Following hot off the heels of the new Carcino Gang's arrival...
Clover Lore
Al'reet. Never 4igured ye to be the one t'crack that riddle. As promised, I'll tell ye what I knoo 'bout why all the trolls are 'fraid of a buncha vagrants over a pint'a Guinness.
T'was long before I was born. 'Bout the time the good Doctor set up shop 'n all these famous trolls were makin' a name fer themselves in the Wriggly City. Y'had Dualscar and Mindfang chasin 'each other's bad romances across the canals, Justice Redglare fillin' the Veil, Darkleer's science labs, the werks. But every wriggler especially knows the story of the Sum'ner by heart.
Noo, it ain't that that crippled Nitram boy that can commune with the wildlife is his descendant. He couldn't scare 'em this bad.
And that's cause the Sum'ner was a superhero. Y'know the story, goin aboot savin the wildli4e and loosin' them 'pon the baddies. The 4st Marquise Mindfang trays t'seduce him, but he figures through her wiles and slays her mightily. Takes the treasure and invests it in the city, retires by makin' his identity public and makes the lowblood Nitrams a household name.
But 4 every Jaygus, there's gotta be a devil t'tempt him. Only they don't even speak of the devil like the mention'a his name causes 'em to bleb up like the tar pits. 'Course I held my ear to the city's pulses long enough t' piece together what I could.
All they know today is that they called 'em the Su4rer. Noobody really knew where he came from. Some say 'e was half human. Others say he 'ad the blood of a lusus, s'why he kept winning in his rampages. All everyone knew was that 'e used t'be some street kid and everyone knew what he wanted. He was sick'a the old troll order of things, where he'n three quarters of the troll population was on the wrong end of the rainbow. Bet unlike the Sum'ner that could show that the lowest bloods could make their way up, the Su4rer wanted to tern that order upside down, and the city along with it. He had help from a human too. Nondescript average fella. Noobody suspects an average guy in a 4edora could unleash so much havoc.
So the Su4rer roonds up all the vagrants 'n bouzzies and all the city's unwanted and unleash those upon anyone with a heartbeat. Police couldn't stand a chance, even the Sum'ner had 'is hands busy. Took the guv' droppin' the military in just t'keep the city from ternin' completely t'gick. After a while ye had all the citizens ready and bandyin' up to fight the guy in one great battle in the end, but here's the kicker: that never happens.
One 4ine morning the Su4rer turns up dead as a doornail at dinner in the middle of Alternia Square and nobody can figure out why. Maybe the human grew a conscience 'n did him in be'4 he could do somethin' real nasty. Maybe one'a the trolls wanted a share 'a power. Or perhaps it was one last epic duel between him and the Sum'ner, in 'is secret lair.
Either way the human disappears. Lays lower'n hell. Couple decades later he serfaces as th'owner of some ol' magic shoppe downtown and nobody asks. 'As a son tryin' to be a circus clown or somethin'. The city calms down, reterns to its wicked ways and turns into the normal y'see today.
But 4 the trolls, weel, y'won't find anything aboot the guy at all in the public record, like 'e never existed. They really wanted t'4get the guy so they erased him 4om all th' records they could find. His parents, well, whoever they are they probly disowned him too.
So anytime ya ask about the Red Scare among the trolls ya get the human version with the Russians'n everything. The new generation only remember th' hammer 'n sickle on the flag, not in the hands of the Su4rer and th' human. An' they had plenty fer the Sum'ner's gallery 'a rogues to keep 'em shut up good.
But as close as I can figure this whole Carcino Gang business is gettin' the trolls - least the old ones - al'leery about their neighbor just like they were back 'n the day. I doot they remember what that heretical symbol he wore was anymore but the way things are going they'll remember soon as they see 'em.
And a word to the wise, boyo. If things are ternin 'oot the way they are, we'll all have to keep our heads down 'cause the gick'll fly like it never flew before.
Author's Note
So when I apped for Clover I imagined him as one of those Irish mob wannabes. Thinks he's all Boondock Saints until people realize they can still inflict major non-fatal bodily harm on him.
Also trying to build some backstory for the whole Ancestor's period. Back on the chat we imagined it to be sometime in the 1940s like the old noir detective stories.
I've decided that I DO like the 2nd person perspective.
I really like how you capture the Crocs' voices. I wasn't planning on having consorts play major roles in any of my stories, but now that you've given me a style to emulate, I just might give it a try.
You handle writer's block well, and it was a good read.
Also read Would You Kindly. Looking forward to seeing where this takes Karkat's gang. Mr. Pupa seems to have lost control of the only resources we see him put to regular use, so I'm looking forward to seeing what other pieces he employs, too.
Finally, hope you guys enjoy another fic! This is just something lighthearted, hope you all enjoy it. c:
THE ONE IN WHICH TEREZI RECEIVES A VERY ANNOYED PHONECALL.
(OR, THE ONE IN WHICH TEREZI RECIEVES A PHONECALL FROM HER VERY ANNOYED POLICE CHIEF, WHO THEN PROCEEDS TO FLIP THE F--- OUT, WHILE RANTING DOWN THE PHONE TO HER, TILL HE LEARNS WHAT HAPPENS. THEN IN AN IRONIC TWIST OF FATE, YOU DISCOVER HE ISN'T ACTUALLY MAD, BUT IS INTEAD -SPOILERS-.)
A ring from the phone quickly made Terezi get up from where she had been –trying- to nap. Lifting her head off the desk, she pulled the receiver up, and held it to her ear, a grin on here face, so she could hear the person calling, or shouting in this case.
‘PYROPE, WHAT THE HELL HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT DOING STUPID STUNTS LIKE THAT? WHAT KIND OF A NAME DO YOU THINK IT GIVES MY POLICE FORCE, HEY?’
‘H3H3H3, WH4T DO YOU M34N CH13F?’
‘YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN. WHAT WERE YOU AND CAPTOR THINKING, DOING A STUNT LIKE THAT? YOU ALMOST RUINED MY POLICE FORCE’S REPUTATION!’
‘1T W4S TH3 ONLY W4Y W3 COULD SORT TH1NGS OUT!’
‘YEAH RIGHT. WHY THE HELL DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT. AND USING OFFICER EQUIUS ZAHHAK To BREAK DOWN THE DOOR, REALLY?’
‘H3Y! H3 W4S QU1T3 H4PPY TO DO 1T!’
‘PYROPE, HE ALMOST BROKE THE WHOLE STRUCTURE OF THE BUILDING. THE WHOLE FU- I MEAN THE WHOLE FREAKING STRUCTURE. WE COULD HAVE BEEN SUED FOR THAT!’
‘SOOO, W3 SORT3D OUT TH3 PROBL3M! HOW 3LS3 COULD W3 H4V3 SORT3D TH1NGS OUT?’
‘MAYBE WAITING FOR OFFICER MEGIDO TO RETURN? SHE COULD HAVE EASILY RETRIEVED THE ANIMAL! REALLY, IF IT WASN’T FOR THE FACT YOU AND CAPTOR WERE MY BEST OFFICERS, I’D HAVE FIRED YOU BY NOW.’
‘BUT BY TH3 T1M3 4R4D14 WOULD H4V3 R3TURN3D, 1T WOULD H4V3 B33N TOO L4T3!’
‘YES. YOU GOT THE CAT BY DESTROYING HALF THE BUILDING, AND THEN RETRIEVING THE TERRIFIED CREATURE FROM THE RUBBLE YOU LEFT. EVERYTHING IS DEFINITELY NOT FINE!’
‘WH3N YOU H4PP3N TO H4V3 4 HUG3 4NGRY WH1T3 (4DM1TT3DLY W1TH 4 V3RY T4STY L1M3 GR33N SM3LL) DOG ON YOUR H4NDS, 1SN’T 1T B3TT3R TO SORT TH1NGS OUT? H3 K3PT ON TRY1NG TO 34T TH3 C4T! SO W3 JUST SORT3D TH1NGS OUT!’
‘IS EVERYTHING JUST SOME HUGE GAME TO YOU PYROPE? PEOPLES LIVES WERE AT RISK THERE! I DON’T EXPECT YOU TO BE SO STUPID IN THE FUTURE, YOU GOT THAT?’
‘BUT 3V3RYON3 W4S F1N3! W3 GOT TH3 JOB DON3! AND PR3V3NT3D TH3 COUR3 OF JUST1C3 FROM RUNN1NG ASK3W! JUST L1K3 YOU W4NT!’
‘YES, BECAUSE PUTTING THE FREAKING DOG IN JAIL REALLY HELPS WITH THINGS PYROPE.’
At this point, Terezi could hear a weary sigh from the other end of the phone.
‘You are a moron, y’know that? Sorry for shouting at you, but you can be such an idiot at times! Love you, Bye Kiddo. AND NO STUNTS LIKE THAT AGAIN, you hear me?’
‘BY3 D4D! LOV3 YOU TOO.’
There was a quiet click at the receiver, and the phones sound died. Putting it carefully back down, Terezi just grinned again.
This was just a kind of silly fic. I've had the idea in my mind for ages, so I finally finished the story this evening. Hope everyone enjoyed it, any feedback/critiques is encouraged. And I stole the name from how friends name all their episodes. xD
And yes, that was the Authoritative Rector (AR, the police chief.), in my canon, Terezi is AR's adopted daughter. : D
The title was too short, but besides that, I liked it.
The police-tape style of talking for AR is a very clever gimmick (kudos to Rational Absurdity for that), but it's a bit hard on the eyes. I'm undecided as to whether or not I'll use it whenever I bring AR into my stories. Hmmm...
Also, Terezi would have a sense of justice that extends to the non-humanoid.
Never expected Terezi to be AR's adopted kid! But I think it makes some sense...! Gives her some more reason to love the law.
Also, I'm leaving on Tuesday to a Summer Camp, so I'm afraid the next part of my fic will have to be delayed. I've been really busy getting ready and I haven't had many chances to work on it. I promise I'll have it up by next monday, though!
Season 4 of TrollCops saw the series take a darker turn after the creators brought on an acclaimed noir comics writer to provide a new storyline involving Bec Noir. Running for nine episodes, Season 4 drew both surprised praise and extreme derision from both fans and critics alike with "Dogs of Noir" earning an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Animated Series. The writer was abruptly sacked following the nomination, and his remains were found buried near a construction site.
You Don't Know Slick
The Stabbing
He Stalked By Night
One Flew Into The Doghouse
April The Thirteenth
Jade Heat
A Few Good Dersites
Dogs of Noir
The Green Miles
Also Calamity, have fun at Summer Camp. Can't wait to see your fic continue.
Your name is Jade Harley and you’ve been waiting at the police station for half an hour!! Jeez, can’t anybody stick to a schedule around here?! Then again, Eridan is probably just trying to gather more evidence, or something, right? You don’t really know a lot of people here at the police station. There’s that one troll that your acquaintance Dave Strider tells you about, the one that you’re pretty sure he’s doing dirty things with on the weekends. You’ve never really seen anyone working a front desk by licking the counter and the computer screen, and you’re pretty sure that Dave knows where she puts that mouth of hers. Overall, you’d say you’re the better option for Dave-based romance, and Don is a lucky time clone. And there’s that other troll who looks to be her partner, seeing as how hard he’s trying to act like he doesn’t know her. You’re not sure, actually, if any humans work here at all, actually. You’ve really only seen trolls here.
Geez, what is taking Eridan so long?
Now you’re kind of worried. What if he got into a conflict or something? What if he did something retarded and got himself caught or captured? He seems a bit hotblooded, even for a troll.
Maybe he meant outside the police station, and he’s waiting for you? He wasn’t really all that clear. He seemed a bit eager to meet up with you. You’re kind of eager, too. You did some sleuthing for yourself, after all! That’s something!
You walk outside for a moment, and take a look down the street. You think you see the very soggy and pissed off shape of one Eridan Ampora, and a shorter, doughier shape walking next to him. Who’s this douchebag?
=>
You are Eridan Ampora and you are getting insult added to injury.
You made it out of the Lolar River alright, and managed to get out near the police station, a few blocks away. However, you were accosted by an ASSHOLE. He managed to see you in all of your damp glory, and of course saw the opportune time to go and start a conversation with you.
“So Ampora they have you testing out the pH levels of the water this time of the year? I imagine it’s some good pay for a failing detective!”
“Shut up dick I’vve actually got a case this time,”
“Oh, really? And what to what subject have you extended your loose definition of a case this time? The number of fish in the Lolar River? You might as well add yourself now, Ampora.”
“Just so you knoww dick I wwas escapin a gun fight by usin the rivver”
“Ah, running away from all your battles as always, Eridan! How typical of you. Surely the sign of a real sleuth!”
“Wwell I don’t think you’d be able to tell betwween a real sleuth an a pile of dirt the wway you do your wwork”
“Efficiently?”
“Wwith no concern for your owwn head apparently. An also like a complete tool.”
“Run out of snarky comments so soon? Good thing, you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your client now, would you?” he says, waving an arm towards an approaching Jade Harley. He walks off, his stocky frame swinging from side to side with an exaggerated strut. God, you really loathe that guy. Platonically.
“Eridan! You’re thirty minutes oh my god are those bullet wounds?!” she says, her eyes and hands jumping to your side.
“No they’re just claww wwounds no need to wworry wwe can get to accostin the criminal if you wwant”
“Eridan, you really should get those looked at!”
“No, it’s not that bad wwe just need to find Brinner noww”
“Brinner? But Jut told me that the killer’s name was Vidra Nedrin!”
“Well, the bank record and your coworkers told me that it was David Patrick Brinner,” you say, and give Jade an abbreviated form of the explanation you were given before. Her look on her face cycles through interest, shock, and then anger as you go on.
“So you’re saying my grandfather was killed by a jealous and unstable coworker?! Over some technology that might not even WORK?!” she yells, stomping her boots against the ground in rage. “That’s so…stupid! That’s not even a good reason to kill someone! Ugh! That’s it, we have to go find this Brinner guy.”
“I just got one thing to ask you Harley wwhen the hell did Papershoosh tell you that?”
“Oh, I did some sleuthing of my own! I have an acquaintance who’s really good with animals, so he convinced Jut to talk. But, I think he might have misinterpreted some of it…”
“No, wwhen? Because that gun fight wwas wwith crocodiles wwho wwere sayin he wwas dead.”
“Oh, that was, um, yesterday evening. After we departed.”
“Wwell sometime between wwhen you saww him and 11 o’ clock this morning this guy wwas killed an its probably by Brinner,” you deduce.
“Well then we have to go and get him right now! I have my car right here,” she says, showing you a cute little Volkswagon Bug. It’s painted bright green, to match her eyes.
“I think you’d probably not like your car wwith bullet holes. Wwe’ll take mine.”
***
Most of the car ride is spent in silence, seeing as neither of you wants to break the tension before you slam it over the head of Dr. Brinner.
Jade does ask you one question, though.
“So, that guy you were talking to earlier. Who was he?”
“Oh that guy’s a Dick,” you respond.
“Eridan! I was just asking who he was, not what kind of person he was!”
“No really he’s a Dick. Sonhearst Dick, to be exact,” you answer, clenching your teeth.
“Oh, the detective son of Ace Dick, right?” she responds, showing surprising knowledge.
“Yep, good one, Harley. Didn’t think you’d knoww that one”
“Heh, guess I’m full of surprises, huh?”
You really hope not. This case is going rough enough without any wily dames.
***
The apartment complex of Dr. Brinner isn’t in one of the nicer parts of the city. Even just stepping indoors, you can smell the rot and see the decay plastered everywhere. It’s disturbing, actually. The garbage doesn’t look like it’s been taken out this week. It’s an odd place for a man who apparently made millions on the patent. But it seems like the right place for a psychopath.
One you get to the third floor, you see that his door is ajar, and various papers are scattered from the doorway out into the hallway. All of them have unintelligible scribbles all over them from what you can see. Your heart begins to sink into your stomach.
“Eridan, what’s going on? Why the hell is his door open?”
“I don’t knoww, Harley. I don’t knoww”
You cautiously approach the doorway, prepared for crazy men with baseball bats aimed at your head. You ready your pistol, and throw yourself into the open door. There is no movement, except for the papers at your feet.
The apartment is a mess. Dr. Brinner did a number on this place. Notebooks lie strewn around the room, pages ripped from them and scattered over the couches. You pick up one of them on a whim, and read it. From the looks of it, Dr. Brinner believed that someone was watching him, jealous of his work, or something like that. Looks like he kept a journal of some sort, but it’s not like your journal at all. You let it fall to the ground. Paranoid fuck.
“Did he clean up at all? Jesus, I mean look at these coffee stains! They’re ingrained into his table! And the couch! And I don’t even want to open the fridge, I can smell it from here!”
You find your way into the bedroom. This place is in a similar state of disarray, however, the case being from clothing and bedsheets this time. Looks like he emptied his dresser of literally everything save some underwear and stuff. Also, a few bedsheets short of a full bed lay on top of his bed. Looks like he took some of those too. Shit. You’ve got a runner. You look through the drawers, hoping for a clue or something. Instead, you find a ring of keys, with a key for a Toyota. He didn’t even take his car with him? After a few moments of scouring the room, you return to the kitchen.
“He’s not here Harley,” you groan. “He fled. He must’ve knowwn wwe wwere comin”
“What?! How on Earth did he know that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I made a big fuckin deal outta this case just like evvery other case I’vve been a part of? Maybe because I can’t do undercovver to savve my life?!”
“Oh come on Eridan! Maybe there’s something in his work!”
“Jade there are literally thousands of pieces of paper here. That won’t do anything. Besides, they’re all crazy scrawwlins.”
[COLOR=#4AC925"]
“Well, hold on a second!”[/COLOR] she says, and then picks up her cell phone. After dialing a number, she holds up one finger, and begins talking to the people on the other end. “Hey, Kanaya, is Rose there? Yes, this is kind of urgent. Yeah, Rose, hey, I need to know where a Dr. David Brinner is. Uh huh. Alright.” She takes a moment to glance back at you, and gives a smile, seeming to say, don’t worry you miserable fuck up, I’ll make everything better! “Um, okay…Any updates? Nothing? But we’re at his apartment right now and he’s not here! You don’t know? Well thanks anyways, Rose,” she says, and hangs up. She picks up the phone again, and dials another number. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Officer Terezi Pyrope…”
A look of panic spreads over your face. What the hell?! She’s getting the police involved?
“Yes, hi Officer Pyrope, I was wondering if you had accosted a David Brinner? Oh, nothing, just wondering. A friend of a friend had mentioned him. He used to work with my grandfather. You haven’t? Okay, thank you anyway.” She hangs up the phone, and doesn’t even give you a chance to speak before she starts talking again, rambling in an attempt to cheer you up. “Look, let’s go to speak to the landlord or something! Maybe they know where Dr. Brinner went?”
They don’t. The crusty old landlady opens the door, curses that god damn trolls keep trying to invade on her turf, and then turns to Jade, who (thank god) is a human. She hasn’t seen the crazy old loon since he paid his rent last month, and nobody ever goes to see him. No one can stand him, and if he didn’t have money she’d kick him out in a day’s notice. She didn’t even know that he had up and left. Good riddance. At least he got the message.
You walk back to Dr. Brinner’s apartment and collapse on the floor. You start leafing through the paperwork on the ground, before giving up and throwing it in a crumpled heap. It’s useless. You don’t know what you were thinking, trying to cover a case 10 years old. All the leads you’d follow are dead by now, there’s no evidence, just a crazy old man who no one wants to be connected to. He didn’t leave by car, he didn’t let anyone know he was leaving, and no one knows where he is. You were this close. And now…Now your own client is calling the police for help because she doesn’t trust you to get the case done.
Aw shit, you’re fucking crying. Not hardboiled, not hardboiled at all. Problem Sleuth would be so disappointed in you right now. So fucking disappointed.
“Eridan, what are you doing?” asks Jade, as if she doesn’t know.
“Wwhat are you doin, Harley? Shouldn’t you be findin somebody else to wwork this case noww?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Just go find Sonhearst or go to the police. I failed you and you don’t trust me anymore.”
“What?! Is this because I made that phone call? I was just trying to further our case!”
“Yeah right wwe both knoww that wwe’vve reached a dead end an I’vve exhausted my resources. An further our case my ass.”
“Eridan you’re being overdramatic! I came to you, one of the supposedly worst detectives in the city, because I knew that I could depend on you to get it done! I knew that you had been taught by the very best!”
“And I’vve failed your expectations. And I failed Problem Sleuth. And fuck this isn’t evven hardboiled god damn it.”
“Eridan, stop. Why does it matter so much if it’s hardboiled or not? What do you have to prove?!”
“You wwant to knoww wwhat I havve to provve Harley? I’m goin to tell you a story real quick, an then you can tell me if I havve somethin to provve or not.”
Ugh, see, this is a section where I don't know if Eridan and Jade are believable anymore. what with Eridan breaking down because he's not use to this sort of case, and also segueing into my personal history of Eridan. I guess I'll try to get these out over the weekend, and hope that I can wrap this story up well.
Last edited by zebtrestalala; 07-04-2011 at 10:05 AM.
Nah, I think Eridan is believable. He's been trying to follow after Problem Sleuth's hardboiled legacy despite his often repeated (canon?) failings and now he's finally coming to grips with it. It's good development.
I was so inspired by all the new (amazing!) fanfiction I decided to try starting on an idea I've been thinking about for a while. Am I making Eridan and Sollux too annoying (Sollux in particular...)? I decided not to give Mr. Captor his lisp when typing since I found it sort of distracting from the information he was giving, and it's from his perspective, so I doubt it's as obvious to him. Constructive criticism most welcome ^^"
Her Blood Is Red: Chapters One & Two
She sighed, short and soft, then abruptly turned. “This happened on our watch. How?” she asked me, all business once again.
I squatted next to the nearest body and removed my glasses. The ground beneath my shoes was sticky with the chocolate sauce slipping quietly out of his circulatory system, each drop slowly adding to the puddle beneath him which ran together with the brown blood of the other corpse. “Genocide,” I whispered, the lisp-wrecked word a familiar ache, “smolders in the swim bladders of the nobility.”
I rotated enough to reach my partner’s wrist, and gently pulled her down next to me. She grabbed my shoulder for balance and set aside her cane. I pointed her hand to this poor victim’s fingernails. “Get a whiff of that, smelloscope,” I muttered, and released her. She cackled and, still holding my shoulder, leaned forward to sniff, her face only six inches or so away from the body. Quickly she recoiled, gagging, “Boisonberry.” I nodded, and remembered that she couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
My partner quickly straightened and held out her hand for her cane. I tossed it to her as she headed for the parked car, and she caught it without glancing back at me or running into the white-haired guy with shades blocking her path. Her reflexes weren‘t blind for sure. “I want Serket in the submarine right now,” she ordered, “If Zahhak so much as steps a foot near her, she has my blessing to try and tase him.”
“Officer!” an athletic woman with long hair and goggles gasped. My partner faced her with a wide grin and cackled, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, “Oh, don‘t worry, Miss Peixes; Officer Zahhak could use a good tickle! He‘s far too serious these days.”
She blindly patted the horrified Miss Peixes on the ear and slid into the car, motioning me to remain behind. “Call Serket. I’m going to have a chat with a private investigator with very expensive taste in scarves.”
“Pyrope, he could be responsible for this mess--and” I yelled as she started the vehicle, “--that is my car!”
***
In a few moments I was established as the driver, nimbly weaving between other moving vehicles on the freeway and angled towards the sea, and Pyrope had finished cackling madly about her little joke on me. She was talking to Serket on the walkie-talkie, which, of course, was upside-down.
As she hung up, I asked her, “What did you learn from the orphan-keeper?”
“Miss Peixes is a sea-dweller,” she responded, “and a correspondent of the private investigator. He was at the scene of the crime.”
“You’ll have to be careful on this interview,” I responded, my voice thick, “He can’t know he’s a suspect, just in case he's innocent and we can get some leads from him.”
Pyrope grinned wickedly, “Don’t worry about the Investigator and me. He bleeds top secret information as well as fruity boisonberry. Otherwise he might actually be a decent private eye.”
“Otherwise we would never be able to speak with him without losing faith in the quadrants,” I scoffed. “He’s a bigger drama queen than you.”
“Or you,” she retorted, giving me a friendly punch in the arm, “But his muscles are harder than yours.” I smirked and decided not to tell her that she’d hit the side of my chair, and instead asked as I checked my mirrors before a lane change, “Anything else from Miss Peixes?”
“Something interesting,” she said, “the grub at the scene? The color similarity between he and the adult should’ve suggested a tie, but you remember that nothing in the grub’s paperwork led us to the John Doe’s identity.”
“I know. What’s the point?”
“Shoosh! I will tell you now. The kid had no paperwork. It’s like one of those fairy stories. Someone dropped him off on Miss Peixes’s doorstep with a nametag and decided to ding-dong-ditch. That’s all she has on him.”
“Even I couldn’t find a birth certificate,“ I added. I’m a boss hacker. I’m simply the best that there is. I could be better, but, well, I mean, I’m pretty good, normally. I continued, “So no new news except for his name, I presume: it’s like he never even existed. What did she say his name was?”
Her quizzical mouth sloped down on “was.” Or, “wath.” “Rufio Summoner,” she informed me sadly.
“She saw no one, anywhere, nearby who he could’ve belonged to? Really?” I asked, skeptical. But Pyrope shook her head, “No one. This morning, also no one. She found a gentleman‘s monocle on the floor next to Rufio‘s crib, and called in at seven about a kidnapping, half an hour before Rufio and John Doe were killed.”
I turned onto a steep curve and began to follow the yellow stripes in the road down a canyon. We drove in silence. Out of my partner’s window was a beautiful view, of islands in the distance fuzzy with the green tops of trees and a teal calm that faded into the horizon, but I knew she couldn‘t see it, so I contained my wonder. “I smell salt,” she said. Hesitantly, and to my dread, she added, “Captor, what‘s it look like?”
I shrugged, and quickly responded, “It’s nothing big. Most of the people down here are too busy trying to create a master race to mow their lawns anyway.”
The private investigator’s house was certainly private. Most of the sea dwellers chose caverns beneath the ocean waves, but he chose a venue near the wealthy land-dwelling classes, which, from my conversations with him, were supposed to be full of intrigue and desecration of justice, instead of a bunch of stoned rich brats. Like him, plus slime. Minus gills and woman’s clothing. His home was in an apartment house, and his office was the foyer. It was the house of someone who wanted to live the life of the rich and famous, but hadn’t the pocket money. A large painting of a whale and military leader with gills, a three corner hat, and a beautiful woman who faded into the background was behind Ampora’s desk and coat rack, where never less than two silk scarves hung, depending on how decorous he felt that day.
In front of this frame and behind two thick black ones of his own was the devil himself, an ally I never liked and never would. I stiffened as I entered, and our eyes locked. His yellow-eyed gaze was condescending, and beneath his eyes were two deep cuts carved by insomnia. He was probably busy reading fashion magazines and blogging about the demise of low-bloods in the wee hours of the morning. This hipster was a sociopath, and a flamboyantly racist one at that. And, unfortunately, he seemed to find a lot of criminals in those magazines who I could put behind bars. Today, a part of me hoped that he wouldn’t be one of them. Most of me longed that he would be. I opened the door for Pyrope, who smiled.
“Hello, Investigator,“ she greeted him, as I said nothing.
“All of these years, Ter, and you still can’t call me by my first name?“ he whined. There was no other way to describe his speech aside from drawling. He moaned his words like an orca beast‘s mating call. “How about you, Sol? Don’t either of you like me enough to call me by my first name, too?” What was his first name...?
“I hear you are,” she said, striking a dramatic pose and ignoring him, and pointing at him with her cane, “An expert in the art of deductive reasoning. I will give you no more than three guesses to tell us why we are here.” She set down the point of her cane and leaned on it from her seat, grinning, all her teeth sharpened to gleaming white points.
“Not just to visit me, huh?” Ampora grumbled, shifting in his chair so that he would not sit on the edges of his cape, fuchsia like the caste which also covered him. “How’s that for deductive reasoning?”
“Good guess!” proclaimed Pyrope joyously, “But not specific enough.”
“Alright, then, what do you want? Whose dirt am I looking for today?” he asked.
“Does that mean you’re guessing that we’re looking to incriminate someone?” she asked. She was teasing him. I was thoroughly enjoying it.
“Yes, of course it does. You never actually come here to see me,” he groaned. “No one ever does. I mean, I’m just really lonely down here all by my lonesome. Seriously, tell me, whose dirt do you want? I’ll find you incriminating photographs of the Mayor and his secretaries, I’m so miserable.”
“Two guesses, both wrong!” she exclaimed, and sat down in the chair before his desk without being asked. “Why are we here, and what was that about photographs?”
“... Good gog, you aren’t actually here to visit me, are you?“ he asked, genuinely shocked. “I mean no one ever comes to visit me, and I’m so lonely down here.” He began to whine again, “I mean, the only other people are the sopor-addicts, and they glubbing wear pajamas to work--”
“We’re here to visit you,” Pyrope interrupted, her voice flat. Enough emotional theatrics.
“What? Really? Hold on, now,” Ampora said, suspicious, “What kind of game is this, Pyrope? You’re always playing games with me and my masculine little heart--couldn’t you just give me a straight answer this time?”
“I am giving you a straight answer,” she replied, still monotone, “My partner and I are here to visit you.”
“We can leave,” I added, grabbing the door handle again. It was a square door handle, and the angles pinched the inside of my palm when I gripped it.
“No, Sol, wait,” he blurted, rising from his chair, which couldn’t be described as anything but a gilt throne, “I’m glad you two came to visit me. Sit down.” Pyrope smiled. I did not, but I nestled into the green plastic bean bag offered me. Ampora continued to stand, and swept his cape back.
“We came by this morning,” cooed Pyrope from her chair, “But we didn’t see you. Were you in your office?”
“Of course,” replied Ampora miserably, “I’m always in the office during the week except when I take a short lunch break, but it’s not like I have anywhere else to go or anyone to meet with.”
“Don’t you leave for investigations?” I asked.
“Well, yes, there’s that,” he said quickly, and shifted his weight onto the other leg, “But those only take up so much of my time and I don’t like to be gone in case someone comes to visit, not that they ever do. Besides, I do most of my work on my computer, doing background checks, scouring the news, making connections with desperate female customers--er, of a strictly professional nature.”
“It was probably sort of rude of us to show up at seven thirty in the morning,” said Pyrope nonchalantly with a wave of her hand, “It was my fault. I thought your hours began at six.”
“They do,” Ampora said quizzically, “I was here.”
“You sure about that?” asked Pyrope, aghast, “Seven thirty?”
“Well, yea, like I said, I’m always here during my hours unless I’m investigating. It’s not like I sleep much,” Ampora explained. For a split second, my partner almost looked like she felt bad for the guy. The second passed quickly and she straightened in her plastic chair, crossing her legs.
“Did you have any visitors who could confirm that?” she asked, incredulous, “I didn’t smell you when we came up to the office.”
“Ter, could you give the nose thing a rest?” Ampora complained, leaning against the wall, “It’s pretty freaky. I mean, you’re really very good-looking aside from the creepy smelling number and I could totally find you attractive if it weren’t for that.”
I had a very snappy, rude comeback for him, but kept quiet while Pyrope continued with her investigation. If I knew anything about Pyrope it was that she could handle herself.
“Well, if I don’t smell nicely enough for the likes of you, I do have a date with justice,” she said coolly, jerking a thumb at the door again.
“Sorry, Pyrope, I mean, you’re still very good-looking. I’m just trying to help you out, you know. Nobody’s perfect but, you know, you,” he said, smiling, and holding out his forefinger and thumb, which pinched an imaginary inch of space, “are only this far away.” He winked. I was floored. This guy. Decent save? Okay, that impressed me.
“Smooth,” she said, grinning. “Now, you know I don’t mind if there’s another girl who’s a little bit closer than me in your life who’s also showing up at seven thirty. I like guys who are hard to get.” I saw in her blind face what Eridan might have missed, a big old “Hint. Hint. Hint” expression.
“Well, I mean, I do have frequent lady customers,” Ampora enthused as he moved back to his chair, “but really, there’s no one else who’s caught my eye right now that I can see myself with.” Two blind jokes in a row. Save squandered.
“Do you know a woman named Feferi Peixes?” I asked him. His eyes widened and Pyrope and I exchanged a look. Or I guess it was a sniff from her perspective. Now I was the one being insensitive.
“Seven thirty?” Pyrope asked him, giggling. “Aw, she’s pretty! That makes sense.”
“Good going, Ampora,” I smirked. He looked almost excited by this praise, and seemed not to have the faintest idea that this connection might seal his doom. My walkie-talkie suddenly crackled, and I almost jumped out of my beanbag. “Captor, this is Serket. Come in, Captor.” Oh Jegus. I excused myself and left Pyrope and Eridan once I figured out how to turn the square doorknob. Unfortunately for Terezi, the conversation I was about to have would leave us as confused about Eridan as he was about himself.
Chapter Two:
“Serket, this is Captor. What?” I said when I was reasonably sure no one sober was around. The manilla halls were empty in both directions, and there were only three apartment spaces on one side of the wall. I knew for a fact that Eridan’s last neighbor was a single woman who moved out to avoid the investigator’s midnight solicitations to, “drum up business, and that the third apartment was his living space.
“Oh thank Jegus it’s you. I couldn’t stand to talk to your blind creepy partner again this morning,” Serket nearly screamed, her voice eight decibels times that of a reasonable troll, “I took out the submarine this morning, not because I really think you guys are worth taking orders from but because I would’ve done the same thing if I was on your case. Luckily for you guys, the Empress likes me. This was her answer: your stupid little double homicide was just a double homicide.” I could envision the glare of her round glasses, mismatched horns, man’s uniform, and the horrible two-fanged smirk sketched in blue lipstick onto the lower half of her face.
“She completely dismissed the validity of this case?” I asked, horrified.
“No, actually, she brought me straight to G’lybg’lob,” Serket said proudly, “because I have all the luck.”
“Whoa, that is lucky,” I said, genuinely impressed, “What did G’lybg’lob tell you?”
“Bluh, I don’t know why,“ Serket whined--she was one of Ampora’s many exes--“but she said something about Aradia.”
I stiffened. G’lybg’lob knew who Officer Megido was? Why? Once she had been an excellent trainee, until the accident. I almost spoke, but Serket continued--and I could feel a vein in my temple begin to throb with the mustard hue of my blood, which now ran cold, as she did. “I mean, Aradia‘s not even a real person right now. She’s a psychopathic tin can--I mean, she’s a good cop and everything, but she’s dead, no more than a bionic zombie.”
“Apparently,” I hissed, wrestling with my temper for control, “G’lybg’lob thinks she’s more than that.”
“Well, whatever, she mentioned her,” retorted Serket defensively.
“What’s the point? What’d she say?” I asked, overcoming my anger for a moment. Pyrope was a good teacher. I was starting to get better at doing that.
“Well, hold on, let me tell you! Geez, you’re soooooo impatient,” Serket groaned like a teenager, “The lusus whispered, to me, noticeably, not you, or Aradia, me, that the answer to this riddle lies far away from the sea because the genocidal sea-freaks don’t care about low-blooded land dwellers; it’s the aristocracy they want to kill.”
“The blue-bloods? You and Equius?” I asked, suddenly a little concerned. I didn’t like Serket or believe in her silly luck mojo but sometimes she managed to do half-decent things for the force, and she was very powerful in combat against the worst criminals. I didn’t want her to get hurt despite myself.
“Yea,” she said, surprised, “I guess that’s why she wanted to talk to me, to warn me! My gog, Pyrope was trying to kill me! Captor, I am off this case.”
“She wasn’t trying to kill you,” I replied flatly, “Why would she send you out in a ten-boonbond submarine to kill you, anyway--those things are crucial to our undersea expeditions and cost a fortune to regain. All the same,“ I continued, shifting my weight to the other leg, “here’s another good reason why Zahhak never should’ve gotten onto this case.”
“Well, maybe,” she said, her voice still suspicious, but I could tell she was also relieved, “All the same, I am so not helping either of you anymore!”
“Apparently the case has nothing to do with the sea,” I told her, “But whatever you want. Now tell me what she said about Aradia.”
“I am off, Captor, and you will not convince me otherwise. I want to, you know, live! Gog, you never listen. She didn’t say anything about Megido; she just asked me if I knew her. But it’s G’lybg’lob. You know everything she whispers is significant. She‘s omnipotent, impartial to all trolls on land or sea, and she never, ever lies.”
“I still can’t get over that she actually wanted to talk to you,” I said, “That really was some bit of luck.”
“I told you, Captor!” she replied excitedly, “I have aaaaaaaall the luck. Tell Pyrope to go jump off a nice cliff for me, if she and her nose can actually find one. Serket is a survivorrrrrrrrr. And out.” The walkie-talkie was silent. I turned on my heels and was about to slip back into Ampora’s office when a crack of shadow suddenly appeared in the door frame. A hinge’s creak and Pyrope’s grinning face emerged soon after.
“You done?” she whispered. I nodded, and quickly said, “Yeth.”
“You know I can smell you nod, right?” she giggled, slipping out from behind the door, which she closed quietly behind her. She continued to whisper, “He pulled that old harpoon on me, so I had to knock him out. He was definitely at the scene of the crime, with the orphan keeper, so I don’t think we’ll be using his consulting abilities this time around. Miss Peixes was definitely covering for him. For some reason he was kind of unforthcoming about details today.” Miss Peixes, I remembered as my partner, without looking, touched her finger to the elevator's down button, was a sea dweller. But she was clearly protecting Ampora... also a seadweller. If not the investigator, erhaps we could find something more out about that "no one" who left a monocle behind at Rufio's cradle. We were running short on clues which had once seemed so plentiful, thanks to the omnipotent.
“Well,” I sighed, “G’lybg’lob doesn’t seem to think it’s him. Let’s go speak with Miss Peixes again. I’ll explain in the car.”
Pyrope, once briefed, abandoned me for her lunch break. She was pretty vague about her reasons, as per usual, but mentioned that she’d nearly tripped over something at the crime scene that she wanted to investigate on the side. For once, Pyrope promised me she’d explain if she found something, so I didn’t put up a fuss.
In the mean time, I went by myself to visit Miss Peixes from the crime scene. I heard the dying words of dozens every day thanks to my mutant psychic brain, but most of those were screams of pain, and I was an abysmal profiler. I flunked profiling in cop school. Miss Peixes would’ve been a mystery to an average troll, a very high-profile sea dweller working on the low side of town caring for orphans whose blood could never border blue, and very rarely even reached green, but if Vriska was right, perhaps the low-caste area was appealing because of her hatred for blue-bloods. Maybe she was trying to avoid all the crazies in her own caste, so she came to live with the low. Martyrdom and all that. Trolltarians don’t actually exist. Well, actually, Ampora did mention some cannibals living in his neighborhood, but beyond that, nothing even comes close. I had no idea what her motive was.
She didn’t plan to clue me in, either. I got about five minutes with Miss Peixes’ goggles in the doorframe of her clean but broken-down fixer-upper. Most of those five minutes were interrupted by the gargles both joyful and distraught of wigglers inside.
“Oh my--he looks beautiful, Thetis, but Noxylf is not a pretty princess! You did such a good job putting it on his face--can you take it off now? Sorry, Officer, what was that?” she asked, perfectly chipper, poking her head back through the doorway. “Haha, it’s always chaos back there! I love it!” she added joyfully.
“I had some questions about a man named Ampora!” I tried to raise my voice above the squalor behind her. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, Judich, but that’s a very good question! Hey, how about you go ask your pandad plush? There you go! Uh, Ampora? Yea, we were moirails once upon a time,” she replied distractedly. “What about him?”
“My partner who interviewed you this morning and I believe he might’ve been at the crime scene,” I informed her through the crack she left me in her door. “Has he visited you recently?”
“Well, you know what, Officer, he really hasn’t! I don’t know why he wouldn’t come visit but he doesn’t--Thetis, please don’t!--hey, Mister Captor, you know, I’m really very excited about all the work the force has been doing to keep justice in the city and be fair to all trolls regardless of caste--” What? What force was she talking about? Had I actually been working fast food for the past decade? “--but, uh, I already talked to Officer Serket about Eridan!” I made a mental note of the Private Investigator’s first name. She continued as someone in the background began to wail, “perhaps you could, uh, talk to her? I’m afraid I’m really busy right now!”
After that I headed back to the station, feeling pretty crumby. I had a headache. None of that was a change of pace for me, unfortunately. I wondered what Pyrope was doing for lunch. I figured I should probably do some work, too, and I called up an old buddy from my days on the edge of the law. I never did anything grossly illegal, but there are some things every habitual hacker has to find a good lawyer for, and my protege at the time since had become involved in other activities which landed him in the slammer as often as anything else. Kid never got on with lawyers. I only got on with them half the time, but that half the time got me a job in law enforcement. Still, chump though he was, Karkat Vantas was my best friend, and in exchange for the scrapes I let him out of sometimes if Pyrope wasn’t loo--watc--I mean, paying attention, he would sometimes tip me off about the underground bosses.
When I arrived back at the station, I headed straight to the donuts, as all officers of the law are prone to do on quick return from a hard morning’s work. I wasn’t planning on eating, but hoped that Officer Serket would be having one of her usual fights over the coconut glaze. No one else liked them. Still, we had to buy eight for her every morning. Did she actually eat all of them? I mean, I knew she and Zahhak were close, but she didn’t seem disgusting enough to share protein shakes with him or anything.
Serket was noticeably absent from the clean, gray front desk where a pink box of donuts still contained--I counted--yup, eight coconut glaze. There were also two with sprinkles. The secretary was probably also out for lunch, if we had one. Did we?
With wide eyes and bandaged head was a troll about my age near the entrance. He was in a wheelchair, maybe from blood loss, or perhaps from a previous condition. I couldn’t tell. His horns were too large, I could immediately see, to fit through the sliding glass doors. His expression of panic concerned me in combination with his bandage. “Need any help, sir?” I asked gruffly. Manners were not really my thing.
“I, um, no, I’m okay,” said he, unsure of his words, and grabbing the arms of his wheelchair, he lifted himself slightly. Without moving his legs, he settled back down again. “Sure about that?” I asked, nodding to his feet, clad in socks and sandles. Dr. Maryam should’ve been somewhere nearby. I scanned the office, but saw no sign of the kindly medical. “I don’t mind,” he shook his head, the massive horns swaying dangerously, but he gave me a small smile. “Someone’s helping you?” I repeated, but I didn't ask it like a question. He nodded, “I’m, uh, waiting for... someone.” No one said “someone” referring to Dr. Maryam. She was big on manners and psychology crap. I was scared to talk to her, everyone said she was so easy to be comfortable with.
“Who, an officer?” I asked, now curious, “Long hair, one bent horn, round glasses?”
“Uh, oh, you mean, Officer Serket, um, well,” he stumbled, “I know her, but, no, I’m just waiting by, um, myself, thanks.”
“She’s not here?” I asked him.
“No, no, she’s not,” he said. I was beginning to become suspicious. People were not my strong point, but I knew a liar when I saw one, even if I felt really bad for the liar, who looked like someone kicked his head with a metal shoe.
Chapter Four: ==> Reader: Abandon Captor. Engage a more interesting perspective.
Though she would be flattered, she supposes, by your attention, she is busy orchestrating the demise of the wicked.
No she isn’t. This is an entirely different woman, Officer Aradia Megido, and she is not busy at all orchestrating the demise of the wicked, though she also abandoned her dashing, mustard-blooded, sarcastic, and invariably depressed partner who has grown dreary of your attention and directed you to me, the third person narrator, who is nameless. He needed a few moments to be alone, but those moments aren’t really important to the plot of the story.
Officer Megido, having a brain full of metal and a joy-liver full of empty, cannot be viewed in the first person. Instead, we shall observe, together. Perhaps she will tell us what she knows.
As Officers Pyrope and Captor exited the condominium of one conspicuous little culigulantee--he wishes; at least, I believe he does wish to be so, though I think he was flirting from a whole nother quadrant’s perspective at the time--Officer Megido was exiting another building: the home of both her partner and repairman, Equius Zahhak. When she was young and restless--if by restless you mean completely out of control when it came to the emotions a teenage soul-bot figure is equipped with--they had a passionate affair which didn’t fall into any quadrant Officer Megido would be interested in naming. Now that she has become used to the psychopathic tendencies which come with blue-bloodedness, she only feels like either killing or kissing him once every two months or so. He seems to feel like doing mostly the latter most of the time, but there is another, somewhere in the universe, out there for whom each of them is destined. Due to the psychic abilities she has always been privy to, especially after death, Megido is aware of such things long before she knows their significance. Oh, yeah. The most important thing you should know about Officer Megido. Though walking, talking, and fighting crime among the best on the Alternia City Police Force, Officer Megido fits Officer Serket’s description of her as a “bionic zombie” uncomfortably well.
She is as dead as a doornail.
“It is a relief that I was able to make the necessary alterations to your circulatory system,” her hulking, sweaty partner told her as he slowly, gently pushed the handle of his front door behind him, “Which prevented you from the same fate as Captor and those two killed in our double homicide.”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]Fate, unfortunately,[/COLOR]” she replied monotonously, “[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]was largely unaffected by those alterations.[/COLOR]”
“I do not think you realize what I’ve done for you,” gasped Zahhak. “Would you rather be the way you were, from a cast so hideous to society that none could gaze upon you in all your perfection?”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]Perfection did not seem so important, perhaps, when I was young. I do not have many memories of what was important, and unimportant. Too much emotional value is placed on such things for my memory as it is now to process them.[/COLOR]”
“Captor seems to place a good deal of emotional value upon imperfection,” sneered Zahhak, who tucked a greasy strand of his long hair once again beneath his cap, and cringed, bracing himself. The door closed with a small click.
He relaxed and removed his hand from the handle, which was now dented into the shape of Zahhak’s palm and forefinger. Megido decided that he was not meant to notice this detail, and walked to the car. She could teleport and was strong enough, now that she’d had her joints oiled, to carry him, but the car was a formality and the force paid money for it. In it they drove.
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]Zahhak, am I perfect?[/COLOR]” Aradia asked. She was not sure why she phrased this as a question, but she was sure she would discover the significance eventually. She knew the answer. She wouldn't tell you if you asked.
“Of course, in every way,” he replied. “I engineered your design when I was newly wriggled but have never changed it.”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]Co-engineered,[/COLOR]“ she corrected him. He grimaced. “Yes,“ Officer Zahhak replied, “Co-engineered. Vriska Serket was useful in her knowledge about the apocalypse which you seem to obsess over so thoroughly.“
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]It is impossible, then, for my soul to be removed?[/COLOR]” she inquired, her expression unreadable.
“Fear not, sweet Aradia,” he replied, smiling, all nine of his unbroken teeth showing, “I made certain that such a thing would never be possible.”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]I do not fear,[/COLOR]” she said, her tone unchanged, as it had been unchanged for the past ten years. “[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]I have not felt fear in a very, very long time. Irritation is the closest thing I have experienced that I can remember.[/COLOR]”
“Though I still do not see why your gutter-blooded old friend,” Zahhak hissed from the passenger’s seat--it would not do for him to perform the same number on the steering wheel he’d just performed on his own door handle--”was so very irritated by the death of two insignificant fudge-bloods. That case was under my control. It was assigned to us. We were meant to solve it for the force, which gives us orders. I am behooved by his disruptive and emotional foulplay, no matter how straight-forward it may have seemed. And you, why did you not intervene? Why did you let him have it? I command you to reveal to me your secrets.”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]Though you are not psychic and I often excuse such strange commands to this fact, past experience should tell you that this command is futile,[/COLOR]” Aradia informed her partner, “But I did not speak because you were not meant to solve this case, and he was.”
“What? That puny mutant freak with muscles the width of sticks and blood the color of warm piss, was destined to steal my case. This is what you suggest, Aradia?”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]I never suggest. I only deliver, but a messenger to the voices which privelege me to information. I am but an instrument to the powers which empower me. As are you, and as are we all, for better or worse, though most likely the latter. And yes,[/COLOR]” she answered, “[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]he is, for he will orchestrate chains of events you could not touch, and he will not notice details you could. The fates make sport of Captor and do not notice you at all.[/COLOR]”
“Aradia,” he asked, confused, “Is this case meant not to be solved at all?”
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]It will be solved. At about the same time,[/COLOR]” she said, swerving calmly to avoid a haphazard pedestrian with wild hair and an angry frown, “[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]this case reaches resolution, in fact, Captor will contact you on that walkie-talkie. He will have received a message from one whose death was once imminent, a message that is ironic in that it will reach him when the reverse is true.[/COLOR]”
“Captor hears the voices of those who are about to die,” said Zahhak, a question almost in his voice. He was fairly sure that this was true but could not remember for sure. “It is a psychic power sometimes used by the gutter-blooded low-castes?” Aradia indicated yes with no more than a swift nod of her bobbly head.
“[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]When I was about to die my voice called out to him as well,[/COLOR]” she revealed. “[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]But he has not yet heard it. When he does, he will speak with you.[/COLOR]”
“I shall be ready,” Zahhak told her, surprised that she'd told him something personal, though for what he was to be ready, Zahhak hadn’t the slightest idea. At this point in his partnership with Aradia, he knew better than to ask what she meant. He would know when it was important for him to know. She, understanding this, smirked, but barely. A split second passed and her face returned to its normal state, “[COLOR="rgb(139, 0, 0)"]Zahhak, you never answered my question. Is there a way in which my soul could escape this bot?[/COLOR]”
“I command you to cease asking such questions about your design,” he replied firmly, sweating profusely.
Aradia said no more, but thought to herself--I can read her thoughts, you know, even if I cannot make her express them herself or break the fourth wall for the time being--that she knew what the outcome of this conversation would be, though not why questioning her creator was significant. She had known all along that finding Officer Serket was the only way to discover what she needed to know about her tin can’s design. It was a pity that Equius would not be more forthcoming, however, as Officer Serket would soon, like a spider, creep into a den the outside world could only perceive as a hairline crack, and make herself very difficult to find.
Er, actually, I would much appreciate it if someone else could get the page started. I'm not too familiar with how to start pages. I will most definitely work on it once started, though.
I'm on the case. Incidentally, is there anyone here who would allow me to use their fan art as the page's picture? I don't have any of my own and can't use any without permission.
I'm not sure having Maggie as the picture works. She's an original character, granted, but she isn't very representative of the universe as a whole. She's relatively minor, especially recently. It'd be like if I edited the Star Wars page to make the image a picture of Chewbacca. Not illustrative of the series.
I'd have used Sollux and Terezi, since they're more or less the main characters. Anyone else have any ideas?
Last edited by Captain Lhurgoyf; 06-16-2011 at 01:42 PM.
Ach! Hans, run! It's the lhurgoyf! AVGN Quote of the Moment-I-Have-Time-To-Update-It: "When we heard that a Ghostbusters game for Nintendo was coming out, we were so excited, we shit our pants! Literally, shit came out our asses and we rocketed through the roof! "
Totally believeable for both of them~
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Originally Posted by hexirex21
