MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

[Hazel]

So, homestuck1000 happened. And I was like, "Great! More prompts!" And then I was like, "Oh no! I can't write Vriska!" And then I was like, "Okay, someone requested PM/WQ."

And then this happened.

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The stars are heavy and bright. They hang so low, you fear they'll fall on your head, like everything else has, lately. And that's not ridiculous, not where you come from. Stars falling from the sky is practically all that ever happens, on Skaia, so why shouldn't it happen in this strange horrorland you've dwelt in all these years? You climb down from the hill and head for the valley, but the stars still loom over you. You guess you're pretty much stuck with them, now.

It's not like another asteroid is going to very well take you to a new planet. That's the sort of thing that doesn't happen to someone twice, not even twice in four hundred and thirteen years. You sigh. Best make something out of this straggling wasteland. Oh, wait. Making something out of things is your job, now. No one else will do it for you.

You stop halfway down the side of the hill and stare down at -- or gaze upon? -- the denizens of your kingdom. Two of them sit sleepily beside the fire, one draped over the other, both snoring. Your last denizen is lurking off to the right, watching. Is she watching those two, or you? You couldn't say. "Prospitian Monarch" she called you. This stupid dumb crown was her idea. She turns up her head and you see her black eyes focus on yours. Her vision is uncanny, miles above that of an ordinary Prospit peasant.

You walk towards her hesitantly. She will try to encourage you. That is what she always does. You know this, because she's been your advisor for several hours already. Surely that is more than enough time to get to know someone.

WQ does not disappoint. She tells you all about tough decisions, and the weight of the crown, and all that. She reminds you that your subjects love and adore you, that you are their Wise and Just Monarch. They will stand beside you, or rather behind you, because you are the leader and you have to stand up front. Or walk up front.

You begin to suspect that WQ is getting flustered. Maybe you should say something. You interject gently to remind her that you know your duty, but thank you all the same. You have accepted the weight of the crown. You've shouldered your responsibilities. You've made it all the way across the board and all that.

WQ coughs.

You're babbling, aren't you? Well, how did you deal with everyone walking behind you?

I didn't, she says, I had someone walking beside me.

You remember the White King. He was always beside his Queen, in spirit if not in body. Perhaps you need a King? You pose this question to WQ, who smiles in her typical cryptic manner.

That is a good idea, she says. Her Majesty should always have someone beside her. A consort. A guardian. An auxiliator. It would be a heavy burden, to be the Monarch's foremost confidante. Luckily she is well-versed in burdensome duties.

You ask her if that means she's volunteering.

She kisses you.

You choose to take that as a yes.

NOOOO NOT THE PAGETOPPER.

[Sporkaganza]

New SOSburb chapter up, now featuring graphics!

Chapter 12: requesting m0re specificity

Shoutout to catastrophicGenesis for helping me with the picture.

Also, obvious reference to a certain British TV show is obvious.

[catastrophicGenesis]

Dude, I made some hair, that's all. 0_0 But if you do need help for later chapters, PM me, okay? =3

Hehehe, obvious reference is indeed pretty obvious. XD

[Path]

So, I'm anxiously awaiting the next update

And then I had an idea

And because I didn't also have self-control, I started writing this thing that will inevitably be jossed with the next update

And horribly,

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it was the character you wrote who possibly got jossed.

That would have been sweet though.

Sapphire of Alternia comments

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Halfway through the drum Matchsticks and Crowbar turn the corner and return fire. Sleuth pulls himself back into cover. “Get him out of there! Are you just going to let him get shot up like that?” Crowbar screams.

Sleuth looks around the corner. Matchsticks and Crowbar are pulling Trace by his arms. Trace is slumped forward, completely unresponsive. A thick trail of blood follows him where he’s dragged. “Stitch better be paying attention.” He hears Crowbar say.

“It’s too bad I’m not supposed to kill you. You deserve it for what you just did to Trace.” Quarters says, pointing his undersized gun at Problem Sleuth. Well, it looks undersized in Quarters’ hands. His green coat is soaked red with blood around the bullet wound to his upper arm. It must not be slowing him down at all, because he’s gripping the gun tight with both hands. “Drop the gun, Problem Sleuth. You’re coming with us.”

I love all the instances of Felt solidarity. That being said, the image of Trace being dragged away pulls at me somehow. Sapphire of Alternia fanart?

Problem Sleuth: Stop playing fair.

“Do you know how lucky you are?”

“Yes.” Clover giggles. His face suddenly turns serious. “What do you mean?”

“You’re lucky the problem sleuth you’re trying to capture is here to heroically save your life from an explosion that looked like it wasn’t going to happen.” Problem Sleuth smirks.

A realization dawns on Clover’s face. Then a look of horror. “No, that wouldn’t be lucky at all. That would be terribly unluck-” Clover sputters.

Problem Sleuth grabs Clover and rushes him away from the explosion that didn’t happen. Almost like the bomb is waiting for Clover to get out of harm’s way, the car explodes like it was supposed to the moment Problem Sleuth clears the blast radius.

I noticed that was 1/1 luckiness loopholes. Guess that's not going to fall into your lap again.

Ace Dick: Journey through time with Quarters.

That doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t go anywhen. You just got punched in the face. You barely even felt it, to be honest.

Hey, where’d Quarters go? And what happened to the rest of the warehouse?

You rack your brain for a few seconds before you decide to just wait until someone explains it to you.

This made me actually laugh out loud, well done.

Sleuth sighs and puts his key in his coat. “Did you help Inspector?” Sleuth asks Dick.

“Yeah. Guy can’t take a punch.” Dick pulls a gummy worm out of his pocket. Straight from the pocket too. It’s probably covered in lint and other gross Ace Dick things. He stuffs it in his mouth and chews it loudly.

Problem Sleuth pulls his key ring out and hands the bent tommy gun to Ace Dick. “Fix it.”

Ace Dick easily bends the key back in place. He hands it to Sleuth. “You need any jars opened while I’m at it, honey?” Dick sneers.

Problem Sleuth runs his hands along his tommy gun. For some reason it seems shinier.

My suspicion: Ace Dick has the Sapphire of Alternia. Somebody gave it to him and he didn't ask who they were or why. Later, Sleuth will rage at him and Dick will just say "Well hey, you didn't ask."

[pimudragonfeline]

I don't know if that was "heroic" though. Isn't their still the future convo in Lohac with Karkat? ...unless both are right and one universe is doomed.

[draconicAlgorithm]

I don't even have anything witty to say this time.

Oh man that update. ;-;

Tears

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Oh god. Getting stabbed in the chest.

Well, it really sucks.

John was pretty sure he felt his own heart getting punctured, felt the blood being pushed out the cuts as his heart tried to pump it to the rest of his body, felt the front of his shirt get damp, and not with this weird black rain.

It was happening all over again. At least last time he'd been asleep—this time, he wasn't so lucky. He felt everything, felt himself bleeding out, felt his heart finally giving up and growing still in his chest. It was like everything in him stopped. His blood grew still, except to continue to pour out his open would.

And the pain. Oh god the pain. It was like, well, someone had shoved a sword through his chest. How oddly specific. But even after, the pain blossomed into a fiery sun that seemed to originate in the center of his being. It consumed him, as the blackness of death crawled around the edges of his vision.

Why? Why had this happened again? Why was he dying, why was his dad dead, why was Rose's mom dead? Why did everyone have to die?

He thought he heard screaming. He thought it was himself at first, until he realized the voice was too high. He recognized it, even though he had only just heard it for the first time.

Oh god, Rose. Poor, poor Rose. He wanted to run to her, to grin and tell her everything was okay. It was just a flesh wound, right? He'd walk it off! He'd be fine!

But he couldn't. His legs were giving out from under him, the floor came up to meet his face, the floor smeared with black rain and his own red blood.

The pain. And the screaming. God, why wouldn't it stop? Why wouldn't it just...

stop

When he woke up again, he was on his back. The rain still fell, like black tears of mourning, but they were beginning to lessen. He sat up, wondering what the heck had happened and why he was taking a nap, when memories came flooding back. His hand flew to the front of his shirt. It was still bloody, and now stained with black as well, but there was no wound underneath. His chest was whole again. What was going on?

And then he realized that the screaming was gone. Icy fingers of dread wrapped themselves around his newly-healed heart, but he turned anyway. He had to know.

He saw her black body slumped on the ground, blood still leaking from a cut through her torso. Wands hung limply from her lifeless hands.

"ROSE!" The word tore itself out of his throat. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, walking and slipping and stumbling over to her. He fell to his knees and turned her onto her back.

A little blood dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, but she was smiling. Oh god, why was she smiling? This isn't funny, Rose! This isn't good! He screamed, tears streaming down his face. Why did she do it? Why? Why would she get herself killed? She was smarter than that! He knew she was!

He wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe it was just because of the hopelessness of the situation. Maybe it was because he was so upset over everything.

Or maybe he was finally realizing that he loved her.

No matter the reason, he pulled her up off the ground, one arm behind her back and one supporting her head. Tears mixing with the last remnants of the black rain on his face, he kissed her.

Her lips were cold and lifeless. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he reminded himself that this was his first kiss, and that he'd had it with a dead girl. But then he told the back of his mind to shut up and kept kissing her, because as long as he did, he could pretend she was alive.

And then, something started beeping. He pulled away, startled, and realized it was Rose's headband. Did it have a computer in it? He supposed that made sense. He looked back down at her peaceful face.

He should probably tell everyone what had happened.

He took off her headband, pulled down the hood, and put it on his own head, weird though it looked. When he did, oddly enough, a panel shot out of the side of it. To his surprise, he found purple letters there.

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT2] --

TT: Thank you John.
TT2: what? rose?
TT: Did you forget? We have dreamselves. And apparently, if you kiss a dead realself, the person inhabits the dreamself body.
TT: So thank you, John. Thank you.

He couldn't help himself. He was grinning like an idiot, with fresh tears tracing paths on his cheeks. Rose was alive. She was still alive somewhere, probably on Derse, and she was happy.

That was all he needed to know.

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-- arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling tentacleTherapist [TT] --

AG: Joooooooohn! Are you there y8t????????
AG: It's hard to w8t patiently!!!!!!!!
TT: oh, hi vriska!
TT: sorry it took so long. i got kind of distracted!

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Why do I almost always do reaction fics when people die?

Oh, right. Because I'm more emotional then.

Oh well. I like this. I hope this happens if Rose does die. Also hope John doesn't stay dead. Even though we know he won't. But still.

[Jim Groovester]

I had a different reaction to the update.

Sword Magnet

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"hey dave!" John said. "can you show me your stabs?"

John stood inside Dave's LOHAC flat like a kid in a candy store with a stupid grin on his face that screamed earnestness. Guy can't handle coolness like this, ready to prostrate himself before his idol.

"sure john" Dave pulled out Caledscratch. "just watch this oh fuck"

Dave would forever maintain that what happened next he meant to do and that he knew it would happen, but in the moment Dave was very glad his sunglasses obscured his eyes because they were wide with surprise as Caledscratch flew out of Dave's hands of its own accord and impaled itself into John's chest.

Pesterchum pinged with a message from Jade. Fuck her right now. Dave just stabbed his best friend in the chest and he was trying his hardest not to visibly freak out about it because shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck he just stabbed John is he going to be alright he was somehow alright after Jack stabbed him again shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck.

"but..." John said. "dave..." John slumped backward onto the ground, staining the cheap apartment carpet red with his blood.

Dave crept toward John's lifeless body. He gave it a few nudges with his foot. "john" Dave asked. "you better not be fucking with me because if you are ill do it again"

After a minute without a response Dave stepped back. "welp" He said. "i just killed my best friend" He said matter-of-factly. He pulled Caledscratch out of John's chest. Not to be nice, just to get it back. The fucking sword was still pointing itself and trying to fly towards John's chest, like there was a magnetic attraction between the two. Dave shoved the disobedient sword into his Strife Specibus.

Suddenly John lurched forward, taking a giant gasp of air. Dave refused to admit that he jumped up in surprise. "dave!" John said. "what did you do that for?" John asked completely innocently, like he wasn't even mad about getting stabbed.

What's the appropriate coolkid response in a situation like this? There probably isn't one. Stabbing people doesn't make for very good oh wait Dave's got this. He gave John a blank stare for a moment. "i showed you my stabs"

John puzzled over the comment for a moment before he burst out laughing. He stood up from the floor and patted Dave's shoulder several times while laughing. Dave desperately tried to stifle a chuckle, because, damn, this shit was kinda funny. "that's a good one, dave! you really got me good, but i think i got you better."

"nah" Dave said, trying to play it cool. "i meant to do that"

John still laughed. "prankster's gambits don't lie, and yours is completely emptied out!"

"egbert what you dont realize is that mastery of irony is the ultimate prank i dont need to keep score with bullshit joke meters any more"

"that's cool, dave." John said. Did this fucking kid just that's cool Dave? Not cool, John. After a long stretch of furious laughter John finally calmed down. He walked to the refrigerator. "i wonder what's in here?"

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Because swords can't stay away from John's chest for some reason.

@Path: If you want to make fanart, go ahead. And how did you know that Ace Dick had the SoA? Now I'm going to have to change everything now that the secret's out. THANKS, PATH.

[Mage Brittany]

Gamzee and Tavros: be bros

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Gamzee and Tavros were totally being bros, kicking it in the front seat, hanging in the back seat,

but then, no one was driving, so they drove off a cliff.

Jade and Dave: help your friend

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Rose is busy fighting Jack, being all grimdark.

Dave and Jade finishing making frogs, and they go to save her from the eldergods because that’s what friends do, right, John?

right

John?

[ProspitDreamer]

@anonymousComrade

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So, I'm anxiously awaiting the next update

And then I had an idea

And because I didn't also have self-control, I started writing

This is good. If something as measly as self-control could keep you from writing, brilliant arts would not come out of you.

this thing that will inevitably be jossed with the next update

Lots more than just your short story were just jossed...

John: React.

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When you followed Rose up the final flight of stairs to the roof of the castle, you were expecting a reunion with your father.

To say this is not quite what you had in mind would be a gross understatement.

At first, you reflexively gasp and step back at the sight of Dad and Rose's Mom lying on the roof in pools of their own blood. Your mind tries to rationalize this for fifteen full seconds and goes with the idea that they and Rose are in on an elaborate prank. "Hahaha you got me! Get up, Dad, I know you're not really dead!" you laugh as you approach your old man.

But he doesn't get up. You move in closer. "Okay Dad, prank time is over! You had me going for a second there, but I gotta say, this was a good one!"

Nothing. "...Dad? Dad, you're scaring me. Come on, let's go."

Rose puts her hand on your shoulder and says something you can't understand in the broodfester tongues. Slowly, you begin to realize this was no prank. Her mother and your father were slain here, and you're certain you know the culprit.

"Jack did this, didn't he?" you ask, with tears in your eyes. Rose nods. You embrace her for a while, and she does not protest.

You step back from her and wipe away the tears, because tough guys don't cry, and that's who you've got to be. With the passing of your Dad, you've got nothing to lose. Does this make you a maverick? Perhaps of the street tough variety? The fact that your God Tier clothes are turning black seems to suggest that yes, yes it does.

You turn your back to Rose and heft Fear No Anvil, because you're making a badass pose, and this is no time for silly-looking weapons like the Warhammer of Zillyhoo. "He won't get away with this, Rose. I'll make him pay. You can be sure of that."

Your transformation completes itself as your glasses darken into black shades and fingerless gloves spontaneously poof into existence on your hands. Even the symbol of the wind emblazoned on your chest shifts to a slightly more menacing appearance.

You fly to the next castle and uproot it with a wave of your hand, the wind destroying it at your whims. If Jack is here, you will crush him.

Because you have officially gone antihero.

Haha, even without Zillyhoo, this was silly because John does not have a single evil cell in his body. And yes, this was fun.

Notes:

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stupid stupid dumb

seriously I will just write every dumb idea I ever have, won't I

And you just keep on doing that, good sir.

[Path]

And how did you know that Ace Dick had the SoA? Now I'm going to have to change everything now that the secret's out. THANKS, PATH.

Whups do you want me to spoiler that for you dude, I can go edit :P
Also, nice story. Dave's horrified face is probably one of my favourite things.

[pimudragonfeline]

After a long stretch of furious laughter John finally calmed down. He walked to the refrigerator. "i wonder what's in here?"

Laughing till I'm out of breath and swearing here.

[PingZing]

Some comments first...

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Page 36:
ProspitDreamer - Awww, that was adorable. I love Dave/Terezi, have I mentioned?

wilySubversionist - Ooh, is that more WFfH? And...oh dear. Doomed-Timeline Rose and Dave just got that much more tragic. Oh... =( (never stop)

Page 37:
MyCurrentObsession - Oh man. Please tell me everything works out for Sollux...

draconicAlgorithm - Yesssss KarkatKanaya is the best thing. Nepeta's shippersense is an awesome addition too =P

Page 38:
lantadyme - !!! this is awesome. You captured Nepeta's shameless goofiness perfectly and that was totally amazing.

Page 39:
Jim Groovester - Just gonna combine response for Chapter 19 and 20 here: I love your action scenes. Seeing Sleuth's crew, the Felt and the MC in an all-out shootout is awesome. And Sleuth cheating Clover's luck like that is similarly awesome. The reference to Eridan was just golden as well.

Page 40:
draconicAlgorithm - Any story with Nepeta actually being an awesome huntress is awesome. It's something not enough people write about, and I like seeing it.

Layra - d'awwwww, that was totally adorable.

And now for some more

Hot Blooded: Chapter 7

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“Name?”

“Depinza.”

“Taffus?”

“Close enough.”

The bureacraniectometrist rolled her eyes. “Color?”

“What? All that needle-stabbing you did yesterday and you don’t have it recorded?”

The paper-pushed stared at him levelly.

Tarfus sighed. “Red.”

The 'craniectometrist dug around in a box at his feet and withdrew a maroon Cancer patch. She turned and retrieved a uniform, complete with pair of boots atop, and handed the entire package to Tarfus. “You're to sew the patch onto your left breast pocket.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Your groupblock assignment.”

“What? I don't know how to fucking sew!”

The other troll lifted a single eyebrow, but otherwise did not change her expression. “So learn. Next!”

Tarfus grumbled to himself and stalked away. He'd joined the threshecutioners to learn how to thresh some motherfuckers, not learn domestic chores for girls.

He followed the signs to groupblock F and entered. It was a long and narrow room with a series of recuperacoons along either side with a locker at the foot of each. A series of high windows along either wall let in narrow shafts of moonlight, creating a pink and green checkerboard along the floor. Trolls were milling about, some sitting on the edges of their recuperacoons, others standing and talking, some simply staring into space. Tarfus stood in front of the doorway for a moment, then looked down at the slip of paper he'd been given.

There it was, his locker and recuperacoon assignment. F12. A cursory glance revealed that all the lockers in the room began with F, so he located number 12 with little difficulty. He opened it and discovered it to be completely empty save for a tiny sewing kit.

How thoughtful of them, he thought as he removed the kit and stowed the boots.

He perched on the edge of his recuperacoon and snuck a glance around the room. Others were, like him, staring blankly at the sewing kit. Some had made it as far as removing the needle and thread. Tarfus looked back down at the kit, and shrugged. How hard could it be?

Ten minutes later, he had a passably-attached patch on the front pocket of his uniform. He flung the sewing kit back into the locker just as the room fell silent. Tarfus looked up, and followed the room’s gaze to the doorway.

Silhouetted in the doorframe by the duochromatic was a thin, wiry troll. She stepped into the groupblock and even Tarfus had to bite back a gasp. Every young troll who hadn’t spent their formative sweeps living in a cave (and even some who had) would’ve recognized the newcomer. From her single half-horn—the other one-and-a-half snapped off in combat and surgically removed through torture respectively—to her missing left arm, she was a living legend. She’d risen to prominence in the War of Unity and earned an officer’s commission. Wearing the mantle of command, she’d proceeded to decimate every single opponent unfortunate enough to oppose her. She’d personally saved the Empress’ life in the latter days of the 13th Perigree’s War, losing her arm in the process and then using said dismembered arm to bludgeon the attackers to death.

She’d been famously passed over for angeneralship time after time, and had ultimately been forcibly retired after refusing to obey a direct order from a purple-blooded superior. Her insubordination had won the battle, saved hundreds of lives, and cost her her career. She now spent her dawnlight sweeps training the new threshecutioner recruits.

Her name was Kulath Stratet and she was the closest thing Tarfus had to an idol. She was the only greenblood in recorded history to ever have a chance at being an angeneral and had a notable disregard for the hemospectrum.

What the recruitment ads featuring her likeness had failed to communicate however was her stature. Stratet was easily the shortest troll in the room by a full six inches. A recruit by the door snickered and before the room finished its collective gasp, Stratet was in the recruit’s face.

“Something funny?” She demanded. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, and every single person in the room heard it. The silence crystallized into dread before Stratet continued, “Take my sickle.” She thrust the weapon at the unlucky recruit and turned to face the room at large. “Clear the center of the block! Follow,” she said to the recruit.

Anybody in the middle of the room backed away as if they’d suddenly discovered it was full of venomous slitherbeasts, and Stratet led the stunned recruit to the clear space.

Stratet turned to face the recruit and projected her voice to the room at large. “Consider this your first lesson, you worthless overgrown larvae!” She shifted her body so her right side was facing the recruit and he presented the smallest possible profile to her opponent. Her voice dropped down to a conversational level. “I’ll let you have the first attack, boy. Any time.”

The recruit looked at the sickle in his hands. Looked at Stratet, unarmed and waiting. Back at the sickle. Back at Stratet. “Is surrender an option?”

Stratet chuckled. “I see we’ve got a thinker! No, you surrender and I’ll cull you myself. Now attack me!”

Tarfus was just close enough to hear the recruit mutter “This is such a bad idea…” before lunging at Stratet with the sickle.

Tarfus barely saw what happened next. Stratet jerked to the side and slammed a fist into the recruit’s chest. As the recruit stumbled forward, Stratet jerked her fist up into his chin. In one smooth motion, Stratet stepped into the recruit’s reach, grabbed him by the wrist, and jerked it upward. There was a keerack as the recruit’s wrist broke and the sickle flew from nerveless fingers.

Stratet shifted her hand to the recruit’s shoulder and launched herself knee-first into the recruit’s gut. The recruit went down hard, and Stratet rode him to the floor. The sickle had encountered gravity at this point, and was now on a direct course for the recruit’s exposed neck. An instant before the sickle would’ve pierced the recruit’s throat, Stratet’s hand snapped up and grabbed it by the handle. The tip of the sickle stopped a hairsbreadth from making the floor a more colorful place.

The recruit opened one eye and exhaled slightly before freezing again. A droplet of teal blood blossomed where the sickle-point met his neck. Stratet held it there for a moment before standing up. The recruit chose to enjoy the benefits of a horizontal position for the foreseeable future.

“There were more things wrong with this little wiggler’s attack here than I care to name! Let’s see if any of you know any better! Any volunteers care to tell me what he did wrong?”

“He overextended himself in his attack?” said someone in the back.

Stratet sighed and brought her fist to his forehead. Then, with explosive violence, flung the sickle away. It stuck in the wall where it quivered like an angry buzzbeast. “No! His first mistake was doing what his opponent expected! When your one-armed opponent gives you a weapon and tells you to attack her, you’d damn well better expect that she’s got something planned! Wiggler down here gets points for seeing it coming, but loses them all for attacking anyway!”

Tarfus had completely failed to hear much of that tirade, due to the sickle that had very nearly impaled his arm, and was currently pinning him to the wall by the sleeve of his jacket. He carefully leaned away from the still-vibrating weapon and tore his jacket sleeve away from the sickle. As he did so, he felt a stab of pain in his upper arm and looked at the torn sleeve. A ball of lead dropped into his digestive sac and he quickly slapped his hand over the wound, and prayed that nobody had noticed. His eyes darted from side to side wildly. In his panic, he didn’t notice that the tension of earlier had dissolved, and Stratet, no longer the center of attention, was approaching him.

“Gotcha with the sickle there, did I? Come on, let’s see the wound, last thing I need is some priss passing out on me first day to blood loss…” she muttered before jerking Tarfus’ hand away from his arm.

Stratet stared at Tarfus injury for a long moment before looking him in the eye. Tarfus’ vascular pump was jackhammering wildly in his chest and he was beginning to sweat. He was going to be found out, he was going to be exposed he was going to be culled he was going to die, and then Stratet jerked his shirtsleeve lower, covering the wound.

“Yer fine. Suck it up…Depinza, is it? You’ll get much worse, in time. If you’re any good, that is.” And Stratet almost smiled. Her lips twitched, anyway. She turned and strode to the doorway of the groupblock again. “Everybody on the training field in five, get your bulges in gear! If any one of you is late, that’s grounds for immediate culling!” And she walked out.

Tarfus stared after her, panting in exhausted relief.

What the hell had just happened?

Notes

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Not very happy with this chapter. It feels like a whole lotta filler, but it's necessary build-up for the next. It was supposed to be a lot shorter, and what's going to be Chapter 8 was supposed to be all in this one. But it started getting kinda long, so it's getting split.
On the plus side more Auva backstory next chapter yayyyyy

[Thamuzz]

Match Maker Match Maker

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Match Maker Match Maker

“RED OR BLACK?” Rokas Rageflip growled, peering out the cracked door. He had a momentary glimpse of teal and dark blue before he was sent sprawling as the door was slammed open.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he screamed, clambering to his feet. He had only a moment of panicked self inspection to confirm that none of his blood was visible before three figures stepped through the broken portal and into the front room of his shop.

The first was teal, carrying a cane and wearing sharp red glasses. The next a blue, a dark blue in fact sporting cracked horns, cracked teeth, cracked sunglasses and a disdainful sneer. The last was yellow-green and moved like some sort of predator. The blue one's morail from the way she positioned herself by him. What their relationship to the teal was anyone's guess.

“I ASKED, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS-” Rokas's burgeoning rant segued neatly into a bellow of pain as the teal brought her cane down on his shoulder with a resounding crack.

“ROM4NT1C4TOR ROK4S, 1 PR3SUM3?” she asked, grinning widely.

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH?”

The cane descended again, earning another scream of pain and rage.

“YES, I'M ROKAS FUCKING RAGEFUCKINGFLIP, THE FUCKING ROMANTICATOR. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

“Ahem,” the blue-blood cleared his throat loudly.

“WHAT?” Rokas screamed, turning to face the much larger troll.

“I obje% to this 100d language. I will not have my moirail corrupted by your uncouth behavior.”

Rokas stared at the blue blood, his mouth hanging open in silent, astonished fury. Before he could give vent to his rage, his focus was wrenched back to the teal by the mechanism of the tip of her cane pressed against his cheek.

“W3LL TH3N ROM4NT1C4TOR, BL4CK”

“WHAT?”

“YOU 4SK3D R3D OR BL4CK. BL4CK.”

Rokas glowered at her for a second.

“I FIND IT DOUBTFULL THAT YOU ARE HAVING ANY TROUBLE FINDING SOMEONE TO FILL THAT QUADRANT. I MET YOU FIVE SECONDS AGO AND ALREADY I HATE YOU.”

“ROM4NT1C4TOR! 4R3 YOU FL1RT1NG W1TH M3?”

“WHAT? I DIDN'T MEAN-” he sputtered.

“4S 4 M4TT3R OF F4CT, 1T 1S NOT MY BL4CKROM TH4T BR1NGS M3 H3R3. 4R3 YOU F4M1L14R W1TH THE M1NDF4NG-DULSK4R K1SSM3SS1S?”

Rokas relaxed slightly. This was familiar territory.

“HERE FOR SOME TIPS ON THE ODDS? LOOKING FOR A LITTLE EDGE WITH THE BOOKILATORS? BECAUSE IF YOU ARE, YOU'RE OUT OF LUCK. I DON'T GIVE THAT KIND OF ADVICE,” he growled.

“pawds on what?” the yellow-green asked. She had apparently decided that her moirail wasn't going to explode into an orgy of mindless violence, and was exploring his shop.

“HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE THOSE TWO TO FALL APART. HOPE IT'S SOON, PERSONALLY. THE FALLOUT FROM THAT BREAKUP IS GOING TO MAKE MY JOB HELL.”

“4ND WH3R3 D1D YOU G3T TH3 1D34 TH4T M1NDF4NG AND DULSK4R W3R3 ON TH3 OUTS?” the teal asked.

“LADY, THAT SHIP WAS SUNK BEFORE IT EVER SET SAIL.”

“L3G1SL4C3R4TOR”

“WHAT?”

“ L3G1SL4C3R4TOR, NOT L4DY. 1 4M L3G1SL4C3R4TOR R3DGL4R3.”

That shut Rokas's mouth. Suddenly that wide grin of hers seemed to take on a far more predatory aspect. She stepped away from him suddenly and began to pace in a wide circle around him.

“NOW ROM4NT1C4TOR, YOU W3R3 T3LL1NG US WHY THE LOV3Y COUPL3 OF TH3 M4RQUIS SP1NN3R3T M1NDF4NG AND THE ORPH4N3R DULSK4R W4S DOOM3D TO F41LUR3. WOULD YOU M1ND 3NL1GHT3N1NG THE COURT WHY YOU, 4S 4N 3XP3RT W1TN3SS ON TH3 SUBJ3CT OF ROM4NT1C 3ND3VORS, WHY TH1S 1S?”

“COURT? WHAT FUCKING COURT?”

The Legislacerator's cane whipped out again, catching him the back of the knee. It buckled, and he fell to his knees, grunting in pain.

“4NSW3R3 TH3 QU3ST1ON, ROM4NT1C4TOR.”

Rokas gritted his teeth. He just had to hope that he wasn't the one on trial here. She had said that he was an expert witness. It wasn't exactly a safe position to be in, but it was better than being the accused.

“BECAUSE REVULSION ISN'T REALLY HATE. IT'S PITY DOLLED UP TO THINK ITS HATE. DULSKAR IS TO DESPERATE TO INSPIRE INVITE HATE AND TOO REPULSIVE TO INSPIRE REAL PITY. FOR HER PART, THE SPIDERBITCH IS BROKEN IN THE HEAD. SHE TRIES TOO HARD, AND SHE DOESN'T GET THE REAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HATE AND REVULSION. ERGO, THAT SHIP IS FUCKING SUNK.”

The legislacerator cackled in apparent glee at his pronoucement.

“4ND WH4T WOULD YOU S4Y 1F YOU W3R3 TOLD TH4T TH13R R3L4T1ONSH1P H4S 4LR34DY SUNK?”

“I'D DO A DOUBLE FUCKING PIRUIOTTE INTO A BACKWARDS SUMMERSAULT OF RAGE AT THE THOUGHT OF ALL THE TROUBLE HAVING THOSE TWO FUCKING IDIOTS ON THE MARKET WILL CAUSE.”

[COLOR=#008282"]“OH? 4ND WH4T TROUBL3 WOULD TH4T B3?”[/COLOR]

“SAME THING THAT HAPPENS WHENEVER SUCH A PUBLIC BLACKROM FAILS. KISSMESSISES LEAVING THE PARTNERS THEY SETTLED FOR IN THE HOPES OF STRIKING UP A BLACKROM WITH THE NEWLY AVAILIABLE UP PUBLIC FIGURES. SCORNED PARTNERS EVEN BLACKER THAN BEFORE FROM THE KNOWLEDGE OF HOW THEY HAD BEEN USED. MURDERS, WHICH LEAVES MATESPRITS WITHOUT PARTNERS, AND ALL THE ATENDANT PROBLEMS THAT CAUSES. AND IN THE FUCKING MIDDLE OF ALL THIS MUSCLEBEAST SHIT ARE THE ROMANTICATORS, TRYING TO GET EVERYTHING SQUARED AWAY BEFORE THE DRONES COME AND KILL EVERYONE.”

There was a silence as the other occupants of the room absorbed this.

“what are these?” the yellow-green breathed, breaking the silence. Her wanderings had taken her to his desk, and in her hands-

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” Rokas roared, surging to his feet and snagging his sickle from a countertop.

The blue blood was faster. Rokas suddenly felt his feet dangling as he was lifted into the air by a grip of steel. The yellow-green gave a yelp of surprise and dropped the sheaf of paper in her hands, scattering the pages in her startlement .

“atlas, purrlease put him down. i didn't mean any harm” the blue's moirail said as she stooped to gather up the pages with their carefully constructed grids cataloging the extant and possible relationships of the community and intricate graphs tracing the possible repercussions of the various romances currently brewing.

“Yes, Listen To Your Moirail And Put My Moirail Down. Unharmed.”

Rokas almost sighed with relief at the sound cool, clear voice of his moirail and the accompanying harsh roar of a chainsaw's motor engaging. The blue, Atlas, released him and turned to face the newcomer. For a tense few seconds, it seemed that he would charge her. Then the yellow-green was at his side, a hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed. The jade-green standing in his doorway straightened from her stance of readiness and allowed her chainsaw to revert to a tube of lipstick.

“THESE,” Rokas said, snatching his notes from the yellow-green's hand, “ARE MY FUCKING SHIPPING CHARTS. AND YOU HAVE FUCKING MESSED THEM UP.” Those charts were the envy of all other Romanticators in the Empire. One could not do better than Rokas Rageflip at maintaining the romantic stability of a community. He was simply the best there was.

The yellow-green stared at him, her wide eyes shinning with the beginning of tears. The jade-green was instantly at her side.

“There There Dear. Don't Take It Personally. He's Just A Horrendous Asshole. Now, Come With Me. I Don't Know If You Are Here For My Moirail's Services, But You Are Certainly In Need Of Mine. Is That An Animal Skin You Are Wearing? That May Be All Well And Good Planetside, But You Are No Longer A Child. Come With Me, We Shall Get You Attired Properly.”

“but I like my skins,” the yellow-green said.

“Then We Shall Make Something More Appropriate For You To Wear Out Of Them. How Does That Sound?”

Rokas let out another roar of pain as the Legislacerator's cane again fell on his shoulder with a crack. All eyes whipped to him.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” he demanded.

“1 N33D3D TO BR1NG YOUR 4TT3T1ON B4CK TO TH3 M4TT3R 4T H4ND. NOW, WHO 4R3 YOU, 4ND WH4T DO YOU 1NT3ND TO DO W1TH H4LF OF MY BRUT3 SQUAD?” she asked, pointing at the jade blood.

[COLOR=#008141"]“I Am Matris Kayar, Owner, Proprietor And Chief Tailor Of Hearts And Spades Attire, Do Not Press Suite Without The Proper Suit, And I Intend To Extend My Services In Those Capacities To This Young Lady.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#416600"]“hey, you don't look all that much older than me!”[/COLOR] the yellow-green protested.

“Shush Dear. Now, Who Are You, And Why Are You Abusing My Moirail?”

“L3G1SL4C3R4TOR R3DGL4RE 4T YOUR S3RV1C3, 4ND 1 4M H3R3 1N ORD3R TO 3NL1ST YOUR MO1R41L 1N MY S34RCH HUNT FOR TH3 M4RQU1S SP1NN3R3TT3 M1NDF4NG. 1 B3L13V3 H1S 3XP3RT1S3 W1LL B3 1NV4LU4BL3 1N LOC4T1NG TH3 P1R4T3 1N TH3 4FT3RM4TH OF H3R BR34KUP W1TH TH3 ORPH4N3R DULSK4R.”

“The Orphaner has already been e%ecuted,” Atlas said.

“OH THANK GOG. AND YOU'RE HUNTING DOWN THE SPIDER BITCH?”

[COLOR=”#008282”] “1ND33D W3 4R3. 4ND YOU W1LL B3 COM1NG W1TH US ON TH1S HUNT. BR1NG YOUR MO1RA1L 4LONG FOR TH3 R1D3, WHY DON'T YOU?”[/COLOR]

“THE FUCK?”

So, ummm... I'm insane?

[lantadyme]

I'm not that sure if this is very good or if my characterization is solid, but yeah. Here's something that has nothing to do with recent updates. Davesprite and Rose chillin' in LOHAC. (Sorry about the colors. I'm not that sure if I'll leave them in but he just needs to speak in orange when I write him.)

No More

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He finds her in LOHAC. He finds her, and both of them know she'd seen him looking. She sits with the crystal ball in her lap, her back to the warm heat of a gear and her familiar gone, and he floats down from on high with a whirlwind of hot air and flapping feathers and the unsettling crackle of jumping static. Everything stinks of ozone. His wings fold like those of a spooked bird, tensed and ready to take flight again, posture bent to take to the air and leave and never come back at the slightest wrong. If he had pockets he'd slip his hands into them, and Rose realizes how much it unsettles her to not see him with pockets to hide his nervous hands, with fancy suits to hide the thin, bony, slightly malnourished cast of his shoulders. At least he has his shades. She doesn't think she could take him without them.

"Strider."

"Sup," he mutters half coherently, and it's stupid because he's wound as tight as a clock and trying to pass it off as spontaneity. The silence between them hangs, nothing other than gears churning in the background, and he looks away and fidgets once he realizes he has no idea what else to say.

It's been a few long, long hours since he left her behind and spun their timeline to nonexistence on his magical vinyl—the knight abandoning a sleeping princess to save the life of the heir.

"Dave's got his shit handled," he starts finally, words slurred together with how fast he trips over them, forcing them out just to get something in the air other than discarded orange feathers. "Fucking finally. I forgot how long it took me to learn this crap. It's boring as hell following him around though. Thought I'd screw off and see what else is going on. Spotted you." A shrug.

Rose nods. It's unlikely even half of that is true, but she isn't about to contest it. "I suppose I would not be adverse to company at the moment. I am only waiting on the pieces of my plan to come together, after all." She smiles, and she knows he's watching her like a starving sparrow even though he's tipped his head to the side as if bored. "I have all the time in the world."

The words leave her mouth almost unbidden, a sentence plucked from a dream, and Rose nearly winces as she says them. One simple phrase and even though it hadn't been this Rose who'd lived it, she knows all the memories it will spring up in him because they spring up in her as well—the moment everything had stopped, when the timeline had snapped like cheap yarn and cut off a troll's message mid-sentence; when Rose had stood on LOLAR's shining beaches and stared up at the colorful clouds, and in another world John was being slaughtered; when Dave had messaged her minutes later and asked what the fuck was going on because he sensed it and she didn't; when Jade had died, trapped on Earth with no one to give her entrance as the meteors fell down, and Dave hadn't spoken to Rose for days on end even though she watched him trembling and horrified through her crystal ball; when, three weeks for her and two straight months for him, they had finally met in LOWAS and she hadn't been able to stop crying, Dave's eyes so red red red, not even counting the lack of pigmentation in his irises; when he had fallen asleep accidentally on her shoulder because he couldn't remember the last time he slept, and she had sat there unmoving for three long hours while he dozed even in his dreams—

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, too quiet, and she isn't sure if the tick of the gears swallows her words, but she does see his poker face stretched thin. His mouth curves downward and his wings are settled stiffly, feathers like sharp steel. Because I have all the time in the world had been what he'd told her over and over, the words more bitter as each long month passed and John stayed dead.

"For what?" he asks, as if he can brush it off.

Rose opens her mouth to to apologize outright for the time reference. He's heard so many cruel ones in her voice, twisted to hurt him, to get him to react. To get them to argue at the very least because they had been the last two people alive and Rose hadn't been able to tolerate that echoing loneliness.

But what comes out instead is, "For asking you to stay."

It had been her plan, after all. Stay behind, stay in the snapped-off timeline and see how far they could get before they couldn't learn anything more. It had been a good plan and even now Rose doesn't regret it, but she's made for sitting and researching and ironing out every detail before she casts on a single stitch of an afghan as complex as this. Rose is all planning and careful construction, and Dave flies by the frenetic beat of electronic drums. Dave runs in valiant and brave before he even knows what he's doing, and he throws himself away over and over, and for him it had been four long months of stifling suffering and hopeless frustration.

The words hit him. Not much, because no one else would notice the gnarled hooks of his hands and the tremble flickering through his thumbs once and never again. "Whatever," he mutters, hands balled up to hide what only the two of them have seen, what he knows she knows even though he won't acknowledge it. "You don't even fucking remember it, Lalonde. I don't care."

What a boldface lie. Rose finds herself laughing and he bristles at it, feathers puffed out in a subconscious crow's threat display.

"You do care."

"So what if I care? I'm not your Dave, remember? I'm not the real Dave. My timeline is snapped in half like a really shitty EP. It's so damn broken it's little black shards of vinyl that I just keep finding more and more pieces of in my carpet. The garbage is half full of broken record pieces, Rose, and it doesn't even matter if I ever get it cleaned up because I'll be doomed Dave cannon fodder long before I stop hearing that fucking song in my head." His hands go down, looking for the pockets he no longer has, and when he realizes what he's doing he crosses his arms over his chest instead.

"I do remember it."

"No you don't."

Rose sets her crystal ball aside, leaving it cradled between the meshed teeth of two stilled gears. She stands and takes two steps over to him, and he smells like ozone and sunlight as she leans close and adamantly says, "I do."

He looks at her. He turns his head and stops watching her out of the corner of his shades, and she can't see his eyes through the orange glass, but she's never seen him do that unless he was paying full attention. "Bits and fucking pieces, Rose. It's not the same thing and don't try this psychology shit on me. I didn't come over here for a shoulder to lean on. I was just checking on you."

"The Knight's sprite checking on the Seer? Please, Dave. You came because we're friends and you're scared, and you know I won't laugh at you."

"You just did."

"Yes, well I apologize for that. And I know I have said quite a number of very cruel things to you, but you are still Dave to me as much as your red counterpart is."

"What does that make you? Quantum state Rose that flips between living this timeline and remembering mine at the drop of a finely-stitched hat? Sorry, but I kind of want to leave that shit behind me. I'd prefer if you remembered nothing about it so then at least I'd be sure that—" His voice turns to a soft hush and he swallows the rest of the words before they can bubble out.

"Sure I wasn't yours?"

He looks away, his mouth twisted up unhappily, and Rose thinks of how few times they'd met in person, Dave always angry and uncomfortable, wound like a cat's toy mouse and ready to run if only because he was so so frustrated with it all. With leaving John dead, with blaming himself for Jade, with never sleeping and looping himself through impossible circles in time just to keep himself awake and preoccupied.

In those times, those few scant times he had come to her, she would sit in her library and pat the seat next to her, and he would sink down into it with the weight of three worlds on his shoulders. He would sit there silent for long minutes, unmoving and blank and not watching anything, not doing anything, just sitting there like a man searching for hope at a funeral. Trying to fight off the loneliness that had been so crippling for them both, chipping off their emotional armor in painful flakes. And sometimes—in the middle of that pregnant silence—he would reach over and take her hand.

"Dave," Rose whispers, and she reaches out and does that now. His fingers are hard like leather, like eagle's talons and warm like the sun, but they're still Dave's hands. "I remember it."

She expects him to rip his hand out of hers like he'd done every time she'd attempted this back then, but he doesn't. He sags instead, his wings unfurling downward like dying ferns, and he squeezes her hand just the slightest bit as he looks away.

"I wish you didn't. I shouldn't have told you to go to sleep."

"You would rather I was left there alone forever, to die?"

"No, but it would be easier for you to live this timeline without all that crap clogging up your head." The way it's obviously clogging up his.

Rose looks away, still holding his hand as her eyes trace the line of his wings down to the hot metal of the gear below her feet. And this is hard, so very hard, because she wants to make it easier for him. Make it easier on both of them. And the only way to do that is forget everything, forget part of her own life, and Rose is surprised by how terrifying that is.

Erasing a part of her own existence.

Seers see, and having a portion of herself that even she cannot understand isn't something she wants to embrace ever. Maybe it's something a Knight can live with, but not Rose.

"I can't."

He shrugs and slides his hand out of hers, floating there and looking at her again, his eyes hidden behind those perfect orange shades. "I know." And he looks so tired as he folds his wings back up again, arms folded across his chest almost as if he's hugging himself. "Look, I don't have infinite time anymore. It's really fucking weird. But just—" another shrug as he shakes his head, not wanting to say this but needing to. "Can I sit with you for a while? I promise I won't nag you about your shitty tentacle monster plan or anything. I just need somewhere to—"

"Not be alone," she finishes for him, and Dave nearly winces to hear it said out loud.

He's the Knight. He's supposed to be strong and unflappable. But Rose can see that he's afraid of what he can feel of his impending death on the horizon.

His death. It scares her too.

She touches his arm and feels static leap against her skin, but she holds on to him and pulls him back toward where she had been sitting. And he waits patiently as she sits again and rearranges her dress over her legs, as she scoops up her crystal ball and sets it in her lap, and then he pulls out his sword and leans it against the gear as he sinks down next to her.

Silent and staring at the distance, he stays there for long, long minutes, and Rose isn't the least bit surprised when he reaches over and takes her hand.

[Thamuzz]

Match Maker Match Maker

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“RED OR BLACK?” Rokas Rageflip growled, peering out the cracked door. He had a momentary glimpse of teal and dark blue before he was sent sprawling as the door was slammed open.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he screamed, clambering to his feet. He had only a moment of panicked self inspection to confirm that none of his blood was visible before three figures stepped through the broken portal and into the front room of his shop.

The first was teal, carrying a cane and wearing sharp red glasses. The next a blue, a dark blue in fact sporting cracked horns, cracked teeth, cracked sunglasses and a disdainful sneer. The last was yellow-green and moved like some sort of predator. The blue one's morail from the way she positioned herself by him. What their relationship to the teal was anyone's guess.

“I ASKED, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS-” Rokas's burgeoning rant segued neatly into a bellow of pain as the teal brought her cane down on his shoulder with a resounding crack.

“ROM4NT1C4TOR ROK4S, 1 PR3SUM3?” she asked, grinning widely.

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH?”

The cane descended again, earning another scream of pain and rage.

“YES, I'M ROKAS FUCKING RAGEFUCKINGFLIP, THE FUCKING ROMANTICATOR. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

“Ahem,” the blue-blood cleared his throat loudly.

“WHAT?” Rokas screamed, turning to face the much larger troll.

“I obje% to this 100d language. I will not have my moirail corrupted by your uncouth behavior.”

Rokas stared at the blue blood, his mouth hanging open in silent, astonished fury. Before he could give vent to his rage, his focus was wrenched back to the teal by the mechanism of the tip of her cane pressed against his cheek.

“W3LL TH3N ROM4NT1C4TOR, BL4CK”

“WHAT?”

“YOU 4SK3D R3D OR BL4CK. BL4CK.”

Rokas glowered at her for a second.

“I FIND IT DOUBTFULL THAT YOU ARE HAVING ANY TROUBLE FINDING SOMEONE TO FILL THAT QUADRANT. I MET YOU FIVE SECONDS AGO AND ALREADY I HATE YOU.”

“ROM4NT1C4TOR! 4R3 YOU FL1RT1NG W1TH M3?”

“WHAT? I DIDN'T MEAN-” he sputtered.

“4S 4 M4TT3R OF F4CT, 1T 1S NOT MY BL4CKROM TH4T BR1NGS M3 H3R3. 4R3 YOU F4M1L14R W1TH THE M1NDF4NG-DULSK4R K1SSM3SS1S?”

Rokas relaxed slightly. This was familiar territory.

“HERE FOR SOME TIPS ON THE ODDS? LOOKING FOR A LITTLE EDGE WITH THE BOOKILATORS? BECAUSE IF YOU ARE, YOU'RE OUT OF LUCK. I DON'T GIVE THAT KIND OF ADVICE,” he growled.

“pawds on what?” the yellow-green asked. She had apparently decided that her moirail wasn't going to explode into an orgy of mindless violence, and was exploring his shop.

“HOW LONG IT WILL TAKE THOSE TWO TO FALL APART. HOPE IT'S SOON, PERSONALLY. THE FALLOUT FROM THAT BREAKUP IS GOING TO MAKE MY JOB HELL.”

“4ND WH3R3 D1D YOU G3T TH3 1D34 TH4T M1NDF4NG AND DULSK4R W3R3 ON TH3 OUTS?” the teal asked.

“LADY, THAT SHIP WAS SUNK BEFORE IT EVER SET SAIL.”

“L3G1SL4C3R4TOR”

“WHAT?”

“ L3G1SL4C3R4TOR, NOT L4DY. 1 4M L3G1SL4C3R4TOR R3DGL4R3.”

That shut Rokas's mouth. Suddenly that wide grin of hers seemed to take on a far more predatory aspect. She stepped away from him suddenly and began to pace in a wide circle around him.

“NOW ROM4NT1C4TOR, YOU W3R3 T3LL1NG US WHY THE LOV3Y COUPL3 OF TH3 M4RQUIS SP1NN3R3T M1NDF4NG AND THE ORPH4N3R DULSK4R W4S DOOM3D TO F41LUR3. WOULD YOU M1ND 3NL1GHT3N1NG THE COURT WHY YOU, 4S 4N 3XP3RT W1TN3SS ON TH3 SUBJ3CT OF ROM4NT1C 3ND3VORS, WHY TH1S 1S?”

“COURT? WHAT FUCKING COURT?”

The Legislacerator's cane whipped out again, catching him the back of the knee. It buckled, and he fell to his knees, grunting in pain.

“4NSW3R3 TH3 QU3ST1ON, ROM4NT1C4TOR.”

Rokas gritted his teeth. He just had to hope that he wasn't the one on trial here. She had said that he was an expert witness. It wasn't exactly a safe position to be in, but it was better than being the accused.

“BECAUSE REVULSION ISN'T REALLY HATE. IT'S PITY DOLLED UP TO THINK ITS HATE. DULSKAR IS TO DESPERATE TO INSPIRE INVITE HATE AND TOO REPULSIVE TO INSPIRE REAL PITY. FOR HER PART, THE SPIDERBITCH IS BROKEN IN THE HEAD. SHE TRIES TOO HARD, AND SHE DOESN'T GET THE REAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HATE AND REVULSION. ERGO, THAT SHIP IS FUCKING SUNK.”

The legislacerator cackled in apparent glee at his pronoucement.

“4ND WH4T WOULD YOU S4Y 1F YOU W3R3 TOLD TH4T TH13R R3L4T1ONSH1P H4S 4LR34DY SUNK?”

“I'D DO A DOUBLE FUCKING PIRUIOTTE INTO A BACKWARDS SUMMERSAULT OF RAGE AT THE THOUGHT OF ALL THE TROUBLE HAVING THOSE TWO FUCKING IDIOTS ON THE MARKET WILL CAUSE.”

[COLOR=#008282"]“OH? 4ND WH4T TROUBL3 WOULD TH4T B3?”[/COLOR]

“SAME THING THAT HAPPENS WHENEVER SUCH A PUBLIC BLACKROM FAILS. KISSMESSISES LEAVING THE PARTNERS THEY SETTLED FOR IN THE HOPES OF STRIKING UP A BLACKROM WITH THE NEWLY AVAILIABLE UP PUBLIC FIGURES. SCORNED PARTNERS EVEN BLACKER THAN BEFORE FROM THE KNOWLEDGE OF HOW THEY HAD BEEN USED. MURDERS, WHICH LEAVES MATESPRITS WITHOUT PARTNERS, AND ALL THE ATENDANT PROBLEMS THAT CAUSES. AND IN THE FUCKING MIDDLE OF ALL THIS MUSCLEBEAST SHIT ARE THE ROMANTICATORS, TRYING TO GET EVERYTHING SQUARED AWAY BEFORE THE DRONES COME AND KILL EVERYONE.”

There was a silence as the other occupants of the room absorbed this.

“what are these?” the yellow-green breathed, breaking the silence. Her wanderings had taken her to his desk, and in her hands-

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” Rokas roared, surging to his feet and snagging his sickle from a countertop.

The blue blood was faster. Rokas suddenly felt his feet dangling as he was lifted into the air by a grip of steel. The yellow-green gave a yelp of surprise and dropped the sheaf of paper in her hands, scattering the pages in her startlement .

“atlas, purrlease put him down. i didn't mean any harm” the blue's moirail said as she stooped to gather up the pages with their carefully constructed grids cataloging the extant and possible relationships of the community and intricate graphs tracing the possible repercussions of the various romances currently brewing.

“Yes, Listen To Your Moirail And Put My Moirail Down. Unharmed.”

Rokas almost sighed with relief at the sound cool, clear voice of his moirail and the accompanying harsh roar of a chainsaw's motor engaging. The blue, Atlas, released him and turned to face the newcomer. For a tense few seconds, it seemed that he would charge her. Then the yellow-green was at his side, a hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed. The jade-green standing in his doorway straightened from her stance of readiness and allowed her chainsaw to revert to a tube of lipstick.

“THESE,” Rokas said, snatching his notes from the yellow-green's hand, “ARE MY FUCKING SHIPPING CHARTS. AND YOU HAVE FUCKING MESSED THEM UP.” Those charts were the envy of all other Romanticators in the Empire. One could not do better than Rokas Rageflip at maintaining the romantic stability of a community. He was simply the best there was.

The yellow-green stared at him, her wide eyes shinning with the beginning of tears. The jade-green was instantly at her side.

“There There Dear. Don't Take It Personally. He's Just A Horrendous Asshole. Now, Come With Me. I Don't Know If You Are Here For My Moirail's Services, But You Are Certainly In Need Of Mine. Is That An Animal Skin You Are Wearing? That May Be All Well And Good Planetside, But You Are No Longer A Child. Come With Me, We Shall Get You Attired Properly.”

“but I like my skins,” the yellow-green said.

“Then We Shall Make Something More Appropriate For You To Wear Out Of Them. How Does That Sound?”

Rokas let out another roar of pain as the Legislacerator's cane again fell on his shoulder with a crack. All eyes whipped to him.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” he demanded.

“1 N33D3D TO BR1NG YOUR 4TT3T1ON B4CK TO TH3 M4TT3R 4T H4ND. NOW, WHO 4R3 YOU, 4ND WH4T DO YOU 1NT3ND TO DO W1TH H4LF OF MY BRUT3 SQUAD?” she asked, pointing at the jade blood.

[COLOR=#008141"]“I Am Matris Kayar, Owner, Proprietor And Chief Tailor Of Hearts And Spades Attire, Do Not Press Suite Without The Proper Suit, And I Intend To Extend My Services In Those Capacities To This Young Lady.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#416600"]“hey, you don't look all that much older than me!”[/COLOR] the yellow-green protested.

“Shush Dear. Now, Who Are You, And Why Are You Abusing My Moirail?”

“L3G1SL4C3R4TOR R3DGL4RE 4T YOUR S3RV1C3, 4ND 1 4M H3R3 1N ORD3R TO 3NL1ST YOUR MO1R41L 1N MY S34RCH HUNT FOR TH3 M4RQU1S SP1NN3R3TT3 M1NDF4NG. 1 B3L13V3 H1S 3XP3RT1S3 W1LL B3 1NV4LU4BL3 1N LOC4T1NG TH3 P1R4T3 1N TH3 4FT3RM4TH OF H3R BR34KUP W1TH TH3 ORPH4N3R DULSK4R.”

“The Orphaner has already been e%ecuted,” Atlas said.

“OH THANK GOG. AND YOU'RE HUNTING DOWN THE SPIDER BITCH?”

[COLOR=”#008282”] “1ND33D W3 4R3. 4ND YOU W1LL B3 COM1NG W1TH US ON TH1S HUNT. BR1NG YOUR MO1RA1L 4LONG FOR TH3 R1D3, WHY DON'T YOU?”[/COLOR]

“THE FUCK?”

So yeah... I'm insane?

[lucidSeraph]

@lantadyme - ;_;

[lantadyme]

John: React.

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When you followed Rose up the final flight of stairs to the roof of the castle, you were expecting a reunion with your father.

To say this is not quite what you had in mind would be a gross understatement.

At first, you reflexively gasp and step back at the sight of Dad and Rose's Mom lying on the roof in pools of their own blood. Your mind tries to rationalize this for fifteen full seconds and goes with the idea that they and Rose are in on an elaborate prank. "Hahaha you got me! Get up, Dad, I know you're not really dead!" you laugh as you approach your old man.

But he doesn't get up. You move in closer. "Okay Dad, prank time is over! You had me going for a second there, but I gotta say, this was a good one!"

Nothing. "...Dad? Dad, you're scaring me. Come on, let's go."

Rose puts her hand on your shoulder and says something you can't understand in the broodfester tongues. Slowly, you begin to realize this was no prank. Her mother and your father were slain here, and you're certain you know the culprit.

"Jack did this, didn't he?" you ask, with tears in your eyes. Rose nods. You embrace her for a while, and she does not protest.

You step back from her and wipe away the tears, because tough guys don't cry, and that's who you've got to be. With the passing of your Dad, you've got nothing to lose. Does this make you a maverick? Perhaps of the street tough variety? The fact that your God Tier clothes are turning black seems to suggest that yes, yes it does.

You turn your back to Rose and heft Fear No Anvil, because you're making a badass pose, and this is no time for silly-looking weapons like the Warhammer of Zillyhoo. "He won't get away with this, Rose. I'll make him pay. You can be sure of that."

Your transformation completes itself as your glasses darken into black shades and fingerless gloves spontaneously poof into existence on your hands. Even the symbol of the wind emblazoned on your chest shifts to a slightly more menacing appearance.

You fly to the next castle and uproot it with a wave of your hand, the wind destroying it at your whims. If Jack is here, you will crush him.

Because you have officially gone antihero.

Sword Magnet

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"hey dave!" John said. "can you show me your stabs?"

John stood inside Dave's LOHAC flat like a kid in a candy store with a stupid grin on his face that screamed earnestness. Guy can't handle coolness like this, ready to prostrate himself before his idol.

"sure john" Dave pulled out Caledscratch. "just watch this oh fuck"

Dave would forever maintain that what happened next he meant to do and that he knew it would happen, but in the moment Dave was very glad his sunglasses obscured his eyes because they were wide with surprise as Caledscratch flew out of Dave's hands of its own accord and impaled itself into John's chest.

Pesterchum pinged with a message from Jade. Fuck her right now. Dave just stabbed his best friend in the chest and he was trying his hardest not to visibly freak out about it because shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck he just stabbed John is he going to be alright he was somehow alright after Jack stabbed him again shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck.

"but..." John said. "dave..." John slumped backward onto the ground, staining the cheap apartment carpet red with his blood.

Dave crept toward John's lifeless body. He gave it a few nudges with his foot. "john" Dave asked. "you better not be fucking with me because if you are ill do it again"

After a minute without a response Dave stepped back. "welp" He said. "i just killed my best friend" He said matter-of-factly. He pulled Caledscratch out of John's chest. Not to be nice, just to get it back. The fucking sword was still pointing itself and trying to fly towards John's chest, like there was a magnetic attraction between the two. Dave shoved the disobedient sword into his Strife Specibus.

Suddenly John lurched forward, taking a giant gasp of air. Dave refused to admit that he jumped up in surprise. "dave!" John said. "what did you do that for?" John asked completely innocently, like he wasn't even mad about getting stabbed.

What's the appropriate coolkid response in a situation like this? There probably isn't one. Stabbing people doesn't make for very good oh wait Dave's got this. He gave John a blank stare for a moment. "i showed you my stabs"

John puzzled over the comment for a moment before he burst out laughing. He stood up from the floor and patted Dave's shoulder several times while laughing. Dave desperately tried to stifle a chuckle, because, damn, this shit was kinda funny. "that's a good one, dave! you really got me good, but i think i got you better."

"nah" Dave said, trying to play it cool. "i meant to do that"

John still laughed. "prankster's gambits don't lie, and yours is completely emptied out!"

"egbert what you dont realize is that mastery of irony is the ultimate prank i dont need to keep score with bullshit joke meters any more"

"that's cool, dave." John said. Did this fucking kid just that's cool Dave? Not cool, John. After a long stretch of furious laughter John finally calmed down. He walked to the refrigerator. "i wonder what's in here?"

These have both happened in alternate timelines, okay? They are too awesome to just not exist.

[anonymousComrade]

I am having some trouble writing the next chapter of Re: Champion

I have a few events planned for the middle and endgame, and more than a few ideas on how it'll all end, but I completely failed to plan out a proper beginning for the story. How is Karkinos going to proceed through his inevitable rise through the military ranks? I have no idea and it's not exactly something I can just skip over

It may be a while before I can put anything together but I'm not giving up. This is what happens when you wing it, kids!

[Graven_Image]

Oh hey look more AU fic. Gotta love the AU fic.

Overwritten

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After you go, what do you think will happen to me?

Will I just cease to exist?

i dont know

i mean your whole timeline will

maybe

Maybe?

Is there a chance it'll continue to exist, and I'll just be here alone forever?

I'm not sure which outcome is more unsettling.

the thing with time travel is

you cant overthink it

just roll with it and see what happens

and above all try not to do anything

retarded

...

Retarded.

That's the best word for this situation.

You thought, at best, you'd continue as some split personality in the Alpha you's head. At worst, you'd be gone forever.

But you're absolutely fine.

And that may prove to be quite worse than any of the above.

For one, you have to contend with the fact that you've pretty much erased the Alpha's personality from existence. You've essentially rewound your life four months.

The main difference now being that John and Jade are alive.

As the next few hours progress normally, you find yourself almost wishing you had been left behind. Omnipotent Dersites? A troll behind everything? Good lord!

OPEN PESTERLOG

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tentacleTherapist began pestering turntechGodhead
TT: Dave, I believe this is the worst idea you have ever had.
TG: whatre you talking about this is awesome
TG: we survived didnt we
TT: I am of the professional opinion that this was not worth surviving for, Dave.
TT: We are utterly and completely hosed, and no amount of temporal chicanery has changed that.
TG: wow woman cool it
TG: we aint dead yet
TT: We'll see how long that lasts.
TG: uhh
TG: rose
TG: whatre you doing

You then proceed to go through a gothic phase that we've all seen before in a universe that mirrors this one to a freakish extent.

You eventually begin asking questions.

You then ask entirely the wrong question, and get a face full of eldritch backlash for your troubles.

You feel wrong, somehow, a feeling of unease like this wasn't supposed to happen. You look hideous, of course. This inky blackness isn't going wash out, you're sure of it.

You turn to your amphibian entourage, but they have long since fled. You search the fields of LoHaC, but no answers provide themselves.

In desperation, you fly to Skaia, to scour its surface for answers to the thousand other things you need to know about this new universe.

You had all the time in the world yesterday. Now you're scrambling like a madwoman.

Soon enough, though, you're reminded of why you went through all of this in the first place.

You embrace him, so happy to see him all healthy and windy and not dead like was the last time you saw him.

"uhh, hi rose! i see you're... uh... dark. and talking funny."

You just grip him tighter, trying your best to say "I missed you so much."

He eventually gives up and starts hugging you back.

"oh man, this is just like that one scene in-"

"Shothot."

"sorry."

[ProspitDreamer]

Some comments first...
[spoiler]
Page 36:
ProspitDreamer - Awww, that was adorable. I love Dave/Terezi, have I mentioned?

Thank you! And possibly you have mentioned that. I'll try harder to remember it.

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And now for some more

Hot Blooded: Chapter 7

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“Name?”

“Depinza.”

“Taffus?”

“Close enough.”

The bureacraniectometrist rolled her eyes. “Color?”

“What? All that needle-stabbing you did yesterday and you don’t have it recorded?”

The paper-pushed stared at him levelly.

Tarfus sighed. “Red.”

The 'craniectometrist dug around in a box at his feet and withdrew a maroon Cancer patch. She turned and retrieved a uniform, complete with pair of boots atop, and handed the entire package to Tarfus. “You're to sew the patch onto your left breast pocket.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Your groupblock assignment.”

“What? I don't know how to fucking sew!”

The other troll lifted a single eyebrow, but otherwise did not change her expression. “So learn. Next!”

Tarfus grumbled to himself and stalked away. He'd joined the threshecutioners to learn how to thresh some motherfuckers, not learn domestic chores for girls.

He followed the signs to groupblock F and entered. It was a long and narrow room with a series of recuperacoons along either side with a locker at the foot of each. A series of high windows along either wall let in narrow shafts of moonlight, creating a pink and green checkerboard along the floor. Trolls were milling about, some sitting on the edges of their recuperacoons, others standing and talking, some simply staring into space. Tarfus stood in front of the doorway for a moment, then looked down at the slip of paper he'd been given.

There it was, his locker and recuperacoon assignment. F12. A cursory glance revealed that all the lockers in the room began with F, so he located number 12 with little difficulty. He opened it and discovered it to be completely empty save for a tiny sewing kit.

How thoughtful of them, he thought as he removed the kit and stowed the boots.

He perched on the edge of his recuperacoon and snuck a glance around the room. Others were, like him, staring blankly at the sewing kit. Some had made it as far as removing the needle and thread. Tarfus looked back down at the kit, and shrugged. How hard could it be?

Ten minutes later, he had a passably-attached patch on the front pocket of his uniform. He flung the sewing kit back into the locker just as the room fell silent. Tarfus looked up, and followed the room’s gaze to the doorway.

Silhouetted in the doorframe by the duochromatic was a thin, wiry troll. She stepped into the groupblock and even Tarfus had to bite back a gasp. Every young troll who hadn’t spent their formative sweeps living in a cave (and even some who had) would’ve recognized the newcomer. From her single half-horn—the other one-and-a-half snapped off in combat and surgically removed through torture respectively—to her missing left arm, she was a living legend. She’d risen to prominence in the War of Unity and earned an officer’s commission. Wearing the mantle of command, she’d proceeded to decimate every single opponent unfortunate enough to oppose her. She’d personally saved the Empress’ life in the latter days of the 13th Perigree’s War, losing her arm in the process and then using said dismembered arm to bludgeon the attackers to death.

She’d been famously passed over for angeneralship time after time, and had ultimately been forcibly retired after refusing to obey a direct order from a purple-blooded superior. Her insubordination had won the battle, saved hundreds of lives, and cost her her career. She now spent her dawnlight sweeps training the new threshecutioner recruits.

Her name was Kulath Stratet and she was the closest thing Tarfus had to an idol. She was the only greenblood in recorded history to ever have a chance at being an angeneral and had a notable disregard for the hemospectrum.

What the recruitment ads featuring her likeness had failed to communicate however was her stature. Stratet was easily the shortest troll in the room by a full six inches. A recruit by the door snickered and before the room finished its collective gasp, Stratet was in the recruit’s face.

“Something funny?” She demanded. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, and every single person in the room heard it. The silence crystallized into dread before Stratet continued, “Take my sickle.” She thrust the weapon at the unlucky recruit and turned to face the room at large. “Clear the center of the block! Follow,” she said to the recruit.

Anybody in the middle of the room backed away as if they’d suddenly discovered it was full of venomous slitherbeasts, and Stratet led the stunned recruit to the clear space.

Stratet turned to face the recruit and projected her voice to the room at large. “Consider this your first lesson, you worthless overgrown larvae!” She shifted her body so her right side was facing the recruit and he presented the smallest possible profile to her opponent. Her voice dropped down to a conversational level. “I’ll let you have the first attack, boy. Any time.”

The recruit looked at the sickle in his hands. Looked at Stratet, unarmed and waiting. Back at the sickle. Back at Stratet. “Is surrender an option?”

Stratet chuckled. “I see we’ve got a thinker! No, you surrender and I’ll cull you myself. Now attack me!”

Tarfus was just close enough to hear the recruit mutter “This is such a bad idea…” before lunging at Stratet with the sickle.

Tarfus barely saw what happened next. Stratet jerked to the side and slammed a fist into the recruit’s chest. As the recruit stumbled forward, Stratet jerked her fist up into his chin. In one smooth motion, Stratet stepped into the recruit’s reach, grabbed him by the wrist, and jerked it upward. There was a keerack as the recruit’s wrist broke and the sickle flew from nerveless fingers.

Stratet shifted her hand to the recruit’s shoulder and launched herself knee-first into the recruit’s gut. The recruit went down hard, and Stratet rode him to the floor. The sickle had encountered gravity at this point, and was now on a direct course for the recruit’s exposed neck. An instant before the sickle would’ve pierced the recruit’s throat, Stratet’s hand snapped up and grabbed it by the handle. The tip of the sickle stopped a hairsbreadth from making the floor a more colorful place.

The recruit opened one eye and exhaled slightly before freezing again. A droplet of teal blood blossomed where the sickle-point met his neck. Stratet held it there for a moment before standing up. The recruit chose to enjoy the benefits of a horizontal position for the foreseeable future.

“There were more things wrong with this little wiggler’s attack here than I care to name! Let’s see if any of you know any better! Any volunteers care to tell me what he did wrong?”

“He overextended himself in his attack?” said someone in the back.

Stratet sighed and brought her fist to his forehead. Then, with explosive violence, flung the sickle away. It stuck in the wall where it quivered like an angry buzzbeast. “No! His first mistake was doing what his opponent expected! When your one-armed opponent gives you a weapon and tells you to attack her, you’d damn well better expect that she’s got something planned! Wiggler down here gets points for seeing it coming, but loses them all for attacking anyway!”

Tarfus had completely failed to hear much of that tirade, due to the sickle that had very nearly impaled his arm, and was currently pinning him to the wall by the sleeve of his jacket. He carefully leaned away from the still-vibrating weapon and tore his jacket sleeve away from the sickle. As he did so, he felt a stab of pain in his upper arm and looked at the torn sleeve. A ball of lead dropped into his digestive sac and he quickly slapped his hand over the wound, and prayed that nobody had noticed. His eyes darted from side to side wildly. In his panic, he didn’t notice that the tension of earlier had dissolved, and Stratet, no longer the center of attention, was approaching him.

“Gotcha with the sickle there, did I? Come on, let’s see the wound, last thing I need is some priss passing out on me first day to blood loss…” she muttered before jerking Tarfus’ hand away from his arm.

Stratet stared at Tarfus injury for a long moment before looking him in the eye. Tarfus’ vascular pump was jackhammering wildly in his chest and he was beginning to sweat. He was going to be found out, he was going to be exposed he was going to be culled he was going to die, and then Stratet jerked his shirtsleeve lower, covering the wound.

“Yer fine. Suck it up…Depinza, is it? You’ll get much worse, in time. If you’re any good, that is.” And Stratet almost smiled. Her lips twitched, anyway. She turned and strode to the doorway of the groupblock again. “Everybody on the training field in five, get your bulges in gear! If any one of you is late, that’s grounds for immediate culling!” And she walked out.

Tarfus stared after her, panting in exhausted relief.

What the hell had just happened?

Notes

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Not very happy with this chapter. It feels like a whole lotta filler, but it's necessary build-up for the next. It was supposed to be a lot shorter, and what's going to be Chapter 8 was supposed to be all in this one. But it started getting kinda long, so it's getting split.
On the plus side more Auva backstory next chapter yayyyyy

It might be filler to you, because you already know the whole story. But to me, this was the least-fillery of everything so far. I feel like I finally got information on this Tarfus guy. We were kinda just thrown into the action with him in the beginning, and now we're getting to learn who he is. The time jump from the last chapter has me a little confused, but that's fine since I'm waiting for an upcoming resolution to that.

In short, I liked this chapter of Hot Blooded a lot!

[CollectiveInsanity]

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Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are the most badass, manly sleuther in Midnight City. You are well known for your intelligence, quick wit, and lack of mercy on crime. Today is a completely normal day for you; you’re waiting for new cases from hysterical dames in a particularly noir manner, while you vamp up your imagination with your hip flask.

In fact, the only thing disturbing this intensely hardboiled scene is the small white kitten that wandered into your office that morning, and is now busying itself being adorable and sleeping in your hat.

You consider how completely ridiculous this is. A Sleuth of your prowess should not have a small white kitten in your office, let alone in your precious hat. The only thing saving the obscenely adorable thing was the fact that it hasn’t yet so much as touched your equally precious candy corn. You can only hope that no pretty dames try to give you a case face-to-face. That would just be embarrassing.

Finally, you get a case. Though it’s less of a case and more of Spades Slick, the notorious mobster, yelling profanities through the phone at you around midday. Somehow through all the cursing you make out that he’s asking if you’d like to have lunch with him at one of the swanky restaurants he owns. Instead of outright agreeing, you bottle up your confusing feelings and tell him, in a very hardboiled manner, that he’s going to have to calm down and speak clearly, or else you might just be too tied up with all the weird puzzle shit you’ve got going on to leave your office.

He tells you to go fuck yourself and meet him downstairs in ten minutes or he’s throwing you out your shitty window.

You say okay, jeeze. Slick curses for a few more seconds before hanging up. You resolve to stop by the store on your way home and get him some licorice Scottie dogs. This seems like the most diplomatic thing to do, in this scenario. You realize that due to all the weird puzzle shit that is undoubtedly going on in your building, it’s probably going to take you the full ten minutes to get down there to meet Slick anyways.

You reach for your hat before remembering the kitten. It doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, so instead of putting it some place where it might be more comfortable, you store it in your hat and go to make your way down to the lobby.

Nine minutes later, and after dealing with a plethora of nervous broads, hysterical dames, and two weird puzzles that made no sense until you rotated them, you stumble out onto the ground floor of the building. True to his admittedly suspect word, Slick is there waiting.

You greet him, and he repays you in kind with a stare. An awkward moment passes before you comment that you know you’re handsome, but it’s rude to stare. He gives the bird amicably, and asks why there’s a white cat in your hat, and why does it have candy corn fangs what the hell. You reply that that is an excellent question, and that it’s a kitten, not a cat. He tells you it could be a Scottie dog for all he cared, what the fuck is it doing in your hat. You tell him it’s being adorable, as anyone with half their vision could see.

He palm hits his face so hard you’re surprised his hand doesn’t smash through his carapace.

During this exchange of views, the kitten has been purring against your head, but it’s suddenly tensed up. You are about to reach up and pet it when it shoots out from under your hat and lands on Slick’s hat, claws digging in deep. It thoughtfully leaves your candy corn behind.

Of course Slick begins to flip the fuck out, almost taking the poor kitten out in the process. Sensing that some Sleuth Diplomacy is in order, you sharply tell him that if he hurts the kitty, you’re not taking one step out of this building. In retrospect, the word kitty isn’t the manliest, but it certainly fits here.

Either cat or kitty, it seems to have the desired effect on Slick, who instantly calms down, or what counts as calm for him, and settling into his normal, arm-crossed posture. He says fine, but if the damn thing eats his Scottie dogs it’s gonna be tonight’s dinner. You laugh and sling an arm around his shoulder, in a completely comradely way, and suggest that you and him should get going if they want to make the lunch hour, or else you might miss a bunch of important cases. He smirks and says he was planning on keeping you until dinner
No dammit that was terrible
Fuck you Sleuth stop laughing.
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Elsewhere in the building, Pickle Inspector is mildly concerned as to the whereabouts of his lovely girlfriend’s kitten, which had been put into his care last night.

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I've been re-reading Problem Sleuth and uh. I saw the extra page involving a small white kitten and this suddenly happened.
Yeah.

[Jim Groovester]

The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 21

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Problem Sleuth stands up from behind the wrecked car and starts walking towards the collapsed entrance. Crowbar stirs on the ground after the explosion, trying to come to as quick as possible. His hands feel the ground for his crowbar, his gun, or anything. Sleuth passes him on the right. “Stay down.” Sleuth says as he fires a single shot into Crowbar’s gut.

Crowbar gasps in pain as his hands reach towards his stomach. “You’ll pay for this, Sleuth.” He says.

“One more thing I owe ya.” Sleuth shouts behind him. “Put it on my tab.”

“Real clever, Sleuth.” Crowbar shouts. “I swear you’ll be dead by this time tomorrow.”

Sleuth turns around and walks backwards. He looks Crowbar in the eye. Sleuth doesn’t see hatred like that very often. It rivals even Spades Slick at his worst. Simmering, barely restrained fury can’t match impotent rage. “When are you gonna mean it?” Sleuth says, throwing his arms wide. He lets a smirk creep its way onto his face. For how much Crowbar is trying he can’t grit his teeth any further.

Crowbar growls and then screams in pain and swears. He turns away from Sleuth and looks into the night sky. Sleuth turns around to the warehouse.

The warehouse entrance has completely crumbled. What was once a large enough entry to back trucks into now is covered in twisted metal siding and flaming plastic puppets. The roof, the parts that haven’t completely fallen already, droop unstably and threaten to fall at any moment. The back of the warehouse remains undamaged.

Problem Sleuth starts climbing up the pile of rubble. He puts his hand on an unsettlingly shaped puppet nose and reels back for a bit, but continues up. He reaches the top of the pile and surveys the inside of the warehouse. Some of the crates have caught on fire, and if left unchecked, the rest of the stock will be eradicated. No big loss.

Beneath the drooping roof Problem Sleuth sees several green bodies in various states of alertness. They’re hard to distinguish without their hats. The two big guys are reaching for their striped hats. There’s a guy leaking blood all over the place with a solid red hat nearby. Then there’s a guy who’s just finished putting on his solid orange hat. Fin spots Problem Sleuth, and then glances nervously between Matchsticks and Quarters.

Problem Sleuth doesn’t give him the chance to call for help. He points the tommy gun at Fin. Fin stares back at Problem Sleuth, takes a deep breath, and waits for what’s coming.

Problem Sleuth: Sleuth Diplomacy Lv. 44: DISARMAMENT.

You turn over your ammunition to Fin as laid out in the terms of the treaty between you and the Felt. There can only be peace once you have given all your ammunition over to the Felt in a similar fashion.

Fin rocks back and forth as bullets hit him. He trips over as a bullet tears through his calf. Quarters and Matchsticks snap to immediate alertness and scramble for their guns. Quarters almost instantly gives up the search and leaps in front of Fin, taking a few bullets meant for his fellow mobster. Matchsticks grabs his rifle and positions himself between Fin and Problem Sleuth.

Sleuth throws himself backwards as Matchsticks returns fire.

==>

2/2 GREEN TAILS PERMANENTLY SHOOK
100% PRIMARY FELT OBJECTIVES COMPLETED
33% SECONDARY FELT OBJECTIVES COMPLETED

Sleuth carefully descends down the pile of rubble. He jumps off it and into the maze of now burning crates. Sleuth knows the Midnight Crew are inside the undestroyed parts of the warehouse, but he doesn’t have a choice. It’s either die by the Felt right now for killing two of their number or get captured by the Midnight Crew. Given the options, the Midnight Crew are the way to go.

The crackling of the fire masks the sounds of Sleuth’s approach but does the same for the Midnight Crew. And in the dark of the night and the unlit warehouse Problem Sleuth shines a lot brighter than any of them. Not to mention that he’s approaching them with the fire behind him, making the matter of spotting him as simple as picking out his silhouette.

Sleuth carefully makes his way through the maze, making sure to scan all directions as much as possible. Don’t want Spades Slick to go all treeprimate on Sleuth and tackle him from above. It’s small comfort to Sleuth that Slick probably doesn’t have the patience to follow him without attacking for any extended period of time, so if something like that was going to happen it would have already.

Problem Sleuth sees a glint or a shine or something and immediately turns and points his key ring at it. He pulls off the drum of his key ring and checks its weight. He returns it to the tommy gun. He gulps, and builds up the nerve to check it out.

He approaches where he thought he saw something. It’s behind a corner of a crate. He turns it with his gun ready. All he finds is a shiny black bowling ball wearing Diamonds Droog’s back up hat. Sleuth wonders why any of the Midnight Crew have a bowling ball. Clubs Deuce immediately jumps to-

Problem Sleuth: Quit thinking about stupid stuff and dodge already!

Problem Sleuth steps back behind the crate as fast as he can, a large caliber bullet smashing into a crate where his leg would’ve been. The bowling ball does make an excellent decoy, Sleuth admits. Problem Sleuth turns the corner again, gun spraying fire in bursts, and starts advancing forwards. He doesn’t know where Diamonds Droog is but the Midnight Crew want him alive. If Droog can’t take an incapacitating shot he won’t take any shot. Unfortunately, that accounts for just one of the four.

Sleuth’s tommy gun clicks empty. He breaks into a run as he fishes out a new key ring in his coat. He replaces the keys as rapidly as possible.

==>

Looks like this is your last drum. Better make it count.

Just as he finishes reloading his tommy gun Diamonds Droog pops from behind a corner. Sleuth slows to a stop and raises his gun to his shoulder. Droog is already peering down the scope of his rifle. Time to see who’s faster.

Problem Sleuth squeezes the trigger. The tommy gun gets thrust upward as an arm is wrapped around his neck and starts squeezing.

“dammit sleuth will ya quit squirming around and just pass out already” Spades Slick shouts into his ear. Sleuth’s free hand reaches for Slick’s elbow and starts pulling. It’s not helping at all. Slick readjusts his grip. It’s even tighter than before.

“Nice,” Problem Sleuth wheezes out. “Try.” He manages to quip with the last of his breath.

Slick actually laughs at that one. Problem Sleuth tries to elbow him and step on his feet but he can’t get a good enough hit from his position.

Sleuth starts seeing black spots in his vision. He grabs the barrel of his tommy gun and wraps his other hand around the stock. He thrusts it backwards over his shoulder into Slick’s face. “goddammit sleuth” Slick says. “will you cut that out already”

Sleuth bashes it backwards again and again. Slick takes it to the face, and in an angry response he tries to tighten his grip even more. As Slick is adjusting Sleuth takes a breath and manages to slip a hand on the inside of Slick’s grip. He drops his key ring and pulls out a key, and angles it backward at Slick.

“and just what do you think youre doing”

“Slick, no.” Droog warns.

Slick releases one hand from his death grip around Sleuth’s neck to point the revolver away from his body. With only one arm restraining him, Sleuth frees himself from Slick’s grip and spins around. Slick stumbles to his right as Sleuth’s desperation powers his fist into Slick’s jaw.

Droog’s rifle is immediately up to his shoulder but Sleuth closes the distance almost immediately. He points the rifle elsewhere and gives Droog a powerful uppercut. Droog stumbles backwards.

“Is that all you got?” Sleuth asks between rapid huffs. “Is that all you got?” He repeats in a shout. It’s nothing but bravado but Sleuth is beyond desperate and he feels like he can take on all the Midnight Crew because he has to or else. He’s giving all he’s got and it’s wearing on him but he’s not going down easy.

“YOU WANNA FIST FIGHT” Boxcars bellows behind him. Sleuth figures the rest of the Crew were hiding, just waiting for Sleuth to walk into some trap. And now that it’s sprung they’re all coming out. “I OWE YA ONE SLEUTH” Boxcars says. “FOR THIS”

Sleuth turns around and his vision goes blurry and he’s pretty sure his head hits the ground because Boxcars just punched him in the nose, probably breaking it in the process. But Sleuth can’t worry about that now. He scrambles up. He’s tilting to one side but he can see a big blurry black blob and that’s all he needs. “You hit like a girl.” The words come out of his mouth before he realizes that they were probably a bad idea. Sleuth raises his fists, ready to go toe to toe with Hearts Boxcars.

==>

This is probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, barring taking this job in the first place.

Boxcars growls. He pulls back for a punch and throws it. Sleuth’s vision clears up just in time for Sleuth to see the punch and duck. Sleuth retaliates by punching Boxcars in the gut. Not that it actually does anything but at least he’s staying competitive.

Boxcars has a menacing grin on his face. Boxcars throws another punch. Sleuth ducks under it again. He slips around Boxcars and jabs Boxcars in his side.

“fuck it lets just beat the shit out of him” Slick says.

Sleuth spins around in the direction of Slick’s voice and gives Slick a mean left hook. Slick is sent stumbling, which makes it a simple matter of freeing him from his cast iron horse hitcher. Sleuth spins around the other way, swinging the horse hitcher in a wide arc and smashing it into Boxcars’ jaw. The big man is knocked into a crate.

Droog delivers a vicious thwack from behind Sleuth with his ultra-violence cue stick. Sleuth swings the horse hitcher around. Droog blocks the hitcher with the thick end of his cue stick, stopping the hitcher at the precise point where its momentum is most easily neutralized. Droog thwacks Sleuth across the face for his imprecision.

Sleuth throws the horse hitcher at Droog. Droog blocks it with his cue stick. Sleuth scoops up his key ring and levels it at Droog while he’s distracted. And that’s when Sleuth’s feet get swept out from under him. Sleuth lands on his back and hits his head with a heavy thud. Clubs Deuce is standing over him, crook of felony held high, ready to strike.

==>

It’s Clubs Deuce. Why is it always Clubs Deuce? He’s the king of sucker punches. The ace of trump.

Deuce strikes Sleuth in the stomach. Slick grabs his horse hitcher and joins Droog and Boxcars as they crowd around Sleuth. They’ve got their respective weapons in their hands and they’re more than pissed off enough to use them.

Ace Dick: Deus Ex Machina.

More like Ace Dick Machine, because that’s what you are. A machine.

You have lots of unanswered questions and you don’t really care about them. Problem Sleuth is getting beat up and you don’t really care about that either, but you feel obligated to help him so you do.

Ace Dick stands on the top of a crate, machine gun in hand. He’s got it spooled up and ready to fire. He’s got a wide stance and a grim look on his face like he’s posing, ready to deliver some sort of witty one-liner. “Are you assholes ready for some Dick?”

An awkward moment of silence passes. Slick looks at Sleuth. “at least theres somebody out there whos worse at it than i am huh sleuth”

“Yeah, can’t argue with that.” Sleuth says from behind his hand.

Ace Dick opens fire. The Midnight Crew instantaneously leap for cover.

Sleuth struggles to get up when a hand grabs his collar and starts dragging him away. Sleuth starts waving his hands in mimicry of punches to ward off his captor. “It is only me, Problem Sleuth.” A friendly voice tells him.

Pickle Inspector drags Sleuth behind a crate. He pops up and fires several shots at the Midnight Crew. Ace Dick is screaming like he’s lost his family and he’ll probably run out of ammunition in less than ten seconds if he doesn’t let up. It looks pretty damn cool though, which Sleuth is certain is the only thing Dick is going for.

Pickle Inspector ducks back down. “Sleuth, you’ll never imagine where I was. I was trav-”

“Not right now, Inspector.” Sleuth finally picks himself up. “We need a way out of here.” He states.

“Unfortunately the Felt have the entrance covered as you are likely well aware and as I just discovered and you need no refreshing on the situation with the Midnight Crew.”

“Relax, Inspector. I know what to do.” Sleuth says. He pops up with his key ring and fires several rounds in the general direction of the Midnight Crew. He pops back down. “Follow me. And bring Dick along, if you feel like it.”

“Ace Dick! Please accompany us!” Pickle Inspector shouts as Problem Sleuth does a huddled jog through the maze of crates. He reaches the back wall of the warehouse with Inspector and Dick close behind him. The Midnight Crew are hot on their heels, firing their weapons.

Problem Sleuth pulls out the final card he got from Clubs Deuce. He sets the timer for thirty seconds and presses it against the wall. “Take cover!” He shouts.

“droog” Sleuth hears Slick shout. “shoot the damn fuse on that thing”

“Slick, that’s not the sort of shot I can make while there’s a heavy machine gun constantly shooting at all of us with only a crate of puppets as cover.”

“god fucking dammit somebody do something” Slick shouts. “what about you boxcars”

Sleuth dodges out of the way of a spinning mace that embeds itself in the back wall, missing the bomb by inches.

“WHAT ARE YA LOOKIN AT SLICK” Boxcars says. “IF DROOG CANT MAKE THE SHOT I SURE CANT”

“I KNOW WHAT TO DO!” Deuce shouts. “PROBLEM SLEUTH, WOULD YOU PLEASE TURN OFF THE BOMB?”

Slick groans. “Sure thing, Deuce!” Sleuth shouts back.

“SEE? IT WORKED!”

Huddled behind cover, the bomb explodes, blowing a hole in the wall. Sleuth nods to Inspector and Dick. One by one they exit through the hole.

On the other side Sleuth catches sight of the Midnight Cruiser and the backup Midnight Cruiser. If the Midnight Crew’s plan had worked, they would’ve been able to make a clean getaway doing almost exactly what Sleuth is doing.

Inspector and Dick are running towards the loading dock where their cars are parked. “Hold on, there’s one more thing we need to do.” Problem Sleuth jogs up to the one of the Midnight Crew’s cars. He starts shooting the car up. If he can’t blow it up, he can make sure it’s a pain to drive.

Dick and Inspector run to Sleuth and start shooting up the cars. Inspector ducks underneath and shoots the gas tank for each one, spilling gasoline onto the concrete. Dick tears up the tires far more than necessary as Sleuth flicks open his lighter and brings it to the gasoline pouring out. A flame dashes to the gasoline spilling out of the tank and both the Midnight Cruiser and its back up erupt into flames.

==>

4/4 VILLAINOUS VEHICLES TOTALED
100% PRIMARY MIDNIGHT CREW OBJECTIVES COMPLETED
0% SECONDARY MIDNIGHT CREW OBJECTIVES COMPLETED

100% PRIMARY OBJECTIVES COMPLETED

The Felt and the Midnight Crew won’t be following you to the Sapphire of Alternia.

“Let’s get out of here.” Problem Sleuth says.

The three private detectives start jogging to their cars, occasionally turning around and firing their weapons to prevent the Midnight Crew from following them.

Midnight Crew: Say goodbye.

Problem Sleuth looks over his shoulder. He reaches for Ace Dick and throws him down.

“What’s the big id-”

A rocket sails over Sleuth and Dick and forcibly enters the trunk of Ace Dick’s car. A moment later the whole thing explodes, sending shrapnel onto Inspector’s car and burning the paint off the side.

“My car!” Dick screams.

Sleuth gets up. “At least you weren’t in it! Now move!” Sleuth shouts, propping Ace Dick up by his collar and waist.

Pickle Inspector opens the driver’s door. Problem Sleuth looks down the barrel of his tommy gun and fires at the Midnight Crew. Inspector’s car roars to life and Sleuth gets in the backseat. Inspector throws the car into reverse and squeals out of the loading dock. Dick leans out the passenger window and fires a few shots with his key. Sleuth rolls down the back window and fires at the Midnight Crew.

Inspector maneuvers his way onto the road, taking a few hits on the body of the car. As they drive off, Sleuth looks behind him. The Midnight Crew are shrinking but he can see Spades Slick glaring hellfury and damnation onto Sleuth. Sleuth smiles at a job well done.

“Sleuth, you’re paying for my car. I didn’t need to help you out with this, so it’s pretty much your fault it got blown up at all.” Dick tells him, now that they’re all safe on the road.

“I can’t afford to buy you a new car. Try getting your office in order so you can take more cases.”

“Dammit, Sleuth. You’re paying for it!” Dick shouts.

“We’ll talk about this later, Dick.” Sleuth says.

Dick quiets down after that. A mischievous smile creeps up on Sleuth’s face.

==>

5/4 VILLAINOUS VEHICLES TOTALED
1/1 DAYS MADE

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And 9000 words later this action sequence is done. I wanted to get further for this segment but PS fighting the MC like a cornered animal took up more space than I thought it would.

I feel pretty juvenile about Ace Dick's one liner but I don't care because I'm giggling like an eighth grader about it.

[Doodled]

Hey guys, sorry I'm late to the party.

The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 21

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The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 21

Part 21

:O

Welp.

*reads it*

Well, this is awesome. And Dick's one-liner is just genius...

Too bad I need to catch up on the last 15 installments of it. :/

[Rimbaum]

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I feel pretty juvenile about Ace Dick's one liner but I don't care because I'm giggling like an eighth grader about it.

I feel the exact same way, Jim. Don't worry.

[wilySubversionist]

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Oh man this was beautiful and made me so sad. Well done!