@RedPen: Aww, Kanaya, I almost believed you for a while there, it was adorable! I feel bad now.
GA: Almost As If You Want Me To Beg You For Information Which I Will Not Do Out Of Respect For Your And Eridans Privacy
"Equius", I think. Eridan hasn't been brought up yet.
She's referring to the secret project Vriska mentioned four lines prior.
AG: 8ut he is my only iron right now. Eridan has us 8oth working on a secret project.
GA: Is That So
AG: Yeah! I can't tell you anything a8out it. It's top secret!
GA: For Such An Important Secret You Sure Were Quick To Bring It Up
GA: Almost As If You Want Me To Beg You For Information Which I Will Not Do Out Of Respect For Your And Eridans Privacy
It's time for the next chapter of my poorly-proofread run-on sentence fest! YAY. Given the amount of overtime I've been working these days, the idea that I was able to knock out a chapter in only ten days is astonishing to me.
[/SPOILER]
oh yesssssssss
I was hoping you'd carry on with this. Enjoying this character dynamic. Keep it up!
Hello Mr. Egbert.
I realize that you are currently confused at the window that has opened up and the accompanying sound indicating that a message has been received on your computer.
And although it will have been three minutes and 14 seconds since I sent the initial message by the time you figure out to highlight my message, I assure you I am still here.
As will be needed, I will send you another message every 21.6 seconds until you decide this isn't a prank from your father.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
EB: wow, white text is basically the shittiest prank!
Hello John.
EB: seriously dave, you can do much better than this.
EB: unless it's some sort of ironically bad prank.
EB: i hate to tell you dave, but as a prank master i feel it is best that i let you down lightly.
EB: even ironically, white text is still super lame.
I assure you that this isn't a prank.
I very rarely commit pranks.
So, in this instance, I will have to defer to your expertise.
EB: uh, ok??
And actually, with that held in mind, why I'm texting you has to deal with your expertise.
Although nearly omnipotent, there are still dark pockets of the unknown.
Which can be bothersome to a near-omnipotent being such as myself.
And while it strikes me as unfathomable that I would ever need this information, I still find myself having to ask you.
Tell me about Easter, John.
EB: haha, wow. whatever you're doing dave, this is hilarious.
EB: worst prank ever, dude!
Why don't you pester your friend about Easter.
EB: oh yeah right. like i'm going to fall for that.
A young boy like yourself should value input from others.
EB: um...
Surely your friend Dave would be willing to share.
EB: you're a troll, aren't you?
No.
EB: you have to be! not even dave pulls off pranks as shitty as this.
It'd be best to think of me as an uncle.
An uncle concerned with learning about your bunnies and eggs.
And although you don't have your bunnies yet, you will soon John.
EB: wow, that sure doesn't sound creepy!
EB: oh man though, it would be so cool if i could get a hold of the bunny from con air.
Why not tell me about Easter, John.
EB: geez, why are you so curious about this mr. troll?
Once you explain Easter, I'll leave you alone for a long time.
EB: fiiine.
Crowbar
It isn't easy trying to guide a bunch of mobsters. Sure, if a fella has the right sort of moxie, any bunch of gutter slum would flow right into whatever bucket needs to be filled. But with the Felt, it could be pretty damn difficult. Most of the members are morons. God damn idiots as far as I'm concerned. Fucking pains in the ass that couldn't shoot the brain out of a tied down 'patron' unless I'm pointing their gun for them. It's enough to make me want to whack everything in my reach with my crowbar. But that just isn't how the cards are getting played today. Most days, me and the boys wait for word to come from the boss or his messenger; whatever the boss says, we all do it. And today's orders from Doc Scratch sound like just as much of a pain in the ass as most other days' orders did.
Today, that gang and I are going to go 'play Easter,' whatever the hell that meant. Apparently there's some big heist to pull, some 'egg' to get before the Midnight Crew could. Sure, it sounds important enough. But I can't help but wonder what the hell the boss could want with an egg. All the orders from top up have gotten pretty damn pointless recently; we already lost Matchsticks and Quarters. But whatever, I'm not about to go against our boss or his messenger. That would just be fucking stupid.
As is almost always the case, I'm in change of leading the gang on the heist. I'm not interested in bragging, it aint even something to brag about; I'm considered the 'brains' of the bunch by most of the gang. Most. Some I can't do much of anything about. Itchy is always a little prick. Never listens to a damn thing anyone says. Best I can do for Itchy is order Doze somewhere. Itchy usually tags behind him. Sort of brotherly in a way; if 'brotherly' could be thought of as keeping the idiot alive while still messing with him. Actually, that does sound pretty brotherly.
Trace and Fin usually work well together, though they can be a little hard to order around. It's mostly on account of Fin. Every fucking meeting, Fin just gathers up whoever he 'sees' working with him in the future and leaves. Trace is almost always a part of his team, which is fine really. Most times, Fin gathers up the people I would have ordered him to gather up anyways. He just makes it damn annoying for me.
Clover and Cans like to work together. Not something that ever made sense to me, but I guess Cans has taken a liking to Clover; maybe something about the little squirt being so lucky. Whatever works for him I guess. Eggs and Biscuits always end up together too. It doesn't matter what I do to try and keep those two separate, it never works. And hell, they work better together anyways.
But what is most important is my own personal squad. Fin knows better than to ever try to take any of them. Just as well, if he ever tried, I'd kill him for it. I formed my personal entourage years ago on account a' something I saw. It was only for a moment, but I'm damn sure of what I saw. Sawbuck and I were bouncing through time and shooting at each other. There are always shots flying around the Felt mansion, so I can't say if most of them came from whatever fight Tubby and I get into someday. But more importantly, I sure as hell know that it looked like I was getting killed for it. And because of that, I formed my personal entourage; Sawbuck and Stitch. Whenever that thing goes down, I want Sawbuck right there so I can get the upper hand. Poor tubby has no idea what's coming, but I'll be damn sure to kill that fucker. Stitch needs to be near too. If that fight goes the way it looks like it was going, I'll need Stitch to fix me up before I die. It could be what tips the fight in my favor.
Die is technically going to come back sometime. He disappeared about three months ago; he made this voodoo doll he said could kill anyone he wanted. Him and Matchsticks had always hated one another. I always thought Die was jealous of not having any power and Matchsticks was certainly the person to be jealous over for that. One day, Die put Matchsticks' little pin in and poof, he disappeared. Matchsticks certainly got a kick out of that; oh, he laughed up a storm over it. But then he died a couple weeks later. And then Quarters got the short-stick too. It spooked the gang. And then word from the boss came that Die would be popping back someday; great way to ruin a night.
The gang and I meet in an open field outside the city. It isn't much of a field. For all the development in the nearby city, the rest of this shit-stained planet wasn't much to look at. Deserts infested with centipede horrors and roaming undead. Fun in its own way, but all together unable to escape from the description 'shit-ball.' Up above were the twin moons, shining. They cast a light over the planet that was enough to see by, if not enchant. A noir, dusty film that spoke to feeling of nostalgia that didn't altogether fit in with the other scenery.
With everyone here, it's up to me to split up the gang into teams and give orders that will be ignored. Fin nods in my direction as he gathers up Trace, Clover, and Cans. As I'm taking Sawbuck and Stitch, the leaves Itchy, Doze, Eggs, and Biscuits to team up. Not that it matters if I say it or not. Stitch knows why I want him near and tubby is too much of a dumb-ass to ask why. Probably thinks it's some sort of honor or something; I'm going to enjoy slitting his throat. Itchy zooms on ahead of the rest of his team while they slowly follow after. It's time to find that god damn egg.
Trace
To my sincere lack of surprise, Fin came over to me after Crowbar finished gathering the gang and asked me to follow him. He said “You're about to follow me” and I started following after him. Things are always like this with Fin. Fin's the one to know about the future. Not that anyone could ever ask him about it. If he's going to say something, he'll say it and that's all that can be done about it. And I'm fine with that. Fin and I have gone on a lot of missions together. One can call it predestination or something bound by fate; a paradox caused by knowing in advance what will happen and then seeing it happen because of what you already knew, but I know deep down that Fin just likes to be around me.
Fin and I make a good team together. When you see and interact with the past, present, and future, there's a lot that you can get done. I've tracked down the Midnight Crew plenty of times, figuring out where they had been and what they had planned. It got so bad that the Crew adopted a system of allowing a breather before and after plans just so they could shake Fin and me. It's a shame they figured us out before we had the chance to track down their hideout. But that's ok, I'm gonna catch up with them someday. And Fin will probably tell me when I do.
It doesn't take long walking through the city before Fin motions with his hand for me, Clover, and Cans to run up to him. Our future trails run towards the intersection of a roadway two avenues down; after they reach the intersection, they stop momentarily before my future trail leads our group in another direction. I imagine I find a past trail that we all follow. It's a little tempting to wonder about the future when you're working with Fin. But I learned long ago not to sweat the details. I'll find out soon enough.
Like Fin saw, the gang and I approach the intersection and I find the past trail of Clubs Deuce. The trail is nice and strong; Clubs Deuce only recently passed by this intersection. Clubs Deuce has fallen into the Felt's hands countless times; it isn't any sort of big deal to capture the little idiot. But his past trail is still useful. If we're quick, we can follow his past trail to his present and catch up with him. And as the trail is so strong, he only passed by the intersection a little more than 10 minutes ago.
I order the gang to take a left and follow after Clubs Deuce. I don't know where things are going, but I certainly know where they've been and what they are. And I'm fine with that.
Biscuits
I'm not really sure why I'm with Slowy man and Fasty man. Crowbar man looked like he was going to say something earlier but then Sharky man started moving and everyone broke apart. I don't know why things are always so confusing around here. But it doesn't matter; I'm with Eggs and that's all I care about. Fasty man is somewhere up ahead. It's hard to tell with Fasty man what he's doing sometimes. He is so fast. And he can be pretty scary, so I don't really care if we catch up with him or not. Eggs is my best friend and the best part of being with eggs is that there could be many Eggs. And many mes as well. That is why Eggs is the best friend a mobster could have.
Slowy man isn't much fun. He is very slow. Not that he's slow right now, but he probably will be whenever it most matters for him not to be. Slowy man can be very bad about this. I don't understand why he turns on his slowy powers when it's better not to be slow. It's probably best not to think too much about it. Slowy man will be slow and that's that. And Fasty man will make me feel uncomfortable. It's just what they do.
Slowy man is leading the group, but it's more like Eggs and I are busy with playing around and having a fun time. Sure, we're following Slowy man. But it's not something we do on purpose; it's more like an accident. I'm not sure what we're supposed to be doing. Slowy man is leading us down the streets of the city. I guess he's following Fasty man. Occasionally, Fasty man blurs into view and says hello. Sometimes there are two or three Fasty mans at once; they like to wear different hats and some are bleeding. It makes Eggs and I laugh; why would Fasty man be two people?
But whether it was Fasty man or Slow man leading us, the point is that Eggs and I are going somewhere. I hope it's somewhere fun.
Fin
It doesn't take Trace long to lead us up to where the Midnight Crew are meeting to discuss their plan. Clubs Deuce took a winding path to get to the center of the city; his past trail is unfocused and messy. But unlike his tail, our future tail is straight and to the point. I've always liked that about the future; it's to the point. There isn't any way things are ever going to be a way that they aren't, they just are. Before the meeting ends, the gang and I are going to follow Diamond Droog's future trail. He's the only half-competent one of the crew. If anyone is going to find the egg, it's going to be him. But that's not going to happen as we're going to get to it first by following his future trail.
I'm going to take lead of the group again. I see it happening soon. After we reach the manhole that the Midnight Crew went down to discuss their plan, we're going to wait for a while and then I'm going to lead us another way. None of us saw the Crew go down the manhole; it's enough that Trace followed their past trail to it and that I can see their future trails leading away from it. There isn't any point to hide in a nearby building and make sure the Crew is down there; it's not what we're going to do and it's not what we're doing.
As we've been standing outside the manhole for 2 minutes and 16 seconds, I guide us down the street that we're going to go down, and we go down it. For a guy that has his head stuck in the past, Trace gets the future. He isn't the sort of guy to complain or ask why some guy is doing what he's always going to do. He just nods and does like he's going to do. And he and I get along well; it's just what we're going to do.
Clover isn't that great of a guy. He speaks in riddles too much; not enough of a point. And there isn't any reason in thinking you're lucky; luck isn't a thing that exists. What is going to happen is what will happen. It's not something that changes. It all builds up from what came before; a sharp edge leading from one point to the next. And when that edge cuts you, it was always going to cut you. It's to the point. But I guess some fellas are just destined to talk in riddles and act like what's going to happen is some mystery. Cans isn't to the point either. He isn't as bad as Clover, but not understanding the nature of time is as bad as thinking it's something else.
The streets glowed with a muted purple hue. The light of the moon reflected off of the purple mortar and bricks that made up the surrounding buildings. The look was awful, but I suppose it fits in with wherever the hell the Crew came from. Yellow light streamed down from street-lamp after street-lamp that lined the streets; each their own tributary to the river of yellow which lay undisturbed aside from the broken shadows cast by our steps.
We're not going to follow Droog's path for long. In a couple minutes, we're going to stop at another intersection. While future trails are always to the point, that doesn't mean they never get tangled. And up at the next intersection, things are going to get very tangled.
Doze
I like to think of myself as an optimist. Things often don't go the way I hope they will, but I usually still end up getting out of jams. A lot of that is because of Itchy.
Itchy and I are very close, which is pretty odd when I think about it. He's so cool and I'm not really anybody in the Felt. Itchy might not ever get to lead the groups like Crowbar, Matchsticks, and Quarters, but he still gets the most attention from Spades Slick. Well, I guess he's leading now sort of. And I guess Matchsticks and Quarters won't get to lead anymore now. Because they're dead. But it's still something Itchy should be proud of.
I only get captured. Really, it's because of my powers. I'd probably be really hard to catch if I had something cool like Itchy. He never gets captured; he hardly even gets hit. But my powers...; I get to be slow.
The others yell at me a lot. They say things like “we don't really understand why you're kept around” or “how about I slit your throat. At least your power would do something then.” The others are so cool. I wish I was more like them.
I try to be cool like them. I know my powers don't really help out much or anything, but I still try my best. When something bad is happening, I think “I bet my powers could help somehow. I bet I could be useful,” and then I use my powers. They haven't been useful yet, but I know they will be. I can be useful just like the others.
Itchy is somewhere up ahead of where Eggs, Biscuits, and I are walking. I'm not really sure where Itchy is, but I'm pretty sure we're headed in the right direction. I'm really happy that he was made leader of our group and I don't want to disappoint him. And our group is the most likely to win. When it comes to a race, Itchy is always the best.
We're traveling down a road much like any other. There are purple buildings and street-lamps. I don't really understand why Clubs Deuce and his pals like this place so much, but I guess that's just the sort of colors they like. His pals can be really dangerous, but they never hurt me when they capture me. I guess it's because they don't think I'm all that important.
Eggs and Biscuits keep their distance away from me. They don't dislike me, but they don't really like me either. Biscuits seems to get annoyed about how slow I can be; a lot of the Felt does. And Eggs... Eggs makes me feel uncomfortable. Eggs used to be more normal. Eggs used to make sense. But he doesn't really now.
To my left comes a gun-shot as we all cross another street. Eggs and Biscuits are a little ahead of me and they stop in their place. Judging by the sound, Hearts Boxcar is near. Most of the Crew sticks to their particular weapons. It doesn't take long for me to find out I'm right; another shot rings out and hits my leg. Only Hearts Boxcars uses this size of bullet. The pain is quick, and I turn on my powers.
The present blurs past me. I know I'm picked up and tied down, but I'm not sure who does it. I imagine it's Hearts Boxcars, but it can be hard to tell when everything blurs. I can hear tiny pops right before a sea of yellow and red washes over my view. I hope Itchy is ok.
Eggs
Shots.
Many shots.
Fast and quick and hurtful.
Bullets.
Many bullets.
I don't want to die I don't want to die.
Fire.
Fasty man.
The timer.
I touch it and I know it works.
I never use it but I always use it.
I use it many times and in many ways.
Never the alpha never the alpha.
Dying.
Tons of dying.
Why must I die why must I die.
Fasty man is near. Fasty man has been everywhere. Fasty man.
I will catch you.
He approaches from in front of me. He wants to save Slowy man. Slowy man who has been shot by The Monster.
I will die I will die.
I will make Fasty man die too. Fasty man can make it so I don't die as many times. Fasty man.
All I have to do is.
I grab a hold of Fasty man. I have to time it just right. But even if I didn't time it right, another me from another line would just use the timer. The timer. And he would, he would. He would grab Fasty man. But I don't have to be that. I grab Fasty man.
He struggles. He is like a little animal. He is in my trap. He will die. And I will die less.
Fasty man.
And it is a success. Other mes pop everywhere. I can hear the ding.
Ding.
Fasty man and I. Everywhere. Too many. Too many come.
All will die. Countless death.
Fasty man.
He kicks me hard. He hurts me. Fasty man.
I don't want to die.
Cans
I don't get why Trace and Fin always get to lead us around. Clover and I work well enough by ourselves. But it always seems to be the case that we get shoved off with two others; Trace and Fin, Eggs and Biscuits, Itchy and Doze. It doesn't matter all that much, but can't a guy just be given a task to do and do it?
And as is usually the case with these two, they talk to themselves. Probably think Clover and I are stupid or something. Just whispering in each other's ears about this plan and this scheme and this time trail and that time trail. They over think time. They're meddlers. When it comes to time, it happens. And that's all anyone should ever do about time.
Clover gets it. He's always gotten it. He's lucky, and that's what time is to him. There doesn't need to be any thought put to it, he just does what he does. And I do what I do. I punch things. And they disappear. And that's all I need.
Clover sits on my shoulder as we move around the town. We started by walking a way in one way, and then Fin talks to Trace and we stop in a spot for a couple minutes. And we sit. And then Trace points to this way and we walk that way. And we stumble upon the Midnight Crew. At least that's what Fin said. Now, I know we aren't enough to beat em. You need at least six members if you're going to try and take the Crew. But instead we just stand there. For minutes. And do nothing. It just isn't right.
Clover drapes his arm around my neck as we walk around. It'd be a hug if it wasn't just around my neck. He's a little squirt, but I wouldn't go anywhere without him. He's important to me.
We continue on down a road, and Fin gets apprehensive. Says something about the future being bad. That it'll only be seconds until shit goes down. That's fine to me, and that's fine to Clover. It's better that something happens instead of just standing.
All of a sudden there are all these dings. We get surrounded by Itchy and Eggs. Itchy looks pissed. More than usual. And there's a ton of the guy. Eggs must have grabbed him and used the timer. And just as soon as the dings hit, gun fire follows. That's what we get for following Droog. That guy has a strong head on his shoulders. Trace and Fin take cover behind some mailboxes. The intersection swells with a constant wave of Itchies and Eggs.
The streets run red. All of 'em are getting killed. But that's what happens whenever Eggs uses his timer. I don't really understand why, but something in the universe demands that there only be one Eggs. The shots fly all around me, but I don't really worry about it. Clover is lucky, and there's no chance I'd ever be -
An Itchy flies towards us. Although he doesn’t hit Clover, he still brushes against his hat. Clover falls, but lands on his feet. Always lucky.
The shots continue to fire. The streets are clogged but clearing. I know my little buddy won't get hurt, but it still makes me nervous.
Clover is lucky. Aint no doubt about that. And when I'm with him, I'm lucky too.
I walk in front of him. I know nothing will happen, but I still have to protect him. I could never lose him.
I'm shot, and I fall to my legs. It isn't much, but I'm bleeding. The shots continue, and I'm drenched. I fall to my back.
But Clover just barely dodges my fall. He's lucky, and he won't die today.
Sawbuck
Life can be hard, but when you have great friends it doesn't seem so bad. I don't think of myself as lucky like Clover. That's not the sort of guy I am. But I do have some really great friends.
Crowbar and Stitch have been my best friends for a while now. I don't know why they suddenly took an interest in me; I guess I must be likable. It's not that I ever was unlikable. It's just that sometimes the other Felt treat me badly. They call me names or make fun of me. Or a lot of the time they just leave me alone.
I think they're scared of me getting hurt. Not because I get hurt easily or that they feel bad when I do. When I get hurt, the person who hurt me, and I jump through time. It can be a little confusing and disorienting. And I usually have to hurt myself a lot just to get back around the time I left. But it doesn't happen that often.
But Crowbar and Stitch aren't like the others. I get to be around the both of them all the time. Crowbar is even sort of the boss of us. He isn't really, but a lot of us look to him for leadership. I guess that would make him sort of a middle-management guy. And of all the guys he could keep around him, Crowbar asks me to be with him a lot of the time. Even if most of the rest of the Felt doesn't like to be near me, I still have Crowbar and Stitch.
Itchy and Cans seem to like me. I can't be sure for Itchy as he tends to be around everyone. Quarters would always say that Cans and Itchy like me because 'they're stupid.' I don't think they are though. Cans just likes to keep things simple which is really smart in a lot of ways. And Itchy likes to play pranks.
Crowbar is leading our gang again and he has us playing a game called 'Easter.' It's all about finding an egg before the Midnight Crew does. Which is a little funny because we have a gang member named Eggs, but I don't think that will really help us. I'm on Crowbar's team with Stitch, so I think we have a really good chance of getting the egg first.
Crowbar let the other two teams get a head start because he is very cunning. He usually tries to sit in the back and manage the others; only coming out and getting involved when things get heavy. And I don't mean heavy like me. If there's a gun battle or something bad happens, Crowbar will be near with his crowbar. But if things are mostly going ok, he likes to sit back and check on everyone. I like that Crowbar thinks ahead like that.
Our team has mostly been tracking the other teams from a distance. With Trace and Fin's team, you have to be careful to stick to the side of where they're going. With Itchy's team, you mostly have to make sure not to give Itchy a reason to mess with you. Itchy usually finds out we're tracking him, but he's too busy doing other stuff to care most of the time.
It looked like both of the teams were getting into trouble, but then our team found Clubs Deuce and we started tracking him instead. A lot of the others don't see any reason to track Clubs Deuce. Crowbar is smarter than that though. If you try to capture Clubs Deuce, he isn't much use. But if you stay hidden and follow him, you can get a lot of information. The rest of the Crew order Clubs Deuce to do important things. It's not because he's competent; it's mostly because they're all busy and Clubs Deuce likes to help. Because of that, if you leave him alone, you can usually follow him to where important things are going on.
Crowbar seems uneasy while we follow Clubs Deuce though. I guess it's because of the trouble we saw the others were getting into before we found Clubs Deuce. Or maybe it's because of the gunfire around us and he's worried I could get hurt. Whatever the case, I'm with my friends and I know we'll do something great together.
A shot rings out and Crowbar falls; the bullet hole is straight through his head.
Clover
Of hat red-striped and height so tall
that he gets shot and feels the fall,
of time too short and streets ran red
oh dear old friend, please not be dead.
For if you die here and I, alone,
my heart would fall as that of stone.
Hold close what may yet come your way,
I'm here, dear friend, you needn't say.
Save your strength and keep the heart
if luck is here, we shall not part.
Though now it seems our path is mucky
that I've known you, my life's been lucky.
Please don't die Cans. My life isn't lucky if it's without you.
The streets blaze with a yellow fire. A hollow flame made quick with time lent for its spread at cost of its passion. It spreads with a disheartened reach, more akin to a melted ice-cube made fit to dampen than a guided faucet. It twitches with an anger at having been brought forth. And, in its anger, spills deep. A spire pushes up in the green field of yellow daises; the red dirt spilling over the field. A fitful death of confusion and amaze. And in its flickering flame, a breeze serves set only to extinguish, never to strengthen. The muddy river flows and mingles with Can's own, a desecration. Amongst the waves, I hold tightly to Cans, embracing his body as we're buried under the crashing thunder of Itchy's corpses.
Die
You try and be Die, but you can not be Die. Die is currently in a bubble of reality defined by his existence in tandem with the deaths of Matchsticks, Quarters, and Crowbar. Crowbar just died in a bubble of reality defined by Die's existence in tandem with the deaths of Matchsticks, Quarters, Crowbar, and Itchy. Die can't be in this reality until he plays a card game with Itchy, gets frustrated, and puts in Itchy's pin. After which, when attack by Spades Slick upon arrival, Die briefly enters into a bubble defined by his existence in tandem with the deaths of Matchsticks, Quarters, Crowbar, Itchy, and Spades Slick. When he returns to the bubble defined by his existence in tandem with the deaths of Matchsticks, Quarters, Crowbar, and Itchy; Die is killed and has his voodoo doll taken by Spades Slick. Spades Slick then has his supra-reality being crushed into a singularity of existence that flickers in and out of different bubbles of reality depending on what pins are in the doll. It's so simple, it's a wonder why you bothered to try and be Die in the first place.
Stitch
Where are my pain pills when I need 'em.
Out of all the sorts of jobs that a fella can get with the Felt, I definitely have one of the best and worst. Best because it aint all that likely I'll get injured. Most of the time, I'm following after our gang head or just sticking around outside of where the heat is brought. But while I aint likely to get shot, I sure as hell am likely to be busy. My job can be the worst because of all the work I do. And while the work aint bad, it's gotten a lot busier recently; dangerous too. But the boss knows what's what. If he wants us to go on some Easter heist then it probably makes sense.
Unlike the rest of these ragamuffins, I've seen the boss. The big boss, the head-cheese, the don. Lord English. It aint that big a deal, something a tailor has got to do if he's gonna work with a fella's coat. Just makes sense. Doesn't give me any sort of one-up on the others, but I like to think my job is safer on account of it. But this right here...
Twitchy Itchy is everywhere. Zig-zagging and dying on every street I can see. Eggs musta tried to bring him and Itchy on a ride with his timer. And by the looks of it, Itchy's response was to grab the timer and probably start bashing in Egg's head with it. It's a god damn mess; the coats' threads are probably shredded right now. Boss aint gonna be happy about that.
And our leader, Crowbar. Son of a bitch, he's dead, aint he? I slap my head. Today's gonna be a fucking headache.
I take out my deck of cards and look for the seven of diamonds. Crowbar's mannequin is toast alright. Stuffing flying from the head, the rest of it just charred. Once it gets charred, there's nothing else I can do about it. Crowbar aint gonna make it. I dump out some of the other mannequins just to check how they're doing. I leave Itchy and Eggs alone as I don't want to flood the city with the smell of burnt fluff.
Doze, fine. Trace, fine. Clover, fine. Fin, fine. Die's isn't here still. Already know about Crowbar. Don't even have one for Snowman, what the hell would be the point to that. Mine is fine. Sawbuck is right here; I know he's fine. He's a little upset, but we're in a god damn gun fight. Get it together. Biscuits is fine. Ah, Cans is in a bit of trouble. Looks like he's getting pumped with iron.
I take out my thread and sit down to the task. Tubby finally stops pissing himself over Crowbar's death and starts shooting back at whoever the hell is shooting at us. I'm quick with a thread, it only takes a couple minutes to sew Cans back together. It's a close one, but the big lug should be fine.
Something about those Itchys though; they were squirming around pointlessly until a second ago. But it looks like they're up to something now. I see one zooming this way and another zooming another way. Changing hats and all that bullshit. One stops to check on us; he sees Crowbar is dead. I guess Twitchy Itchy just wants to make sure we're alright or something. He's a pain in the ass, but usually doe s try and make sure Doze is ok. Why the hell he's checking on us, I wouldn't know. Maybe he thinks I'll fix up his mannequin or something; tough shit on that.
I see a glint in his hands. That son of a bitch has the egg. Was he just bragging? That's great and all, but we should retreat if the heist's done. I try and motion with my hands for Itchy to calm down. He's buzzing back and forth; looks pretty pissed off. Idiot throws the egg to another Itchy. And he throws it to another one. Why the fuck is he playing hot potato?
Itchy
Son of a bitch fucking piece of shit god damn cock-sucking FUCKER
I'm going to kill Eggs for this I don't know what the hell he just did but I am pissed to FUCK over it He fucking grabbed me and all of a sudden I'm here and I'm there and I'm fucking everywhere What The SHIT
I kick him hard in his crotch Fucker finally lets go of me Doze is in trouble and I need to save him And change his hat to something ridiculous Probably Hearts Boxcars' hat He's still around I think But fuck all of these different mes are getting in the way I grab Eggs' timer I nearly use it but there's something ominous about it I decide to just hold onto it
Doze is tied up Not like anything will happen to him It is Hearts Boxcars though, so Doze is in more trouble than usual But he still won't get hurt, not if I have anything to say about it
I run over to where Doze is tied up Hearts Boxcars looks flummoxed at the thousands of god damn fucking twitchers (aka MES) coming at him I guess all of us had the same idea to save Doze Holy FUCK
Hearts Boxcars opens up and starts shooting at me The other mes He misses me and I zoom on ahead We all bury him quickly He mumbles something like “I hate time travel” before he vanishes underneath us I take his hat before he gets completely buried under my corpses Fucker just keeps on shooting and I'm getting blood splashed all over me
I switch Doze's hat with Hearts Boxcars' and switch my own hat with his A bunch of the other mes start to have different hats too I can see one with Fins' hat and another one with Clovers' Almost all of them are getting killed as Hearts Boxcars' tries to shoot himself out of the pile of my corpses I am going to shove a fuckton of shit down Eggs' throat GOD DAMN IDIOT FUCKER I DON'T NEED MY BLOOD EVERYWHERE I untie Doze and run him outside the city He should be safe now
Gotta go fast Gotta figure out what the FUCKING HELL is going on I run down a street and I see MORE OF MY FUCKING CORPSES rolling down the street It is a god damn Itchy volcano The streets are getting covered with mes everywhere Trace and Fin are just sitting there and doing nothing behind a mailbox Fin must have seen they were going to do nothing and then they started doing nothing and are continuing to do nothing What the fuck is there problem
I check on Diamond Droog He's a couple streets in front, past where Fin and Trace are cowering like shit-heads Diamond Droog is firing on all cylinders fucking blasting apart the wave of other mes He takes a break now and again to call out on his radio for Clubs Deuce to hurry up Apparently he asked for Clubs Deuce to find him when he realized he was being tracked by Fin and Trace I switch his hat and trip him up It should buy the others time and hopefully stop the other mes from god damn dying
Clubs Deuce is only a few streets down to the left of the mayhem I see Crowbar lying face-down in a pool of blood that ISN'T FUCKING MINE FOR ONCE But more importantly than that, Clubs Deuce has the EGG I try and go get it but some other fucking Itchy beats me to it I yell for the others to give me the damn egg but it doesn't do a thing All the others start to steal it from one another, probably too fast for anyone to tell we're all fighting over it The bullets keep firing and Itchy after Itchy gets killed I'll stop whoever is shooting at us once I get the egg I can see some of the other mes choking on the god damn river of blood flowing own the streets
I get the egg It takes a while but I grab it from the twitching, out-stretched hand of another dying me I need to get the FUCK out of here, kill Eggs, deliver the egg, and stop watching myself die I run for the southward exit where I dropped off Doze but then I trip
Spades Slick
With his foot out-stretched
God DAMN it
Snowman
I feel its pulse.
I feel its beat.
I feel the breath of the universe.
It's a rhythm, a heart-beat; it moves and pulses in and out; a living, breathing universe.
And much like a heart-beat, I pulse and pause. The universe before me fades and darkens in slow progression. It is a deliberate beat, one with purpose spent towards some ultimate end. And much like how the universe will die, I too will die. It is simply the way things are. But before I die, I'll make Spades Slick pay. Every treachery lashed out until he burns red. It is up to a Queen to protect her kingdom.
I fade out, and darken in. I appear in a street of the city. Slick stands only a few feet in front of me. The streets are filled with the corpses of my compatriots. A thousand bullets fly near, and my pulse quickens. The shooting stops as the others realize I'm here. A growl crosses Slick's face; the traitor glares with a torrent hatred. Nice egg there, Slick. I reach out for my whip and lash his side, a deep crevice of red splits open and pours out his deceit.
Queen' and eggs have a special relationship. It is the duty of a Queen to protect the future, to produce an heir and guard its life. I had my future stolen from me. And like today, I'll steal Slick's future. It is all that a Queen must do. The wrong must be made right.
I grab the egg as Slick falls to his knees, his hands covering the blood pouring out from his side. Stitch's eyes greet me; he's ready to go home. I motion to the others; Trace, Fin, Clover, Cans, and Sawbuck. Our mission is done; get the others and go home. I kick Itchy, twitching on the ground, as I leave. Our task; done.
Approximately half of Eridan's ship was waterlogged. It was quite normal for a sea-dweller to have at least one room submerged in their private quarters, but his entire hold was an aquarium, most of it hidden away. It was as though Dualscar had foreseen the issue his descendent would face, and built the ship to accommodate.
Eridan was just about the only company Feferi had nowadays. Some of the other members of her social circle visited from time to time, but it was rare, and opportunities were very limited. Trapped underwater in a not-particularly-exciting cargo hold, the only life she really got to experience was second-hand from talking with her moirail.
She swam up to him when he descended into her hideaway, and greeted him with a hug.
“HI!” she glubbed excitedly. “What brings you down here now?”
“Karkat's coming to wisit you,” he replied. “he's bringin' Sollux with him too.”
“That's great!” she cheered, swimming in a circle. “I can't wait! But you don't look so happy?”
Eridan sighed, which made him gag on the water. Two sweeps of regularly ducking below the surface and he still hadn't managed to get used to it. He probably never would. “Inquisition killed another matesprit.”
“Oh no!” Feferi immediately looked shocked and concerned. Despite her situation, she was as emotive as she had been four sweeps ago. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. But I just started to like this girl, and...” he nearly sighed again, but stopped himself in time. “I guess she wasn’t really special or anythin’.”
“Aww, that’s too bad. You’ll find the right flush some day!”
She nuzzled against his cheek affectionately. Among the few upsides to all that had happened since they’d turned eight, being Eridan’s moirail had become much easier. Training as an officer had given him a new perspective on land-dwellers and while, true, Cannon Fodder still wasn’t a particularly high opinion, it was better than just trying to wipe them all out. Or, at least, it was copacetic with Alternian military strategy. The considerable effort he once put into eradicating their kind was now put into trying to find that one true matesprit, something that required little intervention from her.
She had realised long ago that their relationship had become one-sided. He dutifully protected her, going to great lengths and sacrifice to ensure she remained alive and well. She could only wonder what he got out of it.
And so she asked.
“Why do you sacrifice so much for me?” trying to keep her tone as serious and sincere as possible. Sobriety had come easily these last few sweeps. “Are you just that pale for me?”
Eridan mumbled something, but it was lost in the water.
“What did you say?”
“I’m not pale.”
“Then why?”
“I feel... redder than that.”
Feferi gasped - without choking - when she realised what this meant. “I- I never realised! Though, thinking about it, it seems obvious now...”
“Yeah, I...” he trailed off. “What do you say?”
“Eridan, I don’t know... “
His face fell as quickly as the water would allow.
She continued. “I just don’t think I feel that way about you! You’re a good guy, and I think you can make someone really happy! But it just won’t be me. I’m sorry.”
Silence reigned for a while. Both avoided eye contact.
“I guess that’s what I get for openin’ up to you like that.” Slowly, he began to swim away. Feferi called after him, but he didn’t listen and she didn’t follow him.
A few minutes later, she heard the hatch to the air-filled section of the ship slam shut. And then she heard the bolt slide across it.
Feferi wallowed in silence and solitude. Spending a lot of time by herself was nothing new to her, but she was wracked with worry. It would be so typical of him to flip out as soon as it became clear she wasn’t his moirail. What was he planning to do, having locked her here?
She feared the worst, with nothing to assuage her doubt until, hours later, she heard voices from above. Familiar voices.
“Karkat!” she yelled as loudly as she could and banged on the porthole by the barrier. “Help! I’m in here!”
Voices were raised. Loud footsteps rang through the ship until she could see them through the grimy porthole to the aerated half. Four familiar silhouettes. She hadn't seen them in months. Without hesitaing, Sollux and Karkat prised off the bar blocking the hatch and Feferi tumbled out.
There was a minute of gasping and choking as she started to breathe air again. “Th... thanks!” she gasped, pulling both into a tight hug. Once she'd caught her breath, she explained what had happened.
“Fuck,” Karkat says. “Knew this would happen.”
“Do you think he's going to do something stupid?” Aradia asked.
“Of course he's going to do something fucking stupid. We've got to get out of here. We don't have much time.”
“He might not!” Feferi insisted. “He's better than he used to be...”
“He just locked you down here!” Karkat yelled. “If we're lucky the Inquisition aren't here already. We have to get out of here!”
A loud crash shook the ship, accompanied by the sound of metal warping and buckling.
“RUN!” Karkat screamed.
Blast doors began to close across the ship as the hull tore. As the five trolls approached the airlock its outer door buckled and cracked, pulling them toward the vacuum. In a swift, practiced motion Tavros opened the door to his transport and pulled the others in. The doors sealed with a hiss.
“Have they stheen usth?” Sollux lisped.
“I dunno,” Tavros said, hurrying to turn on the transport's instruments. “The airlock's jammed.”
Sollux nodded and turned in the direction of the airlock's exit. His eyes glowed behind his coloured lenses. There was no sound, but the ship's scanner showed the gate tearing itself from its frame. Tavros launched the shuttle.
A frightening sight awaited them. Twelve ships – fighters, by the look of them – hung in a web around Eridan's corvette. In unison, missiles flared into the ship, destroying it utterly.
Tavros' shuttle shook violently.
“Go cold!” Aradia yelled. Obediently, Tavros hit every switch on the dashboard, shutting off the ship's systems. She put her hands to her temples. “Sorry about this...”
Feferi felt as though something tore behind her eyes. The next thing she knew, she was drifting, as were the others. She could also see her own body sitting on the bench beneath her. She knew she should have panicked, but she couldn't seem to summon the emotion.
She looked around. Karkat, Sollux and Tavros all had the same look of dull surprise she was probably displaying. Aradia was watching the fighters scanning the rubble. For a moment, light flooded the shuttle's cabin. It looked blue, but it was hard to tell. Her eyes weren't working quite the same. It was as though she wasn't seeing at all, just sensing the things around her.
The twelve fighters departed. Aradia raised her arms, and Feferi opened her eyes again. They were back in their bodies. Tavros starting turning on the ship's systems. Sollux nursed a headache and Karkat started fuming at Aradia.
“Never... ever... do that again.” he said through gritted teeth.
“It got us out of there alive,” she retorted. “They'd have spotted us otherwise.”
“Great, so now rather than being dead everyone just thinks we're dead. So now we have to explain that as well as why we're carrying a wanted fugitive.”
“They think she's dead too,” Aradia pointed out. “If we can disguise her as someone else, she can hide easily with us. And people are reported dead falsely all the time.”
“Fine! Fine. Let's come up with a plan.”
Hey fanfic thread, I have a neat little one shot for you. Enjoy.
The Stacked Deck
Alternia Secundus – Arguably the second-most important planet in the Alternian Empire, Alternia Secundus, known locally as Alt-sec, is the primary military capital of the empire. It has been, for centuries, regarded as the finest source of warships and soldiers, and is one of the oldest intersetellar colonies. The locals pride themselves as being as high bred as homeworlders, though some consider themselves to be even more so due to Alternia Prima’s current status as a nursery world.
---
There is one place on Alternia Secundus where even the most battle-hardened trolls will not go. Soldiers who have conquered the Fields of Trial, who have spent decasweeps on hostile worlds and crushed nations beneath their feet are loathe to even admit to its existence. It is a small, humble building, tucked deep within the military compound adjoining the governor’s palace grounds. The façade is dirty and cracked, the windows grimy, and the door hangs at an angle from constantly being kicked off of its hinges.
The crooked sign outside reads “The Stacked Deck”, and it’s where the drones go to get a drink.
The air was thick with gray smoke, foul enough to make any normal person vomit. Old Paradagh had managed to get a shipload of Inirisai tobacco, which he then proceeded to smoke a pound at a time in his gigantic, long-stemmed pipe. The pipe itself could be used as a bludgeon in the hands of a troll, but was almost small in the hands of the elderly drone.
Old Paradagh blew a stream of smoke from his breathing spiracles. His bleary eyes were clouded over with cataracts, his nose had begun to fail, his auditory pits were weak, and many said his mind was going, but no one dared hold those facts against him. His carapace was scarred and pockmarked from over a centasweep of duty, the jagged and bony scars of cartilage the highest honor of a drone. Every day bhe would come to the Stacked Deck, sit in the corner and smoke, a sentinel from older, better times.
At the bar, several younger drones sat with massive tankards held in armored fists, discussing the latest round of collections in rough, guttural tones.
“Listen, Koroek, the military types are best. There’s nothing better than some officer and his matesprit coming up 250 below the line.” The speaker was more slender built than most, with a carapace covered in jagged tattoos.
“Indigo?” Koroek’s one remaining eye seemed to sparkle with excitement.
“The deepest. Ran real good when I ran him through.”
“Wish I had been there. Everyone on my route filled their quota.”
“No, the best is when they fight back.” This one was a giant, with carapace spikes pierced by beaded rings. “I love it when they think they can win.” He took a long swig from his mug.
“I don’t believe I ever seen that.”
“What, you mean the great Varius has never had one fight back?” the giant said mockingly.
“They try to weasel their way out of it all the time, but they don’t fight back.”
“I guess you just get the stupid ones, Jqul,” Koroek said, flashing his inch-long serrated teeth.
“Oh, and you do much better? There’s no sport without culling the dead weight.”
“Look, I happen to be on very good terms with the Casdartan Mother Grub…”
“Enough, enough. I’ve sat through enough people bitching at each other today,” Varius lazily waved a hand at the bartender. “Jo-bo, let’s have another round here.”
The mass of spindly limbs and mandibles behind the counter gave an affirmative chirp as it refilled the drinks. Jo-bo was a model of bio-construct designed to work in the interior of a ship’s nuclear reactors, and thus, the only such construct capable of handling a drone’s drink orders. The tankards were refilled with haste.
Varius had just gotten the mug to his mandibles when he heard the door creak open behind him. He looked over his shoulder and was shocked, but only in a slight manner and very briefly.
In the door stood a troll, ten or eleven sweeps or so, just out of the Academy. He had short, corkscrew horns and neatly trimmed hair. The symbol on his uniform indicated that he was a blue-blood officer. There were no signs of combat experience, from his lack of scars to the prideful way he held himself.
The troll sauntered up to the bar and took a seat next to the trio of drones. The room was completely silent. He motioned towards Jo-bo with a cocky-half smile.
“Give me a Crimson Polyp.”
Amazing and more amazing, Varius thought. He walks into a drone bar and asks for a troll beverage. Drone bars only ever served one thing, and it had no such fanciful name as “Crimson Polyp.” The drones just called it “Drink”.
Jo-bo’s multifaceted eyes narrowed in distaste, before he pulled a grimy troll-size cup from beneath the bar and drew it full to the top. The Drink was a foul brown-grey sludge, with ashen foam on top. The troll looked at it for a moment, licked his lips, and downed the entire thing in one gulp.
The reaction was immediate. The troll vomited across the bar, the bile and Drink mixed with blood and a few melted white stubs which had been teeth only moments ago. The troll screamed and collapsed on the floor, convulsing horrendously and bleeding profusely. He managed a few gurgled words of indistinct and probably indecipherable nature, gave one final spasm, and was still.
There was silence for a short time. Then Old Paradagh began to laugh, a wheezing, raspy old croak. Within a few moments the entire bar was in an uproar of hilarity as the body was unceremoniously tossed out into the street.
Old Paradagh could remember other trolls who had come to the Stacked Deck, long sweeps ago. Most of them were young officers on a dare, the rest were either insane or suicidal. The officers were the best, though. They were naïve, entitled, stupid, and above all, appreciated by the drones. Nothing was funnier than watching some hotshot troll cull himself. It gave the drones more time to play darts.
Keep in mind, a drone’s darts are the length of a troll's arm, and capable of punching through sheet metal.
Tarfus swore as he pulled the trailing end of the fresh bandages taut with his teeth. The bloody, slime-damp bandages previously covering his wrist lay coiled at his feet like a venemous slitherbeast in wait. Innocuous and harmless looking, until one realized what the markings meant. How did the old rhyme go? “Green, white and red, it'll dissolve your head”? Something like that, anyway. His bandages wouldn't be dissolving any heads, but it'd certainly put his on a culling fork if anybody realized what they meant. Once the blood dried, it'd be easily mistakable for maroon, or even a lighter brown but while it was still fresh, he had to be careful.
He swore again and tied the bandages off. He was no stranger to tending to his own wounds, but he hated doing it one-armed. It was just undignified-looking. It did teach one some creative uses for teeth and feet though.
Tarfus stood up, and slipped a loop of gauze around his neck and rested his arm in it. Fresh bandages, check. Makeshift sling, check. Old bandages shoved in sleeve of robe, check. He pushed the sleeve of his robe down over the left arm, concealing his bandaged wrist from view. The bandages should hide anything even if the wound started bleeding again, but it never hurt to be cautious. With any luck, he'd be wearing something more suitable soon anyway. He poked his head out of the storage room he'd been hiding in, and darted out once he was sure the way was clear.
By his reckoning, it was probably around midnight by now, which would simultaneously make his job easier and harder. The increased traffic in the compound would make it harder to get noticed. On the other hand, if he drew attention to himself, it was virtually guaranteed that there'd be witnesses. Which just meant he'd have to avoid drawing attention to himself. It would require, in a word, subtlety.
Damn. He'd never been any good at that.
He merged smoothly from the side hallway into a main hall and joined a crowd of people going both directions. He drew curious stares, but none curious enough to stop him. They all had somewhere to be, after all. If a burnt, injured vagrant in a ripped silk robe happened to be in the hallway, it was none of their business. One of the guards would deal with it, certainly.
One passerby looked him up and down and chuckled. “Kismesis get the best of ya?”
Or that. Sure. “Yeah. Woke up blindfolded, gagged and in this ridiculous getup. Fuckin’ blackrom, am I right?” Tarfus said, shrugging.
The other man grinned. “Can’t live with it, get culled without it. Day in the life, eh?” And he moved ahead, disappearing into the crowd.
Tarfus raised an eyebrow at the other troll as he disappeared into the crowd. He had been unusually...chummy. He remembered the Empress’ words: Beware those who seek to gain your trust. While he doubted that anybody he met could peg him for who he really was, it certainly wouldn’t be outrageous to assume others would be looking for people that stood out. And he certainly stood out at the moment. He would have to keep an eye on that troll if he saw him around again.
He broke off from the crowd and ducked into an inconspicuous doorway before opening the door and slipping inside. His hunch had been on the money; a service stairway—half as large as the more magnificent stairwells in the rest of the compound, and used by twice as many people. Lowblood cleaning staff needed to get around, but they did it unseen in unpainted, windowless shafts. Tarfus was more familiar with these sorts of stairwells than he cared to admit—he’d used them often enough in campaigns that had degenerated into urban warfare. They were easy to hide in, and often allowed unfettered access to most of a building. They were also completely unlit save for whatever cracks of light seeped in through the doorways. He consciously forced himself to take deep, even breaths; he wasn’t fighting for his life in a crumbling city, and not every shadow hid someone waiting to kill him. He made it down a level and opened the door a crack. No one in sight. He opened the door all the way and barreled straight into another troll. He hissed in pain as his wrist was jostled. Yep. Sopor slime had completely worn off.
“Watch it, grubsucker!” The other troll, said. His heavy lisp made it sound more like ‘Watch it, grubthucker!’
Tarfus boggled vacantly at the lisping troll for a moment. He was wearing glasses with colored lenses, one red, the other blue. He had two pairs of horns. And he was wearing the ugliest lab coat Tarfus had ever seen; a truly horrendous mustard-yellow, with red highlights on one side, and blue on the other. Seems to be milking that duality gimmick for all it’s worth, Tarfus thought before regaining his composure and donning his usual scowl. “That’s what happens when you stand outside a door, idiot! Move it!”
Tarfus shrugged past the other troll, ignoring the glare he received in the process, only to stop dead as he smacked into a translucent wall made of—Tarfus groaned—red and blue energy. He turned around to find the lisping troll advancing on him, his eyes glowing blue and red respectively. Mother Grub save me from psychics, goddammit.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” the psychic said, poking Tarfus in the chest.
Tarfus hid a wince by grinding his teeth. His front was still tender from bruising. “Some asshole with a lisp and hideous outfit blocking my way. So fucking what?”
The light from the psychic’s eyes flared, and his glare intensified. “I am Almesian Lybnis, Royal Mathematician, and you will show me your respect!”
Tarfus expression morphed into disbelief. “Okay, ‘Almethian’. I’ll show you some ‘rethpect’ the moment you stop skulking around servant’s passages being a Royal Pain-in-the-ass. Now let me through or I’m going to throttle you with your own ugly outfit.”
And just like that, Almesian deflated. The psychic glow disappeared from his eyes, and he slumped down. “You really think it’s ugly?”
Tarfus disbelieving expression, if anything, grew more pronounced. “Wow. Yes. It’s hideous. And now I’m leaving. Goodbye.” Tarfus turned on his heel and walked away. Reason forty-eight to murder the Empress. Her staff is composed entirely of idiots and lunatics. God.
Tarfus kept walking and hoped his debatably good luck held. “Almethian”’s mood seemed mercurial at best; he didn’t want to be around when his mood swung back toward murderous. If anybody needed a moirail, it was that guy.
He rounded a corner and caught a whiff of the unmistakable scent of a laundry-room—lye, disinfectant, old blood, but mostly just hot, damp air. He veered left at the next intersection, so far having encountered thankfully few passers-by. He was a little surprised at how easily he’d been able to find his way around. It all came down to highblood arrogance in the end, he supposed. They were all so secure in the knowledge that their enemies would respect them enough to at least kill them publicly and obviously, that they never bothered to alter the layout of their structures. This compound fell into that classification, and as a result, obeyed a few idiosyncrasies Tarfus had been using to get around. First, the servants’ passages he’d already used. Second, the better accommodations were found closer to sea level, or underwater. The few stories it extended above ground level would be reserved for highblooded land-dwellers who would view an underwater room as an insult. The end result was that the servants’ quarters, kitchens and laundry rooms were all nearest to ground-level, with the private chambers and offices above and below respectively. The further from the base classes dwelling in the dirt, the better, right?
The respiteblock Tarfus had awoken in had been on the second story. He was sure that was deliberate. He filed the thought away for later; more pressing issues were at hand.
He came to a set of swinging double doors and pushed his way inside. He was greeted with a billowing cloud of steam, and the sight of a number of trolls bustling back and forth. As far as he could tell, none was higher than a yellowish greenblood. Some carried sopping bundles of laundry; others were folding clothing on tables at the far end. Still others stirred gooey mounds of laundry soaking in a chemical concoction held in the back of a large, purple insectoid creature. Specially bred for the purpose, the creatures naturally generated an acidic slime and secreted it into a natural chitinous bowl on their back. The secretion bound to and dissolved dirt, but left textiles alone. Tarfus was fuzzy on the details, but knew enough that troll skin was considered “dirt” and for that reason the people wielding the stirring sticks wore thick gloves and long aprons. He’d seen what purging slime burns did, and had a healthy respect for the stuff.
Tarfus approached the folding station and tapped one of the trolls on the shoulder. He turned and stared at Tarfus for a moment. “What?”
“Got a request from an Almesian Lybnis. Said he wanted ‘thomething a little more thubdued’. Got anything that fits the bill?” Tarfus said.
The other man laughed. “Ha! Jumped-up yellow bastard finally figured out what an eyesore that goddamn coat is, huh? Here, help me finish these and just take whatever you need,” he said, gesturing at the unfolded laundry.
Tarfus grunted. “Can do. May not be as much help as you’re expecting,” he said, nodding toward his lame hand. “Kismesis got a hold of me this evening, left me with a couple of parting gifts.”
“That the reason for the getup? Looks comfortable, at least,” said the other man, deftly folding a black uniform.
“Yeah, and totally fucking useless for anything,” Tarfus said, grabbing a garment, and folding it as well as one hand and his chest allowed.
The other man eyed Tarfus and grunted. “Hm. F’you were looking for some new clothes, I’d say that you look like a medium to me. Maybe a large. Just my opinion, ‘course.” His eyes flicked to the growing pile of folded clothing.
Tarfus nodded at the other man and grunted. “Thanks.”
They continued in silence until several towers of folded uniforms lay in front of them. The other man took a bundle off the top pile and handed it to Tarfus. “For Almesian Lybnis, eh? Between you an’ me, I don’t see what the Empress sees in ‘im. Guy’s a total toolbox.”
Tarfus stopped, half-turned. “The Empress?”
“Yeah, you hadn’t heard? Rumor has it she’s got a thing for the bipolar freak. Can’t imagine the Historian’s too pleased about that.”
“Historian? What, Lucida something-or-other?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. She’s been holding a torch for Lybnis for the longest time, and he’s too oblivious to see it. Dumb bastard.”
Tarfus forced a laugh. “Yeah, he ain’t the brightest lampfly. I’d better get back before he blows up or something,” he said, grabbing a second uniform and turning away again.
“Hey,” said the other man. Tarfus turned around again. “You need an auspistice for that kismesis of yours, lemme know. I’ve got a friend who’s got a talent for it.”
Tarfus paused, suddenly uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah. I think I’ll be okay, but thanks anyway.” He nodded at the other man one last time and strode away before he could receive any more unsolicited romantic assistance.
He grabbed a pair of maroon Cancer patches from a bin on his way out and allowed himself a tiny grin. He’d forgotten just how much gossip flew back and forth between cleaning staff. He’d expected to find something to wear, and ended up with a lead into just what the hell was going on in addition. So now he had some reasonable clothing, a name, and a place to start.
Step one: change into some real clothes.
Step two: find Almesian Lybnis again and grill that fucker for all he was worth.
Notes
Whoa, where'd all that worldbuilding come from? These things happen, I guess.
But the plot is finally moving forward, and Tarfus can finally stop being so useless and confused! Hooray!
And the romance shenanigans are probably only going to become more relevant. Seems to be an unavoidable part of any story involving the trolls. Oh well.
Oh! Spot the nerdy math reference in Almesian's name, win a prize.
@Red Pen- As much as Equius' project intrigues me, I can't help but feel more intrigued by the sandwich making arts of the laughssassins.
Indeed, peanutbutter-honey-minimarshmallow-banana-jellybean-creamcheese-bowtiepasta-bacon-chocolatesauce sandwiches will no doubt be vitally important to the overarching plot! Honestly, there is not a single problem that cannot be fixed by a properly bizarre sandwich.
@Red Pen- As much as Equius' project intrigues me, I can't help but feel more intrigued by the sandwich making arts of the laughssassins.
Indeed, peanutbutter-honey-minimarshmallow-banana-jellybean-creamcheese-bowtiepasta-bacon-chocolatesauce sandwiches will no doubt be vitally important to the overarching plot! Honestly, there is not a single problem that cannot be fixed by a properly bizarre sandwich.
@Rimbaum & Doodled & PingZing & battlerek: Where's that dat carapace smiley? That would be so appropriate here.
Thanks, and thanks for making everyone who doesn't read my fic wonder just exactly what's going on. Gunfights, hardboiledness, ass groping??? What is this Jim Groovester guy writing?
@battlerek: The city's getting pretty carved up there. Things are getting tense. Looking forward to more.
@RogerMexico: If only everybody had gone into their fury before Feferi had died. That might've solved all their problems. You've got a lot of dangling plot threads, and I'm looking forward to see what you do with them.
@Shadow of the Lotus: I like your take on the Felt. Since I write them a fair amount it's interesting to see what other people come up with. The Clover segment was especially fantastic.
@Quirk: An Imperial Drone fic? I never thought I'd see that. And they're drinking in a bar after a hard day's work? There's just something incredibly funny about that. Great fic.
@PingZing: Leibniz. What do I win what's the prize. Oh, dammit. I bet Tarfus is going to end up pumping Almethian for information and inadvertently become best fucking friends with that moody douche. Nice chapter. Liked seeing Tarfus being 'subtle'.
-- the Commandant Octavius came within hailing range of Colony world 125 --
-- grimAuxilliatrix [GA] began trolling arachnidsGrip [AG] --
GA: Hello Vriska How Are You
AG: Holy crap! Kanaya!
AG: I didn't know you were on 125. I would've talked to you sooner!
GA: Yes You Did
GA: When We Were Still Living On Alternia I Told You Multiple Times Where I Would Be Stationed After Recruitment However It Seems You Were Not Paying Attention
GA: Not That I Am Particularly Upset Or Anything I Just Thought I Would Mention It
AG: Well soooooooorry if I missed it, I was pro8a8ly doing other stuff.
AG: I used to have a lot of irons in the fire you know.
AG: So many irons. And you were just one iron! It's hard to keep track of one iron when you have so many.
GA: Yes I Was Aware Of Your Irons I Already Said I Was Not Upset
AG: In fact it was pro8a8ly your fault. You should have put some effort into 8eing a more interesting iron.
GA: Can We Stop Using This Iron Metaphor
GA: It Has Been Quite A While Since We Last Spoke Online Or Otherwise And I Do Not Wish To Spend Our Impromptu Reunion Being Compared To Your Hypothetical Blazing Ferric Objects
GA: You Said You Used To Have A Lot Of Those Do You Not Now
AG: Wow, way to skip right to the meddling.
GA: It Was An Innocuous Question
GA: To Be Fair You Brought It Up
AG: I guess so.
AG: Yeah, I don't have a lot of irons right now. I'm pretty 8ored actually!
AG: 8eing on the Commandant is all a8out honing your skills and training the upper classes to 8e gr8 military leaders and stuff. Every8ody up here was singled out when they were really young and given challenging lusii just like I was!
AG: So we're all a 8unch of 8acksta88ing 8lue 8loods and seadwellers all fighting this 8ig passive aggressive 8attle to gain the upper hand!
GA: That Doesnt Sound Very Boring To Me
AG: Well it wasn't at first. It was a lot of fun!
AG: 8ut now it's just sort of getting old.
AG: I've 8een doing stuff like this for my entire life anyway. There is only so much you can 8e the 8est at something 8efore it stops 8eing special.
AG: And all the other stuff I'm learning is just useless junk like etiquette and military tactics and UGH, people skills.
GA: Alright I Am Just Putting This Out There And You Dont Necessarily Have To Listen
GA: But Maybe You Should Be Paying Attention To That Kind Of Thing
GA: They Are Probably Teaching It To You For A Reason
AG: Yeah, to 8ore me to death!!!!!!!!
AG: There's hardly even any com8at training. Why can't we learn fun stuff like that?
GA: Well As Future Leaders Of The Fleet I Doubt You Will Encounter Much Hand To Hand Combat As You Will Have Troops For That
AG: 8ooooooooring.
AG: I don't need to know any of this. They should just give me a ship already and let me go out and have 8attles!
AG: Instead of just hanging around here forever with nothing to do.
AG: And no8ody to talk to 8ut Equius!
GA: Equius
GA: Is He On The Commandant I Was Not Aware
AG: No, he's on 362. You know, training to 8e a Ruffiahnihilator with all the other freakishly strong freaks.
AG: Man, how do you even need training for that? Can't they just point him in the right direction and tell him to start punching?
GA: I Am Certain There Are Nuances
AG: Yeah right!
AG: 8ut he is my only iron right now. Eridan has us 8oth working on a secret project.
GA: Is That So
AG: Yeah! I can't tell you anything a8out it. It's top secret!
GA: For Such An Important Secret You Sure Were Quick To Bring It Up
GA: Almost As If You Want Me To Beg You For Information Which I Will Not Do Out Of Respect For Your And Eridans Privacy
AG: Of course I don't want you to 8eg for information! Why would I want you to ask me a8out something that is so o8viously incredi8ly secret????????
GA: Alright Then
AG: You should just keep your meddley nose out of it.
AG: This 8ig secret that you are pro8a8ly so tempted to meddle in.
GA: To Be Honest I Am More Curious About How You Are Contacting Equius When He Is On Colony Planet 362
GA: But If That Is Also Part Of The Secret I Will Not Pry
AG: That is most definitely part of the secret. Don't ask a8out either of those things!
AG: Even though you must really want to.
AG: Your meddle instinct must 8e going crazy right now, wanting to know a8out my one and only fire iron.
GA: No Not Really
AG: Well good, because I'm not gonna tell you!
AG: No matter how much you 8eg, my lips are sealed.
GA: Then We Have Established That It Will Be Kept A Strict Secret And We Do Not Have To Talk About It Any More
AG: We sure don't!!!!!!!!
GA: Good
AG: Good. >::::I
AG: ........
AG: Ok, geeeeeeeeze, it's called the IG!
GA: I Did Not Ask
AG: We're working on it with this chat program Sollux set up. It runs on some ultra-secret sever that lets you chat with any8ody, no matter where they are.
GA: You Probably Shouldnt Be Telling Me This
AG: And the whole thing is set up for Feferi's 8ig takeover! Eridan asked me and Equius to make him a superweapon!
AG: Kind of like the ones we used to mess around with 8ack on Alternia, 8ut this one is a whole lot deadlier. And he's gonna use it against Her Imperial Condescension!
GA: Wait What
AG: Maaaaaaaan Kanaya, stop grilling me for information!
GA: I Was Not I Suspect You Just Wanted To Brag
AG: You so were!
AG: You tricked me into letting something slip with your slippery ways, you slippery slip8east!
GA: Im Not Sure There Is Such A Thing As A Slipbeast
AG: Well if there was you would 8e one!
AG: Talking in circles around me while I was 8eing all trusting and unsuspecting!
AG: How dum8 was I????????
GA: Sigh
GA: Doesnt Making A Superweapon With The Intent To Kill The Empress Seem A Little Bit Reckless To You
GA: I Am Not Telling You Not To Do It I Am Just Asking
AG: Ahaha, now who's curious? :::
AG: Sorry Kanaya, you're not gonna get another word out of me!
AG: I guess you'll just have to stay sadly uninformed.
GA: I Guess That Is Inevitable Then Isnt It
GA: In Any Case You Should Take Care Vriska It Would Be Unfortunate If You Were Executed For Treason
AG: Yeah yeah, 8oss me around why don't you.
GA: Not Everything I Say Is An Attempt To Boss You Around You Realize
GA: Sometimes It Is Just Friendly Concern
AG: Yeah yeah,"friendly concern" me around why don't you.
AG: Me and my one measly iron!
AG: Soooooooo 8ored.
AG: Are you as 8ored as I am out in this stupid empire? 125's a mining colony, right? That's pretty 8oring.
GA: It Is An Agricultural Colony Actually
AG: Meh, same thing.
GA: And It is Far From Boring I Quite Enjoy It Here
GA: The Sunlight Is Much Weaker And Very Pleasant And I Spend A Large Portion Of My Day Enjoying It In The Greenhouses
AG: 8ooooooooring!
GA: Many Of The Trolls Here Are Diurnal Like Myself I Have Plenty Of People To Talk To Who Share My Interests And I Am Incorporating Some Of The Flowering Plants We Grow Into Floral Designs For My Dresses
AG: 8lah 8lah 8lah dirt and sunshine.
AG: I'll 8et you're 8ored out of your skull, sitting around watching grass grow all day.
AG: Wow, I feel 8etter now, knowing some8ody out there has it worse than I do!
GA: It Isnt Boring
AG: Sure it is! Your job sucks, haha!
GA: It Does Not
GA: I Am Very Happy
GA: I Am Doing Work That I Love And I Have Plenty Of Free Time
GA: To
GA: Um
GA: To Spend With My Matesprit
AG: M8sprit?
GA: Yes
AG: You have a m8sprit????????
GA: Yes I Do
AG: 8ullshit, since when?!
GA: I Met Her Shortly After Arriving On This Planet
GA: She Too Is A Verdominator We Work Together Monitoring The Growth Of Experimental Breeds Of Vegetables
GA: She Is Very Interested In My Sketchbooks She Very Much Likes Fashion
AG: No way!
AG: You're lying. That's gotta 8e a lie. You don't h8ve a m8sprit!
GA: Would You Like To Read My Mind I Could Picture Her Very Clearly For You
GA: This Matesprit That I Most Definitely Have
AG: Now you're just 8luffing, you know I c8n't really get into your he8d.
AG: Fine then miss Smartyp8nts, wh8t's her n8me????????
GA: Um
GA: Bellaa Swanne
GA: Her Favorite Color Is Topaz The Color Of My Eyes
GA: Did I Mention That
AG: Everyone's eyes are t8paz!!!!!!!!
GA: But It Is Mine Specifically With Which She Is Enamored
GA: She Compliments Them Quite Often It Is Very Flattering
GA: She Compliments Me A Lot She Is Very In Love With Me
GA: Sometimes We Just Spend Hours Lying In The Sun And Talking About How In Love We Are
AG: 8ull
AG: Sh8t!!!!!!!!
GA: I Do Not Understand Why You Are So Upset About This
GA: It Should Not Effect Our Moiraillegiance
GA: I Will Always Be There For You In That Quadrant And I Think You Should Be Happy That I Am Happy
AG: I'm not ups8t. Wh8t m8de y8u th8nk I w8s ups8t????????
GA: Yes How Silly Of Me Clearly I Am Mistaken
GA: As You Have No Reason To Be Upset
GA: Moirail
GA:
AG: Okaaaaaaaay, yeah, you're right.
AG: I'm just 8eing dum8. I am happy that you're happy!
AG: It just sounded for a minute like you were making stuff up.
GA: I Assure You I Am Being Entirely Veracious
GA: Why Would I Make This Up
AG: I dunno, I guess I just always thought you kind of had a thing for........
AG: Nevermind.
AG: Congrats on your m8spritship.
GA: Thank You Vriska
GA: I Am Afraid I Must Leave Now I Have Things To Do
GA: It Was Nice Talking To You Again
AG: Yeah fine whatever you too.
GA: And Vriska
GA: Be Careful With Your Secret Project
GA: I Mean That In A Friend Way And Not A Bossy Way In Case That Wasnt Clear
AG: Don't worry a8out it. This weapon is kind of a 8ig deal, we're 8eing extra careful.
GA: Well Good Luck
GA: It Would Be Nice If You Succeeded I Think Feferi And Eridan Would Do A Satisfactory Job As Our Rulers
AG: Who cares who rules the Empire, I just like stirring things up. >:::
AG: See you around, Kanaya.
-- Subdeacon Payaso of the High Laughssassins [SPHL] ceased responding to gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
-- Acolyte Makara of the Lesser Laughssassins [AMLL] responded to gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
AMLL: HeY ThErE My mOtHeRfUcKeR.
AMLL: HaVe yOu rEcEiVeD SaLvAtIoN ThRoUgH ThE MoThErFuCkIn mIrThFuL MeSsIaHs? HoW CaN I Be aLl uP AnD HeLpIn a bRoThEr oR SiStEr oUt wItH ThOsE WiCkEd qUeStIoNs aBoUt rElIgIoN AnD ShIt?
GC: 1 4M NOT H3R3 TO T4LK 4BOUT YOUR W31RD CLOWN R3L1G1ON
GC: 1TS M3 YOU DUMMY >:]
AMLL: AwWwWw hEy tErEzI!
-- Acolyte Makara of the Lesser Laughssassins [AMLL] changed their handle to terminallyCapricious [TC] --
TC: )
GC: G4MZ33 YOU N33D TO G3T 4 COMPUT3R
GC: 1T 1S F4R TOO MUCH WORK TO G3T 4HOLD OF YOU >:I
TC: HaHaHaHa, SoRrY MoThErFuCkEr. yOu kNoW I CaN'T JuSt uP AnD Do tHaT.
TC: GoTtA ShUn tHaT SuPeRfLuOuS ShIt, It aIn't gOoD FoR YoUr sOuL.
GC: 1 M34N 1T GAMZ 1 4M RUNN1NG OUT OF JOK3S
TC: Aw sHiT SiStEr, ReAlLy? YoU?
TC: I ThOuGhT YoU HaD A BoTtOmLeSs sUpPlY A ThOsE MoThErFuCkErS!
GC: SO D1D 1!
GC: BUT 1T 1S G3TT1NG H4RD TO TH1NK OF R34LLY GOOD ON3S 1 H4V3N'T 4LR34DY TOLD
GC: YOUR SH1P H4S 4 V3RY D3M4ND1NG 4UD13NC3 4ND 1 4M US1NG UP 4LL MY B3ST M4T3R14L
TC: HaHa, NoW ThAt aIn't tHe mOtHeRfUcKiNg tRuTh! YoU KnOw sOmE Of uS JuSt lAuGh aT AnYfUcKiNtHiNg.
GC: Y34H YOURE R1GHT
GC: 1 4M PR3TTY MUCH JUST TRY1NG TO M4K3 YOU F33L B4D SO YOULL BUY 4 COMPUT3R
GC: 1S 1T WORK1NG
TC: NoPe.
GC: W3LL CR4P
GC: TH3R3 GO3S MY BR1LL14NT PL4N
TC: HaHa, SoOoOoRrY
TC: ThErE'S ShIt i jUsT GoTtA ReSpEcT, yOu kNoW?
TC: MoThErFuCkIn mEsSiAhS SaY If i wAnNa gEt mY HoLy mOtHeRfUcKiN SeRvItUdE On, I GoTtA KeEp mY DiStAnCe fRoM ThAt wOrLdLy uNcHiLl sHiT.
TC: BeSiDeS, SuBdEaCoN PaYaSo'd uP AnD FlAy mE AlIvE, hE FoUnD OuT I BrOkE SoMe mOtHeRfUcKiNg rUlE.
TC: AnD Uh
TC: JuSt bEtWeEn yOu aNd mE
TC: PaYaSo sCaReS ThE MoThErFuCkInG ShIt oUtTa mE.
GC: YOU M34N SUNGL4SS3S GUY
GC: >Bo(
TC: YeAh.
GC: G33Z3 G4MZ33 1 C4NT 1M4G1N3 WHY
GC: WH4T COULD POSS1BLY B3 SC4RY 4BOUT A PSYCHOT1C CLOWN
GC: 1T 1S TRULY 4 MYST3RY
TC: HaHaHa hOnK!
TC: YoU AiN'T GoTtA TeLl mE, gIrL. cLoWnS ArE ThE ShIt!
TC: GoIn oUt uNtO ThE WoRlD, sPrEaDiN ThE LaUgHtEr aNd aLl lIkE It's mOtHeRfUcKiN PeAnUt bUtTeR On a sAnDwIcH MaDe oF MiRaClEs
GC: 1 DON'T 3V3N KNOW WH4T YOU'R3 S4Y1NG 4NYMOR3
GC: BUT 1T SOUNDS D3L1C1OUS
TC: DaMn sIsTeR Me nEiThEr! NoW I GoT Me tHe mUnChIeS. )
GC: H3H3H3H3
GC: WHY 4R3 W3 T4LK1NG 4BOUT M1R4CL3 S4NDW1CH3S TH4T 1S NOT WHY 1 TROLL3D YOU 4T 4LL
GC: 1 H4V3 SOM3TH1NG R34LLY GR34T 1 W4S GO1NG TO T3LL YOU!! >:]
TC: NaAaAw sIsTeR JuSt
TC: YoU KnOw hOw yOu mAkE OnE Of tHoSe?
GC: 4 M1R4CL3 S4NDW1CH?
TC: YeAh, It's lIkE A MoThErFuCkIn sEcReT ReCiPe To bLiSs, GiRl. SaNdWiCh oF ThE GoDs jUsT GeTtIn iTs aMaZiNg oN AlL Up iN YoUr fUcKiN MoUtH.
TC: YoU GeT PeAnUt BuTtEr AnD HoNeY AnD ThOsE LiTtLe mInI MaRsHmAlLoW MoThErFuCkErS AnD A SmAsHeD Up bAnAnA
GC: 1 W1LL 4DM1T TH1S 1S SOUND1NG PR3TTY GOOD SO F4R
TC: AnD JeLlYbEaNs aNd cReAm cHeEsE AnD BoW-TiE SpAgHeTtI
GC: UM
TC: AnD BaCoN AnD ChOcOlAtE SaUcE
GC: OH WOW
TC: AnD ThEn, SiStEr, YoU MiX It aLl tHe mOtHeRfUcK ToGeThEr aNd sLaP It nIcE AnD CoZy bEtWeEn tWo sLiCeS Of bReAd.......
TC: AnD YoU GrIlL
TC: ThE
TC: ShIt
TC: OuT Of iT.
TC: MoThErFuCkIn mAgIc.
GC: Y34H WOW 1 DON'T 3V3N KNOW HOW TO R3SPOND TO TH4T
GC: MY H34D S4YS NO BUT MY STOM4CH S4YS Y3S
TC: TeReZi yOu gOtTa hOp a sHuTtLe oVeR To tHe bLaCk cAtHeDrAl sOmE TiMe. GeT YoUr cHiLl oN AnD We cAn jUsT BaKe sHiT.
GC: H3H3H3 1M SUR3 LOTS OF TH1NGS 4R3 G3TT1NG B4K3D OV3R TH3R3 G4MZ33 >:]
TC: I MeAn iT MoThErFuCkEr! I wIlL Up aNd lEt yOu iN On tHeSe mAd rEcIpEs i bEeN InVeNtInG. wAkIn uP In tHe mIdDlE Of tHe dAy wItH ThE WiCkEd mOtHeRfUcKiN CrAvInGs fOr lIkE
TC: GrUb sAuCe oN ToAsT Or sOmE ShIt.
GC: OK4Y BUT G4MZ33
TC: I MeAn fUcK, gIrL, hOw dO I EvEn aLl uP AnD ThInK Of tHaT DeLiCiOuS SnAcKaGe? JuSt hItS Me lIkE A MoThErFuCkIn mIrAcLe.
GC: G4MZ33
TC: FuUuUuUcK HoW DoEs tHaT EvEn wOrK
GC: W3LL DONT SP4C3 OUT 4BOUT 1T 1 W4S K1ND OF 3NJOY1NG H4V1NG 4 COH3R3NT CONV3RS4T1ON W1TH YOU FOR ONC3
GC: 3V3N 1F 1T W4S 4BOUT S4NDW1CH3S
TC: HaHaHa, WeLl nOw i wAnNa gO MaKe mE A SaNdWiCh.
GC: 4ND 1 GU3SS FOR 4 G1V3N V4LU3 OF COH3R3NT. >:/
GC: BUT 4G41N TH1S 1S NOT WHY 1 TROLL3D YOU
GC: STOP D1STR4CT1NG M3 W1TH YOUR T4NT4L1Z1NG GR4P3 J3LLY WORDS 1 W4S GO1NG TO T3LL YOU SOM3TH1NG 1MPOR4NT!
GC: 1 H4V3 V3RY 3XC1T1NG N3WS!!! >:]
TC: ShIt gIrL, sChOoLfEeD Me!
GC: 1 H4V3 B33N G1V3N................
GC: .............
GC: ....................
GC: ..............................
GC: ....................
GC: .............
GC: .....
GC: ...
GC: G4MZ33 DONT YOU W4NT TO KNOW WH4T 1 H4V3 B33N G1V3N
GC: OH G33Z3 4R3 YOU ST1LL TH3R3
TC: WhAt?
TC: Aw yEaH, MoThErFuCkEr, BuT I FiGuRe yOu cAn uP AnD TeLl mE WhEn yOu'rE ReAdY. )
GC: YOU 4R3 NO FUN TO T34S3 >:[
GC: OK4Y F1N3 1 W1LL T3LL YOU.
GC: 1 H4V3 B33N G1V3N.....
GC: MY F1RST C4S3!!! >
TC: WhOoOoAh gOoD FoR YoU, gIrL!
TC: TeReZi aLl lEgIsLaCeRaTiN Up iN HeRe!
TC: HoNk hOnK!
GC: H3H3H3H3 YOU KNOW 1T!
GC: MY F1RST B1G C4S3 4S 4 PROS3CUTOR!
GC: TH3 GUY ON TR14L 1S 4 R34L SCUMB4G
GC: 3MB3ZZL3M3NT 4ND F4LS1F1C4T1ON OF DOCUM3NTS 4ND 1MP3RSON4T1NG ROY4LTY
GC: 1MP3RSON4T1NG ROY4TLY HOW LOW C4N YOU S1NK
GC: (TH4T W4S 4 F1SH PUN D1D YOU C4TCH 1T)
GC: (H3H3H3H3 TH4T W4S 4NOTH3R ON3)
TC: HaHaHaHa hOnK!
GC: TH3 R33K OF H1S GU1LT D1SGUSTS M3 3V3N NOW
TC: WhAt's iT SmElL LiKe?
GC: G4SOL1N3 >:P
TC: WhOa
GC: 1T W1LL B3 SO MUCH FUN BR1NG1NG H1M TO JUST1C3! >:]
GC: DO YOU KNOW WHAT H1S HONOR4BL3 TYR4NNY S41D WH3N H3 PUT M3 ON TH3 C4S3?
GC: H3 S41D 1 R34LLY STOOD OUT FROM 4LL TH3 OTH3R N3W R3CRU1TS D3SP1T3 MY "D1S4B1L1TY"
GC: 4ND H3 W4NT3D TO G1V3 M3 TH3 OPPORTUN1TY TO SH1N3.
GC: H1S HON4BL3 TYR4NNY THOUGHT OF M3 P3RSON4LLY G4MZ33!!
GC: H3 S4YS 1 4M GO1NG TO B3 SOM3TH1NG GR34T!!!
TC: GiRl, ThAt's tIgHt. My mAiN SiStEr aLl uP AnD BrInGiN JuStIcE To sHiT.
GC: Y3S 1 W1LL BR1NG JUST1C3 TO SH1T
GC: TH3 SH1T THOUGHT 1T COULD 3SC4P3 FROM JUST1C3 BUT 1T D1D NOT COUNT ON M3
TC: YoU ShOw tHaT ShIt!
TC: BuUuUt uH, mAyBe fIrSt yOu sHoUlD BrInG JuStIcE To tHaT MoThErFuCkEr yOu wErE JaWiN AbOuT EaRlIeR?
GC: >:/
GC: Y3S G4MZ33
GC: TH3 SH1T W1LL H4V3 TO W41T WH1L3 1 D34L W1TH H1M
GC: GOOD TH1NG YOU C4UGHT TH4T
GC: BUT FORG3T 4BOUT TH4T C4N 1 4SK YOU FOR 4 F4VOR
TC: ShOoT GiRl, I GoT My lIsTeN On.
GC: W3LL 4S 4 L3G1SL4C3R4TOR ON3 OF MY DUT13S 1S TO S3NT3NC3 CR1M1N4LS TO TH31R JUST F4T3
GC: 4ND S331NG 4S TH1S 1S MY F1RST TR14L 1 WOULD L1K3 TO 3ND 1T W1TH 4 B4NG 4ND R34LLY 1MPR3SS H1S HONOR4BL3 TYR4NNY.
GC: SOOOOOO...
GC: 4COLYT3 M4K4R4 OF TH3 L3SS3R L4UGHSS4SS1NS
GC: WOULD YOU L1K3 TH3 HONOR OF B31NG MY 3X3CUT1ON3R?
TC: FuCk yEs!!!
GC: ...DO YOU KNOW WH4T 4N 3X3CUT1ON3R 1S
TC: NaW BuT It sOuNdS PrEtTy bItChIn.
GC: W3LL TH3 B4S1C 1D34 1S TH4T YOU CULL TH3 SCUMB4G 4FT3R 1 PRONOUNC3 H1M GU1LTY
GC: NOT M4NY L3G1SL4C3R4TORS H4V3 TH3 R3SOURC3S TO S3NT3NC3 SOM3ON3 TO B3 SUBJUGGL4T3D
GC: 3V3N THOUGH OUR SH1PS H4V3 4N 4LL14NC3 TO 4SK 4 P3RSON4L F4VOR FROM 4 SUBJUGGL4TOR 1S 4 R34LLY B1G D34L 4ND 1T W1LL C3RT4INLY M4K3 M3 ST4ND OUT 4S ON3 OF TH3 B3ST OF TH3 B3ST >:]
GC: WH4T DO YOU S4Y G4MZ33 W1LL YOU H3LP 4 G1RL OUT???
TC: WeLl uH, I AiN'T A SuBjUgGlAtOr yEt. JuSt aN AcOlYtE.
TC: I MeAn I Am.
TC: CaUsE OnCe yOu gEt tHaT MoThErFuCkInG CaLlInG YoU JuSt kNoW ThAt's wHaT YoU AlWaYs uP AnD BeEn.
TC: BuT I AiN'T EaRnEd iT yeT, yOu kNoW?
GC: TH4T WONT M4TT3R TO TH3 COURTBLOCK
GC: 1F YOU 4R3 FROM TH3 BL4CK C4TH3DR4L YOU 4R3 3NOUGH OF 4 SUBJUGGL4TOR FOR TH3M
TC: YeAh, I'Ll dO ThAt!
TC: I ThInK PaYaSo aNd tHeM AiN'T ToO ChIlL WiTh mE, jUsT Up aNd dOiN NoThIn aLl dAy. BeT ThEy'd lIkE It iF I CuLlEd sOmE MoThErFuCkEr wHaT Up aNd dEsErVeD It, GeT OfF My bAcK A BiT.
TC: CaN I UsE My sPeCiAl sPeCiBuS?
GC: G4MZ33 YOU C4N US3 WH4T3V3R YOU W4NT >:]
GC: TH4NK YOU TH1S W1LL H3LP M3 OUT 4 LOT!!!
TC: HoOoOnK! )
GC: NOW TH3N
GC: T3LL M3 MOR3 4BOUT TH3S3 M1R4CL3 S4NDW1CH3S
-- adiosToreador [AT] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
AT: hEY,
AT: uH,
AT: kARKAT,
CG: THE FUCK DO YOU WANT.
AT: nOTHING, i JUST GOT UP AND, uH, SAW THAT YOU WERE ONLINE,
AT: aND SINCE YOU'RE PRETTY MUCH NEVER ONLINE WHEN I AM, i THOUGHT, mAYBE WE COULD TALK,
AT: oR, uHH, iF YOU DON'T WANT TO, i GUESS THAT WOULD BE OKAY TOO,
CG: NO. I DO NOT HAVE THE ENERGY OR THE MOTIVATION TO PUT UP WITH THE COMMA-RIDDEN KEYBOARD SEIZURES YOU CALL TYPING RIGHT NOW.
CG: BECAUSE HEY! HERE'S SOME CRAZY NEWS!
CG: YOU KNOW WHERE THE SUN GOES WHEN IT'S NOT ON YOUR SIDE OF THE PLANET?
CG: IT ENDS UP ON MY SIDE OF THE PLANET! ISN'T THAT AMAZING! AREN'T YOU JUST STUNNED BY THIS FUCKING AMAZING DEVELOPMENT?
AT: uM,
CG: IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY HERE, DIPSHIT.
CG: I'VE BEEN SPARRING ALL NIGHT.
CG: I'M EXHAUSTED.
CG: NOT EVERYBODY HAS IT AS EASY AS THE FUCKING PONY CORPS.
AT: wELL, tHAT'S PROBABLY TRUE, eVEN IF YOU MAYBE DIDN'T HAVE TO WORD IT LIKE THAT,
AT: iT'S A LOT EASIER FOR ME THAN THE OTHER RECRUITS,
AT: bECAUSE OF, uHH, tHE ANIMAL COMMUNION THING, i GUESS,
CG: OK TAVROS, I REALLY, *REALLY* DON'T CARE.
CG: YOU'RE NOT DEAD YET; I CAN FIRE OFF THE TWO MEASLY BRAIN CELLS REQUIRED TO REALIZE THAT YOU'RE DOING FINE.
CG: BUT MY RECUPERACOON.
CG: IT CALLS TO ME.
AT: oH, oK,
AT: uHH, bEFORE YOU LOG OFF THOUGH,
CG: OH GOD WHAT NOW.
AT: i THINK, i SHOULD MENTION,
AT: tHAT MY TRAINING, fOR THE CAVALREAPERS, iS GOING TO BE FINISHED IN ANOTHER COUPLE OF DAYS,
AT: aND THEY'RE SENDING MY SQUAD TO THE WARFRONT ON, uH,
AT: wELL I GUESS COLONY WORLD 1025, iS WHAT THEY'RE GOING TO CALL IT, wHEN WE COLONIZE IT,
CG: OH, HUH. REALLY?
CG: CONGRATULATIONS, MAN. I'VE STILL GOT THREE MORE WEEKS.
AT: yEAH, i KNOW,
AT: bUT THEY'LL PROBABLY SEND YOU TO 1025, wHEN YOU'RE DONE, bECAUSE OF ALL THE HOSTILES, rESISTING COLONIZATION,
AT: sO MAYBE I'LL SEE YOU THERE,
CG: JUST MAKE SURE YOU LEAVE SOMETHING FOR ME TO KILL.
AT: i'M NOT SURE HOW MUCH, cONTROL OVER THAT I'LL HAVE,
AT: bUT OK,
CG: OH...
CG: AND DON'T DIE, I GUESS.
-- twinArmageddons [TA] logged on to server: Fold2pace --
-- arachnidsGrip [AG] logged on to server: Fold2pace --
-- apocalypseArisen [AA] logged on to server: Fold2pace --
-- centaursTesticle [CT] logged on to server: Fold2pace --
TA: alriight guy2, 2tatu2 report.
AA: after pr0curing a new huskt0p i have been running the pr0gram n0nst0p f0r several days
AA: n0 further expl0si0ns have 0ccured
AG: No pro8lems on my end!
CT: D--> Indeed
CT: D--> My computer has e%perienced no ill effects
AG: And would you look at that, mister paaaaaaaaranoid. None of us have 8een horri8ly mutated by space radiation!
TA: you 2ure vk?
TA: you were kiind of ugly already 2o iit miight be hard two tell.
AG: Oh ha ha ha.
AG: I'll let that one slide, cause it's pro8a8ly pretty hard to see me with those stro8e lights on your face.
TA: at lea2t ii have two of them.
AA: c0uld we n0t have this argument right n0w
AA: is that a thing we c0uld p0ssibly d0
TA: whatever.
TA: iit wa2 a valiid concern, we are defyiing the law2 of phy2iic2 iin 2o many horriible way2.
TA: ii 2wear troll i2aac newton ii2 probably rolliing iin hi2 grave riight now.
CT: D--> Nonetheless, the program is sound
CT: D--> You are to be commended for your e%pertise, lowb100d
CT: D--> I commend you
TA: gee thank2.
CT: D--> Yes
CT: D--> Both you and Aradia have risen admirably to the task
CT: D--> Despite your natural disadvantages
TA: you know ii hone2tly cant tell iif that wa2 a compliiment.
CT: D--> It was meant to be
AG: Well good, are we done?
AG: It's pretty o8vious nothing's gonna go horri8ly wrong, so it's kind of stupid to keep testing.
TA: aa?
AA: the v0ices are certain that we have d0ne all we can t0 satisfy predestiny
AA: whether the pr0gram suceeds 0r fails it will d0 s0 because it was destined t0
AA: regardless 0f c0mputer err0r 0r lack there0f
AG: Gr8!
AG: Now say that again 8ut without all the fancy schmancy mystical 8ullshit.
AA: 0_0
AA: the v0ices in my head say it will w0rk
AA: unless its destined n0t t0 in which case we cant really d0 anything ab0ut it anyway
TA: that ii2 ju2t 2o encouragiing.
TA: ii gue22 that mean2 iit2 tiime two tell captaiin iimpatiient hii2 program ii2 ready.
TA: al2o, ii can't beliive iim 2ayiing thii2 but you guy2 were really profe22iional about thii2.
TA: not telliing anybody out2iide the loop or anythiing.
CT: D--> Er
TA: whiich ii2 kiind of 2urprii2iing, but uh, good job.
AG: And you dou8ted us. >:::
AG: Paaaaaaaaranooooooooid.
TA: con2iideriing all the many MANY rea2on2 ii had two doubt you, vk
TA: yeah, not really 2omethiing two gloat about.
AG: Well I didn't tell anyone, did I? You are soooooooo paranoid and o8sessive and I think I deserve more credit than that!
AG: Geeze, it's like you expected me to 8la8 to the first person I talked to, which, hey, I didn't do!
TA: ok ii admiit ii wa2 beiing kiind of a jerk two both of you.
CT: D--> Yes
CT: D--> It is proper for you to apo100gize
CT: D--> Such detestable mistrust of your superiors is una%ceptable
CT: D--> But the important thing is that the secret has been kept
-- arsenicCatnip [AC] logged on to server: Fold2pace --
TA: oh my god what.
AG: 8ussssssssteeeeeeeed.
CT: D--> Fiddlesticks
AC: :33 < *ac leaps down from the branch of a tall tr33 and bares her fangs*
AC: :33 < *she eyes her startled prey*
AC: :33 < *and with a flick of her tail she pounces on the thr33 unsuspecting trolls!*
CT: D--> Nepeta
CT: D--> Did I not e%pressly tell you never to log on to this server unless I invite you
AC: :33 < *she tackles her boring no-fun meowrail to the ground and says maaaaaaaybe*
CT: D--> Yes
CT: D--> I did
CT: D--> You should not be here
TA: no 2hiit 2he 2houldnt!
TA: ii told you two keep thii2 a 2ecret!
AC: :33 < aw but sollux!
AC: :33 < you didnt mean meeeee right?
AC: :33 < *ac says with her biggest roundest eyes*
CT: D--> Clearly Nepeta is e%empt from your 100dicrous vow of secrecy
CT: D--> I have no secrets from her
AC: :33 < *she crinkles her nose a bit distastefully and mutters sometimes i wish you did!*
CT: D--> Silence
AC: :33 < *ac mimes it instead*
TA: ii cant beliieve you people!
TA: get her out of my fuckiing 2erver eq!
AG: Haha, nice going Equius. All this time Sollux was worried I'D 8e the one to mess things up.
AG: And now heeeeeeeere we are. :::
AA: t0 be fair y0u did tell kanaya
TA: FUCKIING HELL.
AG: Y8u lying little snitch! >::::P
AA: 0_0
AA: which am i
AA: a liar 0r a snitch
AG: What?
AA: if i was a liar i c0uldnt be a snitch because i w0uldnt be telling 0n y0u whereas if i was a snitch i w0uld be giving accurate inf0rmati0n ab0ut y0ur misdeeds which means i w0uldnt be a liar
AC: :33 < h33 h33!
AG: Oh f8ck you and your stupid l8gic!
AG: I only l8t it slip to 8ne person! H8w'd you 8ven kn8w????????
TA: 2he2 p2ychic you moron.
TA: god damn iit, why diid ii even thiink for one miinute that thii2 wouldnt happen??
TA: real briight there 2ollux, let2 ju2t get the two back2tabbiing blueblood2 two be our beta te2ter2, no way ii2 that goiing two backfiire horribly!!
AC: :33 < maybe i should leave? this is purrobably a bad time
TA: ju2t
TA: ju2t dont tell anyone, ok np?
AC: :33 < *ac has already furgotten all about this silly foldspace thing*
AC: :33 < *she s33s something shiny in the distance and darts off to chase it!*
-- arsenicCatnip [AC] logged off the server --
TA: now everybody off the 2erver.
CT: D--> I hardly see how this warrants the fit you are throwing
TA: ii 2aiid
TA: get the fuck off
TA: my motherfuckiing 2erver!!
@Red Pen: you may have already noticed, but bits of this series have entered my headcanon and have infiltrated Re: Champion. This is because The End And What Comes After is great. This is a good series and I'm already anticipating the next part.
@PingZing: you are quickly outclassing me at writing ancestorfic and it shows (not that I was ever winning but hey!). There are little details I'm noticing in Hot Blooded that I would have never thought to include in Re: Champion. I might have to stop reading this, but only to keep myself from subconsciously aping everything you're doing (don't ever stop)
@RogerMexico: this series gets more intriguing with every new part. Can't wait for the next installment!
@Quirk: welcome to my headcanon, enjoy your stay. Seriously the drones having a bar where they apparently down shots of sulfuric acid just might be the best thing.
As for what I'm up to, as if anyone cares: I was flipping through prompts on Captchalogue when I read one and immediately thought "I have to write this." It will be my triumphant return to feel-good K/T fic, that much I can assure you. There will not be a dry eye in the thread when I'm done with this thing if I have any say in the matter. Okay, I don't have that much faith in my writing abilities but damnit, this is definitely not something I'm going to half-ass.
So that's why I haven't written so much as a damn word of the next chapter of Re: Champion
The troll nervously pushed forward a piece of paperwork across the desk.
The drone, with six horns and chitinous armor, slammed his clawed fist onto the paperwork and pulled it towards him. He picked the paperwork up between his claws, and began scanning it line by line. He exhaled roughly, a low rumbling filling the office.
The drone turned his head upwards inquisitively and clicked his mandibles.
“Uh...” The troll stammered. “I’m filing for renewal, not a new permit.”
The drone rasped a thunderous grunt in acknowledgment. He continued scanning the paperwork.
The troll nervously began fidgeting with his fingers.
The drone narrowed his eyes at one line in particular. He stood up from his desk, and walked towards a larger drone. The pair of drones, one the bureaucrat, the other, his supervisor, clicked their mandibles and grunted thunderously and rumbled in rapid conversation.
Eventually, they stopped. Their gaze turned towards the troll who was now fearfully clutching his chair. They began slowly walking towards the troll.
“No! Please, no!” The troll begged. “Please tell me what I did wrong! I can fix it!”
The troll's pleas fell on uncaring auditory receptors as the pair of drones wandered around the desk and ripped the troll apart. A smaller drone gathered the limbs and deposited them down a nearby chute.
The drone returned to his seat in front of his desk. The drone rang the bell on his desk as his mandibles vibrated and he roared loudly.
The next troll in line sat down in the chair. She nervously pushed a piece of paperwork forward. “I, uh, also would like to renew a fishing permit.”
The drone pointed behind the troll to a sign. It read, “FILLING OUT PAPERWORK INCORRECTLY IS GROUNDS FOR IMMEDIATE CULLING.”
The troll gulped. “I know.”
So, I guess Imperial Drones are civil servants? Is that the upshot of this update?
I guess this little fic is me working out frustrations I have with how dismally stupid troll society is to let a bunch of monsters run the bureaucracy of their government.
John released the hug with his father after what seemed, to him, like an eternity. Which was appropriate, really - knowing that for the first time, he wouldn’t just be returning to the pogo ride and swing set he knew. It was a little upsetting, and if he were honest, he’d admit that he was still having doubts about this, but this was too good to miss. As his father climbed back into the car, John was left standing at the entrance to the train station.
Bustling though it was - and it had to be, they’d driven all the way to the city centre to do it - John had a fairly rigid idea in his mind of where to go, and as such, he began dragging his luggage across the cold floor. It wasn’t too arduous, the luggage only containing what he thought he’d need to make it feel like home where he was headed - and the wheels on the bottom were always good. It always felt a little bit sacrilegious to roll up Nic Cage and Morgan Freeman to shove them into the side pockets, but it was a necessary evil. How he’d live without them is certainly not something he would hope to never have to consider. There were a few personal touches, too - his trick handcuffs were swaddled securely in one of his tees, his fake blood capsules in one of the pockets of his pants, smoke pellets stashed at the end of his spare shoes. No matter where he was headed, he would ALWAYS be the pranking master.
Puberty hadn’t exactly hit him hard yet, and he was more-or-less the same as he always was, if slightly taller. He was a little embarrassed about this, but it wasn’t a huge problem, and he didn’t really mind not turning into a musclebound hulk like some of the boys at his old school - well, as close as you can come at fourteen. His birthday had been as sweet a haul as it had been every year. Better, in some respects. Less disappointing, perhaps. But he could live with that, and he figured that eventually he could begin working on looking like his idols. Which was vaguely relevant - Con Air was still one of his all-time favorite movies, and he was growing his hair out in a vague attempt to be as manly as Nic Cage. By this time, it was hanging down just to his chin, something he was a little concerned about at the moment. Without the stubble to back it up, it almost seemed a little feminine, but it would be worth it in the future. His experiments with sharpie stubble had proved to be a failure.
Occasionally bumped by people leaving the station, he was still a little overwhelmed by the number of people. Suburbia was never this rushed or panicky, and he never really had any reason to leave the area. He’d had friends, sure, but he was never the kind to head into the city centre to watch a movie, when there were plenty of smaller ones closer to home. And were it not for the invention of the internet, he wouldn’t even know what his best friends looked like. But it didn’t matter - the four of them, despite being thousands of miles away, were inseparable. A fact which was about to be demonstrated today.
He smiled as he boarded the train, glancing around for an empty seat in his normal, earnest way. It was a fairly empty train - it would be, considering how far it was headed, with no stops on the way, but there were enough people to make sure running this route would be worthwhile. The four of them, living thousands of miles apart, would all be arriving at the same time - as, presumably, would be the rest of the attendants. It was a little nerve-wracking, he admitted as he took a seat, knowing that soon, he’d be surrounded by hundreds of other people, all the time, every day. But it would be worth it. He could already picture all of the wacky antics the four of them would get up t-
Midway through that train of thought, John was interrupted by his sleeves. This wasn’t supposed to happen any more, but sometimes, even now, when he wasn’t paying enough attention, the playing cards would just rocket out. In a bit of a panic, he began trying to catch and gather them up - someone might get a decent look at how it was working, and then he’d be in big trouble with the Magicians Guild. If there was one. And he was part of it. Neither of which were true. So, furiously trying to both obscure the view from the other passengers, stop the mechanism, and gather the already ejected cards without making things worse, he totally fails to notice the red-headed girl who was about to take a seat. And, with that, he tripped over her foot, managing to stumble a bit and not quite land on his face.
“Ow,” he said, intelligibly. The girl, her hair back in a low ponytail, gave a little giggle at that. John’s nervous grin back was really strained, and it would be. There would be a nice shiny bruise to deal with tomorrow where his head hit the floor, and his wrist hadn’t taken the landing brilliantly either. The girl smiled a little, offering a hand to him, which he took with his slightly-less-suffering hand. She helps pull him up, and smiles.
“Sorry. You’re headed to...?” she said, her heavily accented voice tapering off.
“Oh, um. Blackhall High,” he said, a bit of a nervous quaver in his voice. His nervous grin - made slightly dorkier by the recent addition of braces - trembled a little as the girl eyed him up and down. After a few moments, her smile widens.
“Me too! Ah’m... ah shouldn’t be looking forward to it so much, but oh, my, god, am ah happy to finally, like, get away from home!”
John’s confused frown provoked another laugh from the girl, who grinned. “Hah, sorry, sometimes ah just assume every-one's like me. Interstate school means no sis, no mom. It’s brilliant.” She grins again, over-bouncy exuberance shining through.
“Oh, wow, um, hah. Nah, my dad is great! I mean. When he’s not shoving clowns in my face, or whatever. He’s obsessed! I mean, I think he gets a bit too caught up in them sometimes, I mean, well, there was this one time when we were at Cirque Du Soleil, and-”
He came to a halt as he realised the girl was laughing again. Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his head, grinning. His buck teeth were still fairly prominent, and they rubbed his lower lip as he blushed once more.
“No, don’t stop! It sounded interesting!” she said, grinning widely, which only served to make John blush futher, a loose bang falling in front of his eye.
“... so, um. I didn’t get your name?” he said, vaguely hoping to turn the conversation away from the awkward mess it had devolved into for him.
“Ah’m Emily Lauren Walker,” she says, holding out a hand. John eyed it carefully, searching for any kind of trick, hoping that his prankster’s eye would be keen enough to spot anything...
… and it turns out not to be. As he gripped it, John yelps in pain as a tiny jolt passes from the concealed device in Emily’s hand. “GogDAMNIT!” he said, shaking his hand furiously, trying to get some feeling back. Emily began cackling furiously, and at that, John narrowed his eyes. This was clearly the beginning of something. Oh, his prankster’s gambit was lower now, but just wait and see...
A minute more of laughing continued, with John sucking on his electrocuted fingertips the whole time. Eventually he felt able to take them out, and he smiled ominously. “So is that your real name?”
“Yahuh. Why would ah lie? It’ll be on the role there, so it ain’t like ah can keep ya fooled for long.”
“Right. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily! I’m John,” he said, an eye out for any weak spots, vulnerabilities. She must have known he was a trickster - with the cards flying everywhere, it would have been hard to assume otherwise. He knew, he just knew in his bones that she was eying him up, looking to flounce her superior prankster skills. But he knew she wouldn’t. He was the pranking master. Her time was running out.
His own wandering eye homed in on a patch of bluish teal peeking out of a corner of Emily’s luggage, and at that, he grinned. She had learned her tricks from the best, yes - but he, HE had Sassacre’s genes. The tricks that she knew were buried in that tome somewhere, and if he dug deep enough, he would have the upper hand.
The troll nervously pushed forward a piece of paperwork across the desk.
The drone, with six horns and chitinous armor, slammed his clawed fist onto the paperwork and pulled it towards him. He picked the paperwork up between his claws, and began scanning it line by line. He exhaled roughly, a low rumbling filling the office.
The drone turned his head upwards inquisitively and clicked his mandibles.
“Uh...” The troll stammered. “I’m filing for renewal, not a new permit.”
The drone rasped a thunderous grunt in acknowledgment. He continued scanning the paperwork.
The troll nervously began fidgeting with his fingers.
The drone narrowed his eyes at one line in particular. He stood up from his desk, and walked towards a larger drone. The pair of drones, one the bureaucrat, the other, his supervisor, clicked their mandibles and grunted thunderously and rumbled in rapid conversation.
Eventually, they stopped. Their gaze turned towards the troll who was now fearfully clutching his chair. They began slowly walking towards the troll.
“No! Please, no!” The troll begged. “Please tell me what I did wrong! I can fix it!”
The troll's pleas fell on uncaring auditory receptors as the pair of drones wandered around the desk and ripped the troll apart. A smaller drone gathered the limbs and deposited them down a nearby chute.
The drone returned to his seat in front of his desk. The drone rang the bell on his desk as his mandibles vibrated and he roared loudly.
The next troll in line sat down in the chair. She nervously pushed a piece of paperwork forward. “I, uh, also would like to renew a fishing permit.”
The drone pointed behind the troll to a sign. It read, “FILLING OUT PAPERWORK INCORRECTLY IS GROUNDS FOR IMMEDIATE CULLING.”
The troll gulped. “I know.”
So, I guess Imperial Drones are civil servants? Is that the upshot of this update?
I guess this little fic is me working out frustrations I have with how dismally stupid troll society is to let a bunch of monsters run the bureaucracy of their government.
O_O
...
Wow.
In dedication to Nepeta Leijon: The best meowrail anyone could ask for AO3TindeckTumblr
I actually have a really bizarre theory, but no time to write it.
so as we saw, His Honourable Tyrrany is red. He is also bloody horrific. We also know that this takes place FAR in the past, and since then Troll society has changed a good deal (troll adults no longer live on-planet; subjuggalators are no longer a thing)
so what if being a candy-red used to entail a fate worse than culling? After all, drones presumably are 1. engineered creatures and 2. have to maintain some level of intelligence.
Worse yet, what if it's not necessarily engineering? what if being a candy-red means you're likely to just start mutating into ... well, that once you reach a certain age? The drone engineering just speeds the process, allowing for greater size and strength.
So I'm just going to leave that thought here for you to consider.
Dude, I am a living nightmare fuel factory okay? Seriously my most popular fics on Ao3 are, in order:
- Dave Lalonde gets PTSD from watching his two best friends die and then ends up getting his soul ripped out by a horrorterror; later Teal!Feferi becomes half horrorterror tries to kill everyone, also Purple!Sollux has dissociative identity disorder and also decides to murder everyone.
- Everyone turns into horrorterrors after they die and spend eternity singing about how they failed to beat Sburb
- The Scratch turns the game into an unending cycle where everybody just repeats the same actions over and over in different incarnations and never win.
Like I basically sit here and generate lack of sleep for the forums.
*e* Also if nobody else writes that thing I just proposed, in four days I'll do it anyway because finals will be over at last.
The troll nervously pushed forward a piece of paperwork across the desk.
The drone, with six horns and chitinous armor, slammed his clawed fist onto the paperwork and pulled it towards him. He picked the paperwork up between his claws, and began scanning it line by line. He exhaled roughly, a low rumbling filling the office.
The drone turned his head upwards inquisitively and clicked his mandibles.
“Uh...” The troll stammered. “I’m filing for renewal, not a new permit.”
The drone rasped a thunderous grunt in acknowledgment. He continued scanning the paperwork.
The troll nervously began fidgeting with his fingers.
The drone narrowed his eyes at one line in particular. He stood up from his desk, and walked towards a larger drone. The pair of drones, one the bureaucrat, the other, his supervisor, clicked their mandibles and grunted thunderously and rumbled in rapid conversation.
Eventually, they stopped. Their gaze turned towards the troll who was now fearfully clutching his chair. They began slowly walking towards the troll.
“No! Please, no!” The troll begged. “Please tell me what I did wrong! I can fix it!”
The troll's pleas fell on uncaring auditory receptors as the pair of drones wandered around the desk and ripped the troll apart. A smaller drone gathered the limbs and deposited them down a nearby chute.
The drone returned to his seat in front of his desk. The drone rang the bell on his desk as his mandibles vibrated and he roared loudly.
The next troll in line sat down in the chair. She nervously pushed a piece of paperwork forward. “I, uh, also would like to renew a fishing permit.”
The drone pointed behind the troll to a sign. It read, “FILLING OUT PAPERWORK INCORRECTLY IS GROUNDS FOR IMMEDIATE CULLING.”
The troll gulped. “I know.”
So, I guess Imperial Drones are civil servants? Is that the upshot of this update?
I guess this little fic is me working out frustrations I have with how dismally stupid troll society is to let a bunch of monsters run the bureaucracy of their government.
The troll nervously pushed forward a piece of paperwork across the desk.
The drone, with six horns and chitinous armor, slammed his clawed fist onto the paperwork and pulled it towards him. He picked the paperwork up between his claws, and began scanning it line by line. He exhaled roughly, a low rumbling filling the office.
The drone turned his head upwards inquisitively and clicked his mandibles.
“Uh...” The troll stammered. “I’m filing for renewal, not a new permit.”
The drone rasped a thunderous grunt in acknowledgment. He continued scanning the paperwork.
The troll nervously began fidgeting with his fingers.
The drone narrowed his eyes at one line in particular. He stood up from his desk, and walked towards a larger drone. The pair of drones, one the bureaucrat, the other, his supervisor, clicked their mandibles and grunted thunderously and rumbled in rapid conversation.
Eventually, they stopped. Their gaze turned towards the troll who was now fearfully clutching his chair. They began slowly walking towards the troll.
“No! Please, no!” The troll begged. “Please tell me what I did wrong! I can fix it!”
The troll's pleas fell on uncaring auditory receptors as the pair of drones wandered around the desk and ripped the troll apart. A smaller drone gathered the limbs and deposited them down a nearby chute.
The drone returned to his seat in front of his desk. The drone rang the bell on his desk as his mandibles vibrated and he roared loudly.
The next troll in line sat down in the chair. She nervously pushed a piece of paperwork forward. “I, uh, also would like to renew a fishing permit.”
The drone pointed behind the troll to a sign. It read, “FILLING OUT PAPERWORK INCORRECTLY IS GROUNDS FOR IMMEDIATE CULLING.”
The troll gulped. “I know.”
So, I guess Imperial Drones are civil servants? Is that the upshot of this update?
I guess this little fic is me working out frustrations I have with how dismally stupid troll society is to let a bunch of monsters run the bureaucracy of their government.
Why was that so funny? Really, I had to stifle giggles the entire time. And now I kinda wanna draw it.
Originally Posted by SkaianRedeemer
)
