MSPA Fanfiction V: We're Going to Need More Wands

[lantadyme]

I think I'm stuck in 'just after [S] Make Her Pay' mode. Here's a weird thing with Sollux.

Just Pretend

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The second half of the headache is always worse than the first. The first half is all build-up, fire throbbing and pulsing and aching through his skull, but that Sollux can handle. It's the second half that always breaks him, when it feels like his skull is about to cleave in two and then his eyes go wrong; they see in red and blue respectively and bleed a gradient of purple through his line of sight. The colors nauseate him. He can barely even open his eyes. He curls up on his floor clutching his stomach and prays to every prophet imaginable that it will end soon.

He's kind of irritable like this.

Friends start pinging his damn computer and every little note it sings only makes his head pound harder, louder, the pain near deafening except for that pinging noise. They each have their own sound and he knows who's accosting him like this—there will be hell to pay when the purple fades from his vision and he gets over this migraine. You will suffer, KK. You will suffer.

But then a different noise pings and that can't be right, that can't be right, it's utterly fucking impossible because—

Because she's dead.

He killed her.

His head spins, his vision swimming with violet and maroon, and he can feel his stomach turning over and over like a flopping fish but he pushes his palms into the carpet and crawls over to his computer anyway.

The pounding in his skull ratchets up the agony the farther from the floor he is. Leaning against his computer desk he rests his forehead on the chair, breathing and his mind racing. Because this is impossible. There's no way this is happening. It has to be a trick; some grubfucker he knows from his hacking forums has broken down his firewalls and changed someone's ping MP3. That's what it is. He will end that asshole when he finds out who it is.

Except it sings quietly out of his speakers again and Sollux swallows down around his nausea and hauls himself up into his computer chair. It feels like he weighs a thousand million mass-units when his head is splitting like this. He sits there with his stomach churning and he reaches for the mouse.

Because what if it really is her?

All the lights in the room are off and as he kills the plain black screensaver the sudden colors of the monitor lance into his eyes like daggers. The light makes everything worse, makes the nausea and the pounding and spinning loud like rocket engines in his ears. Sollux fights to keep the lack-of-anything in his stomach down.

But when he looks through his purple-smeared vision, squinting in the head-splitting monitor glow, he doesn't see someone else's screen name. He doesn't see someone else's text color. Even with the purple in his eyes, he knows that color. He knows it. And it's the surprise more than anything that shatters his control and ends in him puking into the trash can next to his desk.

Throwing up is the worst. It leaves him feeling disgusting and exhausted and every heave only makes his head throb harder. He's crying when he finally stops, and he's not sure if it's from the pain or the utter shock of seeing her words again, but he wipes pitifully at his mouth and his eyes and he reaches for the keyboard.

-- apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --

AA: s0llux
AA: n0 need t0 hurry
AA: im 0kay with waiting
AA: take y0ur time
TA: aradiia?
AA: ah there y0u are
TA: oh my god, you're aliive??
TA: where did you go?
TA: ii looked everywhere for you.
TA: ii've taken that 2tupiid long a22 triip out two your hiive liike 2iix tiime2 2earchiing under every 2tone for you.
TA: where have you been?
AA: i needed s0me time t0 myself
AA: and y0u w0uldnt have f0und me anyway
TA: what, were you hiidiing your2elf underground agaiin or 2ome 2hiit?
TA: fuck, ii dont even care, aradiia.
TA: are you okay? do you need anything?
AA: n0
AA: im 0kay
AA: im 0kay with a l0t 0f things n0w
AA: alth0ugh it 0ccurs t0 me thats n0t exactly what y0u mean with that questi0n
TA: what'2 that 2uppo2ed two mean?
AA: y0u are asking if im hurt 0r s0mething
TA: of cour2e ii'm a2kiing that.
TA: ii
TA: 2hiit.
TA: diid you 2ee what happened? when your hiive and everythiing exploded?
AA: 0f c0urse s0llux
AA: i was there
TA: oh.
TA: 2hiit aradiia.
TA: iit wa2n't me, okay? ii don't even remember how ii got 2o far from my hiive.
TA: iit wa2 the 2tupiid fuckiing miind honey.
TA: ii don't even know how ii got iit iin my mouth.
AA: s0llux
TA: ii would never hurt you on purpo2e.
TA: plea2e beliieve me?
TA: 2hiit, thii2 miigraiine ju2t
TA: you have no iidea how much ii fuckiing de2pii2e my2elf for beiing 2uch an iintegral piiece of 2erket'2 plan two murder you.
TA: ii helped tz wiith 2ome 2hiity revenge plot that ii gue22 worked becau2e 2he'2 fuckiing armle22 now and lackiing 2even eye2.
TA: iit doe2n't even begiin two make me any le22 guiilty, though.
AA: s0llux st0p
TA: you're probably endle22ly pii22ed at me and ii under2tand.
TA: fuck, how can ii even po22iibly begiin two apologiize for 2omethiing liike thii2?
AA: st0p typing
TA: okay, ii'll 2hut up for a 2econd 2iince ii'm only 2oundiing more pathetiic wiith each liine.
AA: i didnt message y0u s0 y0u c0uld ap0l0gize
AA: i d0nt blame y0u
TA: you don't?
AA: n0
AA: i hear the v0ices better like this and they t0ld me the truth behind what happened
AA: im 0kay with what happened s0llux
AA: i think i sh0uldnt be but i am 0kay with it
TA: waiit, 2o you're diifferent now? ii2 that what you're 2ayiing?
AA: i supp0se i am a bit different
AA: but i messaged y0u because y0u need t0 kn0w im 0kay
AA: i kn0w h0w y0u are
AA: y0u tend t0 beat y0urself up f0r things y0u sh0uldnt
AA: and if y0u keep m0ping s0me things that sh0uld happen might n0t
TA: what?
TA: thii2 ii2 a 2hiity hollow pep talk?
AA: yes
TA: ii fuckiing kiilled you aradiia. week2 ago.
TA: or diidn't apparently 2iince we're talkiing riight now.
TA: you diidn't talk two me for niights and now you 2uddenly pop iin out of 2omewhere 2pooky and my2tiical and tell me to 2uck iit up and 2top 2ulkiing?
AA: y0ure angry
AA: i can alm0st remember anger
TA: ii don't under2tand, aradiia.
AA: i kn0w s0llux
AA: i d0nt have time t0 explain n0w th0ugh
TA: waiit.
TA: 2hiit, don't ju2t dii2appear agaiin.
AA: im s0rry i have t0 g0
TA: can ii come 2ee you??
AA: n0 s0llux
AA: g00dbye

-- apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --

TA: aradiia waiit!
TA: 2hiit!!

The pain in his head hasn't ebbed any, pounding with hot agony, and Sollux is shaking as he leans back in his chair and keeps staring at the screen. It hurts. The light rips straight through his eyes into the back of his skull and he can't stop crying. He doesn't have the energy to sob but the tears trace down his face in honey rivulets and his hands tremble from more than just the pain.

She's alive?

Even now, even having spoken to her, he struggles to believe it. It's some trick of the migraine. It's absolute insanity because he's never even seen Aradia angry before, but not having her livid and spouting murderous spite at him has his mind spinning with confusion. She had trusted him and he'd brutally murdered her. She should want him dead; suffering and impaled in a puddle of his ugly mustard blood with her standing over him as he begs her to just end it all. That makes sense to him. Pain and black loathing are a familiar daily routine for Sollux.

He hates himself so much for her death, and she isn't even the slightest bit annoyed? The puzzle pieces fit together wrong and the air hitches in his throat, the first little hiccup of his emotional turmoil, and he swallows that down and looks away.

Maybe what he hates the most is that he's furious with her for it—for not hating him. He is intensely fucking pissed, snarling and raging and the pull of those facial muscles only making his head throb harder. No one is blaming him for her death and somewhere deep inside he needs someone to. He needs someone to hate him with all the boiling black rage they can muster, if only so he can stop doing it himself and finally move on.

Karkat pings him again and Sollux growls, his hands curved into claws on his desk as he stands up and flips it viciously over onto his floor, monitor and papers and grubs shattering and spilling everywhere.

---

It takes an hour for the migraine to fade. He spends it curled on his floor shaking and by the time the last of the lavender has left his vision, Sollux isn't nearly as angry anymore. Now he's upset with himself for being so callous and it reminds him so much of his retarded conversations with Karkat that he wants to kick himself. Idiot. At least she'd left before he'd blown up at her in blind rage. Doesn't make him feel any better about it, though.

He's always ravenous when the headaches end. He stuffs his face with dried meat and chips and sugary pink cola, rubbing at his eyes as the last of the red and blue fades out of his vision. He feels like the bottom of a municipal drainage ditch and when he finally flicks his lights back on and stares at the mess of computer parts he'd dumped all over his floor, he doesn't have the energy to be pissed at himself.

Whatever. It's done. Might as well clean it up and get it over with.

The monitor is more or less fine but his speakers are ruined and that's annoying. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to steal them from an asshole neighbor of his on the twentieth floor. Sollux sets them both aside for later when he can find his soldering kit and maybe fix whatever circuit break has shorted them out. He hooks the monitor back up to his computer tower and there are Karkat's chat windows on the screen, five of them because of course that stupid bulgestain would pick now to throw a shitty virus Sollux' way. Moron. He wants to be mad but he can't be because at least all that angry grey capslock has covered up Aradia's window.

The one he knows he'll never be able to make himself close.

He finishes picking up his room and then stands in the middle of it. Weighing options. Because he could answer Karkat and argue with him for an hour and eventually get the idiot to talk him out of the insane thing he's planning. He could do that. God knows he's talked Karkat out of more than a few extremely dumb ideas and he could throw mister grey text a bone with this one and let him even out the odds.

Or he could just go see her.

It would be faster and easier. Maybe not smarter, but Sollux is the smart guy. He's smart all the time. He figures he's due for a really fantastically stupid decision and he might as well make it this. It's not like he's going to get horribly murdered or anything.

He digs a husktop out of a pile of stuff and clips a carrying strap to it. And yeah, he should probably not do this. She told him not to go see her. But he leaves his block anyway and takes the elevator down thirty-five floors to the street.

It takes a lot of energy to fly himself all the miles out there. She'd been happy to live in the country near her caves so she could dress up in her silly explorer's outfits and get them all grimy with cave mud as she wandered through them with wide, fascinated eyes. Sollux had never really understood that about her, the need to get out and look at things, the ability to see beauty in the oddities of nature. Aradia had always told him it was because he was an oddity himself (although Sollux prefers the term 'cracked-out bifurcated monstrosity'). Maybe that had been why she'd liked him. He doesn't know.

He's tired and a bit winded as he finally catches a glimpse of the crater that used to be her hive. From the air it looks like a bomb went off, the ground still blackened by curling energies even after all these weeks. The crater itself is yards deep, shards of shattered metal and building materials thrown everywhere for at least a mile. He always expects it to be smoking, but it's not.

(In his memory it's always smoking and there's red blood all over his clothes.)

His bicolored sneakers sink into the ash, sending rocks tumbling, and Sollux feels so small standing in the middle of all this apocalyptic devastation. He did this. He destroyed everything. He'd never really grasped how powerful he is until he'd woken up from his mind honey trance and seen the havoc his fucked-up brain dynamics had funneled through his eyes—enough psychic energy to decimate an entire hive. Probably a lot more than just one hive.

More than enough to vaporize one low-blooded troll girl.

"Aradia?" he calls, and even now he can't raise his voice over a hushed whisper. It feels like trespassing. She'd told him not to come.

The husktop slung at his side pings with her note and Sollux freezes. A message from a ghost. It sends a feeling of cold dread down his spine and he has to make himself take shorts steps over to a displaced boulder and set the computer down on top of it.

-- apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --

AA: s0meh0w i knew y0u w0uldnt listen
TA: well 2orry iif ii haven't 2een you iin age2. that'2 only half my fault, you know.
AA: i th0ught y0u blamed y0urself entirely
AA: y0u were rather explicit ab0ut it
TA: yeah, well you know how fuckiing pathetiic ii am when ii'm iin the miiddle of a miigraiine.
TA: ii'd blame myself for every a22hole 2piirit that 2iing2 hii2 comiing doom iin my head at that poiint.
TA: iignore that, though. where are you? let me 2ee you.
AA: y0u cant see me s0llux
TA: ii under2tand that you're 2tiill pii22ed wiith me. ii don't really expect you two not want two riip my throat out or 2ome 2hiit liike that.
TA: ju2t let me 2ee you 2o ii know you're okay, aradiia. ii promii2e ii won't even touch you.
AA: i already told y0u im n0t angry
AA: i d0nt really remember h0w t0 be angry
AA: but y0u cant see me
TA: 2hiit, are you goiing two make me crawl on my 2tomach and beg?
TA: fiine, fiine, whatever. ii de2erve iit.
TA: plea2e, aradiia, let me 2ee you.
TA: ii've been 2eriiou2ly fucked up 2iince ii realiized you were dead and ii hone2tly need two know you're aliive and not 2ome criippled ma22 of bleediing grubmeat 2ta2hed underground 2omewhere.
TA: ii know that 2ound2 liike a22hole 2arca2tiic giibberii2h, but for once iit'2 actually not.
TA: plea2e let me 2ee you.
AA: s0llux
AA: fine i will c0me up
AA: i d0nt think y0u will see me th0ugh
TA: give me 2ome crediit. ii'm not bliind yet.
AA: l00k t0 y0ur left
TA: are you 2eriiou2? ii'm fuckiing lookiing 2traiight on iin that diirec

And then he sees it. He fucking sees it—an amorphous blob of something floating just footsteps from where he stands. It's off-red and terrifyingly eerie, tendrils of ectoplasmic goo spiraling off in blobs and dissolving straight into the air. For a mind-numbing second Sollux forgets to breathe. For a second he stands there with terrified icy spider's feet running up and down his spine. A cold sweat breaks out over his entire body and he wants nothing more in the world than to run as fast as he can in the other direction, get away from it, put distance between himself and it because he can taste the pure concentration of raw apocalypse emanating from it.

From Aradia.

His hands tremble, still perched prim over the keyboard. He swallows hard around the sour paranoid fear rising up from his stomach, and Sollux sets two shaking fingers against his glasses and pulls them aside. He stares wide-eyed in horrified rapture, feeling the deep psychic hollowness washing out of it like an ocean, and when he finally remembers to breathe again the only words he can manage are squeaking sounds.

Ghost, he wants to say, but all he can think is demon.

She vanishes into thin air, her presence evaporating from his psionic vision, and in that second of gaping reality he slams the husktop's lid closed and tears off into the sky as fast as his powers can carry him.

---

Later:

-- twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

TA: fuck.
TA: kk.
TA: damn iit, kk, would you an2wer me??
TA: ii really need 2omeone to conviince me ii haven't 2tepped off the deep end.
TA: ii 2eriiou2ly feel liike ii've taken a 2pectacular jump off the fuckiing hiighboard and am currently 2wiimmiing iin a 2ea of 2hiitty my2tiical voodoo crap and iit ii2 2cariing the hell out of me.
TA: ii 2wear there are riipper2harks iin here tryiing to eat me, man.
TA: me and thii2 worthle22 unraveliing metaphor.
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?
TA: oh god, there you are.
CG: ARE YOU ON FUCKING DRUGS?
CG: HOW HIGH DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO FILL MY FUCKING CHAT WINDOW WITH THIS SHIT?
CG: I GET ENOUGH OF THIS BULLSHIT WITH THAT CLOWN FUCKER WHO WON'T STOP YAPPING HIS GODAWFUL GAPING PROTEIN CHUTE AT ME.
CG: YOU KEEP THIS UP AND I WILL DROP YOU LIKE A HOT STEAMING LOAD OF HOOFBEAST MANURE AS A BEST FRIEND.
TA: fuck, kk, lii2ten two me for a 2econd you bulgefiiend.
CG: YOU BABBLE INCOHERENT SHIT ABOUT MIRACLES AND I WILL CLOSE THIS WINDOW SO FUCKING FAST IT WILL MAKE YOUR BIFURCATED HEAD SPIN.
TA: 2hut up or ii wiill go talk two your freaky a22 giirlfriiend iin2tead.
TA: ii am that fuckiing de2perate, dude.
CG: FUCK, DON'T TALK TO HER. THAT'S JUST CREEPY. YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE HER.
TA: ii don't dii2liike her, 2he'2 ju2t a p2ycho biitch nutjob who liike2 two iinvade my per2onal 2pace and liick my glasses whiile ii'm 2tiill weariing them.
CG: DID SHE ACTUALLY DO THAT?
TA: ye2, why would ii liie about 2omethiing a2 fucked up a2 that?
TA: but that'2 not the poiint, lii2ten two me you giigantiic a22hole!
CG: OKAY, FUCK.
TA: aa'2 not dead.
CG: LIKE FUCK SHE'S NOT.
CG: I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR RETARDED DOOM PROPHET BULLSHIT DREAMS TELL YOU, ARADIA'S SOMEONE'S FUTURE LUSUS' SHITPILE BY NOW.
TA: god, that ii2 a hiideou2 iimage, kk.
TA: iit ii2 actually kiind of up2etting me. ii am 2uch a huge pan2y riight now.
TA: but anyway, 2he me22aged me a couple of hour2 ago and ii went out there two 2ee her.
CG: SHE DID NOT YOU FUCKING WASTE OF AIR.
CG: YOU SAID YOU HAD HER PATHETIC WEAKSLIME RED BLOOD ALL OVER YOUR HANDS SO HOW COULD SHE POSSIBLY BE ALIVE?
TA: 2he'2 not dead but 2he kind of ii2.
TA: 2hiit, maybe ii'm fiinally crazy. took me long enough.
TA: ii 2aw thii2 2pooky red gho2t thiing floatiing out there by her hiive.
TA: iit 2cared me half iintwo my fuckiing deathcave but ii 2wear iit wa2 her.
TA: ii would 2take my liife on iit.
CG: WELL IF YOU'RE SO DAMN CONVINCED, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, FUCKASS?
CG: OH THAT KARKAT, HE THINKS HIMSELF INTO FUCKING ASS BACKWARD IDIOCY LOOPS ALL THE GODDAMN TIME, MIGHT AS WELL GO ASK THAT MORONIC DOUCHEBAG TO TWIST MY CRIPPLING MIGRAINE THINKSPONGE INTO BELIEVING I'M NOT SUCH A FUCKING RETARD.
CG: YOU SEE SPOOKY SHIT ALL THE TIME, SOLLUX.
CG: WHY ARE YOU FLIPPING YOUR FUCKING LID THIS TIME AND NOT EVERY OTHER TIME?
TA: ii don't know, man. iit wa2 her.
CG: OH GODDAMNIT! IT WAS NOT HER! SHE'S DEAD, AND EVEN IF YOU DID SEE HER GHOST, WHO GIVES A FUCK?
CG: HERE'S A HINT, ASSWIPE: NOT ME!!!!!
TA: god, you are the wor2t friiend, vanta2.
CG: ALL I HEAR IS A NOOKSUCKING YELLOW-BLOOD BITCHING WITH HIS DEFORMED TONGUE, SPRAYING SALIVA ALL OVER HIS FUCKING MONITOR.
CG: IT WASN'T HER.
CG: YOU NEED ME TO SAY IT AGAIN?
CG: IT WASN'T FUCKING HER.
CG: DUMPASS.
CG: NOW GO SIT WITH YOUR WORTHLESS MORONIC LUSUS AND TRY TO ABSORB SOME OF HIS CRIPPLING STUPIDITY UNTIL YOU BELIEVE ME.
TA: ii mu2t be pa2t the poiint of no return becau2e ii'm actually con2iideriing thii2 fuckiing retarded 2uggestiion.
CG: YOU CAME TO ME, DIPSHIT. WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?
TA: ii don't know.
TA: ju2t 2hut up and go back two cyberiing 2hiitty roleplay dragon bucket2 wiith tz.
CG: AUGH, WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT YOU SICK FUCK?
CG: NOW I HAVE THIS DISTURBING PICTURE IN MY HEAD THAT I'M NOT EVEN GOING TO DESCRIBE TO YOU, IT'S THAT FUCKING OBSCENE.
TA: eheheheh, 2erve2 you riight, a22hole.
TA: ii'm goiing up2taiir2.

-- twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

[Kassiopeia]

@lantadyme that was fantastic, as ever. Perfectly in-character, and your description of ghostradia gave me chills. Also, I love your rendition of the troll friendships so much - is that weird to say? Like, a lot of people write them as if they all know each other equally well, but your approach is way more realistic for a group of 12 kids who don't even live near each other. I mean, not that that approach is necessarily bad (I love Quixotic's rendition of the Terezi-Karkat-Sollux-Aradia-Vriska dynamic in Conquest, particularly) but yours is refreshing too

[Graven_Image]

Lantadyme, I predict much greatness from you.

Oh wait, you're already great a lot. Wish granted!

[Sionnan]

One of Equius' daily engagements with Gamzee. He gets more than he bargained for when he asks a philosophical question. No color tags, I'm short on time and I can't get them to work anyway.

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CT: D--> Your continued existence intrigues and frustrates me.
CT: D--> Many peers our age have hopes, desires, aspirations.
CT: D-->They wish to become something.
CT: D--> But you have no such desires as far as I am aware of.
CT: D--> Unless you do.
TC: wOaH mOtHeRfUcKeR. yOu ArE aLl Up lAyIn SoMe HeAvY sHiT oN mY dOoRsTeP. lIkE a wElCoMe MaT MaDe Of fUcKiN sTeEl.
CT: D--> I command you to tell me your future goal.
TC: fUtUrE gOaL? wElL I WaNnA Be gEtTiN My pIe oUtTa tHe oVeN BeFoRe iT AlL CaTcHeS On fIrE AnD MaKeS FuCkIn sMoKe cLoUdS.
CT: D--> No, no. What is your utimate plan?
CT: D--> That is to say, what is your purpose.
CT: are you there?
TC: gamzee
TC: YES.
TC: i sort of spaced out
TC: BUT I'M BACK NOW.
CT: D--> what
TC: you wanted to know
TC: WHAT WAS IT AGAIN?
TC: my purpose?
CT: D--> uh
TC: ON ONE CONDITION.
CT: D--> ...yes?
TC: you have to turn off your chat logging.
TC: THIS IS TO REMAIN BETWEEN US ALONE.
TC: you gotta swear on your bloo blood that you ain't gonna tell no one, dig?
CT: D--> uh.
CT: D--> yes. i swear.
TC: DID YOU TURN IT OFF?
CT: D--> one moment
CT: D--> yes, now the function has been turned off.
CT: D--> why are you typing like that?
TC:you'll know why someday, motherfucker.
TC: BUT FOR NOW I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME.
TC: so we gotta make this quick.
TC:HERE IT IS.
TC: if you look into yourself, what do you see?
CT: D--> wait, are you tricking me?
CT: D--> how unerhanded i
TC: NO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ANSWER THE QUESTION WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU SEE?
TC: well?
TC: DON'T BE SO FUCKING SHY MOTHERFUCKER.
CT: D-->Fine. Darkness. I see darkness.
TC: and what do you want to do with this darkness?
CT: D--> This is highly discomfiting.
TC: ANSWER THE QUESTION. ANSWER THE QUESTION. ANSWERTHEQUESTIONANSWERTHEQUESTIONANSWERTHEQUESTIO N.
CT: D--> Fine! The others. I want to inflict it on others.
TC: yes my motherfucking troll demi god.
TC: THAT IS EXACTLY THE MOTHERFUCKING ANSWER.
CT: D--> Are you likening me to a god? While I would be flattered I
TC: shut up. what do you think would happen if you sowed those seeds of darkness, my fine motherfuckin' friend?
Ct: D--> That's obvious. I would be punished.
TC: EXACTLY. AND THAT'S THE MOTHERFUCKING PROBLEM.
CT: D--> I don't understand
TC: of course not.
TC: THINK FOR A MINUTE.
TC: you're not alone, man.
TC: EVERY SINGLE TROLL ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET THINKS AND FEELS THE SAME WAY.
CT: D--> Wait. They do?
TC: duh. it's part of who we are.
TC: WHAT WE ARE.
TC: my purpose?
TC: IS TO REMIND THEM.
CT: D--> Remind them.
TC: you got it, motherfucker.
TC: WHERE THEY BELONG.
TC: remind them that beyond the fakey light on their lawnrings and battleships and barracks, beyond the light of a thousand universes, is the dark.
TC: WE ARE THE DARKNESS, EQUIUS.
TC: we forgot that a long time ago.
TC: WELL I GUESS THAT COVERS IT
CT: D--> Wait. Then how do you plan to remind them? This could all be a charlatanic ruse, for all I know.
TC: dark carnivale motherfucker
TC: HONK.
TC: honk.
TC: ;o)
CT-->...
CT: D-->...
CT: D--> That is the most disturbing thing I have ever read. I must find a towel.
CT: D--> Are you there?
TC: oH hEy MoThErFuCkiN fRiEnD
TC: wHaT aRe YoU aLl Up DoIn In My BuSiNeSs?
TC: sOrRy I mUsT hAvE sPaCeD oUt )

[Decker]

I think I'm stuck in 'just after [S] Make Her Pay' mode. Here's a weird thing with Sollux.

Just Pretend

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The second half of the headache is always worse than the first. The first half is all build-up, fire throbbing and pulsing and aching through his skull, but that Sollux can handle. It's the second half that always breaks him, when it feels like his skull is about to cleave in two and then his eyes go wrong; they see in red and blue respectively and bleed a gradient of purple through his line of sight. The colors nauseate him. He can barely even open his eyes. He curls up on his floor clutching his stomach and prays to every prophet imaginable that it will end soon.

He's kind of irritable like this.

Friends start pinging his damn computer and every little note it sings only makes his head pound harder, louder, the pain near deafening except for that pinging noise. They each have their own sound and he knows who's accosting him like this—there will be hell to pay when the purple fades from his vision and he gets over this migraine. You will suffer, KK. You will suffer.

But then a different noise pings and that can't be right, that can't be right, it's utterly fucking impossible because—

Because she's dead.

He killed her.

His head spins, his vision swimming with violet and maroon, and he can feel his stomach turning over and over like a flopping fish but he pushes his palms into the carpet and crawls over to his computer anyway.

The pounding in his skull ratchets up the agony the farther from the floor he is. Leaning against his computer desk he rests his forehead on the chair, breathing and his mind racing. Because this is impossible. There's no way this is happening. It has to be a trick; some grubfucker he knows from his hacking forums has broken down his firewalls and changed someone's ping MP3. That's what it is. He will end that asshole when he finds out who it is.

Except it sings quietly out of his speakers again and Sollux swallows down around his nausea and hauls himself up into his computer chair. It feels like he weighs a thousand million mass-units when his head is splitting like this. He sits there with his stomach churning and he reaches for the mouse.

Because what if it really is her?

All the lights in the room are off and as he kills the plain black screensaver the sudden colors of the monitor lance into his eyes like daggers. The light makes everything worse, makes the nausea and the pounding and spinning loud like rocket engines in his ears. Sollux fights to keep the lack-of-anything in his stomach down.

But when he looks through his purple-smeared vision, squinting in the head-splitting monitor glow, he doesn't see someone else's screen name. He doesn't see someone else's text color. Even with the purple in his eyes, he knows that color. He knows it. And it's the surprise more than anything that shatters his control and ends in him puking into the trash can next to his desk.

Throwing up is the worst. It leaves him feeling disgusting and exhausted and every heave only makes his head throb harder. He's crying when he finally stops, and he's not sure if it's from the pain or the utter shock of seeing her words again, but he wipes pitifully at his mouth and his eyes and he reaches for the keyboard.

-- apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --

AA: s0llux
AA: n0 need t0 hurry
AA: im 0kay with waiting
AA: take y0ur time
TA: aradiia?
AA: ah there y0u are
TA: oh my god, you're aliive??
TA: where did you go?
TA: ii looked everywhere for you.
TA: ii've taken that 2tupiid long a22 triip out two your hiive liike 2iix tiime2 2earchiing under every 2tone for you.
TA: where have you been?
AA: i needed s0me time t0 myself
AA: and y0u w0uldnt have f0und me anyway
TA: what, were you hiidiing your2elf underground agaiin or 2ome 2hiit?
TA: fuck, ii dont even care, aradiia.
TA: are you okay? do you need anything?
AA: n0
AA: im 0kay
AA: im 0kay with a l0t 0f things n0w
AA: alth0ugh it 0ccurs t0 me thats n0t exactly what y0u mean with that questi0n
TA: what'2 that 2uppo2ed two mean?
AA: y0u are asking if im hurt 0r s0mething
TA: of cour2e ii'm a2kiing that.
TA: ii
TA: 2hiit.
TA: diid you 2ee what happened? when your hiive and everythiing exploded?
AA: 0f c0urse s0llux
AA: i was there
TA: oh.
TA: 2hiit aradiia.
TA: iit wa2n't me, okay? ii don't even remember how ii got 2o far from my hiive.
TA: iit wa2 the 2tupiid fuckiing miind honey.
TA: ii don't even know how ii got iit iin my mouth.
AA: s0llux
TA: ii would never hurt you on purpo2e.
TA: plea2e beliieve me?
TA: 2hiit, thii2 miigraiine ju2t
TA: you have no iidea how much ii fuckiing de2pii2e my2elf for beiing 2uch an iintegral piiece of 2erket'2 plan two murder you.
TA: ii helped tz wiith 2ome 2hiity revenge plot that ii gue22 worked becau2e 2he'2 fuckiing armle22 now and lackiing 2even eye2.
TA: iit doe2n't even begiin two make me any le22 guiilty, though.
AA: s0llux st0p
TA: you're probably endle22ly pii22ed at me and ii under2tand.
TA: fuck, how can ii even po22iibly begiin two apologiize for 2omethiing liike thii2?
AA: st0p typing
TA: okay, ii'll 2hut up for a 2econd 2iince ii'm only 2oundiing more pathetiic wiith each liine.
AA: i didnt message y0u s0 y0u c0uld ap0l0gize
AA: i d0nt blame y0u
TA: you don't?
AA: n0
AA: i hear the v0ices better like this and they t0ld me the truth behind what happened
AA: im 0kay with what happened s0llux
AA: i think i sh0uldnt be but i am 0kay with it
TA: waiit, 2o you're diifferent now? ii2 that what you're 2ayiing?
AA: i supp0se i am a bit different
AA: but i messaged y0u because y0u need t0 kn0w im 0kay
AA: i kn0w h0w y0u are
AA: y0u tend t0 beat y0urself up f0r things y0u sh0uldnt
AA: and if y0u keep m0ping s0me things that sh0uld happen might n0t
TA: what?
TA: thii2 ii2 a 2hiity hollow pep talk?
AA: yes
TA: ii fuckiing kiilled you aradiia. week2 ago.
TA: or diidn't apparently 2iince we're talkiing riight now.
TA: you diidn't talk two me for niights and now you 2uddenly pop iin out of 2omewhere 2pooky and my2tiical and tell me to 2uck iit up and 2top 2ulkiing?
AA: y0ure angry
AA: i can alm0st remember anger
TA: ii don't under2tand, aradiia.
AA: i kn0w s0llux
AA: i d0nt have time t0 explain n0w th0ugh
TA: waiit.
TA: 2hiit, don't ju2t dii2appear agaiin.
AA: im s0rry i have t0 g0
TA: can ii come 2ee you??
AA: n0 s0llux
AA: g00dbye

-- apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --

TA: aradiia waiit!
TA: 2hiit!!

The pain in his head hasn't ebbed any, pounding with hot agony, and Sollux is shaking as he leans back in his chair and keeps staring at the screen. It hurts. The light rips straight through his eyes into the back of his skull and he can't stop crying. He doesn't have the energy to sob but the tears trace down his face in honey rivulets and his hands tremble from more than just the pain.

She's alive?

Even now, even having spoken to her, he struggles to believe it. It's some trick of the migraine. It's absolute insanity because he's never even seen Aradia angry before, but not having her livid and spouting murderous spite at him has his mind spinning with confusion. She had trusted him and he'd brutally murdered her. She should want him dead; suffering and impaled in a puddle of his ugly mustard blood with her standing over him as he begs her to just end it all. That makes sense to him. Pain and black loathing are a familiar daily routine for Sollux.

He hates himself so much for her death, and she isn't even the slightest bit annoyed? The puzzle pieces fit together wrong and the air hitches in his throat, the first little hiccup of his emotional turmoil, and he swallows that down and looks away.

Maybe what he hates the most is that he's furious with her for it—for not hating him. He is intensely fucking pissed, snarling and raging and the pull of those facial muscles only making his head throb harder. No one is blaming him for her death and somewhere deep inside he needs someone to. He needs someone to hate him with all the boiling black rage they can muster, if only so he can stop doing it himself and finally move on.

Karkat pings him again and Sollux growls, his hands curved into claws on his desk as he stands up and flips it viciously over onto his floor, monitor and papers and grubs shattering and spilling everywhere.

---

It takes an hour for the migraine to fade. He spends it curled on his floor shaking and by the time the last of the lavender has left his vision, Sollux isn't nearly as angry anymore. Now he's upset with himself for being so callous and it reminds him so much of his retarded conversations with Karkat that he wants to kick himself. Idiot. At least she'd left before he'd blown up at her in blind rage. Doesn't make him feel any better about it, though.

He's always ravenous when the headaches end. He stuffs his face with dried meat and chips and sugary pink cola, rubbing at his eyes as the last of the red and blue fades out of his vision. He feels like the bottom of a municipal drainage ditch and when he finally flicks his lights back on and stares at the mess of computer parts he'd dumped all over his floor, he doesn't have the energy to be pissed at himself.

Whatever. It's done. Might as well clean it up and get it over with.

The monitor is more or less fine but his speakers are ruined and that's annoying. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to steal them from an asshole neighbor of his on the twentieth floor. Sollux sets them both aside for later when he can find his soldering kit and maybe fix whatever circuit break has shorted them out. He hooks the monitor back up to his computer tower and there are Karkat's chat windows on the screen, five of them because of course that stupid bulgestain would pick now to throw a shitty virus Sollux' way. Moron. He wants to be mad but he can't be because at least all that angry grey capslock has covered up Aradia's window.

The one he knows he'll never be able to make himself close.

He finishes picking up his room and then stands in the middle of it. Weighing options. Because he could answer Karkat and argue with him for an hour and eventually get the idiot to talk him out of the insane thing he's planning. He could do that. God knows he's talked Karkat out of more than a few extremely dumb ideas and he could throw mister grey text a bone with this one and let him even out the odds.

Or he could just go see her.

It would be faster and easier. Maybe not smarter, but Sollux is the smart guy. He's smart all the time. He figures he's due for a really fantastically stupid decision and he might as well make it this. It's not like he's going to get horribly murdered or anything.

He digs a husktop out of a pile of stuff and clips a carrying strap to it. And yeah, he should probably not do this. She told him not to go see her. But he leaves his block anyway and takes the elevator down thirty-five floors to the street.

It takes a lot of energy to fly himself all the miles out there. She'd been happy to live in the country near her caves so she could dress up in her silly explorer's outfits and get them all grimy with cave mud as she wandered through them with wide, fascinated eyes. Sollux had never really understood that about her, the need to get out and look at things, the ability to see beauty in the oddities of nature. Aradia had always told him it was because he was an oddity himself (although Sollux prefers the term 'cracked-out bifurcated monstrosity'). Maybe that had been why she'd liked him. He doesn't know.

He's tired and a bit winded as he finally catches a glimpse of the crater that used to be her hive. From the air it looks like a bomb went off, the ground still blackened by curling energies even after all these weeks. The crater itself is yards deep, shards of shattered metal and building materials thrown everywhere for at least a mile. He always expects it to be smoking, but it's not.

(In his memory it's always smoking and there's red blood all over his clothes.)

His bicolored sneakers sink into the ash, sending rocks tumbling, and Sollux feels so small standing in the middle of all this apocalyptic devastation. He did this. He destroyed everything. He'd never really grasped how powerful he is until he'd woken up from his mind honey trance and seen the havoc his fucked-up brain dynamics had funneled through his eyes—enough psychic energy to decimate an entire hive. Probably a lot more than just one hive.

More than enough to vaporize one low-blooded troll girl.

"Aradia?" he calls, and even now he can't raise his voice over a hushed whisper. It feels like trespassing. She'd told him not to come.

The husktop slung at his side pings with her note and Sollux freezes. A message from a ghost. It sends a feeling of cold dread down his spine and he has to make himself take shorts steps over to a displaced boulder and set the computer down on top of it.

-- apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --

AA: s0meh0w i knew y0u w0uldnt listen
TA: well 2orry iif ii haven't 2een you iin age2. that'2 only half my fault, you know.
AA: i th0ught y0u blamed y0urself entirely
AA: y0u were rather explicit ab0ut it
TA: yeah, well you know how fuckiing pathetiic ii am when ii'm iin the miiddle of a miigraiine.
TA: ii'd blame myself for every a22hole 2piirit that 2iing2 hii2 comiing doom iin my head at that poiint.
TA: iignore that, though. where are you? let me 2ee you.
AA: y0u cant see me s0llux
TA: ii under2tand that you're 2tiill pii22ed wiith me. ii don't really expect you two not want two riip my throat out or 2ome 2hiit liike that.
TA: ju2t let me 2ee you 2o ii know you're okay, aradiia. ii promii2e ii won't even touch you.
AA: i already told y0u im n0t angry
AA: i d0nt really remember h0w t0 be angry
AA: but y0u cant see me
TA: 2hiit, are you goiing two make me crawl on my 2tomach and beg?
TA: fiine, fiine, whatever. ii de2erve iit.
TA: plea2e, aradiia, let me 2ee you.
TA: ii've been 2eriiou2ly fucked up 2iince ii realiized you were dead and ii hone2tly need two know you're aliive and not 2ome criippled ma22 of bleediing grubmeat 2ta2hed underground 2omewhere.
TA: ii know that 2ound2 liike a22hole 2arca2tiic giibberii2h, but for once iit'2 actually not.
TA: plea2e let me 2ee you.
AA: s0llux
AA: fine i will c0me up
AA: i d0nt think y0u will see me th0ugh
TA: give me 2ome crediit. ii'm not bliind yet.
AA: l00k t0 y0ur left
TA: are you 2eriiou2? ii'm fuckiing lookiing 2traiight on iin that diirec

And then he sees it. He fucking sees it—an amorphous blob of something floating just footsteps from where he stands. It's off-red and terrifyingly eerie, tendrils of ectoplasmic goo spiraling off in blobs and dissolving straight into the air. For a mind-numbing second Sollux forgets to breathe. For a second he stands there with terrified icy spider's feet running up and down his spine. A cold sweat breaks out over his entire body and he wants nothing more in the world than to run as fast as he can in the other direction, get away from it, put distance between himself and it because he can taste the pure concentration of raw apocalypse emanating from it.

From Aradia.

His hands tremble, still perched prim over the keyboard. He swallows hard around the sour paranoid fear rising up from his stomach, and Sollux sets two shaking fingers against his glasses and pulls them aside. He stares wide-eyed in horrified rapture, feeling the deep psychic hollowness washing out of it like an ocean, and when he finally remembers to breathe again the only words he can manage are squeaking sounds.

Ghost, he wants to say, but all he can think is demon.

She vanishes into thin air, her presence evaporating from his psionic vision, and in that second of gaping reality he slams the husktop's lid closed and tears off into the sky as fast as his powers can carry him.

---

Later:

-- twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

TA: fuck.
TA: kk.
TA: damn iit, kk, would you an2wer me??
TA: ii really need 2omeone to conviince me ii haven't 2tepped off the deep end.
TA: ii 2eriiou2ly feel liike ii've taken a 2pectacular jump off the fuckiing hiighboard and am currently 2wiimmiing iin a 2ea of 2hiitty my2tiical voodoo crap and iit ii2 2cariing the hell out of me.
TA: ii 2wear there are riipper2harks iin here tryiing to eat me, man.
TA: me and thii2 worthle22 unraveliing metaphor.
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?
TA: oh god, there you are.
CG: ARE YOU ON FUCKING DRUGS?
CG: HOW HIGH DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO FILL MY FUCKING CHAT WINDOW WITH THIS SHIT?
CG: I GET ENOUGH OF THIS BULLSHIT WITH THAT CLOWN FUCKER WHO WON'T STOP YAPPING HIS GODAWFUL GAPING PROTEIN CHUTE AT ME.
CG: YOU KEEP THIS UP AND I WILL DROP YOU LIKE A HOT STEAMING LOAD OF HOOFBEAST MANURE AS A BEST FRIEND.
TA: fuck, kk, lii2ten two me for a 2econd you bulgefiiend.
CG: YOU BABBLE INCOHERENT SHIT ABOUT MIRACLES AND I WILL CLOSE THIS WINDOW SO FUCKING FAST IT WILL MAKE YOUR BIFURCATED HEAD SPIN.
TA: 2hut up or ii wiill go talk two your freaky a22 giirlfriiend iin2tead.
TA: ii am that fuckiing de2perate, dude.
CG: FUCK, DON'T TALK TO HER. THAT'S JUST CREEPY. YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE HER.
TA: ii don't dii2liike her, 2he'2 ju2t a p2ycho biitch nutjob who liike2 two iinvade my per2onal 2pace and liick my glasses whiile ii'm 2tiill weariing them.
CG: DID SHE ACTUALLY DO THAT?
TA: ye2, why would ii liie about 2omethiing a2 fucked up a2 that?
TA: but that'2 not the poiint, lii2ten two me you giigantiic a22hole!
CG: OKAY, FUCK.
TA: aa'2 not dead.
CG: LIKE FUCK SHE'S NOT.
CG: I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR RETARDED DOOM PROPHET BULLSHIT DREAMS TELL YOU, ARADIA'S SOMEONE'S FUTURE LUSUS' SHITPILE BY NOW.
TA: god, that ii2 a hiideou2 iimage, kk.
TA: iit ii2 actually kiind of up2etting me. ii am 2uch a huge pan2y riight now.
TA: but anyway, 2he me22aged me a couple of hour2 ago and ii went out there two 2ee her.
CG: SHE DID NOT YOU FUCKING WASTE OF AIR.
CG: YOU SAID YOU HAD HER PATHETIC WEAKSLIME RED BLOOD ALL OVER YOUR HANDS SO HOW COULD SHE POSSIBLY BE ALIVE?
TA: 2he'2 not dead but 2he kind of ii2.
TA: 2hiit, maybe ii'm fiinally crazy. took me long enough.
TA: ii 2aw thii2 2pooky red gho2t thiing floatiing out there by her hiive.
TA: iit 2cared me half iintwo my fuckiing deathcave but ii 2wear iit wa2 her.
TA: ii would 2take my liife on iit.
CG: WELL IF YOU'RE SO DAMN CONVINCED, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, FUCKASS?
CG: OH THAT KARKAT, HE THINKS HIMSELF INTO FUCKING ASS BACKWARD IDIOCY LOOPS ALL THE GODDAMN TIME, MIGHT AS WELL GO ASK THAT MORONIC DOUCHEBAG TO TWIST MY CRIPPLING MIGRAINE THINKSPONGE INTO BELIEVING I'M NOT SUCH A FUCKING RETARD.
CG: YOU SEE SPOOKY SHIT ALL THE TIME, SOLLUX.
CG: WHY ARE YOU FLIPPING YOUR FUCKING LID THIS TIME AND NOT EVERY OTHER TIME?
TA: ii don't know, man. iit wa2 her.
CG: OH GODDAMNIT! IT WAS NOT HER! SHE'S DEAD, AND EVEN IF YOU DID SEE HER GHOST, WHO GIVES A FUCK?
CG: HERE'S A HINT, ASSWIPE: NOT ME!!!!!
TA: god, you are the wor2t friiend, vanta2.
CG: ALL I HEAR IS A NOOKSUCKING YELLOW-BLOOD BITCHING WITH HIS DEFORMED TONGUE, SPRAYING SALIVA ALL OVER HIS FUCKING MONITOR.
CG: IT WASN'T HER.
CG: YOU NEED ME TO SAY IT AGAIN?
CG: IT WASN'T FUCKING HER.
CG: DUMPASS.
CG: NOW GO SIT WITH YOUR WORTHLESS MORONIC LUSUS AND TRY TO ABSORB SOME OF HIS CRIPPLING STUPIDITY UNTIL YOU BELIEVE ME.
TA: ii mu2t be pa2t the poiint of no return becau2e ii'm actually con2iideriing thii2 fuckiing retarded 2uggestiion.
CG: YOU CAME TO ME, DIPSHIT. WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?
TA: ii don't know.
TA: ju2t 2hut up and go back two cyberiing 2hiitty roleplay dragon bucket2 wiith tz.
CG: AUGH, WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT YOU SICK FUCK?
CG: NOW I HAVE THIS DISTURBING PICTURE IN MY HEAD THAT I'M NOT EVEN GOING TO DESCRIBE TO YOU, IT'S THAT FUCKING OBSCENE.
TA: eheheheh, 2erve2 you riight, a22hole.
TA: ii'm goiing up2taiir2.

-- twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

Very good! I thought Karkat was a little harsher than normal, but I might be looking at him with rose colored glasses at this point.

[lucidSeraph]

@Sionnan : ... Miracles >3

[Wigmund]

Sionnan, I find it great that you post that and then we get an update involving Equius.

[lucidSeraph]

Sionnan, I find it great that you post that and then we get an update involving Equius.

an update that somehow doesn't actually invalidate that fic no less

[mutecebu]

@Krensky: Nice. I literally JUST got back from watching Video Games Live perform - they finished with One Winged Angel. Eerie.

[lantadyme]

@Kassiopeia: Part of my favorite thing about fandom is figuring out how the characters network with each other. Who would meet who where and how they would know other people through their friends. I sort of drew out a friendship grid for the trolls and am slowly figuring out how to fill in all the squares. :x Geek.
@Graven: Haha, thank you!
@Decker: I dunno about Karkat. I think half the profanity he spouts off is reflexive, sort of part of his quirk. He's not afraid of offending his buddy (any more than usual) so he just lets loose with Sollux, and Sollux knows him well enough to let most of it roll off his back. Thanks for the feedback though! I will have to stare at him harder next time I write the guy.

One of Equius' daily engagements with Gamzee. He gets more than he bargained for when he asks a philosophical question. No color tags, I'm short on time and I can't get them to work anyway.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

CT: D--> Your continued existence intrigues and frustrates me.
CT: D--> Many peers our age have hopes, desires, aspirations.
CT: D-->They wish to become something.
CT: D--> But you have no such desires as far as I am aware of.
CT: D--> Unless you do.
TC: wOaH mOtHeRfUcKeR. yOu ArE aLl Up lAyIn SoMe HeAvY sHiT oN mY dOoRsTeP. lIkE a wElCoMe MaT MaDe Of fUcKiN sTeEl.
CT: D--> I command you to tell me your future goal.
TC: fUtUrE gOaL? wElL I WaNnA Be gEtTiN My pIe oUtTa tHe oVeN BeFoRe iT AlL CaTcHeS On fIrE AnD MaKeS FuCkIn sMoKe cLoUdS.
CT: D--> No, no. What is your utimate plan?
CT: D--> That is to say, what is your purpose.
CT: are you there?
TC: gamzee
TC: YES.
TC: i sort of spaced out
TC: BUT I'M BACK NOW.
CT: D--> what
TC: you wanted to know
TC: WHAT WAS IT AGAIN?
TC: my purpose?
CT: D--> uh
TC: ON ONE CONDITION.
CT: D--> ...yes?
TC: you have to turn off your chat logging.
TC: THIS IS TO REMAIN BETWEEN US ALONE.
TC: you gotta swear on your bloo blood that you ain't gonna tell no one, dig?
CT: D--> uh.
CT: D--> yes. i swear.
TC: DID YOU TURN IT OFF?
CT: D--> one moment
CT: D--> yes, now the function has been turned off.
CT: D--> why are you typing like that?
TC:you'll know why someday, motherfucker.
TC: BUT FOR NOW I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME.
TC: so we gotta make this quick.
TC:HERE IT IS.
TC: if you look into yourself, what do you see?
CT: D--> wait, are you tricking me?
CT: D--> how unerhanded i
TC: NO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ANSWER THE QUESTION WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU SEE?
TC: well?
TC: DON'T BE SO FUCKING SHY MOTHERFUCKER.
CT: D-->Fine. Darkness. I see darkness.
TC: and what do you want to do with this darkness?
CT: D--> This is highly discomfiting.
TC: ANSWER THE QUESTION. ANSWER THE QUESTION. ANSWERTHEQUESTIONANSWERTHEQUESTIONANSWERTHEQUESTIO N.
CT: D--> Fine! The others. I want to inflict it on others.
TC: yes my motherfucking troll demi god.
TC: THAT IS EXACTLY THE MOTHERFUCKING ANSWER.
CT: D--> Are you likening me to a god? While I would be flattered I
TC: shut up. what do you think would happen if you sowed those seeds of darkness, my fine motherfuckin' friend?
Ct: D--> That's obvious. I would be punished.
TC: EXACTLY. AND THAT'S THE MOTHERFUCKING PROBLEM.
CT: D--> I don't understand
TC: of course not.
TC: THINK FOR A MINUTE.
TC: you're not alone, man.
TC: EVERY SINGLE TROLL ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET THINKS AND FEELS THE SAME WAY.
CT: D--> Wait. They do?
TC: duh. it's part of who we are.
TC: WHAT WE ARE.
TC: my purpose?
TC: IS TO REMIND THEM.
CT: D--> Remind them.
TC: you got it, motherfucker.
TC: WHERE THEY BELONG.
TC: remind them that beyond the fakey light on their lawnrings and battleships and barracks, beyond the light of a thousand universes, is the dark.
TC: WE ARE THE DARKNESS, EQUIUS.
TC: we forgot that a long time ago.
TC: WELL I GUESS THAT COVERS IT
CT: D--> Wait. Then how do you plan to remind them? This could all be a charlatanic ruse, for all I know.
TC: dark carnivale motherfucker
TC: HONK.
TC: honk.
TC: ;o)
CT-->...
CT: D-->...
CT: D--> That is the most disturbing thing I have ever read. I must find a towel.
CT: D--> Are you there?
TC: oH hEy MoThErFuCkiN fRiEnD
TC: wHaT aRe YoU aLl Up DoIn In My BuSiNeSs?
TC: sOrRy I mUsT hAvE sPaCeD oUt )

I'm probably in the minority, but I really love crazy Gamzee. I also like how you keep playing off the underlying murderous nature of trolls in general. It makes the science fiction nerd in me ridiculously happy.

[Decker]

@Decker: I dunno about Karkat. I think half the profanity he spouts off is reflexive, sort of part of his quirk. He's not afraid of offending his buddy (any more than usual) so he just lets loose with Sollux, and Sollux knows him well enough to let most of it roll off his back. Thanks for the feedback though! I will have to stare at him harder next time I write the guy.

You may be right. I might just be feeling sorry for him right now.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Bluuuh lantadyme. The only complaint I have is that this doesn't seem like a good cutoff point, really. It's just abrupt, even compared to the previous scene breaks.

Sionnan, I find it great that you post that and then we get an update involving Equius.

an update that somehow doesn't actually invalidate that fic no less

Heck, there are some theories going around that, if true, make Sionnan's fic support the new updates.

[Jim Groovester]

More Problem Sleuth fic.

show spoiler

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Problem Sleuth looks over some papers he found in the guy’s apartment. Bills, a few letters. Hopefully the results of his illegal investigation will help explain why he was murdered. Problem Sleuth rubs his chin. More and more, he gets the feeling that what he’s been hired by Wealthy Quantifier to find and this murder are connected somehow. Call it, Detective Tech Lv. 58: Hunch to the Gut.

Sleuth hears a car screeching around a corner from behind him. Even in the middle of the day like it is, it looks cloaked in shadow, much like the rest of everything the Midnight Crew owns regardless of time of day or lighting situation. Seems they’re tearing away from something. Or towards something.

Sleuth pulls a pre-stamped envelope addressed to his office from his trench coat and stuffs the documents inside, sealing it with a quick lick and stuffing it into a mailbox before the Midnight Crew notice and decide to leave a stick of dynamite inside like the last time they caught him trying to mail things to himself. Don’t want to let the Crew know what he was working on. It might lead back to them. They tend to react violently. But what really gets them mad is if anybody has dirt on them.

The driver slams on the brakes, the tires locking and the car drifting as it screeches to a halt. Hearts Boxcar opens the rear passenger door and steps outside. On the opposite side Diamonds Droog steps out and adjusts his tie.

Hearts Boxcars: Politely ask Problem Sleuth to join the Midnight Crew for a charming drive.

Diamonds Droog pulls a card from his deck, pointing the barrel at Problem Sleuth. “Get in the car.” Problem Sleuth takes one look at Hearts Boxcars. The man towers over him. He cracks his knuckles. Problem Sleuth gets the message.

Problem Sleuth seats himself in the middle as Hearts Boxcars squeezes him from the right and Diamonds Droog points a gun at him from the left. Sitting across from him, hitting his cast iron horse hitcher into his palm over and over, is Spades Slick. The car lurches forward as Clubs Deuce hits the accelerator. Problem Sleuth doesn’t want to think about how the short guy’s driving, because the back of his mind keeps telling him bull penis cane for some reason.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth greets with a smile. “You should’ve told me you were planning on kidnapping me.”

Slick bares his teeth in fury. “kidnapping?” He roars. “i oughtta carve your insides if thats the first thing you think of when you-”

“Slick,” Droog says.

“dammit droog” Slick shuffles his cards a few time to calm down. “problem sleuth” He says, trying to reestablish his position in the conversation.

“What can I do for you, Slick?”

“will you wipe that fucking grin of your face” Slick rubs his brow. “i bet youre wondering why were taking you for a drive.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Sleuth says, drawing out the conversation as long as possible in the friendliest way possible.

“what are you working on?” Slick asks.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth shakes his head in an affable fashion. “Those details are private. You know I can’t tell you. In the interest of client privacy, of course.”

Slick signals Boxcars. Even with his limited range of movement, Boxcars can still deliver a powerful sucker punch. Sleuth grips his now aching right side. Did he break a rib?

“that was the good faith question” Slick says. Problem Sleuth marvels at the Midnight Crew talking about good faith. “since we cant count on you to tell us openly and honestly like the good friends we are were going to have to treat you like an enemy. which is a shame because” Slick pauses, “i like you sleuth”

Problem Sleuth tries to chuckle but the pain stops him. “I’m working on a case for Wealthy Quantifier. She has me looking for some stolen property. She was real tightlipped about what it was.” Sleuth groans out. “Let me tell you, it’s real hard looking for something if you don’t know what it is. But what can I do? She paid up front, and she’s paying me by the day. It’s a meal ticket, that's all.”

Slick looks to Droog. Droog shakes his head. “that aint all youre working on”

“I’m looking for Boxcar’s lost kitten and Droog’s favorite tie.” Problem Sleuth gives a pained smirk. Droog hits the side of his head with the hilt of his pistol.

“youre a real funny guy”

Problem Sleuth picks his head back up and looks at something funny in one of the side mirrors of the car. He gets ready to duck.

Diamonds Droog: Be Spades Slick.

You are now Clubs Deuce.

You’re driving the Crewmobile, as you’ve come to call it, but the rest of the Crew doesn’t seem too keen on the nickname. The rest of the Crew is beating up the nice man in the back. Problem Sleuth is such a nice guy. It’s too bad he’s always in the way of the Midnight Crew’s business. You don’t really blame the rest of the Crew that they beat him up all the time, and you don’t really blame Problem Sleuth for keeping on trying. Everybody’s just doing their job.

CD: Look in the rearview mirror.

You take a quick glance. Boxcars and Droog sure do look mad! Actually, Droog just looks like his normal self. He never seems to show emotion. You keep telling him he should, as it would be great step for his personal growth, but he just shrugs you off all the time.

CD: Look again, dumbass.

Oh goodness it’s the Felt!

They must have driven up behind you using the large blind spot behind Hearts Boxcars' large head! They’re geniuses!

“SLICK! DUCK!” Deuce squeals.

“what are you yapping about”

“THERE'S A CAR FULL OF STRIPED COLORED HATS BEHIND US SO JUST SHUT UP AND DUCK!”

Everybody tries to hit pavement, excepting that they’re in a car, as the Felt pull up alongside and give the Midnight Crew an expensive repair bill. Glass shatters and punches holes in the body as Quarters and Matchstick empty their tommy guns into the car. Problem Sleuth is grateful that he's seated in the middle between two large angry guys in a practically armored car. He thinks about how terrible the gas mileage must be as bullets fly over his head.

Diamonds Droog pops up, assault rifle in hand, and fires a few bursts. He ducks down quickly as Sawbuck fires his shotgun.

“dammit deuce get us the hell outta here”

“ON IT, SLICK!”

The car’s swerving becomes even more erratic as Clubs Deuce evades the Felt. Problem Sleuth pulls a hairpin from inside his coat and offers it to Hearts Boxcars. He briefly puzzles over it before taking it and leaning out the window. Several seconds of gas-powered rotary machine gun fire is enough to disable the Felt’s vehicle, allowing the Midnight Crew to limp away.

“ERM” Boxcars awkwardly gives the hairpin back to Sleuth. “THANKS”

Spades Slick is screaming at Clubs Deuce. “how the fuck did this happen you short little shit why werent you paying attention”

Diamonds Droog puts his cards into his coat and turns to Problem Sleuth as Slick is screaming. “We know that you’re investigating the murder of that courier, along with the favor you’re doing for Wealthy Quantifier. As a friendly warning,” Droog pauses. “Stop. And that’s all the warning you’re gonna get. If we catch you working either of those cases, we can’t say what’ll happen to you. But I doubt it’ll be pretty.” Droog puts a cigarette in his mouth and looks past Sleuth to Boxcars. “Ditch ‘em.”

Boxcars grabs Sleuth by the collar and throws him out of the broken window of the moving car. Sleuth rolls to a stop with his scratched cheek to hot pavement. He puts his palms on the ground and gingerly picks himself up. He wipes his bloody mouth on his coat as he limps off the road.

There’s a price to pay for being as hardboiled as Sleuth is. The price is getting your ass kicked all the time.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Slick is the leader of the Midnight Crew because he's terrible at everything besides cutting people up.

This was more brainstorming. The details are coming together. I'm going to work on a rough outline sometime soon and maybe start churning this thing out in full.

[Doodled]

More Problem Sleuth fic.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Problem Sleuth looks over some papers he found in the guy’s apartment. Bills, a few letters. Hopefully the results of his illegal investigation will help explain why he was murdered. Problem Sleuth rubs his chin. More and more, he gets the feeling that what he’s been hired by Wealthy Quantifier to find and this murder are connected somehow. Call it, Detective Tech Lv. 58: Hunch to the Gut.

Sleuth hears a car screeching around a corner from behind him. Even in the middle of the day like it is, it looks cloaked in shadow, much like the rest of everything the Midnight Crew owns regardless of time of day or lighting situation. Seems they’re tearing away from something. Or towards something.

Sleuth pulls a pre-stamped envelope addressed to his office from his trench coat and stuffs the documents inside, sealing it with a quick lick and stuffing it into a mailbox before the Midnight Crew notice and decide to leave a stick of dynamite inside like the last time they caught him trying to mail things to himself. Don’t want to let the Crew know what he was working on. It might lead back to them. They tend to react violently. But what really gets them mad is if anybody has dirt on them.

The driver slams on the brakes, the tires locking and the car drifting as it screeches to a halt. Hearts Boxcar opens the rear passenger door and steps outside. On the opposite side Diamonds Droog steps out and adjusts his tie.

Hearts Boxcars: Politely ask Problem Sleuth to join the Midnight Crew for a charming drive.

Diamonds Droog pulls a card from his deck, pointing the barrel at Problem Sleuth. “Get in the car.” Problem Sleuth takes one look at Hearts Boxcars. The man towers over him. He cracks his knuckles. Problem Sleuth gets the message.

Problem Sleuth seats himself in the middle as Hearts Boxcars squeezes him from the right and Diamonds Droog points a gun at him from the left. Sitting across from him, hitting his cast iron horse hitcher into his palm over and over, is Spades Slick. The car lurches forward as Clubs Deuce hits the accelerator. Problem Sleuth doesn’t want to think about how the short guy’s driving, because the back of his mind keeps telling him bull penis cane for some reason.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth greets with a smile. “You should’ve told me you were planning on kidnapping me.”

Slick bares his teeth in fury. “kidnapping?” He roars. “i oughtta carve your insides if thats the first thing you think of when you-”

“Slick,” Droog says.

“dammit droog” Slick shuffles his cards a few time to calm down. “problem sleuth” He says, trying to reestablish his position in the conversation.

“What can I do for you, Slick?”

“will you wipe that fucking grin of your face” Slick rubs his brow. “i bet youre wondering why were taking you for a drive.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Sleuth says, drawing out the conversation as long as possible in the friendliest way possible.

“what are you working on?” Slick asks.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth shakes his head in an affable fashion. “Those details are private. You know I can’t tell you. In the interest of client privacy, of course.”

Slick signals Boxcars. Even with his limited range of movement, Boxcars can still deliver a powerful sucker punch. Sleuth grips his now aching right side. Did he break a rib?

“that was the good faith question” Slick says. Problem Sleuth marvels at the Midnight Crew talking about good faith. “since we cant count on you to tell us openly and honestly like the good friends we are were going to have to treat you like an enemy. which is a shame because” Slick pauses, “i like you sleuth”

Problem Sleuth tries to chuckle but the pain stops him. “I’m working on a case for Wealthy Quantifier. She has me looking for some stolen property. She was real tightlipped about what it was.” Sleuth groans out. “Let me tell you, it’s real hard looking for something if you don’t know what it is. But what can I do? She paid up front, and she’s paying me by the day. It’s a meal ticket, that's all.”

Slick looks to Droog. Droog shakes his head. “that aint all youre working on”

“I’m looking for Boxcar’s lost kitten and Droog’s favorite tie.” Problem Sleuth gives a pained smirk. Droog hits the side of his head with the hilt of his pistol.

“youre a real funny guy”

Problem Sleuth picks his head back up and looks at something funny in one of the side mirrors of the car. He gets ready to duck.

Diamonds Droog: Be Spades Slick.

You are now Clubs Deuce.

You’re driving the Crewmobile, as you’ve come to call it, but the rest of the Crew doesn’t seem too keen on the nickname. The rest of the Crew is beating up the nice man in the back. Problem Sleuth is such a nice guy. It’s too bad he’s always in the way of the Midnight Crew’s business. You don’t really blame the rest of the Crew that they beat him up all the time, and you don’t really blame Problem Sleuth for keeping on trying. Everybody’s just doing their job.

C Look in the rearview mirror.

You take a quick glance. Boxcars and Droog sure do look mad! Actually, Droog just looks like his normal self. He never seems to show emotion. You keep telling him he should, as it would be great step for his personal growth, but he just shrugs you off all the time.

C Look again, dumbass.

Oh goodness it’s the Felt!

They must have driven up behind you using the large blind spot behind Hearts Boxcars' large head! They’re geniuses!

“SLICK! DUCK!” Deuce squeals.

“what are you yapping about”

“THERE'S A CAR FULL OF STRIPED COLORED HATS BEHIND US SO JUST SHUT UP AND DUCK!”

Everybody tries to hit pavement, excepting that they’re in a car, as the Felt pull up alongside and give the Midnight Crew an expensive repair bill. Glass shatters and punches holes in the body as Quarters and Matchstick empty their tommy guns into the car. Problem Sleuth is grateful that he's seated in the middle between two large angry guys in a practically armored car. He thinks about how terrible the gas mileage must be as bullets fly over his head.

Diamonds Droog pops up, assault rifle in hand, and fires a few bursts. He ducks down quickly as Sawbuck fires his shotgun.

“dammit deuce get us the hell outta here”

“ON IT, SLICK!”

The car’s swerving becomes even more erratic as Clubs Deuce evades the Felt. Problem Sleuth pulls a hairpin from inside his coat and offers it to Hearts Boxcars. He briefly puzzles over it before taking it and leaning out the window. Several seconds of gas-powered rotary machine gun fire is enough to disable the Felt’s vehicle, allowing the Midnight Crew to limp away.

“ERM” Boxcars awkwardly gives the hairpin back to Sleuth. “THANKS”

Spades Slick is screaming at Clubs Deuce. “how the fuck did this happen you short little shit why werent you paying attention”

Diamonds Droog puts his cards into his coat and turns to Problem Sleuth as Slick is screaming. “We know that you’re investigating the murder of that courier, along with the favor you’re doing for Wealthy Quantifier. As a friendly warning,” Droog pauses. “Stop. And that’s all the warning you’re gonna get. If we catch you working either of those cases, we can’t say what’ll happen to you. But I doubt it’ll be pretty.” Droog puts a cigarette in his mouth and looks past Sleuth to Boxcars. “Ditch ‘em.”

Boxcars grabs Sleuth by the collar and throws him out of the broken window of the moving car. Sleuth rolls to a stop with his scratched cheek to hot pavement. He puts his palms on the ground and gingerly picks himself up. He wipes his bloody mouth on his coat as he limps off the road.

There’s a price to pay for being as hardboiled as Sleuth is. The price is getting your ass kicked all the time.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Slick is the leader of the Midnight Crew because he's terrible at everything besides cutting people up.

This was more brainstorming. The details are coming together. I'm going to work on a rough outline sometime soon and maybe start churning this thing out in full.

YES!

*begs for more*

[Jim Groovester]

More Problem Sleuth fic.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Problem Sleuth looks over some papers he found in the guy’s apartment. Bills, a few letters. Hopefully the results of his illegal investigation will help explain why he was murdered. Problem Sleuth rubs his chin. More and more, he gets the feeling that what he’s been hired by Wealthy Quantifier to find and this murder are connected somehow. Call it, Detective Tech Lv. 58: Hunch to the Gut.

Sleuth hears a car screeching around a corner from behind him. Even in the middle of the day like it is, it looks cloaked in shadow, much like the rest of everything the Midnight Crew owns regardless of time of day or lighting situation. Seems they’re tearing away from something. Or towards something.

Sleuth pulls a pre-stamped envelope addressed to his office from his trench coat and stuffs the documents inside, sealing it with a quick lick and stuffing it into a mailbox before the Midnight Crew notice and decide to leave a stick of dynamite inside like the last time they caught him trying to mail things to himself. Don’t want to let the Crew know what he was working on. It might lead back to them. They tend to react violently. But what really gets them mad is if anybody has dirt on them.

The driver slams on the brakes, the tires locking and the car drifting as it screeches to a halt. Hearts Boxcar opens the rear passenger door and steps outside. On the opposite side Diamonds Droog steps out and adjusts his tie.

Hearts Boxcars: Politely ask Problem Sleuth to join the Midnight Crew for a charming drive.

Diamonds Droog pulls a card from his deck, pointing the barrel at Problem Sleuth. “Get in the car.” Problem Sleuth takes one look at Hearts Boxcars. The man towers over him. He cracks his knuckles. Problem Sleuth gets the message.

Problem Sleuth seats himself in the middle as Hearts Boxcars squeezes him from the right and Diamonds Droog points a gun at him from the left. Sitting across from him, hitting his cast iron horse hitcher into his palm over and over, is Spades Slick. The car lurches forward as Clubs Deuce hits the accelerator. Problem Sleuth doesn’t want to think about how the short guy’s driving, because the back of his mind keeps telling him bull penis cane for some reason.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth greets with a smile. “You should’ve told me you were planning on kidnapping me.”

Slick bares his teeth in fury. “kidnapping?” He roars. “i oughtta carve your insides if thats the first thing you think of when you-”

“Slick,” Droog says.

“dammit droog” Slick shuffles his cards a few time to calm down. “problem sleuth” He says, trying to reestablish his position in the conversation.

“What can I do for you, Slick?”

“will you wipe that fucking grin of your face” Slick rubs his brow. “i bet youre wondering why were taking you for a drive.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Sleuth says, drawing out the conversation as long as possible in the friendliest way possible.

“what are you working on?” Slick asks.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth shakes his head in an affable fashion. “Those details are private. You know I can’t tell you. In the interest of client privacy, of course.”

Slick signals Boxcars. Even with his limited range of movement, Boxcars can still deliver a powerful sucker punch. Sleuth grips his now aching right side. Did he break a rib?

“that was the good faith question” Slick says. Problem Sleuth marvels at the Midnight Crew talking about good faith. “since we cant count on you to tell us openly and honestly like the good friends we are were going to have to treat you like an enemy. which is a shame because” Slick pauses, “i like you sleuth”

Problem Sleuth tries to chuckle but the pain stops him. “I’m working on a case for Wealthy Quantifier. She has me looking for some stolen property. She was real tightlipped about what it was.” Sleuth groans out. “Let me tell you, it’s real hard looking for something if you don’t know what it is. But what can I do? She paid up front, and she’s paying me by the day. It’s a meal ticket, that's all.”

Slick looks to Droog. Droog shakes his head. “that aint all youre working on”

“I’m looking for Boxcar’s lost kitten and Droog’s favorite tie.” Problem Sleuth gives a pained smirk. Droog hits the side of his head with the hilt of his pistol.

“youre a real funny guy”

Problem Sleuth picks his head back up and looks at something funny in one of the side mirrors of the car. He gets ready to duck.

Diamonds Droog: Be Spades Slick.

You are now Clubs Deuce.

You’re driving the Crewmobile, as you’ve come to call it, but the rest of the Crew doesn’t seem too keen on the nickname. The rest of the Crew is beating up the nice man in the back. Problem Sleuth is such a nice guy. It’s too bad he’s always in the way of the Midnight Crew’s business. You don’t really blame the rest of the Crew that they beat him up all the time, and you don’t really blame Problem Sleuth for keeping on trying. Everybody’s just doing their job.

C Look in the rearview mirror.

You take a quick glance. Boxcars and Droog sure do look mad! Actually, Droog just looks like his normal self. He never seems to show emotion. You keep telling him he should, as it would be great step for his personal growth, but he just shrugs you off all the time.

C Look again, dumbass.

Oh goodness it’s the Felt!

They must have driven up behind you using the large blind spot behind Hearts Boxcars' large head! They’re geniuses!

“SLICK! DUCK!” Deuce squeals.

“what are you yapping about”

“THERE'S A CAR FULL OF STRIPED COLORED HATS BEHIND US SO JUST SHUT UP AND DUCK!”

Everybody tries to hit pavement, excepting that they’re in a car, as the Felt pull up alongside and give the Midnight Crew an expensive repair bill. Glass shatters and punches holes in the body as Quarters and Matchstick empty their tommy guns into the car. Problem Sleuth is grateful that he's seated in the middle between two large angry guys in a practically armored car. He thinks about how terrible the gas mileage must be as bullets fly over his head.

Diamonds Droog pops up, assault rifle in hand, and fires a few bursts. He ducks down quickly as Sawbuck fires his shotgun.

“dammit deuce get us the hell outta here”

“ON IT, SLICK!”

The car’s swerving becomes even more erratic as Clubs Deuce evades the Felt. Problem Sleuth pulls a hairpin from inside his coat and offers it to Hearts Boxcars. He briefly puzzles over it before taking it and leaning out the window. Several seconds of gas-powered rotary machine gun fire is enough to disable the Felt’s vehicle, allowing the Midnight Crew to limp away.

“ERM” Boxcars awkwardly gives the hairpin back to Sleuth. “THANKS”

Spades Slick is screaming at Clubs Deuce. “how the fuck did this happen you short little shit why werent you paying attention”

Diamonds Droog puts his cards into his coat and turns to Problem Sleuth as Slick is screaming. “We know that you’re investigating the murder of that courier, along with the favor you’re doing for Wealthy Quantifier. As a friendly warning,” Droog pauses. “Stop. And that’s all the warning you’re gonna get. If we catch you working either of those cases, we can’t say what’ll happen to you. But I doubt it’ll be pretty.” Droog puts a cigarette in his mouth and looks past Sleuth to Boxcars. “Ditch ‘em.”

Boxcars grabs Sleuth by the collar and throws him out of the broken window of the moving car. Sleuth rolls to a stop with his scratched cheek to hot pavement. He puts his palms on the ground and gingerly picks himself up. He wipes his bloody mouth on his coat as he limps off the road.

There’s a price to pay for being as hardboiled as Sleuth is. The price is getting your ass kicked all the time.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Slick is the leader of the Midnight Crew because he's terrible at everything besides cutting people up.

This was more brainstorming. The details are coming together. I'm going to work on a rough outline sometime soon and maybe start churning this thing out in full.

YES!

*begs for more*

Okay.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Problem Sleuth sits in his office smoking a cigarette, remarking on how hardboiled he is. How tough as nails do you even have to be to get this hardboiled. The phone rings.

Problem Sleuth: Answer the phone.

You pick up the phone quickly and in your most hardboiled voice say hello, Problem Sleuth, top problem sleuth in the city, what's your problem and make it snappy you don't got all day.

==>

Except the phone's receiver cord is missing for some reason!

PS: Replace receiver cord and answer phone already.

You learned not too long ago to always keep a back up receiver cord for situations like this. Your colleagues haven't learned this lesson so they just steal yours whenever you're not in your office.

But only Ace Dick is that careless. Could it be...?

PS: Open desk drawer.

He did! That fat short bastard ate your desk drawer full of candy corn! You bet he also made lots of long distance phone calls while he was at it, just to be a jackass.

PS: Open other desk drawer.

You look at your phone bill. There are numbers you don't recognize to places you never heard of. You don't remember making these calls. And these phone numbers, there are like a billion numbers in front of them.

==>

You can see it now. Ace Dick reclining in your chair, with his ugly shoes on your desk, using your phone to make long distance calls to phone sex lines halfway across the globe, all the while eating your candy corn. And then, when he's done gorging himself, he remembers his phone is missing its receiver cord and takes yours!

Looks like you've got a problem with a bad office neighbor.

Problem Sleuth stews for a moment before channeling his frustration into the most hardboiled voice he's ever mustered. He replaces the cord and puts the phone to his ear. "Problem Sleuth. I hope you're in a lot of trouble because I'm in a perfect mood to shoot some hot lead into some surly thugs."

The dame on the other side explains that she thinks her husband is cheating on her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to put a few slugs into him to teach him a lesson?"

The woman hangs up.

==>

And then he cost you a client!

More like Ace Douche.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Because why not.

[emesis]

Jim, your fics are absolutely fantastic and I cannot put into words how happy they're making me without completely embarrassing myself.

aaaaaa

[battlerek]

More Problem Sleuth fic.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Problem Sleuth looks over some papers he found in the guy’s apartment. Bills, a few letters. Hopefully the results of his illegal investigation will help explain why he was murdered. Problem Sleuth rubs his chin. More and more, he gets the feeling that what he’s been hired by Wealthy Quantifier to find and this murder are connected somehow. Call it, Detective Tech Lv. 58: Hunch to the Gut.

Sleuth hears a car screeching around a corner from behind him. Even in the middle of the day like it is, it looks cloaked in shadow, much like the rest of everything the Midnight Crew owns regardless of time of day or lighting situation. Seems they’re tearing away from something. Or towards something.

Sleuth pulls a pre-stamped envelope addressed to his office from his trench coat and stuffs the documents inside, sealing it with a quick lick and stuffing it into a mailbox before the Midnight Crew notice and decide to leave a stick of dynamite inside like the last time they caught him trying to mail things to himself. Don’t want to let the Crew know what he was working on. It might lead back to them. They tend to react violently. But what really gets them mad is if anybody has dirt on them.

The driver slams on the brakes, the tires locking and the car drifting as it screeches to a halt. Hearts Boxcar opens the rear passenger door and steps outside. On the opposite side Diamonds Droog steps out and adjusts his tie.

Hearts Boxcars: Politely ask Problem Sleuth to join the Midnight Crew for a charming drive.

Diamonds Droog pulls a card from his deck, pointing the barrel at Problem Sleuth. “Get in the car.” Problem Sleuth takes one look at Hearts Boxcars. The man towers over him. He cracks his knuckles. Problem Sleuth gets the message.

Problem Sleuth seats himself in the middle as Hearts Boxcars squeezes him from the right and Diamonds Droog points a gun at him from the left. Sitting across from him, hitting his cast iron horse hitcher into his palm over and over, is Spades Slick. The car lurches forward as Clubs Deuce hits the accelerator. Problem Sleuth doesn’t want to think about how the short guy’s driving, because the back of his mind keeps telling him bull penis cane for some reason.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth greets with a smile. “You should’ve told me you were planning on kidnapping me.”

Slick bares his teeth in fury. “kidnapping?” He roars. “i oughtta carve your insides if thats the first thing you think of when you-”

“Slick,” Droog says.

“dammit droog” Slick shuffles his cards a few time to calm down. “problem sleuth” He says, trying to reestablish his position in the conversation.

“What can I do for you, Slick?”

“will you wipe that fucking grin of your face” Slick rubs his brow. “i bet youre wondering why were taking you for a drive.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Sleuth says, drawing out the conversation as long as possible in the friendliest way possible.

“what are you working on?” Slick asks.

“Slick,” Problem Sleuth shakes his head in an affable fashion. “Those details are private. You know I can’t tell you. In the interest of client privacy, of course.”

Slick signals Boxcars. Even with his limited range of movement, Boxcars can still deliver a powerful sucker punch. Sleuth grips his now aching right side. Did he break a rib?

“that was the good faith question” Slick says. Problem Sleuth marvels at the Midnight Crew talking about good faith. “since we cant count on you to tell us openly and honestly like the good friends we are were going to have to treat you like an enemy. which is a shame because” Slick pauses, “i like you sleuth”

Problem Sleuth tries to chuckle but the pain stops him. “I’m working on a case for Wealthy Quantifier. She has me looking for some stolen property. She was real tightlipped about what it was.” Sleuth groans out. “Let me tell you, it’s real hard looking for something if you don’t know what it is. But what can I do? She paid up front, and she’s paying me by the day. It’s a meal ticket, that's all.”

Slick looks to Droog. Droog shakes his head. “that aint all youre working on”

“I’m looking for Boxcar’s lost kitten and Droog’s favorite tie.” Problem Sleuth gives a pained smirk. Droog hits the side of his head with the hilt of his pistol.

“youre a real funny guy”

Problem Sleuth picks his head back up and looks at something funny in one of the side mirrors of the car. He gets ready to duck.

Diamonds Droog: Be Spades Slick.

You are now Clubs Deuce.

You’re driving the Crewmobile, as you’ve come to call it, but the rest of the Crew doesn’t seem too keen on the nickname. The rest of the Crew is beating up the nice man in the back. Problem Sleuth is such a nice guy. It’s too bad he’s always in the way of the Midnight Crew’s business. You don’t really blame the rest of the Crew that they beat him up all the time, and you don’t really blame Problem Sleuth for keeping on trying. Everybody’s just doing their job.

C Look in the rearview mirror.

You take a quick glance. Boxcars and Droog sure do look mad! Actually, Droog just looks like his normal self. He never seems to show emotion. You keep telling him he should, as it would be great step for his personal growth, but he just shrugs you off all the time.

C Look again, dumbass.

Oh goodness it’s the Felt!

They must have driven up behind you using the large blind spot behind Hearts Boxcars' large head! They’re geniuses!

“SLICK! DUCK!” Deuce squeals.

“what are you yapping about”

“THERE'S A CAR FULL OF STRIPED COLORED HATS BEHIND US SO JUST SHUT UP AND DUCK!”

Everybody tries to hit pavement, excepting that they’re in a car, as the Felt pull up alongside and give the Midnight Crew an expensive repair bill. Glass shatters and punches holes in the body as Quarters and Matchstick empty their tommy guns into the car. Problem Sleuth is grateful that he's seated in the middle between two large angry guys in a practically armored car. He thinks about how terrible the gas mileage must be as bullets fly over his head.

Diamonds Droog pops up, assault rifle in hand, and fires a few bursts. He ducks down quickly as Sawbuck fires his shotgun.

“dammit deuce get us the hell outta here”

“ON IT, SLICK!”

The car’s swerving becomes even more erratic as Clubs Deuce evades the Felt. Problem Sleuth pulls a hairpin from inside his coat and offers it to Hearts Boxcars. He briefly puzzles over it before taking it and leaning out the window. Several seconds of gas-powered rotary machine gun fire is enough to disable the Felt’s vehicle, allowing the Midnight Crew to limp away.

“ERM” Boxcars awkwardly gives the hairpin back to Sleuth. “THANKS”

Spades Slick is screaming at Clubs Deuce. “how the fuck did this happen you short little shit why werent you paying attention”

Diamonds Droog puts his cards into his coat and turns to Problem Sleuth as Slick is screaming. “We know that you’re investigating the murder of that courier, along with the favor you’re doing for Wealthy Quantifier. As a friendly warning,” Droog pauses. “Stop. And that’s all the warning you’re gonna get. If we catch you working either of those cases, we can’t say what’ll happen to you. But I doubt it’ll be pretty.” Droog puts a cigarette in his mouth and looks past Sleuth to Boxcars. “Ditch ‘em.”

Boxcars grabs Sleuth by the collar and throws him out of the broken window of the moving car. Sleuth rolls to a stop with his scratched cheek to hot pavement. He puts his palms on the ground and gingerly picks himself up. He wipes his bloody mouth on his coat as he limps off the road.

There’s a price to pay for being as hardboiled as Sleuth is. The price is getting your ass kicked all the time.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Slick is the leader of the Midnight Crew because he's terrible at everything besides cutting people up.

This was more brainstorming. The details are coming together. I'm going to work on a rough outline sometime soon and maybe start churning this thing out in full.

YES!

*begs for more*

Okay.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Problem Sleuth sits in his office smoking a cigarette, remarking on how hardboiled he is. How tough as nails do you even have to be to get this hardboiled. The phone rings.

Problem Sleuth: Answer the phone.

You pick up the phone quickly and in your most hardboiled voice say hello, Problem Sleuth, top problem sleuth in the city, what's your problem and make it snappy you don't got all day.

==>

Except the phone's receiver cord is missing for some reason!

PS: Replace receiver cord and answer phone already.

You learned not too long ago to always keep a back up receiver cord for situations like this. Your colleagues haven't learned this lesson so they just steal yours whenever you're not in your office.

But only Ace Dick is that careless. Could it be...?

PS: Open desk drawer.

He did! That fat short bastard ate your desk drawer full of candy corn! You bet he also made lots of long distance phone calls while he was at it, just to be a jackass.

PS: Open other desk drawer.

You look at your phone bill. There are numbers you don't recognize to places you never heard of. You don't remember making these calls. And these phone numbers, there are like a billion numbers in front of them.

==>

You can see it now. Ace Dick reclining in your chair, with his ugly shoes on your desk, using your phone to make long distance calls to phone sex lines halfway across the globe, all the while eating your candy corn. And then, when he's done gorging himself, he remembers his phone is missing its receiver cord and takes yours!

Looks like you've got a problem with a bad office neighbor.

Problem Sleuth stews for a moment before channeling his frustration into the most hardboiled voice he's ever mustered. He replaces the cord and puts the phone to his ear. "Problem Sleuth. I hope you're in a lot of trouble because I'm in a perfect mood to shoot some hot lead into some surly thugs."

The dame on the other side explains that she thinks her husband is cheating on her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to put a few slugs into him to teach him a lesson?"

The woman hangs up.

==>

And then he cost you a client!

More like Ace Douche.

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Because why not.

It's a shame not a lot of people write fanfics as hard-boiled as yours, because the world could always use more problem sleuth.

[Jim Groovester]

Jim, your fics are absolutely fantastic and I cannot put into words how happy they're making me without completely embarrassing myself.

aaaaaa

Your art had a lot to do with why I decided to write them in the first place. Seeing Slick and Sleuth interact was so cool I wanted to do the same.

So the embarrassingly happy feelings are completely mutual!

Also all your art is awesome seriously how do you do it.

It's a shame not a lot of people write fanfics as hard-boiled as yours, because the world could always use more problem sleuth.

I could not agree more.

How long do you even have to boil a fic to get it so hardboiled. Longer than three minutes, I'll bet you.

[egregiousBass]

Here's a striderfic! Well...half a striderfic. Or something.

That Was Just Your Life

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≈

My dear son,

Or perhaps not my son. Who can say? This newborn in my arms is not of my making, or at least as far as I can remember, but you bear my late mother's nose and my uncle's follicles. And those buckteeth... Yes, you are an Egbert.

But does this fact entitle me to adopt you into my household? I must admit, the idea strikes me as pleasant. So pleasant that I can hardly contain my excitement.

I must tread lightly. The fates are at work here. I mustn't interfere. And yet...what if this is predestined? I've desired a son for as long as I can remember. Is this a wish, granted? An elderly woman sacrificed for new life?

My wish be damned. There is a more important issue at hand: duty. You are in need of a father. A father I shall provide.

I don't know who you are, or where you came from. But I promise I will love you as a son.

My dear John.


Ø

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Is this really happening? Why can't this be a dream, like always?

But no. You're real. You're a baby. My baby?

Fuck no. You came from nowhere. You've got no family. Neither do I.

But...you look like me and...

...oh god. This can't be happening. There's something telling me I gotta take you home. Forcing me, even. Why. Why me?

Stop.

Breathe.



I'm cool.
It's cool.
We can work this out. It's not the end of the world. You're just a stupid fucking kid.

Maybe we can be one of those anime families where everyone sort of figures shit out on their own, so I don't have to baby you all the time. Can you do that? I pulled it off by myself. You're a Strider too, aren't you?

But...Goddamn. Even with those shades, you look completely helpless. Did I start out as an ugly pink monkey too? Maybe I'm not being fair.

Tell you what; I'll throw you a bone, give you food and a place to sleep. It's more than I got. And I can spare a little time to show you the ropes. So be grateful, and maybe this won't be the worst day of my life.

Just don't start thinking I'm your dad. I owe you nothing.

So you can call me Bro.


≈

Dear John,

You have spoken your first words. I am so, so proud of you. With baited breath do I wait for the day you can express your thoughts. Dear boy, I am certain that you are a wonderful person in making.

Ah, but I am thinking too far ahead. It has become clear that you accept me as a father. Such a blessing brings me joy in a manner which you cannot fathom at this early stage in your life.

Though there is a nagging hunch in the darker expanse of my mind, which tells me that it will not last. Of course, nothing lasts forever, but it speaks to me in a manner of urgency. On the one hand, I must live in the now and treasure every moment we can spare. But at the same time, it is my fervent dream to one day witness you as an adult man. If I ever push you in a direction you are uncomfortable with, I offer you my sincerest apologies.

I love you so very much.


Ø

I've been a moron.

These past years I've been living in false hope. I guess it's what made them bearable. Besides, doing all of that baby shit like changing diapers and force feeding you oatmeal was kinda badass in some oblique ironic way.

I just kept thinking "You're gonna grow up, you'll be gone, it's gonna be a-ok." But it's never going back to normal. I can see that now. You're a tumor, stuck to me for the rest of my life.

You're old enough to walk, crap like an adult, and maybe even talk too, but I never spoke a word to you so that's pretty much out of the question. I can leave you alone for a day if I want to. And even then, I can feel you cramping my style. Holding me back.

You're my life now, churl. And you made me afraid to die.

But that won't stop me from making the best of it. This job got forced on me and I don't take pride in doing it properly. Just gonna have to take it out on you.

I'm not sorry.


≈

Dear John,

I am so proud of you. But I am also ashamed. Ashamed of myself.

Never once did I question my methods; how shortsighted I was to employ myself as a measure. In hindsight, I have been keeping your ubringing overly traditional, stifling you with illegitimate expectations. To such a degree, in fact, that you reject your passion when you have finally found it. I am so sorry.

Foolishly did I ignore the signs. Passed off your appreciation of harlequins as a shallow audiovisual sensation. Dismissed your enjoyment of Bill Cosby as infantile. I never did say these things outright, but you appear to have sensed them nontheless.

Am I wiser now? I can't say. My hubris may yet repeat itself. But I must do what I think is right; there is nothing else to go by.

John, you are my son, and I respect your passion. And by god, I will internalize it, if that is what it takes for you to accept.

It is a metamorphosis which I gladly undertake.


Ø

...you.

You don't have a name. Do you want one? I've been thinking. "Dave Strider" sounds pretty cool, right?

Oh man.

I don't give a shit about morals and values, really. But something happened...or maybe it was gradual? Whatever. Point being, I've just begun to realise that you're an actual human being. And that I've been treating you like an animal.

It sounds so stupid now, but it never really occurred to me. I'm the only person you've ever met. Who knows what's going on inside your head? If only I taught you to talk.

It wasn't even that bad until I started messing with your head. "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger", I thought. But it just broke you. Did I go overboard? Or are you just too young? Feh.

I'm stopping the ironic shit for now. It's not doing anyone any good. But that's all I can do, or want to do. I just don't have it in me to set you straight. You're gonna have to find other people that do.

I'm not letting you outside. The world is cruel. It'll eat you whole.

Instead, here's a computer. It's got internet. Knock yourself out. Find something you're good at.

I have the feeling you're gonna make some great friends.


≈

Dear John,

I am ever more impressed with your multi-layered personality. In spite of my previous fears, you have developed into the most free-spirited person I know. I am so proud of you.

Is this not a parent's ultimate purpose, to be used as a launching pad by the next generation? And yet, I cannot surpress my expectations. Although I might never see you rise to the corporate elite with a fine young lady by your side, I feel this has been the best possible outcome.

My only concern is your affinity of others. The future may require you to estimate the intent of malefactors, which I cannot imagine of you as you are now. But you are young, and the charade I've maintained for years has no doubt impaired the development of this ability, so I'm sure it will come in time.

What the future holds in store for you, I do not know. But it is grand. I'm certain you will bear it admirably.

I am so happy for you.

And also proud. Have I mentioned that?


Ø

What is...I don't even...

This can't be real. You gotta be trolling me. This can't be you.

Fuck it, who am I kidding. You were a pathetic little runt all along, I just didn't want to face it. Why did I even bother to put spyware on your computer?

Everything I see is complete bullshit. Are you..imitating me? No wait. I recognize this. You're trying to be what I told you to be.

But it's not real. You're just pretending. It's a lie and you fooled yourself with it.

I turned you into a coolkid. A lame, insecure, unironic douchebag. Is this... Is this my fault?

No, that's not possible. Not fair. I did all I could. The best I could.

This is your fault.

You're the one to blame.

Everything I did was for nothing.

Miserable waste of skin.

How are you gonna hold up now, bub? The motherfucking future is getting closer, and it ain't pretty. You're gonna flop around and die like a fish on dry land.

It's too late to make you awesome. You'll never be like me. You'll never get irony.

This gonna kill me. Like, literally kill me. I saw it in my dreams. My life is fucked. Because of you.

I told you dog. Don't make this the worst day of my life, remember? And now look what you've done.

But I'm not gonna sit here and wait for it to happen. I hate you so much. The last thing I want is to be mourned by you.

You're gonna have to grow up. Fast. Until you stop needing me. Until you stop missing me.

I'm gonna make you hate me.


≈

Son,

There is nothing more to say. If I were to die this instant, I would die a happy man.

There is yet some work left for me to do, but it's nothing more than a formality.

This may be the last time you see me. It will strain your heart, but you are strong. No hardship this world can muster is enough to break you now.

I love you. Take care.


Ø

Frustration and disappointment. It's what my life is made out of right now. It's gotten me a drinking problem. Not that I mind; it won't be much longer now anyway.

I don't even know wether you're being strong or absurdly weak. I remember reading something like this on the internet, about people getting all emotionally attached when they get horrible things done to them.

Fuck. I wanted you to stop liking me and I couldn't even manage that.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and find you with bruises I don't even remember putting there. That's how bad it is.

And the more it happens, the more it makes you my bitch.

You're an open book to me, bro. I know you better than you know yourself. But right now, I'm just as lost and confused as you. I've stopped caring anyway. You're a big boy now. Gotta figure this shit out yourself.

It's time I started looking after me.

I'm gonna go out with a bang. One that makes you fry your brain thinking about it for the rest of your short, pathetic life.

And I think I've got an idea for our last moment together.


≈

SON.

IF YOU ARE READING THIS, IT MEANS YOU HAVE INHERITED MY WALLET. YOU HAVE TRULY BECOME AN ADULT MAN.

WIELD IT WITH RESPONSIBILITY AND INTEGRITY.

I AM SO, SO PROUD OF YOU.


Ø

bro.

roof. now.

bring cal.

where doing it man

where MAKING THIS HAPEN

[Dehgan]

Here's a striderfic! Well...half a striderfic. Or something.

That Was Just Your Life

show spoiler

hide spoiler

≈

My dear son,

Or perhaps not my son. Who can say? This newborn in my arms is not of my making, or at least as far as I can remember, but you bear my late mother's nose and my uncle's follicles. And those buckteeth... Yes, you are an Egbert.

But does this fact entitle me to adopt you into my household? I must admit, the idea strikes me as pleasant. So pleasant that I can hardly contain my excitement.

I must tread lightly. The fates are at work here. I mustn't interfere. And yet...what if this is predestined? I've desired a son for as long as I can remember. Is this a wish, granted? An elderly woman sacrificed for new life?

My wish be damned. There is a more important issue at hand: duty. You are in need of a father. A father I shall provide.

I don't know who you are, or where you came from. But I promise I will love you as a son.

My dear John.


Ø

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Is this really happening? Why can't this be a dream, like always?

But no. You're real. You're a baby. My baby?

Fuck no. You came from nowhere. You've got no family. Neither do I.

But...you look like me and...

...oh god. This can't be happening. There's something telling me I gotta take you home. Forcing me, even. Why. Why me?

Stop.

Breathe.



I'm cool.
It's cool.
We can work this out. It's not the end of the world. You're just a stupid fucking kid.

Maybe we can be one of those anime families where everyone sort of figures shit out on their own, so I don't have to baby you all the time. Can you do that? I pulled it off by myself. You're a Strider too, aren't you?

But...Goddamn. Even with those shades, you look completely helpless. Did I start out as an ugly pink monkey too? Maybe I'm not being fair.

Tell you what; I'll throw you a bone, give you food and a place to sleep. It's more than I got. And I can spare a little time to show you the ropes. So be grateful, and maybe this won't be the worst day of my life.

Just don't start thinking I'm your dad. I owe you nothing.

So you can call me Bro.


≈

Dear John,

You have spoken your first words. I am so, so proud of you. With baited breath do I wait for the day you can express your thoughts. Dear boy, I am certain that you are a wonderful person in making.

Ah, but I am thinking too far ahead. It has become clear that you accept me as a father. Such a blessing brings me joy in a manner which you cannot fathom at this early stage in your life.

Though there is a nagging hunch in the darker expanse of my mind, which tells me that it will not last. Of course, nothing lasts forever, but it speaks to me in a manner of urgency. On the one hand, I must live in the now and treasure every moment we can spare. But at the same time, it is my fervent dream to one day witness you as an adult man. If I ever push you in a direction you are uncomfortable with, I offer you my sincerest apologies.

I love you so very much.


Ø

I've been a moron.

These past years I've been living in false hope. I guess it's what made them bearable. Besides, doing all of that baby shit like changing diapers and force feeding you oatmeal was kinda badass in some oblique ironic way.

I just kept thinking "You're gonna grow up, you'll be gone, it's gonna be a-ok." But it's never going back to normal. I can see that now. You're a tumor, stuck to me for the rest of my life.

You're old enough to walk, crap like an adult, and maybe even talk too, but I never spoke a word to you so that's pretty much out of the question. I can leave you alone for a day if I want to. And even then, I can feel you cramping my style. Holding me back.

You're my life now, churl. And you made me afraid to die.

But that won't stop me from making the best of it. This job got forced on me and I don't take pride in doing it properly. Just gonna have to take it out on you.

I'm not sorry.


≈

Dear John,

I am so proud of you. But I am also ashamed. Ashamed of myself.

Never once did I question my methods; how shortsighted I was to employ myself as a measure. In hindsight, I have been keeping your ubringing overly traditional, stifling you with illegitimate expectations. To such a degree, in fact, that you reject your passion when you have finally found it. I am so sorry.

Foolishly did I ignore the signs. Passed off your appreciation of harlequins as a shallow audiovisual sensation. Dismissed your enjoyment of Bill Cosby as infantile. I never did say these things outright, but you appear to have sensed them nontheless.

Am I wiser now? I can't say. My hubris may yet repeat itself. But I must do what I think is right; there is nothing else to go by.

John, you are my son, and I respect your passion. And by god, I will internalize it, if that is what it takes for you to accept.

It is a metamorphosis which I gladly undertake.


Ø

...you.

You don't have a name. Do you want one? I've been thinking. "Dave Strider" sounds pretty cool, right?

Oh man.

I don't give a shit about morals and values, really. But something happened...or maybe it was gradual? Whatever. Point being, I've just begun to realise that you're an actual human being. And that I've been treating you like an animal.

It sounds so stupid now, but it never really occurred to me. I'm the only person you've ever met. Who knows what's going on inside your head? If only I taught you to talk.

It wasn't even that bad until I started messing with your head. "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger", I thought. But it just broke you. Did I go overboard? Or are you just too young? Feh.

I'm stopping the ironic shit for now. It's not doing anyone any good. But that's all I can do, or want to do. I just don't have it in me to set you straight. You're gonna have to find other people that do.

I'm not letting you outside. The world is cruel. It'll eat you whole.

Instead, here's a computer. It's got internet. Knock yourself out. Find something you're good at.

I have the feeling you're gonna make some great friends.


≈

Dear John,

I am ever more impressed with your multi-layered personality. In spite of my previous fears, you have developed into the most free-spirited person I know. I am so proud of you.

Is this not a parent's ultimate purpose, to be used as a launching pad by the next generation? And yet, I cannot surpress my expectations. Although I might never see you rise to the corporate elite with a fine young lady by your side, I feel this has been the best possible outcome.

My only concern is your affinity of others. The future may require you to estimate the intent of malefactors, which I cannot imagine of you as you are now. But you are young, and the charade I've maintained for years has no doubt impaired the development of this ability, so I'm sure it will come in time.

What the future holds in store for you, I do not know. But it is grand. I'm certain you will bear it admirably.

I am so happy for you.

And also proud. Have I mentioned that?


Ø

What is...I don't even...

This can't be real. You gotta be trolling me. This can't be you.

Fuck it, who am I kidding. You were a pathetic little runt all along, I just didn't want to face it. Why did I even bother to put spyware on your computer?

Everything I see is complete bullshit. Are you..imitating me? No wait. I recognize this. You're trying to be what I told you to be.

But it's not real. You're just pretending. It's a lie and you fooled yourself with it.

I turned you into a coolkid. A lame, insecure, unironic douchebag. Is this... Is this my fault?

No, that's not possible. Not fair. I did all I could. The best I could.

This is your fault.

You're the one to blame.

Everything I did was for nothing.

Miserable waste of skin.

How are you gonna hold up now, bub? The motherfucking future is getting closer, and it ain't pretty. You're gonna flop around and die like a fish on dry land.

It's too late to make you awesome. You'll never be like me. You'll never get irony.

This gonna kill me. Like, literally kill me. I saw it in my dreams. My life is fucked. Because of you.

I told you dog. Don't make this the worst day of my life, remember? And now look what you've done.

But I'm not gonna sit here and wait for it to happen. I hate you so much. The last thing I want is to be mourned by you.

You're gonna have to grow up. Fast. Until you stop needing me. Until you stop missing me.

I'm gonna make you hate me.


≈

Son,

There is nothing more to say. If I were to die this instant, I would die a happy man.

There is yet some work left for me to do, but it's nothing more than a formality.

This may be the last time you see me. It will strain your heart, but you are strong. No hardship this world can muster is enough to break you now.

I love you. Take care.


Ø

Frustration and disappointment. It's what my life is made out of right now. It's gotten me a drinking problem. Not that I mind; it won't be much longer now anyway.

I don't even know wether you're being strong or absurdly weak. I remember reading something like this on the internet, about people getting all emotionally attached when they get horrible things done to them.

Fuck. I wanted you to stop liking me and I couldn't even manage that.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and find you with bruises I don't even remember putting there. That's how bad it is.

And the more it happens, the more it makes you my bitch.

You're an open book to me, bro. I know you better than you know yourself. But right now, I'm just as lost and confused as you. I've stopped caring anyway. You're a big boy now. Gotta figure this shit out yourself.

It's time I started looking after me.

I'm gonna go out with a bang. One that makes you fry your brain thinking about it for the rest of your short, pathetic life.

And I think I've got an idea for our last moment together.


≈

SON.

IF YOU ARE READING THIS, IT MEANS YOU HAVE INHERITED MY WALLET. YOU HAVE TRULY BECOME AN ADULT MAN.

WIELD IT WITH RESPONSIBILITY AND INTEGRITY.

I AM SO, SO PROUD OF YOU.


Ø

bro.

roof. now.

bring cal.

where doing it man

where MAKING THIS HAPEN

...this is wonderful,and you should feel wonderful. Even though it goes against my own personal head canon about bro...I can really see why you would decide to write him this way.

[Path]

It's true, emesis, you are to thank for all good Slick/Sleuth crossovers!

And Jim, those are so great. So great. I am just so happy. Your remark about Slick's abilities is just so true, but I'd never considered it.

Path: Express joy through more slash.


On Slick's Taste In Cars

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hide spoiler

Spades Slick has so many cars, you find it kind of hard to believe.

This one is black (they're all black) with a little spade hood ornament (most of them have that too), and these amazing leather seats, it's just the best car ever. You'd love a car like this, though you'd like it to be white and with a little flag on the front and maybe custom plates with your phone number (HOT STUD) on them. Yeah. Hopefully everybody would be able to figure out it's a 1-800 number.

Of course it's probably bought with the labour of starving children and suffering dames, so you are never going to get a car like this (not that you could ever make enough money anyhow), let alone six or ten or however many cars he's got with shiny black paint and silver spades on the hood.

All the same, if you have to be locked up somewhere with the most dangerous criminal since Mobster Kingpin, you might as well choose a swanky automobile like this one. For all he's a dirty rotten crook, Slick's got good taste.

It extends to everything. His casinos are all done up in brass and red velvet. His apartments (all of them- oh god so many, all across town in various penthouse suites) are all huge, with black and white tiles or plush carpets and dark walls. Looking down on the city from one is a contrast as sharp as one of Slick's many (many) knives. Each one's twice the size of your place and your office combined, and somehow entirely empty by comparison (whoever does Slick's laundry knows what they're doing). You're sure you haven't tracked all his places down just yet, but you will.

His suits are pretty much the best of everything too, silk shirts and ties and black rabbitskin hats. He complains viciously at you for what you wear whenever you talk over dinner or meet up in public (not so rare, given how little you trust each other). You'll never tell him you show up in your best; guy's got too big of an ego as is. Plus you really don't need him ragging on you any more than he already does.

It was supposed to be a stakeout, the two of you on the rare occasions your interests overlap, keeping an eye out on a mutual enemy. The Felt's getting worse all the time; none of Slick's eye for the public, just rampant destruction. For all Slick's a gangster, he's a Kingpin gangster who stands to lose if the city does. The Felt... they're a different story altogether.

Maybe you let your guard down, or maybe you were just focused on the wrong enemy, because you really didn't expect to end up back here pushed into leather seats with Slick in his silk suit up on your lap like some dame. No, that's not right- Slick's nothing like that and feels nothing like it. No soft curves or soft laugh, Slick's all sharp edges and teeth and elbows, cool and knowing and as smug a bastard as ever.

He's skinny, though. Somehow it's still a surprise. You know he'll make use of the card up his sleeve if you ever mention how little he seems though. He's all the more dangerous for it. There was a misstep once in the early days with him, and you've never seen somebody move quicker, this black-lightning-leap across the room for the card in his vest, left carelessly tossed on the floor like you leave all your laundry. He's got somebody to pick it up though, you guess, which is really the difference.

So you've got both hands around him, he's savaging your neck (God, man, the teeth) and stripping your tie off (complaining in your ear the whole time about what a terrible tie it is). Of course that's when you catch a glimpse of one of the targets, peering in the front and just looking more confused than malicious really. You go for your keys but Slick reacts just so goddamn fast, a card out his sleeve and (no lie) straight out the windshield into the green guy's head, dead between the eyes. Just dead, really.

His windshield has a hole in it the size of your fist, and you can see a second Felt goon coming out to investigate. Time to be moving on, you agree, and without another thought Slick leaps over into his seat and slams into reverse. He speeds up quickly and runs the car straight into the dead Felt (Trace, maybe? There's too many of these guys to keep track), nearly slams you through the windshield too, before you're gone and rocketing down streets and leaving a cloud of black smoke coming out the hood in the glow of the streetlights.

He parks it in front of the casino and just throws the keys over his shoulder; you really doubt he'll even get the thing fixed, just have it towed away and trashed. It's still better than any car you'll ever own (not that you even own a car, or will anytime soon), but for Slick, it's already done its job, and he'll never use it again.

He'll just get a new one anyhow.

"Godfuckingdammit," he says, stalking into the casino like a panther with a grudge. "I was starting to like that car."

"It was a good car," you offer. "But there's probably a better car out there."

Slick looks back over his shoulder, gives you that appraising look, same one he'll give his new car. "...s'long as the back's big," he mutters, and disappears into the casino.

[Rimbaum]

It's true, emesis, you are to thank for all good Slick/Sleuth crossovers!

And Jim, those are so great. So great. I am just so happy. Your remark about Slick's abilities is just so true, but I'd never considered it.

Path: Express joy through more slash.


On Slick's Taste In Cars

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Spades Slick has so many cars, you find it kind of hard to believe.

This one is black (they're all black) with a little spade hood ornament (most of them have that too), and these amazing leather seats, it's just the best car ever. You'd love a car like this, though you'd like it to be white and with a little flag on the front and maybe custom plates with your phone number (HOT STUD) on them. Yeah. Hopefully everybody would be able to figure out it's a 1-800 number.

Of course it's probably bought with the labour of starving children and suffering dames, so you are never going to get a car like this (not that you could ever make enough money anyhow), let alone six or ten or however many cars he's got with shiny black paint and silver spades on the hood.

All the same, if you have to be locked up somewhere with the most dangerous criminal since Mobster Kingpin, you might as well choose a swanky automobile like this one. For all he's a dirty rotten crook, Slick's got good taste.

It extends to everything. His casinos are all done up in brass and red velvet. His apartments (all of them- oh god so many, all across town in various penthouse suites) are all huge, with black and white tiles or plush carpets and dark walls. Looking down on the city from one is a contrast as sharp as one of Slick's many (many) knives. Each one's twice the size of your place and your office combined, and somehow entirely empty by comparison (whoever does Slick's laundry knows what they're doing). You're sure you haven't tracked all his places down just yet, but you will.

His suits are pretty much the best of everything too, silk shirts and ties and black rabbitskin hats. He complains viciously at you for what you wear whenever you talk over dinner or meet up in public (not so rare, given how little you trust each other). You'll never tell him you show up in your best; guy's got too big of an ego as is. Plus you really don't need him ragging on you any more than he already does.

It was supposed to be a stakeout, the two of you on the rare occasions your interests overlap, keeping an eye out on a mutual enemy. The Felt's getting worse all the time; none of Slick's eye for the public, just rampant destruction. For all Slick's a gangster, he's a Kingpin gangster who stands to lose if the city does. The Felt... they're a different story altogether.

Maybe you let your guard down, or maybe you were just focused on the wrong enemy, because you really didn't expect to end up back here pushed into leather seats with Slick in his silk suit up on your lap like some dame. No, that's not right- Slick's nothing like that and feels nothing like it. No soft curves or soft laugh, Slick's all sharp edges and teeth and elbows, cool and knowing and as smug a bastard as ever.

He's skinny, though. Somehow it's still a surprise. You know he'll make use of the card up his sleeve if you ever mention how little he seems though. He's all the more dangerous for it. There was a misstep once in the early days with him, and you've never seen somebody move quicker, this black-lightning-leap across the room for the card in his vest, left carelessly tossed on the floor like you leave all your laundry. He's got somebody to pick it up though, you guess, which is really the difference.

So you've got both hands around him, he's savaging your neck (God, man, the teeth) and stripping your tie off (complaining in your ear the whole time about what a terrible tie it is). Of course that's when you catch a glimpse of one of the targets, peering in the front and just looking more confused than malicious really. You go for your keys but Slick reacts just so goddamn fast, a card out his sleeve and (no lie) straight out the windshield into the green guy's head, dead between the eyes. Just dead, really.

His windshield has a hole in it the size of your fist, and you can see a second Felt goon coming out to investigate. Time to be moving on, you agree, and without another thought Slick leaps over into his seat and slams into reverse. He speeds up quickly and runs the car straight into the dead Felt (Trace, maybe? There's too many of these guys to keep track), nearly slams you through the windshield too, before you're gone and rocketing down streets and leaving a cloud of black smoke coming out the hood in the glow of the streetlights.

He parks it in front of the casino and just throws the keys over his shoulder; you really doubt he'll even get the thing fixed, just have it towed away and trashed. It's still better than any car you'll ever own (not that you even own a car, or will anytime soon), but for Slick, it's already done its job, and he'll never use it again.

He'll just get a new one anyhow.

"Godfuckingdammit," he says, stalking into the casino like a panther with a grudge. "I was starting to like that car."

"It was a good car," you offer. "But there's probably a better car out there."

Slick looks back over his shoulder, gives you that appraising look, same one he'll give his new car. "...s'long as the back's big," he mutters, and disappears into the casino.

...
Slick/Sleuth. So. Awesome. :O KEEP WRITING MORE!

[Path]

Slick/Sleuth. So. Awesome. :O KEEP WRITING MORE!

It's not like I can stop. The margins of my business class notes are all full of hardboiled detective makeouts.

[Kassiopeia]

Path. Holy shit. That was nothing short of majestic. Never stop. I need this in my life o_o

(my favourite part was the whole bit about Slick's stature, that was somehow perfect)

(also that you took the cards-weapons thing totally seriously and somehow made it awesome)

(also I'm reading Raymond Chandler at the moment and it is giving me a hankering for some hardboiled detective stuff, I guess I will have to go back and read the whole of Jim's fic. Does anyone have an index/masterlist? I am too lazy and my internet connection too frustratingly slow to look back over the whole thread.)

[Douhneill]

You guys.
You guys.

I love you guys.
All of you guys.

...That's really all there is to say on the matter.

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Except that I think I might actually finish a fic for the first time in like 100 pages or so. Hopefully.