MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

[SkaianRedeemer]

OKAY. So here is the deal: Real Life is making what was already going to be a complicated period even more complicated. I think people would have been okay with that but just to rub salt on it: Chapter 15 was never going to be so great that it would be worth waiting for past the delay. To make up for the schedule slip I have a new plan: I’m going to release 15 over time, along with The Dargon Arc over time, as my life sorts itself out. Once that’s all done I’ll re-combine the chapter on A03 into one again. Hopefully that will keep everyone well and entertained, and the only consequence will be that my “chapter breaks” will suck, because they’re really just scene breaks.

A Hand in Holding Hands
Part 15i (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, recap1, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11a, 11b, 12, recap2, 13, 14a, 14b)

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Hm. ’S funny. Thought he fell asleep on the horn pile is all. Not in the motherfucking Freak Show. But there’s fucking posters every which way and he certainly didn’t take them home with him, so he must be back on LOTAM.

Fucking miracles.

He walks past the ticket booth. Rickety old thing. Everything is faded and worn, like it had been left out in the rain too long for a dozen sweeps on end. There are huge posters. The Bearded Lady. The Hornless Boy. Like hell. Nothing in the circus but imps and liches, but they’re cool. Do a brother a few favours if you ask real nice. So when his best bro asked him to kill his Denizen and get the hell to the gate, he just asked and they pointed him to the dark corner at the back of the tents. The one the Consorts had been babbling about for weeks before the Underlings finally killed them all. Fuck. That felt like months ago. Wasn’t that fucking months ago?

He pushes through the turnstile and the bar breaks off as he tries to push through. He tries to lighten the mood with a little whistling, but he doesn’t have to keep it up long, because the inside of the tent is all bendy mirrors and paint! Motherfucking paint all up and down the walls! Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, and twelve mirrors all set up with distorted stick figures in ’em! Fucker’s an artist, even if it looks like he’s been working with a brush the size of a Troll’s arm. The tenth one looks a little wonky, though. Got a nice indigo drawing on it, for sure, with a splotch of white all over the face, but the glass is all smashed on the right side, the stick figure’s left. The whole frame’s in a pile of glass ankle-high with a bunch of discarded frames behind it. Guess the artist was having trouble with that one, huh? And he laughs about it.

He walks into the next room and there’s another one of those old player pianos, playing Entrance of the Gladiators non-stop like every other one in this fucking planet, just like he likes, except all tinny and shit, and it skips one of the notes like it doesn’t work or something. There’s a fortune telling machine on the right with its eyes flashing, and some meat-flavoured gum. That’s nasty, but they’re just there to entertain the lineup while they wait for the Freak Show to let them in. There’s this featherbeast behind a glass case on one side with this chalk board beside it with basic math all written up on it. “SMARTEST DUCK IN THE WORLD” it says. Haha, rock on. There’s this metal plate underneath the featherbeast. Every once and a while the plate buzzes like electricity’s shooting through it but the featherbeast doesn’t do shit because fuck, they’ve been here a month and there ain’t nobody running this show. Everything that did show up is an Imp and they don’t get a fucking crap. The dead bird just lays there, little white crawling things poking out from under the feathers. Fucking miracles.

“Hey there little grub-fuckers!” He pokes the glass. “Gonna grow up to be big-ass fucking buzzbugs when you grow up just like your moms and dads, am I right?”

“wrong”
“YOU’RE SO FUCKING WRONG, BITCHTITS!!”

There’s also a giant monster floating above the stage at the back of the room. Didn’t really seem all that interesting, what with all the miracles already close at hand.

“just gonna get squished”
“GONNA DIE LIKE EVERYONE FUCKING ELSE”
“because what does it know?”
“DON’T KNOW FUCKING SHIT!!”
“gonna grow up to be a big fucking fly but in the end he don’t get it”
“SHE DOESN’T FUCKING GET THAT IT’S TOO LATE”
“should have never grown up in the first place”
“COULD HAVE STAYED WHERE IT WAS WARM, MOTHERFUCKER”
“too late.”
“tOo GoDdAmN fUcKiNg LaTe!”

Capricorn hangs suspended in the air above the massive Freak Show stage, reaching to the very heights of the tallest tent where it the tent rises to an incredibly height compared to the cozy entrance hall. It holds up one crooked, mangled leg against the light fixtures, supporting a massive goat’s upper body into the air. Another upper body lies at its side, crashed into the stage in a pile of splinters and rubble. The fallen goat body looks all but dead, forelegs slumped in front of it, unmoving in the sand, and only bright, indigo eyes and its shouting and hideous voice showed that it was still alive. The two mammalian bodies had once joined at their hips, like conjoined twins, but had been split down the middle only part-way. A fish tail, hovering in the air, wrapped up around the wound and cradled a set of spilled innards in its snake-grasp. The room stinks of meat and fish. The smell stirs in the back of Gamzee’s memory, calling up a picture of purple tears on wet, white fur.

And then it passes. “What is up my gigantic brothers?” You know, he thinks, it's funny. Think I've already killed this fucker. Living life twice? Now that's a miracle.

“gonna bash your face in” hisses the healthier, upraised body.
“TILL YOU CAN’T FUCKING BE NO MORE” shouts the fallen.

“Ah, man, don’t be like that!” Gamzee said. Unbidden but certainly wanted, a Faygo dropped out of his modus and into his hand. “I mean, I’m here to kill ya but you don’t have to be a fucking whiner about it.”

“CAN’T KILL US!”
“wouldn’t notice the blows”
“SO YOU JUST CAN’T KILL US, BARD OF—”

Both goat heads scream at once as the raised one’s free hand swings ineffectively toward their conjoined tail and clutch of organs. A large dollop of indigo spills over the edge of the tail and hisses when it hits the ground before slipping away into deletion.

“you still haven’t done it.”
“YOU CAN’T WORK YOURSELF OUT, MAN. YOU’RE A PUZZLE YOU’RE TOO LAZY TO FUCKING SOLVE.”
“game doesn't know how to give you powers, game doesn't know how to give us powers. how are you going to kill us if you can’t sort out your own problems.”
“HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED TO FIND YOURSELF.”

“Oh, bros, now you sound like fucking Kanaya.” Gamzee took a drink from the Faygo. He had not been this close to sober in weeks and it was starting to tell on him, but Karkat insisted.

“the sylph of space is a walking hypocrisy.”
“SHE’S A FUCKING CHEATER, MAN!”
“just like all of them.”
“ALL MY BROS DYING LEFT AND RIGHT, WHAT THE HELL?”
“is the fucking maid of time”
“IT’S THE MILLION FUCKING MAIDS OF TIME.”

“Hey, bitch, don’t be harshing my sisters! Sure, she’s a nag, but she owes me one and… is that a organ grinder?”

“what.”
“WHERE’S HE GOING?”
“where the fuck is he going.”

It was. Awesome. So fucking awesome. Gamzee gives the handle a turn and sure enough, it plays that classic, monkey training tune: Entrance of the Gladiators. Fucking miracles. He gives it a few more turns, humming along, when suddenly the whole goddamn thing explodes in his face! There’s this puppet sticking out of the front on a spring. Holy shit! Never seen an organ grinder do that before.

“Okay,” he says a moment later, new toy lost somewhere in the south-by-northeast of his modus. “I’m back.”

“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, MAN?”
“we’re a dark reflection of you and we don’t even get it.”
“LIKE A FUNHOUSE MIRROR BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN WE SHOULDN’T GET IT. THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“Aw, I dunno.” Gamzee scratches at the back of his neck. “I guess I got some back pains, maybe a little bit of a headache, but I’ve been feeling all right.”

“holy shit”
“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”
“he just doesn’t get it.”
“NO WONDER THE GAME DON’T KNOW SHIT.”
“this asshole comes in here with no goals—”
“WHO HAS NO GOALS AT SIX SWEEPS?”
“and two identities tearing our asses the fuck in half”
“IT FUCKING HURTS, BASTARD!”
“but we’d do it all again”
“KEEP IT GOING FOREVER AND EVER”
“because if you move you die”
“LIKE THE FUCKING MAGGOT, GET IT?”
“it’s a goddamn metaphor.”
“NOBODY FUCKING DIES”
“nobody fucking gets hurt”
“EVERYTHING THE SAME FOREVER AND EVER, BARD OF GODDAMN FUCKING—YEAAAARGGGGGH!”

Gamzee couldn’t help but laugh as the blood sloshed down again. “Just gonna do my job for me, man!”

The raised body caught its breath, braced against the lights. “stay in pain now and no one ever leaves”
“IF WE SPLIT MY MOTHERFUCKING BRO DIES”
“or my motherfucking bro dies”
“FUCK IT! FUCK IT AND FUCK BILIOUS SLICK.”
“fuck the hypocrite sylph of space! live forever in stagnation!”
“AlL hAiL dErSe! HaIl ThE kInG oF tHe BlAcK tHrOnE!”

Gamzee continues to laugh as he watches them. They’re getting so worked up over fucking nothing, after all. And then they start laughing too. High pitched and squealing, deep bass and shaking: like a funhouse mirror. He looks up again.

Hey now. What do you know. Old friends popping out of the woodwork! That’s funny, though. After all, he didn’t have any company with Capricorn except Aradia. But if things went exactly the same way they’d be fucking boring! “Hey Nerida.” The more the merrier! Besides, he hasn’t seen this dude in forever!

“sup, Dork?”

Pretty in indigo. Chopsticks in her hair, and a scar running down her cheek from a fight with her lusus when she was a baby. Splotches of purple blood up and down her shirt and legs and skin a perfect, unbroken grey. Man. Where the fuck's she been, again?

“following morE orDErs likE A HAppy liTTlE pupbEAsT? ”

“Nah, it’s just Karkat, man, you know how it is.” Gamzee scratches at the back of his head with his club. It sticks a bit against his hair. “He says Kani’s ready and we have to get a move on or the King’s gonna make a mess of Skaia.”

“oH yEAH, you’vE DEfinitEly gottA Hurry if you’rE on kAnAyA’s TimE Don’t minD mE.”

“Yeah, I know, Auspistices must suck sometimes, eh?” He shrugs. “No real hurry though, I mean, Aradia’s gonna show up in a bit and we’ll show him who’s boss.” He points about the room, gesturing to virtually every open-air spot, especially behind the tableau the unmoving Denizen made. Shit, when the fuck did he stop moving? Fucking good at holding that pose.

“you Two HAvE A plAn?”

“Well...” Gamzee shrugged. “It’s how it happened last time. But you know how dreams are. bUt I lOvE iT wHeN tHeY gO nUtS Y’kNoW?” Nerida blinked at him.

“you know THis is A DrEAm?”

“Well yeah,” he says. “I mean, I’m not stupid. Big-ass motherfucker up lecturing me like it’s two months ago all over again, and then you’re here. Heh, you know, dreams are awesome when you know you’re dreaming.”

“AnD... you sEE... noTHing wrong wiTH THis siTuAtion AT All?”

“Nope!” Gamzee said, already taking advantage of his lucid state to pivot forward on one axis. He giggled when he caught sight of the statue of Capricorn, upside-down.

“you’rE noT EvEn conflicTED, sAy, AbouT mE?”

Gamzee comes back to facing Nerida again, and laughs. “Why? Fuck, you fought back well enough. No damn conflict.” Nerida’s eyes seem to sink away as he watches her, as bruises and cuts begin to sour her perfect skin.

“mAybE you HAvEn’T THougHT AbouT wHAT rosE would sAy?”

“Of course not!” he says, with a grin. “I don’t know Rosie for another month or so.” To even his surprise, Nerida smiles.

“you’rE impossiblE gAmzEE. it's A rEliEf Too sEE, but i'll hAvE to bE morE DirEcT.”

Another cut begins to spread on Nerida’s forehead, a cut that split the skin and bleeds down and up alike. Like a branch.

“Subjuggalator Makara.”

Gamzee looks up, up and up at the towering, statuesque Troll before him, her golden trident well and ready at hand. “Whoa,” he says. “Fuck, lady, where did you come from?”

“Subjuggalator Makara, you know me?”

Gamzee nods, a knot in his throat. “Sure, lady, I’ve been schoolfed. You’re the Lily Empress. The one with cream blood. You said you were a fucking God.” She nods slowly, and picks her finger. A single drop of white blood peeks out. He peered forward, squinting at Her Imperial Highness’ glistening eyes. “Aren’t you dead?”

“Two thousand sweeps, Subjuggalator Makara. How have things stood in my absence?”

Gamzee laughs again, before slapping hands over his mouth for breaking procedure. “They’ve, uh, pretty much busted up everything you built, ever, what with the evil magic shit and all.”

“Call it what you will.”

She nods and steps past him, to look up at the frozen form of Capricorn. Nerida’s broken body lies on the ground in her wake, forgotten by her. Gamzee notices it as if for the first time. “Aw, bro, you’re not here to fuck with my mojo, are you? Because that’s not cool. My bro Rosie got that happening to her the other day and she got fucking pissed.”

“Yes, I’ll know Rose Lalonde.”

The Empress reaches out a hand toward Capricorn, down the split in its torso.

“Fascinating, isn’t it, Gamzee?”

Gamzee agrees. “...Why ain’t you dead any more?”

“I’m checking on an investment, Loyal One.”

“Ohh...” Gamzee steps forward to stand at her side. “I don’t understand shit about stocks and stuff.” The Empress laughs.

“What a mess you’ve made, Loyal One. Your Denizen screams invectives, your subconscious screams ghosts. You do nothing.”

Gamzee does not know what to say to that. To be honest, Gamzee is slowly starting to come to terms with the idea that he does not know what is going on. It hurts.

“The Bard of Rage is dead, then.”

“The what?” he asks. She gestures to the fallen goat-head.

“Two personalities in one mind, but now the game cannot handle them. You’ve changed, but even you don’t know how much, so neither does Sgrub. Who can blame it?”

“Fuck, lady,” Gamzee said. “I’m just the Bard, there ain’t any thing on the end like with everyone else.”

“Of course there is, Loyal One. Sgrub just can’t work out what it is, and your Denizen suffers to be the perfect counter for a soul with no identity. Your Alpha Self moved on with the title of Rage. You do not.”

“Oh,” Gamzee says, following her as she walks. “...That’s bad. I mean, being a… not alpha. Aradia said something about that.”

“No, Loyal One. Sburb punishes doomed timelines created during its session. Yours branched before that time.”

The more he heard the worse things sounded. Gamzee’s headache was mounting, and he struggled to form words. “ThEn... uHh...”

“Like dominoes, a single change setting off the others, all to one, singular goal, the rest irrelevant. My investment.”

The Empress nudged a fallen horn into Nerida’s body, and she slipped away, as though falling off an edge that was not there. Gamzee understood causality, vaguely. But he knew most of all that things don’t move through things, not without a miracle.

“Are you ready for the ending, Loyal One?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Gamzee sticks out his tongue and starts again to aimlessly pivot in his lucidity. The Empress takes this in with a certain amount of disdain, before Gamzee points back to the Denizen. "This motherfucker says I'm supposed to fucking find myself first."

"There is… on so many levels… not enough time for that."

Gamzee settles to the ground as another thought occurs to him. Wait a minute, he thinks. Dead people don’t come back to life, either, do they? There were some that might argue that Gamzee’s head was just too clouded to be driven truly insane, but with each parcel of understanding magnified his headache. Gamzee began to breathe very heavily, and reached up with his left hand to rest his pounding head against his palm, but found he could not. “...Ow.”

“...I’m sorry, Loyal One.”

Gamzee looked at his arm, and saw that a strange, purple bruise was welling up just below the surface. “The fuck’s going on, man?”

“Oh, you’re bleeding into you skin. Nothing to do with me. Your friend John is simply not so talented a surgeon as he fancies.”

Gamzee eyes darted toward the Empress, and with a start he realized that he could hear laughter. Capricorn was moving again; the dream had resumed.

“hahahahaha”
“HAHAHAHA”
“you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Gamzee said. He feels there was some reason he had to say that. He supposes he had said it before, but in the past, he could feel his fingertips. “I’m here.”

“NOT YOU FUCKER.”
“this bitch! this goddamn murdering bitch!”

“I believe he’s referring to me,” says a voice. “Taurus proved rather stubborn.” Gamzee looks up, and the sky is filled with metal. Aradia has arrived a hundred times.

“FUCKING BITCH, MY BEST BRO WON’T DIE LIKE THAT”
“none of us can die. we live forever as we are.”
“HEHEHEHE. WE AREN’T, THOUGH, ARE WE BRO?”
“hahahaha, because of this fucker on the ground”

Black splotches begin to climb into Gamzee’s vision, and there are monsters at the peripheral of his vision. Sopor. Vaguely, Gamzee is aware that he’s being taken out of the sopor, that the memory is dying and the nightmares proper are closing in. The memory starts to compress, to move at a faster speed, as though it has to finish before it can die, and no one reacts to his change in condition.

“FUCK YOU!”
“fuck the maid of time and the bard of aaaarrrrrGGGGGHHH!!!”
“RAARGGGHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
“hahahahahahahhaha!!! fucking… ahahaha… bard!!”
“YOU CAN’T STOP US, BITCHES”

A hundred Aradia’s reply. “Gamzee and I are ready to finish you.” The memory slips away from Gamzee, running on auto-pilot as though he was still healthy and ready. He can’t feel his arm. His left side is numb and cold. “Anything with a health bar can die.”

“you’re not ready!”
“NONE OF YOU ARE FUCKING READY!!”

Capricorn’s rage shook the floor, and Gamzee feels hands on him. Cold hands, like rubber, and he shakes past the tremors in the floor. The Empress is still watching him. “Quiet,” Aradia orders. “No more talk and rhetoric.”

“hehehehehehehe. she doesn’t get it! hehehehe...”
“WE HAVE NO MOTHERFUCKING EXISTENCE!”
“heheheheahhahahahahahahaha!”
“AND WE WON’T LET YOU CHANGE THAT!”
“hahahahahaHaHaHaHaHa!!!!”

The figures close in, and the voices whisper, names, places, orders. Karkat. He hears Karkat’s voice. Gamzee can’t feel a thing, and the Empress is watching him.

“C’mOn BiTcHeS! eMbRaCe ThE aRmS oF eTeRnAl pUnIsHmEnT wItH tHe PaRaDoX oF sIlEnCe!”

Both heads bleat as one, a resounding sound to end all sound, and then there is nothing. The tent blows in the wind of combat in an empty din, an aural void.

I’m sorry, Loyal One.

Capricorn fights and dies in Silence, as he had in the past as well as the dream, and Gamzee rushes as though to follow. The Empress is watching him as the memory dies.

It was nothing personal.

---------------------------------------------

Eridan ushered Tavros out of the room with Vriska’s barbs on his back about him being an irresponsible punk, but Rose did not need to be told to leave. She had been long in Jade’s room, playing Monopoly, by the time John came back, and she heard him swear and really mean it for the first time. When he opened the door to talk to them he had regained his composure.

“Just the arm,” he said, and tried to look relieved. So far. “Equius says he’s already working on a new….” The faces that looked out told him to leave without saying another word.

“Rose...” Jade said after a long pause. “We knew that this could—”

“Shut up,” Rose said. “Just…” She rolled the dice and moved her piece. The very last thing she wanted to do was to talk about it. They play on in silence.

This is hopefully a less confusing edit than the one I posted this morning. Feedback is appreciate to make sure that it actually is less confusing, of course.

[Megafire]

@ Skaian

That was extremely confusing to me. Which isn't to say it was bad, because dream sequences are always fun when they're confusing, I guess. I did keep reading, at any rate.

[Graven_Image]

I... think I understand. I'm not sure.


Also, earlier I put up a story and told everyone to guess who the narrator was. Pimudragonfeline got it right when she guessed "Sburb itself". Lord English of Doc Scratch were good guesses, but that would have made it uncomfortably homoerotic.

[battlerek]

But Doc Scratch is already uncomfortably erotic. Adding some homo wouldn't make it any less creepier.

[Path]

Also, earlier I put up a story and told everyone to guess who the narrator was. Pimudragonfeline got it right when she guessed "Sburb itself". Lord English of Doc Scratch were good guesses, but that would have made it uncomfortably delightfully homoerotic.

Fixed.

[SkaianRedeemer]

@Megafire, Graven: I'll be re-writing it then. See what I can do.

[Path]

Sorry it's been so long. Have some fic.


Perfected Empty Equality

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They never knew each other personally. They were only enemies of friends, with no personal grudge. They were not the type to maintain a grudge, exactly. They hated, easily enough, but it was a mature, strong hatred untainted by anger or bias. They are comfortable in their enmities.

He emerges from his dressing room mostly ready. Pinstriped pants are carefully pressed, black shirt tucked in, vest loose and still undone; collar flipped up and buttons up to his throat. His jacket is laid over his arm, and he holds it close to his side.
She holds a tie to his shirt, then a second. They scrutinize it in silence.

"The second, I think."

He agrees, and threads it around his collar, tying it meticulously, yet without visible effort. He cinches the knot to his throat, fixes his collar and vest, and turns to be critiqued. She simply smiles; no-one she's ever met is as precise, as calculating, or as well-dressed. She has never needed to fix him in any way.

She appreciates it on a level she doesn't get to indulge often. After a few talks with him, they have reached a comfortable presence, and she readily acknowledges that he, unlike practically everyone she's ever met, is her equal. No more than that, but certainly no less.

He slips his jacket on, hands her her fur. He holds the door open, but only because he has to lock it. She gets her own door when they get into his car, and lights her own cigarette. At home, she takes faint joy in forcing Crowbar to strike a match and hold it for her. But he's weak, and the strength he thinks he has just makes him weaker. She does it because she's above him, to remind him of it. She could never do the same to Diamonds Droog. He is too much like her.

He doesn't take her arm when they walk into the opera, but the crowds part around them all the same. They sit in their booth in plush red velvet seats and take turns pouring cabernet, and Snowman reflects that he is perhaps her first and only friend. She simply never expected to have one. But he is completely and utterly disinterested in her as a woman, and perfectly equal with her as an appreciator of beauty, the arts, and, perhaps, as one of Slick's lovers. It makes for an odd friendship, cool and distant, but there is a vein through it, an underground river flowing dark and unseen between them. They are alike, more than she ever thought she could find.

As the curtains rise, she turns her head and raises her glass. He does the same, and the stage lights glint in the same colour off his wine and the diamond pin at his lapel, and as they meet eyes, nothing at all happens. The glasses chime together as if to mark it, and they both turn away, satisfied that their relationship remains the perfected empty equality it has always been.

A/N

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Apparently Droog and Snowman are sort of like my evil twin film noir Will & Grace.

[C20710]

@Path
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Interesting. This is oddly a little like how we prepare for sushi, albeit more sinister.

In your fic I always see these relationship dynamics like a game of tron, with one party attempting to cut off the other's vector and crush them with their own momentum and hubris. So I suppose if two people took the identical approach in their relationships with others, then together they'd run perfectly parallel - in tandem, but not touching.

A lot like, say, Diamonds Droog and Snowman.

[Megafire]

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and as they meet eyes, nothing at all happens.

That made me laugh.

I like it.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Okay, it's up again. I'd really appreciate some more feedback before it goes up on A03. I'll admit that much of this is supposed to be unclear yet...

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(the Lily Empress (beyond that she's an aspect of Rose's dark God), why no one is "fucking ready" and, uh, Gamzee)

...the sequence of events is at least supposed to be coherent, so if anyone finds it confusing still, some sort of direction would help.

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I did realize that I had missed a critical line of the Elder God's when she specified the nature of Gamzee's collapse near the end of the fic. “Oh, you’re bleeding into you skin. Nothing to do with me. Your friend John is simply not so talented a surgeon as he fancies.” I doubt that solves everything, though.

@Path: "evil twin film noir Will & Grace" I'd watch it.

[Path]

@Path
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Interesting. This is oddly a little like how we prepare for sushi, albeit more sinister.

I write what I know, which is a lot of sex and grim looks, and now moirallegiance and guys with good ties. It was originally going to be more cutely , but that grim looks thing kicked back in and reasserted itself.

In your fic I always see these relationship dynamics like a game of tron, with one party attempting to cut off the other's vector and crush them with their own momentum and hubris. So I suppose if two people took the identical approach in their relationships with others, then together they'd run perfectly parallel - in tandem, but not touching.

Wow that is a really cool way of looking at this. I've never thought of it like that; now my fic-writing will forever be tron-themed.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Wow that is a really cool way of looking at this. I've never thought of it like that; now my fic-writing will forever be tron-themed.

Ancestor-fic?

[Path]

Wow that is a really cool way of looking at this. I've never thought of it like that; now my fic-writing will forever be tron-themed.

Ancestor-fic?

Sadly any ancestorfic I write will be so unbelievably dirty that it'll have to sit on AO3. And they won't be wearing clothes, so the Tron aesthetic will be less evident. :P

I mean, that's assuming I can ever stop writing Midnight City stuff long enough to focus on ancestors, which seems unlikely.

[C20710]

Oh Path ffs, you pervert...what IS it with you and sex??

Honestly, I'd think one such as yourself would lean more to restraint and frustration, if only to make the unseen and unsaid more...*blush* WELL I WOULDN'T KNOW BUT I'M SURE IT'S VERY NICE.

Watching you so...unreserved and free makes my bars seem so much heavier and thicker. It's delightful. It's maddening. This dance you dance where I cannot tread. You are to moirallegiance what stairs are to a cripple: the pinnacle of achievement forbidden to me by my own frailty.

But to stop that dance would be a crime beyond measure, and to pull myself up a feat beyond Hercules. But I can watch Path. I can watch you dance.

Dance for me, won't you?

eh heh hehhh...

[Path]

Be Path.
You are now Path. Your moirail is acting totally weird. But what else is new?

[Megafire]

Please, continue, this is entertaining.

[C20710]

I'm going to cry and eat your cookies. No, that wasn't a metaphor. Are you suggesting that you understand me LESS now than before? I submit that I am less weird to you at this very moment than at any moment prior.

Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

Your discourse is inelegant, and unbefitting our audience. As my moirail and an artist don't you think you're obliged to respond to my creepy poetry in kind??

edit: don't worry Megafire, Path will fail to resist the urge. The opportunity to play this out on the quintessential stage before you, two moirails characterized in flesh as well as ink.

Isn't that right Path? You're going to want it. A chance to be admired, and gain the rewards that follow. You're not going to be able to resist. You're going to want to know what it tastes like.

[Jim Groovester]

@SkaianRedeemer: It took some close attention on my part but I understood most of what was going on the first time through. And there has to be some meaning to Gamzee's denizen tearing itself apart and holding itself together, but for the life of me, I can't figure out exactly what it is.

@Nox: Nice end to a nice series. I enjoyed it.

@battlerek: In regards to your decision about exposition or robbing rich people, I think you made the right choice.

@SeptimusMagistos: That was excellent. Loved how you did both Aradia and Equius

@Path: Nice fic. I figure Snowman could get along with the rest of the MC if they weren't so loyal to SS, and if they hadn't betrayed her along with him.

Back to lurking.

whoooosh

[Kawa]

No Good Being A Sad Clown

Offsite because of Nepeta laying an egg between scenes. http://helmet.kafuka.org/trollslum/?story=gamnep, blurb on index page and maybe illustrations to be added in later.

[SkaianRedeemer]

@Jim Groovester: Capricorn and the Elder God both hint at what it is (it's notable that Capricon writhes whenever he tries to say Gamzee's element, as the Elder God supports and I just reinforced in an edit), but no you're not supposed to be able to work it out beyond a guess or two quite yet. I'll probably roll with this, then. Hopefully it's okay to run on A03, we'll see. More weird alien relationship quirks next time folks, I promise!


EDIT: Here's a brief recap for Graven, Megafire and anyone else confused by the original version so you don't have to read the new one:

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Gamzee has a dream of the time he fought his Denizen, Capricorn, who is split into two personalities much like his canon self, except that Capricorn is severely injured as though he was partially split in two. Capricorn tries/tried to blame Gamzee for this situation and like Aries in Chapter 14, starts spouting Dersian philosophy about staying perpetually the same so that no one will die. This prompts Gamzee's dream to jump rails and he sees visions of Nerida, the Troll Kanaya auspisticed for (Chapter 12) that Gamzee was sent to kill. Nerida tries to get under Gamzee's skin, even her typing quirk trying to remind him of what he did, but fails horribly because Gamzee is simply too bonkers to suffer emotional distress, at least at first.

Dream-Nerida then reveals that she was the same Elder God that taunted Rose in Chapter 14, and takes a form more likely to steal Gamzee's attention: a Troll Empress. Gamzee recognizes her as a very specific empress tied to "magic and shit" who's been dead for millenia. The God examines Capricorn, claiming to be checking in on an "investment", and seems to have particular interest in the fact that Gamzee is no longer the Bard of Rage, and makes a comment implying that the HiHH universe split off of the canon before the game began.

At this point the conversation breaks off because of an accident in John's treatment of Gamzee's real-life arm, which begins to invade the dream. As the memory continues, Aradia arrives to kill Capricorn and the denizen begins to shriek about the kids not being able to kill him because they're not "ready." He shoots out a burst of his element, Silence, and Gamzee collapses. The final scene shows Rose receiving the news that Gamzee has indeed lost his arm for good. Rose, like Capricorn, stews in silence.

[sebastian]

An idea for a possible fanfic/AU that I'd like to see elaborated upon if someone feel like it, what would have been the troll's lives and/or session without Karkat, i.e if he was culled before he could meet the others but all the rest being the same, Sgrub included.

Something like "it's a wonderful life" except with trolls.

[lantadyme]

The Palest of 'Rails

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-- arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT] --

AC: :33 < *the cat girl curls around the fierce musclebeast's f33t*
AC: :33 < *she rubs her ch33k against his ankle affectionately*
CT: D --> What
AC: :33 < *she opens her mouth to speak*
CT: D --> I am busy with my roboti%, Nepeta
CT: D --> Please make this quick
AC: :33 < *she wants to know if it's okay with him to go flarping tonight*
CT: D --> This depends on who will be participating
AC: :33 < *she says terezi, tavros, aradia and eridan will be there*
CT: D --> The tealb100d is a strange one but I doubt she w001d let you come to harm
CT: D --> I cannot totally approve of your acquaintanceship with the rustb100d but he presents no threat to your safety
CT: D --> Aradia... is a complicated subject, but I shall allow you to associate with her
CT: D --> It is the seadweller's presence I am not altogether comfortable with
CT: D --> This usually indicates the b100b100d will be participating in this diversion
AC: :33 < *ac pauses*
CT: D --> Nepeta
CT: D --> Is she part of tonight's campaign
AC: :33 < *she sh33pishly says maybe?*
CT: D --> Then abso100tely not
CT: D --> I have made my position e%eedingly clear on this matter
CT: D --> You are not to play this game with the b100b100d
AC: :33 < oh come on equius, pleeeeeeaaaaaase!
AC: :33 < *she says*
CT: D --> I shall not waver
CT: D --> You will not
AC: >:33 < why not?!
AC: >:33 < *she asks*
AC: >:33 < *angrily*
CT: D --> I have my reasons
CT: D --> I am doing this for your own good
AC: >:33 < you're just jealous because i have furriends and nobody wants to spend time with you because of your cr33py robots and how you drench everything in your stinky awful sweat!
AC: >:33 < *she makes up her mind to go anyway, regardless of what the meanest musclebeast EVER says!*
CT: D --> You will not
CT: D --> This is an order
AC: :33 < *ac sticks her tongue out at ct*
CT: D --> Nepeta
CT: D --> Cease this f001ishness at once
CT: D --> You will not play this "FLARP" tonight and that is final
CT: D --> Do you hear me

-- arsenicCatnip [AC] has blocked centaursTesticle [CT] --

CT: D --> Fiddlesticks

-- arsenicCatnip [AC] did not receive message! --

-- centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling arsenicCatnip [AC] --

-----

That could have gone better, he decided, as his fist smashed into another steel face.

Equius looked at the window facing Vriska's hive. He simply could not comprehend how Nepeta didn't understand why he forbade her from FLARP campaigns with Vriska. No, surely she knew, and in the end, she would obey Equius's orders to stay away from Vriska. Right? Of course she would, she couldn't disobey her moirail.

And yet, the thought lingered at the back of his mind. Nepeta had resisted Equius's orders before, but always complied in the end. But she had never shown this sort of open defiance toward him before. If she were harmed in any way...

He put the thought out of his mind as he tore another metallic fighter in half. Nepeta was headstrong, stubborn, impulsive, but not stupid. He had nothing to worry about, all would be fine in the end.

Right?

-----

"Fudgesicles!" A glass of lusus milk shattered in Equius's hand for the third time today. Darn it all, he'd almost managed to lift it to his mouth this time! If only there were an easier way of doing this, perhaps some kind of liquid delivery system involving a narrow hollow tube that would allow him to drink without even touching the glass via the process of suction. No, such an idea was poppycock, and he knew it.

He considered re-entering the ring to let off some steam briefly, before realizing all of his combat robots needed repairs. Instead, he fondly regarded his musclebeast art. Such grace, such majesty, such STRENGTH! The way they subjugated lower forms to their whims, the way they destroyed entire buildings with naught but their own anatomy! When there were no robots left to fight, art appreciation served well to calm Equius down.

His sight crossed a window facing Vriska's hive, and he noticed she was home. The FLARP campaign must have ended for tonight, and she was now leading the losers to their fates at the hands of her monstrous lusus. Moments like these made him glad he had Aurthour; he had no need for such extremes in his daily care, and the most Aurthour had ever demanded of Equius was to try keeping the noise down in the battle ring while he slept.

He watched as those defeated in tonight's game jumped to their deaths into the spider's web, and one of them near the back of the line caught his eye. It was difficult to tell from such a distance, but that particular troll's outfit looked somehow familiar. Green, and blue? From this distance he couldn't be sure but...

His eyes widened as he removed his shades to get a clearer view. He had expressly forbidden her from going tonight and she'd always listened to him, surely it couldn't be her. But in the pit of his stomach, he knew he was looking at Nepeta, about to throw herself into the jaws of the beast.

"AURTHOUR! Nepeta is in danger! Remain on your guard, I do not know how the b100b100d will react to my interference."

-----

Equius broke into a STRONG SPRINT before he even left his hive, breaking down his front door. He calculated the angles and heights he'd need to leap mid-stride, then a second later, made the first of many STRONG JUMPS crisscrossing the chasm to reach Vriska's hive.

Five STRONG JUMPS had propelled him most of the way to the grisly scene. Now he needed to climb the cliff face the rest of the way. He roared as he finally emerged and pulled himself over the edge.

"VRISKA!!!"

Equius's assumptions were correct. Nepeta stood before him, manipulated into motion by Vriska, green blood staining her black undershirt and splotched across her blue cat hood.

"You will release her immediately."
"Hahahahahahahaha! Or what, you muscle8ound moron? I'm culling these losers because they're WEAK! They're weak weaklings and they deserve what they're a8out to get!"
"You will release Nepeta this instant."
"...Okay." And with that, Vriska pushed Nepeta off the cliff.

Equius moved quicker than he'd ever moved in his life. He STRONG DOVE off the cliff and caught Nepeta's falling body in mid-air, then twisted to STRONG PUNCH the rock wall, burying his arm in it and stopping their descent, mere feet above the giant spider's reach. He carefully slung Nepeta over his shoulder and began climbing upward. He was going to give Vriska a piece of his mind.

"8ravo, musclehead!" Vriska taunted him as he finally reached the top. "Nice moves! Now, give me 8ack my prize."
"I will not." Equius laid Nepeta's still-unconscious form behind him, putting himself between her and the other blueblood.
"Ooooooooh! I didn't know you fancied yourself a hero! You're just as 8ad as Toraeasnore. 8ut you're a liiiiiiiittle too l8 to save them all."
Equius growled at her. "Stop this at once."
"Or... is it 8ecause it's her? Are you flushed for this little green8lood, Equius? How cute! The palest of 'rails are turning into 8urning crimson m8sprits! Should I get a pail and call the imperial drones now? Excuse me while I VOMIT."

Equius grit his teeth at the l00d accusation and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. He removed his shades to be abso100tely sure she knew he meant business.

"You will not harm Nepeta. I will take her back to my hive and tend to her injuries, and you will leave us alone."
"Hahahahahahahaha! And if I don't? Why should I let you esc8pe with wh8t's rightfully mine?"
"If ANYTHING happens to Nepeta after we have absconded from this place..."

He brought his face within an inch of hers, teeth bared and eyes burning with a fury unlike any she had ever seen.

"...I will devote the entirety of my e%istence to making you BEG for death."

She bared her own fangs in response. "Fine, then. 8ut you OWE me."

Equius threw her to the ground with as little force as he could muster. Even holding back as much as he did, the impact still knocked the breath out of her. She would not be following them for some time.

"I trust this matter is resolved, Miss Serket."

He picked up Nepeta as carefully as he could, and STRONG FELL back to his own hive.

-----

"Aurthour! I have rescued Nepeta from her predicament. I require the first aid kit!"

His centaur lusus emerged almost immediately. Equius took the medical kit from him.

"Here, carry her to the roboti% lab, I know you will not a%identally harm her. I will prepare for dressing her wounds."

-----

Nepeta awoke some time later, unsure of her surroundings. She felt her side; the slash she had taken during a particularly nasty strife had been bandaged up, as had the blow to her forehead, the same one she suspected knocked her out. She couldn't remember much after that; just a vague feeling of being led somewhere, a sensation of falling and being caught, but by who?

The answer made itself known, behind her. "Good, you are awake."
"...equius? is that you?" She turned and saw it was, indeed, him. She blushed like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "i guess you know what i did tonight, then."
"Yes. Do you understand now why I do not want you around her?"
She was a bit confused. "not really. i mean i took a few hits but everything turned out okay, right?"
"Nepeta, Vriska nearly led you to your death. Had I not happened to look outside when I did, she would have fed you to her lusus. Luck and my own 100dicrous STRENGTH were the only things that ensured your survival tonight."

He turned away from her. "I implore you, associate with Miss Serket no longer! If something were to happen to you, I do not know how I could live with myself."

Poor guy, he was blaming himself for all this! Nepeta climbed off the table she was sprawled out on and hugged him from behind.

"*the kitty cat apologizes for not listening to her meowrail*"
"It is alright, Nepeta. You are safe now."
"you aren't mad at meow, then?"
"I am simply glad I was able to rescue you."
"*then the kitty ALSO apologizes for the mean things she said about him earlier!*"
"Do not worry, I was not offended. It is true, my robots are somewhat unsettling and I do perspire quite a lot."

She couldn't help but laugh at that.

Man, did Vriska actually think she'd get away with pulling that stunt on Equius' doorstep? What a jerk. Nepeta is so adorable though, and seeing Equius do his amazing gymnastics was pretty cool. He's not all useless creep factor! This was a lot of fun, AC.

Perfected Empty Equality

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They never knew each other personally. They were only enemies of friends, with no personal grudge. They were not the type to maintain a grudge, exactly. They hated, easily enough, but it was a mature, strong hatred untainted by anger or bias. They are comfortable in their enmities.

He emerges from his dressing room mostly ready. Pinstriped pants are carefully pressed, black shirt tucked in, vest loose and still undone; collar flipped up and buttons up to his throat. His jacket is laid over his arm, and he holds it close to his side.
She holds a tie to his shirt, then a second. They scrutinize it in silence.

"The second, I think."

He agrees, and threads it around his collar, tying it meticulously, yet without visible effort. He cinches the knot to his throat, fixes his collar and vest, and turns to be critiqued. She simply smiles; no-one she's ever met is as precise, as calculating, or as well-dressed. She has never needed to fix him in any way.

She appreciates it on a level she doesn't get to indulge often. After a few talks with him, they have reached a comfortable presence, and she readily acknowledges that he, unlike practically everyone she's ever met, is her equal. No more than that, but certainly no less.

He slips his jacket on, hands her her fur. He holds the door open, but only because he has to lock it. She gets her own door when they get into his car, and lights her own cigarette. At home, she takes faint joy in forcing Crowbar to strike a match and hold it for her. But he's weak, and the strength he thinks he has just makes him weaker. She does it because she's above him, to remind him of it. She could never do the same to Diamonds Droog. He is too much like her.

He doesn't take her arm when they walk into the opera, but the crowds part around them all the same. They sit in their booth in plush red velvet seats and take turns pouring cabernet, and Snowman reflects that he is perhaps her first and only friend. She simply never expected to have one. But he is completely and utterly disinterested in her as a woman, and perfectly equal with her as an appreciator of beauty, the arts, and, perhaps, as one of Slick's lovers. It makes for an odd friendship, cool and distant, but there is a vein through it, an underground river flowing dark and unseen between them. They are alike, more than she ever thought she could find.

As the curtains rise, she turns her head and raises her glass. He does the same, and the stage lights glint in the same colour off his wine and the diamond pin at his lapel, and as they meet eyes, nothing at all happens. The glasses chime together as if to mark it, and they both turn away, satisfied that their relationship remains the perfected empty equality it has always been.

This makes so much sense. You can tell how much Droog trusts her taste just by him letting her help pick his tie. Very nice.

[ceruleanTresses]

An idea for a possible fanfic/AU that I'd like to see elaborated upon if someone feel like it, what would have been the troll's lives and/or session without Karkat, i.e if he was culled before he could meet the others but all the rest being the same, Sgrub included.

Something like "it's a wonderful life" except with trolls.

I actually sort of did that in December, in a parodic manner. Check out my sig--I think it's the third or fourth Karkat's Diary. (I have updated the sig to make it clearer, so the diary entries have actual titles now.)
It's probably not even close to what you're talking about, though, since the premise is that Karkat wrote it because he was pissed off and therefore it's deliberately awful.

Edit: Here it is.

[lantadyme]

Oh man, the nerves posting this thing. Um.

Hold Your Colour

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The game remakes the world when they win. It forgets one thing.

On AO3! Because it is really quite long and I don't think I can break it up without subtracting from the piece as a whole. But uh. Enjoy! :x

[spaceyPsychologist]

Oh man, the nerves posting this thing. Um.

Hold Your Colour

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The game remakes the world when they win. It forgets one thing.

On AO3! Because it is really quite long and I don't think I can break it up without subtracting from the piece as a whole. But uh. Enjoy! :x

Just read this on AO3, and it was seriously depressing. I'm horrible at constructive criticism or making reviews, but I loved this.