MSPA Fanfiction III

[Katrika]

Valter: I do, I do, I was just kinda thinking on the subject and figured I'd ask and oh dear I've come of as horribly rude or something haven't I? I didn't mean that as a personal comment to anyone, it was just idle curiousity!

Oh god, have I been making spelling errors?

[Caprisaurus]

So,
This thread + http://doodle-master.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d34u9xqThis picture = First try and posting a fic here. Done in a freestyle poetry thing because I lovelovelove this style. I hope I'm doing this right <

First dance

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Stumbling steps
shy smiles
soft music
whispered apologies

A genuine smile
than his usual smirk
a sudden quietness
different from her usual chatter

She wonders
How she didn't notice how cute he is
He can't believe
How he didn't notice how her eyes sparkle like they do now

In a universe of their own
doing
Their first dance

[Graven_Image]

Oh man, Seraph.

Oh man oh man altcolors all up in this hizzy.

You've got me excited. Now I sort of wish I was writing funny instead of deep emotional character-driven stuff.


Only sort of.

[Katrika]

That was good, Capri!

-claps-

Seraph: I think you write a pretty good dave! And now I'm eagerly awaiting Dave Harley and Dave Lalonde.

[Kassiopeia]

Seraph I have no words for the magnitude of your excellence. ALL THE MYRIAD SKILLZ. (also all the myriad Daves. WHO COULD FAIL TO APPROVE. AAAAAAAAA)
(also PFFFF the idea of Feffers helping blueDave build a Rube Goldberg contraption to elaborately kill himself is... so morbidly charming. Hee.)

[Sionnan]

@seraph: I aim to please.

>Annnd I can't write Dave or John, so Dave Egbert is just a completely lost cause x_X;

Fuck that! This was great. The kinda nimbousness of the first bit offset the immediacy of the second piece. And the pranks were teh shitz.

[lucidSeraph]

... man if the master of all things Strider says I'm doin it rite I must be I guess XD

The style change was 50% intention (The first was meant to be Davesprite-ish, who invites a kind of nebulousness [to me, anyway] and the second Egbert-ish [Direct, honest, and cheerful]) and 50% sleep deprivation / jet lag.

Thanks guys.

[Graven_Image]

I'm thinking of finding theme songs (or motifs, if you want to call them that) for the characters I'm fleshing out in these Alt-session fics.

Is this a good idea (Y/N)?

[Decker]

Sure. Why not?

[lucidSeraph]

I'm thinking of finding theme songs (or motifs, if you want to call them that) for the characters I'm fleshing out in these Alt-session fics.

Is this a good idea (Y/N)?

DO IT. DO IT FOR SCIENCE.

[Graven_Image]

Alright, here are the fraymotifs for the ones that we know of so far:

Bard of Energy - Human After All
DJ of Hope - Clubbed to Death
Prince of Fury - Mind Heist

They fit in with both the song's name and sound of the music. You may have to think about the name of the Prince's.

[Valter]

Valter: I do, I do, I was just kinda thinking on the subject and figured I'd ask and oh dear I've come of as horribly rude or something haven't I? I didn't mean that as a personal comment to anyone, it was just idle curiousity!

I was making a general comment as well. An automatic spell check won't pick out correctly spelled, incorrectly used terms (your/you're, their/there/they're). You're better off editing your own work, at the very least in addition to feeding it through a spell-checker.

[Katrika]

Ah, makes sense.

Sorry, I'm sometimes a tad paranoid.

[raequiem]

Holy shit thread.

You guysss~

You do such good things while I'm not around!

It's a good thing I'm not CJ, because commentdunping on the past ten pages or so would really suck, because they've been SO FANTABULOUS. Now I'm really really mad real life kept me so busy the last few days, because I MISSED SO MUCH AWESOMENESS.

Sometime over Christmas break I'll take a day and write as much Bright Eyes as I can, because that thing is kicking my ass right now. Seriously, it's like I'm Vriska and BE is Roboradia, and it's making me pay for god I don't even know what.

But in the meantime, have some sucky, pretentious creation myth.

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The first one's choice was simple. His color filled the veins of every creature that walked or ran or crawled or flew on this planet, filled them bright and bitter and without apology, without fear. No creature would live afraid for being born full of crimson, because the crimson would flow through every creature they met equally. No one would die for being different.

The second one struggled long and hard with the choice. Where to place her mark, what to claim as her own? She eventually chose the daytime sky, bright-blue enough to blind. She found that irony amusing, and her laugh was the breeze that played through the sky, and her bite was the bright-blue thunder that split it with icy fire, and her color filled everything as far as her eyes would never see.

The third one laughed at the choice, laughed at it as he laughed at life. His laugh brightened the darkness wherever he went. His deep indigo gleamed on the feathers of blackbirds, glittered over the face of an oil slick, glowed in the sky at the first hint of dawn and the last rays of dusk. He sat in-between, fending off the darkness with the brilliance of his happiness, finding miracles everywhere he looked.

The fourth one chose certain plants, certain seeds and berries, and filled them with his color so deep it looked black rather than brown. The others mocked and wondered at his choice, but he simply smiled and told them to have patience. And eventually they saw - the people of this shining new world found his deep-brown, and valued it highly. It was crushed and melted to release the very depth of the color, and warmed the bodies and hearts of all who partook of it. His choice was not so foolish as it seemed.

The fifth one was vain - she saw the world covered with water, and chose to paint it cerulean. She filled the oceans with her bitter-blue color, filled them and filled them until they could take no more, and her fierce anger whipped the seas into storms that killed all those with the bad luck to fall into them. But she never noticed - and the others never told - that her bitter blue was matched and returned in the bright-blue of her once-sister's sky in the day, and was enveloped in the dusky blue of her neighbor's night.

The sixth one chose the trees, long and straight, low and gnarled. She filled the forests with her deep green, stretched through every needle, spread through every leaf. Each one was sacred and unique, and in later times she walked her forests, chainsaw idle in her hand, breathing in the green-tinted air, purified by the trees.

The seventh one chose the deep blue of the night sky, studded through with silver stars. His color wrapped around all things while the sun slept. His darkness created anonymity and danger and slow, creeping lethargy. It was a time to set aside cares, to find a warm place to wrap around oneself or one's beloved and wait out the dark in hope that light would rise again.

The eighth one chose the fruits of the world, berries ripe and full of her deepest maroon. Their sweet juices were craved by the creatures of the planet, and the animals tore into them, puncturing skin with sharp white teeth and splattering bloody juice over their gaping mouths. But destroying and consuming the fruit made them strong and quick and the best they could be, and she was okay with that. It was the role she had always had.

The ninth one chose the grasses, her color blanketing the land. Each individual blade was small, weak, easily crushed and torn. But together in the thousands and millions they joined, a living carpet on the land. A place for creatures to feed and run and hunt, working in ever-widening, ever-changing and unchanged circles, dancing the steps of life.

The tenth one chose the flowers, and dared the others to mock. Not one of them did, for they knew why he made that choice. It was for her, always for her, like everything else in his life and after. And that carried over in the flowers - given as gifts, becoming symbols of love held between two people, an irony that seemed tailored to his own shattered heart.

The eleventh one chose secretly and subtly, and it took the others some time to notice her decision. One tiny, weak, inconsequential creature of the sea was filled impossibly full of her brilliant purple. That shade was treasured, a symbol of royalty and splendor, as rare and priceless as life itself, and valued as highly.

The twelfth one could not decide, and so his choices were many. First he chose gold, gleaming deep beneath the soil and valued above all by the people above it. Then his mind changed and he hated himself for that choice, and humbled himself, choosing the dead grasses and lifeless sands for his color. When he finally, finally found balance, he chose honey. Bitterly sweet, thick and heavy, nurturing the small creatures and rewarding the large ones who dared steal it from them.

The god-children painted the world full of all the colors they had, and filled it with all the things they could never have.

And they watched over it all, and it was good.

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God this is awful. Unbeta'd first draft, so feel free to concrit the shit out of it.

The order is the order in which they entered the medium. I didn't want to do blood-order or reverse-blood-order, as that's just boring as fuck.

Tavros's thing is either coffee or chocolate, it's up to you.

I spade colortags so hard. The forum should have a thing where you just tag it with the character's name and get their color automatically, eg [SOLLUX]talk2 liike thii2[/SOLLUX]. That seems like it would be the smart way to manage it.

[Graven_Image]

I like it. It's a pretty good summary of the Trolls at the time of their winning the game.

Just one typo I saw - the second to last sentence ends "all the things they could never had."

Other than that, it's pretty good.

[raequiem]

Fix'd. Thanks, Graven!

[ceruleanTresses]

But in the meantime, have some sucky, pretentious AWESOME, WELL-WRITTEN, POETIC creation myth WITH FANTASTIC IMAGERY.

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The first one's choice was simple. His color filled the veins of every creature that walked or ran or crawled or flew on this planet, filled them bright and bitter and without apology, without fear. No creature would live afraid for being born full of crimson, because the crimson would flow through every creature they met equally. No one would die for being different.

The second one struggled long and hard with the choice. Where to place her mark, what to claim as her own? She eventually chose the daytime sky, bright-blue enough to blind. She found that irony amusing, and her laugh was the breeze that played through the sky, and her bite was the bright-blue thunder that split it with icy fire, and her color filled everything as far as her eyes would never see.

The third one laughed at the choice, laughed at it as he laughed at life. His laugh brightened the darkness wherever he went. His deep indigo gleamed on the feathers of blackbirds, glittered over the face of an oil slick, glowed in the sky at the first hint of dawn and the last rays of dusk. He sat in-between, fending off the darkness with the brilliance of his happiness, finding miracles everywhere he looked.

The fourth one chose certain plants, certain seeds and berries, and filled them with his color so deep it looked black rather than brown. The others mocked and wondered at his choice, but he simply smiled and told them to have patience. And eventually they saw - the people of this shining new world found his deep-brown, and valued it highly. It was crushed and melted to release the very depth of the color, and warmed the bodies and hearts of all who partook of it. His choice was not so foolish as it seemed.

The fifth one was vain - she saw the world covered with water, and chose to paint it cerulean. She filled the oceans with her bitter-blue color, filled them and filled them until they could take no more, and her fierce anger whipped the seas into storms that killed all those with the bad luck to fall into them. But she never noticed - and the others never told - that her bitter blue was matched and returned in the bright-blue of her once-sister's sky in the day, and was enveloped in the dusky blue of her neighbor's night.

The sixth one chose the trees, long and straight, low and gnarled. She filled the forests with her deep green, stretched through every needle, spread through every leaf. Each one was sacred and unique, and in later times she walked her forests, chainsaw idle in her hand, breathing in the green-tinted air, purified by the trees.

The seventh one chose the deep blue of the night sky, studded through with silver stars. His color wrapped around all things while the sun slept. His darkness created anonymity and danger and slow, creeping lethargy. It was a time to set aside cares, to find a warm place to wrap around oneself or one's beloved and wait out the dark in hope that light would rise again.

The eighth one chose the fruits of the world, berries ripe and full of her deepest maroon. Their sweet juices were craved by the creatures of the planet, and the animals tore into them, puncturing skin with sharp white teeth and splattering bloody juice over their gaping mouths. But destroying and consuming the fruit made them strong and quick and the best they could be, and she was okay with that. It was the role she had always had.

The ninth one chose the grasses, her color blanketing the land. Each individual blade was small, weak, easily crushed and torn. But together in the thousands and millions they joined, a living carpet on the land. A place for creatures to feed and run and hunt, working in ever-widening, ever-changing and unchanged circles, dancing the steps of life.

The tenth one chose the flowers, and dared the others to mock. Not one of them did, for they knew why he made that choice. It was for her, always for her, like everything else in his life and after. And that carried over in the flowers - given as gifts, becoming symbols of love held between two people, an irony that seemed tailored to his own shattered heart.

The eleventh one chose secretly and subtly, and it took the others some time to notice her decision. One tiny, weak, inconsequential creature of the sea was filled impossibly full of her brilliant purple. That shade was treasured, a symbol of royalty and splendor, as rare and priceless as life itself, and valued as highly.

The twelfth one could not decide, and so his choices were many. First he chose gold, gleaming deep beneath the soil and valued above all by the people above it. Then his mind changed and he hated himself for that choice, and humbled himself, choosing the dead grasses and lifeless sands for his color. When he finally, finally found balance, he chose honey. Bitterly sweet, thick and heavy, nurturing the small creatures and rewarding the large ones who dared steal it from them.

The god-children painted the world full of all the colors they had, and filled it with all the things they could never have.

And they watched over it all, and it was good.

Fixed.

[KilroyWasHere]

Damnit, I can't tell if seven and ten are Eridan and Equius or vice versa! But aside from that - beautiful, and similar to my headcanon.

[raequiem]

cT: HUSH YOUR SILLY FACE. ()

Kilroy: Seven is Equius, ten is Eridan. Damn their colors for being so close together! But I'm glad you like it.

[Metaflare]

Damnit, I can't tell if seven and ten are Eridan and Equius or vice versa! But aside from that - beautiful, and similar to my headcanon.

Equius then Eridan. Their colors aren't really all that similar

That said, great piece of work Rae!

[KilroyWasHere]

...Equius' heart is shattered? That was the source of my confusion

[Aerodactylus]

RAE. That was brilliant. I loved how you worked in the history of Tyrian Purple...BRILLIANT, I SAY. My inner history geek is doing a little happy dance.

If I could draw, I would so do something for this, because it begs to be visualized.

[SkaianRedeemer]

...Equius' heart is shattered? That was the source of my confusion

STRONG LOVE.

[raequiem]

...Equius' heart is shattered? That was the source of my confusion

STRONG LOVE.

THE STRONGEST.

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But really, can you imagine Equius having anything whatsoever to do with flowers? I've always felt Eridan was the biggest romantic at heart (except for Karkat, the sap).

Aero: If you did art for this I would love you forever even/especially if you can't draw. *geeks out with you* Geek geek geek geek geek geek geek geek

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THERE, I JUST TYPED IT OUT EIGHT TIMES AND AM NOW AN ENORMOUS TOOL FOREVER.

Meta: Thank so much!

[Decker]

I usually wouldn't belt out two fics in 24 hours, but Dave seems to be the theme of the day.
Write for the audience they say.

Bro teaches Dave the secret behind the flash step.

Rhythm

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They sat on the rooftop, overlooking the dirty, gray city. The sun was bright and high overhead, but there was a nasty chill in the air.
Dave shivered, but if it bothered Bro, he didn't show it. Cal sat in a tiny wooden chair of to the side. Dave saw his brother drop something in Cal's lap before he went to sit down, but he didn't see what it was.

Dave had bugged him over and over to teach him the flash step, something Bro said was a Strider family secret.

Bro just said “Not yet little man.”

Eventually, Dave just stopped asking. He turned to his music instead of his fighting skills. Dave learned how to mix together songs. To take bits and pieces of rhythm and make them flow together until it fell into the wrinkles of the brain. There was something primal to it. Older than primal. There was no way to tell someone how or why it worked, there was just tuning yourself to world and following the rhythm.

He was listening carefully to some pieces of an album he wanted to put together when Bro walked up behind him and plucked Dave's headphones off of his head.
“Hey!”
“Roof bro.” Bro picked one of Dave's replica swords off the wall and tossed it to him. “You're ready. Bring Cal.”
“If I'm ready, can't I use one of your swords?” Dave said. The sword he was holding cost a month of his allowance, but it was still a cheap copy.
“Not that ready!” Bro laughed. “Not Bro. You're my student now young grasshopper. Call me...Sensei.”
“Like those old samurai movies you watch? This is so retarded.”
“Wanna play? Gotta pay, grasshopper. And those movies are great. You don't know what you're talking about. Roof.”

And there they were sitting, both cross-legged and facing each other. Cal stared into space from his chair as they sat here in silence. Bro told Dave one thing before he sat down.

“Listen.”

So Dave sat with his eyes closed. He concentrated on the wind, the cars below, people talking, television, radios.

Finally he opened his eyes. “What the hell am I listening for, Bro...”
Bro held up one finger.
“...Sensei.”
Bro nodded and put his finger down.
“It's hard to hear at first. Over all the other noise.” Bro reached over to Cal and picked up what looked like a little grey remote. He pressed a button and tossed it back on Cal's lap.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
It was a metronome, an expensive one. Bro often complained about how hard it was to find batteries for it, but he used it almost constantly. Bro had tuned it to a very, very specific frequency. Dave thought it was the most...mundane rhythm he ever heard. The kind that faded into the background.
“Listen” Bro repeated.
Dave sighed. This mystic man on the mountain crap was getting old. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes anyway.
“Block out all the noise you can, and listen.”
“Wait, what?”
“You heard me, Grasshopper. Block all the noise from around you. All the cars, all the people, and listen to what's left.”
“Even the metronome? What am I supposed to be listening to if I'm blocking out all the noise?”
“Fer fucksakes Dave, just do it.”
“Jesus. Fine. Sensei.” Dave sighed and closed his eyes.
He pushed it all out of his mind. The cars were the first to go.
Tick, tick, tick.
The people.
Tck, tck, tck.
TV's. Radios. Wind.
Tk, tk, tk.
Breathing, heartbeat, white noise.
T, t, t,
He pushed.
T, t, t,
He pushed.
T, t, t,
“I can't stop hearing the metronome.” Dave whispered.
“I turned it off ten seconds ago.”
Dave opened his eyes and all the noise of the world came rushing back to him. The metronome lie silent on Cal's lap.
Bro grinned.
Dave looked around. “Then what was...”
“That was the rhythm, Grasshopper. The rhythm of time. The beat that everyone follows deep, deep down.”
“Sounds like a crock of shit.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Again.” Bro pressed the button and the tick started up again.
Tick, tick, tick.
Dave closed his eyes, he breathed deep, and pushed all the sound out. He pushed at the metronome especially hard. He still heard the muffled sound.
T, t, t,
Dave opened his eyes, the metronome was silent.
“This is some stupid trick isn't it?”
“Again.”
Tick, tick, tck, tk, t, t, t, t
“Again.”
tck, tk, t, t, t, t
“Again.”
Tk, tk, tk, t, t, t, t
“Again.”
tk, t, t, t, t, t
“Hold this. Don't look at it.” He shoved something cold and metal into Dave's hand. His fingers closed around it.
“Again.” Bro's finger tapped the button.
T, t, t, t, t, t, t.
Dave opened his eyes. Bro was showing him the metronome. It was off. “Look in your hand.”
Dave opened his fingers and looked in the palm of his hand. It was the battery from the metronome.
Dave looked up at him suspiciously. Bro simply stood up and pulled his sword out of the sheath. Dave stood up too, holding his own sword.
“Now watch.”
They stood facing each other, with Cal sitting at the side like some sort of silent referee.
Dave waited, eyes locked on Bro.
He waited.
He waited.
Bro vanished. Dave looked down at Bro's shadow covering his. He felt steel at his neck.
Bro laughed. “Did you see it?”
Dave was getting impatient. He wanted to learn this, but now all he was now was confused. “No, I didn't see it. What did that have to do with anything?”
“Fine. I'll show you again, oh impatient grasshopper.”
Bro walked back over to where he was standing before.
“Now. Listen.”
“What?”
“Listen.” Bro tapped his sword on the ground.
Tap, tap, tp, tp, t, t, t
“Hold that sound in your mind. Open your eyes.”
Dave opened his eyes. Bro's sword was still, but Dave still heard the sound.
T, t, t, t, t, t,

And then Dave saw Bro step out of rhythm.

Edit: Rae, that was very good. I'd certainly like to see it again when you think it's done.
Small criticisms.

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Mentioning the chainsaw threw the mood for me.
Equius' seemed a little disconnected from how he is. Night might also have to do with plots, and beasts in the dark. Just a thought.

Very good job though.