ever so still, with some irrational hope that appearing to be prey will make the truth sneak up, pounce on you, and reveal what it is.
caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]
CA: so youre that fussyfangs wwho meddles wwith vvris right
GA: What Of It
CA: im her kismesis i think that means i can make something out of her other quadrant fills if i wwant to god damn
GA: Kismesis
GA: How Odd
GA: I Know Nothing Of Her Having A Kismesis At The Moment
GA: Though Oddly Enough Mentions Of A Black Ex-Boyfriend Are Coming To Mind
GA: Rather Recent Ones Actually
CA: haha vvery funny
CA: but seriously i knoww her
GA: Why Should I Care About That
CA: i dont knoww maybe i thought wwe could be fuckin friends does that sound shithivve maggots to you
GA: Youre A Member Of The Nautical Aristocracy Talking To A Desertdweller
GA: Pardon My Skepticism
CA: man ivve always liked this about you kan
CA: you may not wwant to boss trolls around on account a blood but you still knoww wwhere the fuck your place is
CA: wwhich aint that loww either just sayin
GA: What Do You Mean Always
GA: Also Youre Not Supposed To Know My Name Yet Eridan
CA: uh
CA: wwell
CA: great troll poseidon im doin that fuckin dreamin thing again arent i
GA: Youre Almost Definitely Just Dead Actually
CA: shit
CA: i dont think neps exactly in a mood to come ovver and snog my corpse either let alone fef
CA: thats just bloody great isnt it
CA: eri finally literally fuckin dies from nobody wantin to kiss him
CA: nobody evver believved him before but they do noww
CA: and nobody knowws wwhat kind a funeral the angels are evven goin to throww for him if they bother with one
CA: i dont knoww wwhy they wwould either its not like most trolls do
CA: but maybe they knoww its their prince wwho just died evven though they killed him and he killed tons a their owwn it wwas just a perfectly reasonable self defense thing
CA: i mean wwhat wwere they supposed to do NOT kill me
CA: they wwere comin right at me and i wwas comin right at them you knoww
CA: i guess it wwasnt what i wwas supposed to do but wwhere in the sevven excruciatin circles a troll hell wwas my ALTERNATIVVE
CA: so noww im dead wwith nobody left to givve a damn
CA: wwell i guess i deservve it
CA: dont i kan
GA: No This Is Entirely Wrong
GA: Where The Hell Is All Of This Coming From
GA: Thats Not It Either
GA: Why Would You Coordinate Such An Elaborate Arrangement Of Emotional Theatrics
GA: Wheres Your Purpose Here
GA: If This Is Some Extremely Convoluted Attempt To Achieve The Original Goal Of This Conversation I Should Inform You Right Now That There Are Far Too Many Reasons Why It Wouldnt Ever Work In Any Way This Time
CA: wwell wwhy the fuck wouldnt this be it i remember it perfectly noww
CA: if wwe wwerent just trollin you wwould be able to see it dark as night
CA: im over here all covvered in kickass royal blood evverywwhere wwith my oculars right scratched out by em and evverythin
CA: look i dont have time for this bee ess can wwe get out of this goddamn flashback thing already
CA: unless you wwant use this invvaluable premonition as a prompt to get me a corpse box i think wwe should movve on
CA: wwell howw about it
CA: kan
CA: are you there
GA: Yeah
GA: Sorry
GA: I Just Had To Deal With A Few Imps
GA: They Were Trying To Steal Some Elf Tears From Me That I Had Very Painstakingly Collected
GA: But You Know What They Say
GA: Rational Trolls Dont Cry
GA: Over Stolen Elf Tears That Is
GA: What Were You Saying
GA: Let Me Scroll Up
GA: Right Ive Read It Now
GA: Okay
GA: Unfortunately
GA: Im Really Sorry But Im Afraid I Have Neither The Time Nor Ability Nor Resources To Approach You With A Corpse Box Any Time Soon
CA: wwhat wwhy
CA: wwhat the hell can you evven be DOIN instead readin rainboww drinker novvels or something
GA: The Extent To Which Your Statement Is Accurate Is Seriously Depressing Me
CA: YOURE depressed
CA: im here dyin one of my best friends wwould rather read sunbeam stained trash than givve a shit about me and youre the depressed one
GA: No Its Just That
CA: you dont havve to explain FINE i get it nobody cares its just a troll dyin not like somethin importants goin on
GA: You Will Never Have Any Idea Whatsoever How Much I Wish I Had Your Corpse Before Me To Put Into A Box Or Into Any Situation Other Than Your Current One
GA: Which Depending On The Sheer Level Of Depravity The Angels Possess Possibly Involves Decapitation And Thats Just Undignified Regardless Of Merit
GA: That I Werent Reading These Fine Works Of Literature
GA: Or That I Had Any Approximation Whatsoever Of The Genuine Article Instead
GA: But None Of Those Things Are At All Possible You Dont Understand
CA: oh thats rich remember how i TOTALLY gavve you a shot at that
CA: but no you havvent done SHIT to try to get her
CA: just cried ovver her goin for tavv or some other rubbishy wwhatnot
GA: Shes Dead Dammit
CA: yeah of course wwe all knoww that was a thing that happened once but she got fuckin BETTER obvviously
CA: evven if some brinesucker wwent and backstabbed her again it wwouldnt be just or nothing right
CA: wwhatevver wwhy am i evven askin i knoww you lie to yourself all the time i just thought youd nevver do it to me too but evveryone knowws a wwoman is alwways full a surprises
CA: so movvin on i guess
CA: howw the hell are wwe supposed to handle endin this thing i dont havve any idea howw do wwe act this memory out all ovver again or wwhat
CA: it wwould be really wweird after all this talking i think
GA: Well
GA: My Name Is Kanaya Maryam
GA: Hows That
CA: great
CA: im eridan ampora nice to meet you
caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]
grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]
grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]
GA: Yeah
GA: Same
grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]
There are no words for how much you hate Gamzee Makara.
You do not have some simple problem like a lack of the vocabulary needed to describe your feelings. Nor is this simply hyperbole to imply general expansiveness of your emotions. No, you simply literally do not have words in your language to describe the kind of murderous urge you are forced to feel for him.
You are a troll (no, you are a rainbow drinker, but you were raised a troll and either way you have fangs), and so there are only three ways for you to truly hate someone. The soft, silvery sort of passive-aggressive protectiveness that boils down on some level to affection in the end. The dull grey detestation, just cold enough to be bearable when kept close, in check, tolerable in spite of itself. These form the two halves of auspisticism, of course, the only form of hate you have ever really experienced. There have been flashes (or rather sudden states of going dark) of something else, of course, impulses born (that bloody alternative to being hatched) from snark and frustration, but the rays have never (absolutely never) solidified into tendrils of darkness and taken hold of your heart.
Beyond the three kinds of hate that are to be cultivated, only platonic hatred exists. Annoyance turns to avoidance, to aggression, and at last to aggrieved homicide. The pattern is clockwork, and its interruption – at 11:59, stuck forever, knowing with all your being that the lives (or existences in your case) of you and all your peers would be better with this person dead – the perpetual suspension in this state is intolerable, impossible. Allowing it to be thought of for so much as one moment is intolerable for you. You do not need to imagine what much of your day is like as a result.
As a Seer, of course, the Idol of Light sees you suspended in your oh-so-stubborn throes, and she has come to, quite insultingly, of all things a caliginous conclusion. Really, honestly, she sees it in your behavior somehow, the third kind of hate, bonds around your heart burning bright, bright black, undulating as much as the appendages of any emissary to the Horrorterrors or puppet of the Furthest Ring can.
You can’t imagine where on Earth she would have gotten such a ridiculous idea, that any such preposterous infatuation had a claim upon you.
The first day she dares to suggest such a thing, to as awfully as possible defile that innermost chamber of your blood pusher, which still remains cold and locked up and lonely as the other three are, is the first (and, thanks to her clinging to the idea in future, thus far not the only) that you have actually pondered choking as a method of inducing death. She has her sight beyond sight, you know, and so may well have seen an inkling of the idea coming before you even thought it, but nevertheless it would be so easy for you to reach out and encircle her white neck with the only hands on the meteor paler than her own. It would not be just; nothing is stopping you.
(Probably. Fortune is pretty fucking funny when it comes to deciding the fates of its own element’s gods. Funny. Yes. You are still not entirely certain who Nicholas Cage was, but your best hypothesis is that he was some variety of comedian.)
You tell yourself the moderating factor in this situation is your own dignity and respect for human life. Then you laugh at your ironic use of human phrasing to signify your contempt. After that comes not wanting to co-opt the technique used on your innocent server player. You know, however, that the truth is red not on the wine list you signed up for is not what you want to stain your palms with.
(You still have his shades – they are too useful, you tell yourself, to give up, but that is not quite it. You were watched over through the projections they provide as you played the game, you were supervised through these during the one bifurcation out of the two in your life that you enjoyed performing, and they were the final indication you needed that reasoning with certain Derse dreamers is not incomparable to doing such with a brick wall.
You do not find that hat of hers, onto which you intricately embroidered changing expressions according to his specifications, for several days. When you do, it is covered in dust – expected – and sweat – not. You captchalogue it, likely for it never to be released, to protect it from someone else who might put it to even more depraved uses, and decide not to ask yourself how into its current dubious state.
The thing about being friends with Equius was that his conciliatory condition is the only one out of any troll you have ever known that could make you lament your interpersonal situation even more than your status of having never in any sense been kissed.)
caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]
CA: hey kan i got some credits for you if you wwant em
GA: What Would I Want Em For
CA: i dont knoww wwhatevver the hell you need to make your wwasteful posh rags i guess
CA: seriously i havve nevver understood wwhat you could POSSIBLY need more than one or maybe twwo of those things for but evverything i knoww about fashion i learned from you pretty much so wwho am i to talk
GA: Really
GA: Youre Offering To Purchase Me A Dress
GA: Is That Seriously What Youre Doing
GA: At This Point I Might As Well Get Out My Gray Light Hold On
CA: god damn kan cant a guy just wwant to get his vvery good friend a present CA: some nice PLATONIC gift
GA: If You Want To Be Honest
GA: Not Really
CA: wwell shit kan wwhat the fuck am i evven supposed to do
CA: i cant be nice to you apparently since im comin on too strong and im obvviously not goin to be nasty because wwhere the hell is that supposed to get me here
GA: Are You Implying In All Genuineness That You Have Literally Never Considered The Possibility Of Just Performing A Service For Someone Else Out Of Some Altruistic Intent
CA: wwell no i dont think i havve
CA: mostly on account a howw i dont got any idea wwhat the fuck altruistic means
GA: Wow
CA: but look wwhat i do knoww is
CA: i dont wwanna just be friends wwith you ok
CA: its not that i dont LIKE bein your friend far from it youre pretty fuckin amazing and thats the honest to god truth
CA: but i dont havve no likin for howw fragile friendship happens to be understand
CA: i dont wwant us to just havve one little fallin out an then wwe nevver get to talk again or something
CA: i cant really imagine howw that wwould evver happen since you keep not blockin me but that sure doesnt mean i wwant to risk it
CA: i really like havvin you around an getting all up in my business heck youre the only troll i can think of wwho i evven WWANT meddlin more than mackin wwith me
CA: wwhat im sayin is i really like YOU alright
CA: so wwhy you dont wwant to be like that wwith me wwhen youvve already got your fangs in marroww deep i dont understand
GA: Its Complicated
GA: And It Has More To Do With Her Than You In All Honesty
CA: look wwill you at least take the damn grist
GA: Credits
GA: They Were Credits
CA: oh
CA: wwell shit take these damn credits then
CA: haha no im just trollin i dont got no credits no more in case you couldnt figure that out
CA: im kinda wwonderin noww though wwhy you didnt just take them
GA: I Did The Next Week Remember
CA: oh yeah
CA: but still
CA: like wwhat the fuck wwas wwrong wwith them
GA: They Were Perfectly Good Credits And It Was A Perfectly Good Dress That They Financed
GA: In Fact It Was The One I Was Wearing Later When I Finally Said Yes To You
CA: do wwe havve to recollect that noww
GA: I Think So Yes
CA: i dont mind that too much its actually one a my better memories
CA: so howw about it
GA: Sure
GA: Hey Eridan
GA: Youve Got An Ashen Date With Vriska At Eight Tonight
GA: Dress To Maim Not Kill
CA: oh yeah thats wwhat im talkin about right there
CA: i mean
CA: wwhat
GA: A Combination Of Her Lusus Starving And My Club Aching For You Has Made Me Give In
GA: And She Needs You If Only For Pragmatisms Sake
GA: Much Like Feferi Does I Suppose
GA: Or Did
GA: I Can Refer To That State Of Affairs In The Past Sense Because I Never Said Any Of That The First Time
GA: I Just Felt A Compulsion Now To Explain My Motivations Here Further
CA: its a real fuckin dowwner to knoww the wwomen in my life only wwanted me for my huge rifle
CA: thats the only thing they could wwant out of a guy obvviously
CA: but wwhat did you wwant me to shoot for you noww im really fuckin curious wwere barin all so you might as wwell tell me
GA: For Me
GA: I Didnt Want You To Shoot Anything
CA: wwell wwhy the hell wwould you wwant that for someone
CA: that sounds like WWAY too much meddlin to me a dowwnright unseemly amount
GA: Im Going To Skip The Part Where You Repeatedly Ask If Im There And Just Request You Assume I Spent The Next Few Minutes Or So In Stunned Uncertain Silence
GA: Can We Move On From This Tangent
CA: no wwe most certainly cannot i really fuckin like this tangent and i am staying right where i am on it
GA: Too Bad Because Im Leaving It Right Now
GA: Im Going To Depart From The Point At Which These Lines Of Conversation Come Into Contact
GA: And Then Say
GA: Dont Kiss Her Or Otherwise Muck This Up
CA: kan come on you cant just say something like that and then drop it its not FAIR
CA: okay fine
CA: ill be a good little troll and type
CA: i wwont
GA: Good
GA: And
GA: Good Luck
GA: c3<
CA: PLEASE kan wwe both knoww luck is fakey fake
GA: Oh Yes Of Course But Its Just An Expression
CA: a BULLSHIT expression wwith all due respect my dearest fucking auspistice
GA: BS Perhaps
GA: Ugh That Word Is Just Stupid Looking
CA: im gonna assume you still mean good luck because bs is a perfectly fittin expression for the thing bein described
CA: namely good luck wwhich i AGREE is total terrible bee ess
GA: Thats Better
GA: Six Whole Letters
GA: More Dignified And Refined Somehow
GA: I Like It
CA: an im gonna assume by it you mean me c3<
CA: anywway thanks for evverything troll you later wwhen i get back
CA: except wwhy wwould i log off noww because wwere just gonna go into another memory noww arent wwe
GA: Do We Have To
GA: There Isnt Too Much More To Remember Is There
GA: It Didnt Last Too Long
CA: yeah but it wwwas nice wwhile it lasted wwasnt it
GA: For You I Guess
CA: wwell
CA: i mean i guess you must of got fed up wwith my theatrics evventually like evveryone does
CA: but i really liked you havvin to actually care for my wwell bein instead of just keepin me around to troll me
CA: like i mean seriously youre WWAY TOO FUCKIN SARCASTIC an teasin and all this shit especially after wwe broke up an i dont knoww wwhy on alternia you think its so funny
GA: I Dont Know You Seemed To Respond Well To It
GA: Or At Least In Amusing Ways
GA: And It Was Important Practice For Trolling The Humans Particularly The Other Purple-Texted One
CA: humans
CA: wwhat the fuck is a human
GA: Oh
GA: Aliens
GA: We Learned All About What Their Kind Are After Playing The Game But You Died Before Getting To Find Out I Guess
GA: Or Have You Even Played The Game
GA: I Suppose Its Plausible You Dont Even Know Youre Dead And If So Im Sorry
CA: wwell thats a tricky question to answer
CA: i think wwe need to do a little more rememberin
GA: Okay
GA: What Came Next
GA: We Broke Up
CA: you made me a bitchin cape first though
GA: Yeah There Was That
GA: Along With Several Other Outfits And Fashion Lessons
GA: And Then Vriska Grew Sufficiently Independent To No Longer Want To Tolerate You For Her Aid
GA: So My Attempts To Keep Her Attached To You Were Purposeless
GA: And Your Attempts To Keep Me Attached To You Were Just Annoying
GA: As Was Your Final Attempt To Solicit My Auspisticism Before I Entered The Game
CA: wwhat
CA: i nevver got to do that
GA: You Didnt
GA: Why
CA: wwell
CA: i wwas plannin on it actually
GA: You Were
CA: yeah
CA: she wwasnt answwerin my messages i probably told you that if i wwas trollin you about that wwhole steamy affair in your timeline
CA: but then
CA: ara trolled me
CA: sayin shed gotten her dumb senseless self smashed by eqs house or something
CA: an died
GA: Oh
GA: Im Sorry I Cant Really Muster A More Poignant Emotional Response
GA: She Did Something Different But Comparable In My Own Timeline
GA: So Im Already
GA: Over That
GA: Totally
CA: as am i
CA: in case you couldnt tell
CA: understandable its just someone dying
CA: kinda gets you dowwn but wwhat can you do
CA: so yeah theres howw my timeline got doomed i guess ara implied something or another like that wwas the result of her not interferin so i should havve guessed before noww
CA: there wwe go
CA: noww you knoww
CA: wwhat i still wwant to knoww is wwhy the fuck you didnt wwant me to go blowwin holes in shit
GA: Or Trolls
CA: yeah yeah no shootin things or folks most a the time for eri got it noww wwhyd you wwant it
GA: Ever Actually
CA: so you dont want eridan ampora to nevver do no shootin of nothin or nobody
CA: GODDAMN thats a TALL FUCKIN ORDER for a seadwweller from some friend a his wwho just happens to havve especially fussy fangs
CA: wwhat the fuck do you EVVEN think youre SAYIN
CA: i dont knoww but it sure as fuck aint wwhy you wwant all this rubbish from me
CA: i wwant to knoww why you apparently givve a fuck about some stupid brinesucker wwho alwways messes up and cant do SHIT for you wwith his wweapons that wwont get you mad apparently
CA: an i might evven go so far as to guess actually DID something in your timeline that got you so fuckin cagey evven more than usual
CA: like i dont knoww wwhat would of happened since im not your him but i guess maybe i could of shot tavv or somethin that wwould make sense hed totally deservve it if vvris really is blackmackin on him as much as i wwas hearin she started to before she got herself culled
CA: but look here i am just runnin my trap and youre barely evven sayin anything thats just not like you
CA: wwhat are you hidin from me
GA: Im Not Hidin Anything
GA: I Meant Hiding
GA: And Im Not Doing That Either
GA: Theres Nothing To Hide
CA: noww youre just LYIN to me thats just not right
CA: look am i askin for that much im not askin for some kind a doomed auspisticism or anything here
CA: i just wwish i kneww wwhy you cared about wwhat i did
grimAuxiliatrix [GA] blocked caligulasAquarium [CA]
GA: I Wish I Knew That Too
You no longer believe in luck.
The period during which you did was in fact very brief. Before Sgrub, Skaia’s providence was the primary focus of your belief. You thought there was no such thing as chance, that everything had a very specific reason to take place, a position within Skaia’s ever-so-grand scheme. There were no accidents, only events that looked like them at the time. When she told you she had bad luck, you told her to can it. You found it terribly amusing every time. It was one of the dumb little jokes you had back then, when you were her stupid fussing meddling best friend. Things were better back then, when you had all the cards, when you were both on speaking terms and still alive.
There are no words for how much you always have and always will love Vriska Serket. This is only hyperbole for emotional expansiveness: You know exactly what the words for the form of your affections are. You hold a flammable cave illuminator for her, burning bright mutant blood red with the flames of concupiscent pity. It is a preposterous infatuation, yet at the same time one you have never been able to fully abandon. She’s some stupid simpering shameless senseless spiderbitch but somehow still a kind that costs nowhere near a caegar a dozen on Alternia. She had reasons for being the way she was, great and terrible, and she deserved to kill the hundreds of children she did, if none of them could fight back enough to best her.
(Or it may have been thousands. Only if it were would you actually be given any significant pause. She’s not the only troll to ever live with a demanding lusus. In fact you distinctly recall certain other highbloods fully complicit in the murders that she brought about – but, oh, they “didn’t revel” in having to kill people, or they would tolerate “only just” deaths, so nobody minded. You never made convenient exceptions like that. You just modified your entire moral code, after you met her. That was so much neater.)
Later she broke your heart, of course. But you’ve become fully aware, without even physically returning to the moments, simply looking back at them, that she had no idea what she did to you, and that she didn’t mean to. She just happened to have a misguided crush on a certain piece of shit at all the wrong times. She clearly realized the error of her ways, eventually! For that moment she broke your heart, though, and it was as you lay sobbing in Mother’s spritely embrace that she whispered to you that you loved more than a girl, but a future god, a living Lady All-The-Luck: You were in love with the Thief of Light; what other title could belong to the girl who so effortlessly stole the sunny desert girl’s heart, after all?
(You are so, so, so sorry to Mother – that is your name for her and yours alone. She isn’t your mother, no matter what an insufficiently trained xenopsychologist may assume: She is your lusus, or she is the mother, and Mother is simply your affectionate abbreviation for the latter. She couldn’t speak for very long. You had to read out loud to her. There is nothing about your relationship, however tender, however pedagogical, that is as simple as the banal maternity humans enjoy. She was no adult troll irrationally assigned to the tedious task of child-rearing, and had no motivation to turn to alcoholic venues for her entertainment. You were her charge, her ward; she was your caretaker, your custodian. It’s a little like that mother-daughter-sisterhood she has with the girl sharing her pale hair in her dreams. You’ve never once gotten an analogous encounter involving your configuration of horns. You took her for granted. You knew she would die, you knew she would come back; you didn’t know she would die again, and there was your mistake. You had Mother floating besides you without the matriorb inside her; what more could you want from her than the comfort she was finally able to provide?)
When the Virgin Mother Grub became Mothersprite, that incomprehensible idioglossia of chrrrrrrs and crisply enunciated words to make it through her had finally been set aside. That was how you learned (or at least were told) that luck existed. It was her aspect: The Thief of Light had a reservoir of the beautiful (blue? in your imagination that was how it always looked; you could never bear to actually follow her progress in the game again after that point, with the dual excuses of abandonment and duty to Bilious Slick) stuff deep within her (or perhaps sparkling without – you were never daring enough to imagine it before you saw it, you didn’t want to disappoint yourself if you ever did, and you certainly weren’t disappointed when the time finally came), gained and lost and stolen and expended in the games of chance she so adored. She loved those more than anything, more than any individual person. You know this because it is one of the only logical explanations for her life and her choices.
(You never played but of course you remember she did, and so well too. At times it seemed like all she ever spent her time on, like she was hatched for it. Considering she was always destined to be the Hero of Light, maybe she literally was, perhaps she came out with dice in one hand and a manual in the other.
The memories of your involvement with her career are so vivid, though. With that bright blue longcoat her flapping in the wind behind her and a handsome eyepatch, how could she lose? There are others you made, others you put comparable amounts of conciliatory care into – you’ve only just remembered announcing the completion of one, and there are others which rivaled it in terms of toil if not of memory – but this was the only one in which your ministrations manifested as truly concupiscent, sparkling everywhere. Only one of your outfits ever surpassed that one in all its glittering glory, and it floats within the endless void of the medium now, or lies deep within the oceans of your planet, or perhaps has been burnt up by Jack Noir through shenanigans that brought it closer to the surface.)
So then you understood your entire shared lives (or at least thought you did). She was the Hero of Light, highly strung and subject to chance, while you were meant to be her Sylph, tenderly straightening her course. Not in moirallegiance – someone softer-spoken and meeker than you was needed for a role like that. So many trolls’ cruel jokes about the redness of your feelings missed the entire point: Concupiscence could matter less in matters of the heart. There was a simple warmth with which you regarded her unmoderated self – you wanted to have her, hold her, help and protect her, but never avidly enough to change her. You could have swallowed every fantasy about rainbow drinkers and shadow droppers if you really pitied her so much you needed her to be different, but you didn’t love her in spite of how dangerous she was. You love her for it.
(Jade asked you what you were now, if you weren’t a “vampire” as she called you on first hearing you explain the situation. You said a rainbow drinker. She was surprised by the “sweet but silly” word, and felt the same about you glowing, which rather irks you still, how such a sinister creature of the day as yourself is looked upon as some kind of joke by the species for whom the universe was really constructed upon the species that really constructed it. Then, though, she wanted to know what other creatures of the day there were. Alternia had too many over the course of its long history to be named in full, you explained; however, the “shadow dropper” was among your favorites. Her next unintentional insult was to ask whether these creatures resembled in any way a certain sort of pawn of the Noble Circle. You could not type “No” fast enough, after she regaled you with an unsolicited description of the precise horrors the shadowy tentacles of Derse could inflict upon the human form. A shadow dropper, you explained, is a capricious sort of being dwelling at dusk and dawn or anywhere in between on either side, so free because they can steal shadows as they wish, using the subsequent cast of darkness to protect themselves from the sun’s searing rays. This makes them the perfect complement to the rainbow drinker, who absorbs light and repurposes it into a gentle glow instead. To keep up with a rainbow drinker’s impossible speed, the shadow dropper is blessed with a single pair of impossibly beautiful blood-hued sparkling wings.
So they’re like a fairy??? Haha, stealing shadows kind of like in Peter Pan??
That was her answer to all that prose of yours. No was your reply to that too, because shadow droppers aren’t stupid.)
All this clarity came later, though, after months on end of living alone. You call them months because there are no moons by which to mark the equinoxes or perigees anymore. You call yourself alone because of a proverb you heard once about what the state of being truly along for a troll is, though you can’t remember the exact conditions, only that your current unmoored suspension, however accompanied by three trolls and three others you might technically be, somehow certainly qualifies anyway.
You call it clarity because your mind was clouded back then, when this was part of the veil and not just a meteor, when you had no idea exactly how she went 8eyoooooooond all the levels and got an impossibly lucky roll as well as her arm and eightfold vision cured. All you knew before having so much time without pestering her was that you wished she would stop pestering you while you were still bitter and broken-hearted with regards to her.
She honestly thought that the score you were settling with him, what you were taking out on him, was an infatuation in his direction. How could she see you slice his legs off starting above the waistline and think you ever wanted him in a concupiscent fashion? Perhaps one of the pale quadrants’ attractions could survive something like that – you distantly remember the transient time of being ashen for him, and actually attempting to give him genuine self-confidence – but nothing brighter would ever endure a wound so deep. Something a little more glancing – a slap or something similar, say – you can imagine, if only the troll in question weren’t so much more than just a bit of a tool.
You were just so angry at both of them. A troll couldn’t ask for a worse set of auspisticees. Thousands of reasons why they failed you utterly in the ashen quadrant lurk just beneath the surface of the grimly shining ocean that is your mind; you could dip your hand underneath the salty froth, test the waters of your subconscious, but you very nearly fear what might lie underneath. That is, the true mental workings of a rainbow drinker are foreign even to you, just as much as the subconscious drives of a troll are to anyone else. For all you know, if you think about him too long, you may go on an interminable quest for his lower half.
The bodies of the dead should by all rights belong to their comrades in having experienced death, in your opinion, but you’re not exactly positioned to civilly lodge a complaint to the appropriate authorities.
You had none of this insight back then. You were just so angry. You didn’t know what to make of her appearance in your dreambubble, the one where you were still capable of disorientation and bleeding. She was wearing some garish yet alluring orange bodysuit emblazoned with the sun itself. The source of Light, perhaps indicating that as Mother said she would she had somehow become her aspect’s god after all? You barely had time to catch sight of her brilliant sparkling blue wings before, by chance, she caught a bad break and then slipped out of sight.
So when you saw her on the rooftop, at last observed the god of Light in the flesh, you were confused as well as angry, and there was only one way a creature such as yourself could deal with it. She was staring dumbfounded at you with all eight eyes and you raised your fist and pounded it to carve your mark into her perfect silver face, like a fork cutting into wedding cake. She went flying, you went flying, your skirt and everything else fluttered behind you almost as good as wings would be, propelling you into the air like the assertive hero you were now. You had shown her. You had touched her physically the way she had you psychologically. If life were a game like she so loved to claim, then for that moment you had won.
By the time you landed on the ground again you had other matters to which to attend, a pair of shades to let troll serendipity place upon your cephalic surface. As you reapplied your lipstick, though – in preparation for your change of clothing, you needed it to resupply the requisite amount of jade if it would be present in neither your blood nor your symbol anymore – you did not simply let off your average grim shine. Instead, during your gesture of vanity, you sparkled. You think you may have even dazzled her semi-deliberately. It was difficult to determine exactly how she regarded your true form that, like you with hers, she was seeing for the first time. Your new computation device was doing its best to usurp your attention from that particular matter.
The thing about your server player’s broken dark ugly unfashionable shades is that they may be the only thing left in paradox space that can cloud your vampire’s vision.
You know now you made a grave mistake up on the roof that night. That is, you left without tending to her, letting her nurse whatever wounds you had inflicted alone without her Sylph’s services. That was something you shouldn’t have done, you think, really, because wouldn’t a new universe without Doom be much better than one lacking Light, but Doom was what you found when you went downstairs and Light was what your life lacked when you came back up.
There was a sickening smell everywhere as soon as you cleared the division between below and above the roof, something so sweet that for the first time since your death you had an active desire to breathe. You realized as light sparked behind your eyes that it was her blood, playing a beautiful melody that put blue raspberry Jell-O or lemons and mustard or even dizzyingly rarified troll French claret to shame. It was perfectly clear to you then that there was still a reason that punching her made you think of a spoon digging into sublime silvery ice cream.
The realization that the source of this bloody bounty came from a backstabbing wound followed soon after, but in your reverie it took several seconds to sink in. There was no time for justifications, with her murderer suddenly on the scene – the murderer, that is, you have no idea why you refer to him in the possessive whenever possible regardless of whether it fits except perhaps out of your obsessive fixation upon his utter unconscionability.
It was only much later that you could question the Seer on what exactly being the god of Light meant, and why the fact that she had been coerced into making a heroic sacrifice to prevent Jack Noir from finding them was so significant. You found out then that there are situations where luck doesn’t matter at all, and have since come to the logical conclusion that upon the death of its god luck ceased to exist.
(Under no circumstances do you consent to worship an inferior idol whose interpretation of the aspect more greatly resembles fortune anyway.)
So it was that you came to live (or be undead) in a universe where Doom and Rage thrive while luck or Light does not, and you drift through endless dark daynights without the emotional strength to make your situation brighter. You are almost always plaintively pale these nightdays, without more than the slightest glow forced to assure a Seer that you have no need to be asked whether your current state is a physiological symptom of depression.
There is no such thing anymore as luck, or justice, let alone chance, and so you are entirely unsure what to make of it when during one period of pacing across the rooftop’s dark surface you hear a “pap”, the kind you would expect to see written in glowing white letters, from your shoe against something below, and only become more confused as you kneel to examine what turns out to be the two halves of the Prince of Hope’s (why does your heart beat before adding the possessive S) wand. What are you to make of the fact that holding the broken pieces makes both hands and halves glow with the faintest bit of white light?
Since bringing the parts of the wand closer together only augments the glow, you decide to test the hypothesis of what aspect could explain something resembling a fortunate event by making the halves fit together, closing your eyes, and trying to remember what it felt like to have hope.
ERIDAN: kan i been meanin to thank you
KANAYA: For What
ERIDAN: How Fucking Dare You Act As If Theres No Reason I Should Be Thanking You
ERIDAN: Considering You And Kar Are Vvirtually The Only Beings In Either Of The Twwo Univverses On Speaking Terms Wwith Me
ERIDAN: But My Specific Motivvation At This Time Wwould Be
ERIDAN: for all that trainin you did
ERIDAN: i wwouldnt be the incredible holy wwizard i am now wwithout your help
ERIDAN: Nor For That Matter Wwould I Havve Achievved The State Of Basically Bloody Independence From My Genocide Complex That I Havve Noww
ERIDAN: You Seriously Did Assist Me In Realizing Wwhat Hot-Blooded Foolery My Prior Plans For The Demise Of All Landdwwellers Wwere
ERIDAN: Wwhat The Awwful-Bodied Angels Fuckery Wwas I Thinking There
ERIDAN: Wwhatevver It Wwas I Obvviously Didnt Evver Take It Vvery Seriously Considering Gl’bgolyb Wwas Alwways Wwell Fucking Fed
ERIDAN: But Your Repeated Explanations To Me Of My Schemes Delusional Nature Wwas Abso-Fucking-Lutely Essential To My Abandoning That Rubbish
KANAYA: But I Didnt Even Really Train You I Just Made You A Wand
KANAYA: Thats Not Getting Into The Dubious Veracity Of Your Other Claims
ERIDAN: yeah wwell thats all i needed i guess
ERIDAN: Your Invvolvvement In My Affairs Has Been Lifelong And Essential
ERIDAN: i just needed for someone to showw a little faith in me so im sayin thanks i owwe ya
KANAYA: Okay Then Youre Welcome
KANAYA: I Hope You Use Your Magnificent Powers Of Light And Hope For Goodness And Purity And Lets Not Forget Science
ERIDAN: dont wworry im all ovver that shit you dont evven know
ERIDAN: (This Statement Is The Spitting Fucking Image Of The One You Just Made In That I Assume Its Entirely Genuine)
KANAYA: Uh Oh I Hope That Didnt Come Off As Too Sarcastic
ERIDAN: wwhat
KANAYA: The Thing I Just Said
KANAYA: I Didnt Even Realize How Sarcastic I Was Being Its Starting To Become A Problem I Think
KANAYA: Meaning I Hope That Came Across As A Sincere Statement
KANAYA: I Felt Genuine Hope That You Would Be Able To Apply Your Powers Constructively And Not Destructively
ERIDAN: I Havve No Idea Wwhy Youre Talking About That In The Past Tense
ERIDAN: As If I Somehow Applied My Powwers Destructively
ERIDAN: Are You Daring To Imply I Havve Some Cruel Plots In Mind
ERIDAN: Because I Havve No Intentions Wwhat So Fucking Evver That Are Untowward
ERIDAN: Literally None Of The Bright Thoughts
ERIDAN: None Of Them
KANAYA: Please Dont Take Too Much Offense
ERIDAN: haha damn kan if thats your idea of offense bein made then i honestly gotta fuckin wworry for you
ERIDAN: tell you wwhat ill givve you some lessons in dealin out the dark umbrage to repay you for your tutelage in the wwhite science
ERIDAN: Since Thats Something Im Pretty Fucking Sure Wwe Do
ERIDAN: As Vvery Good Friends
ERIDAN: Right
KANAYA: Um Sure
KANAYA: Ill Have Time For That Uh
KANAYA: A Little Later Maybe
ERIDAN: hey wwhat are you doin anywway
ERIDAN: wwhats that thing there
KANAYA: The Matriorb
ERIDAN: Oh Yes That Im Entirely Awware Of That Bloody Thing And Recognize Its Great Importance Considering Its Purpose Is A Vvery Fucking Basic Biological Fact All Of Us Trolls Should Knoww
ERIDAN: And If Just Hypothetically I Had Some Really Fucking Bizarre Idea In My Head To Finally Cause The Genocide Ivve Fantasized About So Much In The Past
ERIDAN: This Wwould Provvide Pretty Much The Wworst Wway Of Going About It Fucking Possible
ERIDAN: Considering Landdwwellers And Seadwwellers Alike Wwould Both Die
ERIDAN: But Wwhat The Bloody Fuck Are You Going To Do Wwith It Noww Of All Times
ERIDAN: I Mean It Seems Sort Of Stupid To Me To Just Leavve Something Like That Around Wwhere Any Brinesucker Could Feast His Eyes On It
KANAYA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race
ERIDAN: that sounds
ERIDAN: hopeful
KANAYA: I Hope Its Hopeful
ERIDAN: you should of told me about this
ERIDAN: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved
ERIDAN: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it
ERIDAN: Havve I Mentioned Howw Genuine My Intention To Make Sure This Thing Fucking Gets Hatched Is At This Point In Time Yet
KANAYA: Wait
KANAYA: Somethings Not Right
KANAYA: You Just Pronounced Fucking Correctly
ERIDAN: Wwhat Of It
ERIDAN: Do You Really Wwant To Make Something Out Of Such A Totally Fucking Petty Matter
ERIDAN: I Knoww Ivve Made It Exceedingly Clear Howw Caliginously Avvailable I Am Kan But I Didnt Nevver Think Wwe Wwere Really Cut Out For That Sort Of Romance
KANAYA: You Just Did It Again
ERIDAN: Wwhat Am I Doing Wwhats Wrong Kan
KANAYA: You Keep Doing It Pronouncing Things Clearly
KANAYA: Its Almost As If Youre
KANAYA: Enunciating
ERIDAN: Wwell I Dont Knoww Wwhy The Bloody Hell Youd Object To That If It Wwere So Kan Wwhich Its Clearly Fucking Not
ERIDAN: And I Mean
ERIDAN: If Hypothetically I Wwere Convversing Wwith Projections Poorly Constructed By My Subconscious Mind For The Sake Of Letting Me Relivve Wwhat Wwas Essentially The Last Positivve Memory I Havve Wwith One Of The Most Important Fucking Trolls In My Life
ERIDAN: I Wwould Find It Actually Pretty Fucking Pleasant For Them To Be Speaking Clearly And Carefully For My Benefit
ERIDAN: Im Just Saying
KANAYA: Oh My God
KANAYA: Youre A Poorly Constructed Projection Of My Subconscious Mind
ERIDAN: Uh
ERIDAN: Wwhatevver Gave You That Idea Kan
ERIDAN: Wwhoevver Did Is A Bloody Fucking Brinesucking Wwanker
ERIDAN: And I Wwould Happily Cull Them To Defend Your Honor
ERIDAN: The Honor Of The Only Fucking Troll I Wwould Evver Fucking Spare From My Genocidal Wwrath
ERIDAN: Or General Wwrath Wwhich Honestly At This Point Is More Fucking Likely
ERIDAN: And
ERIDAN: Shit
ERIDAN: Yeah
ERIDAN: Arrrrrr
ERIDAN: Fear Me
KANAYA: Is My Subconscious Really This Incredibly Incompetent
ERIDAN: Wwoww If You Think Im Bad You Should Fucking See Your Splinter Of Vvriska
KANAYA: I
KANAYA: I Dont Think I Want To
KANAYA: I Dont Even Particularly Want To See You
ERIDAN: Particularly
ERIDAN: Youre Talking To The Double Of The Troll Wwho Murdered You Except Not Really Because You Wwere Able To Subsequently Fucking Murder Him
ERIDAN: And Wwere Still Talking In Terms As Mild As Fucking “Particularly”
ERIDAN: I Think The Case Appears To Be At Least A Little Fucking Bit More Complicated Than That Miss Maryam
ERIDAN: And Thats Wwithout Taking Into Account The Vvivvid Montage Of Evven Happier Memories Than This One To Wwhich Youvve Recently Been Exposed
ERIDAN: Let Alone Your Status As His Former Dearly Lovved Auspistice
ERIDAN: And The Only Real Friend He Had In Certain Senses Besides
KANAYA: So What If It Is
KANAYA: The Case Is As Complicated As One Minus Two Halves Equals Zero
KANAYA: One Eridan Minus Two Halves Equals Zero Living Eridans As Well As Zero Reasons To Continue To Care
KANAYA: For That Matter I Dont See Why Youd Bother Speaking Clearly Begin Quote “For My Benefit” End Quote When Youve Basically Been Blatantly Lying To Me
ERIDAN: Wwell Aside From The Fact Its Your Owwn Fucking Subconscious Speaking
ERIDAN: Explaining Both The Enunciated Words And Their Vvery Fucking Likely Vveracity
ERIDAN: Im Literally An Imaginary Vversion Of Your Good Friend In The Middle Of A Memory Wwe Just Recreated Wwith Dialog That At Least Sevventy Percent Didnt Originally Exist
ERIDAN: The “Truth” Doesnt Exactly Mean A Wwhole Fucking Lot To Me
ERIDAN: Actually Wwait Shit No Wwhat Im About To Says Not Independent Of The Fact Its Your Bloody Subconscious Speaking Here At All
ERIDAN: Listen Im Your Owwn Bloody Fucking Subconscious
ERIDAN: I Dont Know Anything You Dont
ERIDAN: Im Essentially Here To Tell You Wwhat You Wwant To Hear About The Real Eridan And His Motivvations
KANAYA: Well Why Cant I Hear From The Real Eridan About His Motivations Then
KANAYA: Oh I Know Why Because What Hed Have To Tell Me Wouldnt Be What Id Want To Hear At All Would It
ERIDAN: Jegus Christ Kan Do You Evven Havve Any Idea Wwhatsoevver Wwhat You Would Evven Wwant Him To Fucking Say
KANAYA: …
KANAYA: No
ERIDAN: And Hasnt Wwhat Ivve Been Saying Sounded Vvery Reasonable And Comforting And Plausible
KANAYA: The First Two Characteristics Are Exactly What Robs This Exchange Of The Last Out Of The Three
KANAYA: As If The Real Eridan Would Ever Be Capable Of Achieving Something Resembling Reason Or Comfort Without Me
ERIDAN: She Says
ERIDAN: Still Asserting Wwithout A Trace Of Irony That Her Feelings For Him Are Entirely Fucking Straightforwward
ERIDAN: Are You Serious Kan
KANAYA: Undead Serious
ERIDAN: Wwoww No You Didnt Just Say That
ERIDAN: You Really Fucking Needed Those Lessons In Dark Umbrage
KANAYA: I Intended To Get Out Of Those Actually
KANAYA: Thats Why I Delayed Them
ERIDAN: No You Fucking Didnt
ERIDAN: Youre Messing Wwith Your Subconscious Here
ERIDAN: Wwho Has All The Snarkticks In Dextral Extremity Already
ERIDAN: All Of Them
KANAYA: You Cant Have Them If You Dont Exist
ERIDAN: Didnt Wwe Just Fucking Establish Who Has All The Snarkticks
ERIDAN: Yes I Did
ERIDAN: Movving On
KANAYA: Ugh Im So Glad I Dont Have To Deal With This Inanity Of Yours In My Waking Life Anymore
ERIDAN: Thats Another Stinking Awwful Lie
KANAYA: What
KANAYA: Why Would I Lie About Something Like That
KANAYA: I Honestly Do Find Your Machinations Absolutely Aggravating
ERIDAN: Kan I Knoww You Dont Lie To Others A Lot
ERIDAN: But In Certain Circumstances You Really Make A Huge Fucking Habit Of Lying To Yourself
ERIDAN: And If Youre Not Savvvvy About Howw You Define People To Yourself Then
ERIDAN: I Really Dont Knoww Wwhat The Fuck To Tell You
KANAYA: Is There Something Else You Want To Tell Me
ERIDAN: Wwhat The Fuck Are You Angling For There
ERIDAN: Wwevve Already Firmly Fucking Established That Basically The Only Bloody Thing I Can Do Is Tell You Wwhat You On Some Levvel Wwant To Hear
ERIDAN: So Thats Really A Lot Like Asking If Theres Something Else You Wwant To Tell Him
ERIDAN: So Wwell Wwhat About It Is There Something
KANAYA: I Think I Want To Tell You To Shut Up
ERIDAN: I Lovve You Too Kan
KANAYA: Wait
KANAYA: What
ERIDAN: Shooooooooooosh
ERIDAN: Only Wwaking Up Noww
KANAYA: But Im Not Asleep
KANAYA: I Cant Sleep Anymore Because Of What You Did To Me
ERIDAN: Noww Noww Dont Givve Me That Kind Of Total Disgusting Bee Ess Kan
ERIDAN: You Just Said That To Your Subconscious Didnt You
ERIDAN: So If You Wwant To Be Technical You Did This To Yourself
ERIDAN: Wwhich Is Wwhat You Did
ERIDAN: Or At Least Wwhat You Think You Did
ERIDAN: Like Ivve Said Im Not Exactly Unbelievvably Fucking Clear On The Details
ERIDAN: At The Vvery Least Your Wwhole Sunny Creature Of The Day Rubbish Wwas Vvery Much Self-Generated Wwas It Not
KANAYA: That Wasnt The Point I Most Seriously Wanted To Make And You Know It
ERIDAN: Wwhats That About Me Knowwing Things
ERIDAN: Like Say
ERIDAN: Wwhat You Subconsciously Wwant To Hear
ERIDAN: Sorry Conscious Kan I Couldnt Hear You Ovver The Sound Of Me Not Being Real
ERIDAN: And Disappearing
ERIDAN: Havving To Do This Kind Of
ERIDAN: Hang On I Need To Removve My Fucking Glasses Before Saying This
ERIDAN: Ok
ERIDAN: B)
ERIDAN: Tears Me Apart
ERIDAN: Yeah
KANAYA: Ha Ha Ha
ERIDAN: Seriously Though I Havve To Go I Cant Stay A Single Fucking Moment Longer Much As Id Lovve To
ERIDAN: Hope You Get On Wwithout Me
ERIDAN: Wwho Are Wwe Both Kidding Youre So Alone
ERIDAN: Keep A Fanged Upper Lip Ok Kan
KANAYA: But
KANAYA: Fine
You are the Virgin Daughter, and at this time, you see no chance you are not going to stay that way.
The statement is a rather crude one in some of the particulars, which you refuse to really examine. (Anymore, that is - you would be lying through your fangs if you said you hadn’t mentally explored the possibilities in great detail before your transformation, when you thought of what life would be like after it.) You see no possibility for its reevaluation now, however. The matriorb is over; your life is gone; all this was well-established a long time ago. Thus your role as mere ward of the late Virgin Mother can never evolve.
Looking back, you don’t understand why you were burdened by Skaia with breeding duties twice over. Why did they give you these two tasks, at both of which they knew you would fail? There was clearly some importance you had in that giant blue asshole’s overcomplicated scheme (why else would they have let you become what you always wanted to be), something more than alien helpmeet, inferior Sylph of Space to serve as sidekick to that aspect’s true player, the Witch.
If your role in paradox space is truly defined as just some sort of grim auxiliatrix, it is probably as one to your peer in gnosticism and not Rose. You were her fairy god troll at best, an insignificant pest at worst.
(You almost solicited her, once, for what might have been a pale romance, maybe; you look back over your logs and think something comparable to that may well have happened. You couldn’t abide, you had difficulty saying it, and -- to her whatever meant so mucj to you meant nothing. You had a little over two hours with her. With Jade you had six. You’re not exactly excellent at math, but you know you told Jade that you were only as mutually friendly as the time permitted two people to be.
After a year, you don’t really think of yourself as quite that friendly anymore.)
She was straightforward; at least, straightforward enough for you, with her Prospitan precognition and her convenient emotional punctuation. You were each other’s counterparts on the team: Initially cryptic, then suddenly useless, then thought dead, then revived. She just had the fortune to be human. She never killed anyone or saw any of her peers die, in her version of your life, no matter how many huge tools and reckless women she dealt with.
You don’t wish you had no horns, but you will call hers good fortune.
caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]
CA: kan make her talk to me do somethin i think she blocked me you got to
GA: I Dont Got To And Every Time You Take My Help For Granted I Feel Like I Got To A Little Less
CA: wwhatEVVER you are so the vvillage twwo wwheel devvice wwhen it comes to auspisticing
CA: you cant let a grudge go by you wwont stick your busy stem betwwixt so get wwith the program fussyfangs
GA: If Your Slander Werent So Predictable Id Block You Too For Saying That
CA: i figure if youre going to auspisticize any twwo brinesuckers wwho sneer at each other a funny wway you might as wwell make it official and be ours right
GA: What Do You Want From Her Anyway
CA: she made me somethin per a prior arrangement
GA: What Is It
CA: kan stupid wwhat do you think its a fuckin gizmo thatll kill all land dwwellers wwhat else wwould i be after
GA: I Dont Know
GA: Her Affection
GA: Your Moirails Attention
GA: Perhaps Just Another Item As Shiny Yet Useless As Most Of Your Flarp Treasure
GA: The Idea Of Your Being So Grievously Touched By Megalomaniacal Derangement That You Actually Desired That Outcome Is One That Ive Pretty Much Rejected Entirely At This Point
GA: Ive Thought The Matter Over For A Long Time
GA: Especially This Conversation
GA: (Im Going To Note Parenthetically That If You Thought I Hadnt Reread This Log Enough Times To Notice Very Early On That It Was Just An Abbreviated Memory You Were Sorely Mistaken)
GA: And Though I Still Havent Figured Out Why Youd Make Such An Extravagant Yet Ultimately Meaningless Gesture To Me As Calling Me The Only Troll You Would Spare
GA: Its Become Abundantly Clear That You Never Intended To Destroy All The Landdwellers
GA: Especially Considering Your Confession Of This Desire To Your Particularly Close Landdweller Friend
CA: Wwoww, Maryam, howw the fuck did you figure that one out?
CA: GOLD STAR!
CA: I’m just a conspiring bastard and vvery proud of it.
CA: Been playing you like a goddamn stringed instrument this wwhole time.
CA: You put your finger on it. NO LOVVE LOST betwween you and I.
CA: It wwas all a fine little game of pragmatism and necessity.
CA: Wwe wwere nevver really friends, wwere wwe?
CA: I wwanted to kill you all along wwith evvery single other member of the dirt-scraping vvermin pack you call a race.
GA: Thats A Lie
GA: An Excessively Articulate Lie
GA: Youre Not Eridan
CA: Awwwwww, fuck, you figured it out.
CA: OF COURSE I’M NOT!
CA: Do you really think you’d a chance of getting to the real him already?
GA: Well Id Hoped It Would Happen Eventually
GA: And Doesnt The Way You Say Already Imply That It Will At Some Point
CA: Mum’s the wword on that particular subject from me.
GA: You Say That Even Though You Are The One Who Brought It Up
GA: Who Are You
CA: Do you REALLY HAVVE TO ASK?
GA: Well
GA: I Have A Guess
GA: But Its Somewhat Dodgy And Unsubstantiated
CA: Isn’t evverything dodgy and unsubstantiated here?
CA: Come on, wwalk wwith me.
GA: Do I Have To
GA: Im Very Comfortable Here By The Corpse Of My Lusus
GA: Would You Perhaps Keep In Mind That Its The First Time Ive Seen Her In A Very Long While
CA: Okay, fine.
CA: I can wwork wwith that.
GA: Oh
GA: Well Then
GA: Im Surprised
GA: You Know By The General Lack Of Stripes And Cape
CA: Muahaha, do you think it wwould be better if I added one? Givve me more of a proper highblood look?
GA: Ok Wow Seeing A Smile On His Features Is Really More Than I Can Take
CA: Holy shit, I’m REALLY SORRY my descendant turned out to be some depressed Troll Heathcliff son of a bitch.
CA: Does it look at all like there’s anything I could do about that? Or if, you knoww, I had a single shit’s wworth of control ovver that, I wwouldn’t have exercised it already?!
GA: Um
CA: Okay, I did not wwant you to actually ask yourself that. God do you Vvirgos need to learn to control yourselvves.
GA: What Do You Mean By Virgos In The Plural
GA: That Sounds Like The Start Of A Much Longer Story And One Would Have Great Personal Interest To Me
CA: ...
CA: I’m not gettin’ into that one right noww.
GA: Oh Ok
CA: This isn’t about me, it’s about YOU.
GA: Really
GA: Somethings Actually About Me For Once
GA: Do I Get To Drink Your Blood
CA: ...
CA: Wwell, I’m a little too much of a ghost for you to actually drink my blood, in case you hadn’t noticed.
CA: Sorry.
GA: So Where Are You Going With This Then
GA: Or Are You Not Going Somewhere With This And Were Just Going To Walk Around The Late Mother Grub In Circles Forever
GA: Will An Arbitrarily High Number Of Circles Lead Me To An Epiphany On Why He Wanted To Destroy The Matriorb
CA: OF COURSE NOT, god. This memory is wway too early in the timeline for that.
GA: So Youre Sure He Didnt Even Consider It Before The Game
CA: Oh, nevver.
CA: At least, if it wwere ME taking ovver the fucking wworld for my race, the last thing I wwould do is destroy the item that wwould perpetuate it. I mean, COME ON.
CA: That’s not diabolical, that’s called abandoning all hope, Maryam.
GA: Okay
GA: Do I Get To Find Out Why He Killed Me Then
CA: From me? Uh...
CA: I’vve got to be honest wwith you, no.
CA: I nevver did it, after all.
GA: That Says A Lot
CA: Not really.
CA: All it says is that next to nobody wwas evver murdered before wwe scratched the univverse.
CA: So doing something like that, especially to one of your GOOD FUCKING FRIENDS, is pretty much entirely unimaginable.
GA: You Were Friends With Her Then
CA: Wwhat kind of question is that?
CA: It sounds like a LOADED question, Maryam.
GA: Whats Loaded About It
CA: ...
CA: You really don’t get it yet, do ya?
GA: Get What
GA: Why He Said He Would Only Spare Me
GA: No I Dont Because It Doesnt Make Any Sense
GA: Especially Considering How Unspared I Ultimately Was
CA: Ahahahaha, oh, holy fuck, WWOWW.
CA: It’s just kind of hilarious listenin’ to you go on like this is all.
CA: You’vve got your head tight the fuck up your own nook in so many wways I don’t knoww wwhat to say anymore.
GA: Hey
GA: Whats That Supposed To Mean
GA: Why Can None Of You Aquarius Trolls Ever Say What You Mean When Im Meeting You In Dreams Like This
GA: You Keep Hinting At Something Like Its Really Obvious
GA: Some Big Joke
GA: A Party To Which You Were Sure You Indicated Your Desire For Me To Accompany You As Your Plus One But I Never Got The Note With The Directions
CA: My descendant getting invvited to a fucking PARTY? Noww that’s a neww one.
GA: Just How Well Do You Know Him Anyway
CA: Wwell enough to tell you the bottom of his hit list had a square in bright wwhite lights reservved for your name.
CA: I mean, seriously, you wwere pretty much THE LAST TROLL he evver wwanted to kill.
GA: Really
CA: Really.
CA: Except maybe that, uh, one wwith the crowwn and terrifyin’ trident.
CA: I don’t knoww for sure on that.
GA: Huh
GA: This Is Our Third Time Around And I Think Its Getting Kind Of Ridiculous
GA: Can I Go Yet
CA: Wwait, I’vve got somethin’ for you--
GA: Really
GA: I Sound Kind Of Stupid Saying Really All The Time Dont I
CA: Ahahahaha...
CA: Here.
GA: A Key
GA: This Is An Auxiliatrix Key
GA: Where The Hell Did You Get This
CA: ...
CA: After all this time wworkin’ wwith Skaia, you’vve still got to ask that?
GA: I Guess Not
CA: Wwell, then.
CA: This is probably anchors awway then.
CA: FOR NOW. If you really think you’vve gotten rid of me for good, you’vve got another think coming.
CA: I’vve been dead too long for that.
GA: Uh Ok
GA: Thanks
-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] is now an idle troll! --
CA: ...
CA: You really are her descendant.
Your leader is the only person on this asteroid whom you still respect unconditionally. Unfortunately, that is because he is also the only person who has lost any respect for you.
He looks at you and unlike all the others, who see some vague amalgamation of fashionista and meddler and vampire, he takes in your impeccable sparkling epidermis with his eyes and sees it as the skin of a killer.
His ocular globes are the only pair that remained the warm yellow-orange a teenage troll’s should be. They haven’t been burnt into a heartless red, neither are they smugly lidded over to hide vermilion sclera still enflamed with evil, nor even for that matter are they the unadulterated bright yellow through which sinful light shamelessly shines. You could almost call him innocent, if that word existed in the troll language. You wonder what he will look like in a few years, when his body finally catches up with and betrays him. Will he take to wearing shades, or will that too flagrantly mimic the coolkid aesthetic he’s come to so deeply despise?
You worry about him in a way you’re not sure anyone else does. You may not have dirtied your dextral extremities with his mad maze of memoranda during the game, but you respected his every missive in private. He was the only other troll who observed the beauty and terror of the Land of Rays and Frogs, and perhaps the only being (Mother, bless her unbeating heart, didn’t quite count) in whom you truly confided all your feelings and problems during your life and from whom you received insightful advice in return. (You haven’t done that since your life ended and you were left alone.)
It’s just always seemed that nobody cares enough about him to feel the concern about him that you do. Not his maybe-matesprit, not any of his other best friends, and certainly not himself. Just like his lusus, he surrounds himself with layer after spiny layer of cantankerous protection. You used to spend a lot of time thinking about gently peeling away each one and laying him down in a pile of your best and softest throw pillows, the ones where you would set up your lunchtop for the best lighting because the alert was coming from him.
That’s not possible, though. Serendipity screamed at him for ever even thinking he could join the 50% of the troll population that deserved unconditional comfort and held him to his own workhoofbeast standard that required never resting until his thankless job was done. He’s tangled up in a moirallegiance fifty shades brighter than even your most morally ambiguous novels allow for, but it’s the only thing keeping every other soul on the meteor from ending up in corpse boxes.
He waits like a little lost woofbeast for the slightest bit of attention from the motherfucker, and though his other half remains invisible even to your superior senses, you can tell immediately when he’s actually been with him. The scent lingers on his clothes of paint and Faygo and something else you can almost but not quite identify. (If you did, you would strangle him, all-obscuring void be damned.)
One nightday, though, on your standard patrol stalking the meteor for any sign of Gamzee, as you compulsively reapply your lipstick with one hand and worry at the key you keep in a hidden pocket with the other, you realize that you have not actually worried about Karkat himself at any point during this ritual for at least the next week, if not longer. You stop in your tracks with the suddenness only a rainbow drinker can manage, and rub away the consequentially botched makeup job from your lips. The substance still lingers on your pale hand, one huge mess of jade – ah, but right there in one of your palm’s lines is a precious drop of violet blood, which your dry tongue darts out to catch before it falls to the ground. You manage to swallow the sweet thing this time – you’re not always so lucky.
You look around the dark, empty halls of this part of the meteor, where scents tell you nobody else has ever set foot, and even though Karkat’s disapproving cephalic surface can no longer stir the same desperate emotional desire for reciprocity within you that it once did, you do still imagine him disapproving, and so it is that you turn around and retrace your steps to somewhere you can wash this lipstick off.
(You still don’t understand what he could possibly see in a conciliatory suitor who’s murdered two members of your race, made it clear he wanted to let it dwindle further, and didn’t even have the decency to scowl while doing either, but you admit perhaps it’s just a matter of personal taste.)
GC: 3V3N THOUGH SH3 D1D SOM3 B4D TH1NGS 4ND W4S TOT4LLY 1MPOSS1BL3 MOST OF TH3 T1M3
GC: 1 W1SH SH3 W4SNT D34D
GC: 1S 1T W31RD TO M1SS SOM3BODY WHO D1D NOTH1NG BUT C4US3 PROBL3MS?
CCG: I MISS ALL OF MY DEAD FRIENDS A LOT.
CCG: EVEN THE ASSHOLES! I MISS THEM TOO. MAYBE EVEN ESPECIALLY THEM, IN SOME PERVERSE WAY.
GA: Dangerous People Can Be Really Important
GA: Maybe Even The Most Important Sometimes
CCG: OKAY, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, NONE OF US WERE EVEN IN THE SAME CONVERSATION HERE. I'M SHUTTING THIS MEMO DOWN.
Since that dreambubble featured both Karkat and Terezi, it is inevitable that Rose and Dave come up to join them and a fight ensues. As you watch the Knights yet again tangle up in articles of the other’s clothing and tumble onto the floor, it dawns on you that this is where your feelings for Karkat went, from potentially pale horns-first into ashen. It all makes sense, looking at this scene before you, feeling the urge to meddle and make everyone talk things out with you, but not see anyone treat anyone else in a particularly tender way.
You can imagine worse auspisticees than Dave. He doesn’t mutter too badly, for one thing, or at least not worse than others for whom you’ve auspiced. He has what you think is an admirable enough knowledge of such human mysteries as soporific substances and sports. He handles himself around you in an open, frank way that’s matched by nobody on the meteor, no matter how sardonic he is about it.
He calls you a troll vampire when you scare him. He lets you fix his cape when Karkat messes it up, even though as a god he doesn’t need it. He calls you stupid sometimes when you misinterpret an element of Earth society he thought was simple. There are even times when he abbreviates your name to…
…to GA. Out of force of habit from before the humans beat the game, when some of them were so stupid as to have to ask whether trolls were “human enough” (ugh, as if it weren’t rightfully the other way around) to have names. It’s a comfort in its own queer way, that to someone you still count as an acceptable grim auxiliatrix.
Sometimes around you he calls your wayward guest, known to most as the mayor, his best friend. You don’t quite comprehend that one. Human romance as a whole is still murky to you. You were never able to pick out which of the six possible pairs among the four alien children should be flushed, pale, and platonic, the way Karkat had the moment he became acquainted with the standards of human reproduction.
Navigating the actual tangles of real-life troll romance outside the pages of books was never one of your strong suits either. The exact shades of meaning between pity and hate and love are so blurry to you, and you never had quite enough experience to examine the thousand and one shades of meaning packed within the troll word friend. “Other best friend” versus “awful best friend” versus “basically the best” versus “stupid goddamn lousy supportive friend” versus “meddler” versus “bestest furrend” all make such a mess for you that adding the human concept of unqualified, unromanticized friendship to the mix is just too much.
You have to appear casual, then, as you quasi-coolly approach Dave one daynight to ask whether “the only friend whom I would spare from an act of otherwise comprehensive genocide” is an acceptable translation of the human concept called best friendship.
He raises his hand to the temples of his shades, tells you that sounds like exactly the sort of unwieldly overcomplicated fucked-up way a troll would have to phrase it and wouldn’t really cut it for a human, and changes the subject.
The next dream you have is the kind of hazy, surrealistic affair you’ve been told is the human standard for those not privileged with dreamselves. As the Rose human would say, every cubic inch verisimilarly quivers, pregnant with meaning.
You’re in the desert again, with Mother’s corpse, but it’s night now, so the only light left comes from the thousand shimmering stars overhead, not your own shining skin. (Why would you expect yourself to glow! Silly you, this is a dream, not a fantasy; in those you don’t sleep, remember!) While her eyes are closed, her wings beat with the same quiet confidence she displayed while alive. Her side contains that crater you cut open with your chainsaw, but now it’s cavernous enough for you to walk right inside, which you do promptly.
As soon as you clear the threshold, Mother’s walls close up behind you, and she begins to fly. The movement is sudden but exactly what you expect after six sweeps with her. You can’t hold her literal flights of fancy to the standards of another troll. You just have to understand her.
So it is that during what is for once unambiguously a night, you begin your journey through the meteor’s hallways. Why are they inside your custodian? Because what you’re looking for is here, of course, or at least you hope it is.
As you turn the corner, you catch sight of a light from the far side of the hallway and rush towards it, enjoying how the area around you brightens from the conventional illumination as you grow closer, though it’s still darker than you expected - for no good reason. Why are you desiring yourself to be dead? All trolls keep themselves alive as long as they can, and then they die. This is the natural order, with no deviations to become a god or a ghost or another kind of spirit, and the alternatives might be nice in your fantasies, after a fashion, but this is a dream, one of the nicest you’ve ever had for some reason, and you are more elated to be alive than you ever were in your entire life. Although neither blinking nor breathing is what gives you such joy, with each step you take something inside you rises higher and higher. Then again, all around outside you, your lusus is doing the same thing, tracing the pirouettes and loops and spirograms that defined your wigglerhood, the patterns by which you learned the constellations.
When you finally reach and open the door behind which the light’s source lies, inside you see the reason why you’re so happy: He’s here, and you don’t have to qualify him by his title or his hemochrome or anything arbitrary anymore, it’s just really him, really here with you. You practically drag him to the alchemiter, where you pull up the bare geometric outline of a wand, select "white" and "science" for him, and pay the entire price from your own reserves, even though the grist cost is astronomical.
You take it out (still warm from the Virgin Mother Grub’s barely-dead insides) and press it into his palm, with a degree of accidental contact too realistic to be ghostly. His hand curls around the nonweapon (you made) as rays of holy light slowly shine forth from the tip. A pretty pale aura builds up around him until finally his lips twitch in a curl you recognize as something a little better than his typical disapproval.
You’re so happy that your heart leaps, even though it didn’t move once before for this entire dream, when you pick up on that cue, and you brush some of that pesky chainsaw gore out of your hair as you regard the spectacle full of joy. This is what you wanted to do to him, what you stared at him, into the nadir, for so many seconds desperately desiring: Everything you’ve ever wanted to see yourself make happen for another person, for him, is summed up by his desperate fumbling over the wand with his ringed fingers, in reverent resolute silence: You wanted to shut him up, to pacify him, and for the moment it’s working like a charm.
Your meteor’s trajectory shoots up into the sky, among the thousand stars you looked up to very long ago, the cutely gleaming four-cornered crosses of white light you only know by Mother’s chirped names. That was back before you even knew about Prospit, let alone the Furthest Ring, so the beauty is all in your head, but the floor rises up exhilarating beneath you.
Then the exquisite shining shapes you can’t really see after all turn traitor just as soon as he does, which happens with a melodramatic twisting of his cape and warping of his mouth into an unreadable sneer. So it is that he raises his wand and shows you what great and terrible stuff he’s made of, in the sort of irreplicable single burst that looks exactly like what you would expect to originate from the angels’ light, those heralds of hope and harbingers of the end, as he makes himself a murderer, a messenger, delivering the kind of revelation that will nebulize star systems, and if you were a prophet you would have sight beyond sight with which to see the form of exactly what, but since you lost sight of anything resembling shapes long ago, you can only feel that it will be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
It will be, you sense the fact at the moment his wand becomes bathed in a combat ready fire; that doesn’t mean you feel the epiphany yet. It doesn’t strike you as the bolt of white science through the womb does. It doesn’t come to you as the meteor continues flying along the relentless spirographic path of an ought-to-be-doomed timeline.
It isn’t until you hit the ground and your vision clouds over entirely with white, not from the empirical paradox surrounding and killing you, nor from the supernatural glow already preparing to overtake your dying body, nor even from the rising dawn you might expect to occur around now after this long with initial nighttime desert surroundings, but from a fourth source, a quarter of your heart that has lurked in part-time use for longer than you’ve ever been alive, never fully emerging from its pallid throes of morbidity until this magical moment, that you realize how painfully, irrevocably, and above all hopelessly you are in love with him.
You don’t really wake up, of course, because you’re a rainbow drinker, and it wasn’t really him, because he didn’t kill you until you leapt at him with a chainsaw. Neither of those things stop you from approaching Terezi immediately after your dream and asking her to change course for a dreambubble you can’t identify by anything but a feeling in your dead calcium structures. She doesn’t really look at you because she’s blind, but she does manage to simultaneously deny the proposal’s possibility and bring it about anyway.
You bandage her neck out of gratitude for her compliance (her blood is exactly the blue raspberry Jell-O shot you need to redouble your bravery), and turn on your heel to transportalise to the respitehub. The holographic representation of your sign floats above the transportaliser that leads to your block until you stand on the pad and disrupt the projection.
You disappear and reappear, your bookshelf greeting you. You delicately take a pair of keys that have rested next to each other for so long now, and simultaneously decaptchalogue both your server player’s shades and his moirail’s hat. These you balance, deliberately precarious, atop the bookshelf’s high edge. It will help you remember in a way you hope the dreambubble won’t, considering the way you’d rather not use your chainsaw this time.
The other thing you cannot do without, if this will go as it did the first time, is his cape. You could never bear to let your chastity modus claim the thing at risk of never seeing it again, and so instead you’ve merely left it on the center shelf, a constant reminder of an emotion that, as a rainbow drinker, you’re still a little ashamed to name. You take the lush violet fabric into both dextral extremities and tie it around your torso not entirely unlike the reverse of the pink ribbon belt you were wearing when you first saw that your custodian had died.
What you feel, wearing this, is Remorse.
The word is rather difficult to pronounce and comes out more awkward than you’d like. It won’t do at all to say to--
“That comes from the Latin for ‘to bite again,’ you know.”
You turn around and inexplicably floating above the transportaliser is none other than the Idol of Light herself. You did not invite her here, and tell her as much.
“I’m aware of that. I’ve got quite the wide knowledge base between my role as Seer of Light, our extensive research, and that minor detail of my fucking divinity.”
Her divinity can intimately acquaint itself with whatever appendages remain from her prior association with the darkest fires of hell as far as you’re concerned. You don’t say this, but repeat your statement about her invitation status somewhat less subdued instead.
“And nobody granted you permission to change our asteroid’s course, either. We humans have this notion of friendship, Kanaya, involving informing our friends of our intentions and permitting them to visit us as the trust present between them merits.”
FRIENDSHIP IS LIKE... A MISTAKE, A BIG JOKE OF NATURE.
In troll language, the word for friend is exactly the same as the word for enemy.
Thats What Conciliatory Romance Is For
You’re not exactly sure which of these sentiments you express, but you certainly express at least one of them, much to the unforseer’s muted shock. “Pardon me for so brashly assuming you’d appreciate my company. Why, you’re glowing brighter already.”
She doesn’t know why you’ve begun to recover from your depression. She doesn’t know you. She may be a tentacle therapist, but she certainly isn’t yours and could use one herself. You have another purple-themed pseudo-magician in mind for your moirallied machinations now though, who actually appreciated them while they lasted. Not to mention another orange-suited flighty broad bearing the taken-for-granted sun (how you miss it) on her chest to whom the words "You Dont Know Me" would be at least slightly less appropriate. All this accusation makes the sun rise a little bit from indignated inhalation.
“I’ve certainly deduced enough about your habits over the course of our year-plus period of acquaintance to theorize that you’d want to hear my commentary on your strikingly sanguinary fashion state—”
*Slap*
The noise (puckered hisses of air before and after the high, sharp rise that softens and dies) resounds off all the surfaces of your block like an explosion, which in many ways it was. Your idol careens without any grace in the direction your palm pushed her. Pretty purple irises dominate white eyes relative to now-dot-sized pupils, while her unnaturally painted (for a human) black lips form a perfect O (in the human alphabet). They provide precisely the reminder you need to apply a fresh coat of black on your own.
For perhaps the first time in her life, the Idol of Light is at a loss for words, merely opening and closing her gaudy mouth in a manner ironically reminiscent of a fish. You wonder what’s going through her inscrutable alien mind during this momentous moment. Perhaps she’s finally realizing how rude it was to never re-initiate contact even after she lost her grip on the broodish festertongues. Or recalling at long last how you are her patron troll, not the other way around. Maybe, just maybe, she is dragging through the thick fog that is her mammalian brain matter the unthinkable idea of how, for all her fancy outfits and spells and powers, you are her universe’s creator and by extension her god. You don’t claim to know for certain whether she’s thinking any of these things, but you certainly hope she is.
When you see she’s already planted her palms and posterior on the ground in the universal posture of shock at something she didn’t realize was happening before it was too late, you realize there will never be any time than now to ask her to "Consider That Your Last Lesson In Showmanship". You bring your right foot up to kick the lowest shelf of your bookcase, disturbing that pair of trophies from what was their tentative new resting place. Your server player’s shades fall into place on your face, while the space the Seer’s hood should occupy but never does is filled by that hat. The gradual clouding of her vision as the blue fabric sinks over her eyes is, hopefully, an appropriate enough mirror of how your viewport into the human session darkened because of her.
When you take the requisite journey to the roof through the transportaliser pads again, the one to your room is the only one you take the trouble of rebifurcating.
At last you endure your final puff of transitional fires and emerge on the rooftop, at the threshold of a brilliantly hued dreambubble. Threads of fuschia and teal shimmer throughout its surface, the former thicker -- it’s the energy of that incredibly rarified red wine that floods through you as you break through into the surface atop the asteroid with newhatched strength again. You glow with sixty solid watts for at least a twelve inch radius, illuminating the shocked faces of the trolls whose dubious dreaming states you’re so gladly interrupting.
The first one, and closest to you, is marred with three healed scars and makeup that has improved in its scrupulousness, if not in the state of scruples that it signals its owner to possess. Of course the six fangs naturally forming an oh-so-awfully masculine overbite show their yellow tint as they become more exposed by lips curling in surprise.
Surprise is the only emotion you have ever seen him express that pleases you. It seems, however, that with his functions of memory regrettably similar to those of a being worthy to possess any semblance of life, he’s anticipated the method that first offered itself to you as a way to elicit such a reaction again. The organ relevant to any chances he has with concupiscence is shrouded in some bizarre protective structure: Its purple hue is not entirely unreminiscent of that associated with the psychologically volatile charlatan whose analyses of your relationship to its owner somehow failed to take into account your goals of annihilating its function along with any other of his body. Your light-favoring eyes take at least three additional instants, in this darkness, to recognize how this color stains every garment on his person with the gaudiness of an idol, if not a god.
The most persistent fact about rainbow drinkers such as yourself is that, due to their pesky inability to stay dead, they make multiple attempts to carry out their plans.
His immobolized body makes a graceless arc through the air, likely to tumble through a Dersite void instead of land in a pile of scalemates, as per what was not your original intention. You feel one intense pupil on your locked elbows, instead of eight -- shadows are dropped over the other seven. The God of Light stares at you with a pinch of special stardust in her organic hand and a simple yet somehow stunning white dress on. Her sparkling octo-dotted wings beat once, the rest of her body still save for her equally brilliant blue lips, which open and close as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with them. So you open your mouth to provide her with an answer.
Kissing her feels too good to be real, and you know it is, because you’re tasting exactly the azure ambrosia you’ve been denied for your entire second life. It isn’t long - probably some multiple of eight - before the ministrations of her hands upon your body peter out into jerky twitches. You are compelled to straighten out your arms so you can assess her condition from a reasonable distance, and sure enough the cobalt curves of her sign aren’t the only hemochrome on her outfit’s white fabric.
The sun sets, something it always seems to do.
You’ve covered two out of three, and you know paradox space holds its breath waiting for you to finish. A Seer who’s not blind takes note of a wand being taken out in what she’s devastated to realize isn’t a joke; a Seer who is smells bright white light with what she finds to be an astonishingly robust aroma of hopefulness. One Knight worries about something getting caught in his cape without you nearby while the other asks himself why the one around your waist untied on its own from its seemingly sturdy bow. The answer to the question you don’t hear being asked is that this cape isn’t yours.
The Prince of Hope finally takes his place on the scene, jade-tainted cape flowing in the wind that comes from dozens of pristine Gothic cathedrals, with a rifle in his hand, but it falls onto the ground and fires as soon as the symbols disappear from his glasses (behind which his eyes are the same white as your skin and his science and your – plural possessive, yes, you have the audacity to hope -- pity) and let him see you. His harpoon flies through the abdomen of an angel he deliberately enraged, and its scream is first of fifty thousand, forming the chorus of wrath as well as weariness thereof.
You take your first step towards him and hear the exact moment when your leader’s jaw hits the floor -- he’s not a hatched one because none of you were ever hatched at all, but he’s every letter of the figurative word because you were all sent on meteors into exact locations that would lead you into your perfectly planned fates dictated by brilliantly blue blessed Skaia. Almost every item you’ve ever owned has navigated elaborate paradoxical tracks through spacetime, like the wand you’re returning to your moirail right now, and then it will be time to get the nonfictional weeping out of the way.
KANAYA: I Feel Sorry For You
ERIDAN: yeah
ERIDAN: same
You don’t know who first remembers the unfortunate fact that in the original version of this bittersweet reunion (though much closer to the latter than it’s ever been for you before) you were covered in his blood and most of the rest of him was all over the floor, let alone how long that takes, but time works strangely in the furthest ring and at some point the balance is righted again. Your diamond-hard heart breaks into a million impossible pieces holding half of him in your arms and seeing the other on the floor. Eventually, though, it becomes clear that nobody will be absconding with this particular pair of severed legs, and you are finally in full possession of both a corpse as befits your grim deathright and an auxiliatrix key that’s been through two universes corresponding to the card containing your needle and thread.
Slowly, tenderly, you lay Eridan down on a nearby altar and begin to stitch him up.