MSPA fan-fiction

[crash826]

@Sarasvati

I consider it an honor that I gave you the idea. Would you like a review?

Out of five s, I rate it...

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[Sushi Database]

(Part One)

Shenanigans, part two

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It was important to remember that even though Sburb was a warped, paradoxical singularity in time and space, it was also in many ways still a game. The mechanics of it; the grist, the boondollars, the echeladder, all worked like any other game. You grinded for XP and loot, you got stronger, and you became better at grinding for XP and loot. Pretty much a standard RPG set-up.

But... while it was a game, it was not a balanced one. Sburb had not been focus grouped or beta tested, (or alpha tested, since the discs they had were supposed to be the beta). Game balance was a naiive concept that Sburb had no room for. And nowhere was that more evident than in Dave's timetables. He'd won them fairly early in his session, busting down some sick beats against the gearmen Slam Poetry Shaman after the imps had stolen his turntables. Those guys loved him, and after he'd gotten his turntables back they just gave him the Gristgolem Tribal Totem (if John had been there, he would have noted the totem's resemblance to a flux capacitor). With those he was able to alchemize the timetables, and they had been the key to breaking the game. What really got him is they didnt even cost very much grist to make. But those little timetables had made the Land of Heat and Clockwork his bitch. He had definitely been "meant" to make them, though, they even increased in power as he climbed the echeladder. Initially he hadn't been able to reverse further than a few minutes, and he hadn't been able to accelerate at all. Now he could go back at least a few hours at a time.

After crossing the bridge, the path led directly up along a cliff face. It was unusual to see rock this high up; for the most part the only solid groung was metal plates and turning gears. But it happened, sometimes. There seemed to be a weird glowing over the hills ahead. Friggin ominous. This all looked very deliberate, like it had been carved out of the cliff. Gristgolems maybe? Probably not gearmen, and imps and ogres didnt have the brains to build anything. But someone had built this, someone with tools. The rock was smooth, like it had just been sliced apart into this state by... lasers, maybe. Awesome lasers.

"Like, friggin laser eyes," Dave murmured to himself. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. So tired of walking. So tired. Rose was right, he really was starting to overheat, but he hadn't found any exhaust vents. Those were the only sources of moving air, and they were the best way to stay cool. If only he'd brought his AC. He had- oh shit

Dave wiped dirt off his face. He was on the ground now? How did he... oh. He reached over and tried to pick up the object he had tripped over. He capchalogued the RED FROG. no, that didnt work. Uh... the INCARNADINE RIBBITOR. Fuck, no dice. Uh... maybe ask Rose?

TG: found something weird
TG: like a red frog
TG: cant find a good name for it
TT: The ruby contraband? Keep that safe.
TG: oh what it's a ruby contraband
TG: nice that fits
TG: what the fuck does that even mean though
TT: I'm not really sure, that's what you call it later.
TG: but i'm calling it that later because you called it that just now
TG: what makes it contraband it's a little red frog thing
TG: it looks like it's made out of, like
TG: garnet
TT: I think it's probably made of ruby.
TT: Are you okay? You dont sound too good.
TG: it's really hot here rose
TG: i'm just, like
TG: i dunno i'm tired
TG: and the ground feels comfortable right now
TT: You're almost to an exhaust vent, Dave. You should keep moving.
TG: okay
TG: is the coast clear enough for a nap when i get there do you think
TT: I don't know for sure. I only know what you'll tell me in your future. I think you do sit down for a while.
TG: have i mentioned how much i hate this planet
TT: You say it pretty much every time we talk, yeah.
TT: Just another few meters and you can rest.
TT: Dave?
turntechGodhead is an idle chum
TT: Dave, you cannot sleep there, you could have a stroke.
TT: Wake up!
TT: ...
TT: Fuck.

~

Huh. Dave woke up in his bed. It took him a few moments to recognize that he was on Derse's moon. If there was one aspect of Sburb he didnt own at, it was probably this dream self nonsense. There were probably things he could do from this place; spy on the black royalty, or sabotage them, or any number of things. But usually he just chilled in his room and listened to music. Dave sat up and stretched. He felt a lot less... delirious, now. Rose was probably freaking out, but he just needed, like, a few minutes of shut-eye. Then he could crawl to the exhaust vent. It didnt have to be a huge fucking issue.

He got out of bed and pulled out his computer. Time to make some comics; get his craft on. He paused at the keyboard. Ugh. He could hear Cal laughing from some hidden place in the room. He'd thrown him out when he first got to his Dream Room, but ever since he prototyped his sprite with him, he'd come back somehow. He usually cranked up the jams pretty loud when Rose came over so she couldn't hear the laughing. He wasn't very comfortable with the implications- that this room represented his mind and Cal was still lurking somehow. Luckily, he could usually avoid listening to Calsprite, when awake. Cal only came out during fights, so he tried to keep battles as curbstompingly short as possible to minimize his presence. Once he came out, he was kind of hard to get rid of again.

"Brooooo diiid," a deep voice moaned from his wall. "youget the hot new game everyone iiiiiiiss buzzing about" Dave shuddered. These things were not quite as creepy but they talked sometimes to each other. He really liked his no capitalization, light punctuation style of typing. It was the coolest way to type, for sure. But it wasn't supposed to be spoken out loud with any particular inflection. When they talked, his wall scrawlings of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff sounded like lobotomized (and stoned) versions of Microsoft Sam. Not anywhere near as creepy as Cal laughing, but still. Did any kid in this session have a dream room as fucked up as his? He doubted it.

at least they came from my own mind, though. i can handle creepy shit so long as its my creepy shit

"Dave!"

He whirled around in his spinny-chair. "Hey, Rose. Sup?"

She climbed into the room through the window. "Your blood temperature. What were you thinking? You're already way too dehydrated. Do you have any appreciation for how fucked we are if you die?"

"I'm not going to die, jegus. I'm just napping for a few minutes."

"You've already been napping for about an hour, that's why I'm here. This is serious, Dave. You should just reverse and come back to your location once you've rested."

"It's fine, seriously!" Dave was already turning his computer off. "It doesn't have-"

"BRO HAVE!" Rose and Dave both turned to stare at the wall scrawling of Hella Jeff. "bro have you seen my socks"

"...It doesn't have to be a huge fucking issue."

"It does when you're the only one who can fix all of this. Every time you risk your own life, you are risking John and Jade's lives." Rose put her hands on her hips. "Come on, dude. I'm not being unreasonable here."

"Mm." Dave got back in bed and closed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"Message me on the other side."

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Okay." He heard a clunking sound as she climbed back through the window. Dammit, Rose. He really didn't want to go back to lohac already.

~

Dave opened his eyes. This wasn't right. The air was cool. Like... like really cool. Where was all the rock? This looked more like... He sat up. What was-

Oh. No way.

"Hey dude," the thing said with a voice like orange creamsicles. "Welcome to the Forge of Hephaestus."

TT: Dave, are you awake?
turntechGodhead is no longer an idle chum
TG: uh
TG: i'm gonna have to message you back

On to (Part Three)...

Wanted to do my own SBaHJ for this one but I fell asleep while working on it and my computer turned off and I lost all my progress. Bluuuuuuh.
also, daang, sarasvati, that is seriously intense. will there be another part?

[DocBeard]

Sushi: Nice reveal with the orange sprite.

[breccia]

I wanted to post and thank paperandpencil again for coloring my pesterlog fic! And... also the several mods I bugged just to realize I wasn't checking a particular box I thought I had been checking.

3 why is this fandom so nice?

[Solaris]

Because most of the people here are.
And because most of the people here contribute a lot of good things.

[crash826]

Because everyone who belongs here is awesome.
Also most of us are nerds, and nerds are usually nice people.

[VagabondRaiser]

*wanders by in a trenchcoat and nondescript huge-ass neon sign hat with TOTALLY NOT VAGABONDRAISER sprawled across it on his head, reading an upside-down newspaper*

*glances about*

*throws down a .~ath file*

===
The Impermanence of Wishes:
What Could Have Been
Chapter Three: Buccaneers of the Disputed Stretch of Water, Part One

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Rocking.

Creaking.

That damned creaking. Loud and long, right next to his head.

What was making that noise? Why did it feel like there were midgets tap-dancing in his skull?

One eye fluttered open to pitch black; the other followed suit, but had a little more luck in the realm of vision. Above his head, some six feet away, were wood slats and a metal brace, some sort of curved wooden strut. Memories washed forth from the ether, and he recalled, vaguely, being in his cabin but one day ago. He was poring over the manifest, reading up on what all he had been contracted to bring aboard. His bosun shouted the alarm; by the time he reached the deck, the evening light of the full moon was blocked out by the shadowy sails of death itself.

He considered himself lucky; when that black-hulled ship pulled alongside his own, the Sweet Catch, not a blade or musket, but an offer, was extended his way: a simple job, to acquire goods at port on the mainland, and deliver them to the isle of Rana. Three days of sailing, and recompense akin to three months' work would be his. The only caveat: the goods, encased in crates, were to be left unexamined-- a simple matter for one who commanded a ship of imps; the little blighters could be scared straight with nary a thought.

Even after signing the contract, and watching that ebon ship drift away in the night, he found not one piece of his current cargo missing; no unexpected additions, either. The bosun suggested he consider it providence; the swabbie warned that foul deeds were afoot. He was tempted to side with the swabbie on this one.

One didn't do business with the crew of the Midnight Sail without making certain one's personal affects were thoroughly nailed down, after all.

But that mattered not, he determined, bringing his thoughts to the present again. A brief examination told him he was still very much intact; his right eye was not damaged, but merely covered by a large black hat with a thick green frill-- almost feminine in its' garity. Sitting up, he found himself clad not in his usual black doublet and red trousers, but a pristine white shirt and black breeches, with a red sash about his waist. His flaming red hair had even been combed thoroughly. Who the hell did that sort of thing? He liked having it mussed, and promptly righted it with a quick touseling.

The room he was in was not his own cabin, but a cabin it was; in one corner sat a sizable wardrobe, in another a table with several papers and inkpots strewn across it, and in the center of the cabin, a sizable, ornate table sat, adorned with a bowl of fruit and rather opulent tablewear. The bed he was situated on was like none he'd ever seen; sizable, and plush, as soft as clouds and such a bright shade of blue it seemed as if someone had torn the noon sky down for use as a coverlet. This was either the cabin of a pirate of some immense wealth, or of a queen.

Queens... as if he hadn't had enough dealing with the sort. If it wasn't that blue-blooded bitch, Vriska the Eight-Eyed, it was his erstwhile sister, the one the people of Rana called the Witch, and whom he knew more personally as Madame Lalonde. One liked to steal his cargo, the other his money; between the two, the fact that he still had enough money to justify not turning pirate was an absolute mystery.

He still owed Constable Egbert a sizable penance for the loss of his precious 'daughter' Casey to the conniving ways of the spider-obsessed pirate. Not his fault the kid was so taken with the antics of her... Helmsman? Bosun? Swabbie? Whatever the hell that Tavros fellow was. Two peg legs and all smiles, at least until he got those ridiculous horns of his stuck in the rigging again while trying to entertain the child. He couldn't bear to tear young Casey away from her new friend, and besides, Vriska still owed him for that time back in the port that he covered for her 'accidental' sinking of Lieutenant Vantas' Blood Feud. She was due to return Casey in a week, providing the runt didn't decide she wanted to be a pirate.

Forcing his thoughts to the matter at hand again, he jiggled the handle of the cabin door ineffectually, glaring at the ornate brasswork. It seemed he was a prisoner after all. But a prisoner of who? Rifling through the papers on the desk, he thought perhaps he might figure out a clue. The only thing he found were a number of maps of the waters in and around the Alternian Isles, maps of Nama's coast, the mainland, and even a few maps of the Far East. Many of the maps were annotated in different writing styles; a few even had symbols he'd seen only on the papers belonging to those who came from the East themselves. Who did this ship belong to, anyway?

He was beginning to remember the night before... like a story playing out in his own mind.

His imps had finished loading the crates the Seafaring Shipmaster of the Midnight Sail had specified, and were packing back onto the Sweet Catch when a long-haired young lass dressed in bright green breeches and a loose white men's blouse skipped up, barefoot and cheerful, saluted him smartly, and jabbed a hand out towards him in greeting, an enthusiastic "Top of the morning to ye!" babbling forth across her bucktoothed smile as she quickly righted the round-rimmed glasses atop her nose.

To say that she vaguely resembled his friend the Constable was to say that the ocean was a tad damp; he had half a mind to ask her if their parents were bucktoothed as well, but held back, giving her hand a halfhearted shake as he sized her up behind his own tinted glasses. With his free hand, he fished a pocketwatch from his red waistcoat and gave it a quick glance.

"It's ten of the evening, but I suppose with such a sunny disposition it's hard to tell night from day," he said flatly, and almost felt like kicking himself when her grin faltered a bit. She pitched forward, squinting to try and look through his custom darkened glasses, and he had to fight every urge screaming in his mind to keep his eyes on her face as that loose blouse flapped about.

"How can you tell? Those things are so dark you might as well be blind!" Her words had a distinct lilt to them, both from humor and the unmistakable accent of one who had spent many a day on the decks of a ship. The deep tan of her skin (what of it he saw under the rim of his glasses as she peered at him) echoed that sentiment.

Taking an uneasy step back, he gave her a mighty frown, one that had withered the most stalwart of his imps on many an occasion. She didn't seem impressed. "If you haven't business with me, I have my own matters to attend to, thankyouverymuch. Good evening." Her protests and attempts at getting his attention fell on deaf ears as he clomped his way up the boarding ramp of his ship.

"You're Captan Strider. You sank your own ship, the Plush Rump, off the coast of the mainland a year ago, right?" Her words rang in his ears like a gunshot, and he snapped about, almost losing his footing as he did. She stood with her hands folded behind her back, her long black hair gently waving in the wind behind her. For a brief moment, his rage abated. She was rather fetching, despite the unflattering shirt that sagged off one shoulder. He quickly shook his head, dispelling his haze and slapping a scowl on his face, opening his mouth for a retort.

"That's what they say, anyway, but you didn't really do it, right?"

His jaw clicked shut, and opened again, chewing the air as he tried to form words. When they came, he was quick to make certain there wasn't anyone sentient present; save for his imps awaiting his command and this strange girl, there wasn't a soul in sight.

"How do you know about that?" He managed to keep the quiver out of his voice. The grin on her face became a full-on smile, and she took a few steps forward.

"I met your brother. The other Captain Strider, the real captain of the Plush Rump." Her words felt like cannon shot striking him in the heart. His brother was alive? He shook his head. He watched him take a grapnel fired from a cannon dead in the stomach, saw him pull the rope hard enough to dislodge the cannon it was attached to from the side of the black ship they were being attacked by. Watched as his brother doffed that trademark sideways tricorn of his and leapt from the ship into the black waters below.

"There's no way you could've met him. He's dead," Strider growled, "Dead at the bottom of the god-damned sea." He stomped down the plank again, ready to snatch her by the shirt and demand she explain herself, but her silent, knowing smile, that simple nod, stopped him cold.

"I know. He told me. The ship that attacked you that night was the Midnight Sail. That cargo you have there was what the Plush Rump was hauling the night you were attacked," she said, that enigmatic smile never leaving her face. Noting his slackjawed expression, she giggled. "You don't really know what you're hauling, do you? The Midnight is going to steal your cargo halfway and blow you out of the water."

Frowning, Captain Strider shook his head, and turned away. "This... this is a load of horse shit. You're just... just an illusion, just a sign I had one too many swigs of grog, an underdone potato or a fucking mirage created by my subconscious or whatever the hell my sister would call it." He threw his hands into the air and started stomping back up the ramp.

"My brother is dead, you didn't speak to him, we sank the ship that attacked us, those crates are probably full of some damn plates or illegal cannon or some shit and I'm going to deliver it to the port at Nama and be done with it, period, the end, and they all lived happily ever god-damned after!" He punctuated the end of his tirade by whipping about at the top of the ramp and jabbing a finger at her.

"Whatever you are, go haunt some other drunk bastard!" With that, he motioned for the imps to pull up the ramp; with practiced precision, his hell-spawned crew set tack, and the Sweet Catch began to drift from the port.

Smiling to herself, the black-haired girl shrugged. "Can't say I didn't warn you." Bobbing on her feet, she skipped back down the dock, humming a shanty tune to herself.

*runs for his life*

Forum Reader: Discover notes

You spot a short note attached to the fanfic.

Geebus Sheebus, I'm gone for a week and holy crap look at everything I missed. I had a bit ofsome serious writer's block, plus issues with my classes, and wound up lollygagging about instead of keeping up with the pure liquified awesome you folks bandy about like Greco-Roman wrestlers with olive oil. I'm gonna be straightening up things over on my AO3 account pretty soon, but in the meantime, here's a bit of pirate-themed fun that can't figure out whether it's happening now, or three days ago, and it's all that blasted Captain Strider's fault. Fair warning, I started writing this about thirty minutes ago, so there are probably an inconsistency or two. And yes, that says 'Part one'. When I realized how long it was and I'd only just gotten past that little bit, it occurred to me that prudence dictated splitting the thing. Part two will be put together later, after my Archive entries are fixed up and I've gone back and monkeywrenched the kinks out of my imported posts.

Matters of note regarding this chapter:
1) As with all of the previous chapters of Impermanence (I'm going to officially call it that from now on, since I can't seem to come up with a level name for it) it's just an AU that we, the readers, see a glimpse of; this one's just a little longer glimpse than the others. In the 'real world' (IE back where Davesprite is chillin') he's just killing time with some imps and explaining about one of Crapsack Future Jade's stories of what they could've wound up doing, had a certain someone not gone PCH000 and all. Considering it's been like twenty pages since the last Impermanence chapter (and longer since one that was actually a proper chapter) I figured it necessary to point out.
2) In the first AU visited by Impermanence, they were high-school kids. In the main story-canon, they're still 13(thereabouts, anywho). How old are they here? Meh, we'll go with about 19-20, thereabouts. Not that it's a necessary matter, but otherwise Dave presuming he hit the grog a bit too hard means underage drinking. Cannae have that.
3) I tried to have Dave a little less of a pottymouth and a little more 'dignified douche-noveau' in this. Of course, when he starts losing his cool, so too goes the veneer of 'respectable captain-fellow'.
4) Whose cabin did he wake up in? The hat would vaguely suggest a certain eight-ball themed Felt member, but the idea of her having a bed that could double as a safety pad for stunt work is a bit off, isn't it? And what's with the maps? Do I really have any possible idea whose ship he's on? (Yes.) Will I actually say who it is? (Eventually.) Am I being generically stupid? (Very.)

Also, because I wanted my bit of wily humor to seem warranted, the port town and island in Jack Sparrow's Got a Jar of DirtPirates of the Carribean was called 'Tortuga', which is Spanish for 'turtle'.

'Nama', on the other hand, according to Babelfish, is Spanish for Frog.

Har.
...hooboy, do I have a lot of reading to do.

Why, that wasn't short at all!

[crash826]

ENTIRE CAST IS PIRATES

[Solaris]

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES
Raiser is back!
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!
Also, if you want to get straight to reading the fic from the last few pages look here.

[Tenebrais]

Heh, it's interesting to see people write settings I've written. I see we both stumbled upon the concept of Tavros having two peg legs. You've definitely succeeded better at creating a plot, though.

[reclusiveAmateur]

OMG, the second part of Saras' Persona fic and Sushi's shenanigan-fic and additionally pirates The. The awesome. This day just got so much better.

like fucking christmas up in here i swear to

[VagabondRaiser]

Heh, it's interesting to see people write settings I've written. I see we both stumbled upon the concept of Tavros having two peg legs. You've definitely succeeded better at creating a plot, though.

Aaaaactually I kinda sorta shamelessly stole that idea from your piratefic. (That old bad habit of mine, going 'Ooh I like this!' and incorporating it into my own stories.) I like to think of it as 'spot the idea-thefts!' I mean them entirely as respectful homage, I swear.

Although the idea of Tavros stumping about on a wet deck in a storm shivers me timbers something fierce.

And just because I hit on a spastastic case of 'Hey, idea!', I'm in the midst of writing the, er, *cough* matter wiith tavro2 and vrii2ka that was mentioned in Flavors as I write this. (Well, not exactly as I write it. That'd require four arms and an extra keyboard. Which would be awesome, but no. I'm just a hat and glasses. How I type, I know not.)

[Tenebrais]

Aaaaactually I kinda sorta shamelessly stole that idea from your piratefic. (That old bad habit of mine, going 'Ooh I like this!' and incorporating it into my own stories.) I like to think of it as 'spot the idea-thefts!' I mean them entirely as respectful homage, I swear.

Heheh, don't worry, I love people using my ideas in their own stuff. It's kind of affirming.

[VagabondRaiser]

WARNING! WARNING! DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! WARNING!
The story you are about to read is BY NO MEANS and IN NO WAY a happy-fic. I was originally gonna go light-hearted and silly but, as my fiction writing has a way of doing, it took control of my hands and turned a complete 180. At its' core, it is about Tavros and Vriska, and could thus be considered a TavrosxVriska story; that said, it ain't a happy one.

At the same time, if you're expecting, say, Vriska to get maimed, I'll warn you now, that's not happenin' either. In fact, the only harm done to anything is the destruction of a perfectly innocent piece of railing.

With no further ado and a complete lack of shame, I present:

Flavors Interlude: Losing Control

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Where did Tavros get off to? Vriska frowned to herself as she stormed down the dormitory hall, having just finished pounding on the door to his room for the umpteenth time. Aradia had mentioned that Tavros was looking for her, but now she was searching for him, and he was nowhere to be found. She ran a quick mental checklist, ticking off on her robo-hand his favorite haunts. Room? No. Computer hall? She just came from there. Observatory? Equius was up there, Tavros wouldn't be caught dead or alive near him on a day like this. She fumed, yanking open the door to Kanaya's atrium, where she often could be found tending to the various flora she had rescued from their dying planet. Whether a result of some strange game mechanic or just the very nature of the plants, the entire atrium, from floor to ceiling, was rife with greenery. She remembered that sometimes Tavros liked to wander about in here. He said all the colors made him feel better when he was feeling sad.

Vriska huffed as she cocked her head, listening for any sign of the obnoxious clanking buffoon. There was no sign, but then, with the heavy layer of turf that covered much of the atrium, if he was anywhere within the twenty-floored garden, she'd have a hard time hearing him. Still, with those clanky metal legs, even walking on sod would make a significant sound, and leave noticable tracks-- and she could even see a few where metal walkway became asteroid-rock and then turf. Grinning in a manner that would better suit Nepeta, she began to follow the footprints. Not long now, my little boy-skylark... I'll find you soon enough... somewhere, at some point, it stopped being Tavros-wants-to-talk-to-you and transformed into Vriska-is-hunting-Tavros, but she didn't really care. Either way worked for her. After all, she had him cornered.

---

"ARRRGH! I could've sworn I had him cornered!" Vriska's rage echoed throughout the atrium. She'd followed the distinct footprints up nineteen floors, only to find at the 20th floor that the footprints indicated he had leapt down from the top floor. Certainly something he would be capable of now that he had nigh-indestructible metal legs, but she doubted he'd be that ballsy to do such a thing; throwing yourself off cliffs didn't seem much like something he'd do. Frowning, she stood at the overhang where he would've leapt, and gripped the railing angrily.

"What the hell? Where did he go?" She growled to nobody in particular, glaring at the lively green foliage around her as if it would offer up an answer.

"This isn't funny, Tavros! Wherever the hell you went, show yourself already! I'm sick of this little game!" She felt like she was going to pop a vein. "Fine! I see how it is! You're just fucking with me! 'Send Vriska on a wild goose chase, just to piss her off! Tee hee, I'm such a silly little Boy Skylark!' I don't care what the hell you wanted me to see! So, so, SO FUCK YOU!" She slammed her metal fist into the railing, and it crumbled under the impact; now standing before a wide open chasm, she fumed, but her rage dissipated almost immediately as Tavros stumped into view from beneath one of the plants on the ground floor. Looking up at her with a blank expression, he sighed and shook his head.

"Kanaya isn't going to be happy that you broke that, Vriska." He seemed awfully calm for such a sniveling little weakling. The fact that he wasn't cowering in the face of her rage just pissed her off even more. Hell, it would piss her off less if he was giving her that goofy smile of his.

"W-what do I care? It's, it's, it's a grubdamned railing with some grubdamned plants on it! What the fuck are you doing down there anyway? I followed you all the way up here! Now you're down there!" Vriska paced the length of the short gap in the railing, ranting as she did so. Turning on her heel, she pointed her metal hand accusingly down at him. "What the hell was so important that you'd lead me all the way up here for!?"

"So you could know our pain."

The sound of Aradia's voice behind her was entirely unexpected. So too was the feeling of an ethereal hand against her back. One soft push was all it took, and the ground far below rushed to meet her. Even then, she didn't scream. The only thing she could do was wonder.

Where did I fail? How could I let myself be so easily thrown off by such a simple trick?

What will become of me, when I die?

Whumph.

The ground felt decidedly... not like ground. She'd fallen on the ground a few times before, and ground certainly didn't feel like a pair of strong arms and a broad, warm chest. Vriska opened her eye, slowly, and hazily focused it on the Taurus symbol so plainly displayed on the shirt before her. After a moment's dumb staring, realization dawned, and she trailed her gaze up, to Tavros' face. A flat, unfeeling stare greeted her.

Not a smile. Not a frown.

Just
a
dead
stare.

She shivered despite his surprisingly noticable warmth. Say something. She couldn't bring words to her lips. Move. Her body felt like it was vibrating; the adrenaline of what she assumed would be her death had her paralyzed. DO SOMETHING! Just please don't stare at me like that! Her thoughts were unheeded, and her mind raced. Why? Why was he doing this?

Rising from the half-crouch he had caught her in, Tavros finally spoke, walking forward with slow, measured steps.

"You were certain your life was going to end. As the ground was coming up to meet you, you felt like a hundred possible questions you would never get to have answered ran through your mind. Like every possibility of everything you might ever get to do was being taken from you." His eyes were distant, focused no longer on her, but on something before him; she couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes from his face.

"You felt as if the very choice of whether to live or to die was gone."

She felt him move again, felt her whole world shift, but for some reason couldn't react, despite every fiber of her being screaming for her to move, twitch, scream, do something. It felt as if her body was betraying her. Like someone...

"...like someone else was in control."

Her eyes widened as the realization hit like an atom bomb. The cold metal underneath her hand, the feel of a rubberized surface underneath her feet... she finally looked down, and saw the battered remains of Tavros' four-wheel device, now a two-wheeled tangle of disrepair. She looked up again, only to see his back, turned away from her; after a moment, he half-turned, affixing her with a sad look.

"I don't wanna lose any more friends than I have to." Her vision was beginning to get blurry; she didn't need to touch her cheek to know the tears were running thick down her face. Tavros turned away again as she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

"Even the ones that don't know it."

Even at the sound of his footsteps faded, the soft 'click' of the door shutting, she could only draw her knees up to her chest and cry.

...damn, I went back and re-read it and it's making -me- sad. Is that a bad sign?

Anyway... yeah.

Tavros being out of character is, like, 90% of the point of this, I suppose, but if that was a given, pretend I never mentioned it. If it bothers you to see him being not-Tavros-like, throw in about a half-dozen pauses in every other sentence, or something.

The idea of the Sprites disappearing, but Aradia's soul remaining (and her being able to enter/leave the Aradiabot) makes complete sense to me, I dunno why.

[Bardic Feline]

Vagabond: That kinda made me cry, but in a good way. It was really...effective. There's always something oddly chilling, I think, about Vriska actually being affected by something emotionally; and it looks like she finally learned a little something about EMPATHY this time. (I sincerely hope we get to see this kind of development for her in the comic proper.) I guess what I'm trying to say is that, yes, it's kinda sad, but it works because mushy and feel good character development would not work with Vriska.
And I actually could buy Tavros in this scenario...I've never really seen him as STUPID, per se, just a bit slow in going from thought to speech (if that makes any sense.) I like to think to Aradia coached him on what to say and how to say it for this little collaborative piece of revenge, and he was unusually subdued because it's not in his nature to stand up to any of the others like this. I bet Aradia had to convince him that it was for Vriska's own good...which, in a way, it is, and then only went along with it once he was sure they weren't actually going to (physically) hurt her. That, and it just feels like the sort of thing Aradia would cook up...

Bluh, I talk too much. Sorry. ^^;;

[Graven_Image]

Rather short oneshot, and my first MSPA fanfic. Be gentle.

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This throne feels like a rock. Scratch that, it is a rock. I don’t know how our late dearly departed monarch stood it. Oh, who am I? Like you even need to ask.

I was the only agent with a lick of sense around here. I earned more jail time behind the backs of those stupid monarchs than anyone and everyone else. But I haven’t served a minute of it. All of the particularly large and in-charge individuals... passed... before they found out.

I’ve fought, lost, and fought some more with the Earthlings. So far, I’ve only gotten rid of one. Scratch that, half of one. That infuriatingly fast, lanky one is next on the list.

I’ve killed. I’ve killed more than a person has any right to. The white army knows to fear me. What’s left of the black knows to follow me or be destroyed. The Earthlings are a particularly maddening thorn in my side, but I know they’ll be taken care of. Soon.

The case of the lupine monstrosity is a particularly vexing one. But there remains one kernelsprite left unhatched. If all goes according to plan, my soldiers will match its firepower, and then some.

And once my only obstacle is removed, I can forge ahead. I have plans for these worlds... grand plans. Plans to dwarf any harebrained scheme by that idiotic queen.

My name is Jack. I am the Sovereign Slayer, the ruler of Derse, the conqueror of Prospit and Skaia.

And no machination of these interlopers can stop me.

[Mr Bound]

I'd like to contribute this short story, entitled:

Sopor and Silence

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Karkat was furious--though really, "furious" didn't quite capture the purity of the emotion that was pounding in his temples. Karkat was so consumed with hate and rage he was practically seeing double. And now, he stormed his way through the quiet corridors of the Veil laboratory, shattering the silence along with anything else he could lay his hands on.

"Goddamn humans! Goddamn trolls, goddamn game--" Karkat flipped a table full of electronic equipment before his eye came to rest on a small cylindrical device sitting alone on a shelf, a fragile tube of glass and metal. He picked it up, holding it for a moment in one hand, then threw it towards the far wall.

"Goddamn!" This last outburst was punctuated by the explosion of glass, and Karkat stood breathing heavily, his rage finally beginning to abate. At the very least, he wasn't seeing the world through vision twofold. Whatever the hell that was.

Karkat took a moment to survey his surroundings. He was at a dead end, a solid metal wall abruptly halting his rampage. Probably the other side was a couple of meters of rock and then the void of space. He'd have no trouble finding his way back, of course. This wasn't the first time he'd stormed away from his computer, frustrated to the point of incoherence. All the tunnels eventually dead-ended where the lab reached the asteroid's edge, winding back to the central chamber where eleven other trolls sat trying in vain to unfuck their situation. So much for that. "What a bunch of bullshit," Karkat muttered. Half of the trolls were convinced it was futile anyway, and had started trolling the human kids out of boredom, or spite, or to satisfy their hardwired trolling instincts. Karkat had soldiered on even as the humans became less and less receptive to his comments on their situation, but even his confidence and determination were waning.

Karkat sent his clenched fist wall-ward. If that asshole Equius tried it, they'd be dead in a matter of minutes, starving for air as their blood boiled. Good riddance. At least then he wouldn't have to suffer the blue-blooded prick's senseless strength, which had made their lives a living hell since they'd arrived at the lab. Karkat was bitterly glad that he didn't have telekinesis, taste-sense, any other sort of bullshit power like the rest of the mutants and freaks on their godforsaken rock. Nor did he have an unfaltering belief in miracles or a faith in prophecy. No false comfort, just the cold hard truth.

The trolls were royally fucked.

Now Karkat sent his forehead wall-ward, one horn clicking against the metal. In a few minutes, he'd trudge back to his computer and try again. Even if it was futile, at least he could give the humans crap--let them know it was all their fault that everyone was screwed. Well, that it would be their fault. His anger pulsed again--Karkat despised the time travel bullshit as much as any part of his situation. What a runaround.

"Karkat?" asked a voice behind him.

"Go away!" he yelled, ire rising in earnest now. It was Nepeta, by the sound of it. He waited a few seconds before glancing around. She hadn't gone, but she hadn't come any closer.

"What?" Karkat yelled, turning to face her.

"Nothing." Nepeta said. She giggled, holding a paw up to cover her mouth. Holding a hand up, Karkat reminded himself. She might think of herself as some kind of deranged catgirl, but there was no reason he had to buy into her madness.

"Are you here to laugh at me or something? Give me shit? Cut me and see what color I bleed?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay." Nepeta said, her smile shrinking slightly, her tone more serious.

"Okay? Okay?" Karkat practically screamed, flying into a rage again. "I'm trapped on a rock in the middle of space with a bunch of bloodthirsty, backstabbing maniacs and dyed-in-the-husk morons, trying to help a group of equally incompetent human idiots win their game session, but I know that nothing I do makes a fucking difference!" Karkat sucked in two huge breaths. Nepeta was frowning now--maybe she'd gotten the hint. "Of course I'm not fucking okay!" Karkat clenched and unclenched his fists, still gasping for breath, his pulse racing. "God, I feel like my heart's going to explode," he choked.

Karkat slumped against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, catching his breath as his rage subsided a second time. Nepeta hung back for a few more moments, then slunk over to sit beside him.

"Just leave, already, will you?" Karkat said, bitterly, but a little less forcefully. "I just want to be alone."

"And I don't." Nepeta said. Karkat gave her a look. Nepeta stared back, biting her lower lip apprehensively. Karkat broke his gaze, staring ahead and saying nothing.

The two sat together without speaking for several long minutes, Karkat with his arms crossed in front of him and Nepeta with her elbows on her knees and her chin on her forearms. Nepeta broke the silence first.

"Which one am I?"

Karkat boggled at the question. "Which one what?"

"Am I a bloodthirsty, backstabbing maniac, or a dyed-in-the-husk moron?" She turned and locked eyes with him again. She wasn't smiling. Her look was...predatory. Karkat shivered.

"God, I don't know. A little of column A, a little of column B, maybe." Karkat rubbed his eyes, even more sunken than normal. Exhaustion was setting in for all the trolls. It had become bad enough that they were even running out of the energy to be spiteful, the first instinct their ancestors had evolved when they crawled from the primordial sludge of the undersurface untold eons ago. Karkat felt it. He was hitting the wall. Nepeta was too--her normally sleepy look had devolved to the gaze of the walking dead, and her ever-present feline smile was forced most of the time. Kartkat watched tiredly as she removed her beastskin hat, exposing her unruly hair, a perpetual tangle of recuperacoonhead.

"I think that's the thing that makes me rage the most," Karkat said, speaking what both were thinking. "If we could get a decent night's sleep, maybe things wouldn't be going to shit nearly as quickly as they are. If that asshole hadn't broken the appearifier..."

Equius had, in one of his anger-suffused, mindlessly musclebound moments, destroyed the only appearifier in the lab. And while whoever had designed the Veil had stocked it with plenty of backup rations, medical supplies, and other essentials for humanoid life, sopor slime wasn't on the packing list. Most of the trolls would rather work to the point of collapse than suffer the torture of soporless sleep, a veritable cocktail of ancestral memories mixed with a double shot of incomprehensible horrors and garnished generously with senseless violence. Once the rest of the trolls had realized the consequence of Equius's actions, morale and civility evaporated. Any organization to their trolling efforts was rapidly undone.

"I don't think he meant to..." Nepeta said in a small voice. She hadn't won any friends by sticking up for Equius at the time, least of all Karkat.

"Didn't mean to?! That intolerable azure-blooded asshole--God, I don't even have the strength to go over this again--and why are you still here?" Karkat's voice was shaking now, exasperation and hatred the only things holding it together.

"I...I..." Nepeta couldn't quite meet his gaze. Karkat raised his voice.

"What? Say it! Spit it out!"

"I'm terrified." Nepeta said, barely louder than a whisper. But Karkat, for all his shouting, could hear the edge in her voice, something that added, almost imperceptibly, "and you should be too." It was a primal undertone, that of the apex predator who fears nothing in the natural world mewing like a frightened cub at something much larger and much more horrifying than itself.

Nepeta took a deep breath, then looked at Karkat. Her gaze was still predatory, he noted, but now he could see why. It was the look of a cornered animal, wide-eyed and desperate, ready to kill without hesitation to save itself. He shivered again. Nepeta was clearly feeling the duress as much as anyone.

"I'm terrified." She said again, still at there merest whisper, voice steady and body still. "I'm terrified we've lost. That we've failed. That we're all going to die in this place by each other's hands. I'm terrified to stay near anyone, terrified to fall asleep because I know I'll only dream nightmares, and because I'm not sure I'll ever wake up. And when one of us finally does lose it--I mean, really loses it--when the first one of us breaks, I'm terrified it might be me."

"I don't trust anyone any more, Karkat. Because I thought I knew what it was like to be an animal, and now...I see that's what everyone's becoming."

Karkat chose his next words very carefully. "If you don't trust anyone...why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't trust you the least." Nepeta flashed a small smile while as she said it.

"More than Equius? Or Aradia? Hell, more than Tavros?"

"If I tell any of them, it would be like picking sides. Even Tavros. But you..." Nepeta considered Karkat for a minute, resting her head on her arms. "You wear your heart on your sleeve."

"I do what? Is that some kind of human metaphor you picked up? That's disgusting."

"It means you can't hide how you feel about something. And because of that, no one's afraid of you."

"Oh, great. First you get all weepy and creepy on me, and now you're insulting me. Just what I need to know, that everyone thinks I'm a total joke, even though I'm the only one still trying to fix this mess we're in. Wonderful. Thank you, because of this little therapy session, I am now completely okay. You have made me all better." Karkat scoffed and turned away to look at the blank steel wall.

Nepeta took advantage of this lapse of attention to put her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, come on!" Karkat yelled, whipping his head around just in time to get a mouthful of hair. He wasn't entirely sure, but while he was sputtering he thought he felt Nepeta giggle. "What the hell did I do to deserve this shit," Karkat asked the empty hall. Then, mustering up an authoritative tone, "Remove your head from my shoulder."

"No."

"I'm not your fucking armrest, get off." Karkat tried to shrug her away, but Nepeta just scooted closer.

"No."

"I'm not dicking around here, Nepeta," Karkat growled.

"Then push me away if you don't want me here," Nepeta replied, with surprising defiance.

Karkat raised a hand to shove her away, but paused, then slowly lowered it. He was exhausted, Nepeta wasn't worth the effort...at least, that's how he rationalized it. Maybe his unwillingness to meet her challenge was something else entirely. Karkat dismissed the possibility out of hand. "Whatever," he muttered.

More silence. Karkat felt uncomfortably warm with Nepeta at his side.

"Do you really think there's no way out for us?" Nepeta asked, softly.

Karkat sighed. "I don't know. Hell, I'm only half sure I understand how to win the game anymore. The human kids have screwed up so much already...maybe if they just keep breaking the rules they'll wind up winning somehow."

"Sollux says no matter what, we're all going to die."

"Yeah, well, Sollux has a broken brain and mood swings that go from bad to worse."

"Karkat..."

"Yeah?"

"...is there anyone here you don't hate? I mean, that you don't really just despise?"

Karkat could have written a book about who he hated, and why. Most of the other trolls would even get multiple chapters. But with Nepeta at his side, his usual eagerness to deliver an inspired monologue about hatred seemed to have dried up. Instead, Karkat floundered for a response. "I don't know...Tavros, I guess. He's a dope, and a lousy troll. Hell, he'd make a pretty poor human. I pity him, I suppose. But he's so harmless, it's hard to hate him much."

"Anyone else?"

"Gamzee. He's a weirdo but a pretty good troll in his own way. And Terezi, I suppose."

Nepeta squirmed slightly against Karkat's shoulder. "What? She's good at what she does, whether it's playing mind games or just annoying the shit out of me--" Karkat stopped suddenly as his mind finally caught up to the moment.

"You're just trying to find out how I feel about you, aren't you?"

"...Maybe."

"Well..." Karkat's mouth was dry. "I think you're pretty much batshit crazy, that the entire roleplaying as a cat thing is way out of hand, and the fact that you wear a fursuit is creepy as hell. And I think you're pathetically weak, especially for coming out here and confiding in me, then trying to find out how the hell I feel about you."

"Karkat?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you saying you...pity me?"

"...I guess?"

Nepeta practically vibrated with happiness. "I knew it!" Suddenly she was pressed up right against Karkat. He felt even more hot and uncomfortable, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.

"Oh great, just because I don't think you're pathetic, invade my personal space some more. No, really make yourself completely comfortable, I don't mind in the slightest."

Karkat wished very quickly he hadn't decided to be sarcastic, because in an instant Nepeta was curled up, catlike, over his entire lap, head buried in his stomach with her horns lightly gouging him. Karkat wasn't exactly big on physical contact to begin with, so having a girl curled up in the larval position on his legs (and quickly cutting off the circulation to them, he noted--Nepeta was graceful but surprisingly heavy) practically made his brain shut down.

"The...what...the fuck..."

Nepeta was giggling again, and turned her head enough to roll an eye up to look at him. She was grinning horn to horn.

"The hell am I supposed to do now?"

"Wellll..." Nepeta said, long and drawn out. "You could scratch my head?"

"No way." Karkat said firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Not happening."

"Come on, try it. I've heard it can lower your blood pressure."

"My blood pressure is fine, thank you."

Nepeta shook her head, a nuzzling motion against Karkat's stomach. "You and your stupid blood. I bet if I so much as pricked you you'd cover the walls in it."

Karkat took it as a threat. "You wouldn't dare."

Nepeta sighed. "Karkat, the one person who doesn't care at all what color your blood is has just curled up on your lap. And I swear I won't gut you or anything," Nepeta punctuated the word "gut" with a gentle nudge of a horn. "Hee hee."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Karkat said, placing a hand on Nepeta's head. Her hair was soft, even (perhaps unsurprisingly) a little catlike. "So...how do I...?"

"I dunno, you just...scratch?" Nepeta said. Karkat ran his nails experimentally along Nepeta's scalp. Nepeta purred. Quite literally.

"Okay, you're going to have to cut that out," Karkat said. "I'm not sure I can take this seriously."

"I can't really control the purrrrrrrrs," Nepeta said, drawing out the last word happily as Karkat set to scratching again.

"You know, this is actually kind of fun," Karkat mused, even smiling slightly. "I can make you shut up whenever I want to."

"Hey, that's not the purrrrrrrrrrr...pose. Of this. Hee hee." Nepeta giggled happily.

It was a bit relaxing, Karkat had to admit, as the two of them sat there letting the time slip away. Nepeta was a bit of a dope, in her own unique way...but maybe there was something there. Karkat felt he'd cultivated a pretty cynical opinion of romance, treating it as something to be dissected and analyzed. After stripping away the flesh and bone to examine what made it tick, he'd put it under glass to admire, always keeping it a distant curiosity that existed solely in awful romcoms and the lives of his crazier peers. Now, with Nepeta so close and so...vulnerable...Karkat felt like every assumption he'd ever made about troll relationships was falling apart. And, even more oddly, it felt...good.

After some time, Karkat noticed Nepeta had stopped purring, and was breathing slowly and evenly. Even Karkat would agree, she was adorable like that. But he certainly couldn't appreciate it now, because for Karkat, a sleeping Nepeta was a very dangerous thing. Namely because she was still wearing her claws. And because of the unfortunate fact that sometimes, thanks to the haunting subconscious echoes from millennia of senseless violence, warfare, and bloodshed, young trolls woke kicking and screaming, lashing out at anything within reach. To sleep without the soothing influence of sopor slime, or the reinforced walls of a recuperacoon...Nepeta's earlier promise not to gut him now meant nothing to Karkat. Both of his legs had gone numb long ago, and there was no chance he could shift her off his lap without disturbing her. The only recourse was to try and wake the sleeping beast.

"Nepeta?" Karkat whispered. His hand rested limply on her head. He was afraid to remove it--who knows what a sleeping would-be feral predator troll might construe that as. "Nepeta?" Slightly louder this time.

She growled, in her sleep, the first noise she'd made in minutes. Karkat's blood ran cold, but the growl became a slightly higher pitched purr, and Nepeta harmlessly stretched out, flexing each muscle down her arms and her legs, out to the tips of her fingers. When she balled her fists just so, both claws deployed, then retracted, safely removed from Karkat's chest. He sighed in nervous relief.

"Mmm," Nepeta said, blinking sleepily and rolling an eye up to Karkat. "Hello. You're still here?"

Karkat chuckled, not entirely unkindly. "Where would I go?" Nepeta returned to her curled up position against his chest. "I was worried for a second you might disembowel me in your nightmares."

Nepeta was silent for several long minutes, and Karkat was almost convinced she'd fallen back asleep. Then, in a happy, sleepy whisper, "You know, I don't think I was having any. Not with you here." She gave Karkat another slight nuzzle with her head, then was fast asleep in moments.

Karkat sat with Nepeta for a long time, enjoying the warmth of her cuddled against him.

Some notes from the author:

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This is the first fiction I've written in about two years, the first I've shared with anyone in four, and the first fanfiction I've completed in five. And let me tell you, it feels good to be writing again! So even though I've been nothing more than a lurker here, thanks to this thread and its authors for being a place of inspiration and a place to share my work.

I didn't really expect this to blossom into three thousand words practically overnight. It started as a pretty small little idea, just an image in my head sparked by the shipping wall page. I tried to keep it relatively true to the Homestuck universe--even since I started writing it, I have doubts that it would fit neatly within the comic's canon, but hopefully what I set out to capture remains at least somewhat plausible.

And for the record, I don't consider myself much of a shipper, even if that rings hollow after an admission about this bit of fluff practically being born from shipper-bait. In fact, the parts of this that qualify as shipping were an enormous pain in the neck to sort out--troll romance is a royal pain in the ass. Eventually, I figured rather than pinpointing whether this was blackrom, redrom, or one of the other definitions I don't pretend to understand, I'd JuSt Be GoInG wItH wHaT fEeLs RiGhT aT wHeRe My HeArT's Up In, YoU kNoW?

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

[Sushi Database]

O-oh my. Gosh. I ship Karkitty so very hard now. @_@ Just the idea of the lack of sopor slime being what had the trolls so raving and desperate is so perfect. I really like the bleak portrait of what the trolls have in store for them. Even GC's trick on John is kind of easier to put in perspective.

[OracleEngineer]

@Mr Bound, It's really good, honestly. But I really don't like 'Karkitty', so it was a little difficult for me to read it. :B

[Mr Bound]

@Graven: I like your piece--thanks for sharing it! I think you did a good job capturing what I find most compelling--and most frightening--about Jack: his ambition. So far it's seemed like he just breaks the rules for the sake of seeing if there's any checks against his power at all, but based on what we've seen from Spades Slick, I'm aching to see his ability to machinate manifest itself fully.

@Sushi: Not going to lie--the lack of sopor slime is one of my favorite parts of the concept. I don't like to think the fun fluffy stuff was secondary to taking a stab at explaining the hows and whys behind the troll's situation, but I definitely had a very fulfilling "what if" moment while writing.

@Mr Bound, It's really good, honestly. But I really don't like 'Karkitty', so it was a little difficult for me to read it. :B

oh nooooooo

But seriously, thanks--and I figured it certainly wouldn't tickle everyone's fancy. Troll romance sure is confusing!

[Sushi Database]

I hadnt really shipped Nepeta with Karkaty before reading that, mainly because I didn't really think too highly of Nepeta. I didnt dislike her, he just... didnt strike me as too well developed. And Terezi/Karkat feels much more established. But it's an extremely well-done story.

[kmsumrall]

Title: And We Come to an End (Part 2)

(Part 1) (Part 2)
(Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

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“What do you mean dead?!”

“Dead! Culled! Not breathing! Nepeta showed me, ok? Somebody really messed her up!”

“Uhh, Who could have d-done it?”

“Why even ask? Vriska is the only sociopathic pitstain that’s ever tried to kill any of us!”

“Me? I wouldn’t hurt her and if I did then you’d know about it cause I’d let you all know! Anyways you used Gamzee as bait for you denizen!”

“I have to agree, Karkat. Especially with you keeping your blood color hidden. Who knows what other lies you keep.”

“Lies? You wanna talk about lies you wanna talk about the queen of lies! Terezi is the queen of lying to us! Who was that one that told us that we could alchemize explosives with our weapons?”

“Hehehehe you were the only one to try it too. Hehehehehe!”

“This isn't the time for laughing! One of us is dead!”

“I agree. At this juncture we should find out why our friend is dead.”

“Oh like you care who lives or dies! Everything is all supposed to happen or shit like that and maybe you killed her just to have a dead mate!”

“I know I wouldn’t kill any of you mother grub inseminator! We all need to be alive to kill the Black King.”

“Maybe you killed her because she found you blood color? You’ve said you’d kill to keep that secret.”

“Hey! If I wanted you all dead than I’d have just poisoned your food! Plus, how did she die? You said she was messed up. Who around here could just rip someone apart?”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of such a base action! And aren’t you quick to come up with poison. Seems like you’ve thought about it a little too much.”

“He knows he couldn't poison her since Kanaya shares her food with everyone.”

“Better question, why was Sollux around there? Trying to get another girlfriend?”

“You bastard! I’ll show you getting a girlfriend!”

“See? Already trying to kill me! Who else is next?”

“Wouldn’t Kanaya come back as a motherfucking ghost? That would be a mi-”

“Oh shut up you terrible excuse for a royal blood! I don’t know why I put with this!”

“What’s the matter Equius? Afraid that you’ll lose your old dead thing for a new dead thing? Hehehehe.”

“Be quiet you blind bat!”

“You sure are quick to shush the prophets, aren't you? I don’t see why any of this matters, we all know that Nepeta was the one that ‘found’ her!”

“What? No! I wanted to get her to cut of Tavros’s legs-”

“So you admit it! Did Kanaya say no and you tried to cut off her legs too?”

“Hey! Do not talk to Nepeta like that you yellow! She asked me for help to make robotic legs for that wheelchaired doofus. While very untrolllike, anyone willing to beg wouldn’t kill at random!”

“Oh, look at the high bloods are getting together to to defend each other!”

“Then why kill Kanaya? I’d rather see you dead, Karkat!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP!” The trolls jumped back as Tavros shouted. “You-You guys are all being stupid and dumb and jerky! Someone killed Kanaya and all you can do is blame and argue and accuse and be mean! We have to stick together! We are the only ones left! Just us! No more pupas, no more lusus, no more anybody! Sometimes you have to stop acting like a troll and act like someone in a team. Our friend is dead. Yelling at each other won’t help. We have to find the killer and find out why they did it and... and try to help them.” Tavros trailed off, breathing heavy. “Now... The only one I want to find the truth is Nepeta.”

All the other trolls started to protest by Tavros waved them down. “Nepeta is the only, the only troll who actually cares about all of us. Who here can say that she has ever had any hate to any of us? I’m... broken. I can’t do it. And no offence Gamzee, but you are too chill. All the rest of you! The rest of you only do things for yourself! Has anyone shed a tear? No! You only care as far as making sure no one thinks you did it!”

The room was silent as each troll eyed the others. Did someone feel guilt? Remorse? Sadness? Who here would kill? Who had the most to gain? Who had the most to lose? And worst, how would it look refusing to help?

After a moment Equius stepped forward. “I will... provide the better example. I accept Nepeta as the Detecicatour and will... ugh, deffer to her judgement. I suggest the rest of you do the same.”

“Fine, whatever, do your fucking little horn sucking dance.” said Karkat. “What do you want us to do first?”

“Uh, uh... We need to figure out when she died right? And uh... find out what everyone was doing at the time?”

“Well that's easy as something really easy and everything is easy for me, “ said Vriska. “I can just read everyone’s minds and know everything for sure.”

“Unless you did it yourself,” said Terezi, “and then lie about what you saw.”

“I can prove if she did it or not. I made a robotic eye for Vriska as well as her robotic arm. The eye records everything she sees.”

“It does what?!” the apparently two eyes girl shouted, advancing on Equius.

“And stores the data for a week. I can download the data and see where she has been.”

“Noooooo! I am a private person with private things and private secrets! You sneaking in my eyes and sights is a terrible idea and I do not approve at once instance! How do I know you won’t just be in cahoots with everyone that hates me and tries to frame meeee!”

“Oh and like reading minds isn't the same thing?” said Karkat.

“Yeah cause I wouldn’t lie about who killed my-”

“Enough ok!” Nepeta rubbed her head, wishing she kept her thinking hat on. “Ummm... Can anyone mess with the data or get rid of it?”

“I made it as secure as possible. No one can access the data expect for I.” Equius glared at Vriska. “And I would never betray a Blue Blood when we are the only Blue Bloods left.”

“Ok, I have a plan. Everyone just go back to their rooms and lock the doors. I’ll talk to everybody one by one. Uh, Tavros and Gamzers? You guys come with me. Hey, where are CA and CC?”

“Those chill motherfuckers are being chill as fuck outside in the sea,” said Gamzee as the other trolls left. “Why do you want us motherfuckers?”

“We are going to see Kanaya.”

This one is shorter, I think. I was more focused on this one.

Behind the scenes.

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I had forgotten to mentioned CA and CC and had to shoehorn them in. Opps.

[VagabondRaiser]

So, I know I said it wasn't gonna get written up until after I fixed up all that hoo-hah with posting for AO3, but I took an impromptu nap last night, woke up to find my internet was dead, and decided to start writing while I waited for it to come up.

I promptly wrote two more chapters (which, technically, could be split into three) and fell asleep in my chair.

Having awakened a little while ago, I've gone back and retooled some of the work I did last night. It's still fronking hooge, however. So! Those of that you that enjoy my writing (for which I am eternally grateful), there's plenty of it here! Also, sometime in the relatively near future (Read: probably after the weekend) I'll read up on what all I've missed, promptly become discouraged in the face of the inevitable awesomeness of all you folks' writing, and go on a three-year-long trek in the Himalayas in search of the Essence of Meaning so that I can learn to write better.

Or, y'know, I'll just read up on everything that I missed and start handing out little candy hats to everybody in appreciation.

Hell. Candy hats for everyone!

Without further ado:
The Impermanence of Wishes: What Could Have Been, Chapter Four: Buccaneers of the Disputed Stretch of Water, Part 2 (With a Vengeance)

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Strider sighed, rubbing his eyes benea--wait, where were his shaded glasses? Only then did the realization hit that, along with his personal clothes, the darkened glasses his late brother had almost bent over backwards to acquire, a near mirror image to his own, were missing, the bright green eyes of the Strider bloodline naked to the open air. They were all he had of his brother left, a pair of pointed reminders of the mistakes he made and a personal vendetta against the pure black ship that sunk the Plush Rump.

His hand tightened around one of the maps on the table. Someone took his glasses. That someone was going to be choking on steel... as soon as he figured out where the hell his sword went.

Examining the table, he picked up one of the fruit, quirking an eyebrow at the puzzling sight of a smiling face inked on the bright red surface in careful detail. It appeared whoever this pirate was, they liked their fruit vapidly cheerful. After a few moments' picking, he decided on an orange and dug his fingernails into the navel, tearing a strip clean through the face on the side, brief amusement striking as he imagined the ink smile on the side changing to a look of abject terror as the flesh of the fruit was torn away.

Terror... the sight of his imps, petrified with fear...

He shook his head, frowning, and popped a wedge of the orange in his mouth, chewing slowly as he focused on bringing up the memories of the night before.

The Plush Rump hadn't been a very big ship, only a small clipper that served well for delivering goods from the mainland to the Alternian Isles, or from isle to isle; she wasn't built for long voyages. Neither was the Sweet Catch, which made sense, as he had his own ship built as close to the original as possible.

With the aid of his sister's dark prognostications-- she preferred to call herself a 'seer', but the term 'witch' really did suit her better-- he was able to pull a cadre of small bird-imps from the aether, bright orange and red creatures, some bearing swords through their chests, others jester hats or princess hats, and everything in between. They were eager to serve, which was odd considering the level of humiliation most imps had to suffer before being pressed into service.

With her help, he had a crew for his ship, and thanks to Constable Egbert's connections, the means to acquire a ship; the Sweet Catch wasn't the largest by far, but she was a fast ship, and between that and the fact that his crew was paid not in cash but continued existence in the world, his rates were lower. His ship was one of the best-known of the Isles, almost better known than the Midnight Sail herself.

The fact that certain people made a point of pilfering his hold on a regular basis didn't seem to deter most of his clients.

He could remember the time that estranged noble with a broken horn and his mechanical 'service-woman' demanded passage on his ship; he'd seemed to know Captain Vriska quite well, and had actually managed to scare her off by threatening, of all things, to hug her. Judging by the damage he did to the cabin door the morning he stormed out demanding to know where his service-woman had been taken, Strider was certain he didn't want to be hugged by him either. Last he had heard of the fellow, his sister had worked her dark magics to instill the soul of a long-dead servant into the machine, and the two were scheduled to be married.

Then there was the time that strange dark woman paid him almost triple his standard full-hold fee just so he would ship her and her strange green-clad friends from Rana to one of the outlying islands. One of his imps turned up dead from that excursion, and the broad-eyed one simply pulled out a puppet, stuck a needle in it, and pulled it out again, and his imp was back up and running about like a chicken with its' head cut off.

Strange happenings were common among the Alternian Isles. That was a given. He'd been narrowly missed by so many ships over the years he barely even blinked when ships would pass so close he could touch the other's hull. That rainy evening when the crescent moon illuminated the white-green hull of a ship he'd never seen before through the clouds, somehow sailing so close to the Catch that it seemed like they'd been lashed together, he hadn't even blinked.

He was, however, a little more startled when some twenty-odd cannon had extended themselves from the side of the ship and began firing into the wet darkness, tearing holes through his rigging and blasting his mizzen to smithereens, one might excuse him for, as his brother would've put it, 'flipping his shit'.

A few quick orders and the imps were below deck securing the cargo; he had a grapnel handy in moments, and up it went, but an impeccably-timed shell from one of the larger cannon sent the grapnel pinging off into the darkness. He had barely a moment to realize he had wrapped it around his arm before it felt like it was being yanked from his shoulder, and he was pulled halfway across the deck.

He felt the grapnel hit something, felt the line go slack, and gave it an experimental tug; whatever was on the other end abruptly picked up the slack and tugged back, albeit a good deal harder than he had, and for a second time his arm felt the strain of a mighty pull. This time, however, the momentum was such that he found himself airborne, and for a brief, fear-streaked moment, his thoughts strayed to his brother. Perhaps it was a Strider's fate to go down on rainy evenings attatched to grapnels. When his face smacked into black wood paneling and the rope pulled taut against his grip, he was jolted from his reverie.

His boots slipping on the wet wood, he nontheless began to climb the rope of his grapnel, but he didn't get far before someone yanked it up with gusto, and he found himself dangling before a mountain of a man, black flesh like shadow before him. This close, he could see an almost chitinous shell, with so many segments allowing for expansion of a frowning sort of mouth that he half-expected the brute to open it wide and snap his head off in a single bite. Dim recognition struck in time to that familiar voice to echo over the sounds of cannonfire and splintering wood.

"Captain Strider! Such a pleasure to see you here." The voice didn't sound pleased, and indeed, the Seafaring Shipmaster bore an angry scowl. Behind him stood a tall, dapper man wearing a brocade doublet with a diamond mark on the left breast and a deacon's hat, and a stumpy fellow clad in festive rags, a pair of large hoop earrings dangling from God-knew where on either side of his head and cradling a far-too-large belaying pin like an infant. Strider tugged his arm free and landed on the rail of the ship, his boots hitching around the rail and, for a moment, giving him purchase on the wet wood. He pointed angrily at the Shipmaster.

"What is the meaning of this? You attack my ship in the dead of night?" His accusatory growl was met with a sneer. "What, you didn't know? That's my cargo you're carrying. I'm taking it back," the Shipmaster said simply, folding his arms over his chest. Strider yanked the contract he had signed from his coat pocket. "You wanted it delivered to Rana! I'm delivering it! So what the hell--"

"I never said you were going to make the delivery, only that I wanted you to head for the isle." The Shipmaster grinned, a sharp-toothed look that reminded Strider all too much of Vriska's favorite expression. "Just like your brother, always reading too much ahead. What fun would life be if I didn't leave your ship a shambles and take the cargo for myself? Although someone seems to be trying to help you this time around." Giving a dismissive wave of his hand, the Shipmaster turned away. "Bosun, send him to visit his brother. Perhaps they can share notes."

Strider drew his sword, or started to, but the Heavyset Bosun's massive hand clamped down over the blade, and a loud snap precluded half of his cutlass dropping to the deck. Before he had a chance to react, that same hand gripped him like a bottle, and with a heave, he was airborne. The Shipmaster glanced at the Devilish Deacon and nodded, and with a wave of his hand, the cannon on the Midnight Sail began to return fire towards the sizable ship on the other side of the Sweet Catch.

Glancing down at the Colorful Drudge, he frowned, and opened his mouth to ask why--
"I'm a pirate!"
His mouth clicked shut. With an annoyed sigh, he left the smiling Drudge and started for the cabin. He was going to need a good stiff drink.

---

The Impermanence of Wishes: What Could Have Been, Chapter Five: In Which the Captain Sings (Buccaneers part 3)

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For the second time that rainy night, Captain Strider found himself airborne, although at the very least this time it wasn't on the end of his own grapnel. He struck down on the Catch's deck, skidding across the wood and cracking his head against a barrel; shouting an expletive into the cacophany, he got up, rubbing the sore spot and looking around.

His imps were nowhere to be found, but that was a given, considering their orders were to hide below deck and make certain nobody got to the cargo.

Making a mad dash for the hatch, his instincts warned him of an incoming shell, and he performed a deft front flip, a low-flying cannonball skipping across the deck of his ship and barely missing his head as he dropped into the hold, landing unceremoniously on two (thankfully swordless) imps. Getting up, he looked around at their frightened faces.

Imps or not, they trusted him to lead them; summoned spirits or not, they had served him faithfully. What sort of captain would he be if he didn't protect them? Whoever the white ship belonged to, it was helping him, and he knew his own ship wouldn't be able to take that many cannon strikes before it went down.

"What're you waiting for? Get those damn crates open! If there's cannon in them, point them at the starboard wall, load and fire! Damn the walls! If that bastard is going to sink us, we're not going down without taking him out!" Given a sense of purpose, the imps quickly set to work cracking open the crates. It was only a matter of moments before the side of one of the larger crates came crashing down.

Out spilled a sizable load of small ebon canines of the Scottish variety. Strider didn't even have to look to know the truth: his hold was rife with contraband! Another crate revealed garnet heart-stones; yet another, the golden-orange hue of candiamond corn. One of the smallest crates even bore a dozen ruby frog statuettes.
Strider scowled. This alone would condemn him to death. Looking up at his crew, he sighed, and gave a longsuffering chuckle, which slowly morphed into an all-out fit of guffawing.

The imps glanced about amongst themselves. Since when did the captain laugh? He rarely even smiled. The crew was mildly put off by the sudden amusement their captain was showing as he ran a hand through his hair and laughed long and hard; a few of them gave experimental titters, and in a few moments, despite the splintering of wood around them, the whole ship, captain and crew, was laughing.

As the laughter died down, Strider wiped tears from beneath his glasses, and strode confidently toward the deck. One of his imps, a winged jester-hat he had designated his helmsman, gave his sleeve a tug. Turning, he raised an eyebrow at the imp. "What?"

"Um, captain Strider, we, um... why were we laughing, sir? Our hull's full of contraband and the Midnight Sail is tearing us apart," the helmsman pointed out, his words punctuated by the sound of another cannon shell punching a hole in the side of the ship.

Strider shook his head, and dug in his coat pocket, procuring a small stone glyph; the 'contract' of sorts that bound his imps to his service. The Helmsman's eyes widened at the sight of it.

"Everything's gone to hell in a handbasket, Helmsman. Whether the Midnight sinks us or we survive and deliver the cargo, we're all damned. If we're going to go down, I'd rather we took the bastards with us, wouldn't you?" Strider's words were calm, and confident. One of the other imps quickly spoke up.

"But we have no cannon, cap'n! How're we supposed to fight 'em?" The look that he received in return chilled him to the bone. Well, if amber imps had bones, anyway.

"Remember the other order we're delivering? Twenty one barrels of gunpowder for the Queen, aye? I'm certain if we set this ship ablaze, that'd make for one hell of an effective scuttle." He gripped the glyph with both hands, and easily snapped it in half. The imps felt the binding magic fade immediately, and all eyes were on the Captain.

"You're all relieved of duty. You've done much for me over the past three years, and I thank you all for your service. Do me this one duty, and then get yourselves out of here: light the hold. Use whatever you can. I'll steer the ship into the Midnight Sail, and she'll go down to the bottom of the sea." He began to climb the ladder to the deck; halfway up, he stopped, and turned, saluting the crew.

"It's been real... well, it's been real. That's all there is to say on the matter." With that, he finished climbing, leaving the imps to their decision.

Striding confidently across the deck, ignoring the explosions of cannon shell all around him, the steady, rhythmic pounding of the white ship's cannon firing above him, the whistle of splintered wood zipping past his head, Captain Strider took the helm and gave her a deft pull, the ship whipping about starboard and pulling away from the galleon. Pointing it towards the Midnight Sail, he smiled to himself as he heard the fizzle-pop of the imps dropping out of this plain of existence below; watched flames belch up from holes in the deck as the black galleon loomed ever closer.

Gripping the wheel, Strider began to sing a shanty tune, long and loud, one he had been taught by his brother.

Lo! And Away! Give me a day,
If I can be cap'n and you can belay,
When tables are turned and night becomes day,
There lies my beloved, there I hope to stay!

He never reached the second verse. He took a deep breath, and it was expelled in a deep whoosh as something struck him, hard, across the back of the head, and blackness reigned.

---

Strider frowned down at the remnants of the two oranges he had eaten, lost in reverie over what had occurred. So he had tried to sink the Midnight Sail by ramming her with his own flaming ship. But here he was, alive and well, albeit with a headache the size of Port Regal. He had to assume the white-green ship that had come to his aid was where he was now; the color of the floorboards and walls, he supposed, were a large enough giveaway. He'd've kicked himself for not noticing that sooner, but he didn't feel like putting forth the effort. If anyone ever asked him, he'd just say he knew it all along.

Standing from the table, he walked to the door again, and tried the handle; when it didn't give, he took a step back, ready to give it a mighty kick, when his brain jumpstarted and he realized that the locking mechanism was on the inside of cabin doors, not the outside. Sure enough, he need merely twist a latch-lock, and the door swung open. He slapped a palm to his face, then for good measure, brought the other hand to bear. Apparently, all it took to make him an idiot was a good swat on the head.

Swinging the door wide, he adjusted the white shirt and strode out with as much dignity as a complete idiot could muster, closing the door behind himself. Sure enough, the morning sun beat down on white-washed decks, green trim running the length of the galleon, which seemed, despite having been in combat just a night prior, pristine. The waves were calm, and land seemed to be nowhere in sight-- as was any sort of crew that might run the collosal galleon. Peering over the side, he gave a low whistle at the long drop to the waters below.

Lo! And Away! Give me a day,
If I can be cap'n and you can belay,
When the tables are turned and the night becomes day,
There lies my beloved, where I hope to stay!

A female voice, clear as a bell, singing the song his brother had written mere days before the Plush Rump sank! Strider looked about quickly, but seeing nobody, idly wondered if he was losing his mind. On a whim, he answered the voice, raising his own.

The captain is king, on the waves of the sea,
And the law of the water is given to he,
But for one day, when the crew cries 'Mutiny',
And the rule of a ship is given to me!

He wasn't sure, at first, if the owner of the voice had heard him. Perhaps he'd startled whoever was singing. He saw nobody at the helm, couldn't see any sign of life-- but when the voice sang the chorus again, his attention was drawn up.

Lo! And Away! Give me a day,
If I can be cap'n and you can belay,
When the tables are turned and the night becomes day,
There lies my beloved, where I hope to stay!

High up in the rigging, a tanned girl clad in a loose men's blouse and bright green trousers sat on a crossbrace, smiling down at him betwixt her bare feet. A pair of large hoop earrings dangled from her ears, the morning light glinting off both them and the frames of her glasses. With practiced ease, she hopped down from her seat and swung down from the rigging, legs dangling beneath her as she monkey-climbed down most of the rigging, dropping to the deck and hopping upright again, her long black hair fanning about from the act as she folded her hands behind her back.

Now that he saw her in a proper light, he vaguely remembered a time long ago, when he used to shirk his studies and go gallivanting with the precocious grand-daughter of a seafaring nobleman. He was a man unmatched in the ways of the musket; and so too was his grand-daughter. It was she who inspired him to seek a life on the sea, searching for his old friend. Could this girl really be...?

She seemed to be waiting for something, bobbing on the balls of her feet, an expectant look on her face, that same small bucktoothed smile from years ago. He squinted slightly, a suspicious look.

"I do know you, don't I?" She nodded enthusiastically, bouncing slightly, and the shirt slipped slightly on her shoulder. He seemed to recall that happening a lot back then, too, and out of sheer habit, reached up and righted it with a twitch. She giggled like a child, merely serving to cement the memory.

"...Jade. Jade Harley." She squealed like a dolphin and he abruptly had a face-full of unladylike lady as she practically leaped on him in a hug. Sputtering, he initially attmpted to pry her off, but her insistant hold on him just tightened, and he eventually gave in, returning the hug. Apparently satisfied, she dislodged from him and went bounding toward the helm of the ship, leaving him clueless as she hopped up and walked along the rail.

"Wait, wait, wait, where are you going? Whose ship is this, anyway?" He started after her, trying to ignore the warm tingly feeling left behind from her hug and focus on the matter at hand. She stopped at the top of the rail and whipped about, grinning down at him. "My ship, dummy." She spun forward again, hopping down and grabbing the wheel; with a far-too-cheerful 'WHEE!' she spun it hard starboard, and he almost fell over as the ship lurched. Righting himself, he took the stairs two at a time and grabbed the spinning wheel, uttering a yelp of pain as one of the handles cracked against his knuckles.

"If this is your ship," Strider fumed, "Where is the crew?" She raised an eybrow at him, and then abruptly leaned in, her face inches from his; he refused to be thrown by her abrupt invasion of his personal space, and held his ground, staring right back into her large brown eyes.

"So greeeeeen," she breathed, and he rolled his eyes and gave her a light shove. "You've seen 'em before. Answer the question," he grumbled, unsure of why he could never stay angry with her. Her answer was to bring two fingers to her lips and blow hard, a sharp whistle ringing out and causing him to clamp his hands over his ears. A few moments passed, and he looked around. "Wha--"

He was flat on his back before he could even blink. Stars burst in his vision and he tried to free his arms from whatever was weighing him down; as his vision cleared, a massive white wolfhound that almost seemed to flicker with energy came into view, growling down at him. Jade was quick to pull the beast off of him.

"Becquerel! He's a friend! No! Bad!" The wolfhound whimpered like a kicked puppy, and she sighed, hugging it tightly. "I can't stay mad at you. Good dog, best friend." She scratched behind the animal's ears as Strider got up and dusted himself off.

"You mean to tell me this thing's your crew?" He jabbed a finger at the animal, and she nodded, resting her chin on the wolfhound's head. It was at that point he realized it was large enough that sitting, it came up to her chest. Between that and the energetic glow, he had to assume it was of an ethereal nature, like the imps.

"Suppose that makes as much sense as anything else. Where are we?" He glanced about, but they were alone on an ocean of blue. Not a ship nor land in sight. The noncommital 'eeenh' noise that responded to him wasn't much help either.

"I don't know how to read maps," Jade admitted after a moment, looking down at the deck. "Bec has always steered the ship where it needed to go. I just live on it and do business where I can. So, I suppose Bec's the captain?" She perked up, and released her choke-hold on the animal, which abruptly fitzed from its' spot on the deck to the aft railing, sniffing the air as she bounced up to Strider.

"But you're Captain Strider, so you can be the captain of this ship!" She punctuated each word with a playful poke, and by the third poke he was squirming to avoid her invading finger. Becquerel's head snapped about, and the wolfhound growled at them; Jade growled right back, although hers was more cute than menacing. "Yarr, it be mutiny all right!" She rasped at the wolfhound. Pressing a hand to his temple, Strider sighed.

"Stop calling me by my last name, please. It makes me think you're talking to my brother." He opened his eyes, and settled an accusatory look at her. "You said before that you had talked to my brother. How?"

Jade closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, smiling; opening them again, she reached into her shirt and pulled out a think envelope, holding it out to him. Resisting the urge to ask how she kept from losing it with such a loose wardrobe, he opened the letter, recognizing his brother's neat, sharp handwriting. On the third page were the lyrics to the shanty he had written.

"I never said I talked to him, Dave. Just that he told me what happened." She seemed to lose all of that bounce, pep and cheer all at once, walking slowly up to stand next to him and read over his shoulder. He ignored it (and the sudden realization that she was taller than him-- god, he was slow today) and started reading.

Yo!

I know this comes as a bit of a shock. You probably are wondering how your dog got this letter, or why I sent it to you and not David. I trust you know who I am, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this. The fact is, I'm dead.

Well, at the time that you're reading this, I am. Dead as a doornail. Dunno how I went out, but I hope it was badass. I looked at the cargo I was to be shipping from Port Regal on the mainland to the Isle of Nama. I thought it was a bit suspicious that the dockmaster was so quick to get a signature and leave when I was picking up the cargo; now I know why.

Contraband.

Lots of it.

For whatever reason, the Midnight Sail has been pulling tricks like this for some time now, if what I've been hearing in the taverns is true. Respectable, fast merchant ships are being approached by the Midnight mid-voyage, and the Shipmaster offers you a contract.

Pick up some crates on the mainland, deliver 'em to Nama, and you get paid loads for barely any work. Seems like a sweet deal, but they never make it that far.

Every boat that's taken up the offer wound up sinking, and the cargo was never found. The only one that didn't was the Blood Feud, and that was because crabby ol' Cap'n Vantas' ship wound up burning down in the harbor before it could take on the cargo.

Some say it was an omen, but I know better; Vriska the Eight-Eyed was in town, and she seemed... worried about Vantas. I have a feeling she scuttled his ship for his own protection. When I asked her about it, she just smacked me with her mug and demanded I buy her a round in apology.

When the Midnight Sail approached me, I took the offer. Figured the Plush Rump was fast enough, had strong enough cannon, we could make the delivery before whoever kept sinking the ships caught us.

As I write this, the Midnight Sail is hot on our heels and taking potshots at us, trying to put holes in our sails. She's been the one hitting the ships all along.

My brother will survive; I know he will, because he's a fighter. He has a destiny to fulfill, even if none of us know what it is. I want you to help him on his way.

Pull a few strings. Talk your brother into getting him a ship. I want my brother to be the best damn captain on the seas. I want him to be ten times the mariner every grog-swilling buffoon in Nama's ports combined could ever hope to be. I know you can do that for him. Hell, I know he wants to. I remember when he used to sneak off to play pirates with you back in the day.

He'll eventually be visited by the Midnight Sail, I'm sure of it. He'll take the job, because I know he wants the recognition. The only ship to succeed where others have failed. The fastest ship in the waters. He'll be a cocky twit and try to get himself killed, and I want you to save him. Do whatever you have to. Knock the shit out of him, he can take it.

I want him to know that these bastards mean business. I want him to know that until someone brings them down, that God damned ship is going to be blowing people out of the water. I know he's not King of the Do-Gooder Brigade, but I also know that he's always wanted to be well-known, to be somebody important.

What better way than to be the one to kill the Crew of the Midnight Sail?

The One and Only,

Captain (*smudge*) Strider

P.S. Wrote this little shanty yesterday with my brother's help. Thought you might like it.
P.P.S. I busted my ass to get these new glasses for him, since I figure he would want to make a name for himself and wearing my old pointy ones wouldn't help. Make sure he gets them.
P.P.P.S. Don't let him see this. Have your dog eat it or something.
P.P. Whatever, Dave, if you're reading this, you suck.


Dave folded the letter back up and slid it back into the envelope, handing it back to her wordlessly; walking to the aft railing, he leaned on it and cradled his head in his hands. It was a lot to take in. His brother knew he'd get his own ship. He knew he'd take the job for the Midnight Sail. He even knew he was going to try to take her down with him. For much of his life, he'd been trying to pull out of his brother's shadow, yet he'd just played into his expectations all along.

A pair of arms slipped over his shoulders, and he jumped in surprise as Jade rested her chin on his head. Sighing, he slumped on the rail, silent for a moment. When he did speak, it was a listless deadpan.

"Why did you let me read that," He mumbled, more a flat statement than a question. "He said not to let me see it." She shook her head, and hugged a little tighter, not saying anything. He didn't have the urge or willpower to try to push her away. It didn't matter anyway, they were likely the only people for miles. Not like his reputation was on the line.

Fuck, the idea alone pissed him off. What reputation? As far as anyone knew, he'd gone down with the ship. The Midnight Sail was probably preparing to take down another poor shmuck that very moment. He was just another footnote in the story of the Midnight Sail, just another fish that took the bait and got a hook through the gills as a prize. Congratulations, you win a watery grave!

But he hadn't. He was the one that got away. He was the one who knew their trick. He may not have spent more than a few seconds on the decks of the Midnight, but what he had seen was enough. The weirdo in the deacon's hat practically screamed 'magic user'. The fact that the ship's cannon didn't start firing until he did that hand-wavey thing was just more proof. That meant the only people on the ship were probably those four. Take their magic away and the ship would be dead in the water... the thoughts were coming thick and fast, and a plan was coalescing in his mind's eye.

Jade closed her eyes and smiled as she felt Dave's slumped position shift a little beneath her. He suddenly wasn't so listless, and she could feel his shoulders square under her arms. She stood, practically pulling him upright, and ignored his grumbled complaint, allowing him to step away from her. He started to pace, boot-heels thunking decisively on the deck.

"So what's our course, Captain?" She folded her hands behind her back again, awaiting his response with bated breath. By the wheel, Becquerel sat up, tail thumping lightly on the deck.

Nodding to himself, Dave whipped about to address the two of them. "We're going to Nama. We need a crew, and I know just the people for it." He jabbed a finger at Becquerel.

"Set sail and chart the course!" The wolfhound nodded and fitzed out of sight; almost immediately, the main sail unfurled, billowing in the wind. Turning to Jade, Dave allowed himself a small grin, not the crazed, psychotic thing his old crew had seen, but a confident quirk of the lips.

"If you're makin' me Captain, I suppose that makes you First Mate. If you have any complaints, voice 'em now." She shook her head, smiling brightly at him; nodding, he strode to the wheel, and gripped it as Becquerel reappeared. At a glance from him, the canine barked once, an ethereal, hollow sound, and assumed a pointing position to the south-east; Captain Dave Strider swung the wheel hard to port, and the ship's compass wheeled to match.

A warm sea wind kicked up behind them (the dog's doing, he was certain) and the ship was quickly underway, squinting into the sun. Before he had a chance to ask what happened of the glasses mentioned in the letter, a pair of rounded dark lenses fell over his vision, and he half-turned to look at Jade, who just smiled at him with that same bucktoothed grin. Nodding, he turned his gaze forward again.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. "Let's be pirate heroes."

And, as I always seem to like doing, notes! Entirely unnecessary to the story.

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Dave is shorter than the other kids. That is my official fanon. I don't care what anyone else says. (It makes sense that he'd make up for his lack of height with a larger-than-life personality, anywho.) Also Giant Bec, because giant fluffy dogs are awesome. Moreso if they are spacetime-bending wolfhounds.

This particular sub-story has damn near turned into a six-headed hydra of its' own. Maybe I'll continue the plot some time? Or not. I have no idea. I don't write the stories, they write themselves. I just take credit for them.
And blame. Plenty of blame.
There's no 'back in the real world' segment! What's up with that? Well, short answer is, I'm getting there. Long answer is, I think it wants to be its' own separate story that just likes to ramble off into AUland on occasion, or something. Or maybe there's a connection between them after all. We'll see.
Or maybe you're just blowing smoke and hoping you can somehow monkey wrench some sort of plausible story out of that intermission crack-fic.
Shut up, or you don't get any candy hats.
I have no mouth. How would I eat them?
The 'With a Vengeance' bit in Chapter 4's title isn't actually part of the title. Or maybe it is. I just added it because it occurred to me that it, like this section of the story, was ridiculously huge.

Next time on Raiser Won't Shut The Heck Up: Flavors, Chapter Two!
If you don't end up writing some other story first, in any case.

[Tenebrais]

Raiser, you're inspiring me to write more Shipheld. That's some awesome fic you've got there! I must admit you've come up with some much better ideas for that setting than me.
I do like that you've put magic into that. I love seeing fantasy elements in more advanced settings.

[Tenebrais]

Double-posting to post the fic.

Shipheld 2; or, How Did I Manage To Base A Twenty Year Old Girl On Charles Darwin

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Adjusting to the Alternia’s new crew members has been difficult. Vriska terrifies me, and goes out of her way to torment me when she can. She finds it fun. Fortunately, the religious girl devotes a lot of time to distracting and tempering her. Our first mate had recruited Kanaya as a chaplain. What the hell use would a chaplain be on a pirate ship? But the captain trusts Terezi completely, and I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Terezi’s choices in general were unfathomable. Like Nepeta. The girl is technically an adult, probably, if you squint. I have only really her word for it that she’s useful in a fight. I suspect that wasn’t the reason our first mate had picked her. The other two keep to themselves a lot. They, at least, were both sailors before, and apparently old friends. Maybe more. I’ve only seen the guy when we’re on break in our bunk-room, and I haven’t spoken to the girl at all. I don’t know either of their names yet.
Karkat is, when I think about it, pretty strange in his decisions. Very, very few ships have women on their crew. Most people think it’s bad luck, but evidently he doesn’t. It’s a pretty big ship, with lots of space for our plundered riches. When we first got it - back then it was just me, him and a bunch of people who are now feeding the fishes - he designated two bunk rooms, one for the men, and one for the ladies. The rule has always remained the same, that we are absolutely forbidden from going in each other’s rooms, if anyone’s watching. At least I’m safe from Vriska when I’m in my bunk. She never knows when Equius or Sollux or, hell, Karkat himself are in here and she’s not going to want to get herself kicked off the only ship in this archipelago that’ll have her on board.

Yesterday, we were cruising close to a small chain of islands. Equius came up to the helm.
“Captain,” he asked, his voice contemptuous. He was kind of stuck-up, despite his appearance. “Not that I’m questioning your judgement, but why are we sailing so close to deserted islands? There is surely nobody to prey on out here.”
“That sounds an awful lot like you are questioning my judgement,” the captain replied, not looking away from the shore. He was good at dealing with sarcasm and passive-aggressiveness. He’s spent the last three years living with Terezi, after all.
“All I mean is that I don’t understand.”
“Course you don’t. These islands aren’t deserted. Well-known naval secret. All kinds of folks - merchants, pirates, whatever - hide stuff here when they don’t want it found. You wouldn’t know to look at it, but there’s ships coming and going all the time. Like that one over there.”
“Where?”
“Off on the horizon, moored by that island. See it? Tavros, take the helm, will you? And hand me your spyglass.”
I did, and he peered through the lens at the ship. “Huh,” he said. “A royal naval vessel. Probably out searching for contraband. Like they’ll find any.” He handed the glass back to me. “Gonna be armed. What do you think, can we take ‘em?”
“I think...” The captain would often ask me things like that. He never cared what I actually thought. He’d made up his mind already. I just had to guess what he was thinking so I could agree. He’s not really that complicated, though. “I think our new crew should get the chance to, uh, stretch its legs, cap’n.”
“Good answer,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. I had to hand onto the wheel to stop myself falling over. But then, with two peg legs, I had to do that all the time. He continued. “We’ll hide behind this island. Wait for them to cast off, give ‘em nowhere to hide.”


A natural philosopher busied herself with collecting samples on a remote island. Over the last two years she had petitioned the monarchy - or, more accurately, the bureaucracy - to allow her to take this expedition to the archipelago known only as the Veil. Ultimately, they relented, granting her a place on a navy vessel that was being sent to the chain in search of smugglers. Spending the weeks on a military ship staffed by men had been difficult for her, but she had a cabin to herself that she spent most of her time in, and it had been worth it to pursue the dream.
Here she was at last, studying the beautiful flora and fauna native to these islands, from the colourful flowers to the birds with interesting beaks to the gigantic tortoises that amused her so much. These were the days she’d cherish for the rest of her life.
The call came to return to ship. The marines had combed the island and found nothing, so they were moving on to the next one. Jade gathered up the cages and pots she’d filled and hurried back to her cabin.

Through a porthole she watched the coast slowly drift away. Every time she regretted not being able to spend more time on the island finding more undocumented plants and creatures, but each day gave her a whole new bounty to explore.
She set about writing about all the things she’d collected and seen on the island. It was laborious work, but she went about it with enthusiasm and glee. Nobody had ever studied any of these things before. She was the first. She had discovered them and got to name them. It was her hope that she would go down in history, remembered as one of the great naturalists of her time.
There was some commotion from the deck. People were running around the ships corridors. Could it be a storm? She looked again out of her porthole. No, the sky was clear and the sea calm. But there was a ship out there.
A very unfriendly-looking ship.


I looked through my spyglass. The marines were mobilising on board - they must have seen us. I reported this.
“Well, Karkat,” said Terezi, “it looks like you’ve finally got the notoriety you’ve been looking for all these years.”
“Are you sure they didn’t just see the flag?” Equius asked, pointing at it. A black flag emblazoned with a horned skull. It was a bit of a giveaway.
“Why are you even still up here?” Karkat said. “Right, here are my orders. Terezi, you go take Nepeta, Aradia, Sollux and the two lovebirds down to the cannons, get them loaded. Tavros, I want you, Equius, Vriska, Gamzee and Kanaya to get some grapples and prepare to board.”
The crew got to work. As the captain pulled us in alongside the royal vessel, both sets of cannons opened fire. With the cover of cannonfire we hooked onto their ship and swung across, forcing the sailors into a swordfight. Well, they had swords. Of our lot only Vriska was fighting with a cutlass. I like to use a quarterstaff. Gamzee fights with a club, Kanaya uses a chain and Equius is a straight-up brawler. Once the fight had begun in earnest the rest of the crew joined us, with their own exotic armoury. The navy is trained in swordfighting at most. They couldn’t handle us. Most of them were killed, the rest took the dinghy they had stowed away and fled. We had the ship to ourselves.
Aradia spoke. “Captain, what’s the protocol now?”
Karkat shrugged. “Search the ship, take everything that isn’t nailed down, then take the nails.” He looked around at the assembled crew. “What are you waiting for?” We scrambled below deck.

There’s usually not much to find on military ships. Rations, maybe a few personal belongings. The captain tends to have some decent loot. I went down to the cabins with Nepeta. You never know what you might find.
“Hey, Nepeta,” I asked. “Why did you join the crew?”
“Cause I wanted to see the sea!” She shouted cheerfully. I’ll say it now, she is adorable.
“Yeah, you’ve got a motivation, but, uh... you’re really young. You must be, what, sixteen?” She nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a really dangerous job. What if you died?”
“I won’t die. Terezi will protect me.”
I gave her a weird look. Did they know each other? Before joining the crew, I mean. How did they get into such an arrangement?
I got distracted when one of the cabins was locked from the inside. “Either they climbed out the porthole or someone’s still in here,” I said.
“Well duuuuh, stumpy. Let me handle it.” She put on one of her strange gauntlets with the long claws and started to pick the lock. She must be good with her hands. The door was open within a minute. Inside, we found a young woman cowering with the corner, her arms wrapped around a finch cage.

“Captain!” I called. “I Found someone below deck. I think she’s a scientist or something.”
We brought her forward. Nepeta had tied her hands together, though I don’t think she’d have tried anything funny.
“Is she dangerous?” He asked. She didn’t look it. “Is she useful?” Again, no. “I don’t care then. Do whatever you want.”
I took her to the side of the deck and untied her, with some difficulty. “Sorry about this, lady. It’s just what we do.”
She looked at me with fear in her eyes.

I was merciful. I gave her all the water she could possibly want and decided not to burden her with any sort of boat.


Jade choked as she washed up on the shore. She wasn’t a good swimmer, but the currents had been helpful. She’d nearly drowned twice. Her soaked clothes were in disarray; her wet hair stuck to her face uncomfortably. And everything she’d done, everything she came here to do, was gone. In the distance, she saw the ship she was on going up in flames. She didn’t know how much, if any, of her work got saved, if “saved” could apply to being taken by those monsters. She supposed she was lucky that this was all that had happened to her. Pirates could do a lot worse.
She wouldn’t cry. She was a grown woman. Adults don’t cry.
She concerned herself with what she would do now. She could survive on this island, sure, but she needed to get back to civilisation. Perhaps her work wasn’t completely unsalvageable. If nothing else, she wanted to go home.
She kept herself occupied by building a bonfire with as much green stuff as she could find. That should give a nice signal. The island was densely forested, so she wasn’t at risk of running out there.

Jade lit her signal, and sat beside it on the beach. And cried.


Not far away, the Sassacre made its way to port. Its captain, a privateer by the name of Egbert, was taking two passengers to their destinations - a noble young lady preparing to find her feet in the colonies, and an infamous criminal that he had captured with great difficulty.
“John,” said the elegant lady. “What’s that over there?”
“Where?”
“To the left.”
“Port.”
“That’s a port?”
“No, left is port.” He peered into the distance, and saw a rising trail of smoke. “Hmm. Could be a signal fire. Someone’s in danger.”
“How dramatic.”
“All in a day’s work, Rose.”
“That’s Miss Lalonde to you.”
“Whatever.”
The captain steered his ship toward the signal. He liked to think of himself as a hero of the seas. This is just what he does.