MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

[draconicAlgorithm]

Sorry for being temporarily insecure about the Twilight thing guys. But thanks for the responses.

@Sporkaganza: Thanks!

@catastrophicGenesis: Well, it is usually a plus when people don't want to claw their eyes out after reading a fic. :3 But thanks.

@battlerek: You're your own worst critic and all that. I think I can chalk it mostly up to that. And uh... Karkat? I'm not entirely sure how he measures up on the irony scale, but I think I'm 0kay with it.

Also:

@Graven: That... makes all the sense. All of it. But she became a vampire and got revenge anyway, so I guess it's alright? Still, sweet catch.

[laserdogbad]

i would write fanfiction but last time i tried that it ended up being about a immortal homcideal cat in space

[autoglassmasterclass]

that happens to me all the time

[Nox]

Last time I tried that it ended up being about immortal homicidal trolls in space.

[TinCanHitman]

Last time I tried I killed a man. Or two.

actually i have no idea how many i killed the fbi wouldn't tell me.

[Sporkaganza]

What is a Sylph

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Do you know what a Sylph is, Kanaya?

It is an angel.

It's a spirit of the air, untouchable and intangible. It is perfectly suited to what you would become.

A Sylph is like a fairy, magical and mysterious.

So allow me to be the first to apologize.

I made you into an angel.

And we all know how much Eridan hates angels.

Totally thought you were going to say "A miserable pile of stylishness"

[Jim Groovester]

The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 18

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A few minutes are spent in silence between Problem Sleuth and Pickle Inspector. Neither is willing to cut the tension between them by saying anything.

“Where is our destination?” Pickle Inspector suddenly speaks up.

“Right.” Problem Sleuth quickly responds. “I figured I’d help you out with one of the cases I gave you. To give us time to plan while we snap incriminating photos.”

“Very well.” Pickle Inspector says. He starts moving through traffic.

Another few minutes of silence. Problem Sleuth looks everywhere except Pickle Inspector. The streets are still full with pedestrian traffic, and cars drive down the roads. These are some nice apartments Inspector’s driving by. Too bad Sleuth will never be able to afford one.

“Wallstreet Keynoter was pretty damn convincing.” Problem Sleuth says, broaching the subject both of them were avoiding.

“He would have to be.”

“He said he wanted to get rid of the Midnight Crew and the Felt. He said he needed the Sapphire of Alternia to do it. I don’t know what happened.” Sleuth says. “I came in angry, but then he just started telling me what to do and it was so easy to follow along.”

Inspector nods.

“He killed an innocent man and he said it’d all be okay in the end.” Sleuth says, disappointed with himself. “And somehow I thought it was a good idea going along with it.”

“Dwelling upon events that happened less than an hour ago will not change anything.” Inspector says. “What will you do now?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Sleuth folds his arms and looks out the window. “I’m stuck between bickering monarchy. If I help one I betray the other, and I wish I didn’t care about something like that, but it’s tearing me apart.”

“You already promised to help Wealthy Quantifier.” Inspector says. “And she is paying you.”

“But it’s Wallstreet Keynoter. You know how it is with him.” Sleuth sighs. “Maybe I’ll grab it and give it to the Midnight Crew. There, nobody wins, both of them are equally disappointed with me.”

“Why not the Felt?”

“Because the Felt are a bunch of morons who have no idea how to run a town. The only reason they’re even competing with the Midnight Crew is because they cheat.” Sleuth says. “Like hell I’m giving them anything.”

There’s a small smile on Pickle Inspector’s face. “That is a horrific solution.” He says. “You would be far better off taking it to the wasteland and throwing it in the sands.”

“I know.” Sleuth rubs his brow.

Inspector waits. “Whatever decision you settle upon you are in a perfect position to retrieve the Sapphire for either party. That is rather fortunate.”

“No kidding. Even when I’m stumbling around I get results.” Sleuth half smiles. It’s a pretty big bright point, all things considered. It doesn’t make the decision about who to take it to any easier.

“What will you do, Problem Sleuth?” He asks again.

“I’m not about to break a promise. Even if I only made it because she demanded it.” Sleuth says. “I swear, I am never doing any favors for either of them again. I want to be my own man instead of someone whose knees have trouble not bending in front of them.”

Inspector says nothing.

“Maybe I’ll change my mind between now and when I get it.”

“I would disapprove strongly.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sleuth says. “Let’s just go find Dick and figure out how to grab this hunk of jewelry.”

Problem Sleuth & Pickle Inspector: Find Ace Dick.

Your plan to find Ace Dick is simple. You say his name five times in front of a mirror.

You (that is, Problem Sleuth) thinks that’s stupid, but you (that is, Pickle Inspector) say that you (that is, Problem Sleuth) can’t deny the causal relationship between saying his name fives times while looking in the mirror and him showing up.

You (that is, Problem Sleuth) point out that you (that is, Pickle Inspector) said his name five times during the course of casual conversation while looking in the rearview mirror, and that it’s a completely unremarkable phenomenon that he’d show up since you (that is, Problem Sleuth) told Ace Dick to make himself available, and he’s doing what he’s told because that’s the only thing he’s good at. You (that is, Problem Sleuth) know Ace Dick well enough that if there was some sort of superstitious force that could do something like that it wouldn’t want anything to do with Ace Dick.

==>

After you (that is, the both of you) pulled over nearby the brothel your client’s husband frequents Ace Dick showed up moments later. You (that is, Pickle Inspector) consider this proof. You (that is, Problem Sleuth) says that’s stupid.

Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector, & Ace Dick: Plan.

You (that is, mostly Pickle Inspector and Problem Sleuth) spend the next several hours coming up with a plan to grab the Sapphire of Alternia. You have to make sure that you can get to it without pesky gangs trying to follow you to and from Litigious Lawyer's warehouse. This likely won't be easy.

You (that is, Ace Dick) think it’s a great plan, but you (that is, Problem Sleuth) tell you (that is, Ace Dick) to stuff your mouth with some more gummy worms because your ideas suck and are stupid and let the people with imagination work.

You (that is, Ace Dick) tell you (that is, Problem Sleuth) to shut up because you are apparently a stuck up jackass.

You (that is, Pickle Inspector) have had enough of this silliness from the both of you (that is, Problem Sleuth and Ace Dick), and suggest that the three of you (that is, Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector, and Ace Dick) just move on.

Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector, & Ace Dick: Describe cunning plan.

You already spent several hours coming up with a plan. You know the details in and out already.

Why would you waste time reviewing it? It certainly wouldn’t be for your (that is, Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector, and Ace Dick) benefit.

Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector, & Ace Dick: Enact cunning plan.

Problem Sleuth lowers a set of binoculars from his eyes. “So this guy isn’t actually cheating on his wife.”

“That is an accurate assessment of appearances.” Pickle Inspector says.

“I could go rough him up to make sure.” Ace Dick says in the back seat.

“Shut up, Dick.”

“How about,” Ace Dick snidely says, “You shut up, Sleuth.”

“I am delighted to have colleagues who can insult so imaginatively.”

“Shut up, Inspector.” Dick and Sleuth say in unison.

The three private detectives spend a moment as they watch their client’s husband walk out of the brothel and to his car. The sun’s set and it’s already well into the night. The green moon is low in the sky and the purple one high.

“Dick, do we have a crowd yet?” Problem Sleuth asks.

Dick looks behind him. “Some billiard hats are trying their best to look inconspicuous. If the black hats are watching us I don’t see ‘em.”

Problem Sleuth steps out of the passenger’s seat. Ace Dick gets out of the back seat and takes shotgun. “Don’t screw this up, Sleuth.” Dick says as he passes by Sleuth.

“Shut up, Dick.” Problem Sleuth says again. “You just worry about your part of the plan.”

“I don’t have to.” Dick says as Pickle Inspector starts driving his car away. “I’m good at my job.” Dick shouts while hanging out of the window.

==>

One of these days you’re gonna shoot him.

Problem Sleuth turns around and walks to Dick’s car. He scans the street. He spots the Felt’s vehicle instantly because it’s vomit green like everything else they own. He grabs his key ring from his coat pocket and starts walking towards the green car. As he looks down the barrel he takes stock of who he’s about to shoot. Striped blue, striped red, solid maroon, solid red.

The green men in the car duck down. Sleuth’s arms rattle as he empties the drum barrel of his tommy gun. Empty brass falls onto the street. Sleuth pulls the keys off his ring and he tosses the ring away. He puts the three keys onto a new ring and starts walking backwards to Dick’s car.

Colored hats slowly peek up, some with a few holes in them. Shattered glass and fifty new keyholes cover the Felt’s car. Predictably their response is quick and overwhelming.

Sleuth turns around and runs to Dick’s car as bullets smash into brick wall and shatter glass around him. Sleuth throws open the door to Dick’s car and jumps inside as Crowbar yells at his men to stop firing.

Problem Sleuth: Start Ace Dick’s car.

You push the button ignition and the car roars to life.

You’ve never been more glad you and Inspector bought him this push ignition. The unimaginative dullard wouldn’t stop blowing the key ignition off every time he tried to start the car. He never figured out what was happening, because he never gave it any thought.

Problem Sleuth sits himself in the driver’s seat and closes the door. He looks behind him. The Felt are jogging to Dick’s car huddled behind Sawbuck.

Problem Sleuth: Shoot Sawbuck.

Yeah, you’re not doing that.

Problem Sleuth floors the accelerator and the tires screech for a second before catching. He watches the Felt get smaller in his rearview mirror as he drives away. They run to their car and get in. Sleuth does a quick U turn. He slams the accelerator down again.

Crowbar: Wonder what Problem Sleuth is doing.

Every time this car gets damaged it comes out of your discretionary income. You’re getting pretty pissed off about it, and you just know Scratch is going to give you a lecture about minimizing expenses to the Felt. Like he cares.

You look at Problem Sleuth in what you’re pretty sure isn’t his car, because last you knew Problem Sleuth doesn’t own a car.

Is he...?

No, he can’t be.

He is.

He’s playing cluckfowl.

Crowbar: Tell your dumbass driver to get out of the goddamned way.

You scream at Matchsticks to get out of the goddamned way. You explain as quickly as possible that Stitch can’t stitch anybody back together if they’re in two pieces.

==>

He grunts. The car speeds up. You can start making out Sleuth’s smirk.

You tell Matchsticks that the last thing you’re going to do is lodge your crowbar in his thick skull and pry it open and let the pink powdery substance inside that used to be his brain billow out into the air before Problem Sleuth crashes the car into this one and twisting metal decapitates and dismembers and disembowels everybody in the goddamn car.

==>

Matchsticks sees reason at the last second. He turns the wheel and slams on the brakes and lets Sleuth pass by.

You’re really thinking you might pry open his skull anyway. Instead you tell Trace to get brainiac here to follow Sleuth.

Trace asks who you’re talking about because Matchsticks isn’t smart.

You groan and slap your forehead and tell him to help Matchsticks follow Sleuth. It’s not like you’re wasting the Felt’s chance to grab the Sapphire of Alternia or anything.

If you weren’t enslaved to Lord English you think you’d beg Spades Slick to make you a member of the Midnight Crew, just so you didn’t have to work with these nimrods all the time.

The Felt: Be the Midnight Crew.

You are now Hearts Boxcars.

You and Slick just watched the Felt screw things up with Problem Sleuth like the moronic buffoons they are. You and Slick shared a good laugh about it. It actually wasn’t a laugh. You don’t find things funny all that much. It more or less loosened your perpetual scowl for a small moment and the same thing happened to Slick.

You and Slick are currently following Problem Sleuth in the MIDNIGHT CRUISER. In a minute or two, Slick is going to radio Droog and him and Deuce are going to trade off following Problem Sleuth. You’re going to keep doing this until you find out where Sleuth’s going.

And then, you’ll take the Sapphire of Alternia for yourselves.

==>

And there it is. Slick tells Droog that the bastard is all his. Droog acknowledges. You see the BACKUP MIDNIGHT CRUISER turn a corner onto the street a ways behind Sleuth.

Smooth as clockwork, and every bit as logical.

Problem Sleuth drives down the road towards the warehouse district. He looks in the rearview mirror. If Sleuth wasn’t as good a private detective as he is, he wouldn’t have noticed the two identical pitch black cars trading off following him well behind him. It’s times like these that he really respects the Midnight Crew’s method of operation.

Problem Sleuth can’t see the Felt, but if they’ve got Trace in the car, then they know where he’s headed. Fin’s probably already at where Sleuth is headed, if the Felt are smart. But that's not something the Felt can be counted on to do.

Problem Sleuth drives halfway across town, the Midnight Crew tailing him the whole way, to a warehouse. Not the one where Litigious Lawyer’s men are holding out at. That one comes later. Instead, this warehouse is at the end of a maze of roads giving access to storage facilities that go deeper and deeper into the district. There’s nothing special about the warehouse itself, except that three of them, Sleuth, Dick, and Inspector, are familiar with it. Sleuth doesn’t know how Dick knows about it, but Sleuth and Inspector snooped around the place figuring out who was stealing from the warehouse on behalf of the manager. While on the case they learned how it operates, something that’s going to come in handy in the next hour or two.

Problem Sleuth hides Dick’s car with Inspector’s in the loading dock of a nearby warehouse. Under the cover of night, with only a few streetlights to give any illumination, Problem Sleuth slides open the warehouse door a crack and slips inside.

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This part and the next few: command mode. I've been keeping to a pretty strict rule, that the normal third person narrative is reserved exclusively for Problem Sleuth, and then the second person command mode is for action, humor, some exposition, and perspective shifts. I'm thinking I might loosen that rule up a bit, because it's going to be fairly complicated and having half of everything being in command mode might get annoying. There might be a way to work around it with the current restrictions. I'll think about it.

I hope everybody likes action because there's going to be a lot of it coming up.

[battlerek]

@Jim- Hardboiled man, hardboiled. No other way to describe that.

[Path]

Problem Sleuth: Shoot Sawbuck.

Yeah, you’re not doing that.

I think this may have been my favourite line.

If you weren’t enslaved to Lord English you think you’d beg Spades Slick to make you a member of the Midnight Crew, just so you didn’t have to work with these nimrods all the time.

And Spades Slick would tell you to bugger off because of what a tool you are.

[Kawa]

Rising Tensions

Named by Mayor, read it here.

[Brickman]

And now for the exciting continuation of: Troll Ender's Game: Shadow of the CULLSAT. Part 2 of ???.

Part 1

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>Bean: This one's no good.

speaklog:

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barelyNoticed began speaking to the group.

BN: this one's no good either; cull him;

pupa'sKeeper began speaking to the group.

PK: Th's 's the fourth one. You c^nt throw them ^ll ^w^y.
BN: look at his eyes; this one's a killer, and he's too smart;
PK: So? We need ^ k'ller, ^nd we need sm^rt.
BN: but he doesn't look angry; and he should be angry;
BN: if he doesn't look angry he's just good at bottling it up;
BN: we pick him and we'll never be safe;
PK: Youre just sc^red. Th's w^s your 'de^ to st^rt with but youre too sc^red to carry 't out.

ambitiousFlatfoot began speaking to the group.

AF: do i get a sssay in thisss?
BN: no;
PK: Yes.
AF: i'm not pissssssed becaussse you guysss are clearly the way to go.
AF: you sssay i'm the fourthh you've beat like thisss? you, a bunch half my sssize and lesss than that ssstrong?
AF: i'd be nutsss to sssay no to a plan that put me on your team.
BN: you don't even know what the plan is yet;
AF: ssso? withh you guysss i can't lossse no matter what it isss.
AF: and not jussst you two. the ressst of you, you did pretty good asss a team.
AF: mossst sssstreet ratsss would've fucked that up bad.
AF: two thirdsss hanging in he back to ssstay sssafe, the ressst fighting to be the one withh the glory.
AF: every one of you isss worth your weight in sssteaks twice over, don't you forget it.
AF: how could I passssss up joining thisss crew?

>Acquiesce

Screw it, there's no winning now. Achilles just went and applauded the skill of a bunch of trash who'd spent their whole lives being told they were trash. And it was legitimate praise too; they knew what he was saying is true and not pulled out of his ass to flatter them. Poke doesn't seem to have gotten the message yet that he's won; maybe you should try to drive in the hint for her. That's a thing. A thing that teammates do, right? A thing that... friends?... do, right? Keep each other from fucking up so bad their own crew lynches them.

It's not entirely fair what she said though. You weren't just scared to commit. You were just being picky to make yourself less suspicious. The first guy was pretty much perfect. But he managed to give you a scrape on the arm before he went down, and when you saw his eyes widen... there wasn't really much choice, was there?

[battlerek]

Another Crew: Activation

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Things were going great for the Midnight Crew. A second chessboard had just been acquired, and they managed to take a lot of loot to boot. Some of their men may have been killed, but those were expendable, save for Droog's smarty-pants circle who were only slightly less expendable.

Still, even with two all-powerful super devices in their control, it was completely worthless if they didn't know how to activate them. That was why they were at the movie room, sitting around a table where both chessboards lied next to some glasses of beer.

"Maybe if we hit it enough times with a hammer it'd open up?" Slick mused. When all you had is a hammer you tended to think it was the answer to everything. Need some money? Hammer an atm. Need food? Hammer a grocery store. Need to make someone more talkative? Get them Hammered.

"Slick if the industrial grinders at the recycling plant couldn't crush this thing what makes you think a hammer would work?" Droog said.

"Maybe you need a high tech key card or something?" Deuce said. "Like in that cool lab Boxcars and I went to to kidnap that creepy professor!"

"Ugh, don't remind me of that fucker." Boxcars said.

Droog shook her head. "There doesn't appear to be any mechanism where you can fit a card in. My team has checked both boards very thoroughly."

"Maybe not thorough enough." Boxcars remarked.

"And I'm sure you're an expert in advanced technology Boxcars."

Hearts Boxcars, who instead of sitting on a chair was leaning on the table with two elbows on the surface moved an arm and smacked one of the boards with his hand.

Sadly, nothing happened. "Wonderful Boxcars. Next time I shall take note to hire analysts who graduated from the Fonz College of Science and Technology. I'm certain they shall be an asset to this organization."

"Snarky Broad." Boxcars muttered under his breath.

"Well staring at the things isn't going to help us get anywhere." Slick slipped out of his seat and put on his apron. "I'm gonna go make some steaks."

"Make mine well done." Boxcars said.

"Oooh, make mine medium-rare!" Deuce said. "This blog entry I read last night said that medium-rare steaks are healthier than well-done ones!"

At that moment one of the chessboards began to glow. Rows of blue squares separated by unlit squares began to appear, making the black boxes made of indestructible wood appear like actual chessboards.

"Huh." Spades Slick blinked. "Didn't see that coming."

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It's been years since Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector and Ace Dick were all inside the office of the city's chief of Police. Not a lot of love was lost when the 3 left the force, but they still kept in touch with their old friends in the force. Unfortunately this also meant that they were obliged to visit the current chief from time to time.

"So you're telling me that you just happened to stroll by the back of the auction house, and just happened to see the midnight crew?" The chief said.

"Yep." Sleuth had her poker face on, which was a smug, impassive sneer.

"And Pickle Inspector and Ace Dick just happened to be carrying a mini-gun and a double-barreled shotgun, which proved to be so useful against the Midnight Crew."

"You got it." Ace Dick said.

"It's a perfectly plausible scenario, Retainer." Pickle Inspector agreed. "After all, it is a dangerous neighborhood."

"Really? I thought you two were just compensating for something."

"Well duh, Sleuth. I forgot my brass knuckles at home, so I borrowed Inspector's mini-gun so I had something to protect myself."

Inspector was shaking his head in shame. "Godamn it Dick, can't you tell that Sleuth just insulted your masculinity?"

"What the fuck are you talking about Inspector!?" Dick snarled. "You sayin' that being godamn prepared isn't manly?"

"No you idiot I'm saying that Sleuth just referred to your Dick as miniscule!"

"Oh, now you're making fun of my height, eh, you tall fucker!? Come on, put up your dukes!"

"Dick, Inspector, shut the hell up." Police chief Arbitrating Retainer pinched his nose. He hated having to rely on these three for help, but they were old friends on the force, and even now they haven't lost their edge. "Look, you bastards know that I know that there's something big going up between the mobs. Yesterday the Midnight Crew robbed an auction house, and the day before that we barely stopped Mobster Kingpin from ransaking the museum, and the week before that a wave of thefts from antique stores happened around town. Now you either tell me why every mobster in the city is trying to get enough old crap to fit nana's attic or I'm sending you three back to the academy!"

"We're no longer working for the police." Inspector pointed out.

"I never said I'd send you back as students, Inspector."

Pickle Inspector shuddered. The old academy was a block away from prison, and there were always rumors of students being allowed to 'practice' their interrogation skills on criminals. They were usually very bad at it, in that they used excessive force to get answers rather than well-aimed and calculated force. Or he was threatening them with a job offer as instructors. Neither prospect seemed very good.

"The Midnight Crew and Kingpin's gang are looking for chessboards, black boxes that apparently contain some very nasty items." Sleuth answered.

Ace Dick and Pickle Inspector's jaw dropped. "The hell Sleuth!?" They said at the same time.

"I ain't being forced to no teaching job by Ol' Retainer here. He happens to have a lot of embarassing dirt on all of us."

"Well we know lots of stuff about him too!" Ace Dick reasoned out. "Remember that time we uncovered that-"

"No, you don't." Retainer interrupted. "Thanks for the information Sleuth. I'll buy you drinks next time. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to order a squad to go to the bank."

"And why is that? Sleuth asked."

"Because." Retainer showed them his PDA. "Clubs Deuce just appeared inside the vault and blew half the place up from the inside."

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

Compared to what they earned in today's bank heist, last night's haul was spare change. Several million boondollars, and they didn't even need to go to the trouble of going to the bank in the first place. Of course they had to pick up Clubs Deuce after she blowed an exit open, but that was ok since they still managed to get inside a bank vault without having to fight through those pesky guards.

"And here I thought you ended up thrown into some distant planet like Hoth." Boxcars said as he drove back to their hideout. "Doomed to breed the perfect gungan or some bullshit like that."

"Ewww Boxcars, that's gross!" Clubs Deuce frowned. "Do you really want me on some ice planet away from you guys?"

"Well that'll be one less chick macking on me, but I can live with that."

"Aw. But if that's the way you think Boxcars then here's something to remember me by."

A few moments later Boxcar's car swerved wildly as Boxcars frantically threw a squiddle out of the window before it exploded. An exploding plush toy stuck in your face was not his idea of a tangle buddy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Diamonds Droog was smiling. The teleportation device they acquired from one of the chessboards had been very useful. It managed to transport a lot of items at long distances, even humans. It was a shame that it shut down after its third use, but it seemed to start recharging after it was placed inside the chessboard. She didn't know how long it'd take to recharge, but they had all the time in the world.

Meanwhile Slick was busy yelling nonsense at the other chessboard. It hasn't opened yet, and by now Slick looked like a complete idiot as he babbled incoherently, which was always fun to watch. Either way, it was a win-win for Droog.

A/N

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Didn't really enjoy this chapter as much as the last, but we can't have Slick murdering everyone every chapter. I kinda feel that the last parts with the midnight crew were kinda forced, but that's just me being sleepy I guess.

[Kawa]

The Clusterf*ck Begins
Co-written by MayorSillyBiscuits. Orion loves Shula, Shula loves Carissa and Dylan, Susanna sorta-kinda loves Orion. Can they share a colony? Let's find out.

[jacobin mutterings]

For everyone else, the porn ruse was a... DISTACTION. Have some Ancestorfic. It is basically a songfic, except without the lyrics.

Dance

i've been resisting the urge to write some direly lame Master and Commander: the Far Side of Alternia shit for a while now and you are not helping.

fuck it. 8eat to quarters, ya'll. where making this happen.

[ProspitDreamer]

Another Crew: Activation

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Things were going great for the Midnight Crew. A second chessboard had just been acquired, and they managed to take a lot of loot to boot. Some of their men may have been killed, but those were expendable, save for Droog's smarty-pants circle who were only slightly less expendable.

Still, even with two all-powerful super devices in their control, it was completely worthless if they didn't know how to activate them. That was why they were at the movie room, sitting around a table where both chessboards lied next to some glasses of beer.

"Maybe if we hit it enough times with a hammer it'd open up?" Slick mused. When all you had is a hammer you tended to think it was the answer to everything. Need some money? Hammer an atm. Need food? Hammer a grocery store. Need to make someone more talkative? Get them Hammered.

"Slick if the industrial grinders at the recycling plant couldn't crush this thing what makes you think a hammer would work?" Droog said.

"Maybe you need a high tech key card or something?" Deuce said. "Like in that cool lab Boxcars and I went to to kidnap that creepy professor!"

"Ugh, don't remind me of that fucker." Boxcars said.

Droog shook her head. "There doesn't appear to be any mechanism where you can fit a card in. My team has checked both boards very thoroughly."

"Maybe not thorough enough." Boxcars remarked.

"And I'm sure you're an expert in advanced technology Boxcars."

Hearts Boxcars, who instead of sitting on a chair was leaning on the table with two elbows on the surface moved an arm and smacked one of the boards with his hand.

Sadly, nothing happened. "Wonderful Boxcars. Next time I shall take note to hire analysts who graduated from the Fonz College of Science and Technology. I'm certain they shall be an asset to this organization."

"Snarky Broad." Boxcars muttered under his breath.

"Well staring at the things isn't going to help us get anywhere." Slick slipped out of his seat and put on his apron. "I'm gonna go make some steaks."

"Make mine well done." Boxcars said.

"Oooh, make mine medium-rare!" Deuce said. "This blog entry I read last night said that medium-rare steaks are healthier than well-done ones!"

At that moment one of the chessboards began to glow. Rows of blue squares separated by unlit squares began to appear, making the black boxes made of indestructible wood appear like actual chessboards.

"Huh." Spades Slick blinked. "Didn't see that coming."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's been years since Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector and Ace Dick were all inside the office of the city's chief of Police. Not a lot of love was lost when the 3 left the force, but they still kept in touch with their old friends in the force. Unfortunately this also meant that they were obliged to visit the current chief from time to time.

"So you're telling me that you just happened to stroll by the back of the auction house, and just happened to see the midnight crew?" The chief said.

"Yep." Sleuth had her poker face on, which was a smug, impassive sneer.

"And Pickle Inspector and Ace Dick just happened to be carrying a mini-gun and a double-barreled shotgun, which proved to be so useful against the Midnight Crew."

"You got it." Ace Dick said.

"It's a perfectly plausible scenario, Retainer." Pickle Inspector agreed. "After all, it is a dangerous neighborhood."

"Really? I thought you two were just compensating for something."

"Well duh, Sleuth. I forgot my brass knuckles at home, so I borrowed Inspector's mini-gun so I had something to protect myself."

Inspector was shaking his head in shame. "Godamn it Dick, can't you tell that Sleuth just insulted your masculinity?"

"What the fuck are you talking about Inspector!?" Dick snarled. "You sayin' that being godamn prepared isn't manly?"

"No you idiot I'm saying that Sleuth just referred to your Dick as miniscule!"

"Oh, now you're making fun of my height, eh, you tall fucker!? Come on, put up your dukes!"

"Dick, Inspector, shut the hell up." Police chief Arbitrating Retainer pinched his nose. He hated having to rely on these three for help, but they were old friends on the force, and even now they haven't lost their edge. "Look, you bastards know that I know that there's something big going up between the mobs. Yesterday the Midnight Crew robbed an auction house, and the day before that we barely stopped Mobster Kingpin from ransaking the museum, and the week before that a wave of thefts from antique stores happened around town. Now you either tell me why every mobster in the city is trying to get enough old crap to fit nana's attic or I'm sending you three back to the academy!"

"We're no longer working for the police." Inspector pointed out.

"I never said I'd send you back as students, Inspector."

Pickle Inspector shuddered. The old academy was a block away from prison, and there were always rumors of students being allowed to 'practice' their interrogation skills on criminals. They were usually very bad at it, in that they used excessive force to get answers rather than well-aimed and calculated force. Or he was threatening them with a job offer as instructors. Neither prospect seemed very good.

"The Midnight Crew and Kingpin's gang are looking for chessboards, black boxes that apparently contain some very nasty items." Sleuth answered.

Ace Dick and Pickle Inspector's jaw dropped. "The hell Sleuth!?" They said at the same time.

"I ain't being forced to no teaching job by Ol' Retainer here. He happens to have a lot of embarassing dirt on all of us."

"Well we know lots of stuff about him too!" Ace Dick reasoned out. "Remember that time we uncovered that-"

"No, you don't." Retainer interrupted. "Thanks for the information Sleuth. I'll buy you drinks next time. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to order a squad to go to the bank."

"And why is that? Sleuth asked."

"Because." Retainer showed them his PDA. "Clubs Deuce just appeared inside the vault and blew half the place up from the inside."

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

Compared to what they earned in today's bank heist, last night's haul was spare change. Several million boondollars, and they didn't even need to go to the trouble of going to the bank in the first place. Of course they had to pick up Clubs Deuce after she blowed an exit open, but that was ok since they still managed to get inside a bank vault without having to fight through those pesky guards.

"And here I thought you ended up thrown into some distant planet like Hoth." Boxcars said as he drove back to their hideout. "Doomed to breed the perfect gungan or some bullshit like that."

"Ewww Boxcars, that's gross!" Clubs Deuce frowned. "Do you really want me on some ice planet away from you guys?"

"Well that'll be one less chick macking on me, but I can live with that."

"Aw. But if that's the way you think Boxcars then here's something to remember me by."

A few moments later Boxcar's car swerved wildly as Boxcars frantically threw a squiddle out of the window before it exploded. An exploding plush toy stuck in your face was not his idea of a tangle buddy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Diamonds Droog was smiling. The teleportation device they acquired from one of the chessboards had been very useful. It managed to transport a lot of items at long distances, even humans. It was a shame that it shut down after its third use, but it seemed to start recharging after it was placed inside the chessboard. She didn't know how long it'd take to recharge, but they had all the time in the world.

Meanwhile Slick was busy yelling nonsense at the other chessboard. It hasn't opened yet, and by now Slick looked like a complete idiot as he babbled incoherently, which was always fun to watch. Either way, it was a win-win for Droog.

A/N

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Didn't really enjoy this chapter as much as the last, but we can't have Slick murdering everyone every chapter. I kinda feel that the last parts with the midnight crew were kinda forced, but that's just me being sleepy I guess.

Usually the best line happens somewhere in the middle, but in this case it was right in the beginning:

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When all you had is a hammer you tended to think it was the answer to everything.

I wasn't too keen on the scene in Retainer's office, but I think it's because I'm waiting to see how he will play into this.
I also greatly enjoyed John/Slick getting up in the middle of a serious conversation to cook steak for everyone. Priceless.

[laserdogbad]

okay heres my atempt at fan ficton

okay so its like in the dream bubbles and dead dream jades like hanging out. then hella jeff not haveing a dreamself comes up is like whats up. so then dread jade like dude who are you. then nepeta comes out and "what you guys doing". then hella jeff is like "my names hella jeff dumpass u know form the comic." so then jade ask "but you not real silly!" so then nepta says "hey guys im still here". then hella jeff says "sweet bro was like toked up on something and broke the forth wall". Jade"thats really cool". but then nepta gets tired of everyone ingoring her so she pounces hella jeff. then she scratches him repeatly with his claws casuing mutltpile wounds. gif blood squirsts all over nepta and hella jeff screams. tears shed from jades eyes. Nepeta then rips the heart out of hella jeff and says "looks tawsty" then eats it. Jade becomes engraged then says "dont worry nepeta this will only hurt for a secnod." she then shoots the rifle right at nepetas head. it killed her so fast there was no scream. Jade makes a cape out nepetas skin and stuffs hella jeff. the end

terrible right

[A Fan]

...It's like the fanfiction equivalent of a bad acid trip.

[crash826]

...It's like the fanfiction equivalent of a bad acid trip.

hold me

[catastrophicGenesis]

Have tiny depressing Sollux/Feferi drabble, precisely 100 words long not including title. Why did I even bother to spoiler it?

Let Me Sleep

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When you awaken (again), you can still feel her there with you; thin shoulder pressed into your arm, cool hand touching your face.

You open your eyes, convinced this time she will be there to smile at you. Instead there is darkness, and you remember again that even if you could see, she is no longer here to smile and all you hold is memories that fade with your realisation.

You close your eyes again and pray that sleep comes quickly and this time, when you dream, you will find her.

You will not leave this pile until you do.

[lucidSeraph]

Hmm. Putting this in fanfic anyway. You'll see why. This is chaptered fic; same 'verse as Violetesence.

Revolutions of Ruin

Prologue

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Revolutions of Ruin: Prologue on Ao3

A/N

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1. I don't know how Hussie does it. Shit took me three frustrating days of doing FUCK I FORGOT HOW TO DRAW.

2. It's in fanfic because the rest of this will NOT be drawn, let me assure you. Except when it is.

[FordDent]

Hmm. Putting this in fanfic anyway. You'll see why. This is chaptered fic; same 'verse as Violetesence.

Revolutions of Ruin

Prologue

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Revolutions of Ruin: Prologue on Ao3

A/N

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1. I don't know how Hussie does it. Shit took me three frustrating days of doing FUCK I FORGOT HOW TO DRAW.

2. It's in fanfic because the rest of this will NOT be drawn, let me assure you. Except when it is.

I am a sucker for anyone who has actually read Only Revolutions and then goes ahead and quotes it. I always feel like nobody pays attention to it, but it's such a good book, dammit! Easily the equal of HoL!

This is like the only thing I keep reading in this thread without fail, and it is because I am a sucker for Danielewski references. Well played, lucidSeraph. Well played.

[lucidSeraph]

I am a sucker for anyone who has actually read Only Revolutions and then goes ahead and quotes it. I always feel like nobody pays attention to it, but it's such a good book, dammit! Easily the equal of HoL!

This is like the only thing I keep reading in this thread without fail, and it is because I am a sucker for Danielewski references. Well played, lucidSeraph. Well played.

Man, I need to actually FINISH Only Revolutions; I picked it up in the library one day and then... didn't manage to get back to it, dammit. LOVE the song Danielwski produced though. Also, despite the title this one will be much more heavily HoL-themed (like the rest).

So yeah ALL THE DANIELWSKI REFERENCES, all of them.

[ceruleanTresses]

More Transhuman shenanigans! This took soooo long to format, not to mention how long it took to write. I wish it had come out better. :( Hopefully I'll do a better job on the angsty one I'm planning for next time!

Ectobiolobabysitter

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Slime and Babies Everywhere

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. . .Oh god. What are you going to do?

. . .You're surrounded by babies. You don't know how to deal with babies. There's nothing in their minds for you to grab onto, no thoughts clear enough for you to understand, just a muddle of vague emotions that you can't translate.

. . .You can feel yourself beginning to panic, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. They may be infants, but they're still your team—half of them, anyway. You can't afford to screw this up.

. . .The Bard—your sister—is struggling to cry, her little face scrunched up and her mouth moving soundlessly. Instinctively, you pick her up and cradle her against your chest. You want to comfort her, but you don't even know if you're holding her right.

. . .You've always wondered why her handicap wasn't fixed in vitro. Now you know.

. . .Was it your fault? You don't really understand this equipment—did you do something wrong, mess up her genes somehow? Does it even matter, when her synthesizer does more than a natural voice ever could? You wonder what her real voice would have sounded like.

. . .Firmly, you push those thoughts away. You need to assess the situation, and you can't do that if you're freaking out. Still holding the Bard, you look over the rest of the children. You grimace; their vocal cords are just fine, and most of them are taking full advantage of that fact.

. . .You rarely pay attention to what people look like, apart from the Rogue. You prefer to identify them by the unique shape of their thoughts. Still, you think you can match each child to his or her teenaged counterpart, if you try.

. . .You identify two amber-eyed infants as the Seer and the Knight. Their hair hasn't come in yet, so you can't tell which is which. One of them is crying, but the other is staring silently into space. It's unnerving, and you quickly move on.

. . .Your client player is not difficult to find. Her head is already dusted with strawberry blonde, and you'd recognize those bright green eyes anywhere. You've always liked the Maid. There's a manic energy to her thoughts that doesn't match her calm bearing, and the contradiction appeals to you. It reminds you of the Rogue.

. . .She's the last of the only three children not crying, but somehow her silence doesn't disturb you. You know she's too young to make eye contact on purpose, but you could swear she's looking at you. You offer her a gentle, closed-lipped smile, a mirror of the one she'll someday wear.

. . .Then you see the little girl wailing next to her, and your focus shifts completely.

. . .The Rogue has always refused to tell you what she looked like before her surgeries. Every time you've asked, she's given you a completely implausible answer—yesterday, she insisted that she was born with a thick coat of fur. It's an inside joke between the two of you, and she thinks it's hilarious.

. . .Obviously, she couldn't actually hide it from you. You knew within minutes of your first channel with her, and you feel kind of bad about it now, but you can't change what you've already done. The image was blurry—the composite of hundreds of half-remembered reflections—but it was clear enough that you easily recognize her infant self.

. . .Her downy hair looks just like the Maid's, but her eyes are a deep and beautiful blue. If you hadn't invaded her mind so long ago, you'd be discovering this for the first time.

Would that have made this moment more special? You don't think so. It's weird to see her like this, trapped within the static colors of her old body, and you don't look at her for long.

Family

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. . .You still don't feel quite comfortable holding the Bard, so you carry her back to where you found her and set her down. You hope you haven't accidentally hurt her. If you have, she has no way of alerting you.

. . .You know the three infants nearest her, or at least you know the people they'll become. This one is her father, an imposing but gentle man you've only seen in her memories. You guess he's your father too, at least biologically. Next to him is your aunt—how strange to see her so helpless.

. . .And this one...This one is you.

. . .You kneel down next to Past You. He's squealing pathetically, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands balled into tiny fists. You're suddenly glad that you don't remember being this young. The thought of having so little control over your surroundings terrifies you.

. . .The four babies are lying there, three crying and one trying to cry, and you realize that this is the first and only time you've all been together. For the first few minutes of your life, you had a family.

. . .Your aunt was born a decade too early to have her own comm, so you've never looked inside her head. You took her at her word when she told you that your parents died years ago. Did she know the truth? If so, why would she lie to you?

. . .You consider that perhaps she was trying to prepare you for the game. Maybe she thought you needed that extra degree of separation, that denying you a mother would make you more independent. A leader, after all, is there for others to depend upon. But you could be wrong. It's becoming more and more clear how little you really know about the woman who raised you.

. . .Still, if she thought she was anything less than a mother to you, she was wrong.

. . .You reach out a hand to your younger self, letting him squeeze your finger. The skin of his palm feels soft and defenseless. He's still crying, but the incessant wailing has given way to intermittent sobs, and his dark brown eyes are open.

. . .You smile, even though you know that his vision isn't fully developed and your face is just a blur to him. “There's nothing to cry about, little guy. You'll be in good hands." You look out over the the crowd of paradox clones, at your custodian and at your team. "I promise, you're never going to be alone.”

Damage Control

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. . .The babies are gone, sent into the past. The lab is quiet now, and you finally have a chance to really think about what just happened.

. . .The cloning part doesn't bother you. Test-tube babies were common during your childhood, and the stigma once attached to them had long since faded. The fact that you didn't develop in a womb doesn't make you feel any less human than the fact that you have silicon in your brain and nanobots in your blood.

. . .What does bother you is the fact that you weren't even created on Earth. The game made you, your team, and all of your guardians. So does that mean you're somehow apart from the rest of humanity? That the planet you thought was your home was just a convenient place for Sburb to deposit you until you matured?

. . .You'd assumed that your team survived the apocalypse mostly through luck. You were lucky that the Seer heard about the beta. Lucky that he convinced you all to play it. Lucky that everyone made it into the Medium before their meteors struck.

. . .Now it seems like Sburb has had its hooks in you for your entire lives. You were always going to make it into the Medium because you had to create yourself. You were always going to play the game. To what degree have you been manipulated? Did you become the Thief of Mind because you'd learned to read thoughts, or did you learn to read thoughts because you had to become the Thief of Mind?

. . .The implications are disturbing. Maybe the Seer has been wrong all along. Maybe you really are trapped by fate, and the branching future he claims to see is nothing but a calculation error.

. . .But this isn't the time to deal with your own disillusionment. You need to figure out how to break this to the team, without throwing off the delicate balance you've established. It's big news, and it's going to make waves no matter what you do. You'd prefer not to tell them at all, but this game is packed with clues and riddles, and there's no guarantee that they won't find out on their own. At least if you're the one to tell them this, you can spin it however you like.

. . .You own this information. You're in control.

. . .You can already feel your confidence returning. This is what you're good at. Yes, you'll tell everyone the truth; but you'll word it very carefully, turning it to your advantage. You'll tailor your report to each person, hitting just the right notes. If you do this right, you might even strengthen their commitment to your mutual quest.

. . .Of course, you'll have to tread carefully with the Seer, especially since you expect him to take this pretty hard. You've never completely gotten the hang of tracking all three trains of thought, and you still haven't found a way to access the memories he keeps in mechanical storage. It doesn't help that reading his mind can be really awkward, for reasons you'd rather not think about right now.

. . .It's a good thing he's such a reasonable guy, or it would be a lot harder to keep him on the path you've planned for him. It's the unpredictable types that present the greatest challenge to your leadership skills.

. . .Speaking of unpredictable types...

Open Commlog.

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-- peoplePerson [PP] opened a channel with perpetualHarmony [PH] --

PP: Listen ive just found out something
PP: Pretty intense and i figured
PP: I ought to tell you about it

. . .The comm makes it very easy to rapidly switch between channels. You decide to kill two birds with one stone.

Open Commlog.

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-- peoplePerson [PP] opened a channel with apatheticMorbidity [AM] --

PP: hey maN.
PP: something just happened that i thought you should know abouT.
PP: its kind of messed uP.

. . .You're good at multitasking. Not as good as the Seer...

Open Commlog.

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-- peoplePerson [PP] opened a channel with auspiciousAspirations [AA] –

PP: Hey.
PP: ...I have some new information for you.
PP: ......It's kind of a big deal.
PP: You might have to restart your latest run of calculations to take this into account.

. . ....but still very good. It's part of why you're the leader. Challenges like this one make you feel alive.

Open Commlog.

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-- peoplePerson [PP] opened a channel with espritEternal [EE] –

PP: Hey. :)
PP: Something really cool just happened.
PP: It's too bad you weren't there. I think you would have enjoyed it.
PP: I guess you'll just have to settle for the instant replay. :)

. . .Of course, you can't claim to be perfect at this. For one thing, leaders aren't supposed to let personal factors get in the way of the job.

. . .You sigh at the name blinking magenta in your head. You promised yourself that you'd have a normal relationship with her—a sincerely normal relationship—and that means her thoughts are off-limits during personal conversations. But you can't sacrifice the team's cohesion for her sake; a good leader never plays favorites.

. . .So you've compromised. When you're speaking to her as her leader, you read her mind and manipulate her as you always have. When you're talking with her as her boyfriend, you make do without a window into her brain. So far, you haven't messed up either role too badly.

. . .The difficulty is in deciding where to draw the line. Is this as a responsibility of leadership, or of friendship? Should you approach her as a subordinate, or as the girl you love? Should you carefully orchestrate her reaction, or should you tell her the unfiltered truth and do your best to help her come to terms with it?

. . .A good leader must be able to make tough decisions in the heat of the moment. So you do.

Open Commlog.

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-- peoplePerson [PP] opened a channel with luminousEccentric [LE] –

PP: hey, Sunshine
PP: something pretty weird just happened
PP: I figured you should know about it
PP: and it's an excuse to talk to you, so obviously I'm all over that :D

. . .Even when you aren't reading her mind, you always find yourself mirroring the pattern of her thoughts. You don't even mean to. It just feels natural.

. . .God, you love her.

A/N

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“Sunshine” isn't actually the Rogue's name, it's just a term of endearment. I wasn't sure if that was clear, so I figured I should clarify it just in case. I actually like to think of her name as being “Iris,” but that's so on-the-nose that it's kind of silly.

I didn't forget the Knight's colortag--his text is just black. I realized after I formatted it that it wasn't really clear, since he doesn't speak here. Whoops!

I am not looking forward to figuring out what everyone's sprites are. That is going to take a lot of thinking, I can tell you that!

Also, I have not forgotten about the lyric rewrite of “I Was Walking Far From Home.” :) It is a pretty ambitious project, but I've made some progress on it. I hope I can do it justice!

Regarding the comms:

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It's hard to go into much detail about the comms in the stories without breaking up the flow, so I'll take this opportunity to discuss them in more depth. You don't really need to know this stuff to understand the story, but I think it makes a few things make more sense.

The comms' function is basically indistinguishable from telepathy, and they can be used to send just about any kind of data, including nonverbal information like smell and taste. For instance, when the Thief refers to an "instant replay," what he means is that he's going to transmit his memory of the ectobiological process, visuals and all.

The colors and styles of the commlog text are an approximate visual translation of the “feel” of the transmitted thoughts, which is something that varies from person to person much like speech pattern does. In practice, this is an intuitive thing, and the characters aren't actually “seeing” variations in capitalization and spelling. It is, however, common to refer to a distinct “color” of the data, because it's a convenient and easily comprehensible analogy for someone who's grown up with the comms. The Transhuman kids can make reasonably accurate assumptions about someone's personality based on their mental “color.”

Since the text quirks aren't a deliberate thing, the people the Thief talks to aren't generally aware that he's mimicking theirs. The process is subtle, sort of like mirroring someone's body language, which incidentally is a useful tactic in negotiation.

The commhandles are more literal than the colors and styles. They are actual words which are automatically present in the “background” of each channel, accessible throughout the conversation. Their main function is to help people keep track of channels with new acquaintances, since it can be difficult to identify someone by their “feel” when you don't know them well, especially when you have multiple channels open.

Unlike Pesterchum, the comms don't categorize users according to handle. Everyone has exactly one account, which remains the same regardless of changes to the handle. As a result, commhandles are very flexible, and it's common to change them in response to important events or discovery. For instance, the Knight's handle wasn't “apatheticMorbidity” before the game; it changed shortly after his first encounter with the Void. Similarly, the Rogue's handle was “kaleidoscopicEccentric” before the Maid upgraded her implants, and the Seer's pre-game handle was “mechanicalMentality.”

[PingZing]

Just dropping in a few short things I've done. Was working on Hot Blooded, but Chapter 6 was frustrating me, I decided to switch tack for a bit.

Terezi

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Reams of red and streaks of gold whirl past your senses and burrow into your brain with the intensity of the blistering sun above that you should fear and revile, but with a gift like this, it's hard to. Whorls of blue aromas soothe the burning ache in the back of your skull while sharp acid tangs and piney undercurrents of green outline the rustling shapes above, shaking, shifting and blending into the sensory chaos.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough. You close your eyes—a symbolic gesture now—and inhale deeply through your nose, mouth wide open to catch the tastes on the air. You reel backward as the scents and tastes overwhelm your virgin tongue and nose you’ve used them before but not like this never like this. You only realize you've fallen backward when you feel grass on the backs of your arms.

It’s horrific and glorious and sad at the same time. You know you’ll never see again and you just don’t care because right now, for you, time halts before your rapture, seconds freeze on approach and carefully sidestep you, waiting for you to rejoin the ticking lockstep chronology of the normal. Blades of grass cradle your back, your head, your arms and on a whim, you snatch one from the ground and pop it in your mouth. You squirm with delight as it tastes not just like plant matter but like sour green candy, like apples, like mint, and somehow, like life.

Hours later, you return to your senses (all of them) and consider thanking Vriska. This is incredible.

Kanaya

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Brilliant sunlight drizzles into the room drop by drop, setting the floor ablaze with golden luminescence. She stands at the window looking out across the horizon and marvels at the ethereality of the scene. It was not so long ago that she inhabited the cold interior of a dim rock in the void of the Incipisphere’s approximation of space, hoping that she'd live and expecting not too.. And since fate is a cruel mistress, Hope was the very thing that murdered the future of her race, and then herself.

That hadn’t been enough to stop her. Perhaps she’d been unduly influenced by the pale alien girl, but she refused to believe her fate could not be repaired. She'd spat in Death’s face and arose to mete out justice to the traitor, determined to make things right in the face of inevitability.

And so it was that she found herself, a scant week later, watching a golden sunrise, one hand set against the wall, simply observing. Completing her serenity is the sound of rhythmic breathing behind her, rising and falling in the tempo of slumber, its source the same intoxicatingly underwhelming alien girl that had so inspired her before. She inhales deeply, and though the room doesn’t smell like anything notable, she finds that it smells like something she’s increasingly inclined to call home or perhaps simply happiness. It smells like safety and peace and stability, and most certainly nothing like nearly seven hundred hours of death-defying fear, adrenaline, determination, elation, crushing loss and then, risen phoenix-like, true victory.

The strange, pale girl behind her stirs, spots of red tinting her cheeks (Rosy cheeks, she’d heard them called, and couldn’t resist a smile at the wordplay) from sleep, something the grey-skinned girl still finds novel. She looks away from the window, and catches the alien girl’s gaze. It is wide-eyed, and her breathing is rapid, the tendrils of a nightmare still hooked into her psyche.

Kanaya half-turns intending to move to the bed but Rose is faster. She darts out from under the covers and presses against Kanaya’s side. She stares steadfastly out the window, refusing to make eye contact, but her pale fingers find Kanaya’s glowing white ones and Kanaya is her life preserver. Rose grabs Kanaya’s upper arm with her free hand and leans her head against Kanaya’s shoulder, shaking. Kanaya waits while Rose closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Nightmares again?” She asks.

Rose lets out a shuddering breath, sucks in another, and holds it for a moment before exhaling. She opens her eyes and straightens, and her grip on Kanaya is no longer that of a woman drowning. She nods, still staring straight ahead, eyes drinking in the golden radiance, as though if she stares long enough, she can absorb some of the sun's warmth. Rose straightens her back and sets her shoulders, regains her composure. She turns to Kanaya after a time, her expression grateful, but ashamed. She mouths the words thank you, and no sound escapes her throat.

In the final battle, her voice had been taken from her as the dark gods used her as a conduit for their indignation. Her mortal vocal cords had been ruined beyond repair, unsuited as they were to the task of eldritch rage. Through a combination of ectobiology and assistance from the Witch of Life, Rose is recovering, but progress is slow. She will be relegated to silence for some time yet.

Kanaya has found that neither she nor Rose mind the silence when in each other’s presence. A touch on the shoulder here, a gentle smile there, an afternoon spent reading their separate books, sitting side by side with shoulders just touching. It's enough. Kanaya never thought she'd find herself living with an alien girl on a planet in a universe she helped create. Well. She never expected the alien girl part, anyway. The White Queen had been very clear on the matter of universe creation when she had met her on Prospit but she supposed that this wasn't really the same because they'd made a new universe but really it wasn't that much different universe creation still happened and oh dear, she was rambling again.

Kanaya reins in her runaway thoughts and returns to the present with the strange, pale alien girl held by her side and the gentle sunlight enveloping them both.

Unexpected. But now that she has it, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Notes

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Pretty much just the literary equivalent of me doodling here. I like Terezi and I like Kanaya, but I like Rose x Kanaya, but I was so afraid of getting the trolls' voices right that I held off on writing either of them for a while. Having written five (and a half) chapters of Troll Ancestor nonsense, I feel more confident in tackling them, and this is pretty much just me trying to get into the characters' heads.

[JudgeDeadd]

okay heres my atempt at fan ficton

(...) so then dread jade like dude who are you.

"Dread Jade" does not sound like someone I'd like to meet in a dark alley