Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I need to speak with you, Fool.

John ignored the voice as he slowly stood and brushed himself off. Blood, both human red and Batterwitch fuchsia, lightly dotted his increasingly worn out godtier pajamas. Nothing felt sprained or broken, and he was able to move with no issues, but John knew that was more due to the powers granted to him by the game than any pulled punches by his opponent. God, that troll lady hit hard. He cast a glance at Rose and Kanaya, seeing them help each other up. They seemed fine enough, but that left…

I require assistance.

Roxy. The very pretty pink girl who had absolutely done most of the work in defeating the Condesce. Carefully, long, lanky legs stepped around the body of the dead empress, half expecting her to pop back up and bite his ankle, infecting him with a zombie virus or something. That's what would happen in a horror movie, and whatever story this was felt related enough.

"Hi, John," The Rogue was staring a hole in the back of the fallen fuchsia's head. Maybe she was thinking the same thing? No, that would be stupid. But still… blue eyes followed her line of sight and landed on the golden trident clutched in the woman's hand.

Are you being obtuse on purpose?

John bent down to pick it up. For having such a long staff, it was surprisingly light. A well-crafted and ridiculously ornate weapon for the bitch who had helped some random douchebag in a sparkly coat ruin both Earth and the troll planet. He wasn't thinking about the next words that fell out of his mouth as he offered the trident to Roxy, but as soon as he heard them, he kind of wished that thought had been a bit more involved in the communication process.

"Think we should double tap?"

Roxy's eyebrows shot up into her bangs as she quickly looked away from the dead troll, her mouth curling into a teasing grin that immediately made him want to die where he stood. "We should tap what now?"

It would be Just if he were killed now, right? After a comment like that it would be deserved?

"Uh--" Wonderful start, John. Just perfect. "I-in horror movies. You double tap the monster by shooting its head off or something. Just to make sure it's dead." His cheeks were burning hot, and Roxy's eyes crinkled as she let out a small giggle. It wasn't mocking, but it may as well have been for all it was doing to John's heart rate.

"Wow, you really are kind of a blue Jake, huh?"

John blinked. Jake? The dude he saved in the Voidbubbles earlier? The guy running around in bright yellow Daisy Dukes?

Messiahs, stop forcing me into enduring your flirting attempts, Fool. This is painful.

"... Maybe?" He liked to think he was his own person, but whatever. "Does he like monster movies or something? Or do you just think I'd also look good in a speedo."

Oh my god.

Roxy let out a bark of a laugh, causing Rose and Kanaya to look over from where they had been talking quietly. John knew he had to be bright red by now, but it didn't stop the girl in front of him from wiggling her eyebrows at him as she took the offered trident.

"Tell you what, blue-Jake," In one smooth motion, she slammed the trident down, just under the Condesce's neck. Almost absentmindedly, she bent down to grab the newly decapitated head and, for reasons the breath player couldn't even begin to fathom, handed it to him. John tried not to wince as he felt blood drip on his shoes.

Roxy paused, her eyes widening as realized what exactly she had just done. "Mmmm-welp. Been around Dirk too long. That was meant to be a lot more cool and a lot less gross. You can, um, you can put the head down if you want."

She looked horrified, and, weirdly, John felt his shoulders relax. At least the feeling was mutual this way?

"N-no, it's fine. I'll uh. I'll keep it… as a momento." Roxy's eyebrows rose impossibly higher. 'In case we… need it for something dumb later. Maybe." Just to get the seatroll's head out of his hands, he quickly captchalogued it, only briefly noting that the captchalogue card had marked it BATTERWITCH BEHEADMENT. Mostly, he was just hoping the mutual shame of their conversation could be whisked away right alongside it. "You-you were saying? Before you used the trident?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," Roxy's giggle was a lot more nervous now and she looked away, clearly trying to forget everything that had just happened. She rocked back and forth on her heels as John waited patiently beside her, desperately attempting to ignore both the stares of Rose and Kanaya and the voice that was definitely not invading his head and criticizing the most embarrassing moment of his life.

"T-tell you what, blue-Jake," Roxy started again before pausing for another second and sighing. John had a sinking feeling she had just given up. "I think your monster movie idea was a good one. And… some of the other ideas, too." Her flirty smile was back, and he felt his eyes widen as he realized which idea she was talking about.

Maybe they could test that one idea out later?

John. That is far too forward and I refuse to let you make me endure further.

Fucking, Jesus. Fine. "Maybe we can… think of more ideas together later?"

I actually think that one is worse.

He was going to kill whoever this voice belonged to.

Roxy grinned though, eyes sparkling as she agreed before nodding towards the other two. She seemed relieved to be able to move on from whatever the hell their conversation had been so far. Slowly, both of them avoiding the pointed looks from their co-dethrowners, they made their way back into a glorified group huddle. All the better so that John could zap them back to their meet-up point now that one of the big bads was dead.

As the familiar static feel of ozone washed over the group, John frowned. His powers were working fine, their meeting point in both place and time was coming up, but the rest of the group was pulling away from him.

He looked down quickly, seeing the hook end of a giant candy cane looking thing wrapped carefully around his torso.

He was being pulled offstage.

Chapter Text

Whatever the candy cane was, John hated it. In milliseconds, the hook had meticulously detached him from his friends right as they reached their destination and he fell into what seemed to be a vast expanse of… darkness. He had no clue where he was going, but the old-timey vaudeville hook was doing its best to prevent him from simply zapping out of its grasp.

The fall lasted both too long and too quickly, and with a grunt, the teen slammed unceremoniously onto cold, gray rock in front of some kind of platform. A figure cloaked in black stood with their back towards him, facing the structure and pulling back the comically large hook that had snagged him while messing with what looked like brightly colored dolls. Or puppets.

The platform was the stage of a puppet show.

"Hello, Fool."

John grumbled in response, having to get up and brush himself off for the second time that day. He refused to acknowledge the insult. Or talk to this person for that matter. This wasn't exactly the best introduction.

"Don't sulk. Believe me, I wish I could have left your thoughts when you wished for me to. The second hand embarrassment would have killed me were I not already dead. Fortunately for both of us, I've brought you here for something more important. We needn't dwell on your humiliation whatsoever."

The voice was familiar. In a way, at least. John got the feeling he had heard it before.

Likely in response to the thought (since they couldn't have the decency to get out of his head), the person in front of him finally turned away from the stage, and John froze.

It wasn't… Caliborn, was it? The feral, manic grin that adorned that asshole's face was missing. And Caliborn had eyes. At least until he managed to somehow replace them with billiard balls. Was this the in-between stage?

"You've not met any of my iterations yet, have you? I am Calliope, the Muse of Space. You likely know my brother far better."

Ah. Well, that explained things. They weren't comforting things, but they were things.

"In my reality, I killed him," Calliope continued, not bothering to wait for their guest to respond this time. "Unfortunately, my session was not built for success, and I made a bargain with my denizen--my death for the ability to meet my alpha counterpart, and a chance to end my brother's influence once and for all." The cherub sounded bored, like a teacher who had repeated the same lesson dozens of times that week. It made it all the more unsettling when her eyeless head suddenly snapped towards him with renewed attention, and John stiffened involuntarily in response.

"I will be successful in my endeavor, if you're wondering. As will you and your friends. You will defeat my brother with my help, and you will finally exit your session into a new world of your making, a utopia for trolls, humans, carapacians, and consorts alike."

That… was what they wanted, wasn't it? It's what everyone had talked about. A world free of the tyranny of Lord English. A world they could build from the ground up. From the sound of it, Calliope was going to help them with this, so why did she sound so… bitter? The cherub leaned forward suddenly, and John had to call on years of sudden pie throwing pranks from his dad to suppress a jump in surprise.

"Why do you think I called you here, Fool?"

"Stop fucking calling me that."

It came out faster and harsher than he meant it to, and John quickly swallowed back any other words he was planning, startled. Where had that come from? Maybe it was just the memory of his father being summoned, pretty much inextricable from the harlequin-related imagery he'd grown up with. Maybe the name was calling on the fact that his dad wasn't actually anything he had portrayed, showering John with circus imagery and lies of street performances for years because of doodles the human had scrawled on his walls during his nightmares.

Or maybe he just wanted to get back with his friends and leave whatever plot twist was coming up to screw them all over later when he wasn't exhausted.

The cherub, for her part, tutted, completely unimpressed with John's snipe.

"'Fool' is a title in this case, John. I am not insulting you. On the contrary, it's quite the compliment. Every cherub needs a jester."

"I am not a jester."

"Don't sell yourself short. I saw you practicing on the ship with your sister. Your previously shocking magic skills have improved tremendously. Some of them actually look good now."

... Wow. Ouch. The look on John's face must have been as offended as he felt, because Calliope quickly sped on.

"Every viable session has one. Gamzee was the clown for the beta trolls, Kurloz for the alphas, and you were the one needed for the human session. You were the Fool, one of the most important kinds of harlequin, the one who sets everything in motion."

"That makes no sense. There was no clown in the alpha human's session."

"Why do you think their session was null?"

"Calliope, they didn't have any of the players or aspects they needed. Are you joking?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "And one of the players needed was a clown."

John threw up his hands with a groan, trying and failing to reach for his zappy powers just to get out of this stupid argument. It seemed whatever juju was in the candy cane from earlier had still drained him of his ability to escape. Or maybe it was Calliope's own powers blocking him. Either way, unable to do much more, he simply turned his back on the Muse to sit on the edge of the rock they were both standing on. Calliope watched him for a second before sighing.

"I do promise you, in my culture, it's a compliment. Nonetheless, I see I've upset you, and I'll let you identify however you like, but I still require your assistance specifically."

"With what?" The reply was flat as John made to fish out his phone from his pockets. He knew he likely had no chance of Pesterchum working wherever he was, but he was very interested in spiting the cherub.

"With what happens after you all win. What happens in that utopia. I've something to show you, John, and I know you won't like it."

Without his permission, his phone pulled up a different app. It appeared to be some kind of fic writing site. Knowing the Muse would likely just pull it right back up if he closed out with whatever creepy cherub powers she possessed, the Heir sighed and scrolled to the top.

Homestuck^2: Beyond Canon

John stared at the title for a few full seconds before turning to Calliope, who had taken the opportunity to sit next to him on the rock, dangling her legs off the edge.

"What is this?"

"Just read it. It will explain itself. I'll read along with you, should you wish. It will probably take some amount of time. It's gotten a bit long."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

He sighed, but his eyes were already locked on the page, brows pulled into a frown. Within minutes, he was fully absorbed, whether he wanted to be or not.

The cherub hadn't been lying. He didn't like it. If anything, as the human read on, he actively hated it, cringing every time he hit the next page. He and Dirk hadn't exactly… gotten each other when the two met, but surely, he wouldn't randomly murder him and steal Rose away from Kanaya, right? Surely, his Ultimate Form (or whatever) wasn't that awful? Surely, Terezi would have knocked his ass unconscious if she figured out what he was doing?

That side, weirdly, wasn't too bad, though. Yeah, it was a dumb plan on Dirk's part, and it made everyone else look like an idiot comparably, and the plot seemed to stagnate entirely after John himself died, but it was nowhere near what the candy side had in store for him.

He almost stopped reading when he got to Jade stopping him from saving Jane's kid, breath catching in disbelief.

When he got to Jade's own kid, he did stop, closing his eyes and putting his phone down in his lap. He was utterly and completely done reading. Not mad. Not sad. Just empty.

He opened them to Calliope staring at him.

"You're saying… this is what's on the other side of that door?" His tone was flat.

"Yes." The cherub's tone was somber as she answered, almost apologetic.

John stared at the eyeless muse, waiting for her to crack a joke or at least a smile. Something to let the poor kid know that this wasn't what was actually waiting for him--for all of them--so close to the end of the game. No such solace came, and a dull memory began to flicker in the back of the teenager's head, one that burned hot for just a moment before fading quietly into a migraine waiting to happen. A memory of himself and his ectobiological sister. And a movie he hadn't realized was as AWFUL as it was.

"So, is being a shitty writer a requirement for cherubs, or is it a family trait?"

Calliope huffed, openly offended. "Look. I am essentially up against the god of character assassination. I can only do what I can."

"Gee, you're holding me hostage in the middle of nowhere, showing me a magical fanfic you wrote that holds two equally shitty futures I will be forced to follow, and you're complaining about what you can't do?"

"Well, what would you change?" She replied, exasperation finally fully seeping through her deadpan style of speech.

"Anything? Everything? Get rid of the final forms, for one. It sounds like the shittiest form of immortality you can get anyway. If that's what caused this bullshit, what can be done so we can get rid of it?"

Calliope stared at him. "I can't just get rid of the ultimate godtier level, Fool."

"Why the fuck not," He bit out, fully angry by this point. This was stupid. This was so stupid! "Erase it from the code. Or at least perma-lock it. Make the stupid fucking thing completely unattainable, cheats or no cheats."

"John, as long as the game continues running once you all exit to Earth C, and the events in this fic show they will, achievement of the Ultimate Self will always be attainable." The cherub shifted uncomfortably. "It's a fundamental aspect of the game's code. Climbing the echeladder must always be possible."

"Then crash the game." He glared.

"What? No. That would ruin everyone's lives immediately."

"It doesn't have to be a hard crash! Softlock us. Make it so that we all stagnate and new levels can't be added or something. Do you know if we can do that?"

"The voidbubbles are that exact softlock."

John groaned and threw himself backward, lying on the hard rock. The smell of dusty earth filled his nose as he felt the cool, uneven surface against his back.

For whatever reason, it helped, and slowly, he looked back at Calliope.

"Can we run an update?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"A patch. You said it's a fundamental aspect of the game's code. Can we run code to counter it without completely rewriting the game?"

For a while, the Muse said nothing, merely staring at her human guest. Then, a small smile twitched onto her face, the first John had seen on her during this meeting.

"Consider yourself hired as my… harlequin."

"Not better."

"You're my fucking clown, John."

Chapter Text

"Funnily enough, John, it seems we've come to the exact same conclusion. I know of a suitable patch for us to work with."

The human stared at his cherub captor in sheer disbelief. He was going to need to get out of here soon if he wanted to maintain his sanity. Holy fucking shit, the audacity of this person.

"Did… you know about the patch the whole time? Did you know about the patch while writing that bullshit?"

"Not while writing, no," Calliope's tone was calm, placating. "I only just uncovered it recently, but I knew about a possible patch before I contacted you."

"And you still let me read that fucking travesty of a future you wrote for us all? Without giving me even the slightest indication you knew how to fix it?"

"I was going to inform you after you read it. I simply needed you to recognize the stakes we were playing with here. Why your involvement was necessary to prevent such an outcome. Imagine my surprise when you landed on the solution yourself. You'll make a fantastic…" His host paused, seemingly searching for a new circus-themed word that wouldn't set John off.

"Call me a harlequin again and I promise you I will fucking lose it."

"Perhaps comic? Vaudevillian? That's what you are in the alpha human's reality, Jane's Poppop Crocker, successor of the legacy of the great Charlie Chaplin himself. Or, if we're going that route, I believe Her Imperious Condescension referred to you as her 'Scarecrow' in that timeline, though now that I recall, that may have been a purpleblood job title she assigned to you."

John made a face at the mention of Jane, completely ignoring everything Calliope said after the empress was mentioned. Was he going to have to interact with Jane after this? Pretend everything was just completely fine when he knew what she was capable of if handed power? Or was that more of the weird flanderization coating everything and everyone he knew in that wretched story? Was there any way of knowing for sure?

He couldn't trust anyone anymore, could he?

"Just go back to calling me a clown if you're going to keep doing it. I don't have enough energy to fight you every time you talk to me."

"But not harlequin."

"Absolutely not."

Calliope huffed. "Fine. I don't know why you're being difficult about this."

"Keep wondering," John scowled. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"Is this about your father?"

"Fuck. Off." His words were immediately harsh. He was about five seconds away from just jumping off the cliff he was sitting on. The only thing that was stopping him was the knowledge that the cherub would likely simply pull him back with that damn cane anyway, which would just piss him off harder.

He was stuck.

Calliope hesitated before falling silent next to him, waiting for him to calm down while they both stared off into the vast darkness around them.

After making the cherub wait for a while, John let out a breath it felt like he'd been holding in for days. He was so fucking tired. "What's the patch? You said it will fix this?"

"Not in its current form. But we can add to it to include what we want. The original patch came into being with the alpha trolls' session. There are ones for both sets of humans' sessions and the beta trolls' session, but the alpha trolls' patch is the one we'll need to ensure it covers the whole game as we know it. That is to say: both human sessions, both troll sessions, and my session with my brother."

"What was it originally meant for?"

"From what I can figure? The purpose of the game itself. Sburb is meant to allow the continued propagation of any victorious species of the game, even after the apocalypse of their native planet. The patch was technically just a line of code meant to play once the final door was opened. It ensured whichever planet was created at the end of a successful session, the evolutionary process that followed from local fauna would ensure the race of the players survived."

The human blinked. "But Karkat and his friends were successful, weren't they? Why did Earth have humans on it and not trolls?"

"They never opened their door." Calliope shrugged. "I believe humans may be something of a default species to the game: completely malleable in aggression based on environment, average life spans from the perspective of the universe, and incredibly straightforward, if somewhat unfair and… oddly fascinating, mating rituals."

"Interesting." The Heir said bleakly, rubbing his temples. Something told him the absolute last thing he wanted to hear was a description of human mating from a cherub's perspective. Hard pass. No.

"So, how do we change it from what it was before, to what it should be? How do we go from making sure Earth is a troll planet to blocking off the ultimate godtier level?"

There was a pause before the cherub spoke next, long enough that John turned to look at her to make sure she heard his question. "I… am unsure if we'll be able to keep the code from its original purpose, however by changing things throughout the various timelines, we can add to it."

"... What will that do in terms of the original code? Are all of the humans about to turn into trolls at the end of this?"

"From what I can figure… yes."

John hesitated. Should they look for a different solution? Changing all of his friend's species without their permission wasn't exactly… completely due North on a moral compass, but-- "Wait. Trolls don't have kids, right?"

"Not in the same sense as humans do, no."

"So, Jane and Jade can never have kids like they did in your fic?"

Calliope was staring at him again. "... Correct?"

"Perfect. Sign me up. How do I start."

Chapter Text

The Heir was tucked behind a tree, reading his new duties over where he couldn't be seen by the occupants of the house nearby.

From everything he had discussed with Calliope, it seemed his experience as her "clown" was going to be very similar to the laundry list of bullshit he had had to do for Terezi after watching everyone die, just on a much, much grander scale.

"Around how long is this stuff going to take?" He'd asked, eyeing the giant, black book in her hands. Was that… was that an old coding textbook? Why was it covered in paint?

"You needn't worry about that. All cherubic helpers are blessed with true immortality for the length of their assistance. You will stay your same age, and any grievous bodily injuries to your person will reverse themselves before your vitality gel can run out and your death can even be judged. The wicked clowns can never die."

She hadn't answered his question, and he still had no clue why she'd said that last part, but he hadn't had any time to ask before she'd shoved the gigantic text into his hands.

"I know your powers allow you to loop through different times and universes, but it will be best for everyone if you stick to the order I'm giving you. It will help things go much more smoothly, since you have some preparation to do before you actually go about your duties."

And with that, she'd snapped her fingers, and John was gone in a flash of red, blinking up at his childhood home on Earth in the middle of the night.

The human rolled his eyes as he looked through the first few pages, leaning back against the tree as annoyance rolled off of him in waves. Why the fuck had he agreed to work on editing multiple species' histories for someone he had already realized was a shitty fucking writer? Was this the "prep work" Calliope had spoken of? What was the fucking point?

disguising your species

it will become imperative before teleporting to either troll planet that you assemble some visage of the people you will be interacting with, otherwise you risk immediate culling (even if such a phrase means very different things between timelines). this disguise is particularly versatile, as if seen by your human comrades, you can explain away the design by simply claiming you're dressing up. i believe my alpha counterpart calls it a "trollsona". i have assembled a list of materials you will need as follows

• gray face paint
• less garish of clothing
• troll horns (i have included some in your sylladex)
• pierced ears

He glared at that last one, drumming his fingertips hard against his leg as a years old memory of Vriska flashed through his head. Was this the latest version of decking him out in "troll fashion"? What the fuck was this? There was no goddamn way every troll had pierced ears. He wasn't a doll for her to dress up.

It will come in handy later.

John jumped, straightening in a flash and cracking the back of his head against the tree for his troubles. The sound rang throughout the quiet neighborhood, and purely out of instinct, the heir teleported behind another nearby home as the lights went on in his own and a man, devastatingly familiar, stepped out into the yard.

It was only after his father stepped back inside their old house that John realized he hadn't been breathing. His lungs burned as he started again, blinking away gray spots as he sank against the wall he had been hiding behind and stared at the sky in a desperate attempt to… separate himself from everything that had just happened. Forget that his dad was literal seconds away from him. Not just at this time, but any time. All it would take is him royally fucking everything up for the rest of eternity.

It had… occurred to him before. That he may be able to use his powers to get back to his old timeline and see his dad, but the thought was always discarded before it could even be fully formed. He had figured he wouldn't be able to handle it, and the longer he was in this desolately lonely excuse for a cul-de-sac, the more convinced he was that he had been correct. Fuck, his head was starting to hurt as much as his heart, as if the gray fuzziness that had clouded his vision had wormed its way into his brain, somehow.

He knew it had only been three years, but would his father have even recognized him?

He both desperately wanted to find out, and was terrified of the answer.

Wordlessly, the teen got up. He couldn't take this shit anymore. He just needed to be away, teleporting several states over and gathering the materials his "boss" had specified as requested.

It wasn't until everything had been gathered and he was awkwardly leaving a Claire's that he had energy to be angry again, checking his Black Book of Bullshit to see if he could finally fucking leave this painful place.

Not until you assemble everything.

With a huff, he flipped to the next page, where the cherub had provided "examples" of what trolls looked like. Every damn drawing was a clown. Were the ear piercings about fitting in with them?

Not at all. Quite the opposite, honestly.

He groaned, zapping himself into a dressing room nearby and apathetically opening his Sylladex. Fine. Whatever. He didn't care anymore.

Moments later, he stared at himself blankly in the department store mirror. The gray was patchy, the darker clothing did nothing but look depressing (he couldn't get funerals out of his mind), and the horns looked stupid. Marvelous. Now he matched everything else about this mission. Half-assed.

With one last glance at his book, the human gathered his things. He had to mess with Beforan history first, it seemed, and in moments, he was standing on the roof of a building on a planet he knew nothing about.

First matter of business, the cherub had explained in small part what his goal was: In order to ensure the alpha troll's patch was the one that ran, his friends needed to actually have the alpha trolls with them when they opened their door, and in greater numbers than any of the other groups with them. The easiest way to make sure they survived the scratch (and Meenah murdering them all) was to make sure they could all go godtier, and the easiest way to do that was to sabotage any attempts that had ever been made on this planet to ensure it was full of a bunch of weenies.

Two trolls, a man known as "The Activist" and a lady known as "The Keeper" were his first targets, and as John tucked himself into a proper hiding place and caught sight of the trolls in question, he stilled. God-fucking-dammit, it was Karkat and Kanaya.

The Activist had been fundamental to the concept of culling as Beforus knew it. The previous system had been a mix of coddling and patronizing in all of the wrong places, and Beforan Karkat had made it his life's mission to try and inject some semblance of respect into the practice. In the end, he had failed, and the system had become even more of an overbearing mess, fixing all of the wrong problems and leaving resentment to fester among a people who had grown far too passive to do anything about it.

The sabotage was incredibly simple, all things considered. About a month of shenanigans before the grand show, and then a few cut wires here, some planks knocked out of the stage there, and the platform Karkat had been attempting to use as a pulpit collapsed seconds after he and Kanaya had even stepped foot on it, ending their audience with Her Eleemosynary Beneficence before it even began. The book had instructed him beforehand on how to ensure all of the wrong people had been paying attention at all of the right moments. It was a public humiliation that would make history, ensuring others wouldn't attempt to follow in The Activist's footsteps for centuries.

The two were culled immediately, which John was relieved to find out meant simply being taken into the care of a higher bloodcaste on this planet. He knew this wasn't technically "his" Karkat or Kanaya, but neither troll had ever done anything to him, even in Calliope's trainwreck of an epilogue, and his stomach had already twisted seeing the devastation on his friends' faces as they fell, abating some of the constant anger that had been propelling him forward thus far.

Consulting the book to distract himself, it looked like dealing with the next set of trolls would be more complex and time consuming. Out of curiosity, the Heir skipped ahead, wondering where this was going next before stopping dead in his tracks.

step 420: making friends

by this point, you should have realized the importance of bicycle horns

Calliope, what the fuck?

Chapter Text

As if of its own accord, the coding book flipped shut.

Fool, did I not tell you to stay in order? You'll ruin this for yourself.

Did she sound… excited? John rubbed his temples, simply thinking his response back. He still didn't know why Calliope couldn't just message him like a normal person.

And risk interception? Both my brother and Ultimate Dirk would love the opportunity. No.

Her tone was still giddy, like a kid trying to keep a secret. Or a parent trying to hide a Christmas present…. or someone trying to keep themselves from giving spoilers.

"Are you forgetting we're messing with people's lives here?" He was annoyed enough to counter out loud, though his voice was barely a mutter. Calliope better not be treating this like a damn fix-it fic. That'd be way too fucking meta for his liking.

Don't be ridiculous. It's just important that your interactions in the future are authentic. You'll be co-mingling with some trolls who can practically smell deception. Somewhat. She could if she hadn't lost her sense of smell.

The book flipped itself back open, pages neatly turning right back to John's next steps.

John, starting on Beforus is easiest for a lot of reasons. The history of this planet is so straightforward and lacking in logic, it borders on the banality of a joke, however you'll still need to pay attention to this next bit. Skipping ahead will only distract you.

Mhm. Yep. Just this part, huh? So, she'd let him look after fucking over this next group of people?

I didn't say that, either.

Bluh.

Propping his cheek up with his hand, John turned his attention back to the next part of the "story", trying not to groan immediately once he got a proper look. He understood that Calliope was attempting to condense a fairly complicated segment of history into as few pages necessary for context, but did she really need to include character profiles? Did she need to include a fucking shipping chart?

His next "job" was sabotaging one of the most important criminal trials in Beforan history, one overseen by The Beneficent herself. A burgundy, The Scorned (he was playing it safe this time and just assuming it was Aradia off the bat), had murdered a high profile indigoblood, The Smitten, in a fit of jealous rage. Apparently, the blue idiot had convinced her equally dumb bronzeblood lover, The Pawn (with a name like that it had to be Tavros) to cheat on her with him in some wild attempt to eventually get her to be his troll hate lover.

She'd thrown him and the bronze off her roof instead. The Pawn had survived, paralyzed from the waist down. The Smitten had been stabbed in the leg and throat by landing on each of the bronzeblood's massive horns, dying instantly.

The story had taken off in the Beforan media. A burgundy killing an indigo after he had honored her with an interest in a quadrant? Unheard of. What could cause someone from the peaceful caste of peons noble workers to rise against a STRONG and upstanding member of society in such a manner? Was she simply unstable? Why would anyone throw away such an already short life? Burgundies were normally such pushovers sweet people. Surely there had to be something else going on. Had the stupid innocent little thing even known about the consequences of lifting two people 80 feet in the air and throwing them into the ground as hard as she could? There was no way she could have known the nobleman would land on her cheating bitch of an ex darling matesprite's horns.

First things first, the public was a bit too united in their bullshit. John had to make this murder about forty times more brutal if he had any hope of causing as much division as he needed to.

This part looked like it would be shockingly easy. Shield her from a couple of Tavros' flaws and reveal more of Equius' before she found them. Aradia's temper was something to behold, and Calliope had no objections to John adding a little sub-instruction about the exact moment to hide when shit went down.

Hide, but she made sure to specify where. As per usual, she refused to elaborate on why.

He tried not to pay too much attention to the actual effect his changes were having on The Scorned. Aradia seemed really sweet, all things considered. It wasn't her fault she had caught the attention of the wrong freak and decided to date the most passive douchebag in the world.

He was fine having the Nick Cage-looking troll reveal his weird shit, even if it took several tries to actually seem to have any consequences. (Apparently, muscular horse paintings with rather… prominent anatomy weren't creepy enough for Aradia, but the Smitten's two-story high milk bottle collection filled with some kind of indigo juice was. Okay.) When it came to making Tavros look better, though, he had to put his foot down.

"Calliope, I'm not deep cleaning his house for him. That's the stupidest thing I've ever read."

Why not? If you're afraid of being discovered, he won't even notice.

"Yeah, that's the point. This dude lives in dreamland and does not give a single fuck about any physical person around him."

Perhaps, but we can't let her know that.

"Why not? What would be more infuriating to you? Knowing someone's flaws and immediately understanding that you had seriously underestimated them? Or thinking someone was perfect and being completely blindsided? I vote one! I'd be furious with myself for not ghosting sooner. Two would just shut me down."

The Muse was silent for a minute, apparently genuinely considering John's insight.

Trolls and humans may be closer in psychology than cherubs. I don't see your logic, but I'll give it a chance. Perhaps a compromise: highlight his thoughtlessness and hide everything else.

… Deal.

From The Scorned's perspective, John's fellow breathbound would be the sweetest, most romantic, creative…. and inconsiderate person she'd ever met. Subtle hints around the bronze's hive were all that was needed to cajole the guy into buying her flowers or a stuffed fauna facsimile because it was what he was "supposed to do", but changing the rolled ablution wipes when they were out? Bothering to wash the flattened eating planes when they piled up in the ablutions cubby in his nutrition block? Hell, bothering to make dinner for two at any point when he had her over? Impossible. He just didn't think about it. That would involve thinking outside of himself for more than a few minutes.

The indigo's plan (apparently, his name was Equius) had already been incredibly dumb. He had genuinely seduced the bronze for months before his planned "grand reveal", sneakily decorating Aradia's entire hive with spade-themed decor, even offering a box of spade shaped chocolates with a note asking her to meet him on the roof.

She'd come up to see him making out with her matesprite. Equius hadn't even had time to ask her out before they were both sent flying.

Time to add insult to injury. The human had been dropping hints since the start of the ill-fated relationship that Tavros was cheating (strangely, covering his tracks had seemed to be something The Pawn showed awareness of. Douche.) During the grand reveal, John added little signs and answers to Equius' notes from "Tavros" to make it hit harder. Signs to make it look like even though Aradia had been telling him for weeks about the gross indigo's advances, Tavros had fully thought the solicitation was for him somehow, like the self absorbed moron he was.

John had barely had time to get away before the burgundy completely lost it, screaming at the top of her lungs and physically kicking her dumbass matesprite over the ledge of the roof before turning her attention on the now terrified blueblood.

Previously, Aradia had simply body slammed him with her telekinetic abilities as hard as she could. It technically had been incidental that the noble had gotten impaled. This time, she fucking meant it. With a feral roar, Aradia went full WNBA on his ass, aiming for the giant, high powered industrial air conditioning unit at the top of a nearby business and hole-in-oneing the poor motherfucker. The Smitten's body had been cut clean in half around his midsection, the fan stopping completely with the effort. Nothin' but net. It was a genuinely impressive shot.

John wouldn't have minded, were that not exactly where Calliope had instructed him to hide. The Smitten's lifeless torso, cracked sunglasses still on his head, had fallen directly into the vent. It was staring at him, face still frozen in horror and… excitement. This dude had been a fucking mess, hadn't he?

Quick, grab his head.

Excuse me?

You'll need it later. Cut it off and take it. Quickly. Aradia has already called the drones on herself.

John hesitated. The incredibly morbid command aside, the majority of his weapons were blunt force. He didn't really have anything sharp on him unless you counted Occam's Razor, the odd umbrellakind weapon he had made once using his dad's shaving razors and--

Fuck, he still had dad's wallet, didn't he?

Trying desperately not to think about what he was about to do, John pulled one of the knives from the endless supply in the wallet with ease, hesitantly crouching next to the hulk of an indigo and swallowing back any possible shame as he made a few experimental slices at the throat of the corpse.

Karkat had mentioned once that trolls left out their dead for the local wildlife to pick through. Too many of them died for anyone to care about burials and graveyards. He wasn't sure if Beforus had similar views on death, but regardless, what would his father think about John overstepping cultural bounds in an attempt to...

... Hadn't his dad also mentioned an old Egbert family tradition? Hadn't his dad expressed disappointment that Nanna had decided to eschew that tradition for the more socially acceptable urn option, despite her estranged brother going through with it? Hadn't his dad recounted him one time with his own plans of ensuring the tradition carried on after his death?

John continued with his work on the head. He didn't know how to feel about the fact that he hadn't been able to follow through on his dad's wishes after his murder, and he definitely didn't know how to feel about the fact that his father may have, in fact, completely condoned his current activities in the name of cadaver preservation.

INDIGO MORE LIKE INDI-GONE BEHEADMENT obtained, John quickly zapped away to another rooftop, looking back just in time as the drones descended on Aradia's hive. He was completely covered in indigo gore, both from his proximity to the fan when Equius had first hit, and John's own actions with his father's razor.

You may as well change your clothes and take a breather. The trial will be far worse than the crime.

Of fucking course it would.

Chapter Text

While there was still a wave of media and speculation surrounding this case, thanks to the increased brutality of events, the tone had shifted significantly. It wasn't lost on the Beforan public that trying to forcibly shove an indigo-shaped man through a fan-shaped hole was the most obvious murder attempt The Scorned could have possibly pulled off. Additionally, Aradia's physical kick to The Pawn had left a lot less distance for him to fall, shattering both his legs and damaging his neck severely, but not paralyzing him like before.

From the public's perspective, it seemed odd that this uppity little burgundyblood had targeted the higher of the two to murder. Didn't she know that highbloods were off limits only trying to help. If they didn't know better, it almost seemed like she had targeted him just for the crime of being a noble, but that couldn't be possible, could it? Surely, she knew her place better than that?

John sat stiffly in the crowd of highbloods, trolls of every shade of blue and purple around him. He knew he wouldn't get called on his disguise (it hadn't happened in the full sweep and a half he'd been jumping around Beforan timelines), but the excited speculation of the crowd, like they were about to witness an amazing stage play, was irritating the hell out of him.

The Beforan justice system, as it turned out, was a very different creature from either its Alternian or Earthly counterparts. Rather than "assumed innocent until proven guilty", or even just "assumed guilty, proof is for your personal curiosity", ancient Beforan legalistic liturgy demanded that no one be assumed anything. The Truth, after all, was secondary to The Lesson. What was the tale the Beforan people needed to hear? What would heal their bloodpushers after such a traumatic event as to have put them in the courtblock in the first place?

It was the worst judicial system John could imagine if he tried.

Instigators received state-provided Apolojusticars to defend their case and paint them as a Good Person^TM. The Audience voted on one of the available Social-Justicars as their opponent, who would provide their pre-prepared Callout Casework to insist on how the instigator should be punished. Between the two Storytellegislators, it was up to the public to vote on who's version of events they liked better and what happened next. To an extent at least. The public had to buy tickets first, after all, a tendency highlighted by the seating of the courtblock itself. It resembled a theater or an auditorium more than any courtroom John had ever seen on TV.

Scalpers had immediately gotten to this trial, ensuring that literally the only people able to afford tickets were going to be indigo and up (though a few teals and ceruleans had clearly snuck in). It was a big fucking deal, after all. It wasn't every day Her Eleemosynary Beneficence herself, incredibly concerned with the direction public opinion had taken against this poor, defenseless, working class burgundyblood, offered to be the presiding Judicial Omniscience for the full trial.

And it definitely wasn't every day her right hand man and matesprite offered his services as the head Apolojusticar. Safe where he was in the crowd, John sent the violetblooded man the most unimpressed look he could manage.

It had taken forever to get the self-centered shithead to offer himself for this case, but the reason why he had taken it at all was pathetic. Calliope's shipping chart and character profiles had actually come in handy, and John was not fucking happy about it.

Eridan Ampora, The Besotted, true to his title, was madly, simperingly red for The Beneficent. If she said jump, he would ask how high. If she said she was thirsty, he would immediately grab her a water. And if she was concerned about the outcome of an extremely high profile trial… well.

Without John's interference, Eridan would have been a bit more secure in his relationship, having no need to do anything but accompany her to the courthive, but he also would have been her moirail. The empress was incredibly pale for the guy, sickeningly so, but John had been spending the last sweep slowly putting it in her pan that if she didn't flip quadrants for her number one fan, he would have a full and complete mental breakdown, or something far more embarrassing, declare his love for her publicly in an attempt to get an answer out of her.

No one wanted that. Not a single soul. No one except the gilled moron carefully straightening his papers in the center of the block. John had to give it to him on one front at least. Eridan had studied like crazy for this trial.

The problem was, from what John had witnessed, matespriteship was kind of hard to fake when you were pale as the fucking moon for someone. Eridan was socially inept, sure, but he wasn't an idiot. In his heart, he probably knew the truth, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to overcompensate like hell until the empress finally showed him some real pity and cut his amphibious ass free.

Not that she would ever get the chance.

The original trial had caused a public uproar. The selected Social-Justicar, The Novitiate Reprover (of course it was Terezi), had gone first as per tradition, and had done such an incredible fucking job laying out the entire case against Aradia that the audience had voted immediately, never giving her opponent, at the time a fellow tealblood, a chance to speak. It had been a Callout so momentous, so carefully worded, so fucking insightful, it had made it into every tealblooded kid's schoolfeed material for millennia afterwards.

The thing was, the Beforan public at large had been furious with this outcome. So enamored had they been with their perfect, painted image of a lost, helpless little burgundy who didn't know what she was doing, public outcry had lasted for wipes afterwards, calling for the culling of Terezi Pyrope, who was clearly just bitter and trying to make a name for herself.

In the end, while Aradia Megido had been culled for her crimes, the people had won the real battle, and The Novitiate Reprover was disbarred and banished indefinitely to a behavioral re-education facility for "Undue Prejudice towards those of the Warmest Sanguinous Persuasion".

Terezi Pyrope, the brightest mind to ever grace Storytellegislation, had gone to jail for being troll racist, and it was the funniest fucking thing John Egbert had ever heard.

This trial would be going a little differently. Out of deference to having straight up royalty in the court, The Besotted would be able to lay out his entire case, witnesses at all, first. Even with the absolutely ludicrous advantage, he had his work cut out for him, as Terezi was eyeing him from across the block with a particularly hungry look. John had a hard time figuring anyone facing down that eagerly bloodthirsty of an opponent would be comfortable, but Eridan simply smoothed down his clothing before launching into his tale.

"W-welcome, ladies and gentleman," Woof. John heard that little waver to start with. Maybe the guy was nervous.

"The poor young girl you see before you is not, nor will she ever be, a danger to society. The girl you see before you has been taken advantage of her entire, pitifully short life by those superior to her in every way." The seadweller swept a webbed hand back towards his client, a frowning Aradia.

"Manipulated, used, and ultimately confused, how could she have deciphered her indigoblooded peer's machinations as intentions towards a quadrant? She's grown up entirely sheltered from such high level social graces. The audience cannot expect her to parse something like basic fuckin' etiquette when all she's ever known is the relatively straightforward life of a common-hued, air-sucking simpleton."

Every few moments, he glanced back at the empress, openly desperate to make sure she was paying attention. He must have been satisfied with the look on her face, because in short order, he whirled dramatically on his heel, striding back to his increasingly offended client's desk before handing her a microphone.

"Miss Megido, could you please explain to our honored audience what was going through your thinkpan when first finding Equius Zahhak kissing your flushed quadrant?"

The troll defendant stared at her disgrace of a troll lawyer for a minute before taking the microphone with a smile. "I knew exactly what he was doing. I fully intended to murder him so he could never do that to another lowblood again," The woman finished with a nonchalant shrug. "I called the drones on myself. I'm fine being punished for it."

Eridan snatched the microphone away before she could add any more, giving her an absolutely filthy look before pulling his face into something that could be called "touched" as he turned his back on her to face the audience in full again.

"W-would you listen to that?" The waver was back, but this time it sounded intentional, like the man was trying to call up false tears on the fly. "This poor w-wretch has been so divorced from the concepts of higher troll society, she doesn't even know that this part of the trial is meant to save her."

He placed a hand over his chest, feigning something that looked kind of like heartbreak if an outside observer were to suspend a metric fucking shitload of disbelief. "Imagine, if you would, what the absolute media storm outside coulda done to such an… impressionable pan. I will not be asking my humble client any more questions, ladies and gentleman, but I hope my demonstration has illustrated why."

John had heard enough at this point, tuning out the absolutely grotesque excuse for a "defense" and looking around to see if anyone else believed this load of hoof-beast droppings.

You had to be shitting him.

No matter which direction he looked, misty-eyed trolls looking pityingly towards the center of the room was all that greeted him. A ridiculously built indigoblood next to him had her brows furrowed, biceps bulging as her fist clenched in front of her mouth in what was an obvious attempt to keep it together. She kept nodding her head sympathetically. A cerulean couple just behind him were holding each other in somber comfort. A seadweller towards the front of the crowd was surreptitiously wiping silent tears from his eyes, looking around to see if anyone had noticed, and when he could find no one, burying his face in his handkerchief all together.

Everyone was besides themselves, not really listening to the Apolojusticar at all. Just trying desperately to imagine what life would be like if they too were a poor, stupid, uncultured lowblood.

Calliope had mentioned that The Besotted's speech to the audience would be nothing short of a miracle. A miracle in-fucking-deed. In only a couple short paragraphs, Eridan Ampora had managed to evaporate any shred of hope John held for anyone on this fucking planet. No wonder the Beforan trolls had been so desperate to scratch. With a planet like this, there wasn't much you could do other than burn this shit to the ground and start over.

At least he knew that's exactly what would happen, in due time.

The human finally turned his attention away from the shocking display of audience-wide self-pity in front of him, tensing when he realized Eridan had finally brought The Pawn onto the stage as his first witness. Fuck. Showtime.

In a quick flash, the Heir had teleported behind the crowd, hovering unnoticed in the dark courtblock, just below the security cameras. Carefully, making sure not to get blood on anyone below him in the crowd, he ejected The Smitten's head from his Sylladex, sliding his fingers along the still-bloody neck before swiping indigo liquid quickly over the camera lens. Teleporting to the next three security feeds, he repeated the process, ensuring each lens was coated in the stuff. He re-capthalogued the head when he was done. John had no clue how, but Calliope had assured him this would completely void any upcoming security footage, audio and all.

The human had been too tired for too long to question these things by this point.

Tavros was smiling nervously for the crowd as Eridan approached, microphone in hand. "Mr. Nitram, would you be so kind as to provide an example of the kinds of manipulation the late Mr. Zahhak used to get you to cheat on your loving, lowblood partner with him?"

"Uhhhh," The bronze said helpfully, fearfully looking towards a furious Aradia and completely ignoring the seadweller's attempts to hand him the mic. Eridan paused, forced to keep the tool hovering awkwardly in front of the bronze's face, clearing his throat gently to try and get the witness to notice and take it from him. No such luck.

Giving up, the seadweller pulled the microphone back with a flourish, clearly trying to make it seem like that was a planned interaction. "Would you say, Mr. Nitram, that you never would have risked the dignity of your flushed quadrant if it weren't for the manipulations of Mr. Zahhak?"

"O-oh, yeah. Most definitely," The bronze finally snapped out of it, nodding enthusiastically. "I-I wouldn't have done anything at all if he hadn't, uh… manipulated me. With how he was really good-looking and stuff."

John moved his gaze back over to Aradia. Her left eye was twitching. Holy shit this poor woman. If she or anyone like her were ever to lose their shit and sabotage millennia worth of bloodcaste relations for everyone on her planet, John had no doubt at all he would be fully on her side.

"And would you say, Mr. Nitram, that your lowblood status kept you from recognizing these higher caste manipulation tactics?"

"Y-yes," The bronze stuttered with a panicked smile. "There was, um, there was no way I could have resisted against his higher tactics... because I'm just a bronzeblood."

The Apolojusticar nodded sagely, ignoring the fact that the man in front of him was responding like a five year old reading his lines at a school play. Aradia had stood up, and it appeared no one in the courtblock had noticed yet.

"And would you say, Mr. Nitram, that due to the obvious mental hindrances that come from being such a low caste, you are unable to be held accountable for your actions when faced with the obvious superiority of a cooler-casted troll?"

"Yes." Tavros clenched his fist for emphasis, grinning up at the seadweller, seemingly passionate for the first time this trial. "I-I have never been responsible for anything that's ever happened in my life."

"THAT'S IT." Aradia snarled, and John found a manic grin splitting his expression.

In one quick movement, The Besotted was snatched into the air by psychic powers fueled by nothing but condensed, all-encompassing, rage. The crowd erupted into panicked screams, each highblood crawling over the other in an attempt to get out of the courthive as quickly as possible. In one swift motion, The Scorned had skewered the violetblooded Storytellegislator over her ex-matesprite's horns like a campfire marshmallow.

Tavros' neck, already weak from his injury, snapped, killing him instantly. Aradia was quickly detained by a seemingly Very Into This Terezi, snapping a telekinesis-blocking band over her head and wrestling her arms behind her back as she slammed her onto the Instigator's desk. Eridan's body, limp, rolled off the bronzeblood's horns and the entire theater froze as The Beneficent screamed when he hit the floor.

All sound was silenced. As if on autopilot, the audience slowly returned to their chairs, every eye locked on the fuchsiablood as she made her way out of the Judicial throne and down to her matesprite, tears streaming down her face.

Eridan smiled as she reached him, reaching for her hand. A hand she happily gave him. "L-let it be known." He gurgled, one of the horns may have punctured his lungs. "That the burgundy should go free, Fef." Tearily, The Beneficent nodded. "H-her weak little mind--"

Aradia snarled. Everyone ignored her.

"It couldn't take this highcaste c-culture, Fef. You agree, right?"

Shakily, as if every word pained her, the empress managed to gasp out a "Yes, my love."

It had been exactly what the violetblood had been waiting to hear, and with a wet smile, his eyes finally slid closed. The applause started small, a few hesitant claps from the seadweller who had been crying earlier. The man was now openly sobbing, and it only increased in volume as people joined in his appreciation of the martyrdom of the scene.

Eridan Ampora had died how he lived, a pathetic simp.

Chapter Text

After such a bold and obviously heroic end, there wasn't a damn soul in that courtblock who was going to stick around to hear Terezi's Callout Case. The very idea seemed flagrantly disrespectful to the memories of the handsome, understanding, and incredibly socially conscious young seadweller who had just willingly sacrificed himself to show the flaws in the system.

Also, the Empress seemed like she was gonna vie pretty hard for Eridan's last wishes to be met and like. Who was gonna go against the Empress? Who was gonna be known for disagreeing with the most beloved troll on Beforus, especially after they had all freshly witnessed the completely unavoidable death of her matesprite?

What would the neighbors think?

The crowd clapped politely as Terezi removed both the handcuffs and telekinesis-blocking band from Aradia, declaring loudly that her work would be available if the courthive was contacted, but that she would not be reading it out for them today. She wasn't dumb. She knew a lost cause when she saw one.

The crowd then proceeded to politely ignore her vent-screaming the second she walked out of the block. God. This is why John and Terezi had almost been a thing for so long in Calliope's terrible fanfic. The human had never related to anyone harder than her in this moment. Ever.

He might contact the courthive for that callout if he could get away with it. He kind of felt bad it would be lost to history.

John had tucked himself away, watching as The Beneficent, tears of gratitude pouring down her face, led the crowd outside and away from the gory scene. Probably to thank her freshly traumatized audience for being a part of the civic process or whatever. It was actually a kind of classy move if John was being honest with himself. With a few reverent glances at the saint who had just perished in front of them, the crowd filed out quietly, eager to hear The Beneficent's speech.

Literally the whole block had already forgotten about Tavros.

Which was a good thing, because John needed both his and Eridan's heads.

Silent as a ghost, John made his way down to the front of the room, ejecting another shaving razor from his dad's wallet. The speech would probably take a while, but he was still on a bit of a crunch here.

Eridan first. That would be the body that was harder to get to if he couldn't do this on time. He leaned down next to the man, flipping open the razor. Wow, this guy was so much easier than dealing with Equius' juiced up indigo monsterneck. In only a few minutes, John was able to grab lightning bolt shaped horns and yank, popping the head off cleanly and practically throwing the CATASTROPHIC QUADRANT DOUCHEBAGGERY BEHEADMENT straight into his Sylladex.

Tavros had been even easier, which John guessed he should have expected, considering his neck was already broken.

He heard a light cough next to him as he twisted off his second trophy, making him jump about forty feet in the air with a startled yelp. Whirling around, he found himself face to face with a very wide-eyed Aradia, who had apparently been watching him mutilate two corpses for the last 10 minutes without a word.

"Whatcha got there?"

John did nothing for a full second before captchaloging THE TROLL WHO NEVER GREW UP BEHEADMENT, feeling very weirdly like a small child getting caught with a piece of candy they shouldn't have.

"A shaving razor." John sheathed the knife and offered it out to her. Holy shit, his voice was raspy. He probably should have expected it to be, considering he rarely spoke out loud anymore, but it was kind of throwing him off.

Deep red eyes flicked to the knife, absolutely coated in violet and bronze blood. A lesser Beforan troll would have been freaking out by now, but Aradia was kind of fucking crazy actually.

She plucked the knife neatly from his hand, opening it with an air of fascination.

"I don't think I've ever seen a knife like this before. Seems like it did… a decent job. For what you wanted it to do. Where did you get it?"

John blinked. Oh, yeah. Trolls didn't need to shave, did they?

"My d--my uh. Lusus. He kept collecting them for me. He really liked that style of knife for some reason."

Aradia nodded, seemingly accepting this answer without question. "My lusus likes to collect things, too. She prefers fossils. What kind of lusus… ah… did you have?"

Fuck. You'd think after spending nearly three years on Beforus, John would have had his story straight. And he kinda did. For the most part. He just hadn't been counting on someone asking about his troll childhood.

A phantasmic mannequin.

"A phantasmagoric nannaquin. Yours?"

Ugh.

"My RamMom is an Ovissauric Monitungulate."

John tried his absolute hardest to look like that meant something to him. She grinned, seemingly choosing to go easy on his stupid ass.

"They're more commonly known as Sheeplizards. Based on your lusus, you're a purple, I take it? From what I heard about that species, they're kind of…" Aradia trailed off awkwardly, trying hard to hide a pitying look.

Oh, goddammit. John had figured Calliope had given him a purpleblood lusus. Of course she had. What he hadn't expected was her getting him to tell the most infamous killer in Beforan history that he had daddy issues.

Oh, please, John. Every troll has daddy issues. That type of lusus is just known for being a little unsettling. Lusii in the phantasm genus tend to be.

"Y-yeah, but he was fine. My Ghost Dad was totally fine. He may have forgotten my wriggling day a couple times, but he came home to help me perform magic tricks when it mattered most." Maybe pulling inspiration for his fake ParentAnimal from a 1990's box office flop starring Bill Cosby of all people wasn't a great idea. He was sounding a little too defensive over a lusus that didn't even exist.

I probably should have mentioned, but they also have a reputation for being negligent workaholics.

He was going to kill Calliope one day and it would be fantastic.

Something in his expression must have clued her into his growing frustration, because Aradia immediately held up her hands in a placating gesture.

"Just a stereotype. I guess I was curious if it was true."

"It isn't."

She hesitated, then looked from John, to the two headless corpses next to them, then back to John. "Yeah… probably just rumors. Listen, were you the one who… you look both very young and pretty rough, kiddo. Are you already staying with a violet? Do you have literally anyone looking out for you?"

The hairs rose on the back of his neck. The crowd from outside would be streaming back in any second. Had Aradia tried to stall him on purpose? If the empress walked back in here and saw their most immediate surroundings and a very obviously bloody John, he'd get culled on the spot. Hell, considering the circumstances, she might even cull him herself, and then he'd never get away.

"No." How much would he mess up if he just teleported away in front of her? He took a step back, and Aradia's brows pulled together. "I'm fine."

"Kid, I'm just offering if you need someone…"

He was already pushing past her, trying to get to the back exit, away from where the crowd would be coming in. "Keep the knife."

"I'm not trying to--"

"For what it's worth, both Tavros and Eridan totally deserved it."

"Well, that part's true."

She didn't keep him from exiting the block, even though she absolutely could have just picked him up with her psychic powers and held him there. It didn't stop the human from practically running out the door, yanking it open and teleporting as soon as he fell out of her line of sight. He didn't care, he just had to get as far the fuck away as he could for the moment…

…

..

.

Hm.

You'd think having his zappy powers for so long, he'd know "as far away as possible" was kind of a dangerous statement.

He was on… some kind of beach? No, that wasn't right. Dark brown sand led towards deceptively calm cerulean waters, certainly, but they quickly gave way to a deep purple and bright yellow bridge, only to be superceded yet again by blood red rivers and what looked like brains and fucking goddammit he was back in the memory bubbles, wasn't he?

Someone coughed behind him, causing John to jump out of his skin for the second time that day. More slowly than he had in the courtblock, he turned around.

"Hi, John!"

Aradia's godtier clothing let him know he at least hadn't taken the Beforan ancestor with him, but the human's long suffering sigh was far from the most polite greeting he could have given the troll. At the very least, she didn't seem to care, if her bright, dimpled smile meant anything.

"You've been busy, haven't you?"

John paused, looking down at himself and wondering what he could get away with. He was in a shitty troll cosplay, and covered in bronze and violet blood, but at least he wasn't holding a knife anymore. So that was good.

"Not at all." Maybe just boldfaced lying was the way to go here. "Why would I be running around in the worst trollsona ever if I wasn't super bored?"

She snorted. Well, it had been worth a shot. "Nice try, but Alt Calliope already told me everything."

Oh, come on, really?

The troll continued, completely unbothered by his flat expression. "She kind of had to, to be fair. I was getting a little too curious about the changes around here!" She leaned in suddenly, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "She knows I take my duties as the guardian of the afterlife seriously. She had to make sure I didn't accidentally sabotage you out of concern."

If he was honest with himself, John had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He went with the most obvious line of inquiry. "The changes? So things are starting to work?"

Her beaming smile was blinding. "John, you've made my job so much easier. I'm sure you have a long way to go, but holy shit everyone is so much better than they were before!"

"Wait, they are?"

"Yeah! Calliope asked me not to spoil anything, but let's just say your efforts haven't been in vain. Some of the people here are even decent to talk to at this point."

It should have been a relief, honestly. Knowing that he wasn't just being fucked with. It was probably the base fact that John knew he had about a bajillion sweeps to go before his work was done that made his exhausted gaze fall to the ground as he nodded.

He glanced back up to the same pitying look that had pissed him off on Beforus and quickly stuck a smile on his face instead. "That's.. wow, that's great! I almost thought it would be impossible. I'm pretty sure some of the trolls here are kind of the worst people I've ever met? So any improvement at all is good news to hear."

Another snort, though Aradia's smile had dimmed to a less manic version of its former glory. "Yeah, they're kind of terrible. But speaking of Alt Calliope, she asked me to give you something," John saw the brief flash of a Sylladex before Aradia held her fist out to him. He reached out hesitantly and she placed a small object in his palm. A… bookmark? With the same vaudeville hook design that she had used on him previously.

"She didn't tell me anything about it, but I'm sure you'll know what to do with it when the time comes." Marvelous. At least the cherub wasn't an overly obfuscating douche to just him.

Fool, are you forgetting I can hear you?

Do something about it, then.

It was several long seconds staring at the bookmark before John remembered to act like a normal person again and looked back up at Aradia. "Um, sorry. Thanks!"

Aradia had that look on her face again. The same one that the Beforan Aradia had met him with before he had decided to run away like a dumbass.

"You know… these dream bubbles are technically completely out of spacetime. If you ever need to take a break from your work, you can pretty much pop up here at any time and do whatever without it meaning much, as long as you don't react like a certain fuchsiablooded heiress and run around trying to make a ghost army."

It was John's turn to snort. Both of them knew that had been a terrible plan from the start. Aradia tried again.

"Is there… anything in particular you want to do before going back to your work? Any way you want to relax or… needs you haven't been meeting?"

He blinked. Honestly, he hadn't thought about anything like that for some time. Probably a bit too much time, which it looked like his increasingly nosy new troll friend was acutely aware of. Taking a breath, the human did a quick self check up. He hadn't been hungry in forever, so he was probably fine there. And he was exhausted, but what else was new? The paint lining his face and arms was starting to crack heavily and the blood on his person had cooled by this point to be a sticky, clingy problem. He felt disgusting.

"Aradia… this is probably an awkward ask, but do you have any idea where I can get a shower around here?"

The burgundy's grin was back, as blindingly cheerful as it had ever been.

"Hah! Yeah, you definitely need one. Follow me!"

Chapter Text

Aradia led him along the blue waters towards a small, dark bubble. She fiddled with it for a minute, leaving John to take in the scenery while he waited.

For a beach, everything seemed so weirdly still here. The waves seemed hardly existant, though the extent of the burnt yellow sand dunes everywhere suggested that water could get pretty high. A gentle breeze was wafting through the fake landscape. If the human squinted, he could have sworn he saw hives in the far distance, dotting the beach in various random configurations. He knew if he actually went in that direction, he'd go into a completely different dream bubble, but it was interesting to see. Everything was so far out. If anything happened and you needed help, or even if you just wanted to hear another person's voice, it looked like you had about an hour's walk ahead of you.

"Annnd there!" Aradia's tone was normal, but her voice almost seemed to get swallowed by the lonely surroundings, like the gentle lapping of the water and wind through the sand were hungry. It was an oddly eerie place, though John's stint messing with the Beforan Empress and her dick of a matesprite may have been coloring his perspective slightly. Even on Beforus, troll marine life could be absolutely vicious. Rather than anything peaceful, it painted this place as a sea monster attack waiting to happen.

Which is why the hive Aradia had seemingly just summoned from nowhere was kind of fucking ridiculous. It was practically right on the edge of the shore. Even from just an erosion perspective, what if the sands eventually crumbled and everything just collapsed? The house looked lopsided, pointing to the possibility that it may have already started happening. Who built this thing?

Aradia motioned for John to follow before merrily moving ahead to the main door of the hive in question. The yellow twelve-paned windows of the structure rattled violently in the wind as they approached, as if John's aspect were warning him away from the dark gray dwelling. The house wasn't that large, which made the massive, garage door-esque entrance beside what looked to be the main entrance look all the more ludicrous. John knew it was for a lusus, but good lord. It looked like it was practically never used. Either the entrance had been terribly planned or this person's lusus fucking sucked. Or both.

The burgundy knocked on the door, calling out cheerily. "Hey, Makara! You in?"

Shit. What? No. John shot Aradia an incredulous look. This was Gamzee's hive? What the fuck was she doing?

There was no response from the inside of the hive, but when quiet footsteps suddenly became audible, John found himself ducking into the shadows by sheer habit, not wanting to be seen by his "boss"'s brother's favorite soldier.

I would hardly call Gamzee his favorite, but he was a good dad.

…

What?

The door opened, helpfully providing a nice beam of light for John to hide away from, though it kept him from seeing inside. Aradia stared directly into the beam, smiling, completely unphased.

"Hi! Sorry to pop in, but random question: can we borrow your ablutions?"

There was a long, deafening pause. The person on the inside said nothing, but his guide responded as though a question had been asked. "We? Oh." She tutted, and before John could react, she grabbed his arm and yanked him into the light, ignoring the absolutely filthy look he shot her as he tripped into Gamzee's line of sight.

Except, as he blinked away the soft yellow light, he realized it wasn't Gamzee. It was the other one. Kurloz. The creepy mime guy.

In retrospect, he probably should have been expecting that.

It was a small solace that the purpleblood looked as taken aback by John's appearance as John had been by his, and it took the human a second to remember why. Oh yeah. Troll outfit. Blood. He really must look terrible at the moment because this was the third troll to look genuinely alarmed in his direction in the past couple hours, even if the courthive seemed days away.

Aradia elbowed him, her glance towards him incredibly pointed. Ugh. Fine. "Could I use your shower?" She frowned at him and elbowed him again. "... And… thank you for opening your door…?"

Apparently that still wasn't what she was looking for, because the Maid immediately punched him hard in the shoulder.

"Ow! I have no idea what the fuck you want from me, Aradia!"

"Have you forgotten every manner your schoolfeeds ever taught you?"

"Humans don't have schoolfeeds. We have schools. And they're trash."

"Clearly," She turned back at Kurloz, who looked very much like he was fighting between being amused and incredibly confused. "I don't think you two have met. This is John!" She gestured to the exasperated human like she was introducing a new act in a comedy show, and she may as well have been because John certainly felt like some kind of clown standing there.

The Heir took a breath like it was the only fucking thing holding him together, and at this point it kind of was. If he was being honest here, he was barely hanging on to the few strands of sanity he had left. Why hadn't he just popped back over to Beforus the second he recognized the dream bubbles? It would have been so much easier going back to work than dealing with this shit.

If it helps, I do actually need you to complete a few things here.

Motherfucking dammit. FINE.

He plastered the most obviously fake smile he could muster onto his face, hoping both trolls ignored the fact that his fists were clenched hard beside him. "Kurloz, right? I think I've seen you once or twice, but we've never spoken, I don't think."

The troll shook his head, making a zipping motion with his hand and gesturing towards his mouth, the stitches surrounding his lips framed neatly by his face paint. "Oh yeah… Maybe 'spoken' wasn't quite the right word to use… I've… never talked at you for you to vaguely respond to until I go away?"

Aradia sighed, openly done with John's shit, but Kurloz's eyebrows shot up as a small breathy laugh escaped behind those stitches. He lifted a hand lazily in a "yeah, pretty much" type of gesture. The response surprised him, honestly. From the human's recollections, the tall mime had always seemed not to respond to anything, fully embracing the creepy vibes he had to know he gave off.

Aradia's prior words floated through his head. Some of the people here are even decent to talk to at this point.

Was Kurloz one of them?

"Alright," The burgundy declared loudly, causing both of the guys next to her to jump. "I'll leave you two to do… whatever you're going to do!"

John turned to her quickly, opening his mouth to question what it was she meant by that, but didn't have time before she shoved him hard, aiming directly for an equally unprepared Kurloz. Both of them collapsed in a surprised heap just beyond the troll's hive door, giving Aradia ample time to grab the handle herself.

"Thanks for understanding, Kurloz! Have fun, kids." And with that, she slammed the door behind her. Neither troll nor human had to bother to look outside one of the windows to know she was out of there.

Well fuck, now what was he going to do?

Awkwardly, John clambered off the bony purpleblood as quickly as he could, hesitantly offering a hand to help the other hapless idiot off the floor. Shockingly, the Prince took his hand, skeleton gloves providing a decent grip as he helped his unwilling host up. He kind of expected Kurloz to simply open his door back up and have him leave, but the mime hesitated instead, making a small "one moment" gesture before speeding off into a different part of the hive.

The brief moment he was alone allowed the human to gaze around the relaxation block he'd been left in. Considering the grandiose nature of both Kurloz's spooky persona and purpleblood reputation in general, John had been expecting something a bit more… more. The room itself was pretty modest.

There was a big screen TV on one side of the room and whatever the fuck the troll name for a couch was on the other. Faygo bottles were grouped in the corner of the room like so many colorful bowling pins, a horn pile hidden in the hallway off the back, and if the human was being nosy, he could have sworn he saw a unicycle in the nutrition block around the corner.

That was kind of it, really.

The only remarkable thing about the hive was the clown posters. They were absolutely everywhere. And statues. And necklace charms hanging from a ceiling fan as pull chains. From his small view into the nutrition block, John could have sworn Kurloz even had the exact same magnet set as his dad tacked on the fridge. How in the hell had that happened?

He let his gaze wander from poster to poster, various troll clowns looking back at him menacingly. Many of them had their names printed on the bottom: The Carnival of Carnage. The Ringmaster. The Riddlebox. These were probably unsettling, right? Like, they should have been? If John had had normal surroundings growing up?

They just kind of reminded him of home. Like an overwhelming, way too fucking concentrated, alien-cult-ized version of home.

And John really didn't know how to feel about that.

He didn't notice Kurloz come in, too busy staring at yet another figurine John was pretty fucking certain he'd also grown up with. He had no idea how long the troll had been standing there awkwardly. Not before he'd finally picked up a clown horn.

HONK.

"FUCK." For the third time that very long day, John jumped a mile, and the other two must have frayed his nerves to fuck, because this time he actually de-materialized for a second. He still wasn't sure how solid he was when he turned back to the troll, who had frozen after watching him vanish, gripping a whiteboard and a purple marker.

There was a brief pause before Kurloz lamely held the board up for John to see.

STILL NEED SHOWER?

The human stared at him blankly for a second before looking down at the increasingly cracked paint on his arms, some of it gunked into disgusting globs courtesy of now fully dried troll blood. "I mean... yeah? If you don't mind?"

Kurloz sighed quietly before erasing his board and quickly writing anew.

OK

Chapter Text

Kurloz silently led him through the hive. The carnival paraphernalia that had been lining the walls in the relaxation block didn't die down. Quite the opposite actually. One room, barely around the corner, seemed to be practically wallpapered in posters, but John didn't get the best look before being led up some stairs to a mid-sized ablution block.

The Heir had been trying his hardest not to look at many of the various harlequins, kind of worried that in his exhausted state he'd zone out to one and make Kurloz get the horn out again, but that resolve was immediately lost the second he got a good look around the alien bathroom.

Once again. How did Kurloz have his father's clown rug?

He wasn't able to dwell on it long before Kurloz was gently pressing a towel into his hands, apparently trying to demonstrate something about the shower itself. John followed him to the nozzles. There was your typical hot water and cold water, but then a small spout off to the side labeled "Chitinous Exfoliant" and another labeled "Setae Degreasing Lubricant". It took some awkward fumbling with the whiteboard, but Kurloz was ultimately able to demonstrate that one side of each of those nozzles was body wash and shampoo respectively, and the other, skin moisturizer and hair conditioner. The troll hesitated for a quite a while before glancing at John's face and arms and finally pointing to the last nozzle, situated at the sink.

PAINT

Ah.

"Th-thank you," John didn't really know how to follow up from the offer. "Are you even… comfortable with me using that?"

Another pause. Kurloz seemed to be avoiding John's gaze as he tapped the whiteboard before writing a non-answer.

YOU USE CLOWN PAINT?

Oh, Calliope wished. She'd been needling him about it almost endlessly for a year now, especially once she'd seen the particular pattern that had been floating in John's dreams for as long as he could remember, but John couldn't shake the feeling that each paint style meant something. He hadn't wanted to fuck up, and he definitely hadn't wanted to give off some message he wasn't even aware of.

Or that was the excuse he gave to her. The idea of him wearing any paint other than the gray troll paint made him feel… odd.

Like he was following in fake, false, LYING footsteps that still felt…

Correct.

The last time he'd come across the feeling had been the first time the cherub had nagged him about it, and it had kind of overwhelmed him. The feeling of something being both undeniably fake but fundamentally and infuriatingly True.

He'd been fighting off a giant land octopus while first trying to find Feferi and Eridan. John had only meant to knock the creature out, but he must have zoned out and just let his muscle memory from Sburb take it from there, because when he came to, the sea monster had been nothing but a smear of violet on the ground.

The first time he could remember was on the ship with Jade, over a fucking movie of all things. That hadn't gone well either, considering John had immediately strangled himself unconscious, found out everything in his life was a lie for the sake of "hot yaois", and then beat the everloving shit out of Caliborn as a thank you for said revelation.

How the hell would he explain that to a guy who seemed to have made clown-related religiosity his whole personality? Specifically, without either pissing him off or mentioning that they were working for opposite cherubs. The fact that Kurloz was kind of… intimidatingly creepy-pretty and they were standing a bit too close in a shower together helped exactly nothing.

He may have taken too long to answer. Kurloz was staring at him patiently, just a slight furrow of a frown visible beneath curly bangs. Maybe he'd just modify what he told Calliope.

"I… have a pattern, but I'm also an alien? I don't want to send a different message than what something would mean back on Earth."

It seemed to be the right thing to say. The mime's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his shoulders relaxed. He spent a little longer writing on the board than before, erasing several times before he finally showed the message to John.

PAINT YOUR SHIT BROTHER. ILL TELL YOU IF ITS OFF ONCE YOURE OUT.

It wasn't lost on John that this was the longest message Kurloz had written to him so far. He nodded tentatively. He could always wipe it off once he was back on Beforus. Why was interacting with this guy almost nothing like what he thought it would be?

"Thank you."

The purpleblood's small smile, hidden behind paint and stitches as it was, actually seemed genuine as he left the human to his privacy.

Holy fucking shit, he had needed this shower.

It shouldn't have been a shock, but whatever was in Kurloz's body wash seemed to scrub away both the paint and blood immediately, the sticky mess on his skin simply dissolving into foamy bubbles in the warm water like it was nothing. His hair, on the other hand, needed a couple washes to get the mix of blood, grease, and old hair gel out of it.

It wasn't that he hadn't bathed at any point since beginning to work for Calliope. He tended to be pretty good about it, actually. But he kept getting into the tendency of… focusing a bit too hard on whatever his latest goal was and forgetting about hygiene for a while. The courthive case was a prime example. John hadn't realized quite how filthy he really was until the grossness was finally swirling down the drain.

As he washed, he turned over his interactions with the mime in his head. At the very least, the older Makara seemed to be a pretty good host. He hadn't murdered him. He hadn't chucklevoodoo'd him (to John's knowledge at least). He hadn't even asked about the blood or troll outfit, which was kind of the greatest relief the human could ask for considering he hadn't come up with a solid story for it yet, and letting the clown (or anyone really) know anything about his mission with Calliope sounded beyond dangerous.

Except Aradia, apparently. The lady who thought it was an entirely good idea, knowing as much as Calliope had told her, to lead John straight to what he had thought was Gamzee's hive.

Wait.

Calliope, what did you mean about Gamzee earlier?

John, don't contact me when you're in the shower.

As if the cherub wasn't always watching him on some level anyway.

Ugh. About not being Caliborn's favorite?

No, about being a father. The cherub had told him at the start of this that trolls couldn't be parents, and from everything he'd witnessed on Beforus, that seemed completely true. That had been the reason he'd agreed to this whole mess in the first place, so that Jane and Jade couldn't be both crazy fascists and fucking travesties as mothers.

I believe my exact wording was that trolls are unable to have children the way humans can. They can still adopt. Gamzee raised both myself and Caliborn, frozen in time with true immortality as you are currently.

… And he'd been good? He'd actually taken care of them?

A lot of purples have a fairly inherently paternal nature about them. They like caring for others. Gamzee is no different, nor, for that matter, are you. Don't think I didn't notice you taking care of that salamander when you were younger.

Casey.

Yes, her.

Also, could she stop treating him like he was Kurloz and Gamzee's fellow purpleblood? He was a human, no matter what games of dress up she kept needing him to play.

For now. There is literally no universe in existence in which you aren't one at the end of this. You're aware of that, right? I checked, out of curiosity.

Ugh.

The human rinsed out his hair, simply enjoying the warm water for a second before he finally shut it off. Time to dry himself off, get dressed, and get this over with, since it seemed like he had literally painted himself into a corner. It was kind of scary, actually.

What if he sucked so bad that Kurloz just killed him on the spot? Generous host or no, it wasn't like he could trust him that much. The dude had been The Grand Highblood in another life, and apparently had chewed off his own tongue in this one. Not exactly someone who could be relied on for stable interactions.

... You know, Kurloz also had a paternal role in his game. One he settled fairly well into. Both of the Makaras make pretty good parents, John. You'll see when it's time.

… Hm.

If that information made him feel any way at all, he was absolutely going to ignore it. John turned his attention to the mirror, leaning close without his glasses, and was slightly startled once he got a decent look.

He should… probably eat and sleep more, huh. He didn't look bad per se, but he was certainly more gaunt that he remembered, dark circles framing blue eyes like eyeshadow. The earrings Calliope had cajoled him into getting had since been upgraded to very small gauges (nothing could convince him he wasn't just a doll to her), and they only exaggerated the kind of haunting face that looked back at him.

It would almost be a relief to cover it up.

Arms and hands first, that part was easy. Simple troll gray. John had learned in his time applying and reapplying that the paint tended to look less patchy if he applied it in small "X" patterns, so that's exactly what he did, the smooth paint from the faucet drying almost instantly once it touched his skin. His neck got the same treatment. Then he painted his face white.

Now for the hard part, taking that pattern he'd always seen in his dreams and seeing if he could give it life.

It was simple enough, but that kind of made it scarier, since it'd be more noticeable if he fucked it up. A gray eyeshadow pattern, then small black lines under the eyes, painting them in a kind of permanent smile, then a single slash down his right eye. The pattern he'd seen had a small band around his upper left arm as well. John wasn't certain if that was technically… "allowed", but he did it anyway. Might as well stay true to form, right?

Once he was done, he stood back, looking into the mirror bleakly. The lines were a tad thicker than he had meant for them to be, overcompensating for shaky hands, but all in all, it didn't look too terrible.

Kurloz' eyes widened immediately once he headed back down the stairs, and John froze as the lanky mime stood up from the couch for a closer look.

He didn't look mad, but he did look intrigued, gently tilting John's face up to look at the eye markings before glancing at the band along his arm.

In a quick flash, the white board was back out.

FOOLS PATTERN?

Hesitantly, John nodded, vaguely remembering Calliope's talk of harlequin types when she'd first "recruited" him. No wonder she'd been bugging him to paint as soon as she had seen the pattern. His stupid ass had accidentally proven her right.

MEANT TO BE CUT IN HALF?

John frowned. "Uh, no..? That's how it's always been."

Kurloz nodded, seemingly lost in thought as he stared carefully at John's face. Almost absentmindedly, a gloved thumb came up to gently trace the line work under his right eye.

His face was burning. Probably from embarrassment. This paint better be full coverage because if the clown could see how flushed he was right now, the human was going to break something.

SHITS SYMMETRIC ON BEFORUS

John's face fell. Dammit. He knew it was just a slash and an arm band, but making anything symmetrical left a lot of room for him to look very fucking dumb with next to no effort.

Kurloz saw his expression and snorted.

WANT HELP MIRRORING?

The troll looked… hopeful? And when John nodded his confirmation, Kurloz couldn't hide the way he lit up slightly. What was it Calliope had said about purplebloods?

They liked caring for others.

Kurloz followed his guest back to the ablution block, glancing briefly down at the sink and pulling off his gloves, setting them to the side before picking up the makeup brush where John had left it last.

John opened his mouth to ask another question, but Kurloz smiled, holding a single finger up to his mouth before moving the hand not holding the brush to the human's shoulder, a silent request to hold still while the troll focused on the paint.

He fell silent as requested, watching mime's face with interest. Kurloz was completely zeroed in, pale, dead eyes flicking back and forth between the slash that John had already done while the clown's own, shockingly steady hand made every effort to match it.

After making the mark, Kurloz seemed to take it upon himself to clean up the lines John had left, gently tilting the human's head this way and that so he could even out wherever waves or shakes had been visible.

The hand on his shoulder, absently, had moved down John's arm while he worked, carefully skipping over the little band of paint the mime would have to match in a second. At one point, seemingly on instinct, the Prince's hand had moved to John's waist to pull him closer, though the hand immediately went back to his arm at John's intake of breath.

At the very least, the human got a pretty good idea of how full the paint coverage was, considering Kurloz' face seemed flushed to match his after that point.

Finally finished with his face, the troll moved onto his arm, patting the sink and moving John's glasses in a request to have the human hop up on the counter. He did so, and Kurloz again got to work, carefully evening out the lines of his original arm before moving to mirror the band on his other.

Both of them seemed incredibly invested in politely ignoring the fact that Kurloz was situated between John's legs to do this.

After what felt like forever, the purple sprayed some kind of makeup sealant on his work, and the Heir was finally able to hop off the counter, leaving Kurloz to put his gloves back on as John stuck his glasses on and stared at himself in the mirror.

… Well.

His glasses framed the eye paint nicely. And the earrings. To be honest… his whole face framed the face paint nicely. Whatever Kurloz had done, the symmetry had made the design ridiculously flattering. John didn't have his horns on yet, but he had no doubt that once he did, there wasn't a troll on Beforus or Alternia that would question what it was they were looking at. He might even get a bit of attention because of it. The way the other castes treated purplebloods was kind of… charged.

You should make this a regular thing.

Don't ruin the moment, Calliope.

I would never, but speaking of, do you remember what I wrote to ask Kurloz when you got the chance?.

Goddammit, he didn't want to! It was kind of a huge fucking ask.

Kurloz looked like he was trying the absolute hardest he could not to fidget, adjusting and readjusting his gloves as something that looked an awful lot like nervousness crept into his features. Noticing John looking, he gestured to his face before making three signs: thumbs up, thumbs down, so-so?

Oh, whoops. He hadn't said anything yet, had he?

The barely concealed anxiety on Kurloz' face made John's answer a lot more honest than he had meant for it to be.

"I wasn't prepared to look hot."

Kurloz' hand smacked against the wall, causing John to jump in alarm until he noticed the Prince's shoulders shaking as he doubled over, quiet laughter again escaping from behind stitched lips.

The white board was picked back up.

I WASNT PREPARED TO TAKE CREDIT FOR THAT

Oh. Oh. The compliment completely blindsided him, washing over the human in a flush of heat.

Ask him now! He'll likely say yes at this point.

Did Calliope have to be in his head every fucking time he got flirted with?

The nervous energy pooling in his stomach mixed with Calliope's insistent urging collided, making the next words a jumbled mess as they fell out of his mouth.

"Do y--would you like me to come back here at some point? Like just to hang out?"

The troll looked up at him incredulously, and completely against his will, Calliope's question tumbled out as well.

"A-and. If you do, do you think you could teach me how to mime? So that you can talk to me without a whiteboard?"

Kurloz stared, pale eyes wide with shock before he finally wrote on the board again, previously steady hands visibly jittery.

IF YOU WANT. OKAY

Chapter Text

Showered and painted, fake horns back on, and with a Western Beforan Sign Language lesson freshly planned, John had gathered his things and thanked the purpleblood before stepping out of the clown covered home, only to be immediately startled by a wolf whistle from somewhere nearby.

It took him several seconds of scanning before he spotted the source, shooting a thoroughly unimpressed look at the burgundy gremlin grinning at him from Kurloz' roof.

"Were you there the whole time?"

"Well, I had to make sure things went well. You looked fucking terrifying before you stepped strutnub in that hive, John."

"... How long were you spying?"

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't watching you in the ablution closet if that's what you're worried about."

She flew down and walked with him, waiting until they were out of earshot from Kurloz' hive before continuing. "I thought she was just being a weird, clown-obsessed cherub when she said she wanted you to go to Kurloz' hive to, and I quote, 'perform your first jesterly rites'."

He should have fucking figured. "That's why you led me straight to Kurloz, instead of anyone who made sense?"

"John, the comedic plotting of our mutual friend aside, I think you need to recognize that even if trolls are pretty good at violence, there are only a select number of people in these bubbles who both won't freak out and won't ask questions if you waltz into their hive covered in blood."

He sighed, and she continued.

"That and I… also feel kind of bad for him. You might be the first guest he's had over in about two hundred sweeps. Other than me checking in from time to time to make sure he's still… well… not alive, but you get it."

"Really? He doesn't have his quadrants over?" Now that he was out of the hive, John was starting to run back over his and the Prince's interactions again. There was… no way the guy wasn't taken, right? It would make way more sense if any weirdly charged vibes between the two of them had just been John's exhausted imagination. He knew at least one quadrant had been mentioned to him at one point, by Vriska's shockingly chatty wannabe-pirate ancestor.

"He probably would if they were still his quadrants. Remember those changes I mentioned?"

Oh.

"John. It was brutal. He had been with both his moirail and matesprite for thousands of sweeps, and they both broke up with him as a fucking team. In public. While calling out key aspects of his personality as reasoning."

"Holy shit."

Aradia nodded, wincing at the memory. "Porrim figures that Cronus was behind it somehow, but I don't think Kurloz does. He just… accepted it, and then never left his hive again."

"Is that why he was so… quiet?"

"He's always quiet."

"You know what I mean."

"If you're referring to his kind of… awkwardness… probably? I think the breakups did a number on him. I mean something like that would kill anyone's self esteem, right?"

John nodded, thoughtful for a second before pausing. "Wait, so you took me to his hive because he's desperate and sad? I don't want to take advantage of the guy, Aradia! He probably wouldn't have even let me in if he was still in those relationships."

Aradia shot him a bewildered look. "It's been hundreds of sweeps! That is a hilariously unhealthy way to look at two lonely teenagers helping each other out for an hour or two."

"I am not lonely."

"You actually sound like you're losing your voice as you talk to me. When's the last time you held a full conversation outside your head?"

John scowled, pointedly looking away as Aradia grinned victoriously.

"He seemed to enjoy helping, and he'll probably keep on enjoying it with those lessons of yours. Just let him! There's no need to be some kind of martyr about it."

The human huffed. "Any more sage advice, Madam Quadrant Facilitator?"

Aradia's grin turned more wicked, clearly enjoying the direction the conversation was heading in. "I said nothing about quadrants between him and you. You brought that one up yourself."

"Aradia, no."

"My only sage advice is to keep your pan about you when you go back to Beforus. You might have to fight off a few pailing attempts with that new look of yours."

"Aradia."

"You are vastly underestimating the number of clownchasers among trolls, Egbert."

"Alright. Yep. I'm leaving."

Aradia's cackle was the last thing he heard before he zapped away, pulling out his coding book before he could even fully materialize onto whatever random Beforan building he had aimed for. He wasn't certain if he had even hit the right time line, but at least he could use diving into work as an excuse not to focus on literally anything that had just been said to him.

Or think about sad mimes holding his wais--nope.

What was wrong with him? Aradia's assumptions aside, he didn't even like guys, as he had awkwardly explained to Karkat all those years ago.

And that was what he was sticking with.

…

Even if most trolls made it seem like no big deal at all, acknowledging that everyone could like each other and it could just... be a thing.

Without whatever horrible stress Earth added to it for no reason.

Like it didn't even have to be... a realization about anything.

Right?

Honestly. John hadn't even been around his human friends for a while. He was around trolls! And had been around only trolls for three years at this point.

And he already knew all his human friends would be fine with... whatever he told them, considering...

In the situation he wasn't straight anyway. Which he was.

A-and if he wasn't, he wasn't even going to acknowledge it as a thing to be worried about and just... move on.

In fact, he was never going to think about this again.

That strategy worked for everything else, so why not this?

...

A-anyway.

Interestingly, The Scorned hadn't ratted him out.

When the crowd had filed, dutifully, back in alongside the empress and seen the two headless bodies beside Aradia, the burgundy had apparently immediately spun some tale of her cutting them off herself in the "warm-casted tradition of releasing the deceased from the bonds of time".

The highbloods, completely unsurprisingly, had accepted this without question, making a huge-ass show of being humbled by being welcomed into such a practice. The empress even offered The Scorned her personal gratitude for honoring her matesprite in such a "rich tradition of surprisingly barbarous warm culture".

What a waste of a fucking planet.

Aradia was fully and unequivocally exonerated, and then, hilariously, offered Eridan's position as Royal Embarrassador. Apparently, Her Eleemosynary Beneficence had realized during a trial of such historical significance that more work needed to be done to reach out to the lower castes of the planet, so that they could be aware of the social services offered to them and correct their… misguided ways. What better person to do that than one who society had so clearly failed?

The position offered seadweller benefits. Aradia took it immediately. And if a single shithead in that courtblock had a problem with it, they kept their ignorance shafts shut.

The same could not be said for the Beforan public.

The Beneficent had highly underestimated the quiet resentment of the Beforan people against the Burgundy-Who-Thought-She-Could. Murders on Beforus were ridiculously rare, and murders against any cool caste at all practically unheard of. John's earlier meddling had gotten rid of all plausible deniability. The idea that Aradia had not only gone unculled but been rewarded for her behavior was more than a lot of midcastes and cooler could take.

Sure, a ton of trolls had gone on the record recounting the selfless sacrifice of The Besotted and the nigh-heroic honor shown to him by The Scorned, but it couldn't be verified. All four security grubs recording the trial seemed to have malfunctioned right before the supposed martyrdom, bluescreening moments before the big event.

What a crazy coincidence.

The coding book had moved on at this point, and John had had to fight Calliope on it. He couldn't understand why she hadn't used Terezi's Callout Casework. Wasn't it supposed to be legendary? Wouldn't it make this whole situation a billion times worse?

I'll be honest with you. I completely forgot about that casework.

Typical.

Wow.

It was an easy win, and in short order, some mysterious purpleblood kid had leaked the Novitiate Reprover's callout to the local papers.

The effect was immediate.

Terezi Pyrope became the face of denied justice for the trial, prominent voices bemoaning her missed masterpiece of judicial shameconduction. She was an overday celebrity and one of the most sought after Social-Justicars on the planet for centuries afterwards.

She fucking hated it. John had never been so proud of himself.

The Beneficent's hold on her people was starting to show some wear. Conspiracy theories popped up like weeds, infecting every hole in the story people could find. Millions of trolls were "just asking questions" as to why the empress seemed so invested in protecting Aradia, stories ranging from covering up a cheating scandal to "aliens are trying to convince us that we all can't live in harmony :o(".

As usual, the clowns were right.

But there was a way to get them to focus on something else.

Chapter Text

John drummed his fingers against his thigh as he re-read the next section of the coding book for what felt like the twentieth time. It was a good thing he had managed to hole himself up in an abandoned hive for this next portion. It appeared Calliope had been going in order of difficulty for their missions. This would be his last one on Beforus, but the most convoluted one yet. The time-pour into this was about to be absolutely ridiculous.

step 307: planting the seeds of rage

the original religion of the purple caste was as peaceful as the beforan people themselves. as semi-aquatic trolls, it was the job of the purplebloods to guard the coasts and protect those warmer than them from dangerous beforan sea-fauna, as well as relay various messages from the amphibious royal castes to their fellow landdwelling brethren. their purposes can remain more or less the same as far as this planet is concerned. at least at first. if you even think of feeling bad, don't. there isn't a purple under the singular beforan moon who would prefer lies over the truth.

What an ominous introduction.

Calliope had again provided various definitions, shipping charts, timelines, and even a couple diagrams, but what she hadn't provided was… any information on the clown religion itself, in either its current or goal iterations. What was he meant to be dealing with, and what was he meant to be changing it into?

step 307 addendum 17d: resist correcting every heretical instance

you may come across variations from the religion you know. this is normal between the timelines--not a cause of concern, and i ask you to please contact me before correcting anything incongruous in your cross references

Cross references? What the fuck was she talking about? He'd love to have some cross references to not massively fuck everything over, but he had absolutely nothing.

Do you no longer have your own religious text?

… Huh? John had never carried a religious text with him. He didn't even have a religion growing up.

Don't lie to me, Fool. Are you forgetting I can see your whole life? Your paradox clone was sent to Earth with it. Your tome. The guide of mirthfulness you've lived your life by, written by your own ancestor, as legendary in his field as you yourself became post-scratch.

His paradox ancestor was Jane…? She, not he.

John. You cannot grow up with a lost mystical text sought after for millennia on Beforus and Alternia alike and then tell me you have no idea what I'm talking about. You're not fooling anyone.

Probably because he wasn't trying to fool anyone. He had no fucking clue what the cherub was talking about. Could she at least give him the name of the book?

I don't fucking know its name, John. It's been lost to the realms of legend. Kurloz and Gamzee would probably know it as The Green Book. It was written by your adoptive ancestor, not your paradoxical one. Though, if I'm remembering correctly, she did sign it.

…

……

………………

Colonel Sassacre's?

So you did know what I was talking about.

No. No, he didn't. That wasn't a religious text. It was a fucking jokebook. It didn't cover what to think or believe; it covered how to train yourself for maximum japery. It covered how hilarious any given instance could be considered given some thought. It covered how best to live your life to prank everyone around you at all times, some particularly deserving shitheads more harshly than others. The book had a lot of suggestions on that topic in particular.

What, might I fucking ask, do you believe a religion built for clowns would teach?

… No. Nope. This was stupid.

Their argument continued for three days.

This is literally a requirement of your job! You can believe me or you can not believe me but the fact stands that your abilities to pull off this next series of events WILL rely on your knowledge of Sassacre!"

"Fuck, FINE," John finally swore out loud, pacing the abandoned kitchen furiously. He pulled out the ancient jokebook, still covered in ichor from his planetary shenanigans, and slammed it on the floor as he sat down next to it, the heavy text cracking the tile under his feet. If Alternate Calliope wanted him to read this stupid shitty book that he had literally lived his entire childhood by like a fucking idiot moron baby who didn't know that it was apparently a Lost Clown Bible, fine! He could fucking refresh himself before helping create the religion that had resulted in the book he had loved so much being written in the first place. Fuck you.

Wonderful, now once you're done with your tantrum--

Eat fucking shit, Calliope. She wanted him to read. It was reading time. And he wasn't doing shit until he fully and completely refreshed himself. On this entire, pogo-Slimer-sized frivolity dictionary.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Of course not. Joking about something as serious as joking would risk taking this joke into unfunny self-referencial territory. That was like Prankster Etiquette 101. Found on page 69 of his incredibly religious tome or whatever the fuck. Page 69 being a wonderful metaphor for the fact that the cherub could absolutely go suck a fucking dick right now.

Mirthful fucking messiahs, Fool--

Yeah, she and her bro should probably be in here, too, right? Maybe he'd figure out how he missed them if one of those messiahs could just shut the fuck up for a second.

Ugh, FINE. I'LL LEAVE YOU ALONE UNTIL YOU'RE DONE.

Thank you.

For the first time in years, the cherub left his head for a minute. The result felt something like finally turning the lights off after a long day of work, and the effect might have actually made him boneless if he hadn't already been sitting down. It would have been such a relief if the human hadn't been absolutely seething.

The fuck was Alternia and Beforus doing searching for this stupid book? It mentioned human shit like all the time. Would it even be accurate? How the hell were they reading into the random racial slurs that peppered this thing like seasoning on a cheap steak? What the fuck could they even glean from it?

And on the human side… didn't everyone else also read this book as just an old-timey vaudevillian manual? Did anyone pick up on the religious vibes that apparently ran through the thing in a way he had never recognized? He'd just grown up with this stuff. A few chapters in, he still couldn't fucking see what the cherub was talking about. Everything in the book just seemed… normal. Or as normal as something super old and racist could be.

He'd sent Rose a copy one time, after she had expressed curiosity, and she had almost immediately sent it back with an apology, claiming that her proclivities ran much more towards the eldritch, but she appreciated the insight into his "belief process". That had confused him. What would enjoyment of the eldritch gods have to do with whimsy and magic and fun? He'd just thought she was talking about reading material at the time.

Had she been able to see what he couldn't? Like she had first seen the writing on the walls in his room?

He could actually… really use a talk with her right now.

The thought sobored his burning nervous system, tucking away his earlier justified genuine unabating fucking r-- over-exaggerated frustration, back into the back of his brain. Would it… ever be possible to talk honestly with his best friends again? Rose had sent him to his death in the meat timeline before abandoning Kanaya without a word. He still couldn't be certain if that was Dirk's doing or Rose's own actions.

He did know that Dirk wasn't to blame for her cheating on Kanaya with Jade and ignoring Jade's treatment of Yiffy in that wretched fucking candy timeline, but that could also be due to the horrendous writing of the cherub his hopeless ass had decided to work for. And keep working for. Fuck, he had so many centuries with Calliope to go.

And Jade… holy shit. His relationship with Jade had already been a bit strained from her reaction to Dave Sprite's "prank" on him on his birthday all those years ago, but he was fully unprepared for her horrible behavior in that stupid fic. She was a no go. Possibly… for good, as much as it broke his heart to admit it.

Dave hadn't really done anything except be super passionate in the fic, but in some ways he was completely out of the question as well. He had had his own shit going on when they had all finally managed to talk together for the first time, and in both the meat and candy side he'd just seemed kind of… distracted. Too wrapped up in his complicated stuff with Karkat for there to be room to add John's problems.

Also, as much as he was trying to ignore it, John could admit he was in a bit of a delicate headspace right now. If Dave made a single joke about vaudevillian comics or clowns or, God forbid, his dad, the kid was a fucking goner. John would lose his shit. And probably the friendship, while he was at it.

He didn't want to do that. Dave was still his friend. Possibly still his best friend if the Knight wasn't too sick of him. But he wasn't a friend he could trust at the moment.

Which left two trolls, considering he hadn't really been able to talk to anyone else much, not enough to dump this on them.

Karkat would lose his shit the second he found out about John's clown associations, which would be hard to hide because this whole fucking situation practically had its own facepaint by now, and he knew Vriska. Far better at this point than when they had first begun talking. She would absolutely try to jump in on his missions, and the thought made John want to skewer himself like a rotisserie chicken rather than ever having to deal with her meddling again.

He was alone.

So he should probably just get back to reading and do his job, huh?

Don't you have Aradia's Trollian handle? Would you like Kurloz'?

Calliope, you motherfucking--

Chapter Text

Life was full of lessons, whether people wanted it to be, or not. One of those lessons involved personal space and when to grant it to people who were literally begging you to leave them alone for a couple hours.

I don't want you to be miserable.

John knew. He really did. He knew she was trying to help. But holy shit.

Please just listen to me.

It's not like he had a choice.

I haven't told Aradia much, honestly. But based on her reactions, she would be more than happy to lend you an ear.

Finding out you may have been raised into a cult without your awareness via a magic trick book wasn't exactly a light "getting to know you better" conversation.

Or Kurloz--

Would be even worse? Did the cherub think he was going to teleport straight into the mime's hive and delve into how John, an alien, was about to be the literal founder of his religion?

First of all, you don't have to mention your mission to mention The Green Book. I would prefer you didn't, of course. But even if you did, I believe he already knows about Gamzee founding some of it. It might make sense to him that there was another to complete the duo--a match of your merciful to Gamzee's mirthful. Or a fool to his joker, if you know what I mean.

Gamzee also helped found the clown church…?

Nevermind.

Wait, but--

The point I'm attempting to make is that he may be more receptive than you think.

Not that receptive. John hadn't even had his first mime lesson with the poor guy. They'd only interacted for what? An hour or so? John somehow getting his Trollian handle and messaging him about something pretty fucking personal immediately afterwards might actually be somewhat creepy, all things considered.

Oh. It hadn't occurred to me that you were simply worried about appearing desperate.

Calliope.

Probably best to go with Aradia, then.

Honestly, he'd prefer to just get back to the book…

Go ahead and read. She'll be fully up to date by the time you contact her.

…

The cherub again appeared to leave his head, and the human immediately tested whether she had actually let him be or not, thinking every stupid thought he could come up with.

He was going to turn himself into the Beforan authorities as an alien.

He was going to abandon their mission and join a Beforan carnival. From now on, he would only operate rollercoasters for the rest of his life.

He was going to willingly turn himself over to the Batterwitch and become her baking prodigé or whatever she had possessed Jade into chasing him for that one time.

No response.

… He didn't trust it would last long, but whatever.

He again turned his eyes to the book, trying his hardest not to skim, just letting himself get lost back in the familiar text. He'd read this massive thing an absolutely embarrassing amount of times growing up (he practically knew the magic sections by heart), but maybe that was contributing to him not being able to see what the hell Calliope was talking about. Maybe he was so used to the wording, he wasn't noticing anything off.

Chapter 222: Handling of the Unhilarious

And what, my intrepid aspiring pranksters may ask, if you come across a wholly unfunny kind of fellow?

What if you come across a young gent as startlingly lacking in appreciation for poppycock as a wet stocking on a cold Winter's eve? Mayhaps even one of those youth who prefer the strictness of a schoolmarm's scolding to the frivolity of whimsical hootenanny that can come from a few illicit swigs on the ole' julep flask?

The cure for such an unmitigated lack of gaiety is simple, my similarly soused seekers. Simply inform that sourpus that while he was refusing to party, you were studying the blade.

Of wit.

Then shower in that chagrin by slashing that sucker six ways till Sunday! There's only one permanent fix for such a cantankerous critic, by Jeezums Crimony! And if said hypothetical hater had hombres, after such a riotous reacharound, they'll all think twice about future listless lachrymosity against your massacres of mirth!

Recommended hijinks and counter-jinks covered in this chapter will be as follows: homestead hoodwinks, prankish poisonings, magical mischief, salacious shenanigans…

Completely fucking normal.

Though, as always, the text was kind of making his head hurt, as if he hadn't slept for days. Which to be fair, he hadn't. He'd been kind of busy fighting with Calliope over the dumbest plot twist ever to be worried about it.

With a huff, the Heir got up, captchaloguing the Daunting Text so that he didn't have to look at it anymore. Maybe he just needed to take a break for a second. It was day outside, Beforan sunlight practically setting fire to anything unlucky enough not to be in the shade, so a walk to wake himself up was out of the question, but Calliope had always made it a habit not to bother him too much if it looked like he was trying to rest, as rare as sleeping was for him lately.

Perhaps she'd continue the trend.

Silently, he walked up the stairs, glancing around the abandoned hive. Whoever had lived here must have just gotten culled or something. Hives were normally demolished pretty soon after they weren't needed anymore, but it was the dim season, so construction was probably a bit delayed. Too much daylight to work around.

They also seemed to have been a bit of a maximalist. There was junk everywhere, from the biggest pile of action figures John had ever seen in his life, to what looked like giant cat toys for a lusus. That was probably definitely the reason for the unbelievably egregious amount of catnip upstairs, too.

So much fucking wee--catnip.

Rounding the corner of the hallway into some kind of relaxation block, John looked around the room blearily for a blanket. What was the troll name for them again? It was such a dumb term. He knew the respiteblock was probably out of the question, unless he wanted to take a dip in who-knows-how-old, used soper slime. He wasn't even sure if that stuff was safe for humans, even if it kind of uncomfortably reminded him of the insides of a green gusher. (He was pretty sure he shouldn't want to eat the forbidden candy apple syrup.) No thanks.

Giving up on his blanket search, the Heir finally looked in the scrub cubby in the hive's ablutionblock, raiding the troll linen closet for clean towels before piling them on the couch back in the other room. It'd have to do. He usually had about ten minutes after reading too much Sassacre before he needed to sleep. This time was no different. He had always blamed the old-timey parlance. Maybe he just needed to sleep right after to absorb it properly.

Too much alliteration is bad for your health, probably.

~Beforan Pop Sensation, Troll Ashley Tisdale

He fell into a dream practically before his eyes were even closed. Unfortunately, it was a bit too familiar of one.

His paint pattern, or rather his half-pattern, was circling around him, laughing menacingly from the shadows. It always used his friends' voices. Always shining in whatever text color they had. Before the game the mocking had been pretty simple.

"John, you're such a fool it may be impressive. You may be in some record-breaking percentile. I would have to consult my therapy books to check."

"Have you ever actually made something cool in your life, dude?"

"We all think you're a joke! You know that, right?"

"Do you think once your dad dies you'll stop being such a gullible tool?"

He'd thought for so long that that last one was just meant to scare him. It wasn't. Things had taken a bit more of a turn after they'd all entered Sburb.

"His death was your fault."

"If we die, it'll be your fault, too."

"Do you think Vriska got murdered on purpose so she didn't have to hang out with you?"

"Did you watch us get murdered on purpose before Terezi finally made you do something?"

And they were so much fucking worse now.

"I cannot believe you're betraying us." Rose's voice sounded heartbroken.

He wasn't. He was helping them.

The voice continued, unbothered. "You don't know for sure that Calliope's fic will occur without your interference. Why are you so certain we'd do what Calliope is telling you?"

Her tone turned dark.

"If anything, it's you who would fuck up paradise."

"Lol!" Jade's voice broke in.

"Paradise? John, that's so sweet! And so naïve. Did you actually believe we'd be able to achieve that? I don't know if you've noticed, but we're kind of all fucked up! You! Included! And you were so avoidant and so lame and dumb that you thought we could still pull off being gods with no issues! It's not our fault that you're kind of a chump."

A quiet laugh, mocking and soft, came from the pattern as whatever was speaking to him glowed red with Dave's color. John felt himself shrinking back. Dave's lines were always the worst. Always.

"C'mon, guys. Lay off my main man. Or you used to be. Before this lameass clown shit? Bro, I have to hang out with you in public after this. You know that, right? Maybe I can put a paper bag over your head and walk you from shadow to shadow like I'm smuggling an ugly Victorian castaway into a village, but we can't be seen together once you start trying to get me to drink Faygo or whatever weird juggalo shit. You are like. THE suburban rich kid with a good family who got into horrorcore because his loving dad wouldn't let him smoke weed. Fuckin' pathetic, man."

There was a long pause.

"Did you really have that good of a father?"

Fuck you.

For the first time, John lashed out, grabbing at whatever had been taunting him for so many years. His fingers touched what felt like soft cloth before the dream dissolved instantly, brightening ever so slightly into dark gray rock as he blinked down at his own hands, holding what looked to be…

...

A machine gun?

Uh...

Right.

Fuck.

Must have zoned out for a second. Where did that little motherfucker get to? He left this behind, and he probably needed it to complete the next set of quests.

Leprechauns respected nothing but unrestrained power, brutality, and ruthlessness. That's why he kept taking one for the team. So them ninjas could learn the respect they needed to learn and his main dude could have his crew proper.

This was absolutely an indisputable fact about leprechauns, and it was absolutely the reason the kid kept beating the shit out of him.

Not that he minded. He couldn't make everyone happy, much as it broke his pusher to admit it. He had his own fucking goals here. A little pain on his part was a small price to pay for this bitch finally getting blown open like the cruel "joke" it was so intent on being.

He'd tried so hard to figure out some other way. So. Goddamn. Hard. But there was no arguing with Cal.

And since his… revelation, not many of his original crew wanted to hang out with him anymore, anyway. They wouldn't... get it. His best friend hadn't so the rest of them absolutely wouldn't.

So what did he have to be a salty piece of shit about?

This is what he had to motherfucking do, okay?

… Whether he wanted to, or not.

Weapon in hand, he wandered outside, casting a glance over the desolate landscape. This planet made the sorry excuse of a beach he grew up on look like the most populated stemcluster this side of Troll Chicago.

Least the lil' dude seemed to prefer it that way.

And if he was honest with himself, probably literally everyone else was preferring it that way, too. Kiddo wasn't exactly a master at friendship.

HEY FUCKASS. I DON'T REMEMBER GIVING YOU PERMISSION TO THINK ABOUT ME.

'Course not. He was just trying to give him his most righteous fucking loot he dropped behind.

YEAH. WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET IT TO ME THEN. INSTEAD OF BEING USELESS AND WASTING EVERYONE'S TIME.

Sure thing. Where was he?

OH HO HO. THAT IS THE QUESTION, ISN'T IT. I AM HERE. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE. YOU HAPPYASS FUCK.

… Well, yes. But physically he kinda needed to know where to put his gun--

I AM IN WHAT YOU CALL THE TROLL ABLUTIONS. JUST. LEAVE IT OUTSIDE THE DOOR OR SOMETHING. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW.

… Okay.

AND NO CLOWN PRANKS.

Nah, he wouldn't dream of it. A bro knows what his bros like and don't like, know what I'm sayin'? And Caliborn had made it abundantly fucking clear that clown pranks were off the table. No worries.

I FUCKING MEAN IT, BOZO.

Y-yeah. He knew. He knew he meant it. If a motherfucker would get his chill on, he'd see he had no reasons to--

PRANKS MEAN BULLETS.

Right…

Silently, he walked over to where the cherub had said he was, gently placing the gun down next to the door right as Caliborn slammed it open.

With a cheerful wave, he gestured to the weapon, but Caliborn glared at him.

"You piece of shit! What did I fucking say?"

He tried to ignore the sliver of resignation that ran through him, some inner voice screaming at him to turn tail and just call it a night.

"Uhh, you asked me to leave it by the do--"

"I said no pranks! That is what I said, you rude excuse for a jester!"

"Naw man, no pranks here--"

"Then why are your eyes BLUE, you PURPLE FUCK?"

"... Huh?"

The cherub grabbed his gun as John sat up with a cry, falling off the couch and slamming his shoulder into the coffee table.

Fuck, ow. No. Holy shit. He was never fucking sleeping again. What in the fuck was that.

He tried to catch his breath as he shivered on the rug. Pausing before he hesitantly went to grab his glasses and stick them over his blue-ass eyes. The eyes that may have just stuck Gamzee in a lot of pain right now. How did that happen? What the fuck.

That had to be Gamzee, right? There was no way it wasn't.

And there was literally no way in hell it was just another nightmare. Not even slightly.

His phone was buzzing on the coffee table he had just dislodged his shoulder on. Looks like Calliope had finished spilling all of John's business to Aradia. It seemed a chum was pestering him.

Swallowing, EB sent a quick message back to AA.

AA: hey john! a good friend of ours seemed to think you needed a buddy

EB: hi, aradia! i might be a bit spotty in my replies. do you mind if i just message while on the job?

He needed to get the fuck out of here.

Chapter Text

EB: i guess what i'm saying is, it feels really contrived!! why would i, a human with no actual real connections to purpleblood stuff, have a magical mystical clown tome? that is so dumb

AA: john from everything ive been told here no connections is a bit of a stretch dont you think

EB: no! it really doesn't make any sense!

John suppressed a huff, pacing the small basement he had tucked away in and occasionally glancing out the window, looking for the telltale, bright red boots of his next target.

Considering the last quest had focused on messing with the Empress and her Matesprite, it only made sense that this one started by fucking with the Beneficent's kismesis, though John wouldn't have thought his Grand Quest to found the Church of the Mirthful Messiahs would start by messing with a couple people who wouldn't worship anything if you paid them to.

Ceruleanbloods were an interesting case on Beforus. So many of the other castes seemed to have some kind of assigned role, but despite their obvious competence, they… seemed to mostly be networkers more than anything. They connected the lines from midcaste to cool with ease (while unabashedly lording this over some of the warmer castes), but never seemed to have a job of their own. And considering the emphasis of ambition and drive that seemed to permeate cerulean culture, John had no doubt this lack of "purpose" was driving a lot of them completely nuts.

For at least one lady in particular, The Corrival, this assumption could be pretty much granted. She was insane. John had never been more certain of how huge of a bullet he had dodged by not actually ever going out with her.

AA: i mean i know that for the most part humans dont need to worry about falling into casteist stereotypes since you didnt grow up with castes in the first place but you hit… a lot… of them for purples

EB: ok but are you saying that because you personally noticed them, or because *someone* pointed them all out to you

AA: does it matter

EB: yes!

Boots. Long black and blue corsair's coat. Got her. Holy shit people actually crossed onto the other side of the street to avoid her. That was hilarious.

Vriska Serket had exactly zero qualms about making her dissatisfaction with the Beforan caste and culling system known. As the Royal Recalcitransitioner, it was technically her job to give a public outlet for the opposing views to all of Her Eleemosynary Beneficience's rulings, and she did so loud and fucking proud.

Beforus wasn't a dictatorship after all. The people needed to feel safe in expressing any views opposing The Empress. Legally if not socially. The Beneficent certainly couldn't be blamed for any ostracization that occurred after publicly going against her.

And if The Corrival was paid just a bit more to ensure that those opposing views sounded as ludicrous (and the cobalt herself as nefarious) as possible, the Beforan public didn't need to know that, did they? Vriska had never been so proud of Feferi when she had suggested the idea.

John had grinned when getting his first proper view of the cerulean. She was wearing Terezi's symbol around her neck, a movement of its own by now. Millions of trolls had gathered in various cities around Beforus to call for a complete rehaul of the culling system. Terezi had been furious when she had discovered this new and completely unapproved appropriation of her sign.

The fact that Vriska and Terezi were matesprites made it funnier, if slightly concerning for that relationship. The Corrival, never one to pass up an opportunity, had immediately become one of the main thought-leaders of the movement. How that particular move hadn't flipped the two pitch, John would never understand.

EB: look, she is dead set on the idea of me being a clown, and i can be fine going along with that as long as i'm sure it's her just trying to fit whatever weird narrative she has, but that joke book is important to me!! there is nothing weird in it

AA: i think i see what might be the issue here

AA: you didnt believe her before right

EB: what

AA: about being a clown

EB: of course not!!!

AA: even though you said she confirmed youll be a purple eventually

EB: i mean… yeah. but that's because it's an eventual thing! not something that fits now. does that make sense?

AA: nope!

AA: mostly because it does fit now

EB: auggh, no it doesn't!

AA: next question! be honest with me

AA: are you still wearing your facepaint

EB: i

EB: that's not fair

The Heir took his sweet time as he followed the Thief, as much due to being in his own head as it was to ensure his target didn't notice him. It wasn't that he hadn't… tried to take it off once he'd left the voidbubbles. It needed to be repainted anyway any time he cleaned himself up. He just kept getting that mind-numbing, uncomfortable feeling whenever he thought of not redoing the pattern.

It was the same feeling he had gotten at the thought of painting his face in the first place, but a billion times worse because it was in reverse. Painting felt like he was getting suckered into a lie, but telling an aggravatingly important truth at the same time. It was as freeing as it was maddening, and being able to have the pattern on in troll public without anyone batting so much as an eye (other than the attention normally given to purplebloods) was kind of nice.

Keeping himself unpainted…

He didn't like it, okay?

He half suspected Vriska to be as suspicious and alert as her Alternian counterpart, but it seemed her position, as well as the fact that Beforus was a generally pretty safe place to begin with, had allowed her a bit more security.

Even if it had done nothing for her personality.

She was certainly safer to follow than the other Cull-Rehaul thought-leader, who was pretty much a solid fifty-fifty shot on how much of a dick he was going to be at any given moment. Trying to get one over on a mage directly was always pretty ill-advised, which is why John was kind of proud of himself for the past afternoon.

He'd spent the first dark hours of the night acting as something of an anti-auspice between Serket and The Prognosticator, using what meager programming skills he still remembered to shoot a couple spoofed emails between the two. The attempts to mimic either of their writing styles and quirks were incredibly clumsy, but neither had noticed. It was an argument the two had already had several times, and they fucking despised each other besides.

AA: im not trying to go for low blows! i just think its interesting that you can be fine wearing paint and being called a clown as long as youre convinced its being imposed on you but the second something in your life lines up to point to this actually being a pretty accurate path for you you flip out

EB: it's not that! not all of it anyway…

AA: what is it then

EB: it just

EB: i guess this is going to sound kind of crazy

AA: i promise you whatever youre about to say ive heard worse :D

EB: it just feels like our mutual friend is going through my life with red yarn like a conspiracy theorist, and then connecting dots that aren't even right like they are true!

AA: do they feel true

EB: i don't care what feels true, i care what IS true!!

EB: and that is kind of the point!

EB: i've lived my whole life by this stupid book! it taught me a lot of really important things even if it was kind of old and bigoted. it was the object my ectoclone was sent to earth with! i'm pretty sure the book i have was even the one that killed my nanna

AA: …

EB: being told that it was something i didn't think it was… it sucks! it's the stupidest thing ever and i feel lied to and i fucking hate it!

AA: i mean i guess i can understand that but… is filtering your entire life and perspective through a text really an honor thats normally granted to a joke book

AA: you have to realize thats a little odd right

EB: it's normal if it's fun…

EB: and can make my friends happy

EB: :(

Ah, speak of the douche and he shall appear. Looks like the guy had accepted The Corrival's rendezvous request, gangly frame turning the corner into the crowded outdoor plaza just as Vriska began getting impatient.

The Prognosticator was, by all accounts, ludicrously intelligent, capable, and cantankerous. It was rumored that he had an iron in every cull-resistant fire on Beforus due to both his elite hacking skills and his unwavering belief that the Beforan culling system was going to doom trollkind for the rest of eternity. He was also incredibly well-connected for a goldblood, but that probably should have been expected considering his matesprite was The Hierophant of The Landdwellers. More importantly for this meeting however, was his moirail, The Congenial.

The Congenial was a bit of an odd cat (trolls took inspiration from their lusii all the time but Leijon took it a tad far), but she was a generally well-liked member of Beforan society. She was happy-go-lucky, agreeable, an… uh… "imaginative" wingwoman, and ran a booming rogue lusus removal and rescue service. She'd been particularly beloved by her indigoblooded matesprite, The Smitten.

Suffice to say, The Congenial had not been a happy fucking camper at the results of The Scorned's trial, and at this point, several decades later, had made judicial overhaul a bit of a life's mission. The same mission shared by her moirail.

The duo was a passionately aggressive power couple when it came to that quest, having grown their grassroots movement from the ground up. They had this shit handled, and they had been more than a bit furious when the personification of controlled opposition had decided to step in to "fix" their operation.

Vriska had been delighted at their vitriol, of course. It really did seem like she viewed this as nothing more than her next challenge to conquer. A couple of lowbloods being snippy with her presence elevating this chump fest was nothing she couldn't handle, if only they'd stop being so fucking aggravating about it.

John barely had to do anything for this encounter, simply standing in line at a nearby food truck to blend in while sending a tiny anonymous tip to a couple local reporters.

royal recalcitransitioner has public fight with hierophant of the landdweller's matesprite in sassthrash recreational field!

It was true by the time he sent it. They hadn't even greeted each other before the jabs started flying.

"I don't know how many times we've fucking told you." The Prognosticator's tone was absolutely scathing. "We don't need you of all people to go on SeaNN, the news network sponsored by the Empress, and cough up our business like a lusus on a clean rug. We're looking for actually passionate people to join this movement. Not shithead grifters looking to make money off of shock value."

"Woooooooow," Vriska drawled out her response while checking her nails. John could practically see the goldblood's horns sparking as his hands curled into fists. "Way to be a douche when I'm only trying to help. Your little movement isn't going to gain any traction without a blue involved. You know that, right? How else are you going to get warm casted freaks held accountable for your actions other than me using my infinite resources and spilling your 'bisshnissh' to get actual, important people involved." Was she… was she mocking the dude's lisp? Holy shit. What the fuck was wrong with her?

Sollux, thankfully, didn't rise to the bait. Even if it looked very much like a few red and blue zaps of lightning had appeared behind his glasses for a second. "That's not what this fucking movement is about and you know it, Spiderbitch."

The human grabbed a hotdog (how much… very yellow grub sauce did that overly flirtatious goldblood chef put on this thing?) and a seat at a nearby table before he took out his phone again, partially to look like he was minding his own business and partially to continue his own brand of terrible conversation.

AA: did it make your friends happy

EB: sometimes, i guess

EB: other times they made fun of it, but it was all in good fun! i made fun of dave for his dumbass hobbies all the time too

AA: youre making this sound like more than a hobby though…

EB: and?? so what if it was! i thought it was a hobby and i told them it was a hobby, so that's what it was. it was free game

AA: is it still free game

EB: i don't know…

AA: if it *isnt* free game anymore do you think your friends would respect that

EB: D:

AA: im just saying do you think theyd hang out with you and be okay with you if you were to share these clown problems with them

EB: i don't know! this is the whole reason you got told all this stuff! i have no idea how they would react!

AA: … would they react badly to the face paint youre apparently still wearing

EB: DX

The Corrival's voice had gotten dangerously quiet, making John look up from his phone for a second. He was half tempted to partially teleport his ear or something over to them, just to better keep track of the conversation, but for now, if he focused, he could still eavesdrop decently enough without the risk.

"It looks like you haven't gotten it yet, skreetofingers, so let me spell it out for you: This is my movement now. It's gonna be what I want it to be, which is way better than whatever you and your pet oliveblood wanted, so you might as well deal."

Sollux opened his mouth, furious, but Vriska cut him off. "Don't think I didn't notice those little psionic leaks earlier. Should I call to have you evaluated? See if you should be culled for being a 'danger to society' like you want so much? Don't fuck with me, Captor. I'll have you cull-trialed by the Empress herself."

It was the Heir's queue to switch tables, his chosen spot practically out of the plaza to avoid any potential pictures. The first paparazzo had arrived, and they were just going to keep coming. They were trying to be subtle about it, but there was no need. The two trolls were locked the fuck into this argument. Neither of them would notice the press until it was too late.

John bit slowly into his hotdog while watching them out of the corner of his eye (did that foodtruck chef from earlier just swoon?). He couldn't hear the whispers anymore, but that would hardly matter in a minute. The Prognosticator was a couple things, but a pushover was not fucking one of them.

"Bitch. Your lusus issues do not give you free reign to fuck with OUR MOVEMENT." His voice projected across the recreation field, echoing against the nearby buildings. Several trolls looked up from their meals, excitement skittering across the court as the general public realized who it was exactly in their midst.

"My lu--how fucking DARE YOU, YOU PISSBLOOD FUCK." The cerulean shrieked, reaching a hand to her temple as she closed her eyes furiously. Sollux's eyes widened as his hand, jerkily, began etching towards his glasses, as if something or someone were trying to get him to take them off.

He didn't get that far. A collective gasp had swept through the crowd at The Corrival's slur, cameras going off like fireworks in every direction as press swarmed the two. For Sollux, it was a simple matter of flipping off the cameras and flying away, but Vriska had been caught in the center of the storm. She was used to public freakouts. It was nothing new, but this one wasn't scripted.

She looked furious. It was genuinely frightening. Time to get the fuck out of there.

In a quick flash, John was back in the abandoned hive from earlier, the sound assailing his ears in the plaza falling dead silent as he fell in a slump into a nearby kitchen chair.

He was going to have such a fucking headache in a minute.

His phone was buzzing. Oh yeah. Aradia was still probably talking to him, wasn't she?

AA: its a valid question to ask even if you dont want to ask it right now…

AA: from everything you and our mutual buddy has told me this stuff is kind of becoming really important to you!

AA: theres a difference between hobbies and… fundamental aspects of your person you know

AA: i have an interest in archeologenesis as a hobby but my mission is taking care of these voidbubbles!

AA: someone could pretty easily make fun of my love for digging up old stuff without me getting mad at them but if they started sabotaging my attempts at holding all of this stuff together it would be a massive fight pretty much immediately

AA: if your face paint is important enough to you that you havent taken it off it kind of doesnt bode well that you think your friends may not treat you well when youre wearing it

AA: john are you still there

AA: i didn't mean to upset you if i did :(

EB: hi aradia, sorry i had to step away for a bit. things got wild for a second

EB: you didn't

EB: upset me, that is. everything's ok

AA: if you say so but id still like to make it up to you

EB: what? no. you don't have to make anything up to anyone

AA: when is your date with kurloz

EB: … my mime learning session for mime learning and mime learning only is

EB: uh

EB: tomorrow actually! i didn't realize it was that close

AA: perfect! ill see you tomorrow before your date :D

EB: aradia, why are you like this

The human let out a huff as he closed out of the chat, a lot more amused with the burgundy's insistence than he was willing to admit.

… Should… should he be nervous about what to wear tomorrow?

Chapter Text

John looked blankly at the modest and hopefully very normal outfit he had laid out for himself for tomorrow. He hadn't been this antsy in a while, a fact he was one hundred percent attributing to Aradia fucking Megido.

He knew she was messing with him, but did she have to insist on calling this a date? He and Kurloz barely knew each other. The fact that the mime was kind enough to teach John how to understand him could probably absolutely be attributed to the fact that the guy was just dying for someone to talk to, considering the previous people he talked to had made a public spectacle of breaking his heart.

That's definitely maybe all this was, so it would actually be kind of weird if he dressed in any way other than expected. Though, considering the first time they met, "expected" might actually be "serial killer hot off the job", so anything should be an improvement off of that, right?

… Unless Kurloz was into that? In which c--fuck, what in the hell was this train of--why would--it wasn't even a date!!!

What exactly were you planning on doing in the case he was into that?

He was ignoring that question. He wasn't even that worried about what he was going to wear. Kurloz probably wouldn't care and John wasn't going to ask either Aradia or Calliope how he looked before seeing the other clown. Seriously. He had made a promise to himself. He had more dignity than that.

Maybe.

… But.

He could admit he was a bit worried about paint…

When he had first been at the guy's hive, he hadn't even thought about also doing the trollsona alongside his face paint. He had pretty much had to return to Beforus immediately afterwards anyway so it had just made sense, even if he had explained exactly nothing to Kurloz.

This time, he didn't really need to get back to anything instantly. His job tomorrow was completely committed to miming. He didn't need to do the extra trollsona paint and didn't need to wear the horns, a fact that got rid of a lot of plausible deniability in case he was seen because he…

He was still going to wear his pattern.

It would only be polite, right? Especially since the mime had been the one to help him with it in the first place. He might be really offended if he showed up barefaced! And that wasn't the way to treat someone who was inviting him into their hive to give him free language lessons.

It wasn't because it felt wrong not to. It wasn't because he liked it or got used to the way it looked on literally immediately. It totally wasn't because the idea of him not having to dress up as something he wasn't (yet), but still being able to wear the paint felt so terrifyingly relieving that he was actively fighting himself right now not to go put it on fresh out of the shower and just fucking sleep in it.

Nope. This was mostly to be polite to Kurloz.

But… if any of his friends saw him… it could cause problems. They had their own assumptions about clown paint, and they'd be freaked out immediately. They'd probably barely get a glance before assuming he had been brainwashed or chucklevoodoo'd into being on Lord English or The Condesce's side.

Well, maybe not Rose. He had no clue why he thought she'd be a little more understanding, but it… sounded correct. She'd read a bit of Sassacre, after all. And apparently that fucking meant something, so who the fuck was he?

Whatever. He'd have to be careful, which meant trying to stay alert, which meant actually getting a decent amount of sleep. It'd help him retain whatever Kurloz taught him better, anyway. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy his host by being too dumb to teach.

… Now to hope he didn't randomly hitchhike into Gamzee's thinkpan and turn him into target practice again.

It took him a while, but he finally drifted off. The half pattern was back, same as always, taunting him in the darkness again, but for the first time since the human could remember, things had actually changed a bit.

Did the pattern seem… fuller? Or something?

It was almost impossible to put a finger on. Against his better judgement, he didn't even listen to it launch into Rose's lines (something about how she had been underestimating… something about him), before he reached out to touch the menacing figure again.

The dream dissolved, but didn't lighten into anything else. Other than the strange sensation of gripping some kind of cloth, it seemed he was in some kind of void, nothing but serene darkness greeting his eyes wherever he looked.

Well, there's only one thing to do when you're stuck in vast emptiness. Every horror movie said so.

"Hello?" John called into the space, listening for any echos or signs of where he could be. No such luck. It was as though his words were falling into dampened walls.

Was it possible to feel a void pause? Something seemed to shift in the darkness, causing unease to run up the human's spine until the sensation continued. It didn't seem like a person was with him… more like his surroundings themselves were moving.

A sound finally started, so very faint, but it seemingly came from everywhere. All John had to do was focus to eventually realize that it was a voice he was hearing, soft and sounding more than a bit alarmed.

"What even… what's all happening right now?"

"Woah, hey? Is someone here with me?"

"What do you mean here with--who in the motherfuck is it that's talking at me?"

"Uh," John hesitated. This was probably Gamzee again, right? It might be a bad idea to let him know about whatever the hell it was that John was doing, even if he himself had no fucking clue. Unfortunately, the weirdness of this situation wasn't exactly lending to creativity on his part--at least not enough to lie well.

"I forgot."

"... You forgot.

"Yeah."

"Your own motherfucking name."

"Sure."

"... Are you high? Wait--no, actually. Never mind. I don't fucking care." The space around him seemed to shift again, and Gamzee's voice, though still soft, was suddenly much clearer.

"You are absolutely picking the wrong motherfucker to fuck with, right now. You're all abouts on your awareness on that, right?"

John frowned, defensive in spite of himself. "I'm not doing it on purpose! I don't even know what's happening right now. This is Gamzee, right?"

"Oh, so you know my name but not the name what's your own?"

"Exactly."

"Oh my god."

"Where am I?"

"My pan, motherfucker. So if you could do me a fucking favor and get the fuck out that'd be the dopest shit I could think on at the moment."

"Wait, so I'm inside you right now?"

"I--"

Gamzee cut himself off. The void seemed to heat up slightly, which was a-okay on John's end, considering it matched his own flush just fucking fine after he realized what he just said. God, he was a fucking dumbass.

"Well, now I definitely need to get my know on your name. Apparently you owe me fucking dinner, goddamn."

"Dude, I am asleep right now! I would absolutely get out of you if I could--"

"Cool that you're still phrasing it like that--"

"--But I don't know how!" Exasperation crept into John's voice. He'd just been wanting a decent amount of sleep before his not-date with Kurloz. Embarrassing himself in front of the other Makara had not been in his game plan, even if Gamzee didn't know it was him.

"I don't even… did you just get at to awakening your harshwhimseys, or something?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

"... I don't… believe you, but I'm not onto my thoughts that you're actually lying at me. Your chucklevoodoos, motherfucker. Were you having some kind of tragicomic revelation on something recently? Something what's broke your pusher, shattered any mirth or faith you're on for something important to you? If you didn't use your shit before, that'll fucking make you use it… trust me on that."

"...Oh," John's stomach dropped. There was no fucking way this dude was talking about The Green Book. Not a snowball's chance in fucking hell. "N-no, that's not… it doesn't count. I'm not even a purpleblood, so I don't think anything you're saying applies to me."

"Okay, well now I know you're fucking lying at me because you wouldn't be setting up a goddamn tent in my motherfucking thinkpan if you didn't have some shit going on, brother."

"Yeah? Well, you're wrong. My… my whatever, it could barely be counted as a revelation. It was too fucking stupid to count. Not as stupid as I was for never fucking noticing it, but fucking stupid, okay?"

"... Uh-huh," There was another pause before a softer sound whispered through the darkness. A sigh.

"Listen, I don't… I don't motherfucking know. Just… whatever you did to get all in my thoughts, do the opposite to allow you on getting the fuck out of them. Please. I'm kind of fucking busy right now."

"Doing what?"

"Brother."

"Ugh, fine!" John threw up his hands in frustration, letting go of the cloth he had completely forgotten he was holding.

The next moment, he was opening his eyes to his alarm.

The human swung his legs off the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose hard as he reached blindly for his phone. Well, that was… frustrating. Not horrifying, like last time (even if that hadn't been Gamzee's fault), but frustrating nonetheless. Wordlessly, he snagged his clothes from the table and headed to the ablutions, shrugging on the new clothing without a thought before getting out his paint.

Gamzee was… probably misinterpreting what had been happening there. John was one hundred percent certain he didn't have chucklevoodoos considering… you know… he wasn't a psychic alien clown. Something else was going on there, he just had no clue what.

Which meant that everything else the younger of the two Makaras had said could be ignored as well! How wonderfully convenient. John was sticking with this plan as long as he possibly could, Gamzee being dead fucking on about the mental breakdown he definitely hadn't been staving off for a week notwithstanding.

At least he had a bit more rest in him to deal with a hopefully much less embarrassing day of miming. Hopefully. If he could keep Aradia out of his own head and interact with Kurloz like a normal fucking person for once. Why did all of his interactions with unfairly pretty people have to be so goddamn painful? He was pretty sure Sburb even had a fucking kiddycamper badge for that, though if he had ever gotten it, he both completely forgot about it, and was evidence that the badges didn't actually work. He'd heard Caliborn bitching about it at some point when John had been forced to bear witness to the Lord's yaoi masterpiece.

… Not for the first time, John found himself wondering if taking weird delight in human and troll romance was a cherub thing, or specifically a Calliope and Caliborn thing. He would probably never know.

Final line of paint done and sealed, John put on his glasses and drew in a breath, hands tightening involuntarily on the sink as he got a proper look at himself.

He was still in dark clothing, a simple black long sleeved shirt topping dark gray cargo pants, considering all of his lighter colored clothing was either his godtier pajamas or from when he was thirteen, but he hardly noticed by now. It was… kind of odd to see himself without the gray body paint. Which he guessed only made sense, considering he'd been wearing the shit for three fucking years. It was less jarring to see himself without horns. They were uncomfortable after a while, so John had always made the habit of removing them whenever he was alone.

The facepaint though, mixed with John simply just… being, was almost…

Um. Fuck.

He didn't… really want to put it into words. If he did, he wasn't sure he could ever go back to being fully unpainted ever again. But…

He felt… free. Giddy. Hyper, even. For fucking once. Real.

Like he was… telling the full truth. Even if that was kind of terrifying. He still didn't really know what the truth fucking was after all, and he was the direct servant of one of the mirthful fucking messiahs, so that kinda said something about his grasp on the overall situation, didn't it?

Would you like me to try and give you more stealth missions? So you can wear the face paint but not the trollsona?

Oh. Uh. No need to do that. He was okay. He could dress however she needed for whatever job she needed him to do. It was just... a new sensation, that's all.

Finally tearing his eyes away from his reflection, the human did his best to package his paint back up, trying his hardest to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking slightly. Enough stalling. Time to get this show on the road.

He was completely unsurprised when he found Aradia waiting for him in the dreambubbles.

"You look nice!" Aradia smiled cheerily. "Amazing what a bit of flattering paint and a lot less evidence of death and destruction can do for you."

"Nice to see you too." John grinned back in spite of himself. At a gesture to follow the Maid, he fell into step beside her as they made their way to Kurloz' hive.

"Have you… er… been able to think about things anymore from the last time we talked?" The burgundy sounded hesitant, a far cry from her usual manic brand of optimism.

"About whether or not I'm mad at you?" He countered lightly, not really wanting to fall back into this conversation. "Nope. Because I am not."

"Not that, jackass. I already know I pushed a bit too hard there."

"I swear to god, Aradia. Everything's fine."

"Shhhh. That's not what I'm talking about anyway and you know it."

"I haven't been able to give much more thought to the book…"

"Not what I meant either, John." Aradia gave him a look, never breaking stride before she continued, her own voice light. "You look really content in that paint, you know…"

He sighed.

"I…" The human trailed off, not really knowing where to go with his answer. The troll next to him, to her credit, let him slow down as he attempted to pull himself out of his own head to answer her.

"I… promise. I'll talk to at least… one of my human friends about this. Probably Rose. Eventually. Please just… just give me some time. I need to get my own thoughts in order before I share them with anyone else."

He crossed his arms over his chest, really not liking the plea that had entered his voice. His gaze met Aradia's and he immediately pulled a face, looking away again. Concern was back in full force in her expression.

Did they have to do this in public? He just wanted to hide away from this conversation.

"Is that okay with you…"

It was the timebound's turn to sigh. "Yeah. That's fine with me. I'm sorry. I guess I'm still pushing, huh?"

John elected not to answer, simply looking forward as they walked instead. They'd finally reached the beach. Kurloz' home had to be close.

… Or it would be close, if the burgundy next to him hadn't stopped. Startled, John halted, looking back at her. "You okay? You aren't pushing."

She had been rifling through some kind of purse, neatly resting against her hip. Seemingly finding what she was looking for, she looked up at him with a grin. "Remember how I said I was going to make it up to you?"

"... Remember how I said there was no need to do that?"

"Yep! And I ignored you," The Maid pulled something out of her purse with a flourish, holding it out to him with a beam. "I found this ages ago in one of my digs! None of my friends were into magic, but I finally have someone to give it to!"

Hesitantly, John reached out for the object in her hand, eyes widening once he saw what it was. Holy shit. "A magician's wand?"

"Yeah! Whoever had it must have had some money, too. It's really well made."

He tested the weight of the dark, gold-capped wood in his hand, unable to stop the genuine smile from spreading over his face as he flipped it through his fingers. She wasn't lying. This thing was awesome. Experimentally, he rolled it from one hand before flipping it to the other, pointing the wand at the air between the two of them and subtly snapping the back gold metal piece mid-spin to see if it was still fully loaded. Special stardust exploded out of the tip, glittering down on the both of them. He laughed, the first time that had happened in a long time. There were so many pranking opportunities with this! Aradia looked overjoyed.

"Nice to finally meet you, John!"

"Huh?"

Her grin turned a little sheepish. "I don't really know what I mean by that, but I feel like every time we've talked before you've been kind of… unhappy. But now you're here. And you're covered in facepaint and you conjured stardust and you're great at magic, apparently. And I feel like I'm actually finally meeting a non-exhausted, non-salty version of you!"

"I…" John paused, grin softening as he looked from the gift to Aradia. The read on his personality aside, he couldn't fight it. This was such an unbelievably appreciated surprise. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!"

"I'm not that good at magic, though. I was just checking to see if the wand still worked."

She snorted. "You're good enough to fool someone who knows nothing about magic! Now come on. Let's go seduce Kurloz by showing him how well you can handle that wood."

"Aradia."

Chapter Text

To John's relief, Aradia didn't bring up his inevitable talk with Rose for the rest of their walk. To his lack of relief, it was very much because the Maid was incredibly intent on teasing him about Kurloz as they approached his hive instead.

"So, do you think Kurloz will also be dressed up fancy to meet you?"

"What? I'm not dressed… I made sure to dress normally."

"Ahhhhhh, so you did put thought into this. Nervous about how he'll… take you?"

"... Aradia," Thank everything good in this life (there wasn't much) that his paint covered his flush for the most part. He was refusing to recognize the absolutely purposefully charged terrible pun. "This is a language lesson. I doubt the guy has any assumptions on how I'm going to look."

"Right. But you're worried about it anyway."

"No, I am not."

"Sure you are! If you weren't, you wouldn't have sat there staring at your clothes for thirty minutes before going to sleep this morning."

Calliope, did you have to continue to spill all of his secrets to interested parties? "You have no idea what I did this morning. If our friend is the one who told you that, she's lying."

I didn't tell her anything, Fool. Though, you may have just done so.

What.

No.

One glance at Aradia proved Calliope correct. Her smirk was nothing if not actively devious, almost fully burgundy eyes shining with unrestrained delight as she pulled him to the side to mess with the dark dreambubble hiding Kurloz' hive again.

"You look fine to me! Form fitting in all the right ways. I'm not sure what kind of outfit would make Kurloz fall helplessly nug over nub for you, but if I remember right, miming involves a lot of body language. I believe in you."

John's flustered protest died on his lips as the hive popped up, and he shot a desperate glare towards his grinning guide, voice coming out in a quiet hiss. "Stop it!"

She giggled, but lowered her voice accordingly, grabbing his arm and practically dragging him towards the front door. "Please. I'm a better wingwoman than that."

"Do you even have a choice with those fairy wings?"

"Hah! That's the spirit." She gave double pistols and a wink before reaching up to knock on the door, a vision of sadistic joy in the soft yellow light from the hive.

"Hi, Makara! Guess who!"

In a much shorter time than before, quiet footsteps approached from somewhere in the hive. Seems the mime had been waiting on them. The mime who, upon opening the door with a wave, had, in fact, dressed very slightly fancy for this language learning lesson.

Just very slightly. The normal paper thin, skin-tight skeleton outfit John had first seen him in had gotten a small upgrade, a purple cut-off jacket, zipped at the waist. It was cut as a mid-drift, drawing attention to the fact that Kurloz' ever-present purple shorts were…pretty low cut… a fair bit of "pelvis" from the skeleton suit visible above them, suggesting at the print below.

Well, that would help him focus. Holy shit, get it together. What the fuck was wrong with him?

You're a teenager. Thinking about those kinds of things is fairly normal, isn't it?

… Thank you, Calliope. For listening in on that. Get out.

I was just checking in.

Uh-huh.

It's nothing to be embarrassed about. He might be thinking the exact same things about you.

Not helping!!

Aradia had been looking at John, probably waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, too busy fighting off Calliope's commentary, she sighed. "How's it going, Kurloz! Are you game to teach my completely hopeless friend how to fucking communicate?"

Ah, that was enough to shove Calliope's voice to the side.

John raised an eyebrow at the burgundy. "Your hopeless friend? Is that the dynamic here? And not you treating me like a stray lusus you're not sure is rabid or not?"

"John, please," Aradia rolled her eyes. "I already know you're rabid."

"Hm, yep. Walked into that."

"You set me up so well, too!" Aradia turned back to Kurloz, who was again watching their exchange with unmasked amusement. "See, Makara, he has potential. Try to look past the fact that he's apparently never interacted with another person in his life and teach him how to be good with his hands."

Kurloz' eyebrows shot up, soft, surprised laughter filling the air as John clapped a hand into his forehead, completely mortified.

"Okay, well thank you so much, Megido. I truly appreciate you walking me here."

"Sure thing, Egbert!" The Maid's hands were already on his back, pushing him into Kurloz' hive. The mime was smart enough to step back and allow them entry this time rather than have a repeat of John's previous visit.

Once she was satisfied the human was reasonably inside, the troll stepped back with a wicked grin.

"Have fun guys!" Her eyes met the Prince's and her smile, if anything, turned even more sly. "Kurloz, remember what I said earlier."

It was John's turn to watch as the mime's eyes widened, a subtle, vehement shake of his head all he was giving the Maid. "Oh, you'll do fine. Just show him the ropes! And the restraints! Maybe your collar--"

Kurloz slammed the door in a flash, refusing to face his guest for a minute as the sound of Aradia's cackle faded away. There was a small pause as the other clown seemed to take some kind of breath before turning back to him, a light purple flush still barely visible beneath his own, meticulously clean face paint.

Seemed she hadn't just been tormenting one person about this lesson. A fact that Kurloz was now aware of as well.

The Heir rocked back on his heels, completely at a loss for what to do in this situation. How the hell were the two of them about to move on from this? He didn't want it to be too awkward to continue.

Or to... um. Picture what Aradia was talking about too much. Did... did Kurloz have a collar for himself or--No.

Why was this now a mental image available to him.

Against his will, his conversation with Gamzee flashed through his mind. Or rather, how he had handled it.

When in doubt, play very fucking dumb.

"Haha, wow. I have no idea what she was talking about!" John lifted his hands in an obvious shrug, injecting as much cheer as he possibly could into the sentence. The look Kurloz shot him in return was stuck somewhere between complete disbelief and undying gratitude.

"Do you… um… I don't have any other plans for tonight, so you'll have to let me know when you're sick of teaching me."

With a nod, Kurloz finally seemed to pull himself together, looking blankly around until he plucked the ever-handy whiteboard from where it had been sitting on a side table, presumably placed there for this exact lesson.

WHENEVER YOU GET TIRED. IM NOT GOING ANYWHERE.

Oh, okay, good. At least that put a lot less pressure on everything. This could still be a nice, perfectly fine night where both of them acted normally.

"Okay, sweet! Still, let me know if I overstay my welcome. I should be able to go all night--" He didn't even get the full wording out before cutting himself off, refusing to look at his host as his face burned. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Kurloz close his eyes, seemingly trying to hold back another laugh.

He was just… he was just going to move on. "So mime lessons!"

Kurloz was still flushed (a small relief to John at least), but could no longer stop a small chuckle as he nodded quickly with a smile, gesturing towards his couch and, much like the first time the human had entered his space, holding up his finger in a "one moment" gesture before speeding off into a different part of his hive. Though, this time, John knew the dwelling well enough to know he was going up the stairs. Was he grabbing something from the ablutionblock?

Whatever. It gave the clown's hapless guest a bit more time to collect himself. And to shoot a furious message to Aradia while he was waiting.

EB: THAT'S your idea of being a good wing woman? aradia, i really did just want this to be a normal language learning lesson!

AA: did you really

EB: yes!!!

AA: but both of you seem to really like each other

AA: and everyone knows clowns need interactions with other clowns youre like zoo fauna you need socializing

AA: thats what ive been blaming your lack of social skills on anyway

EB: we don't know each other yet!

AA: yeah but you will! our buddy told me that you have quite a couple language learning lessons ahead and knowing you and kurloz you would have taken forever to get things moving along

EB: get what exactly moving along?

AA: who knows! but hopefully i helped speed it up OuO

John closed out of the chat with a huff as Kurloz came back down the stairs before hurrying into the nutrition block. He was there for only a second before coming back with two Faygos in hand, offering the human a white one, which John took with thanks as Kurloz sat beside him.

He didn't really… understand the big deal about this stuff--either the obsession with or hatred of it. He'd had it plenty of times on Beforus. It was just… a really nice, cheap pop? Firework Faygo in particular, the kind Kurloz had just handed him, tasted like melted popsicles. They were fun, a tad artificial tasting, and dizzyingly sweet, as all real actual carbonated beverages that weren't a fucking farce made by a terrible person should be.

There was even a Candy Apple Faygo. John had wondered more than once if he could sneak one to Dave before his grand reveal that Strider had drunk the dreaded Juggalo Juice or whatever the fuck his nightmare version of Dave kept calling it.

Though who knew if Real Dave would actually have the same reaction.

Probably, honestly.

Kurloz cracked open his own Redpop, causing John to look up.

Oh.

"You took out your stitches?" So that's why he'd gone up to the ablutionblock.

The mime finished taking a swig and nodded, setting the drink to the side as he uncapped his marker.

EASIER TO TEACH. YOULL SEE.

The human nodded, then hesitated. "Are you… going to be uncomfortable doing that?"

Kurloz made a face before his expression smoothed out again, offering a shrug and a wave of the hand to the contrary.

BASICALLY PIERCINGS. IM FINE. CAN REDO AFTER.

Alright, well, John was pretty sure that was a lie, considering the stitches practically seemed to be part of Kurloz' pattern, but he wasn't going to push. His question seemed to have gotten the mime focused on their goal though, as Kurloz situated his legs to better face his guest and started writing on the board in earnest.

The list went on, the mime slowly going down each column and making sure John understood each sign he showed him, occasionally reaching over to gently adjust the human's hands when he didn't get it quite right. Every couple of new signs, the Prince would give a little quiz, seeing how much the Heir had maintained before moving on to the next group, sometimes pausing and adding in a couple words or variations of words here and there for fun.

John could see why his host had taken out his stitches now. Facial expressions seemed to actually be a pretty important part of miming, a clear difference from when John first observed Kurloz from afar. The Kurloz he had known before seemed to have maintained this… perfectly chilly mask of a smile at all times, occasionally breaking it to give an absolutely vicious glare to someone when they pushed their fucking luck (usually Cronus).

But now, in this moment, the Prince actually seemed to be fairly expressive, ghostly eyes shining as his hands moved smoothly from sign to sign. More than a couple times, the mime gave a full grin before catching himself, a hand automatically reaching up to cover his face before his expression could smooth into a closed-mouth smile again. John never called attention to it, considering it had to be a weird sensation for the mime to have his stitches out for this long (Kurloz did eventually imply that he had to switch them out pretty often, just for basic needs), but he was genuinely enjoying this glimpse into the guy's afterlife.

With that carefully maintained, eerie façade, Kurloz was safe from any scrutiny into his thoughts on whatever was being talked about, but it almost seemed to… dehumanize him (detrollize him?)

It was really fucking cool to see the person underneath it.

Isn't it? Almost like a previously stagnated dead teenager is finally starting to come back to life.

… Oh.

So then the further he continued with his job, the more he would help Kurloz?

Of course.

As in actually help. Like things would get better? For once? And not worse?

... Yes, John. I promise.

…

Okay.

Eventually, the list ran out, and the two took the opportunity for a small break, Kurloz running into the nutritionblock to grab them some new Faygos while John got up to head to the ablutionblock, more to stretch his legs than anything.

He let out a shaky breath while washing his hands, daring a glance in the mirror and having to fight off the same giddy feeling he'd had when first putting his paint on this evening. It hadn't been… long, had it? Since the last time he had been here? But it felt kind of like forever.

He hadn't had his full pattern at that point. Had been more than a little mad to be in the hive of a Makara. Didn't know about The Daunting Text yet. Was probably both less and more of sound mind than he was currently… a couple meager weeks felt like it had been years ago.

John could see how Aradia enjoyed the dreambubbles so much. She was the Maid of Time, which from John's meager understanding based on his own inherent knowledge of the game and conversations with Calliope meant that she had been charged with the near constant upkeep of her element. It must have been interesting to find a place that seemed to suspend and replace the concept of time altogether. It seemed easy to lose track of what was happening here.

He wondered how long 200 sweeps felt like.

Drying his hands, he headed back downstairs, rounding the corner back into the relaxation block--

SMASH

Only to be greeted by a viciously grinning Meenah, Kurloz' shattered front door and an absolutely incensed Aradia behind her.

She crowed victoriously, pointing at John and a very frozen, furious-looking Kurloz.

"Oh, buoy-yah! Fuckin' CRAW'LED IT!"

Chapter Text

"Sorry, guys!" Aradia groaned, glaring at the Meenah. "I tried to distract her since she couldn't access the bubble herself, but then she went on this whole contrived quest just to talk to everyone nearby and get Mituna to make the hive pop up…"

Kurloz winced at the name before he waved off the Maid's concern, gaze fully focused on his intruder. John, for his part, couldn't give a response at the moment, more than a bit preoccupied.

"You just bassin' out magic shows whaley-nelly, Bluekid?" A grin any shark would be proud of leered at the human as Meenah advanced across Kurloz' relaxation block, her weapon thankfully not drawn yet. Despite his best efforts, the Heir couldn't help but take a step back for every step she took towards him, stiffening once his back hit the wall of the hallway.

He hadn't had someone get a solid enough hit on him to "kill" him since Calliope had gifted him with Fool's Immunity, but he'd been through enough to know it would suck. A lot. And also look almost nothing like your average godtier resurrection considering he'd just… keep going… like some kind of cheap Jason Voorhees rip off until he healed in five to ten minutes or whatever.

Both Meenah and his wonderful but very Calliborn-aligned host would know something was up if he tanked a shot from that fucking trident. No one was that sturdy.

Not that he couldn't also just teleport away, but he had barely been here a few hours. He didn't want to leave yet, and he didn't really want to leave his fellow cl--Kurloz to fend for himself against whatever questions the heiress would throw at him, either.

Behind the seadweller, the purpleblood soundlessly set down his and John's Faygos on his coffee table, beginning his own advance towards the fuchsia while her attention was focused on her "prey".

Aradia was ignoring them, seemingly set on her own goals, a glow of red light coming from her hands as she attempted to reverse time on the shattered entryway.

"I was just walkin' by, tryin' to hook for Searket," Meenah had reached John by this point, a webbed hand coming up to grasp his shoulder hard, likely to try and make sure he couldn't zap away. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Kurloz draw his clubs, wide eyes mutinous.

"And I sea this puffa special starfishdust out a' nowhale!" The Thief finished with an excited grin, punching at the side of his arm with all the gentleness of a train derailment. "Just to see Megido Jr. and your dumb bass waltzin' away from the scene of the crime. Churns out, my favorite blue piece of cullbait's got tricks!"

She rocked back, finally giving him some space as she clasped her hands in front of her, dead eyes glittering with excitement and providing a stark contrast to the murderous intent in the face of the mime just behind her.

"You're in that paint right now because skeleton-buoy liked your magic, right? Finducted you into clowndom, or clownhood, or the wicked ways, or waterever he'd call him if he communicated in a wave that wasn't glubbin' crawful?"

She leaned in with a grin right as Kurloz made a swipe at her. If she noticed the breeze of his club, she was ignoring it.

"I prawnna sea the clownfish tricks."

"You…" The sheer absurdity of the scene in front of him was distracting enough, so it took John a second to process whatever the fuck it was that Meenah had just said.

"You broke into someone's hive because you wanted to see a fucking magic trick?"

She snorted. "You got no glubbin' clue how boring it is being dead, Blueboy."

"Uh…" The human frowned as he searched Meenah's expression, trying and failing to find any sign from the fuchsia that she was lying.

Wow.

What a spoiled princess. What the actual fuck.

Her grin sharpened.

"Yet."

Her hand was back in a death grip on his upper arm. Wherever he teleported, she would go, too. The trident was in her other hand and heading towards his stomach before the human could react, not being able to do much more than close his eyes and prepare for a very shitty next couple minutes.

CRUNCH

The blow knocked the wind out of him, doubling him over with a gasp.

But he wasn't hurt nearly badly enough to make sense.

John opened his eyes and looked up to see Meenah glaring daggers at Kurloz, then back down to see the spears of her trident completely embedded in one of the clown's juggling clubs, the thoroughly blunted weapon shoved into his stomach, but not turning him into a blood fountain like the fuchsia had clearly been hoping for.

Kurloz' club-holding hand had looped under his arm to hold the human up, his other hand seemingly working on wrenching off Meenah's iron grasp on him, the seadweller still shoving John into her glorified fork of a weapon.

Seeing she was getting nowhere, the fuchsia yanked herself away with an exaggerated groan, "Ugh. BRINE!"

Her letting go finally gave John the chance to stand up properly, still braced by the arm looped easily through his. Kurloz was seemingly staying close, the hand not being used for support loosely grabbing another juggling club.

She flipped her trident, club still stuck on one side of it like the world's most colorful cocktail weenie, back into her sylladex, likely more for the chance to grab a non-blunted one than a peace offering, but for now her strife deck stayed away.

"In a whole-bass hive covered in clownfish and not a coddamn one of 'em have a sense of humor. I wasn't act-shoal-ley just clamming in here for a magic trick or stabbin' you anywave." Meenah rolled her eyes as Aradia met John and Kurloz' gazes over her shoulder, shaking her head and mouthing a flat "False."

"I eelized when I saw you that I never asked your nerdy bass the crestion I've been asking every shucka around here." Another shark-toothed grin was aimed in his direction. "Searket hasn't cod dibs on you for her dumbass treasure hunt thing yet, has she?"

"... No." Kind of. Did it count if he had already helped like two sweeps ago and fucking hated it?

"Then wanna join my army and help me fight the ripped cherub freak?"

He stiffened. Wow, John could not name a single thing he wanted to do less than that, other than actually helping Vriska on that dumbass treasure hunt thing again.

But he had to be careful how he answered here.

The main problem with Meenah was that she talked to everyone, but mostly Aranea. And Aranea talked to everyone whether they wanted her to or not, including sometimes Porrim, who had dirt on every single person in the dreambubbles. What happened in Kurloz' hive would be public knowledge in less than twenty minutes after the seadweller left, which meant that if he fucked with the heiress and turned her down like he so desperately wanted to, his friends would know that there was a John in clownpaint running around that didn't want to fight Lord English by tomorrow.

But he also couldn't just point blank tell the fuchsia that he would be in her army. Mostly because he absolutely wouldn't be, but also because he couldn't… let Kurloz assume his allegiances one way or another. Not yet, if ever, depending on how he… navigated this. Who knew how the clown would react to any individual conclusion he came to, or would eventually come to, given literally any information.

"I'm assuming you've already asked all of my friends by this point? My human friends, that is?" John's tone was cheerful, but he could feel Kurloz' gaze on him while he answered.

"Shore have." Meenah answered, the same manic energy that seemed to fuel everything about her being channeled into her grin. "Mr. Coolkid, Rosefang, and the Dog Girl are all primed and ready to go fight what's-his-stuff, and the other humans are all cooler than the rest of you anywave so their answers were yes bassically immediately."

"Right. So pretty much every human told you yes? Why would you think my answer would be any different from my friends?"

"Uh," Meenah's brows furrowed, giving him an odd look. "Becraws you ain't your friends? Conch-cept of free gill. All that good stuff?"

"Free gill?" At this point, he was stalling. Meenah probably wouldn't let him wiggle out of an answer that easily.

"Free will." Meenah repeated with a frown.

"Oh, humans don't have that!" The Maid of Time interjected suddenly, making the fuchsiablood jump as she spun to look at her.

There was a pause.

"... Come again?" He had never seen the thief look so bewildered. Got her.

Aradia laughed behind her hand, covering it up with a cough. Her expression was gleeful as she met John's eyes. He may or may not owe her after this. "We've talked about that part of human culture before, haven't we, John?"

"Yeah!" John lied breezily with a smile. "Human culture was all about fate and duty. We are basically Klingons from the Star Trek movies--"

"Yep, dunno what that means, nerd buoy."

"--And if you are talking with a bunch of people who think it's their destiny or duty to go fight, they'll usually all say yes! Cool, right?"

The fuchsia stared at him for a minute before wrinkling her nose. "Nope, home skillet. That sounds wack as shell, conchestly."

"Meh," John offered an apologetic shrug, fully aware he hadn't answered shit. "There's your answer, though."

"I… guess?"

"See you on Judgement Day." A tiny bit of bite had started creeping into his tone, something he covered with an innocent grin.

"Right…" Meenah trailed off, not quite sure what to do with his answer. "Whale, if your dumb, creepy, hornless species is so shore about fate or waterever and it's keeping your lame husk useful, I'm not fighting it." Her gaze met Kurloz', smirking when she saw the scowl still on his face. "Might want to explain that sense of porpoise to your buddy here, though, becraws he's been useless as hull for me."

"Maybe later." The human said dryly.

Was… she going to be leaving any time soon? Or was she just going to stay here and be a fucking menace until John himself left?

It appeared to be the second option, as Meenah was looking at Kurloz with renewed interest, her eyes flicking from his face, to John's, to how close the two were standing to each other, their arms thankfully unlooped from the second Kurloz had noticed her watching them.

"That must have been some a-cray-zing coddamn magic trick for you to paint homeboy up and take your stitches out for 'im, 'Loz." Meenah wiggled her eyebrows. "Don't sink I've ever fishnessed you do that beshore."

The mime flipped her off with a flat glare, the gesture somehow both relaxed and awkward, considering one of his hands was still holding a club.

She snorted. "Cold, freak. Very cold."

Her gaze turned back to John, much to his dismay. "Craybe you'll shell me then, Bluekid." Her grin turned wicked. "I wasn't swim-terrupting anyfin, was I?"

He couldn't hold back a tired sigh. How badly would he get Kurloz in hot water here? If Meenah blabbed, about either the facepaint he hadn't been able to hide fast enough, or whatever wild conclusions she was coming to about two random people who just happened to be standing very close together, there was a pretty distinct possibility that his friends may hear eventually.

And if they heard about the mime, they would want to meet him, or at least put him under way more scrutiny than the reclusive clown was under currently. And if they heard about both Meenah's incredibly baseless assumptions and the facepaint, John already knew what the general conclusion would likely be.

They'd literally only hung out twice. It'd be so fucking great if Kurloz didn't immediately get accused of manipulating him or chucklevoodooing him by an overzealous Kanaya or someone. He didn't deserve that.

And Kanaya was fucking scary with that chainsaw.

Meenah seemed to have gotten bored with John's lack of response. "No answer from you either, huh, cullbait?" She raised an eyebrow before trying again.

"Whale, maybe with your dumb bass going clown like a religious glubbin' suckerfish, I'll fin-ally get an answer around here on what the wicked word is baitly."

The comment shot directly to his core, involuntarily straightening the human's spine in a chill of quick offense as his full focus centered on the royal pain in the ass in front of him.

"What do you fucking mean?" His voice, miraculously, was still light enough, a smile still on his face, but every ounce of cheer the human had been putting into it was gone. The question wasn't even so much a question as it was a desperate bid for the time it would take the Heir to get a fucking grip.

God, this would be easier to handle if he still didn't know about Sassacre.

The wannabe-Condesce could never know, but she was so right. He was such a fucking sucker and there was no way he could get out of it.

There was nothing… He didn't…

He couldn't even put a finger on his own fucking beliefs now, thanks to Calliope's unending control of the narrative and that godforsaken motherfucking plot twist that he still couldn't figure out.

John… are you okay?

Kurloz was watching him again.

Sure, Calliope. Never been better.

Meenah had either not caught on to his sudden shift in tone, or had, and was more than happy to push her luck.

"You heard me, Bluebuoy. What's the haps in the Dark Carniv--?"

"Wow! Suddenly, I remember an amazing magic trick I just learned!" John interjected without a thought, more moving by instinct than thought process at this point. He knew he couldn't get away with just straight up taking a swing at the heiress, but he had to do something. Fast. To get her to go the fuck away and not keep pushing on this fucking topic.

He pulled out his new favorite possession, giving it a showy little twirl as Meenah's face lit up, genuine excitement filling her eyes as alarmed confusion filled the expressions of both the clown next to him, and the Maid next to the front door.

"Did you know I can make jewelry talk?" What the fuck was he talking about?

"What the fuck are you talking aboat?" Meenah asked the question for him.

The prank was half-formed in his mind, he just had to bring it to a good conclusion. Honestly, thank goodness for John's endless, mind-numbing boredom on that ship with Jade and Davesprite. He'd been listless enough to bring out his old magic tricks there too, and it was likely the only thing making him as smooth with this wand as he needed to be.

He gave the instrument a little flip, using it to gesture to the ever-present gold bracelets on the Thief's wrists. "You ask to see a magic show and then deny your faithful royal accessories a chance to finally talk to you? That's no way to treat them!"

She frowned. "This is gonna be reely glubbin' stupid, fishn't it."

"I'm not hearing a 'no', so I am just going ahead at this point."

"Wow."

No longer listening to his captivated audience, John again spun the wand, snapping the back of it like he had done on his trip here and making sure to aim directly for the seadweller's face as stardust exploded from the tip.

The heiress was fucking covered in glitter, thoroughly annoyed expression watching as the grand magician in front of her tapped the wand a couple more times, making sure to get the last bits of stardust on her bracelets.

The seadweller stared at him.

"That betta not be all there is or you're a dead fish swimming, Egbert."

"Not at all!" John said cheerily, the last few touches of his prank finally plotted out. "Both of your bracelets have now spoken to you! You just have to take them off and read what they're saying out loud to the class."

Confused, the princess took off one of her bracelets, pale eyes widening at the purple writing just underneath the thick, gold bangle.

it's not nice to break into people's hives and demand free performances from them :(

There was a long pause before Aradia broke into hard laughter.

"Wow, damn. That's crazy." John feigned shock, not bothering to hide the pleased grin spreading across his face. She hadn't noticed. It worked!

The seadweller looked furious, brilliant fuchsia coloring her face in an embarrassed flush as she opened her mouth to argue before John gestured to the other bracelet. "Don't leave that one out!"

She glared, but apparently couldn't keep curiosity from getting the better of her.

also put grimaldi back, you thieving asshole :)

Stiffening, Kurloz looked from Meenah's message to the table holding most of his idols, throwing his hands up in exasperated fury when he saw the obvious hole in the placements where the figurine had been snatched.

The mime stomped his foot on the ground, the impact practically leaving a dent in the flooring with how hard he'd hit, holding a hand out towards the seadweller while his other hand got a much better grip on the club he'd never once put away.

"UGH," Meenah threw her hands up in the air, nonetheless getting the small clown figure out of her sylladex and chucking it as hard as she could at Kurloz. The mime caught it like a catcher with a baseball and immediately went to the table to put the poor clown statue back where it belonged.

"You suckas finna be like this? FINE! I'm sick of this carp."

The princess made to leave before pausing, her expression suddenly vicious. John barely had time to block before she'd managed to grab him yet again.

"Augh, why!" The fucking trident was back out, non-dulled end stabbing wildly at his side, but pain only bloomed in his forearm before Meenah was wrenched off by Kurloz, a single, horrified look and a desperately signed "SORRY!" all he gave the Heir before he ran full tilt at the Thief, chasing her the rest of the way out of his hive with Aradia following close behind.

Left alone for a few precious moments, John dared a glance down at his arm, trying not to feel dizzy as crimson blood dripped all over his host's carpet from the fucking mess attached to his elbow. The angry holes left by the maniac's glorified pitchfork already felt hot as Fool's Immunity started up its painful, obvious process.

He had no fucking clue what he was going to tell Kurloz.

That magic trick was worth it though.

Chapter Text

The immortality that came with being a cherubic helper covered a hell of a lot more than the conditional immortality granted with godtier powers, but that didn't mean it didn't have its downsides.

Many of them.

Such as the fact that it was kind of gross.

Normal, non-fatal godtier injuries, or even just non-godtier Sburb injuries, tended to heal all in one go from random health or food items found around the game. The wounds and their corresponding blood splatter either digitized and disappeared, or, if they were too grievous, flashed in the rainbow colors so often associated with godtier resurrections before poofing, leaving smooth skin behind with only a dip in your vitality gel to show for it.

This new immortality wasn't Sburb related (mostly), so it didn't pull from his vitality gel at all. Health items were unneeded; they didn't even work anymore. Fool's Immunity could heal practically anything without them.

But it also took a bit more time. It was messy, the "important" wounds would leave scars (Calliope still hadn't explained what that meant), and he could feel fucking everything.

John quietly cursed himself as he made his way to the ablution cubby in Kurloz' nutrition block, running water over his left arm and trying not to pull a face as he felt the bits of bone and muscle that Meenah had managed to pierce slowly stitch themselves back together, twinges here and there shooting through his nervous system and breaking through the burning heat of cherubic healing in random jolts of pain.

At least he had been able to dematerialize himself enough by the time Meenah had been ripped off him to prevent more damage. His stupid ass hadn't been quick enough to do that before her trident completely went through his arm, but whatever.

Kurloz wasn't dumb. Far from it, based on how on top of things the troll had been while teaching him. He probably wouldn't note anything weird from the injury alone. But if he didn't notice how long it was taking to heal, he would absolutely notice all the blood staining his carpet. Especially if he offered John a healing item, which he… already had, technically. All comfort food to any given person counted, and Faygo was practically a bottle of carbonated Fruit Gushers. Of course it counted.

Maybe he should just… leave, at this point. He'd accidentally brought Meenah to Kurloz' door already. The mime wasn't used to interacting with people, and the chaos that came in Peixes' wake had probably filled his quota for the next few sweeps. He may just want John gone for the night.

He shut off the water when it became clear that his arm wasn't going to stop bleeding any time soon, bright crimson welling from the three, oh-so-slowly closing holes in a practically never-ending supply.

Yeah. He should… probably just teleport out of here. Leave the mime to his peace and quiet and salvage any hopes he had of Kurloz not figuring anything out. Not like he'd be able to sign for a couple minutes anyway, considering he wasn't about to move his left hand for a second. Not from pain, though that was definitely part of it. John just didn't particularly want to… feel what that would feel like. Considering everything else he could feel in his arm at the moment.

Wow, it just kept coming. He couldn't faint from blood loss as Calliope's servant, could he?

No need to worry about that. You may want to turn around, though.

A small crack hissed through the air, making John jump, accidentally slamming his injured forearm up into the ablution cubby's faucet as he turned around, and crumpling from the fresh wave of painful consequences that came with his dumbass actions.

"Ow, fuck!"

An equally startled, incredibly apologetic-looking Kurloz had been standing behind him, now rushing to the sink to take a look at the arm John would desperately rather hide, and weakly pressing a newly opened bottle of Faygo Cotton Candy into his good hand.

Ah, that's what the hiss had been. The mime had been opening the bottle for him.

Well, that… that was really considerate, actually.

Kurloz gingerly inspected his arm, seemingly trying to find a good place to hold and check it out, quite the fucking task with three giant holes in the middle of both sides of the area in question, but at least John's blood was, for now, obscuring Kurloz' view into the mending muscle and bone just under the lusus-white skin of his human guest.

Noticing John's eyes on him, Kurloz looked up, using a couple signs John had newly learned to issue a soft command.

//DRINK PLEASE, MOTHERFUCKER.//

John nodded his gratitude, bringing the refreshingly cold, bottled candy to his lips under the watchful eye of his host. "Thank you… it might take a bit longer to heal than usual, though, since um…"

Holy shit, he had to work on his ability to lie on the spot.

"Since I got my zappy powers. Everything's taken just a little longer since then."

Good enough.

That actually works pretty well as an excuse anyway, since getting possessed by any juju can hold the possibility of mimicking cherubic healing for a while.

Alright, cool. That would cover his ass if Kurloz knew anything about--possessed?

Mutual possession, yes. You possess the juju and it possesses you, essentially making it so that you possess yourself permanently. How do you think jujus work in the first place?

…… You know, Calliope, maybe now isn't the time to drop random fucking revelation bombs on his psyche--

Oh. You're right.

What even--

Just ignore me, then. Focus on your matesp--your mentor.

God-fucking-dammit how as he supposed to--Fuck, his mentor (they had interacted twice, Calliope!!) was signing at him. How long had he not been paying attention?

Kurloz was frowning, confusion clouding his features as he slowly spelled out a question that the human just barely caught.

//Z-A-P-P-Y ?//

Oh, whoops. It made sense Kurloz knew nothing about those powers yet.

Holding out his good limb for demonstration, bright blue Faygo still in hand, John partially teleported a good half of his forearm and hand, making it appear as though his arm were suddenly coming out of the wall just behind the troll's sink.

It was Kurloz' turn to jump, looking between where John's arm cut off on his body and John's arm in the wall with wide eyes. Seemingly without thinking, the mime reached out a blood soaked glove to gently check the human's right hand, tracing down to his Faygo-holding fingers with a wonder that caused John to let out a small, nervous laugh, face heating up as he tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped with the soft touch.

"I, um. It's me, yeah. Not a fake arm."

With a small flush, the clown withdrew his hand, nodding, which John took as a sign to pull his arm back onto his body normally, taking another drink of the soda anxiously for something to do, the little trails of blood from Kurloz' gloves probably the only reason his skin was tingling right now.

The Heir would kill for a glance inside the other guy's pan. The Prince seemed to be… almost zoned out as he stared down at the human's injured limb, the barrage of thoughts in his head damn near visibly crashing together in the silence of the hive.

Had he not bought the lie? Or was this something else. It was hard to picture the spooky purpleblood getting unnerved by anything, but ultimately, he was a Beforan teenager. He couldn't have actually seen too much crazy shit before the game, could he? Had John freaked him out or something?

Or was he overthinking this like a giant tool. The world would never know.

The last little dislodged shard of bone in his injured arm finally clicked into place, causing John to flinch involuntarily. That seemed to knock his host out of it, as with a quick glance at his guest, he reached for the faucet to turn the water back on, sticking the bloodsoaked appendage back under the warm stream as Kurloz reached up to sign again with a small, reassuring smile, slowly spelling out any words he hadn't taught John yet before showing the proper sign after.

//B-A-N-D-A-G-E, I GO GET. YOU S-T-A-Y PLEASE. DRINK MORE.//

John nodded gratefully, and Kurloz watched approvingly as he took another swig of the cool pop before the clown finally let go of his left arm, speeding off away from the nutrition block, and leaving the human standing awkwardly right where he left him.

… So Calliope. That glowing house thing he stuck his hand in was a juju, huh?

Naturally. What else could give you powers like the ones you're currently wielding.

And it was possessing him.

That… is how jujus work, yes, Fool.

And… he was possessing it?

Correct. There's an alternate, doomed version of you that's a part of it. Your soul in that timeline connected to your soul in this timeline, making the powers truly yours.

… Was he the only one who could use it, or something?

Of course not, but being a part of a juju makes you one of its true owners, effectively making any effects permanent, as opposed to someone who could simply wield a juju temporarily.

… And were there any more jujus some doomed iteration of him was a part of? Did he have to worry about being double possessed?

No spoilers.

Jesus fucking Christ.

John set down his drink hard, absently looking out the nearest window in blank frustration as he felt the cherub withdraw from his thoughts again.

Actually, no. You know what? Get back here. Quick other question.

... Yes?

Would it piss the cherub off more if John used "mirthful messiahs" instead of calling on a bunch of human phrases, considering he was literally actually calling on her and her brother?

... John, I've no preference for how you personally talk and think.

Didn't the cherub herself use "messiahs" as an epithet?

Well, yes. Considering that's the truth of the matter, isn't it.

Sure. That felt a little self-absorbed of her, but it was the truth, yeah.

There was a pause. To his delight, the cherub did indeed sound annoyed when she answered.

So I'm just answering a question here. I didn't ask to be judged.

Messiahs, wow, he was just making an observation. Didn't mean to offend her.

Oh my god, you little shit.

John was, thankfully, aware enough of his surroundings that he could hear Kurloz' footsteps reapproaching, effectively allowing him to ignore whatever Calliope could say next as he grabbed his drink again. The sweet pop was a genuine relief against the fresh wave of searing heat that seemed to be coming even more intensely off his arm now.

Calliope may or may not be making it hurt worse to be petty.

He hoped so, honestly. At least then he accomplished something.

Kurloz entered the nutrition block to find John obediently still standing with his wound under the sink, the water finally starting to run clear. His gloves were off again, and had a small kit of things with him, which he set on the kitchen table nearby before coming back to the sink to shut off the water and take another look at the Heir's injury.

Not too bad, all things considered. The insides had fully healed, essentially leaving a pair of three somewhat deep but no longer horrifying holes on either side of his arm.

Seemingly satisfied with this, Kurloz used a towel to keep pressure on the areas before carefully leading John over to his kitchen table, pulling two chairs close and having the human sit in one while he sat in the other.

Just like the previous time the human had been in his hive, the purpleblood seemed completely locked in on the task in front of him, having John hold the towel while the troll pulled out various supplies from the kit he'd brought with him: a couple ointments and salves, some medical tape, and finally, a couple pads of gauze and a wrap.

In an order only known to the mime, different tubes of salve were picked up in different orders, all applied with the gentlest touch John had probably felt in his life, something that really shouldn't have come as a shock to him anymore. Each feather-light application of any given ointment was deliberate and careful, pale eyes flicking up to his face several times to check for any signs of discomfort.

He probably never found that discomfort, but there was no way he didn't see the blush burning underneath John's paint as his "patient" watched his work. Maybe it was simply John being used to Kurloz' hands when they were gloved, but every small brush against his skin by those cool, gray fingers may as well have been sending waves of warmth across his skin, all accumulating directly into the heat he felt on his face.

It was both a relief and a horrible disappointment when the troll finished his work, pressing the sets of gauze against the (by now, pretty much healed) wounds and neatly wrapping John's arm the rest of the way.

The rest of the ointments were put away while Kurloz' eyes kept flicking to John's face as the human examined the bandages. Finally, the Heir remembered that normal people talked after something like that.

"Th-thank you." Did he sound breathless? Goddammit. "Y-you really seem to be good at that. At dressing wounds."

The troll smiled, his expression almost wistful at the last comment.

//NO PROBLEM. OK YOU?//

John nodded, swallowing. "I am, yeah. Sorry for the hassle… I hadn't noticed she was following me."

The troll shook his head, making a face.

//AGAIN, NO PROBLEM. BITCH LIKE THAT WHY? NO ONE MOTHERFUCKING KNOWS.//

John snorted. "Yeah. Though, was she… worse? Than usual, that is? I feel like she was more… energetic than I've seen her before…"

The troll shrugged. //DON'T KNOW… DON'T GO OUT...//

Oh yeah, whoops.

More to change the subject than anything, he dared a glance outside the window again. Still dark. Good. "Did you.. um, did you want to start up mime lessons again?"

A single raised eyebrow was all he got for his question. //CAN YOU?//

"Yeah."

There was a pause before the mime reworded. //SHOULD YOU?//

"... Maybe."

Kurloz let out one of those small, breathy laughs again. The sound did weird things to the Heir's stomach, the sensation absolutely responsible for the next words that flew out of his mouth.

"I just don't want to leave yet, you know?"

The smile he got in return was genuine, if almost a little disbelieving, a purple flush just barely visible under Kurloz' own paint.

His hands were jittery as he signed next. //OK. WANT WATCH M-O-V-I-E?//

John perked up instantly, cheerfully agreeing. Holy shit, he had so many movies he could show this guy. And Kurloz probably had a ton he could show him, too! He'd only seen ancient Beforan flicks so far, anyway.

Together, they walked back into Kurloz' relaxation block, the mime again rushing ahead to pull a blanket out of a closet hidden in the hallway. He really was a good host.

As they sat down on the purpleblood's couch, John spotted the troll's whiteboard, still sitting where it had been left abandoned on the coffee table.

"Oh yeah! Could I borrow your dry-erase marker for a quick second?"

Kurloz blinked, but handed over the purple felt-tip with a curious look.

John uncapped the marker before he activated his zappy powers, disappearing his arm to where Kurloz couldn't see it before returning the tool with a self-satisfied grin.

"Thanks. Had to finish up my magic trick from earlier."

The mime's eyes widened as the "how" of John's magic from earlier clicked into place. With a pause, he uncapped the marker himself, scribbling a quick question on the whiteboard.

SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? REVEAL YOUR TRICKS?

"There's one exception!" John's grin widened. "I can tell other clowns if the truth is funnier than the trick." There was a small beat. "Meenah's had that shit on her arms for two fucking perigrees and she just now noticed today."

For the first time in what might have been millennia, Kurloz let out an unrestrained laugh.

Chapter Text

"Attention crewmates! We're about to hit yet another dreambubble! So either prepare yourselves, or don't. I'm not your lusus."

The human paused, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as her sibling groaned nearby. The intercom was both too distorted to hear clearly and too loud to ignore comfortably, creating a wholly unpleasant auditory experience of which Vriska had never once failed to take advantage.

"Yeah, good fuckin' thing you're no one's lusus," Dave muttered. "Sounds like a fate worse than death."

She hummed in agreement, looking through various alchemical supplies. Her fellow lightbound hadn't once let her get away with actually enjoying any of the booze she had made, but that didn't mean she couldn't try anyway. Maybe she could sneak it to her room later, or something. And maybe hopefully get it by Kanaya, as well…

Anything to pass the time. Dear god, this ship was dull.

She often wondered how Jade and John were doing. She couldn't imagine much better, honestly, but at least their travels were finally coming to a close and the two groups could be united again soon.

"Are you going to be heading out to speak with the ghosts?" She asked lightly, genuinely hoping Dave's answer was yes.

The Knight had been trying, just as much as anyone else here, but he'd been stir-crazy for a year and a half now, easily, and Rose Lalonde only had so much patience in her body to listen to the twenty-something raps a day Dave would come up with before inevitably scrapping them in a week.

Even if the more… telling ones that Dave thought no one heard were somewhat amusing. So many thoughts about a certain fellow Knight…

He frowned. "I probably should at this point. I need new material, but those Beforan dickheads are so goddamn one-note it's like an Otomatone party up in here."

"A what, exactly?" She sighed. Here we go.

"Otomatones? Rose, don't leave me hanging, c'mon. You're the only other human on this ship; I'm begging you. You remember those dumb things from before our planet decided to eat it, right?"

"Not at all."

"The toys with the stupid faces? Looked like music notes? Sounded like an autotuned duck's fucking death rattle but people liked them for some dumbass reason?"

"Ah, yes. Now I remember."

"Oh, thank Christ."

"That was a joke."

"Son-of-a-bitch."

He pulled out a chair from her alchemical table, melodramatically slumping into it as he grumbled to himself. The Seer didn't mind for about twenty seconds, until he slammed his head into the wood, rattling the various bottles she'd so carefully set up. Rose huffed.

"You said you needed new material, dork. Go find it. Leave me be. I believe I may almost have the secret to finally synthesizing your beloved apple juice, if it means anything to you. I just need to focus to get it right."

"Yeah," Dave's voice was muffled from where he still had his forehead firmly against the table. "That's exactly what you said the last time you wanted me to fuck off."

"It was the truth then, too."

"Yeah-huh. That's when you made the spiked cider, right?"

"Likely."

"Rose," He groaned. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate it, but I fuckin' hated that shit. It was like the entire concept of AJ got taken over by the ghost of Windex' past."

She gave a small shrug, mostly unbothered. "It… wasn't my best work. I'm willing to admit that."

Dave opened his mouth to reply before a door leading further into the meteor slammed open, revealing a laughing Tererzi and Vriska. With a quick glance and a wave their way, they both breezed out onto the surface of the meteor, heading directly into the dreambubbles.

Rose watched Dave's expression, concealed as it was by his ever-present shades, grow sullen as the door closed behind them.

"Why not head out there, too? You could clearly use the fresh air."

"Maybe. Or maybe I don't wanna. Ever thought of that?"

"And why would that be?"

"Your mom, Rose." Dave crossed his arms petulantly, refusing to look at her. "The reason is your mom."

She rolled her eyes. "And the real reason would be what, exactly?"

He sat back, tapping his fingers on the table and not-so-subtly glancing at the doors around them, trying and failing not to fidget.

The Seer cocked her head, suddenly incredibly curious about what her ecto-brother was hiding. "We're alone, Dave. And should be for at least the next couple minutes. To quote you yesterday, nigh thirty times when I didn't want to answer one of your questions," She held up her fingers in mock quotation marks. "'Lay it on me like grub sauce on a troll burger.'"

The Knight made a face. "Never quote me again. That sounded so wrong."

"Stop changing the subject."

He winced, looking away as Rose stared at him patiently. He'd give in eventually.

He always did.

Finally, he sighed, and Rose suppressed a small smile. God, he was easy. Silence got him every time.

"I'm not sure if it's just my time shit playing up again," Dave shrugged in a way that was probably meant to be nonchalant, but his brows were furrowed in a way that suggested something was genuinely bothering him. "But do the bubbles feel… weird to you, lately?"

It was her turn to frown, a small jolt of recognition running up her spine. She had a pretty good feeling she knew what he was talking about, but there was no harm in making sure. "Perhaps. What does 'weird' feel like?"

May as well double check to see if someone else had been noticing what she had. Kanaya, despite being absolutely lovely company, had had no idea what she was referring to the single time she had brought it up, and had appeared so concerned she had dropped the topic in its entirety, simply explaining it away as an odd dream. It had seemed to be something only she was experiencing.

And her Light powers, weirdly, had been absolutely useless in attempting to decipher what was happening.

"You know…" Dave trailed off before he brought his hands up to help him articulate, a frequent habit of his when he was trying to get his thoughts together. "Do you ever feel… wrong? When you're in them? Like your body is wrong? Or like the trolls are rubbing off on you or something in some weird jacked up way that isn't just this dumbass neverending melange of cultural exchange fuckery we've been dealing with for two and a half years?"

Rose adjusted her sleeves, giving herself time to think about her answer before she pulled out a chair, sitting down with a sigh. "I think I know what you're referring to. Would you mind providing an example to see if our experiences match?"

Dave wrinkled his nose, but nodded, shifting nervously in his seat. "I was asleep the other day for a pretty good bit. Met some trolls. Shot the shit. You know, the usual."

He looked at her and she nodded, yet again waiting for him to finally get on with it. "I… maybe I'm just too used to looking at troll faces by now or something. When I woke up, I went to the miserable excuse for a bathroom on this meteor and…"

He trailed off, seemingly unwilling to continue, but Rose leaned forward in her chair, some inner hope suddenly so strong she could practically reach out and touch it.

"Did you expect to have gills?" Please say yes.

"Gills?" His eyebrows shot up as he looked back at her, making her instantly regret the prompt. "N-no. But I did expect to have horns."

"Horns." Well… shit. Way to give herself away, but good enough, honestly.

Dave nodded, swallowing. "I, like, knew exactly what the fuckers should look like, too. They were short and kinda stumpy--"

"Like Karkat's?"

Dave snorted. "Lil' bigger. They had this notch in them, though…"

He sank lower in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest self consciously. "They didn't look like anyone's horns we've met, so I couldn't even blame the dream sticking with me or anything. I was just some chump left standing there staring at my rightfully-hornless-because-I'm-a-human head like some goddamn buffoon. It freaked me the fuck out."

Rose hummed, looking to the side as she got her thoughts together. A similar experience then, she supposed. Not exactly the same but… similar. Without thinking, she grabbed a book off the table, opening it to a blank page and grabbing one of the pens she had had laying around.

"Draw them."

"Wh-the horns?"

"Yes. Kanaya was educated as a jadeblood. She's told me before how she's been trained to recognize different horn types. Perhaps I can show them to her and she can--"

"N-no!" Dave sat up, alarmed. "Please don't tell anyone I'm going fucking nuts, Rose. Please."

She raised a hand, placating. "I'm not telling her any details, Dave. Are you forgetting we're surrounded by Alternian media courtesy of Karkat's romance obsession? All I need to do is express curiosity over a random horn shape I saw and see if she has access to tell me anything about it."

"O-oh." The Knight's shoulders finally untensed, seeming genuinely relieved. "Oh yeah."

"Right. So relax. Perhaps you did see some kind of troll with these horns, and you simply don't remember it. Draw the horns and I can find out for you."

Hesitantly, Dave nodded, taking the lavender pen and drawing a surprisingly non-SBAHJ-esque figure with two almost claw shaped horns at the top of its head.

"Or perhaps not. We'll unlock the depths of your madness soon enough."

He snorted, ripping off the page and folding it before handing it to her. "Fuck you. Apparently you see yourself with gills and that's gotta be at least eighty times more insane than what I just told you."

Well, okay. Fair. There weren't many trolls they had seen with gills. And the ones who they'd met had hardly seemed like decent company to keep.

She flicked the folded paper into her Sylladex with an amused hum, getting ready to reply before the doors to the outside of the meteor opened again. With a shared look, both humans got up before returning to where they had been, Rose settling into her alchemy while Dave returned to his endless quest for the best rap he could make.

It wasn't until the two trolls who had entered were in front of them that the humans bothered to acknowledge their presence.

"Why hello," The jade dress of the troll in front of her shimmered through the distorted glass of Rose's beakers. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion. Karkat allowed me inside in hopes of finding my dancestor."

"Yeah I did," The short troll next to her sounded, as always, exhausted. "I don't know where she is, but I figured one of these two," He shot Rose a knowing look. "Would know where she went off to."

The human returned the glance right back. Very well. Two could play at that game. She stepped back from her work with a small smile, not at all faked. Porrim wasn't that bad of a troll, all things considered. She seemed incredibly put together, a fact that only seemed to make Kanaya more nervous around her, though Rose was frustrated with the reason why. Kanaya knew what she was doing. She was simply too hard on herself, comparing her 7 sweeps of being alive unfairly to someone who'd been getting the hang of existence for millennia. She was doing wonderful, if only Rose could help her see that.

She only hoped that Porrim knew of this, and was gentle about it, but prior observations proved she was far more understanding than the other Beforan trolls seemed to be.

"Come with me. I'm unsure as to Kanaya's exact whereabouts, but I'm certain we can find her together."

Lavender eyes flicked over to Karkat. "I'm sure these two could use some alone time anyway. They're practicing how awkwardly they can flirt with each other."

Porrim laughed as both Dave and Karkat immediately started up, equally bright red, furious faces all that met them as they parted and descended deeper into the meteor.

"Oh, that's fun," Porrim chuckled as Rose let a door close behind them. "You're all still pretty young, right? Eventually the topic of quadrants will get less…"

"Pathetic?"

She snorted. "I was going to go with nerve-wracking, but whatever fits."

"I'll take your word for it," Rose smirked. "Knowing some of my compatriots, I'm unsure their nerves will ever not be wracked."

Porrim gave an understanding grin. "Fair enough. I can't claim my friends are any different, though there was a bit of a recent upset. Some of them seem to be getting their groove back a bit lately. Much to Meenah's chagrin."

"Oh?" The gossip that came from the Alpha trolls usually wasn't too terribly interesting, but Porrim always did seem to make it more exciting with how she told her tales.

The jade nodded with a hum. "You may not have met him. I can't claim we're too terribly close, though I've been wanting to reach out to him more lately. He suffered from a fairly devastating break up a while ago. One that honestly made me lose a fair bit of respect for his ex-quadrants, but he might finally be moving on." She gave a grin. "With the help of one of your friends, as it turns out."

Well, this was suddenly far more interesting. "One of my friends? Which one?"

"I don't believe he and I have ever spoken, but I know he has a penchant for pranks."

That narrowed it down instantly, even if it made no sense for someone who had always presented himself as straight. "John."

"That sounds right. The clown?"

Wh--never mind.

"No…? I've always known John to have a fairly… complicated… relationship with clowns. He himself isn't one."

Porrim frowned. "No? But Aranea swore that Meenah said…"

The troll trailed off, much to Rose's frustration. She hardly heard anything about her two friends, and this particular update was an odd one.

"What exactly was it that Meenah said?"

Porrim shrugged. "Well, now I'm a bit unsure if I have the right person, but Aranea was saying that Meenah was furious with the human in question. Apparently, she was pranked pretty mercilessly by him when she attempted to barge into Kurloz' hive."

So Kurloz was this mysterious troll's name.

"... That does still sound like John. I hope he was being careful."

"Hah! He wasn't. She stabbed him and then apparently Aradia and Kurloz," She raised two beautifully manicured hands for her own air quotes. "'Unfairly ganged up on her like a bunch of sore losers' and knocked her out outside his hive. Aradia apparently had to hold Kurloz off from trying to double-kill her."

Um.

"Is he okay?"

"Who, John?"

She nodded, trying her best to keep a straight face. "You said she stabbed him. Do you know if he's okay?"

"I would assume so. Hardly a Just or Heroic death, right?"

Rose stared ahead. If this was how she found out one of her best childhood friends just died she would not be okay.

But he was probably fine so let's maybe keep it together.

"So then why… what did Meenah say that made you call him a clown?"

"She said Kurloz had given him clown paint. Which I suppose, if he's never worn it before, that would explain the confusion, wouldn't it?"

"... I suppose." This situation was suddenly weirder, but she didn't have much more time to ask before they reached the door of the library, the room Rose was almost certain Kanaya was going to be in. Before she opened the door, she turned to Porrim, unable to keep the thoughtful frown off of her expression.

"Do me a favor, would you?"

The gorgeous jadeblood raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

If there was one thing Rose knew for certain, it was that she couldn't allow Kanaya to find out about this. She'd taken Gamzee's breakdown personally, and constantly talked about how she was one hundred percent finished with anything and everything having to do with him. She had promised Rose more than once that she would kill the purpleblood on sight the next time she saw him, and it had resulted in more than a few warning messages sent the clown's way to ensure he stayed out of the Sylph's line of sight.

Call her paranoid, but for some reason, she wasn't expecting a great reaction to the sudden rather mirthful allegation against one of her friends, even if he was a human and probably wasn't up to anything nearly like what Gamzee had been up to.

"Kanaya and I are fairly close… and she's holding quite a grudge against all jesters and pranksters at the moment. I would rather that ire not be transferred to a friend I… need to check in on. Would you mind not letting her know this bit of latest news?"

The Maid stared at her for a second before suddenly looking unbelievably amused.

"I suppose you're quite young too, aren't you? Don't worry. I'll keep your friend you need to check in on's secret from your friend who you're fairly close to."

Rose bit the inside of her cheek, unable to find a retort that didn't sound too defensive. Perhaps there was some other small reason why Kanaya was so incredibly nervous around the older Maryam, other than just being too hard on herself.

She'd never felt so owned in her life.

Chapter Text

John had had so many movies he could show Kurloz, he really did.

The options had actually kind of overwhelmed him for a bit when he thought of them all, left alone for a small second as Kurloz went upstairs to put his stitches back in. He might as well now that they weren't doing lessons, but John privately thought the Prince's laugh from before may have startled him into putting them back in sooner rather than later.

At least it gave the human time to be indecisive.

Con Air would have always been his go-to movie before, convinced as he had been that it was the pinnacle of cinema when he was a bit younger, but he couldn't… bring himself to show it to his host.

Not that one. Not right now.

At this point it wasn't even the movie.

He had watched it again, briefly, when stuck waiting for his friends at some point, bored out of his mind and waiting for them all to show up. It wasn't…

…

Sigh.

It wasn't that bad. It had its cooler moments. Not nearly as bad as he had been thinking during his breakdown on that damned ship with Dave Sprite and Jade…

But that was… the problem.

The movie had gone from simply one of his past favorites, betraying him with unrelenting corniness, to reminding him of the last time he'd properly spoken to Jade.

Which reminded him of what she and Jane and Dirk would do without his and Calliope's interference.

Which reminded him of his entire position all over again, a damn near eternal servant to a romance-obsessed teenage Muse in some desperate bid to keep his friends from sucking.

Not a very conducive attitude to have for a da--friendly hang out with a new friend.

The troll, to his credit, had been game for absolutely anything, though he had hesitated when John asked him which Beforan movies were his favorite, or if there were any cultural milestones that he really needed to catch John up on.

Apparently, by the time the Alpha trolls had finally been able to enter their version of Sgrub, Beforus had hit such a period of cultural wussiness, horror and action media had been banned for the most part. Mostly out of fear they would leave traumatized puzzle sponges in their wake, craving for some piece of the terror they just witnessed to be real. Any and all "aggressive" movies, games, and even books had had to go underground, shared via pirating for the most part.

Beforan royalty had literally thought that video games lead to violence. And then followed the fuck through.

"How the hell did you guys not go completely insane?"

Kurloz snorted, whiteboard at the ready for the question.

MET ANY MOTHER FUCKING ONE OF US? WE DID.

Well…

Yeah.

"Dude, I have no clue how you dealt with that. Even our kid's movies had violence in them. We had kid's horror movies and TV shows."

The wonder that had entered the mime's eyes at the statement had carved a mischievous grin onto John's face, sealing them both into their fate of what they were going to watch.

An immutable destiny for them both as they blazed a new trail into these messiahs-forsaken voidbubbles.

A masterpiece of media in its own right, leaving its mark on the souls of millions of children and ruining the career of up-in-coming horror movie staple Matthew Lillard for years to come. (A shame really. He was so good in Serial Mom.)

The 2001 live action Scooby-Doo movie.

All in all, Rose wasn't here to make waves, but let's be honest. Her title as Seer of Light was superior to any other godtier title in the game.

Sure, the other lightbounds could try and measure up, but ultimately "stealing luck" and "repairing holes in the lore" just didn't hold a candle to "knowing what the fuck to do".

It was an ability Rose wouldn't let go if you tortured her.

Not that you'd get the chance. She'd have seen you coming already.

Her powers didn't quite give her the ability to see the outcome of people's choices like Terezi, or the outcomes of different bonds and interpersonal relationships, like poor Karkat's amusingly awful disgrace of a dancestor, but they did give her a very good idea of how to bring about the best version of what was coming to them at any given moment.

What was the outcome itself? That was often kept frustratingly far from reach, but there was no stopping her from figuring it out the old fashioned way. Plot twists were pretty rare, all things considered.

Which is why she'd delved into her powers in earnest after coming across this latest one for her friend, eyes faintly glowing from the Light she had conjured into seeing.

John being in clown paint didn't bode… well…

Or did it?

Her mind was telling her it couldn't. John had always hated clowns, hadn't he? He'd always acted like it. Always said as much. His father's harlequins had been a source of never-ending chagrin throughout their childhood years, as much as her own gripe with her mother's wizard obsession.

Unless… like her own mother, John's father had been pulling from a hidden adoration for whimsy, one John had subconsciously repressed for the sake of protecting his sense of personhood from the potential jests of his online friends.

… No, that couldn't be it. These were thoughts she'd had before, always dismissed almost instantly. She was likely projecting.

Even if he had always liked pranks and magic… to the point of becoming a famous magician and comedian post-scratch.

And he had done those clown drawings on his wall.

And there was that… book, a copy of which she'd only read once, filled with oddly draconic pranking "cures" for various sins against a comedic lifestyle. She'd never been able to get a good look at his personal copy. Whether he realized it or not, John was startlingly protective over "his" version of Sassacre.

Porrim had since let her be, leaving Rose to wander the meteor on her own while the two jades in the library caught up. She had said Kurloz had given John the clown paint. Could he be to blame for this sudden switch of perspective in her friend?

Is that really all that had happened there?

Every thought in her mind was telling her that this news might genuinely be cause for alarm.

But her powers were telling her it was the best thing to happen in a very long time.

The narrative they were all trapped in felt like it had been damn near waiting for this moment, even if her foresight couldn't be bothered to give her a "why".

It could, however, be bothered to give her a "how to find out", and it started with holing herself up in her room, several carefully hidden bottles of booze-filled cider in hand, and getting very tipsy.

God, she loved her fucking godtier powers.

It may have just been due to the guy apparently being starved for good television, but Kurloz was surprisingly into the movie, watching both the film and John's reactions to various scenes with almost equal curiosity. The human had caught the troll looking over several times whenever he gave a small laugh or grin at whatever was coming next.

But John couldn't claim he wasn't doing the same thing.

The Prince had a habit of leaning forward to watch more closely whenever the plot got interesting, several times propping his head up with those ungloved hands when Scooby and the gang were in the thick of it. He'd only brought one (admittedly big) blanket for the two of them to watch under, guaranteeing that John felt every brush against his shoulder when the wiry frame next to him moved.

God, he hoped he was breathing normally. Every movement against him was turning his stomach into a butterfly-filled wreck.

But with those little glances his way, whenever John himself got absorbed into the movie, the Heir ended up wondering if Kurloz was thinking the same thing.

Sadly, the movie did eventually come to an end, and the purpleblood's guest gave a little huff while watching Scrappy being dragged away by the police. He'd always wished that the colorful, tropically-spooky-themed doomsday cult had won when he was younger. It would have been so much more interesting. (And prevented some of the odder choices that Warner Brothers had gone with for the sequel.)

… Oh. Was the cult why Kurloz was interested? Had this entire movie choice been a bad one?

Had he hit too close to home?

He looked over for his host's reaction, trying to find any signs of distaste or dislike, but Kurloz had grabbed his whiteboard again, writing on it diligently.

John's stomach flipped, surprised excitement shooting through his body like lightning when he realized what Kurloz was writing. Holy shit, he had actually saved questions for the end. Like it was a damn school project. What an absolute dork. It was everything John had ever wanted in a movie watching companion. Ever.

That energy, as always lately, went right to his mouth, the breathless, hopeful little mutter popping out so fast he barely realized he'd spoken out loud. "Where have you been my whole life?"

He immediately clapped a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes in a panic as he felt the troll straighten next to him in surprise. Wait--fuck. No. Why. There were so many ways he could have phrased that that didn't come straight out of a cheesy rom-com. Who was he, Karkat? What the fuck was he doing?

"Um. Just when we were little, you know? I think we would have gotten along a lot sooner! That's all."

Now that he thought about it, maybe this was some kind of divine punishment for the oblivious embarrassment he'd sent Karkat's way all those years ago. Looking back on it now, with a better understanding of quadrants… holy shit, there were some better ways he could have dealt with that whole situation.

His tone was normal but the breathplayer still couldn't bring himself to bring down his hand, blatantly refusing to look at Kurloz until he heard that soft, breathy laughter from behind stitches again, cool fingers gently wrapping around his wrist.

Hesitantly, he looked back at the mime, deep purple blatantly visible along the troll's neck and ears. He let the clown pull his hand the rest of the way down from his face as the Prince's other hand was used to sign at him.

//SAME.// The smile the clown gave him was almost… relieved? At him being an idiot for the forty-fifth time today? God, what he wouldn't give for a glance into his thoughts. //YOU FINE. EVERYTHING OKAY.//

"Are you sure? I can leave after dropping a line like that on you if you want me to."

Kurloz rolled his eyes good naturedly, the hand around his wrist tightening slightly.

//NO. DON'T WANT THAT. HAVE QUESTIONS.// He tapped the whiteboard with his free hand, drawing John's attention to his saving grace for the moment and letting him catch his breath.

Okay. Yep. He could be normal. Distraction accepted.

Time to catch Kurloz up on some Culture^™.

"And where the fuck do you think you're going, Lalonde?" Karkat scowled at her as she re-entered the alchemy room. To her amusement, whatever the hell the testy little troll and her brother had been doing before she entered, they had been doing it very close together.

"Pay me no mind. I'm simply gathering a few materials to continue my studies alone and give you two some…" She shot them both a charged look. "Apparently quite needed privacy."

"Fuck off," Dave scowled as Karkat flushed next to him. "Karkat wanted to learn how to draw."

"Wh--no, I didn't."

"Yeah, you fuckin' did. You wouldn't draw like shit in front of me if you didn't."

"Oh, fuck yourself, Strider. You have no fucking idea what I want at any given moment."

Rose tried and failed to keep a smile off her face as she gathered her supplies into a bag, her presence forgotten yet again as the two Knights bickered with one another. It was a daily occurrence by now, and if the Seer were lying to herself, she'd say it had gotten old.

Somehow, it hadn't.

"I know you want my fat fuckin' talent all up in your business. Apparently, you need some goddamn size comparison here to realize what you're missing."

"Do you--do you even know what you sound like? You're peppering me with so many gogdamn innuendos here and there's no way your pathetic excuse for a human thinkpan is meaning them that way."

"No innuendos here, Karkman. Just straight up promises. Give me that pen."

"What do you mea--hey!"

Materials gathered, it was more than easy to slip out the door, unnoticed by her brother and the most obvious mutual crush she'd ever witnessed in her life.

Unfortunately, the person she ran into immediately after the door closed was far less entertaining.

"What do you have there, Lalonde?"

"Vriska," She greeted back coolly. Jesus fucking Christ, could the Thief leave her be for longer than twenty seconds? It was like she had solely focused on making sure her fellow lightbound would never be able to have fun on the nigh three years they'd spent on this horrifically boring meteor together.

"Weren't you in the dreambubbles with Terezi?"

"Meh, they got boring. What's in the bag?"

"Supplies, mostly. I've been chased out of the alchemy room by my brother." They were so close to her room. All she had to do was slip in…

A small glimmer of Light lit her path towards being left alone.

"And his pathetic attempts to eventually make out with Karkat. You wouldn't happen to have any tips on helping them finally get together, would you?"

The cerulean's eyes lit up instantly. Bingo. The easiest way to get Vriska out of anyone's business was to stick her into someone else's.

"Oh, reeeaaaally," The grin directed at Rose was almost nothing but fang. "Think they'd be good together, do you?"

Hah. Of course they would. And everyone knew except them.

"Trust me, Serket." Rose smiled back, letting a tiny bit of Light fill her eyes with her reply. "I know they'd be good together. Just like I know you can help them."

The Thief hummed, crossing her arms over her chest in thought while Rose desperately tried to keep her eyes from flicking towards her door. So close. Come on…

"You have a point," Vriska finally smirked at her. "Boys are fucking hopeless, aren't they?"

Her answer had never been more sincere. "It's actually impressive how true that is."

The cerulean snorted, and with a long suffering sigh, finally nodded. "You make a fair point. They may just need a blue to kick shit up to where it can really get going." She started towards the door, much to Rose's relief until the troll threw a mildly judgemental look her way.

"Have fun getting drunk."

Oh, she'd make sure to, you fucking bitch.

GETTING LIGHT SOON. BUT ONE LAST QUESTION :o)

"Shoot," John grinned, genuinely sad he'd have to leave soon. Talking about Scooby-Doo of all things had been oddly cathartic. Something he grew up with that wasn't ruined by some kind of horrifying memory. Imagine that.

The majority of the troll's questions about the film had been plot oriented, the Prince apparently curious about the past "lore" of the series.

The only solution, decided together by both of the clowns in the room, had been that they needed to watch more Scooby-Doo movies together after mime lessons. It was the only way to correct the woeful ignorance of the beleaguered Beforan teen, having the tragic upbringing of a Mystery Gang-less wigglerhood to correct.

TROLLIAN HANDLE?

Ah.

Kurloz handed him the marker and whiteboard to write his Pesterchum handle, pausing once it was down to add it to his phone.

Within seconds, his phone buzzed from a new chum, theocentricCarnie.

TC: :oD

John gave a small laugh, eyebrows shooting up as he clicked on the link. "I was wondering how you managed to mime over text."

Kurloz shrugged, his smile, if anything, a bit sheepish. It was such a difference from John's first impressions of the teen, and it gave him the courage to say what he needed to next.

"Um, that reminds me, though. If you ever need me here, just send me a message and I can pop up pretty much immediately!" It was hard picturing the Prince "needing" anyone. He was more than capable on his own, but the offer was genuine. As was the next.

"If you want I can even just make sure to zap into your relaxation block directly… so that I can't be followed by spoiled brats demanding magic tricks."

Kurloz snorted at that, taking back the whiteboard to add a quick reply.

With plans for a new mime session set, the Heir got ready to leave, stopping dead outside of Kurloz' door as an apologetic-looking Aradia greeted him.

"I have two things to say."

".... Were you watching us again?"

"Yes, and you're both fucking adorable."

John sighed.

"That was the first thing. The second thing is that we knocked Meenah out cold after she left Kurloz' hive, but she went pretty much directly to Aranea and Porrim afterwards. That talk you planned with Rose might need to happen… um… soon."

The human looked at her bleakly as he slowly stepped down from the door, heading down the path they had walked together to get here. "How soon…"

"Probably as soon as you leave here, if I'm being honest."

Goddammit.

Chapter Text

If she wasn't used to having to do seemingly random and ridiculous things to reach her goals as a Seer, Rose may have been a bit worried.

Thankfully, as she downed the rest of her bottle, she most certainly wasn't.

Everything about her powers told her that what she was doing was the correct way to go. She simply needed to keep others out of her room…

And John would… what? Magically show up? That made no sense.

Perhaps she had misinterpreted. What she was doing felt right, but how in the hell was her friend going to find her, drunk and alone, in the middle of the meteor?

Unless they were meant to meet in the dreambubbles…

Hm. Getting a good read on the situation was a lot harder when she was this buzzed, but maybe if she turned off her light and got ready for the one place she could meet John (probably), she would be proven right.

The second she pulled the cord to the lamp on her bedside table, a tall, lean shadow appeared, practically out of nowhere, in the chair opposite her bed.

She froze before her hand immediately went back to the chain, but the shadow was faster, catching her hand and keeping her from turning the light back on.

"N-no, don't… don't do that. Not yet." The voice was soft and mid-toned, sweet even, somehow both relaxed and tense, enunciating each word carefully. It was a cadence unique to only one person she knew, and she'd recognize it anywhere, even if it had been years since she'd heard it last.

"John?" He had indeed, apparently, just magically shown up in her room, dreambubbles unneeded.

"Hi, Rose…" And he sounded… scared, the realization hitting her heart rate a little late.

"Why aren't you letting me turn on the light?" Were things worse than she thought? How the hell had he even gotten in here?

Hesitantly, the figure let go of her hand, though through the darkness, she could see he was poised to reach out and stop her if she tried again.

"Um. Just needed to… I guess, figure out where to start. We need to catch up, you know? I've missed you…"

"I've missed you, too, but I don't know what you're talking about. Are you okay?"

"Yes…"

Well, that was the least convincing thing she'd heard all year.

"Is thish--is this about the clown paint? Did Kurloz force you to wear it?

"N-no! Fuck, what did…" The Heir trailed off, and as her eyes finally adjusted to the lack of light, she could see a hand reach up to rub the back of his neck as he gave a small, self-conscious laugh.

"Holy shit, I hate memorybubble gossip. Would you mind telling me what you heard..? So I know what kind of rumors are floating around?"

She hummed. Her friend wouldn't be finding out what she knew that easily. Especially if he was looking to hide something. The idea that he would even be trying was worrying enough.

"Sure," She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, fully aware that her friend probably couldn't see the facial expression through the darkness. "You first, though. Who's Kurloz and why the paint? You always said you hated harlequins."

He sighed. "It is… a pretty long story."

"Then start from the biggen--the beginning."

There was a small pause, and the shadow seemed to shift to face her more fully. "Rose… are you drunk?"

Abso-fucking-lutely, she was. After nearly a sweep of trying and getting thwarted by that… very alive ceruleanblood. God, she was so alive. Too alive. Her powers said so, and it definitely wasn't just Rose being bitter at the Thief's meddling.

"Not overly drunk. I only drank a little. Just one bottle."

"... Oh, jeeze. Okay."

She frowned, not really liking the tone that had crept into her friend's voice. She was the one who was supposed to be worried here, not him.

"There's not much else to do on this ship… Vrishka keeps keeping me from it, but no one asked her to."

"That… makes sense…" The breath player's voice fell into a mutter at the end, the Heir sounding almost guilty, and, even inebriated, somewhere she connected a couple dots. Karkat had wasted no time in telling both Rose and Dave the second they had arrived on the meteor about the odd appearance of their blue-clad friend, hoping they knew something he didn't.

Unfortunately, neither blond had been able to tell him how John had randomly appeared out of nowhere, nor why he had cold-clocked Vriska seconds before whatever showdown she was about to have with Terezi. They'd all eventually figured it was an early voidbubble appearance, but it was starting to sound like it very much wasn't.

"Is she supposed to be dead?"

"Vriska?"

"Yes."

"Hah… maybe…" John sighed. "I still have some shit to do, so I don't really know."

"What do you mean?" Why did that sound ominous? If she didn't know her friend better, it would have almost sounded like he was thinking of killing her, or something. She wished she could see his damn face. It would be a lot easier to figure out what was going on if she could see what he was feeling.

She reached for the pull chain again, and John, again, caught her hand. "You know I can jush activate my light powers and s-see you anyway, right?"

"... I guess I can't stop you from doing that." John let go of her hand again, and his shadow seemed to shrink in on itself, the rustling fabric accompanying the gesture leading her to assume he had crossed his arms over himself, the same anxious tone from before back in full force.

"Why don't you want me to see you?"

"I do want you to see me! J-just… I guess I'm just nervous. I wanted some time to put my thoughts together first, so that I could explain everything to you the best I could, but Meenah made sure that couldn't happen…"

Oh, shit. That's right. He'd gotten stabbed earlier, hadn't he?

"... It is just clown paint, right? You're not hurt?"

"I'm not hurt! I promise."

"... Okay. Then I can leave it be for a second, but you need to tell me what's going on with you. I haven't seen you in years, in cashe you're forgetting." Rose gathered herself with a frown, wishing she could somehow inject her friend with all of the collective concern she'd felt his way for quite a while now.

"The first thing me and Dave ever got told about you while here was you punching Vriska, and then I saw you, jus' for a bit, fighting Jack Noir, and now the next thing I'm hearing is how you're in a relationship with one of the Beforan trolls and how he gave you, who I always knew to absolutely hate clowns, face paint. I know nothing, John."

Slowly, as if she were trying not to spook a stray cat, she reached over in the dark, gently prying his arms away from his chest so she could try and find his hands. After a second, he gave them to her, letting her hold them as tightly as she could. "I fucking hate knowing nothing."

"I know. I'm sorry. I came here to fix that."

"Then fix it."

"... Okay." After taking a second to gather his thoughts, one of her oldest childhood friends did indeed fix it, launching into a tale of everything from his breakdown on the ship with Jade and Davesprite (he fucking strangled himself???), to his zappy powers, to a… disturbingly brief explanation of some kind of "bad ending", to how he had worked with Terezi to correct the timeline and prevent it from happening.

Throughout the entire recount, Rose had never once let go of his hands, occasionally running her thumb over the back of one or both of them when John seemed to zone out in thought. She didn't know why she did it, but it… seemed to help.

Help both of them, if she was being honest, the reassurance of John coming back to reality with the small touches making her heart hurt in a way she wasn't sure she could describe.

So she kept doing it.

"And that's what the punch was?" After John's long explanation, the cider was starting to wear off a bit, making her itch for more. No wonder the Light had led her to drink before the Heir showed up. This conversation had turned out to need it, badly.

"That's what the punch was, yeah. Terezi needed Vriska to be alive so that she didn't fall into some bad relationships. I don't know the details, but I know they ended up getting to her and the other people involved in the worst way possible. Vriska… let's be honest. Vriska sucks."

Rose snorted. Vriska had been referring to John as her "hypothetical ex-boyfriend" for the entire time they'd been on the meteor. It was hilarious to hear John's side after all of that.

"But… she and Terezi get each other, somehow. She was necessary to keep her from doing a couple things she'd absolutely regret."

"Is… this about Gamzee's pitch crush on her?" She was treading dangerous waters here. She'd promised the clown she wouldn't tell anyone about his feelings towards Terezi, but it sounded like John may already know about whatever was going on there, oddly enough.

And… honestly, the entire idea of Gamzee and Terezi dating had seemed so ill-fated, even just the potential of the relationship was still on her mind, worrying and frustrating her in equal measure with its probability.

John paused. "This is about a couple people's crushes on her, honestly. Pitch or… ashen… Or otherwise."

Ah, yes. The only quadrant even more difficult to understand than kismesissitude

"I never understood auspisticism…"

John huffed out a small laugh, the sound strangely sad. "Well, that hasn't changed, then."

What… did he mean by that? The Heir continued before she could inquire further.

"I didn't either until I finally saw some pretty good examples in a couple troll movies. Karkat's explanations are garbage." He gave a small chuckle.

"He's such a romantic that he… kinda gets in his own way, I think. Humans can absolutely get auspisticism. It's just concerned frustration for two people who you're pretty sure are going to totally fuck up their whole lives by getting together. Enough that you feel like you have to mediate, or even sabotage if things are going bad enough. We feel it literally all the time. Just don't have a name for it…"

… Huh.

"Don't take this the wrong way… but you're the last person I expected a decent explanation of ashen romance from…"

"... Am I better or worse than Karkat?"

"Better. I think I actually followed this time."

"Good enough for me." John snorted, his tone still oddly melancholy.

There was a pause as the Seer processed everything he had said.

"... You still haven't explained the paint."

"I still haven't explained the paint." He agreed with a sigh.

"Is it yet another long story?"

"Rose, literally everything I gave you there was just background. This is the longest story ever."

"Then would you mind much if I had another drink?"

There was a pause, almost nerve-wracking until she felt John's own light touches on the back of her hand. Huh. No wonder it kept pulling John out of his head. It really did help.

"If… you feel like you need to."

She… didn't, technically, but God, was it making things easier. Again, Light kept glimmering in a particular direction, prompting the words out of her mouth before she could second-guess them.

"Would you like to join me? So that I'm not drinking alone?"

There was another pause, and when John spoke next he sounded almost nervous. "I… Okay. Sure."

"I'm going to need to turn the light on to make sure I don't knock over the bottles."

Her friend sighed. "Yeah…"

Wordlessly, they dropped hands, the comforting warmth missed almost instantly as Rose reached up to turn on the light.

And froze.

For one brief moment, as she blinked away the sudden brightness, she could have sworn her friend had horns, thin, elegant curves, almost like Gamzee's, but swept back slightly, pointing away from her.

Then she blinked a couple more times and the horns were gone, allowing her to finally focus on the facepaint John had been so worried about, the expression under it as anxious as they come.

… Well, then.

"You look pretty."

He cocked an eyebrow, a reluctant smile flitting across his lips. "Be serious."

"I am being serious," The alcohol still in her system allowed her smile to be a full one. "The paint looks nice, John. It's not a presentation I'm used to, but it suits you quite well. It feels… correct. If that makes sense."

It'd look especially nice with the horns she was now almost certain he should have, to the point where he almost looked weird without them, but that might sound just a bit nuts to say.

… Or would it?

Blue eyes filled with gratitude (wonder, even), but nervousness had never quite left the Heir's face. He looked away from her. "Do you think Dave and Karkat would freak out if they saw it?"

With a sigh, she got up, moving back over to the bottles she had brought with her to look for one John might like. Something sweet, she knew enough to know that.

"You just listed two people who are extremely distrustful of change, John. You know that."

"I… yeah…"

"Do you intend on keeping the paint? As a consistent thing, I mean?"

"Yes." The answer was barely louder than a whisper.

Interesting... The story behind this paint had to be a good one.

Ah, she forgot she had brought this bottle, some vodka she had finally been able to almost master. The drink was bright blue from the cotton candy the other clown (apparently) on this meteor had insisted she add to it, promising her it would make the drink far better.

It absolutely had.

"Well, that's a point in your favor then, isn't it? Neither of them would stop being friends with you. That, I know. Make it clear that the paint won't change, and those two will get used to it eventually."

"... I suppose."

"Of course they will," Her voice was smooth, confident, even if Rose was not. She was telling the truth when she said that neither Knight would cease a friendship over it. She was almost certain that was correct, but John was probably right that their first sighting of him in that makeup, as right as it felt, may actually freak both of them out pretty badly.

Though considering her recent conversation with Dave… he may have other cosmetic changes on his mind.

Searching deeper into her bag, Rose finally found what she had been looking for, a couple of small tea cups she had found lying around, used thereafter as makeshift shot glasses. Carefully, she started measuring the blue, cotton candy flavored booze into two cups. The task allowed her to be nonchalant as she asked an innocent question.

"Speaking of changes, have you noticed… any… about yourself lately? Other than the sudden willingness to join clownhood, apparently."

John's voice was neutral as he responded. "Changes?"

Rose nodded, carefully grabbing the overfilled teacups and carrying them over to John as steadily as she could. "Specifically, I'm referring to changes in perception. Expecting to see yourself one way, even if it makes no sense for that expectation to be there… considering… we're all…"

Human.

She couldn't finish the sentence out loud, more than a little aware of how it would sound.

The Heir's face was a careful mask as he studied her, brows just barely furrowed in concern. "What are you expecting to see?"

…

He was hiding a lot more than Dave had been, wasn't he?

Rather than answering, she raised her cup, gesturing for John to do the same. "Two things, John: First, have a shot with me. This stuff tastes amazing, but it burns something fierce, so you'll need to be fast."

Before he could reply, she downed hers, setting the empty cup smartly on the floor next to her. And after a moment, at her encouraging smile, the breathbound took his as well, making a face instantly as he shuddered.

"Second: I asked you first."

"Rose, that's not fair."

"Life's not fair. Have you noticed any changes like the ones I described?"

John sighed, the look he was giving her damn near pleading. "I'm not sure I would notice. I haven't been in front of any mirrors lately."

"Says the kid in a full face of makeup."

"Right."

"John." She gave him a look. "You're a horrendous liar."

He clicked his tongue, not meeting her eyes. "... Yeah, I need to work on that."

"John," She reached for his hands again, and after a moment of hesitation, he gave her one, the other still holding his teacup. Why was prying information out of him so much harder than it was with Dave?

"You know you can tell me anything, correct? I will share this with no one. I just need to see if I'm going crazy."

The Heir frowned, his expression odd. "You're not going crazy…"

"Then you're seeing it, too? What are you seeing?"

"Not seeing…" John shifted uncomfortably. "Not until this conversation anyway. I keep thinking you should have black hair."

Rose lifted a single eyebrow, squeezing his hand to signal him to go on.

"You didn't mention if Dave was seeing it, too, but I think you would keep it to yourself if it wasn't something you and him were both experiencing, right?"

Ah… shit. She had forgotten how astute the normally oblivious Heir could be when he was paying attention.

Taking her silence as a yes, John kept on. "Have either of you noticed any… psychic… stuff?"

"... Not that I'm aware of. Dave swore me to secrecy, but I personally expected to see myself with gills. What… 'psychic stuff' specifically are you experiencing?"

"Dream stuff," John shrugged, before sighing, apparently feeling the need to clarify. "Chucklevoodoos."

… Well. Rose supposed that fit at least, considering her friend's new choice in aesthe--

"John. Paint."

"I know! Stop distracting me!"

Chapter Text

"So… Let me think about where to start, I guess…" John shifted uncomfortably, still not meeting her eyes. Now that the shock of seeing him in clown makeup had worn off, the Seer was better able to see the face under it. The Heir had grown since she'd last seen him, long and lean as ever (Dave would lose it once he saw that John was so much taller than him by now), but he also looked completely fucking exhausted. His expression was closed off and guarded, eyes seeming a million miles away whenever he got lost in thought, which was… often.

Perhaps a bit more often, now that he had a bit of vodka in him.

Had he always zoned out like that?

It could have just been the alcohol talking, but god, he looked miserable. Like a lost, sad animal she just wanted to bring inside out of the rain.

"Do you remember when I sent you that copy of The Daunting Text?"

The Seer hummed, taking it upon herself to grab the empty teacup from her friend, gently untangling their hands to grab her own off the floor as well. Time for another shot. At this point, John looked like he needed one a lot more than she did.

"Is this another attempt to change the subject?"

"Fuck, I wish."

Well… that just opened the door to more questions, honestly. She opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but John beat her to it.

"Did you notice anything odd when you read it?"

"I'm assuming you mean besides the ridiculous amount of racism?"

".... Y-yes. Yes, I do mean besides that."

"Right."

She used the time it took to pour them more vodka to gather her thoughts. "I don't remember many details, honestly, and I know I didn't read your copy--"

"Well, yeah. I figured you would prefer a new book. Mine was pretty well-read."

"... Of course," Is that how he remembered that interaction? It was still one of the oddest she'd ever had with the Heir, occurring far before any of them had even heard of Sburb.

Sassacre was a book the size of a small bicycle. It was notoriously expensive for that reason alone, especially the unabridged version, and Rose, bookworm that she was, had been curious how some ancient funnyman had even managed to write that many words about cornball, vaudevillian comedy of all things. She'd first suggested that John just send her his copy for her to send back, or even that she come over to look at it in person, but John hadn't replied.

And he had continued not to reply any time she brought it up, seemingly forgetting she had asked the second she did, always changing the subject or having to go offline almost immediately once the words were typed.

That level of cageyness had never been the norm in any of their previous interactions, and Rose wasn't dumb. She had taken it as a not-so-subtle hint and eventually stopped asking, assuming John's mysterious joke book was simply a family heirloom.

Until one day, without any word from her friend, a brand new copy of Colonel Sassacre's Daunting Text of Magical Japery and Practical Frivolity had shown up on her doorstep, her mom actually thinking it was a new piece of furniture at first from the ludicrous size of the packaging. The new copy must have cost John and his dad a fortune, shipping costs aside.

After sending a surprised thanks, Rose had sat down immediately to try and read as much of it as possible, but had found herself unable to continue after the first dozen or so chapters. Sassacre's way of speaking often obscured it but… the book had felt more like a guide on how to live your life than a guide on how to tell a good joke or two, hinting at some deeper meaning to any suggested pranks or hi-jinx and treating different performance styles as… something like life paths.

Reading it had been a wholly odd experience, a feeling settling over her the entire time that she was missing something while reading it. Some reference or inside joke or experience that the book was counting on its readers already having to fully understand its message.

At the very least, the mystery of the missing context had provided more than a bit of inspiration for her own writings, the concept of hidden knowledge gatekept by a select cast of seemingly innocuous stage performers seeping into her rough drafts of Complacency of the Learned almost immediately. The idea that that could ever actually happen was completely preposterous, but it had been a fun idea to play around with.

Her brief stint with the guide had provided quite the insight into John himself, though. From what little she had read, she had discovered he followed the book's guidelines (at least its guidelines for magicians specifically) to a damn T. Even now, if she had gotten further into the thing, she was certain she could quiz him on some aspect of the antique tome and he'd not only be able to give her the exact quote she was referring to (possibly even the page number), but also admit to having been living his life in precisely the way prescribed--like it was some kind of Comedic Codex.

"I hope you know I still sincerely appreciate the gesture, even if I did end up sending it back to you."

She'd included a handwritten apology letter when sending it back and everything. Her mother had insisted, but John, for his part, had seemed unbothered, cheerily agreeing that Sassacre wasn't for everyone and admitting that he would likely put his own book in the family safe while using the new book he had gotten her to avoid any more damage to the pages.

At least he had gotten some use out of the debacle.

John's teacup was handed to him, and with a steadying breath, he waited for her signal before they downed the new shots together.

He winced again, openly cringing at the burn, but overall handled it bit better than last time. "I'll probably only have one more of those before I call it quits. I don't want to get carried away on my first time drinking…"

"Why?" She smirked, the new warmth from her own shot adding a teasing lilt to her tone. "Do you not trust me as a drinking buddy? You can get fucked up in front of me. Let's get white girl wasted."

John's eyes shot wide, looking over at her with a shocked, quiet laugh. "Rose, no."

It was the most gentle reprimand she'd ever heard in her life, and she felt her smirk transform into something much more genuine. "Kidding. Three shots is probably a good place for you to stop anyway."

He smiled back, the same goofy grin she remembered, raising an eyebrow at her. "And... a good place for you as well..? You already had a bit before I got here."

She sighed with her full chest, not bothering to hold back from indulging a little lighthearted melodrama. All this effort to get drunk just for her mysteriously overpowered childhood internet penpal to keep her from going overboard. Who did he think he was? A caring and considerate friend? How fucking dare he.

"Fine." Efforts to return to her normal, mysterious and cool demeanor were futile. She couldn't keep a small smile out of her expression. God, she'd needed to see a new face lately, and John was, true to his title, quite the breath of fresh heir.

He shot a glance her way as they set their cups to the side, amusement dancing in his eyes. He looked so much more like himself when he wasn't an anxious mess. Hopefully this meant the shots were doing him at least a little good.

"You can't claim I'm the one who's avoiding the paint thing if you are the one who keepsh--keeps changing the subject."

Ah, there was the effect of those lovely drinks on her friend.

"Did you notice anything odd about the book?"

Oh, right.

"I guess… whether or not I noticed anything odd depends on how you define 'odd'," She offered with a shrug, and when John frowned, she elaborated.

"When I picture joke books, I tend to picture thin little children's books full of knock-knock jokes."

The Heir looked like she had personally insulted him.

"I'm not saying that's what Sassacre is, John. Sassacre doesn't match that image at all, obviously. I'm just saying that's what I, personally, picture as the… essence… of a joke book. The Platonic Ideal, if you will. Sh-Sassacre's Text holds a certain dialectical observance of that conshept, certainly, but it strays far from the path of what I would consider… traditional… comedic guides."

She hoped that made sense. The alcohol had kind of just taken her straight into a ramble without her meaning for it to.

Based on her childhood friend's expression, it absolutely hadn't.

John stared at her blankly for a second before groaning. "Rose, I am not sure I would understand what you just said even if I was completely sober right now. Give me that teacup. My turn to pour."

She grinned, handing him her cup as he stood up to walk to the dresser she had set the drinks on. Jesus, the height difference really was startling now that he was on his feet. Was that why he wasn't wearing his godtier pajamas? All four humans of the Beta session had received them when they were thirteen, after all, and John had been the shortest of them when they'd entered the game. It looked as though his original hoodie would be a mild midriff cut on him at this point.

"Okay," John's back was turned to her as he carefully measured the light blue vodka into their cups. "A bunch of... philosophy aside, you're saying it… doesn't seem like a joke book… to you?"

Why did he sound so resigned?

"Not a normal one, at least," She saw his head fall in a silent sigh and quickly sped on. "But, I mean, would the Egbert family, descended from the Great Colonel himself, accept a normal joke book? Of course not. They'd only accept the best, a pinnacle of the genre, written by their most celebrated ancestor."

It didn't appear she was helping, but John shot her an appreciative, if slightly somber, glance over his shoulder as he carefully balanced their drinks, handing her hers again as he sat back down across from her.

He didn't wait for her this time, downing his shot and closing his eyes before putting his cup down and looking pensively off to the side.

He was back to looking miserable.

After a bit of hesitation, Rose set her cup, still full, on her side table.

"Why are you asking me about Sassacre? Who cares what I think about your family's favorite book? What does it have to do with you wearing face paint?"

John crossed his arms again, shrinking in on himself with an anxious frown. "I sink--think I am just... hoping I can convince myself it isn't... true."

"Ah yes, that clears everything up immediately."

The Heir blinked, before looking over at her apologetically. "Right, s-sorry."

She waved away the apology as John adjusted himself in his chair, trying not to show any signs of impatience as she waited for him to get to the point.

Finally, after several excruciating minutes, he did. "I came across something recently that points to that book being… a bit more than just a vaudeville manual. Apparently, it's pretty well-known for some reason on both Beforus and Alternia."

"To… clowns, I'm guessing?"

He nodded, swallowing.

"They don't know its name… and I don't think they would get any of the weird racial bullshit in it, but apparently it's kind of a subject of legend. Th-this ancient lost text." He made a face. "They call it The Green Book."

"But it's teal."

"That's kind of not the point, Rose."

"Sorry, go on."

"That's… that's mostly it? It's practically a clown bible, fundamental to the troll religion, apparently," His expression darkened as he stared at some unoccupied corner of the room in thought. "The right one, at least."

"The right one?" She felt her brows pull together in automatic concern. She didn't like the way he said that.

His gaze flicked back to her, looking almost startled. "J-jus'. The one I'm talking about, you know?"

"… Sure."

She could see why John had taken that last shot so quickly. This was… a lot to parse. Sassacre being a religious text made sense to her in a way. The guides and passages did seem to match a kind of "mirthful textbook" vibe, even if it seemed a bit… practical and mundane. The small bits of lore Gamzee had shared with her in their discussions of his life before the game had made his belief system seem fairly fantastical.

Perhaps those parts were left out? Or perhaps all of the information necessary to understand whatever this meant wasn't available yet.

After all, how would both Beforus and Alternia even get access to Sassacre? There were some shared bits and bobs here and there to be sure, universal constants that Karkat and Dave had gleaned endless amusement from finding, but a random, if rather intense Earth joke book being fundamental to a shared belief system across a scratch seemed…

Light glimmered in the back of her mind.

… Needed. Apparently. This entire series of events was… needed. For everything to happen the best way it possibly could.

Now, if the Light could give her a why, she'd really fucking appreciate it.

"So then… assuming this information is correct, and your favorite book is in fact shuper important to the troll's clown religion, is that why you began wearing paint? To signal that you," Her voice became cautious. "May share some… beliefs with a couple of our troll friends?"

If John could specify which of those beliefs he bought into, that would calm her nerves significantly more. Beyond a rather mystical feeling, the one other impression she had gotten from Gamzee's brief shared snippets was that The Church of the Mirthful Messiahs had rather… ruthless prescriptions for heresy.

He winced at her words. "Don't… put it like that, please."

"How would you like me to put it? How would you phrase this situation?"

John took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "I honestly don't know! The paint happened before I even found out about the book actually, but the book is what is throwing me off. I-I've been dealing with this for a while and I don't want to think about--I don't know how to--That book was so important to me growing up, and D-Dad always--"

The Heir's voice broke as he crumpled in on himself, and to Rose's horror, she saw a brief flash of tears in the lamp light before her guest hid his face.

There was silence for a while as Rose searched for the right words to say. She'd never been good at emotional talks like this. Part of her wanted to down the shot waiting for her on the table, and another part wanted to shove it into her friend's hands and order him to drink his pain away.

But neither of those options would actually help, would they?

"John… please don't shut down on me. What's going through your head?"

There was a long pause, but Rose would wait forever if she had to. She'd never seen the Heir cry before. Not once. Not even while they'd both been watching their parents get murdered in front of them. Apparently he had cried a bit after, but not in front of anyone.

It took a lot to make her friend crack, and the thought that something may have finally forced him to was terrifying.

With a shudder, and a barely unhidden sniff, she finally got an answer, so soft she had to strain to hear it.

"I wonder… If Dad knew… If he followed the book, too, like he always claimed, or if that was another sh-shitty... lie for me to fall for. Like the fool that I fucking am."

…

Oh, John.

The Seer reacted without thinking, slowly reaching for her friend and pulling him to sit next to her on her bed, where she could better get to him. With a steadying breath of her own, she gathered his hands in hers.

… Hm. The bed really wasn't the best place for this, but it's what she had. What she wouldn't give for a pillow fort or one of the trolls' piles or something.

Somewhere safe.

John let himself be pulled, quietly sitting next to her and grasping her hands back weakly, but refusing to meet her eyes. "D-you… do you ever have questions you desperately wish you could ask your Mom? Questions that you know you are never going to get the answer to because they were fucking stolen from you?"

Rose nodded silently, and he took another breath before looking down. "You mentioned seeing me fighting Noir. Did you see what my useless pop-o-matic hammer got him? On the highest roll I could have had?"

"Yes. A silly hat."

He gave a soft chuckle, and hearing the broken sound felt like taking a bullet to her soul.

"Yeah. He deserved s-so much more than that. He flew away afterwards, like a douche, chased by the other dog person. I never learned her name, but she cheated me out of what should have happened." He swallowed, and when he spoke next his voice was rougher. "There should have been nothing left of that bastard by the time she got there. He should have actually been stopped. Whatever the fuck I was trying to do back there, I should have made it p-painful. I--"

Rose's hand flew up to cup his cheek and John's voice stuttered to a halt.

"Hey, shh. No, you're okay."

She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Or rather, she did. She had seen it more than a couple times in Alternian media, and the trolls mentioned shooshpapping all the time, but she had never done it herself. Had never felt the need to. Had kind of assumed she never would feel the need to.

She fucking needed to right now. John was breaking and she had to help.

And despite her brain viciously fighting to tell her how nonsensical and trite this gesture was, it did seem to be working. The Heir looked back at her, startled, before his eyes went half-lidded and he gently leaned into her hand, unshed tears marring an otherwise agonizingly careful expression.

God, her heart hurt.

"Let's… change the subject for a second, if you like. Do you want to hear some good news?"

Slowly, her guest nodded, and at a loss for what good news to give, Rose launched into her feelings for Kanaya.

Ordinarily, with no alcohol in her system, she would have been more than a little difficult to pull this information from, but now, with John sitting next to her, in the quiet solace of her own room, she didn't bother. She was desperate. She just needed to talk about something that wasn't their parents.

The distraction seemed to work, a ghost of a genuine smile growing in John's expression as she told him about how she had barely managed to keep her cool when the jade measured her for her new, light-aspect themed sundress. How the two had spent hours together going over both troll and human customs. How Kanaya was the most wonderful and capable person she'd ever met in her life, if she could just make her see it, too.

… How Vriska kept cockblocking the shit out of them whenever she got the chance.

John huffed out a laugh at that, gathering her hand from where it had dropped to his shoulder so he could hold both of them properly, interlacing their fingers. "She really does insert herself into every fucking situation, doesn't she… I'm so happy for you, Rose. You and Kanaya are an awesome match."

His smile still seemed a little sad, but it seemed her diverting the topic had done the trick.

"Regarding, um, what just happened here, though," John's expression turned a little shy, letting go of one hand to vaguely gesture to his cheek. "I know you said nothing is official, but you may want to… double check that Kanaya is okay with it. Shooshpapping for trolls isn't, um, platonic… she would read it as us wanting to be moirails, and she may be expecting to be your only partner since you're human…"

Rose paused, then sighed, trying and failing to fight down a blush as her earlier conversation with Porrim ran through her head. Friend she needed to check in on, indeed. Their current conversation would only be read one way by any troll they'd ever met.

And they might be right, honestly. She'd shooshpap John again however many times he needed, and if someone tried to stop her, she'd shooshpap him with their severed fucking hand.

"It's… a needed talk. You're right."

John nodded, a gentle flush appearing along his neck. "I might need to have that talk with someone as well on my end… I don't think he'd have a problem with it, but…"

Ah yes, the mystery ghost troll. "Kurloz."

He bit the inside of his cheek before nodding again.

"You really like him, then?"

The Heir looked like he was fighting himself for a second, some unknown conversation happening just beyond her reach, in his head. "I… It's still really early… but I do, yeah. And he seems like he likes me back, despite me acting like a dumbass in front of him every hour."

"Is that… why he gave you the paint?"

John blinked before, to her surprise, rolling his eyes. "N-no, that's not a thing. Meenah and her weird, gossipy assumptions, jeez. You don't just give people their patterns. Kurloz didn't do anything to me. He didn't force me into this paint. If anything, he's been helping me. He's… been good for me."

Well, now she had to meet this guy. He must have been quite the fucking catch to snag her infamously straight-presenting friend (Karkat still went on about the "not a homosexual" thing, sometimes). That brought them back to the original question, though.

"So then, if not from Kurloz, how exactly did you get the clown paint?"

John sighed, looking down at the floor again. She gave his hands an encouraging squeeze.

"I'm kind of worried that I may have always had it… just without knowing. There was this pattern that I kept seeing in my dreams, but it was always obscured. I showed it to Kurloz, and he filled out the rest for me."

He gave a small, anxiety-fueled laugh. "And now I'm almost kind of fucked? Because I look in the mirror and I see myself in the paint and I don't want to fucking take it off, ever. It's… um. It just feels correct. I-It's not me declaring my undying loyalty to the Condesce or something dumb like whatever it meant on post-scratch Earth. It's just that it's…"

He trailed off and Rose frowned, a few more dots connecting in her head. She hadn't even considered that John's face paint meant that he was declaring he was about to betray them, but she could see where that anxiety was coming from, adding to the fear he'd already shared with her regarding her brother and his crush.

She thought back to how she had felt the Light rejoicing when first hearing about John being painted. About her first reactions to the pattern. How it seemingly just fit on her friend's face.

Even now, looking back on the brief moment she and him had met up when they were younger, it was hard to remind herself that John had been paintless during that encounter, her memories automatically placing the pattern over her friend like it had always been there.

She finished the sentence for him. "It's jus' that it's the truth. It's you."

John flinched like she had just hit him, his expression a completely illegible mix of emotions before he looked away.

… Hm.

"Hey, John… do you paint yourself gray as well?"

He froze. Eyes flicking back to her. "Why do you ask..?"

Slowly, she reached a hand up to the left side of his neck, just under his ear. The Heir tensed, but allowed her to brush over the cool skin there. Emphasis on skin.

Rose's next words were quiet, nervous. "It's not paint…"

John didn't answer. He closed his eyes for just a second before turning to her in earnest, scanning her face and frame before sighing, letting go of her hand to gesture to the inside of her right arm.

The Seer immediately shrank back before reluctantly turning lavender eyes down to where John had pointed.

There, like a bloom of dye in water, was a splash of mid-toned gray on her arm, the same shade as John's. Decidedly also not paint.

"Fuck," John muttered quietly. "I can… get us all something to cover it up, if that's what anyone wants, but…"

He lifted his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. "Something tells me this is not going to be something any of us can hide for too long."

He didn't sound alarmed in the slightest. Merely resigned again.

… No, that wasn't it. He sounded guilty.

Another dot connected. "You have something to do with this, don't you?"

The Heir looked at her, eyes wide before there was a sudden knocking on her door.

"Yo, Rose. Lemme in. 'Bout to drop a track on you hotter than our troll buddies' dumbass Alternian sun, but it still has all the ability to wake the fuckin' dead, so let's go." It was Dave's 'I've never been nervous in my life; what are you talking about' voice.

Rose and John got up at the same time, the breath player pulling her into a quick, panicked hug. His voice was incredibly soft, ensuring Dave wouldn't hear him through her door.

"I can't answer everything right now, but please trus' me. Human or troll, we're all going to be okay. I'm making fucking sure of it."

And with that, he was gone, the lack of warmth from the hug leaving her oddly cold, very concerned, and incredibly determined to figure out whatever the fuck was going on.

She opened the door to a fidgeting Dave, who immediately closed the door behind him before he wordlessly lifted up his left pant leg.

Same gray, splashed across his ankle. Same as hers. Same as John's. Jade and the Alpha humans probably had blooms just like it.

"It'll be okay, Dave." She showed him her arm.

"The fuck you mean it'll be okay? I can't start growing horns, Rose. I'm too pretty for this."

She groaned. Here we go.

Chapter Text

John uncapped his paint and laid out his brushes, eyes tracing the most recent changes in the mirror.

It had been a bit of a game these past couple weeks, seeing when the gray would spread. There was almost no predicting it.

Some days, sometimes multiple days, nothing seemed to be different. Other days, there was no visible progress, but John would wake up feeling… hot. Or sore. Occasionally, twinges of pain or heat or cold would shoot through his core, something Calliope had assured him was probably nothing to worry about. Just a small internal tweak or two, preparing his body for bigger changes later.

She had attempted to launch into a couple predictions, but had stopped when she noticed him desperately blocking her out. It hadn't been a move to spite her so much as preserve his sanity. The change was nerve-racking enough without having to hear a fucking goddess describe his and his friends' bodies like they were the latest weather forecast.

And, of course, every once in a while, after nothing happening for almost a week, like this night, the gray advanced alarmingly fast, spreading in tendrils across his face and over his collar bone, fully covering his left ear and starting over his shoulder, down his back.

Figures the change would find a way to both take its sweet time and be way too fucking fast--all in one go.

He still hadn't told Kurloz, nor asked him about John's… um… rather sudden potential quadrant with Rose (he still got kind of flustered when thinking of that shooshpap). He'd been planning to, but had ultimately been saved for a couple more nights when the other clown had had to reschedule their next lesson. Apparently, the mime had forgotten he had some kind of prior obligation.

Aradia knew a bit. At the very least, she knew it was "starting", but John hadn't provided any details. According to her, there were no rumors or whispers of the humans behaving oddly in the dreambubbles, yet… It seemed everyone was keeping these changes to themselves for the moment, an assumption confirmed on the few more brief visits he'd been able to make to Rose.

But it really was only a matter of time.

His pattern finished, John stretched before he got out his coding book again, flipping to the correct page before pausing. There had been several edits, marked in red, all throughout the details of this next bit of the mission. It seemed Calliope had actually gone through and made it more stealth oriented, ensuring he didn't have to wear his trollsona for a bit.

Calliope? You didn't have to do this.

Consider it an olive branch. You've seemed… overwhelmed lately.

... Thank you.

You're welcome. Also, I need you to get better at stealth.

…

Yep.

You'd be hard-pressed, even among the most Empress-devoted Beforan trolls, to find someone who would claim that the culling system of their planet was perfect.

In fact, almost every one of Her Eleemosynary Beneficence's highest ranking advisors would admit there were flaws in the system, simply claiming they were quoting the Beneficent herself when doing so. She openly admitted that it was an ongoing process, ever-available to change with the whims of social pressures as her people needed.

In theory.

The fact that she had a habit of doubling down whenever challenges to the current system came about tended to be ignored by polite society as a whole.

Culling, after all, had been built upon the caste system, an ancient arrangement filled with stereotypes and bad blood, but that was something supporters argued was necessary. After all, the cooler castes' longer lives usually guaranteed they were able to collect more resources, have more connections.

A young burgundy being culled and cared for their entire lifespan by an indigo would hardly take a fraction of that indigo's life and livelihood, ensuring the burgundy could live a coddled, peaceful existence, and that the indigo could return back to their lives with no issue once their warmer-blooded peer had passed. It only made sense that those who… Were More would provide for those who Were Less.

Of course, that philosophy left room for several glaring issues, but there was one in particular that John had to pay attention to. It was, in some ways, the root source of the entire situation he was about to kickstart:

The warmer castes were culled far too easily, having their autonomy taken away from them at the drop of a hat. The cooler in blood you were, however, the harder it was to find help when you desperately fucking needed it.

Violetbloods had practically no support at all. Certainly, younger violets could be sent to live with their more experienced peers for a while (and everyone had a chance to be culled by the Empress herself, a lottery of sorts every 12 sweeps), but purplebloods also had to be sent to violets and there were only so many cull-recipients to go around.

And the more cool castes who did end up culled, the fewer warm castes they could take on.

Due to resources being stretched, the rules for what would necessitate culling tended to get pretty lax when higher castes were evaluated, cull-trialists coming up with practically every excuse in the book to avoid sending anyone jade and up anywhere else and instead coming up with some rather creative alternative measures to ensure highbloods were okay.

Sure, some 20-something tealblood was expressing intense anxiety about ever leaving his hive again. It started after some kind of horrific accident involving his auspice. But tealbloods are known for their charm! He'd get a new auspice in no time, courtesy of being forced to sign up to a dating app. Everyone knows teals are happier when they're in proper quadrants.

And yeah, that 4-sweep-old purpleblood reported during their schoolfeeds that they hadn't seen their lusus for however many nights, but purples needed to build independence! They had so much responsibility on their shoulders, after all. Did they really want to cull the kiddo at such a young age? Her custodian may simply be attempting to teach her a much-needed lesson on self-reliance.

Vriska Serket had called the cull-trialists on herself several times throughout her wigglerhood, the first time occurring when she was three. She'd reported how cruel her Spidermom was, the gigantic arachnid practically hurting her every time she reached out to connect to her charge telepathically. The culling evaluator had marked down that she was simply being trained on how to use her psychic abilities.

The second time, she had been six, reporting a constantly overbearing presence in her hive and severe consequences if she didn't feed her custodian on time. Her lusus had been recorded as "particularly strict, but teaching valuable resource management skills".

The third (and last) time she had attempted to cull herself was when she was 10 sweeps old. Vriska had pulled out every stop, sending in a detailed treatise on her Spidermom's abuse. In no real order, she had described how her custodian refused to disconnect from her telepathically, attempting to control nearly all of her interactions. She brought up how vicious the creature's comments towards her were in her daily life, actively sabotaging her attempts to gain more freedom. Finally, she detailed the sheer amount of resources the hulking monster demanded, laying claim to every morsel of food in the hive. It had gotten to the point that Vriska was often forced to eat outside for fear of being compelled to immediately give up whatever amount of nourishment she had managed to snag for herself.

Cull resources were stretched, but the people who ran the programs weren't fucking evil. The Evaluator had listened, finally agreeing there was indeed a problem here, and to their credit, they had fought hard for Vriska's ability to escape her custodian. Ultimately though, they had been pretty new to their position, and hadn't really had the ability yet to properly explain the young blueblood's situation. Rather than being given any true path to healing, Vriska Serket had been sentenced to periodic Aesthetic Hyper-Cobalt Behavioral Correction Courses.

Art therapy. She had been given mandatory art therapy classes. Six times a sweep.

The Corrival had been left behind by Beforus as a whole, and she would never forgive her planet for it.

Nor, unfortunately, the warmer castes she blamed for making it so hard for her to find help in the first place.

Regrettably, in order to join the new Cull-Rehaul group, she had had to let The Prognosticator in on at least one small piece of this particular systemic complaint, and with Captor not knowing the extent of the problem, it was something the gold was actually quite willing to hold over her head as their working relationship deteriorated.

This was aided in no small part by the fake emails John had continued to send between them.

"V, they're gill talking aboat it because you shucking bubbled down!" The Beneficent's voice was loud enough over speakerphone for John to hear from the next block over, tucked away behind a large statue in case the cerulean took him by surprise.

"You didn't just say one slur one time, you're still glubbing doing it! That's why they're still running articles!

"Ugh!" The Corrival's voice faded in and out as she paced her hospitality block. "Excuse me for taking advantage of a bad break! I have to keep people from joining up with their little whine-fest, anyway, and no one's going to throw in with a group they think is openly casteist. You didn't ask me to associate myself with them to make them look good."

"Whale, you're definitely not doing that, but craybe knock if off beshore your terribubble public image starts becoming a problem. I'm going to have to fake breaking up with you again at this rate, and I hake doing that bullfish!"

"Puh-lease," The Thief practically audibly rolled her eyes as she opened the door into her commingling block, heading straight for a luxurious armchair in the corner John had tucked himself into. Quickly, he zapped himself into the scrub cubby across the room. "The fake break ups aren't that bad. Hell, you could even spice it up a bit. Send me to a re-ed center."

Feferi groaned. Vriska snickered.

"Peixes, come oooooooon. I can work with a proper redemption arc! I swear I'll blame the cull-hating suckers you stuck me with on how 'terribubble' I am. Just get me away from that fucking chucklebucket."

Ew.

John leaned away from the door, automatically feeling dirtier than he had a few seconds ago. Provoking The Beneficent or not, what in the fuck was wrong with her? That was like one of most pornographically gross things you could call someone. There were a couple different variations, and all of them sucked, targeting the concupiscent quadrants of different castes in a way that bordered on fetishistic.

"Argh! VRISKA!" The tinny voice of the fuschiablood maxed out the phone's speakers for a second, making the cerulean pause. "Using that shit for your job is one fin, but using it in your cray to cray life? No wonder you're shucking dropping this bullshit in public like chum in the water! Cut it the fuck out!"

The Corrival tutted. John couldn't see her face, hidden as he was behind a door, but when she spoke next, he could practically hear her scowl. "I keep forgetting you think you're actually the good guy in all of this."

There was a pause, and when the Empress next spoke her voice was much quieter. "Water you mean?"

Well, now was as good of a time as any. The Heir had heard more than enough of this conversation.

Over the past couple weeks, John had slowly made things worse for the Cull-Rehaul group and Vriska, anonymous tips ensuring local reporters and paparazzi were always quite up to date on the latest goings on of the Royal Recalcitransitioner. In just a few short nights, her public image had started to shift from edgy provocateur to genuine pariah, and The Beneficent was panicking--for both her kismesis and her own public perception.

Sollux and Nepeta assumed, reasonably, that The Corrival was doing this herself to make them all look bad. Vriska assumed, also reasonably, that The Prognosticator and Congenial were dropping hints on her whereabouts to the local media in an effort to chase her off their little project.

But thus far, their tiff had stayed in the public sphere. John was about to change that.

From where he was tucked into the scrub cubby, the Heir teleported a floor up, looking around to see what he could use to his advantage. Vriska made bank from her confrontational position in the royal cabinet, and her castle-esque hive was full of gaudy knick-knacks in every block to show for it.

There. A shelf full of little golden statues. In one quick movement, John pulled Breath from the space behind them, ensuring he stood out of the way as the figurines exploded out into the middle of the floor.

Vriska's voice, previously audible from her call below, stopped, and John listened closely for her footsteps up the stairs before he teleported into an adjacent wing.

The door squeaked as the cerulean opened it, and from a nearby vent, John heard her let out a small, "What the fuck?"

"V?" Feferi's voice sounded from her phone.

"Meh, some of my bullshit toppled over. I'll call you back in a second."

"Hah. Shore." Came the salty reply.

Vriska hung up anyway.

The cerulean hummed as she bent down to pick up the statues, and John grinned. He'd teleported into a small study, and after giving The Corrival just a second to put a few of her expensive doo-dads away, he summoned Breath again from inside the nearest curio cabinet, blasting open the glass doors and spilling a clunky mix of books, priceless pottery, and gauche treasure displays onto the floor.

The Thief's footsteps were faster this time and John teleported down, ducking into a little alcove off to the side of the stairs.

Serket's breathing was a tad panicked as she left the study, slowly walking back onto her gander precipice, and quickly, John sent her a little greeting.

Concentrating, he reached into the lightgrub fixtures around the landing downstairs, pulling them from their sockets and cutting off the lights from Vriska's path. The first floor fell into inky darkness, the only light now on the second floor. She stopped dead at the top of the stairwell, a mistake on her part.

The hive's luxuriousness certainly came in handy. Adorning the grand stairwell were several unbelievably expensive paintings, their massive gilded frames alone worth more than five burgundies could make in a lifetime. One by one, John lifted each of the vehicle-sized portraits on the side of the stairs off its hook, leaving them to fall and smash over the stone steps. He started at the bottom of the flight and slowly worked his way up.

One portrait down, then the second.

Three to go until it reached her. Vriska had stopped breathing. When he closed his eyes, John could practically picture her expression, eight pupils staring down and ahead in horror.

Third down, two to go. The Thief was still frozen.

There was pause, the silence in the ostentatious hive absolutely deafening, before a creak sounded from behind her. Just for fun, John was skipping a painting. With a scream, cerulean leapt back, narrowly avoiding the hundreds of pounds of gold and glass as it hurdled towards the ground.

Shards flew everywhere, one large piece managing to get past the troll's glasses. She gasped in pain, grabbing at her seven-pupiled eye.

... C'mon, Vriska.

Run.

John slammed the doors of the two wings she had just investigated, ensuring she went in the correct direction.

It worked. Blindly, she turned and tore to the opposite side of the precipice, smaller portraits flying off their hooks just behind her before she threw open the french doors to her personal respiteblock, slamming them behind her and retreating to her side table to pick up another landline.

John teleported outside her window, hovering unseen in the corner as he focused. The Corrival got one digit in to calling the emergency drones before every door in her hive ricocheted open with a BOOM, courtesy of a sudden strong draft, the contents of her recuperacoon exploding behind her at the same time and covering her in soper slime.

With a startled cry, she sprinted back out of her respiteblock doors, the Heir teleporting inside again to watch her vault over the side rail of her balcony down to the first floor. Breath ragged, she helplessly fumbled at her latch for a second, soper slowing her actions before she finally unlocked her front door, flinging it open and staggering outside.

John zapped himself into the branches of a nearby tree, watching Vriska closely. She was staring up at her hive, desperately blinking soper from her good eye. Her expression was a completely blank mask of shock, cerulean blood dripping from her left ganderbulb.

The Heir cocked an eyebrow.

Dammit.

She had stopped just short of where he needed her. The wind picked up around them, slamming into her and forcing her to take a small step back.

Crunch.

With a start, the Thief looked down, disbelieving gaze falling onto the small prop John had left there for her benefit.

A small, blue eyeglass lens. The exact shape and color found in The Prognosticator's shades.

Another scream ripped from The Corrival's throat, an entirely different emotion behind it than before.

"CAPTOOOOOOOOR!"

Perfect.

Job done. John teleported back to his hideout, and not a moment too soon as a sharp throb shot through his abdomen. He winced. He could ignore them during his job for the most part, but these changing pangs were starting to get a bit more common.

He straightened back up only to be immediately barraged by Calliope.

Holy shit, Fool. I wasn't expecting you to do that.

What did he do? Did he mess up the job? The instructions said to scare the hell out of her and frame Sollux using his glasses.

No… no. You didn't mess anything up. You did… technically better than I was expecting. You even got Vriska to lose her eye earlier than we needed.

Then what's happening here?

... I wasn't expecting it to look that intense, that kind of... pre-planned scaring.

The cherub sounded oddly strained, making John pause as he walked into the hive's nutrition block, slumping into a chair and laying his head on the cool table to help fight the small wave of nausea that had hit immediately after the prior pain.

… Calliope.

Yes?

You've never seen a horror movie before, have you?

I've… read books.

Yeah, not the same.

Chapter Text

Last night's nausea had never quite gone away, and as John opened his Black Book of Bullshit to go over the details of his next mission, he found himself taking slow, deep breaths to try and combat the sensation as it wavered back and forth from tolerable to intolerable.

He hadn't eaten for a while again, and this was not helping. His limbs felt weak, and his body felt like it was slowly being microwaved from the inside out, both far too hot and far too cold all in one go.

He felt like absolute hell. Not the best conditions for a more action packed mission… but he would be fine. Shouldn't need to do much. Just needed to work fast so he could rest sooner rather than later.

Fuck, he hoped Rose and Dave were doing okay. He may have to check in after this.

As well as… possibly sneaking a glance at the other humans. Even if the only other ones he could really bring himself to care about at this point were Jake and Roxy, and Jake was nearly always around Dirk.

… Speaking of.

Were they going to have to worry about Ultimate Dirk invading this narrative any time soon?

There are a couple reasons I had you start on Beforus. Dirk doesn't really care about the Alpha trolls, their planet, or their session, nor, for that matter, does my brother. There's a lot we can get away with if we shift things in the correct order before either of them notice.

So, when would they start paying attention?

We have a bit more time to prepare for Dirk than Caliborn. Caliborn will start noticing once you begin your missions on Alternia, as his servant and Alternia's planet guardian, Doc Scratch, will be informing him of updates. He won't know what you're doing, and won't be able to stop us directly, but there's a possibility you'll have to start dodging The Handmaiden.

She was Aradia's ancestor, right?

Correct. Think of her as my brother's Alternian equivalent to you, but unlike you, she can't travel universes--only the timeline, so despite her being an adult, and ridiculously dangerous, you'll have the ability to run from her. Which I recommend. Please don't fight her.

He had exactly zero intentions of going against an overpowered Damara Megido. Don't worry. But wasn't his equivalent Gamzee?

Gamzee is his true emissary, but The Handmaiden and later The Condesce worked as temporary servants before Gamzee could enter the Medium. I have the advantage of my true emissary being able to transverse any time, place or universe you want, so I have no need to take the same measures.

And he'd have to dodge The Handmaiden the whole time he stayed on Alternia? How much did he even have to do there?

A fair bit, honestly. More than on Beforus just from how complicated things will become. And, of course, most importantly, you have to bring The Green Book to them, too. Gamzee can only do so much on his own. The Church of the Mirthful Messiahs, as it's meant to be, won't form without your influence.

…

As well as make a few other small changes here and there. I may need you to destabilize a rebellion or three…

Forget he asked, actually. And Dirk?

Dirk doesn't seem to give a damn about any of the trolls in general. We should have until you start in on the Earth sessions before he notices.

Would that change now that this Dirk was becoming a troll along with the rest of them?

Honestly? I don't know. I think Ultimate Dirk's focus on humans has more to do with him associating Alternia and its influence with Earth's apocalypse rather than any real kind of xenophobia.

Sure. This is the same dude who left Jane in charge of Earth C, but sure.

Agree to disagree. Regardless, I do know that this Dirk, the one who hasn't become aware of his Ultimate Self yet, can technically still be reasoned with. Though, perhaps not by you. I think he thinks you're… I think he underestimates your intelligence.

… Well, he's not underestimating anything if he's right, is he?

I wouldn't really say that's accurate--

Who would he listen to, then? Dave?

John, Dirk is not correct about your--

Maybe Jake…? Or did that orange asshole hold the same assumptions about his intelligence. No wonder their fling hadn't lasted long if Dirk couldn't shake his weird superiority complex. At least with Jake, it wasn't true.

This is about your talk with Rose, isn't it? I thought it helped…

It did! Calliope, everything was fine. He was just making a bit of an offhand comment, that's all. The talk with Rose absolutely helped. Helped confirm a couple things for him, honestly. She had noticed something weird with the book. Had told him that the paint was… basically his true face.

Which he… he agreed about the paint. Even if it scared the hell out of him.

Some questions were answered. Not many, but some. He had been part of a cult and been too stupid to realize it for as long as he had been alive.

But it was a waste of energy to be mad about it anymore.

Now, he knew. So now, he could be a better servant for her, right? In accordance with the beliefs he apparently had? Apparently shared? With people actively working to cease existence as they all knew it..?

Even if he still didn't know what those beliefs were.

Even if he still had no clue where the fuck any of this was mentioned in Sassacre.

But…

Please.

Please just…

Just answer the question. His lungs were starting to feel like they were on fire and the nausea felt like it was picking up. He honestly just wanted to finish this mission so he could get some sleep.

There was silence for a while, though the cherub hadn't left him. The next thoughts that echoed through his head were hesitant.

Dave can reach Dirk the best… but your moirail holds quite a bit of sway over him as well. She may be your best bet.

John paused, the next question he had lined up vanishing instantly.

Maybe let's not refer to Rose as his moirail before he found out the answers to a couple talks…?

The last thing he wanted to do was contribute to another cheating problem in this timeline.

Of course. Apologies. I got ahead of myself; I broke my one rule with you.

… One rule?

I just accidentally gave you spoilers. On the answers to those talks.

The Heir blinked, the frown that had been attempting to form on his face softening. He took a long look back at the coding book before sighing.

Calliope knew he wasn't mad at her anymore either, right? For this… being a thing. Whatever thing she needed it to be. He barely even had a right to be upset about it. He didn't have a choice in the matter, he couldn't fucking change anything, and he was the one who hadn't noticed in the first place.

... I guess it was just one feelings jam, wasn't it? No one can be fixed with just one.

Fucking Messiahs, he was fine. Drop it.

I think I preferred it when you were openly angry with me. I've never been so relieved that someone was about to properly enter into a pale quadrant.

Rude.

His next mission was set to begin mere moments after his last one.

During the time John had been tormenting The Corrival, both The Prognosticator and The Congenial had stopped by the hive of Sollux's matesprit, the holder of the second most powerful position on all of Beforus, The Hierophant of the Landdwellers.

Makara was a bit of a controversial figure on Beforus, at least regarding a couple of his recent political statements, but he was absolutely a hivehold name. The man was a shockingly charismatic public speaker.

You wouldn't think so. The Bard was as casual as they came in almost every one-on-one interaction, but the second The Hierophant got in front of a crowd, that crowd knew what the fuck he was about.

And what he was about mostly amounted to everyone just chilling the motherfuck out for a second and getting along again. All this recent talk of the Cull-Rehaul group being casteist was probably just a misunderstanding, right?

Yeah.

Ignore the fact that his matesprit was a front man for the group. That was unimportant. He really did just want everyone to get their zone on together.

For the most part, people believed him. His influence had been doing quite a bit to calm the recent upset.

Unlike The Corrival, who had almost fully taken to ignoring her psychic abilities (a habit in no part thanks to her horrendous lusus), The Prognosticator was pretty quick to use his psionics as a first resort in any situation. John wouldn't be able to spy on the trio like he had been spying on Vriska earlier, not without getting caught, but he could make due. Setting himself up in a small shed just off the purple's property, John concentrated, using his zappy powers as a kind of makeshift looking glass to get his first proper look at his real target in all of these missions.

His stomach dropped.

Hey, Calliope, could you do him a solid and get the fuck out of his head for a quick second?

What, why? The only thing you're thinking about at the moment is a cold shower. Is that a human thing?

…

Yes. It sure was. It was a human ritual for when you're sick and running a fever. So. Get out please. Kinda private.

Okay?

Okay. Perfect, thank you. Oh boy, he couldn't wait to think of the relief from--why was his life like this?

That's what his fellow emissary would look like when he grew up? Was this some kind of cosmic prank on John specifically?

No wonder people listened to the dude. He was fucking beautiful, what the fuck? All high cheekbones and giant, expressive eyes, half lidded with an almost permanently mischievous smile. His grin was easy-going and his laugh given freely. How fucking dare he?

This dumbass was so hot it was actually making him angry.

The Hierophant's job was an almost endless list of seemingly random duties, the majority of which were fulfilled each night on a public broadcast, free to any troll who wished to tune in. The show was as weird as Gamzee himself. It could only be described as a cursed crossover between a religious doctrine podcast, an improv comedy show, and an old school TV psychic program.

Every night, thousands of viewers would call in, and every night, some lucky Beforan would get to speak with The Hierophant himself, the call audible to the world thanks to the show. The Bard would gather a couple details about their life, their hobbies, and of course, any questions they had for him--religiously based or otherwise--and then proceed to cold read them to filth.

Gamzee's crowdwork skills bordered on unbelievable. He'd use whatever he was given, heavy or light, to crack a couple jokes. Some of them were in good taste, some of them insanely raunchy, but the troll seemed to have a knack for knowing exactly how to toe the line while not going too terribly overboard. It did wonders at putting his viewers at ease, setting the stage for him to dispense the absolute worst advice John had ever heard in his life.

It was awful. Like impressively bad.

The man was clearly ridiculously empathetic. John would give him that. No matter what problem someone gave him, big or small, those wide, expressive eyes would fill with emotion mirroring their plight, but almost all of his counsel could be summed up with the same couple sentiments:

Everything would probably be okay, right? So do nothing, buckle down, endure, and smoke a fat one, my most faithful of fam. It'll be fine eventually :o)

At the very least, it did seem to be honest. John had no doubt the clown's avoidant ass followed his own guidance every day of his life. Every morning before the guy went to sleep, his prayers were the same. It seemed he just desperately wanted everyone to be content and happy.

… Fuck, the Heir just remembered what he was about to help happen to him.

This might be something he lost sleep over.

The original religion of the purplebloods, as it turned out, had a kind of spooky hippy vibe. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll were encouraged; peace, love, pranks, and hate was a common blessing; and circus training was still emphasized heavily, each performance and rehearsal dedicated to the Angels.

He had paused when he first heard some of their doctrine. The Angels? Not the Messiahs?

It's the same thing. You and Gamzee know me and my brother by one name. Kurloz knows us by another.

… Hm.

You've seen his hive, Fool; he's not a heretic.

He wasn't calling him a--! Oh my fucking god, never mind.

If the Corrival had been smart about her current situation, she'd have tried again to call the emergency drones to tell them her suspicions. A suspected psionic attack against a powerful blueblood's hive? In association with a party well-known for hating the culling system and now having a nasty association with casteism to boot? It would have been The Beneficient's dream come true: an opportunity to save her kismesis' public image through a victim narrative and call for a thorough investigation into the Cull-Rehaul group--all in one go.

Unfortunately for Feferi, Vriska wasn't great at keeping a cool head under emotional duress.

Which John supposed was fair. She did just lose seven out of eight eyes.

The Corrival's psychic abilities, weak as they were from sweeps of neglect, didn't quite allow her to reach The Prognosticator from her hive, but it did allow her to find his ass so she could wreck his shit in person.

In a frankly scary lack of time (she must have broken every traffic law in the sector), the Thief's scuttlebuggy pulled up The Hierophant's transportationpike. The cerulean was an unhinged vision of vengeance as she got out of her vehicle, soper drying in her hair and clothing as fresh blood dripped down her face.

Inside, Sollux Captor had frozen. Gamzee had just asked him something. He didn't respond, slowly turning to look at Nepeta next to him with a single, panicked whisper.

"No."

The next moment, the front door of The Hierophant's hive shattered around Vriska Serket's foot.

"YOU!"

The Hierophant and Congenial lept back, each pulling out their weapons, but Sollux had moved in front of them, holding out his hands like a desperate traffic guard.

"Vriska, whatever you're about to do, it's not worth it, I promi--what the fuck happened?"

"Do NOT play dumb with me, Captor." The Cerulean sneered. "You KNOW what happened, you psionic fucking freak!"

"What? No! No." The goldblood's voice was frantic as he shot a glance back at his quadrants. Leijon was fully poised to attack, green eyes narrow and furious. Makara was nowhere to be found. "Whatever you're thinking happened, it--"

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking bile--"

"Nope, fuck you," With a snarl, The Prognosticator ripped off his glasses, a brilliant red and blue beam shooting out of each eye respectively. The Corrival barely ducked out of the way before pulling something out of her pocket.

She didn't get a chance to throw it before she was doubled over on her knees, clutching her stomach as she gasped for air,

"That's enough, ninjette," The Bard's eyes were wide and furious, the yellows of his ganderbulbs looking practically orange in the light of the hive. He went to grasp at her wrists, attempting to keep her from doing anything else. He hadn't even needed his club. He'd just fucking decked her in the gut. "Now get your motherfucking sit on and calm your ass down. What in the fuck?"

"LET. GO. OF ME!!!" The Thief screeched, which was John's cue.

The softest breeze blew into the clown's eyes, causing him to blink at exactly the wrong moment. Vriska let a single cerulean D8 slip from her hand.

2

Good enough.

Her hand grasped whatever had been granted to her, flailing out wildly and stabbing directly into the purpleblood's throat.

It didn't go far, but it did the trick, forcing Gamzee back as he involuntarily clutched at his neck, blood spurting everywhere as Sollux cried out in shock.

There was a beat before everyone came to several conclusions very fast.

Vriska was in too deep now. She had just brutally attacked the second most powerful person on the planet. Not even her kismesissitude would save her from the consequences, and everyone in the block knew it.

Which is why The Congenial screamed when Vriska's hand reached in Sollux's direction, dashing towards her in a desperate attempt to stop what she knew she had to be doing.

It was too late, the glasses-less gold not standing a chance against her control, the resulting blast shooting out almost immediately.

Gamzee had managed to fall out of the way, but Nepeta was directly in the line of fire, body disappearing behind her as her head continued forward.

Directly into John's little looking glass, scaring the absolute shit out of him.

Thankfully, no one had noticed, because the cerulean was still very much in Sollux's nugbone, trying to get rid of her last witness.

With a pained gasp, Gamzee's eyes glowed a brilliant purple, Sollux jerking back as his matesprite frantically fought to help him regain control of his own body.

Gamzee was not the strongest case of chucklevoodoos in the world (another case of neglect by an abusive lusus, funnily enough), but the two highbloods fighting for command of the powerful psionic was too much for The Prognosticator's pan to bear, and with a shriek, he let out a pulse, knocking all three of them in opposite directions as blood erupted from his eyes.

It was time for John to go.

He had the head. Everything had gone exactly as planned. All he had to do was captchalogue his trophy, close the looking glass, and get the fuck out of there.

But he couldn't.

He gave a sharp inhale as the pain that had been distributed throughout his body rapidly concentrated in his chest, curling in on himself at the sudden burning along his sides.

John?! Are you all right?

He couldn't breath, let alone think his answer back at her. One arm used to helplessly prop himself against the wall of the shed, the Heir's other hand reached down, scrambling for Nepeta's head. He captchalogued it the second he brushed against her horns.

HELLO KITTY JUMPSCARE BEHEADMENT obtained.

His vision burned white as he heard several distinct cracks come from along his ribs, ears ringing as he leaned into the wall. The zappy window into the scene was still open. It would take some concentration to close it.

Through it, John could see Gamzee, one hand still clutched to his throat, crawl towards Sollux, beating Vriska by just a hair. She stood up furiously, finally rolling the rest of her dice to produce a decent cutlass. It gave The Hierophant time to shield his matesprit as best he could with his body, the hand around his throat finally coming back down to hold out his club in a blocking stance.

Well, that had been what Vriska stuck into his neck.

A No. 2 Ticonderoga pencil.

How the hell was this guy still alive? It had fully pierced the front of his throat, holy shit.

The looking glass was a little bit smaller. Another two cracks sounded from somewhere near John's spine, just where his ribcage ended. He bit down on his fist, breath in desperate, shallow puffs around his hand. Please don't make a sound. He couldn't make a sound.

The cerulean appeared to have finally gotten a bit more of a grip. It seemed she had realized there was no way she could escape this situation without eventually being caught, no matter how she ended it.

Her voice, haggard from the dust kicked up by the goldblood's blast, barely carried as she addressed The Hierophant.

"I don't have to do anything else, you know. All you have to do is tell everyone exactly what I fucking say to tell them, you hear me?"

Gamzee had been checking his matesprit's pulse, putting his hand back down and shooting the Recalcitransitioner an absolutely filthy glare.

"Maybe you didn't fucking hear me, circus freak. I need an answer!" She slashed at the arm holding a club, forcing Gamzee away from shielding Sollux as he reached up to block her. Purple blood was coated down the front of the troll's tunic, the wound on his neck absolutely glaring in the light.

More pops from John's lungs. The ringing in his ears was getting louder, but the window was also getting smaller. Come on. He could do this. Almost there.

The cerulean had paused, single working eye glinting in the light as she studied her opponent carefully. "You can't talk anymore, can you?"

The tone she next spoke with sent goosebumps along John's arms, an almost hysterical delight hidden just beneath breathless words.

"I can work with this."

Gamzee shrank back as a hand reached up towards his throat again. It seemed the religious leader was also coming to understand the situation he was in. Sollux was alive, but he had no idea in what condition. He didn't have a clue if his matesprit was going to be able to back up his testimony, and if it was his word versus the Empress' quadrant, there was no guaranteeing his side of the story would ever be heard by the public.

Purple eyes flicked over to meet blue in the final second the looking glass was open, the panic and fury in them being the last thing the human saw before he passed out to a flash of red light.

Chapter Text

John was sore as he opened his eyes to pitch black around him, immediately closing them again once he realized what was happening.

How many insults and barbs had been thrown at him by this stupid half-pattern?

Though it… could hardly be considered a "half-pattern" anymore. Whatever the little face was in the darkness, it was slowly filling out to match the paint John put on every evening.

And becoming crueler while it was at it.

God, his chest still hurt, even in his dreams.

His tormenter glowed lavender and the Heir tensed.

"Becoming quite the monster lately, aren't you? Ruining lives… ending some of them. All this to stop a future you may be beckoning forward. Imagine if you helped all of these horrible things happen to people only for me to still be cheating on Kanaya. With you."

What? Ew, no. Not the same quadrant. He was trying to prevent anything like that from happening. Rose would ask Kanaya and he would ask Kurloz and everything would be fine.

Calliope said so.

"Calliope? I admire your loyalty to your Messiah--"

John flinched, the move sending a fresh spark of pain through his ribcage.

"--But face facts for me. She's sheltered, romance-obsessed, and has no idea how people actually work. Do you really think we can pull off quadrants? We're human."

Not for long.

"You couldn't even handle a single relationship, or are you forgetting? You and Roxy get divorced in the Candy timeline."

He hadn't fucking forgotten. He couldn't forget any of that wretched fic, as much as he wanted to. John's own bullshit was also part of what he wanted to prevent. Roxy had deserved so much better. Harry Anderson had deserved so much better.

"Oh, we know!" The pattern switched to a bright, cheery green, the color in immediate contrast with the passive aggressive, mocking tone that seemed to be coming from it.

"I think we all just wish you'd get off your fucking high horse about everyone else's problems! You haven't seen me in how long, and for what reason? Having flaws? Not being a literally perfect parent?"

John's eyes narrowed. The voice would not be downplaying what Jade had done in that fic. No.

"You're overreacting. Name one bad thing I actually did in that story."

Was she serious?

"Well, if you can't remember either, I guess it wasn't that bad, was it?"

Holy shit. Fuck you.

The Heir's hand reached out to grab the voice once again, and the pain in his sides vanished along with the pattern, the darkness lightening only slightly.

"What do you want, you gray harlequin? I'm quite cross at the moment, and I need to find my pals. I've no time for your shenanigans."

Was that Jane?

"Aw, don't be all like that, sister. I'm just on up here to be your guide in this motherfucker."

Guide? What the hell was Gamzee doing now? Where even was he?

Gamzee, unlike the last time John had invaded his puzzle sponge, sounded clear enough, but he couldn't see anything.

He knew better than to call out this time, lest he immediately let the clown know he was listening in, but he remembered something the Bard had done before, seemingly pulling John up from wherever he had been so that they could hear each other a bit better.

He wondered if he could do that now, and as Jane replied, John focused on her voice, moving the area he was in towards the sound as if he were simply flying, silent and painless.

And hopefully undetectable.

"Guide? That other miscreant already offered me a guide! You're telling me this game offers secondary guideclowns?"

Slowly, as if John were watching TV static clear, the darkness gradually lifted to show a very annoyed Jane Crocker, glaring up at wherever Gamzee was, somewhere a bit above her.

What the fuck was he standing on? John wished the dude would look down so he could see.

"It does! At least, at your motherfucking consent, ninjette. Would you like me to be going all through here and submitting myself as your most mirthful of motherfucking mentors?"

The younger Makara's voice was cheerful and friendly, the slow, relaxed tone providing a hopeful shine on the question.

Jane looked him up and down, lips pursing as her eyes noticeably attempted to avoid the codpiece that was apparently just part of Gamzee's godtier outfit.

How the Bard was able to walk around in that thing without dying of shame, John had no fucking clue.

"I appreciate your kind offer, but consider your proposal dismissed."

Was this current time? Without thinking about it much, John moved just a bit closer, as if he could somehow zoom in on the scene. Jane should also be turning into a troll right about now, right? Where were her gray marks?

"No? I am on my strongest motherfucking recommendation what you reconsider. This game is no joke." The void John was comfortably settled in seemed to tense a bit, and when Gamzee spoke next there was just the barest hint of strain to his voice.

"Which is the reason it's on with providing you a clown."

Jane crossed her arms and tutted, fully taking the bait.

"I highly doubt a game as sophisticated as this would require a clown as a necessary element."

The Heir rolled his eyes. She'd be--

"You'd be surprised!"

…

He wasn't going to comment on the similar train of thought. Or the wave of amusement he definitely hadn't shared with the guy whose head he was invading.

The Maid let out a huff, blatantly looking around her as a way to ignore the jolly prankster in front of her.

Ah, there. A little streak of gray just popping up from her shirt, unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it. Jane's changes seemed to have started on her back.

"What am I expected to do here? Tavrossprite answered almost nothing before being ordered around by your fellow horned conspirator."

The purpleblood hummed in response, but the void seemed to shiver slightly.

And again, John found himself unable to comment on how he had winced alongside it.

Vriska and Gamzee as a team. That was a universe that should literally never happen.

Against his will, a picture of the fear and anger in the adult Bard's eyes flashed through his mind again, a situation he had just helped cause. The breathbound swallowed back something that definitely wasn't guilt.

Yeah, Gamzee would be dead in minutes with that pair up.

"That sounds an awful lot like a question a guide would answer at you, my miraculous motherfucking non-mentee. You said you weren't onto wanting my help."

"Ugh, I don't--!"

"--Then are you interested in a bitchtits business opportunity?"

Jane paused and John tensed, unthinkingly moving closer again.

The Maid and her stupid business shtick were the cause of so much pain in the Candy timeline. It was frankly unbelievable what kind of hell his ecto-predecessor had turned Earth C into. All while wearing Crocker red, naturally. As if she were still on the dead Batterwitch's side.

What was Gamzee doing here? Did his fellow emissary have anything to do with the young corporate heiress being completely fucked in the head, or was that just her own natural bullshit taken full flight?

The space John was in seemed to slide into place somewhere and the scene sharpened, Jane and her planet suddenly becoming much clearer and the void becoming immediately distracting.

It wasn't a void.

It was dark, yes, but if he stepped back and concentrated on any given part of the area, a billion and one feelings and colors and thoughts and memories were available for him to pull himself closer to, not as clear as the reality standing in front of them, but vibrant all the same.

That seemed… incredibly uncool to sort through, honestly. At the moment, all John wanted to do was focus on the current scene in front of him, and with a breath to center himself, he forced himself to concentrate on what the clown was saying again.

It seemed he'd broken into a bit of a sales pitch.

"How up and aware are you of any single fuckin' product out there that can make you stronger, faster, a better healer, and irresistible to love, all in one go in this motherfucker?"

Oh, for the love of fuck, please don't be talking about the trickster lollipop. John hadn't had it yet himself, but he had witnessed it. And it had given him an incredibly strong feeling he… wasn't supposed to have it. Yet. If at all.

Ever.

Please.

"I'm not in the mood for a snake oil salesman to sell me up the road. No product like that exists."

"You're right! The product I just all up and described would most certainly be some shit most unrealistic. But that's because it's not one product--it's a couple!"

The tension from before got a bit sharper, and with a start, John realized he now had access to what it was.

Gamzee was trying not to laugh.

He was fucking with her.

And John by proxy, because he'd also fallen for it like a fucking asshole.

"Wanna buy some of these--"

"--Goddammit, dude. What is with you and these fucking potions?!"

The Heir had found hundreds of the obviously troll blood filled bottles through the years and Calliope had made him keep literally all of them. His Sylladex was something straight out of a slasher film by this point.

… He'd said that out loud, hadn't he?

"--Potions." To the clown's credit, his voice ended on just a bit higher of a note than the rest of the sentence. Tremendous credit, because the shockwave that shot across the space John had settled in made the fact that he had scared the absolute fuck out of the troll incredibly clear.

"Give me just a minute, ninjette," Gamzee got out before Jane could reply. "Allow me all on showing at you a small sample of my full inventory."

With that, the purpleblood hopped off the thing he'd been standing on (was that John's refrigerator or Jane's?) and turned his back on the human he was trying to chump.

"I… Okay. Two things."

John suppressed his own jump. Gamzee's voice was clearer than it had ever been. It sounded like it was coming from right beside his ear.

Fucking hot breath creeping down his neck and all, the sensation doing incredibly uncomfortable things to John's ability to focus on anything else.

"One: what do you fucking mean? This is my grandass motherfucking product reveal. No one should know my ass for this shit yet--they're trial runs!"

The question didn't sound like one that should be answered, or even like it should be taken seriously, though it did sound incredibly offended.

"Two: how in the mother of FUCK did you get the fuck back in here, you rude ass excuse for a motherfucker. I locked my shit down tight after your last jaunt through my fucking nugbone."

"Yeah? Well, not tight enough, dude! Because I'm back somehow, just like the other times." Much like before, John found himself getting defensive. It wasn't his fault his nightmares were a one-way ticket into the troll brain of his co-emissary or whatever the fuck Gamzee was to him.

"Just like the other times--there was only one motherfucking other time, right?"

Fuck.

"Yep, absolutely."

"Very motherfucking believable."

Outside of Gamzee's head, the only sign of any internal argument was a small huff the troll let out as he pulled out a sample case of his ridiculous potion selection before turning back to Jane.

He made a small gesture, as if he were presenting the wonders of the world to the incredibly unimpressed Maid in front of him.

"Point to any motherfucking color. I can tell you whatever qualities each potion has, each lil' miracle in a bottle for the low, low price of just 420 boonies."

Jane looked at him, skeptical. "Why 420 specifically? What does that mean?"

"…Jane, holy shit."

"So then you DO know--are you in the medium or some--who in the fuck--no, okay, first things fucking first: How many times have you been in my pan? What have you peeped on that was not yours to be looking at. You owe me that answer, at least, motherfucker."

John grimaced. It was absolutely a bad idea to tell the other clown the truth.

… But it was also completely correct that he did owe him. He was in his brain, after all. Gamzee may literally just be checking that he hadn't invaded his privacy even more.

"Just one other time."

Jane inquired about the bottled indigo blood. Gamzee informed her of how ludicrously, ridiculously STRONG it would make her.

John raised an eyebrow, recalling how Calliope had asked him to use The Smitten's head (and later, the bottles as they found more of them). Equius' blood had some weird properties, to be sure, but not those ones.

"One other time. What the fuck other time?"

John had opened his mouth to answer truthfully, but that hot breath was grating on his neck, punctuated with every swear.

So what he said instead was: "Why is the way you talk the worst fucking thing ever?"

"Says the bitch who won't leave my pan."

"Again, not on purpose!"

Jane declined. Gamzee gave her like eighty bottles anyway before smoothly requesting payment. For some fucking reason, she forked it over.

"It can be the truth your first hack at it, brother, but you slipped past my shit way too motherfucking easy for this to actually be by accident this time."

"It was! It still fucking is! Bro, I'm a fucking idiot. The fact that I can get past whatever you put out in the world has exactly zero reflection on any effort I'm putting into this. It could just be beginner's luck or it could be a skill issue. You pick."

"Wow, fuck you?"

Jane hadn't asked about the fuchsia bottle, but she was… staring at it. Gamzee took it as a hint and informed her it was a magical healing potion. John had no way to verify. He hadn't been asked to use that blood. The only unfortunately royal head he had on him belonged to the Condesce, and the few times Calliope had asked him to use it, it was absolutely not for healing purposes.

But the Bard had been full of shit for Equius' "potion" so he was probably switching things around a bit for this one, too.

"Well, if you're not all abouts on answering at me, why are you onto thinking I won't just kick you the fuck out of my sponge?"

Again Jane refused, and Gamzee insisted she take at least a half-dozen anyway. Once she had them (unwillingly) in her hands, the clown cheerfully asked for payment.

The Maid, unbelievably, fished the money out. It was a wonder this cold, calculating businesswoman hadn't been sold up the river for everything she owned based on this interaction.

"You… can." Despite his best efforts, John's voice came out more than a bit pained, stiffening in preparation in case the Bard really did want to toss him out. He wasn't looking forward to going back to whatever the hell he had left behind.

"I mean you are right. It is your sponge. Believe it or not, I meant it when I said I don't know what the fuck is going on."

The Heir continued, a bit unable to stop the almost hysterical ramble building up in his chest.

"I don't know why one specific daymare leads straight to your pan. I don't fully know how it works, and I still don't know how to get the fuck out! Not really. So kicking me out is about par for the course, but if you don't mind I'd really rather not go back for at least a little longer…"

There was a long pause.

"Why?" The single breath of an answer skimmed across John's skin, sending goosebumps down his arms and setting his teeth on edge.

He swallowed. "I wonder if I can… show..?''

"Show? What are you trying at doing…" The purpleblood's voice was cautious.

Instead of answering, John focused on the memory of what he had left behind, calling up the searing heat that had seemingly punctured each rib and the crunch that had preceded each wave of new pain.

"Yes." Gamzee's voice was strained. "Yes, motherfucker. You're showing me. Stop showing me."

John stopped.

Jane had been pointing to the violet bottle for a while now, raising her eyebrow expectantly.

"Are you going to warn her that that one helps you never get laid again in your life?"

Gamzee had been opening his mouth to reply to Jane, just for his breath to catch as he fought down a laugh.

"Fuck you, I have a good pitch for it!"

With a friendly grin, Gamzee informed the heiress in front of him that the violet and olive bottles could be bought as a love potion set: olive to catch the eye of any potential suitors, and violet to turn those suitor's eyes away from any potential competitors.

Jane hesitated.

Then did actually buy a set.

"... I will give it to you. Actually a good sell."

"I'd be more abouts my gratitude if you let me onto knowing who the fuck you are and what you've scoped. I was in my thoughts that maybe some clown was accidentally contacting me from Alternia somehow, but you're out the fuck here, aren't you? In this poor motherfucking excuse for a game."

"... Yeah."

"How in the fuck--you weren't part of our session. And this isn't the other sorry excuse for a Makara so--"

"What do you have against Kurloz?"

"How do you know Kur--no, you know what? We aren't motherfucking doing this again. What. Did you fucking see? Tell me, or your ass is out."

"It was just one other time! I swear, dude. I didn't look at any treasured wigglerhood memories or whatever."

"Well, those are pretty motherfucking sparse, so I'm not coloring myself shocked."

John groaned.

Jane appeared to be sneaking away. Gamzee let her, giving her an easy-going wave and opening the refrigerator to put back the little sample jars. His mannerisms were at full odds with the laser focus John could feel in his head, every ounce of the clown's attention now on him.

"I…" The human fought down a squirm. He couldn't think of a lie in this situation, and at this point, he'd invaded the Bard's privacy to the extent that even trying felt like the biggest douche move he could pull.

The younger Makara, for his part, waited patiently for him to get his shit together.

"... So remember that time you got shot to shit because your eyes were blue?"

The clown froze, a dull pulse of something skittering across the void. Now alone, he didn't bother to speak inside his head, and the lack of breath on John's neck was both welcoming and, infuriatingly, not. The sensation had been weirdly grounding.

"You possessed me?! At that fucking moment you possessed me? In front of him?! I have to fucking kill you now. You know that, right?"

"No!!! Not possessed!" John raised his hands, exasperated, fully aware the clown wouldn't be able to see the gesture. "I wasn't controlling you or anything when I first popped in--I promise! I sort of just… was you. Like I became you."

"You merged with me?!" Gamzee's voice shot up an octave, absolutely nothing but alarm blaring from every memory and emotion around his pan. "Wh--no! You fucking couldn't have! I didn't pay much attention to schoolfeeds but I paid all attention mine at that! I never up and motherfucking chucklevoodoo'd an invertebrother. Everyone knows not to do that shit so that this can't fuckin' happen. Clowns don't fuck with clowns--I never fucked with another purple!"

The hair on John's arms was starting to rise. Shit. Gamzee was making this sound like a lot more than just an invasion of privacy was happening here. The absolute panic he felt around him was infectious, invading his heart rate immediately as his breath picked up.

"I told you the first time! I'm not a purpleblood yet! I never got those schoolfeeds. What did you not do and what did I do??? What do you mean by 'merge'?"

"You never--Yet? What does that even mean? What in fuck are you up to, brother?"

"Nothing!! You wanna know the way I get to your sponge, dude? I grab a weird half-pattern in my nightmares when it pisses me off too much. That's it! That's all I've ever fucking done!"

The Bard's voice was weirdly quiet when he replied. "Half pattern…?"

"Yeah. It always feels like I'm holding cloth or something."

"Like you're holding on a doll?"

"... Sure?"

The clown let out a shaky, panicked laugh of a breath, sinking down onto the fridge as he brought his hands up to his head.

He was silent for a while.

"... John?"

Fuck.

In an instant, the Heir let go of the same cloth he'd just been talking about, shooting up in the abandoned hive Calliope had helpfully deposited him in and gasping immediately at the soreness in his body.

What the fuck was he going to do?

His phone buzzed on the table, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the breath player picked it up.

Chapter Text

Gamzee had given him thirty minutes to get to that dream tunnel, which meant he had exactly thirty minutes to get his life together before fighting the other emissary to the not-death, or whatever the Bard was trying to do.

Calliope had re-entered his head the second he woke up.

John, are you okay??

He… thought so? His entire chest was sore, and carefully, he picked his way to the ablutionblock to look at what was waiting for him, lifting his shirt and frowning at his reflection.

…

Nothing.

He'd passed out from pain and there was no visible change to show for it.

Or rather, the visible change wasn't where the pain had been. The gray streaks had advanced a fair bit, with one new tendril beginning to extend down his arm as well. John had no doubt that if he were to take off his paint, he would find quite a bit more gray than white waiting for him underneath.

But his torso looked mostly the same.

So then… what the fuck had happened?

It was likely an internal change more than anything. Purplebloods are semi-aquatic, remember?

Right, but what did that have to do with whatever the burning had been? Had his lungs changed, or something?

I'm thinking so. It would explain the pain, at least. Purpleblood bellowsacs are a bit larger than human lungs. Your bones may have been… breaking themselves. To make more room for your changed organs.

…Gross.

That may be your worst change, though.

Some internal voice balked at the cherub's choice of words.

Glad to know it "may" be the worst one.

But at least he was the only human that that specific pain would happen to, right? Purples were the only semi-aquatic caste so everyone else should be in the clear for at least not having their ribcage cracked open?

Yes… about that...

A small chill of fear ran through him, his thoughts immediately turning to Rose. She was going to become a seadweller. Would this also happen to her?

Had it already happened and he'd been too distracted with his own change to help?

Not exactly, though I doubt her change will be pleasant. It's just that… you won't be the only one to change into a semi-aquatic caste.

… Was another human also becoming a purpleblood?

The cherub hummed, the wishy-washy sound painting a scowl on John's face. Not quite. Spoilers.

Calliope, he'd just fucking passed out on a mission due to the pain of this stupid change. If she wouldn't give him an answer on what she meant, could she at least tell him who it was? And if it was someone he gave a shit about? If it hadn't happened yet, could he help? He was the cause of this, after all.

She sighed. It does seem to be someone you care for, but you haven't talked to him from what I've seen… at least since becoming my jester. You seem to have been avoiding him more than anything.

…

Dave?

... Possibly.

Goddammit, had this already happened to him? If Dave and Rose were keeping this from their troll friends for the moment, the Knight suddenly dropping cold would definitely clue them in that at least something was happening.

You seem to be a bit ahead of them for now. From what I've looked into… he maybe has a couple days.

Shit. So then… at least that gave him time to deal with whatever was going to happen with Gamzee first…

Well, that brings me to my question for you. What exactly was that message you just received from my brother's servant?

Oh.

He was so used to the cherub being in his head that he'd forgotten she left his dreams alone.

Your dreams? Fool, did something happen?

Um…

... John.

John winced, and after a bit too long of a pause, the Muse took matters into her own hands, the explanation of what had been going on being practically dragged out of the Heir, completely against his will.

He hated when she did this. He absolutely fucking hated it. It wasn't... too often. Once or twice a week at the most, but every single time grated against his nerves, leaving him feeling like a marrionette whose strings had just been tightened.

He didn't fight it this time, though. He was in over his head here. He just needed help.

Calliope fell silent as his recap of his accidental invasion into his co-emissary's head took a turn into more and more panicked territory.

He had no clue what the other clown wanted with him, but he would be expecting him under Kurloz' hive in maybe fifteen minutes. How he was going to do this without Gamzee immediately realizing what had happened, he had no idea. And if Gamzee knew, Caliborn would know.

And then everything would be a whole lot harder.

The Muse didn't speak for a few minutes after he was done, and the Heir felt anxiety swell in his stomach, the sensation shooting up his spine and freezing him where he stood. He may want to spite her during about half of their interactions but this… wasn't one of those interactions. Caliborn was in Gamzee's head just like Calliope was in his. The last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize what they had been working so hard for.

The last thing he wanted to do was actually make Calliope unhappy with him and his work. It was too important.

He'd been noticed by two iterations of Gamzee Makara. He couldn't keep fucking up.

He fucking couldn't.

John, do you remember what I had Aradia give you?

The human flinched, startled out of the spiral he had been about to go down. That had not been what he'd been expecting his Mes--boss to say. (Holy shit, that dream from earlier must have gotten to him more than he thought.)

The little bookmark?

That exact one. Get it. I have something to show you.

Hesitantly, John pulled out the Muse's gigantic coding book, flipping to the page he was on and grabbing the small metal rod saving the spot.

Good. Hold it in your hand while thinking about how good of a bookmark it is and how much you want to use it. As a bookmark.

… Okay? John did what she said, grasping the little place marker as he thought about craftsmanship quality and how excited he was to put the thing back in his gigantic Tome of Terrible Shit He Had to Make Happen.

It was no longer a bookmark.

John blinked, awkwardly balancing the now-much-larger object in his hand to look at it.

Was this the same vaudeville cane she'd originally snagged him with?

It is. I no longer had need of it. It's not as if you could run away from me now that you're my servant.

… Yeah.

You'll need the properties of that cane to deal with Gamzee.

What was it?

A bookmark.

Calliope.

Genuinely, that's what it is. Just on a personal rather than plot scale. Gathering someone with that cane puts both parties in a pocket space, void of all outside influence and most granted powers. When you stop using it, it will automatically put you back where you were in space-time, unless, like I did the first time we talked, the gathering party teleports the one they hooked beforehand. I couldn't have you immediately go back to your friends after showing you the future waiting for them.

Void of all outside influence and granted powers… would this cut him and Gamzee off from their respective cherubs?

... It will, yes. Use this cane if it starts to look like Gamzee is figuring it out to save yourself some time before my brother knows, but be very cautious. Due to the nature of the cane, I will be unable to help you if you get in a bind. It will also cut off cherubic healing. You and Gamzee can kill each other in this space if you're not careful.

Fuck. Okay. No godtier powers either?

Those should still work, but I wouldn't play around with what could be considered a Just or Heroic death for you at this point. Especially against him.

… Fair.

It would be interesting to see how much of Gamzee's behavior was affected by Caliborn, anyway. He had always kind of wondered that back in his timeline, how many of the clown's actions were his own, but if the cherub was out of the purpleblood's pan, he could finally---wait a fucking minute--

How long had he had this bookmark again? When had Aradia given it to him?

When… you first entered the dream bubbles? It was my way of proving Aradia had indeed been contacted by me.

Right. Before he met Kurloz.

Yes?

Before he learned about the Green Book and spent three nights straight begging Calliope to leave him alone.

….Well, would you look at that. It seems it's time for you to meet up with your fellow emissary.

Calliope, you motherfucking--

Good luck, Fool.

In yet another flash of red, the Heir was pulled from the solace of the abandoned hive he'd made his base in and transported to an entirely different home, the hive actually somewhat unfamiliar from its backyard.

Kurloz was just inside…

John hated how he had no idea which side the mime would be on in this situation if he messaged him. Did he and Gamzee even get along?

The Bard had very much made it sound like the answer was no.

Ah, there was the little black bubble. Gamzee hadn't been lying to him. At least about that.

… There was a non-zero percent chance he was walking into an ambush here.

With a sigh, John reached up to the voidbubble, thinking about candy corn. In an instant, a grand, Derse-esque tunnel had opened, stairs leading down underneath Kurloz' hive.

The Heir took a breath before moving along the steps cautiously. The stairs were long, easily extending several stories down, and John made every effort to be silent as the grave in case the clown was already here.

… He wasn't. It seemed the Heir had beaten him to their meeting place.

Unless the clown was going to lock him in or something, which was also absolutely a possibility.

The tunnel eventually opened up into a dark room, shadows pretty much completely overtaking the corners. It was practically empty save for an oddly out-of-place coffee table on one side of the room and what appeared to be a shrine on the opposite side of it. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the stairs behind him, John made his way over to the shrine.

Resting upon a long, dark purple tablecloth were five serving trays, each one stained a different color with dried blood. The first plate had practically overflowed with old fuchsia blood. The second was indigo, then it was followed by bronze, violet, and olive.

They were exactly severed head sized.

… Did he dare before Gamzee made it down?

He may have no other chance. And with that resolution pushing him forward, John quickly pulled the heads he had gathered from his Sylladex, ears strained for absolutely any movement at all around him as he placed each head according to its blood.

BATTERWITCH BEHEADMENT placed.

INDIGO MORE LIKE INDI-GONE BEHEADMENT placed.

THE TROLL WHO NEVER GREW UP BEHEADMENT placed.

CATASTROPHIC QUADRANT DOUCHEBAGGERY BEHEADMENT placed.

HELLO KITTY JUMPSCARE BEHEADMENT placed.

…

Had… had Gamzee known he was going to do this, or was this somehow the universe itself calling a spade a spade?

He didn't have time to figure it out, as a long, thin door had popped up, perfectly situated between the table and shrine.

Still keeping his ears strained for absolutely any movement, the Heir opened the door as quietly as he could, quite the fucking task as the door creaked like it somehow hadn't been opened in sweeps.

Cautiously, he glanced through a crack before opening the door fully. Another small room waited for him, blankets piled up on one side of the shadowy little space and what looked like… sewing materials and purple cloth on the other. Faygo was in one corner, dozens of empty "potion" bottles in another, and layers upon layers of multicolored messages on the walls, each one painted with a variety of blood from the fallen trolls, John was sure.

Some messages were angry, some apathetic, and some were kind of… heartbreaking, one message in particular grabbing the Heir's attention. It was written purely in bronze, as opposed to the rainbow of gore that fit all of the other words.

…

He shouldn't be here. Opposing emissary or not, this was a worse invasion of privacy than breaking into the guy's pan. By far.

He was about to close the door fully when he spotted a book by the sewing materials, freezing.

Was that… the same… coding book he had?

Was it used for the same purpose?

For one moment, John stared at it, fully aware that Caliborn's plans for how to change the timeline may be mere feet away from him before finally hearing soft footsteps from the staircase behind him. Shit.

He closed the door as quickly as possible, the stupid thing giving a guilty creak as he did so. The footsteps paused, then picked up their pace. John barely had time to collect his heads from the plates they had been resting on, captchaloguing them and teleporting quickly into the opposite corner right as the Bard came into view.

… Son-of-a-bitch.

Gamzee was far more attractive when he was John's own age---nope.

Okay. Absolutely not. Focus.

He hoped the deep shadows of this place were hiding his face correctly. He had no idea how the Bard would react to his pattern. Or his obviously gray ear and neck and… whatever else was visible at this point.

He'd been right to immediately take the heads off the shrine. The Bard's panicked gaze fell in exactly that direction first, openly searching the wall at the back for any trace of the door John had disappeared before finally seeking out John himself.

He frowned at the way the Heir had tucked himself into the shadows, eyebrows drawing together suspiciously.

"... I'll be honest at you. Didn't motherfucking expect you to actually show up."

"I told you, dude. I'm a fucking idiot."

"Not arguing with that."

"Wow."

Chapter Text

The quiet, dark room was deceptively peaceful as Gamzee Makara stared John down. Neither teen moved, simply letting the almost awkward silence wash over them as they looked at one another.

Gamzee was the first to break the spell.

"Get the fuck all out of the shadows."

"No," John replied simply.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

The Bard huffed, glaring at the Heir. "You're in my space, motherfucker. Least you can do is be a goodass guest while you're here, unlike when you're in my sponge."

"Sure. I am just not seeing why standing where you want me to is a part of that. Kind of a weird request for a host to make for no reason."

The clown rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "Fucking. Fine. Just tell me what you were all meaning about by you not being a purpleblood 'yet'."

The Heir hesitated. "Only if you tell me what you meant by us merging."

A small wince flashed across Gamzee's features before the expression smoothed itself out. "The answer at that question is real motherfucking dependent of what 'yet' means, so you first."

…

Okay. He had this answer. He'd practiced what he would say to Rose about the trollification. All he had to do was say the same to the Bard.

And hope he believed it.

"So…" The human began a little lamely. Marvelous start. "From what it kind of… looks like, there is some timeline out there where Earth was a troll planet. Not a human one. And I think that timeline might be stronger than this one."

The Bard's brows furrowed. "Brother, that would be making this timeline a dead one. It wouldn't be on its mind of changing shit around."

John offered a shrug. "Well, it is changing shit around now. Time stuff isn't my aspect. I don't know how it works."

To be fair, he was telling the truth. He had no clue why the time shenanigans from his zappy powers worked so differently than the time powers of Dave or Aradia. Calliope had mentioned one time that it was because they weren't actually Time powers, but the purest form of Breath powers.

But despite immediately sounding true, that had made no fucking sense, so he had ignored her.

The Bard was back to frowning, the expression more puzzled than angry.

The secret to not being questioned was not giving people the chance to question you, so John launched into his next query right as Gamzee opened his mouth.

"How did you know it was me? Just from me mentioning a half-pattern?"

Another wince, quickly hidden with an annoyed glare. "Don't get your worry on about that. Is this changing shit around changing your shit around? Like… are you changing?" A weak tone had started to creep into the troll's voice. "Into a purpleblood? That what all you meant?"

"Dude, you don't have to make it sound like a fate worse than death. I'm fine. Also I'm absolutely going to worry about my half-pattern if that is your reaction to me asking about it."

"No…" Gamzee was still frowning, but the expression wasn't aimed at John. The Bard looked lost in thought, the anxiety barely masked in his expression reminding the breath player eerily of Kurloz when he had first helped him with his paint.

The different patterns between the Bard and Prince hid it, but the two really did look similar, didn't they? Even if they couldn't act more differently if they tried.

Gamzee finally continued, voice a million miles away. "I mean you're all on your correctness, technically. Being a purpleblood is... fine. Usually."

The same weak tone as before had snuck back into the troll's voice, and with a jolt, John realized what it was.

Guilt.

"That wasn't really what I was talking on--wait--" Gamzee's eyes, previously staring a hole in the dark purple tile beneath their feet, flicked back to John with startling clarity. "Your half-pattern? Motherfucker, you best get the fuck out of those shadows if you know what's good for you."

Shit. He had to stop fucking doing this. Scrambling, John replied, trying his absolute damnedest to sound unbothered by the sudden focus back on him. "Well, yeah. It's my head, and that half-pattern's been there forever. So… my half-pattern. What did you think I meant?"

The troll closed his eyes. "I… you have to be… Okay. No, you know what?" His eyes snapped back open, nothing but challenge in his expression. "I wanna play a motherfucking game."

The Heir tensed at the familiar phrasing, crossing his arms and shooting an absolutely filthy look at the troll.

"We are not fucking doing this."

"Yes, we fucking are," The younger Makara glared. "What's my fucking pattern? You said you know Kurloz? What's his fucking pattern, motherfucker?"

Oh, Gamzee, you fucking shit.

There were easily hundreds of patterns available for clowns anywhere to choose from, each one pointing to a different life path, general purpose, or overall tendencies of the person behind the makeup. It was a fully personal choice which one each clown took, and they could change it at any moment, though of course it made a bit of a statement when they did.

Purplebloods didn't have to wear paint. They didn't have to be clowns. But it was far lonelier in practice than in concept. Everything John had seen on Beforus pointed to The Church of the Mirthful Messiahs Angels of Double Death being nearly the only regular means purples had to socialize with each other.

So most purples ended up taking a pattern. Ended up being clowns. And clowns got drilled on those patterns practically more than anything else, especially when they were young. All the better to know and understand their own paint when they finally saw it.

… In… their dreams.

John had, in fact, not grown up as a purpleblood. He had never received the lessons and schoolfeeds necessary to answer the garbage Gamzee had just thrown at him. It was an unfair question in every way.

Gamzee absolutely fucking knew that. Just as well as John knew it.

So…

So then… why…

How the fuck…

… Did he know the answer?

The knowledge came to him as easily as if he'd been fucking born with it.

Gamzee was waiting for him to reply. John didn't care, frozen where he stood in the shadows.

Why had this never been something he'd realized he knew before? He had never properly recognized Kurloz' pattern when dealing with him until he just now thought about it…

Why did he…

Would he have been able to recall this information earlier?

Was something happening with his memories…?

Maybe, because one fact he had never thought he knew was blaring through his head.

He couldn't lie his way through this.

It wasn't… a good thing. To mess with people's patterns. And that included lying about what they were. Or misnaming them on purpose.

He was stuck.

He had to give it to Gamzee. Good fucking trap of a question.

Douche.

His voice was as quiet as it was resentful when he finally replied. "Joker's Pattern. Kurloz has the mime version of the Medic's pattern."

Gamzee sucked in a breath.

John continued.

"But if a Stupid Bitch pattern is ever found, you may want to look into a path of self discovery."

"Fuck you," Gamzee barked out a surprised laugh, giving him a flat look before his face fell again and he swallowed, glancing to the side.

It seemed Gamzee had very much wanted him not to know the answer to his sudden Heretic Test.

And John couldn't blame him. He shouldn't have fucking known.

Is this… was this because of Sassacre? Or something else…

If he were alone, he may actually be able to be honest with himself about how freaked out he was right now, but Gamzee Makara, True Emissary of the other Mirthful Messiah, was right in fucking front of him, so he could have a breakdown about it later.

"Come the fuck on out of the shadows…" The command was far softer and more anxious than it had been before.

The human didn't move. "Tell me what merging is."

"I'm… on my intending to, I just need to see what I'm working with first."

The troll didn't seem to be lying. If anything, he looked almost desperate, arms stiff by his sides as he shifted restlessly, looking from John back down to the floor.

Against the Heir's will, an image of the adult Bard flashed across his mind again, the grief and fear and anger John had directly caused burning in those purple eyes.

This obviously wasn't on the same scale as that. Probably. The way the troll was acting was genuinely pretty alarming. But still…

It wasn't sitting well with John that he was the cause of panic for the ragebound. Again.

So he inched into the light. Despite every single ounce of logic in his body screaming at him not to.

Gamzee's eyes widened as he got a proper look at John, immediately taking a step towards the Heir.

John flinched back, instinct more than anything putting his hammer in his hand before he even had time to realize he'd gotten out his strife deck.

Silence stretched between them again, the Bard's eyes flicking from the weapon to the rest of John, taking in whatever fucking mess the Heir was presenting at the moment.

"New dead Sollux and Nepeta in town or something?"

"What." John looked at him blankly before glancing down at himself. Oh fucking--

Why?

It wasn't anything as drastic as when he had first shown up at Kurloz' hive, but spotted all throughout his person was evidence of his most recent mission, bits of olive and gold blood unmistakeable on dark clothing, splattered from where he'd been watching in his little looking glass and absolutely covering his shoes from Nepeta's head resting at his feet for so long.

Why did he even fucking try, actually? "Don't… don't worry about it," John pinched the bridge of his nose. "It has been a long night, okay? I forgot it was there. Just focus on the paint. That's what you wanted to look at, right?"

Gamzee was looking at him oddly. "You had forgotten what you being covered in blood?"

"Long night." John repeated bleakly.

"Happen a lot or something? Is that what all the pain was you showed me earlier?"

"I'm not answering that, Gamzee." John flipped his hammer back into his strife deck. "Either come look at the paint, or don't."

Gamzee hesitated, no doubt due the newly discovered fact that the dude he was sniping with was covered in gore, but did eventually approach, those wide, unfairly pretty eyes now focused on John's face, tracing the pattern up and down.

He stopped at a reasonable distance, but frowned, glancing at John's arms.

"The rest of the pattern is there. Just covered at the moment."

"You expecting me to see if you're legit with half your pattern covered?"

"Never asked you to." John said flatly, but with a sigh, pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose his upper arms, one side after another.

… And the massive splash of gray almost completely staining his neck and chest while he was at it.

It was probably a trick of the light that John could see a decent flush just under the clown's paint as most of his collarbone got exposed, the Bard's eyes tracing the gray as it dipped beneath his shirt.

"Fool's Pattern?" The Bard's voice was tight.

"Yeah."

"You're telling me your pattern is on its exact opposition of mine?"

More dots connected. Memories that shouldn't exist providing a bit of context to what the clown was saying.

Joker's pattern was one of the two most intensely devout patterns you could take, one of the ones young purplebloods learned about last. It was the "head" of the patterns of the Mirthful, more of a warning than anything. It pointed towards the wearer's tendency to… finish things.

End them for good, if needed.

Fool's pattern was its counterpart, arguably a warning on the same level. It lead the patterns of the Merciful, pointing towards the wearer's ability to start things.

Sometimes. Many times. They were things no one wanted. Including the Fool.

"Not something I planned, dude."

Gamzee ignored him. "Doesn't motherfucking suit you at all."

"I don't believe you."

"You should."

"So you're blushing for nothing, right? Just sick, or what?" Fuck, what was wrong with him? He was absolutely pushing his luck here by calling the Bard's bluff, particularly with him being as close as he was, but he wouldn't fucking have to if Gamzee weren't being such an ass.

The flush deepened as a very genuine glare was shot John's way. "Shut that motherfucking mouth."

"If you would stop stalling and answer my fucking questions, I might be able to," John scowled back.

Gamzee huffed, but didn't say anything. The clown looked very much like he was in danger of getting lost in his thoughts again, eyes searching for some answer John couldn't see

…

Fine.

"So the thing I've been grabbing is a doll? Did you put it there?"

The troll flinched, expression shockingly sheepish as his eyes met John's again.

"I never was onto saying that--"

"The thing that's been haunting my daytmares for fucking sweeps with no reprieve? That was you?" His voice had gotten a little louder without him meaning it to, some years-buried pulse of anger finding its way into his tone.

"I… didn't mean… listen at me, broth--"

"Did you put the pattern on it?" Just how fucking tense the Heir felt had finally leaked through to his voice. Beyond being unbelievably fucked, if Gamzee had given him that pattern…

He…

There was a reason people didn't mess with other people's paint. You were literally messing with someone's self worth. Their image of their own personality.

But there was something else…

He'd drawn all that shit on his walls in his nightmares… had Gamzee been the reason? Had he been the reason his dad had seen and thrown all of the harlequin imagery at him growing up?

Was he the motherfucking reason John never truly met his dad?

"No!" The Bard must have seen the danger in his expression, because he immediately tensed, hands raising in a kind of "wait" expression. "I fucked with you. I'll admit that on my fucking self. But I wouldn't fucking force a pattern on you. Or change it. Shit would be heretical as fuck, and a heinous fucking thing what to do besides."

It... was an assurance, to be sure. Not the right one. But an assurance.

John's eyes were more focused on Gamzee's hands, raised as they were.

It was practically the same gesture he'd just seen on Sollux against Vriska, even if it was far less panicked, and with that thought, the fucking complete and utter Rage annoyed suspicion that had been building in his stomach vanished, leaving him cold and exhausted.

His voice was a lot quieter when he spoke next, and something must have clued Gamzee into the sudden change of mood, because he was looking at John oddly again.

"Then how did it get there? You recognized it was me when I mentioned a half-pattern. Why?"

"I…" That weak, guilty tone was back before the troll fell silent again.

"From the sound of it, you really owe me an answer, Gamzee. Even if it's just so I can understand what I apparently have done to you now."

The Bard sighed. "... Yeah."

And with that, he finally started to talk.

"It's… when clowns are on their trying at to throw their harshwimseys at other clowns, especially with dreamwork, it can risk kinda… slicing through wherever your pattern is in your pan, showing the paint partial when it was meant to show up full."

To John's shock, his fellow emissary turned his back to him as he started to pace. He wasn't sure if the nervous energy in Gamzee's voice had simply gotten too strong to fight against without movement, or if it was just a way to help the Bard think, but nonetheless, it was hardly a sign that the clown wanted to fight him, so the gesture was oddly reassuring.

"Accidents happen, people misfire, so it works as a warning to both the clown what was being messed around with and the stupid-ass motherfucking clown what tried to mess around. Gives them a chance to fix their shit before… shit happens."

The ragebound paused, looking back at his guest to see his reaction. John raised an eyebrow in return. "And by shit happens… you mean merging?"

"It's… one of the things that can happen, yeah." The other clown looked pained as he replied, resuming his walk back and forth across the small room. "In, uh, the worst case scenarios, at least."

… Awesome. Just great.

But that answer left room for a lot of other questions before the obvious one.

"So then... I had an excuse. I didn't grow up as a troll. I had no idea what the fuck was happening. But why didn't you fix your shit when you saw it." It was John's turn to look at Gamzee oddly. "Why were you messing with me anyway? I am pretty sure this is the first time we've talked. What did I do to you?"

The troll made a face. "You didn't do anything at me."

"Then--"

"--That red heretic what you call your best fucking friend did."

John blinked.

What?

"When did you and Dave even talk?" The Knight had never once mentioned having a conversation with Gamzee. Not that John knew of, anyway.

"A while ago," the Bard's voice flattened. "Way before your session... I-I think? One of the times he was in his session. My pan's fuzzy on that entire ass period. I'll be honest at you when I say I'm not knowing which conversation led to what motherfucking consequence, but it doesn't matter. We… you and I talked about revelations, yeah? How they can fuck with your voodoos?"

Hesitantly, the human nodded, and Gamzee bit the inside of his cheek, looking to the side again. "That motherfucker kicked my shit off. There was a lot what was going on anyway, and he fucking cracked me. I hadn't been in my habit of using my whimseys, and… like I said before, that shit forces you to. Shit ricocheted from there. I fucked with him, looked through his sponge to see who his main motherfucking man was."

Ah.

"It was you."

"Yeah, I got that part."

The Bard rolled his eyes before hesitating, distinctly not looking at John as his pacing ground to a halt.

"Please motherfucking understand me here... My main man had just got got."

Gamzee's voice had gotten soft, but it still cracked slightly as he spoke next, the unspoken grief in his expression incredibly painful to look at.

"Killed by that absolute fucking bitch of a Thief."

That message on the wall…

… Tavros.

And now, thanks to John, probably Sollux in the case of a different Gamzee, also at the hands of Vriska.

A dark gaze met finally his, the rage player unaware of the Heir's own guilt pushing at his lungs like it was trying to break his ribs a second time.

"I wasn't on my right thoughts, okay? My pan was in fucking shambles, and I was only wanting that red-typing fucking motherfucker to feel what I was feeling. I wanted him with nowhere to turn, and..." Eyes flicked down to John's clothing again, lingering on the flecks of blood that had been left behind. In spite of himself, the Heir shrank away, feeling weirdly judged at the moment. "That meant making his crew unstable, too."

Gamzee fell silent. John let him, processing everything that had just been said.

That was… a lot. To hear all at once.

But he probably should have expected it to be a lot.

No wonder the purpleblood's behavior had been so erratic earlier.

Exactly how long had he been doing this?

"So then why… when you saw the pattern, why didn't you stop?"

The Bard let out a sigh, the sound oddly resentful. John waited quietly for him to reply, fighting the urge to step back into the safety of the shadows while the other clown gathered his thoughts.

"The shit Dave showed me what motherfucking wrecked me, I'm not about to describe it at you, but it convinced me there was no real human clowns," Dull anger leaked into Gamzee's expression. John's fingers itched for his hammer again. "Not ones worth their motherfucking paint anyway. I… saw the pattern, but I assumed it wasn't from you. Damn thing was sliced perfectly in half, same as if someone was wearing it purposeful."

The Bard shrugged, his voice bitter. "My dumb ass took it as a sign. Half-Fool. Motherfucking beginning of a beginning. Lot of work to do…"

John's thoughts clicked away while the troll fell back into silence. This was when Gamzee had first been recruited, wasn't it? This was when he'd been called to meet Caliborn.

By that juju that Calliope had informed John he was under no circumstances to look at. Not until it was "time", whatever the fuck that meant.

"... I mean you were probably right in some ways. Don't be too hard on yourself when all you had to go on was whatever horrible thing Dave showed you. I don't know what he did, but..." A weird feeling crept into John's stomach. He should be defending Dave here...

But there was... a reason John himself had been avoiding the Knight since putting on his paint. He was genuinely worried what his best friend would say.

And if they'd even stay best friends...

... Knowing the Knight, and how the Knight could be when you caught him at a bad time, it genuinely wouldn't shock John if he'd just vaguely caught whiff of "juggalo bullshit" from Gamzee and roasted the fuck out of him from there.

Not knowing what that "juggalo bullshit" could mean to people.

"But it doesn't sound like you deserved it."

"I... Thanks."

"Yeah."

Rubbing the back of his neck, the other clown sat down on the coffee table like the wood was a makeshift couch, marking it as John's moment to finally lean back into the shadows, the darkness a weird reprieve.

The room fell into semi-peaceful silence again as the two hapless idiots in the room mulled over what had just been shared.

Then the silence kept going.

…

......

.........

"... Gamzee. Merging."

"I'm getting there, motherfucker. Hold your fucking hoofbeasts, damn."

Chapter Text

"Just… give me a moment. I'm on my needs of figuring out how to phrase what the fuck merging even all is. Been a long-ass motherfucking while since I last gandered my schoolfeeds."

"Sure."

Despite the other clown's reassurances that he'd eventually talk, the silence stretched on longer in the little dark room, leaving John's thoughts to wander into places it probably shouldn't go.

A lot had been revealed here.

Maybe a little too much. And too easily at that, setting the Heir on edge.

Why had Gamzee just… given him this information? Completely without a fight?

And the information itself was…

Gamzee had…

He couldn't think about his guardian right now. He knew that. He absolutely could not process a single thought about his dad without completely losing his mind.

But there were other things to wonder about those nightmares.

If the troll had given him those dreams… if he had been the reason John kept seeing his half pattern… that half-paint had been mimicked without John even realizing it, placed on that stupid harlequin doll his father gave he had been given for his birthday…

And then the harlequin doll had been put into his sprite.

And then that gave his half-pattern to Jack Noir…

Who…

Wasn't Jack Noir part of… with both the clown doll and the pattern, did he and Gamzee together somehow give clownhood to Lord--

--Hey. No. The Muse's voice was far harsher than he was used to, causing John's breath to catch in his chest painfully as he jumped.

Calliope?

Let's not go down that road right now, Fool. Need I remind you who you're currently in the presence of? We don't know the extent of his knowledge, and I will not have you add to it by having a revelation in the worst possible place for it.

Revela--s-so then. So then it was--?

--I will confirm nor deny absolutely nothing while you're in Gamzee's domain. I cannot have you accidentally giving away more than needed.

Her tone grew colder.

Again.

John stiffened, shoving down a flinch, fully aware he wasn't alone in the room. All previous thoughts vanished from his mind as his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a desperate bid to fight down a wave of very realized anxiety.

The Bard, thankfully, didn't seem to notice, lost in his own little world.

The cherub had informed John of the bookmark to help him, but… they hadn't exactly had a chance to discuss what had happened before she had zapped him away to this meeting place.

He wasn't sure if Calliope was genuinely angry with him, or just trying to keep him from bucking against her orders, but her remark stung nonetheless.

Because it was true.

The cherub may have felt his reaction. Her voice was softer, apologetic, when she spoke next.

Don't… linger on it. Please just find out what you two have done so that you can fix it and remove yourself from danger. The best case scenario is one in which you and Gamzee need not talk after this.

Okay…

S-she was right. Okay.

Sorry…

... What's meant to happen is meant to happen. I only hope it can happen a little later, rather than now.

Huh?

Nothing.

And with that, likely to avoid being detected if Gamzee suddenly randomly chucklevoodooed him (more), the Muse left his head. Like every other time, the sensation left the Heir exhausted and unbalanced, forcing him to catch himself against the wall.

… Wow, that sudden movement did not feel good with freshly broken and healed ribs.

Gamzee was looking at him now, frowning at whatever expression must have been on the human's face.

Shit.

"Why did you tell me you voodooed me?" The first question on his mind fell out of the Heir's mouth, more to distract the Bard away from any conclusions he could make than anything else.

The troll paused, confusion etched into his expression. Diversion successful.

"What all do you mean from that?"

"I mean… this is kind of the first time we've met. K-kind of. You haunting my dreams for years and me jumping into your pan every time I fall asleep aside, we don't know each other. You could have just lied to me."

Gamzee stared at him.

"Yeah… I… have my ability to." The clown's expression got a little wry.

"For a bit."

Raw panic curled into the breath player's stomach as he frowned back at the purpleblood. "What do you mean? Does merging mean you can't lie to each other or something?"

What the actual hell had he gotten himself into here? If he and Gamzee lost the ability to conceal information from each other, what the fuck were they going to do?

And what the fuck were Calliope and Caliborn going to do to them?

Calliope had made it incredibly clear that each of them were the cherubs' True Emissaries.

Would that… be enough to keep them from…

Calliope's harsh tone from earlier washed over him in a spike of hopefully quickly concealed fear.

Could they be discarded?

If they could, would they be?

Caliborn might not even give it a second thought if it was possible, considering how quickly he'd been to use Gamzee as target practice.

Calliope… might not, even if John deserved it, but failing the Muse was not a fucking option here. At all. He would not fail her.

Again.

He fucking couldn't.

"N-no, nothing of the likes of that. Don't wish that up on us, please."

If John had visibly relaxed, the troll didn't seem to care. Which probably made sense. He doubted the ragebound much wanted that fate either.

Considering the other clown probably thought he had a hell of a lot more to hide than John.

"It's just… two clowns what merged kinda… start… seeing shit." The troll's voice slowly drifted into a mumble as he got further into his explanation.

And John did not like how nervous the Bard looked while he did it.

"... 'Seeing shit' doesn't really tell me much."

"Like… each other's private… moments?"

…

"Was making me almost take my shirt off not enough for you or something?"

"Not that kind of--you're all on your awareness of what I mean, motherfucker," Gamzee glared.

The flush from earlier was back in full force, the purple hue obvious to anyone who knew how to look for it under the paint.

Got him.

Anyway.

"I really don't actually, so if you are not going to tell me what it is in any meaningful way--"

"--Motherfucker, I'm trying--!"

"Can you at least tell me how to undo it? Or how long it takes to stop?"

The Bard shrank back, the sheepish look from before returning as easily as the blush.

"… About that…"

"... Gamzee." John swallowed, every ounce of panic he had been holding back fully flooding him anew. The fear acted like fuel, pushing him forward. He stepped back into the light, closer to the other emissary, who quickly stood up at the sudden movement.

"What exactly the fuck are you implying? We need to undo--what even is it?" His voice quieted into a desperate hiss. Calliope had told him to fix this. It couldn't be unfixable.

He took another step closer to the Bard, who had gotten out his clubs. The weapons were still covered in olive, the stains probably sweeps old at this point.

John didn't care, focused fully on the now extremely guarded clown's face.

… It felt like the Calliope was back in his head again.

Please. No. Not right now.

She couldn't see him fail her again.

"John… you are really not on your wanting of a fight with me… You're not… up to date on some important-ass shit. I am not the dude what to come at," Every muscle in the purpleblood's body was tense, exhausted eyes locked on the Heir's stance.

"You're right," Zillyhoo was back in his hand. Thank fuck he'd been able to revert it back from whatever abomination Vriska's dice had turned it into. Silly hats had their place. This was not fucking one of them.

"You're completely right. I really do not want to fight you."

Every ounce of his fighting experience from both Sburb and his Messiahs-forsaken Beforus missions was informing the Heir of where to watch, trying desperately to see how the Bard was about to react next.

He had to be prepared this time. Become Breath if he needed to.

He may have been able to explain away cherubic healing to Kurloz, someone who only worshipped the two cherubs rather than spent his day to day life with them, but Gamzee would know.

Immediately.

So John stopped where he was, hammer still prepped. The desperation freezing him in place was weirdly mirrored on Gamzee's face.

"Please, stop stalling. I'll do whatever I need to fix this, you just have to fucking tell me how."

The other emissary's expression fell into a grimace, eyes flicking up to meet his for just a second before immediately returning to Zillyhoo.

"That's what I'm trying at telling you, brother. We motherfucking can't fix it! I set up the pins. You motherfucking knocked them down. Even if no one was on their meaning to. That's why there's so many schoolfeeds out there what warn not to voodoo other clowns. I fucked you over. You completed the fuck over. That's how this shit fucking works."

John closed his eyes, hammer vanishing without him even meaning for it to. If Gamzee attacked him right now, it would be all the better. Something to do other than talk about whatever the hell had apparently already happened.

The Muse's presence in his mind had literally never felt heavier than it did now, the cherub's intrusion acting as a source of genuine fear for once, rather than the usual vague annoyance.

Whatever the fuck he and Gamzee had done, he couldn't let her see. Not at the moment. He could catch her up on whatever she needed later but right now he--

He just needed time to--

Fuck, whatever the Bard was about to say, Caliborn probably already knew, right?

Or what if he didn't?

He couldn't exactly ask without immediately giving the game away to both the other clown and the Lord, but…

With the hammer put away, Gamzee was finally looking at him again. After a long moment's hesitation, the clubs vanished as well. It was the Medium's most awkward olive branch. For now, the other clown seemed to just be staring at him, taking in what could only be completely undiluted anxiety on John's face.

Finally, the rage player spoke. "I… I'm kinda in some wondering if I'm overhyping it at you, here. Merging isn't what anyone all wants, but it… you probably wouldn't be as fucked if it was with some other purple and not… me."

Same, probably, but there was no way to let the other clown know that.

Not while Calliope was in John's head.

Not while Caliborn was in Gamzee's.

They needed to speak freely.

… Actually freely.

Gamzee opened his mouth again, but John beat him to it, hoping whatever the hell was about to come out of his mouth made even the slightest amount of sense. He just needed to throw off the Bard just enough.

"Hey, for all I know, you might be! Who knows. This whole thing has probably gotten out of hand, but I know you've been working hard, and I have too, so let's take a lunch break."

"I--a lunch--what the fuck?"

The cane was already in his hand.

Fool, I gave you that for emergencies!

It was an emergency. He and Gamzee were in danger of breaking labor law.

Labour--what does that even mean--?

Be back in thirty, Calliope.

John!

"Motherfucker, are you completely cracked in the--what are you fucking doing?!"

He swung the vaudeville hook at Gamzee, who reached up to block his head reflexively. Perfect, because John's intentions had been to hook him around the torso.

And in the next second, the two clowns were standing in what could only be described as an incredibly shittily drawn kitchen.

More specifically, an incredibly shittily drawn version of John's father's kitchen, from back on Earth.

Both emissaries collapsed on the ground, courtesy of the exhaustion following two cherubs being violently ripped from their minds.

John shuddered on the floor, looking quickly over at the Bard as he made every attempt to get himself together and stand before the troll.

He was not going to succeed.

The sudden collapse had fucking killed his chest, and with a gasp and a pained hiss through his teeth, John could do nothing but press a hand to his ribcage on the ground while Gamzee beat him to his feet, bracing himself against more pain as the rage player's clubs made a hasty return.

"What in the mother of FUCK was that?" The Bard's breath came out ragged, but his expression was furious.

"I all up and TOLD you, motherfucker. I am not the clown what to fucking mess with!" He snarled, brandishing his clubs in John's direction.

John held up a hand to block in case those clubs actually came his way. His voice shook slightly as he answered.

"We needed to be alone for this discussion."

"We were alone. What are you on about?"

"Actually alone." The Heir shot the Bard a look, and something in his face must have said something, because Gamzee's eyes widened, the look in them bordering on feral.

"Whatever the motherFUCK it is you think you know from dipping into my pan, it's motherfucking wrong, motherfucker. So you best get your thoughts on straight before I smash your nugbone to clear out that pan for you."

Fuck. He had to do something here. He couldn't fight the purpleblood. Not like this. And Gamzee looked like he was seconds away from turning John into a bloody pulp with a very questionable resurrection status.

Unfortunately, the only thing he could think to do was throw the clown off.

With what he "thought" he knew.

"Yeah? So you're not The True Emissary of the Mirthful? The Lord of Time wasn't totally in your fucking head while we were talking?"

Fear flickered through the purpleblood's eyes, quickly replaced with the rage from before as John finally, painfully, stood back up.

"And where in the fuck did you hear that motherfucking blasphemy."

"Blasphem--fuck youself" It was John's turn to snarl, the anger sparking deep in his stomach as if out of nowhere. Gamzee's eyes narrowed again.

"I will not be called a fucking heretic for laying out the truth, you barely mirthful bitch."

"And what's making you so motherfucking certain it's the truth?" The Bard hissed.

John opened his mouth to snap out a reply, but Gamzee kept on.

"If you were on your believing of the filth what's dripping out your ignorance shaft, you'd bow the motherfuck down and beg for forgiveness instead of throwing out heretical insults, invertebrother. If what you were spitting was facts, I could be on my most holy of mirthful motherfucking missions what you're interrupting by motherfucking merging with me."

A note of hysteria had started to creep into the purpleblood's voice. More than some small amount of this freakout was the truth. John had seen the Bard nervous. He'd seen him afraid.

Something told him this was seeing the Bard terrified.

And it did absolutely nothing to quell the Rage brewing in the Heir from the absolute fucking audacity that had just been thrown his way.

He'd just been called to worship.

And John was not about to be made to fucking bow down to his equal.

"Well, it sounds like the merge itself would be fucking penance for that shit anyway, so try again, douchebag." John glowered. "I am not going to submit myself to a dude who doesn't know shit about shit, so before you call for your equivalent to devote himself to you again, learn some fucking manners."

"M-my equiva…" Gamzee's brows furrowed, fear flashing through his features again as what the human said registered.

And then the yellows of his eyes went red.

"I have no equivalent, you motherfucking BLASPHEMOUS ASS LIAR."

In a fraction of a second, both clubs were heading John's way. The Heir was able to block one with his hammer, but the other was open, going for a clean crack at his already damaged torso.

And it would have connected, if the breath player hadn't been fucking ready for it.

The Bard's club passed through nothing, the Heir in front of him disappearing in a swirl of deep blue.

Only to reappear behind the Bard again, hooking the troll's ankle with Occam's Razor, his old umbrellakind weapon, and flinging him onto the floor.

"Fuck!" Gamzee snarled, barely managing to roll out of the way before Zillyhoo smashed into the ground where his head used to be. In milliseconds, the ragebound was back up, his own version of the cherubic hammer swinging for John's face before The Heir dashed back, still half dematerialized.

About thirty internal voices were screaming in John's head. Clowns didn't kill clowns, and the consequences of adding his rival emissary's head to his Sylladex would be more far reaching than anything he could imagine at the moment.

He didn't want this fight.

Or he hadn't wanted it.

This... fucking heretic.

What did this stupid bitch think? That he was the only fucking emissary?

That he was somehow the true servant of both Mirthful Messiahs?

Or that Caliborn was the only real Messiah?

The last one, somehow, incensed him far more than the first two. The audacity of denying Calliope what she was.

A single fucking Messiah.

That's not how this shit went.

That could never be how this shit went.

His father's razor was in his hand as he lunged for Gamzee's throat. The purpleblood flipped out of the way just in time, eyes growing wide at the implication of the weapon.

The Bard's clubs were back out, but rather than aiming for John himself, the troll took a swing at the shaving tool in the Heir's hand, connecting and sending the little knife spinning under a terribly drawn stove.

There was more where that came from, but before John had a chance to grab another from his father's wallet, the troll jumped at him, both clubs raised and aiming straight for his head.

He'd dematerialized once. The Bard would be expecting that, so instead the Heir reached up, catching both of the purpleblood's wrists before they could complete their downswing and using the momentum from Gamzee's jump to slam him into the wall behind John, one knee sliding between the purpleblood's legs to prevent him from kicking out of the hold.

There was a pause as both clowns struggled to push or pull one way or another, less than a foot apart but matched in strength, Gamzee at a disadvantage due to his position, John at a disadvantage because of the pain screaming through his sides.

They were at a standstill, breath harsh as they strained back and forth.

… How fucking dare this piece of shit look this fucking pretty was he was panting and flushed and furious, body and breath hot next to John's.

"Take it back," John hissed.

The Bard said nothing, breath still coming out in pants, but his brows furrowed, showing his confusion at the Heir's fury.

"You said you couldn't have an equivalent. And you call me fucking blasphemous? There are two messiahs. Two emissaries. I know you know fucking better than that. Take. It. Back."

Gamzee's expression smoothed out again as it clicked what John was saying, shaking his head as his breath finally began to even out.

"The Merciful's fucking dead, okay? It's not fucking blasphemy what to admit that. It was meant to happen. I motherfucking peeped it alongside the Mirthful. There was two. And now there's one."

There was a pause, the Bard's expression becoming mournful as his eyes met John's "Only the Mirthful remains, brother. I wish it weren't--I-I'm sorry."

… Oh, god-fucking-dammit.

It hadn't been a conclusion Gamzee had come to out of ego.

It had been one made out of grief.

Grief for a different Calliope than the one John served.

… While surrounded by… ghosts…

Why had Gamzee assumed death still took Calliope off the map? She hadn't been killed directly by Lord English, so she would still absolutely be in the voidbubbles.

This fucking idiot.

Nonetheless… that couldn't have been a good time. Watching one Messiah stop breathing while the one you served gloated next to you.

… So how the fuck did he put this without setting the Bard off again?

Or… for that matter… himself?

"... Gamzee, I-I am not talking about that Merciful. I'm talking about mine. The one who killed her Mirthful."

The purpleblood stilled, and John used the opportunity to wrench the clubs out of his hands, letting them clatter to the floor beside them as he got a proper hold on the Bard's wrists, pushing him further against the wall.

The two were only inches apart as John quietly explained, trying desperately to ignore the way his body was reacting to feeling every breath Gamzee took along with him.

That stupid fucking codpiece resting on his leg wasn't helping matters.

"Different timeline. Same Medium. She took a deal with her denizen guaranteeing her death, but not her irrelevance. She still has power. She's still the Merciful. She… still needed her own True Emissary."

Very nearly completely purple eyes looked into bright blue searchingly. Gamzee said nothing, but he did swallow, squirming slightly in the Heir's grasp, and making the human's heart rate pick up.

They'd stopped fighting for a while now. Why was the purpleblood still so flushed?

Why was John's face burning with his own blush?

"... I can't exactly say I went willingly. It's been sweeps. We still fight like every fucking night."

The Bard snorted, the little movement pressing their bodies even closer together.

… It was getting very, very hard to concentrate.

"I-If… if you're onto telling me the truth," For just a moment the Bard's eyes flashed again. "And you motherfucking better be," His expression returned to normal, even a bit thoughtful. "What... you're saying makes a lot of sense for your position."

It was John's turn to look confused.

"I'm… the servant of the Mirthful. All interactions mine with the greater world fall up in that order but… with the Mirthful himself I stay merciful."

Gamzee offered a shrug. Or he would have if his arms hadn't been pinned above his head. As it stood, the movement only served to arch him slightly towards John, who suddenly found it very hard not to press back in return.

"You being the servant of the Merciful… that's your interactions with this cruel-ass joke of a world taken care of… but your interactions with her would be mirthful."

The troll cocked an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile finding its way onto an absolutely unfairly attractive face. "Basing all my shit on this motherfucking interaction, I'm on my bets you're pretty fucking good at being mirthful, too."

… There was a religious way to interpret that.

But there was also…

"... Is that a roundabout way of saying I'm good at being an asshole?"

The Bard laughed.

"Yeah."

Then painted lips crushed against the Heir's before he could reply.

Chapter Text

What the fuck were they doing?

What in the fuck were they doing?

If John had been thinking anything before this, the thoughts fled from his mind immediately as Gamzee's lips captured his own, stomach dropping out as he stiffened before pressing back into the other clown.

His entire body felt like it was flushing, and it served as a decent distraction from the absolute panic that had settled into his lungs. Try as he might, he could think of nothing but the desire to be as close to his fellow emissary as humanly (trollishly?) possible.

This was a very, very bad idea.

The Bard, for his part, very much seemed to want the same thing, leaning as far out as he could from where John held him on the wall to deepen the kiss.

And after a pause, John let him, before his brain caught up with what was happening and presented him with a startling fun fact.

Fuck, this was his first kiss?

Unless you counted him kissing Rose's corpse to bring her back to life when they were both thirteen and he… would really rather not count that one, actually. Didn't really want to think about that.

Didn't count. Genuine relief it didn't count.

Not when this was happening. Right now. And not when he absolutely totally definitely didn't want it to go on forever.

It hadn't just been the way they were positioned, or the adrenaline from the fight, or the stupid fucking overly-purple fake godtier outfit that the Bard still had the audacity to look hot in, somehow.

It was just…

Gamzee knew… what it was like.

Being an Emissary.

Being immortal in a weird, stuck way that you had to hide from everyone else.

Being a servant for… probably eternity… There was no way Calliope or Caliborn were ever letting either of them go.

But now he knew John knew, too.

Even if they were both being fucking dicks about it.

The Bard twisted his wrists slightly, a silent request for John to loosen his hold. He hesitated for a moment before releasing him, placing his hands on the ragebound's waist instead. Immediately, Gamzee reached down to the Heir's hips, forcing John to shiver as he pulled him closer.

… Directly into that fucking codpiece.

You know what?

Fine.

With just a tiny adjustment of his leg, John turned the damn plush against the Bard, leaning into it to make sure Gamzee felt exactly what he just did.

The fact that the Heir could now also not ignore the codpiece if he tried was a completely acceptable consequence if the stutter in the other clown's breath was anything to go by, and he couldn't resist grinning into their kiss.

Have a taste of your own medicine with that thing, you ass.

Gamzee had absolutely felt the smirk, and he pulled back to glare at the Heir.

"Shut up--"

"--Didn't say anything."

"Before I set on making that tunnel gash of yours too full to be talking."

John's imagination immediately filled in the gaps, his cheeks burning hot and his thoughts freezing on an unfortunately extremely detailed picture.

He had exactly zero comebacks, so instead he pulled the troll close again.

"R-right. Okay."

The Bard snorted, prompting John's turn to glare, running his hands gently down along Gamzee's sides until he found the raised ridges of the grub scars he had been looking for.

The ragebound's breath caught, arching automatically into the Heir's grip, and when John gently ran his thumb over the extent of the long scars, the troll seemingly couldn't hold back a small whimper before the breath player immediately grabbed him back into their kiss.

Fuck.

What had he been thinking… before? About this being a bad idea?

He couldn't recall anything at the moment except the sound he had just heard.

The other clown needed to keep doing that.

And he needed to be the reason why it kept happening.

Left hand still tracing at the raised lines, his right hand drifted down to the bottom hem of Gamzee's tunic, pulling on it gently in a silent question. After a moment, one of Gamzee's hands left its place on his hip to untuck both his shirt and undershirt, allowing the Heir's hands under the fabric so he could better get to Gamzee's sides.

The flushed skin was hot against his cool hands, and the Bard shuddered, leaning into the touch as their kiss got more desperate. Each emissary seemed to have their own goal: Gamzee to press as close as he physically could to John--codpiece first, John to pull as many little sighs and breaths and sounds as he could from Gamzee.

After a moment, John realized Gamzee's hands were lifting up his own shirt. Another request.

John pulled back to answer, voice jittery as he let out a nervous laugh. "Y-you have like seven layers on, dude. You can take off my shirt but at least make it a little more even first."

The Bard cocked an eyebrow, the look in his eyes more playful than challenging thanks to the grin underneath them, "You're onto your dislike of my most holy motherfucking vestments?"

"Gamzee, everything you wear is technically holy. Shut up and take off at least some of it."

The Bard laughed again, the same sound he had made before first kissing him. It was as intense as it was genuine. Gray hands left John's hips to unfasten the cape-like tassels on his back as John reached up to unbutton whatever the hell that Messiahs-forsaken godtier hood was, revealing soft, extremely unbrushed hair.

In one smooth motion, the universe's stupidest hat was plopped on the deep-fried jpeg of a countertop next to them, followed by the Bard's overshirt.

"Even now, motherfucker," Gamzee's hands returned to John's hips, sliding smoothly underneath his shirt. "Time to make it uneven again."

The Heir's breath caught as long fingers traced along his chest. Then the Bard's nails were scratching down his back. Immediately, John brought his lips back to Gamzee's to hide a soft whine of his own.

Awkwardly, accounting for the Heir's glasses, his shirt was pulled over his head, swishing onto the floor. The only sensation registering was the chilled air around them, and Gamzee's relatively warmer hands stroking everywhere they could reach, and heat pooling in--

Fuck--yeah, no, they really shouldn't be doing this.

John's own hands went lower on the troll's body, tracing along the little "V" of wiry muscle along his hips and dipping teasingly under his waistband.

The Bard moaned into their kiss and the Heir pressed impossibly closer, hands coming down to cup the clown's ass, then one sliding down to the back of his thigh. Seemingly on instinct, Gamzee lifted that leg up to hitch around John, giving him easy access to press that stupid codpiece of his in a far more specific angle, making the rage player gasp.

Though it was a double edged sword. The plush was now exactly between John's legs as well and the feeling was fucking dizzying.

Gamzee was the first to break their kiss, pulling away and resting his head feverishly on John's shoulder. His voice was strained as his hands shakily went to the small of the Heir's back.

"M-make me soak through this fucking codpiece and you will be helping me sew a motherfucking new one, you--ah--little f-fucking shit."

"Maybe I'm… I-I'm… just trying to do the Medium a favor." The teasing tone was marred only slightly by the breathlessness of both emissaries. "Did you ever think about that? Maybe everything would be a whole lot better if you had a normal fucking godtier outfit for once."

"Norm--fuck you! This is the normal godtier what for Bards."

"... I am pretty sure I have seen a godtiered Cronus running around, so I know you're telling the truth, and that honestly makes it so much worse."

Gamzee let out a small snort, the sound shaky from, no doubt, the gentle tracing John was still teasing his sides with. "D-do at me the smallest of fucking favors. Don't remind me of my sharing a class with the worst fucking troll in the motherfucking Medium."

It was John's turn to laugh, and he felt Gamzee grin at the sound. "Fair."

Almost absentmindedly, the Heir's fingers dipped beneath the Bard's waistband again, and Gamzee shuddered, squirming slightly as he buried his face deeper into John's bare shoulder. The leg that had hitched around him before was back, pressing that fucking codpiece even harder against his lower half and finally pulling a moan from the breath player.

Gamzee's hands reacted instantly, sliding along John's own waistband and making the Heir involuntarily arch into the touch before pausing at his belt buckle.

Fuck.

He should probably… um…

Okay. How did he put this?

"You can… um… D-do you need…" John floundered, feeling his face burn again as he tried to get the words out. This was…

Well, what he was about to ask would certainly take things a step further, wouldn't it?

"Humans don't really need them, so I don't know how… do you have… what you need on you? To not soak through your clothes?"

"... J-John," Gamzee pulled his head away from the Heir's shoulder to meet his eyes, expression unbelievably amused. "I'm not on my awareness of whatever the fuck my friends have tried at telling you of trolls, but I promise at you, you can say the word 'bucket' and I won't immediately die."

The Heir flushed. "I don't know how to phrase it, Gamzee. I don't know how trolls work!"

The Bard offered a shrug, the gesture infuriatingly casual for what they might be about to do.

"And I don't motherfucking know how humans work."

One hand was back on the Heir's belt buckle, the other pressed gently against the tent forming in John's pants he'd been desperately trying to ignore. He gasped as the heat from Gamzee's hand seeped through the gray fabric, involuntarily gripping the ragebound's sides harder and earning a small cry from the other clown.

Gamzee's voice was strained but soft as he whispered the next question in the Heir's ear.

"Wanna catch each other up?"

The Heir was officially too embarrassed to answer out loud, but instead brought one of his hands to help Gamzee undo his belt, tossing it to the side to join the ever-increasing pile of clothing in the corner. His other hand was at work pulling off Gamzee's undershirt as the Bard's hands moved to unbutton John's pants.

And then the Bard's pants were off, that fucking codpiece resting like a cherry on top of all of their clothing.

There was a small flash above them as Gamzee grabbed his bucket from his Sylladex before catching a glimpse of the nervousness in John's face, the Heir trying and failing not to look down at Gamzee's body. He hadn't really… gotten a glance, the little bit of the lithe frame he had seen already insanely attractive, but he'd seen sex scenes before from Beforan movies. He knew at least a little bit of what he was working with.

Did Gamzee? The Bard was looking at him searchingly, likely trying to figure out if John still wanted this.

"I am not going to freak you out with alien anatomy or anything, am I?"

The troll rolled his eyes. "Brother, your heretic friend was onto making it his mission what at drawing like 413 dicks across the meteor. I'm on my awareness of what you're shit should look like."

… Yeah, that sounded about right.

After setting the bucket down, Gamzee leaned back against the poorly drawn walls, noticeably hesitating.

"How about you, though?"

John blinked, realizing a little late that his nervousness the second their clothes were off might be giving the troll the wrong idea. He stepped back towards him, reaching for his waist to let him know he was okay.

"I am… we're fine. To keep going. I-I'm just nervous, that's all." The Heir looked away, that same anxious energy forcing the next words out of his mouth. "T-that was just kind of my first kiss, let alone… um…"

Gamzee's eyebrows shot up, a mischievous grin immediately spreading across his face. "Ninja, that was your first kiss?"

The Bard's hands found their way to John's hips again, pulling them close even as he shook his head, disbelieving. "If you weren't a fucking idiot, I'd be on my thoughts you were trying to brag."

John shot him a flat look even as he felt his face burn at the compliment. Gamzee's grin didn't waver as he pulled the breath player back into their kiss, the two clowns' bare skin now adding everything imaginable to the sensation.

Gamzee's leg wrapped around him again, giving him easy access to push inside his nook, and the time for thinking was over.

The troll whimpered into their kiss, squirming to get a better position and pulling John as close as they could physically be. The clown was flexible, shockingly so, guiding the human's hand to hold his leg up while grinding desperately down on his dick.

Holy fucking shit he felt amazing.

The other emissary was warm and slick, slurry from their prior activities already dripping down his thighs in a mess of purple, and as John started to thrust once Gamzee had adjusted, the rage player squeezed, ensuring both of them could feel exactly how deep the Heir was going.

The Bard's cries and moans got more desperate, making John pick up the pace even as he felt something warm and wet between his own legs.

Ah… the Bard's bulge seemed to be looking for… something that didn't exist.

… Y-yet.

Hesitantly, John reached down, running his fingers along the slick base and trying to coax the appendage back up before it found a hole he wasn't quite ready for yet. One of Gamzee's hands met him there, showing him how to stroke along the long pseudo-tentacle as his moans increased in volume.

After a point, John felt himself pressing up against something, and quickly had to catch the troll when he went weak at the knees.

The Bard had offered no explanation, but begged him to do it again if he could, practically clinging to the Heir as he gasped into his shoulder. The desperate sounds felt like they shot straight through him, and the Heir was finding it a lot harder to be gentle.

Neither emissary lasted much longer after that.

The sensation was completely overwhelming.

No cherubs.

No missions.

Just them, and the knowledge that each of them understood exactly what that reprieve meant.

They were in their own little pocket of time.

And they needed to make it fucking count.

John never wanted this shit to end, but even as he thought it, he felt both his and the purpleblood's muscles tense as Gamzee broke their kiss.

"B-bucket. Closer to you, p-please."

Quickly, the Heir untangled his hand from Gamzee's bulge to reach down for the pail, pushing it into the troll's waiting hand and watching as he squatted over it. He made to take a step back, but one of the Bard's hands, still slick with purple, grabbed his calf.

"C-come down with me."

John got down without questioning it. Gamzee immediately reached out to guide his hand back to his bulge, the Bard's own hand reaching for John.

Gamzee finished just before the Heir, and John could immediately see why the bucket was necessary. Fucking Messiahs, there was a lot that went into that pail.

… Holy shit, he had flung one of those into Karkat's face at one point.

Shakily, once finished, the purple pushed the bucket off to the side before collapsing onto the tile beneath them, pulling John down with him.

They sat there for a while. Just breathing together.

… Fuck, if only this could last forever.

But they did eventually have to go back.

John broke the silence first, his voice quiet, anxious.

"What… do you think they're going to do to us…?"

Gamzee breathed out, hesitantly grabbing one of John's hands and lacing their fingers together.

"I… I-I don't know…"

John squeezed back, shivering on the cold tile. Shit. Things had gotten so heated he'd forgotten why he had brought them both here in the first place.

The fear of the Muse hearing whatever newest way he'd failed her. Fear of how bad it was depending on whatever the fuck merging meant--

"So are you going to keep stalling, or are you going to finally give me a fucking merge definition."

"... You know brother, this may be a shock at you, but I've been a little motherfucking busy."

Chapter Text

One of the most well-known aspects of the Church of the Mirthful Messiahs, as well as the most misunderstood, was the concept of miracles.

To those on the outside, it was an easy stereotype: clowns waltzing around, honking their dumb little horns at shit and hoping and dreaming for miracles, even when it made absolutely no sense to even try to be optimistic about whatever was happening around them.

To those who did know their doctrine, miracles, the opposing force to revelations, were almost impossible to explain by their very nature.

Both were holy, of course, gifts from the Messiahs themselves, but neither came from the side you would expect. At least not based on the definitions everyone knew.

The Mirthful granted and worked through miracles, brief, desperately needed breaks cut to you seemingly out of nowhere, flashes of joy that reminded you that things were going to be okay. Life was worth it.

The high of a proper miracle could sustain your mood for weeks. They steelmanned your faith, solidified patterns in your mind. Strengthened your chucklevoodoos.

And set you up for devestating failure in the future, if you weren't fucking careful.

Miracles often reinforced the most desperately clung to lies in a clown's life, ensuring they were more susceptible to being duped in the future.

The greatest miracle of all was said to be brought about by The Vast Honk, the End of All Things, and the smaller horns clowns used called on that lore.

The little instruments were basically desperate prayers for a fucking break, loud and silly and absolutely startling on purpose.

The Merciful, on the other hand, both granted and worked through revelations, world-shattering, faith-shaking truths that rocked through your life in horrifying ways. They changed your mind. They changed your soul. They dragged your previous worldview kicking and screaming into the depths.

And if you were a purpleblood, the really bad ones practically took a fucking randomizer to your voodoos, making everything unfamiliar and volatile.

As hard as they were to go through, afterwards, those experiencing them would never want to go back to not knowing those truths. The knowledge gained was always very fucking needed to handle whatever life was going to throw at you next.

Revelations did technically also have their own small, silly instrument, but no one dared use them save for during very specific situations. It was a dangerous game to ask for revelations when your pan might not be ready for them.

Both sensations had a reputation of appearing when they would hit "hardest", miracles occurring after long periods of soul-crushing hopelessness, revelations when things had been going far too well for far too long.

And both could make clowns a hell of a lot more pious, depending on how well (or not) they were able to handle them.

"Shit used to be considered motherfucking holy."

"What did?"

"Merging."

John had watched as Gamzee sighed, leaning his head back against the wall behind them. The other clown had looked exhausted, but a good deal less agitated than he had been prior to their… recent activities.

"Used to be a tradition among the two highest of highs in the Church. Helped them get on the same page."

John still couldn't… process… what they had just done. It didn't quite feel real, so he was going to ignore the fact that they were still naked on the floor for the moment, Gamzee's bucket off to the side.

"What changed?"

"My schoolfeeds were never really much into details, but usually, any changes what were forced on the Church was the fault of seadwellers."

He waited for Gamzee to talk more, but he didn't. Multicolored flashing appeared above them as the other clown opened his Sylladex again, wordlessly handing John a Faygo Dreamin' (orange creamsicle flavored) before grabbing a Black Cherry for himself.

John took it with thanks before getting up, offering the Bard a hand before pulling him over to the sink.

The clown had absolutely looked like he was about to open his pop with his slurry-covered hands, and let's… lets maybe at least wash some stuff off first.

Though in the end, they had both come to the agreement that they just needed a full shower. Nutritionblock ablution cubbies wouldn't cut it.

As soon as the thought was out there, a door had appeared next to the strange parody of his father's gaming cabinet. After a brief moment of hesitation, the breath player had opened it, revealing another terribly drawn rendition of the bathroom of his childhood home.

At least the clown rug was accurate.

"... This juju is so fucking weird."

Gamzee had snorted. "Pretty motherfucking sure all of them are. What's this one on its ability for?"

"We're in a pocket space. Time isn't passing. We're not anywhere in the Medium. No outside influence can get to us. We're just… here. Until I put us back."

"A bookmark?"

"Gamzee, how in the fuck did you know to call it that?"

The clown had grinned lazily. "Motherfucking obvious, isn't it?"

"No! Stop making me feel like a fucking dumbass."

The smirk had only gotten wider. "Can't help you with that one, invertebrother."

John had gone first, at the other clown's insistence, trying to be quick about it just so Gamzee didn't have to wait for too terribly long.

But it was… hard not to zone out. Hard not to process everything that had just happened, free from Calliope interrupting his thoughts for once in… sweeps.

How long had it been? He didn't know actually. It was starting to get hard to keep track.

But he had just had his first kiss.

And… um… more than that.

Like a lot more than that.

Unbidden, a conversation he had had with Dave played through again in his head, long since past. It had been the first time they had all been able to meet up since getting separated for so long. The timebound had been so nervous to tell John that he may not be straight…

And John, while being genuinely okay with the news, had wondered aloud how being around trolls could "turn Dave gay".

Like an idiot.

Why the fuck was the Knight friends with him again?

He got it now, obviously. That conversation had actually saved the Heir a hell of a lot of stress as he'd spent so much time on Beforus. Beforan society acknowledged preferences in sexuality, individual people often having different "types" between different genders, but the idea of anyone fully limiting their experiences to a single sex was so utterly foreign to trolls that as he had spent more and more time there, no humans around to even remind himself of what Earth had been like…

The "gay" or "straight" or "whatever else" shit had just kind of… fallen away.

And it had stayed away for his entire time flirting with Kurloz.

Now that something had actually happened… with Gamzee, no less… not so much.

Would his dad… have been okay with this…?

With him being with guys?

Would Dave? That was almost a silly question, considering Dave had very much wondered the same thing about him, but his best friend didn't exactly process new information well.

What if he could handle either John being someone who could be attracted to dudes, or John being a clown, but John being a clown that could be attracted to dudes was just too much to bear. Especially a clown that apparently had a thing for other clowns based on his… choices so far.

Would him being a semi-gay clown be the straw that broke the humpbeast's back in their friendship?

… What a stupid fucking sentence.

With a huff, the Heir sealed his paint, hair freshly gelled and new clothes (distinctly not blood-covered) put on before stepping back out into the fake kitchen, ushering Gamzee into the SBAHJ-esque bathroom as he figured out what to do with himself.

With the cherubs' influence fully gone for a second, he finally felt hungry for the first time in sweeps. Idly, he wondered if the same had happened to the clown currently showering in the room next to him.

… Well, even if he couldn't be sure if his dad would have… approved of him. Anymore. He did know the man would have one hundred percent approved of his next actions.

Gamzee was barely out the door to the ablutions before he froze, looking from John to the lopsided kitchen table he was currently setting.

"You can tell me what merging is while we eat."

"Motherfucker, did you just make us fucking pancakes?"

"No, I made us Funfetti pancakes. The only real pancakes. Grab a chair, dude. I made like 20 of them."

"Oh my fucking god?"

"Were all beaches on Alternia and Beforus this… sparse?" Rose looked around the memory bubble curiously. She hadn't been to this area yet, though she had also had very little reason to properly explore many of the voidbubbles once discovering the ghosts' general… personalities.

At least until now.

"Usually, yeah!" Came the cheerful reply from the burgundyblood next to her, the two walking side by side down the prospit-yellow brick path in front of them.

"The only people who really dared to live on beaches on Alternia were purples. And they kind of had to, considering their lusii. I'm not sure many of them would want to live so close to the ocean otherwise, just because of how vicious seadwellers were."

The Maid paused, the smile aimed in Rose's direction bordering on sly. "No offense."

Rose simply sighed in reply. "Did John tell you?"

"Hah! So I was right?"

… And she'd given herself away again.

The timeplayer had shocked her when Rose had first met up with her, the Seer figuring the self-appointed "Caretaker of the Afterlife" would have the information she was looking for. She had only been meaning to gather a bit of extra data on Kurloz: who he was, what he was like, and how she could meet him.

The overexuberant Maid had instead joyfully pumped her for as much information as she could as she had led her away from the main memory bubbles, complaining that John had given her exactly zero details about him "finally catching her up".

… It certainly seemed that John and her had come to be good friends.

How much more did she know about the Heir than Rose herself?

A fair bit, apparently. In an absolutely startling lack of time, the Maid had come to the conclusion that Rose was attempting to meet Kurloz based on whatever John had told her, and had blatantly admitted that she knew the humans were turning into trolls.

And now she'd just been clocked as a future seadweller.

They had literally only been talking for ten minutes.

Not that she could hide the last part for long. Whatever bits of gray she had first discovered had since spread a fair bit, almost fully covering her arm and beginning to stretch onto her shoulder. Dave had fared no better, admitting that his left leg was almost completely gray at this point.

It was easy enough to cover up. The Seer had simply taken a page from John's book, using white paint she had alchemized for specifically this purpose.

… The violet webbing slowly creeping between the fingers on her right hand would be much harder to hide once it got a bit more pronounced, though.

The Maid finally seemed to have found the spot she was looking for, pulling them off the yellow walking path and messing with something off to the side as the faux ocean gently lapped at the shores around them.

… It was getting kind of hard to look out into the sea, honestly. She kept wanting to dive in.

And keep in.

And she didn't have gills yet, so that would probably end poorly.

"So!" Aradia looked at her, startling her out of her reverie. "What did you… think?"

"About what?"

"John's paint. Do you know how long it took me to convince him to finally tell someone? He was so afraid you would think he was joining the Condesce, or something."

Oh, yeah.

"It was surprising to be certain. John, to my knowledge, has always had quite a complex outlook on clowns. To find that he had finally joined their ranks was…"

Startling? Foreboding? Weirdly correct in a way she couldn't find herself capable of shaking off if she tried?

"It was unexpected, but I'm hoping he gets some relief out of it. The paint is flattering, and if he's finally comfortable being more forward with his beliefs, all the better… though, I wish he would tell me more about them."

The burgundy gave her an odd look. "More about them…? Were the Mirthful Messiahs not much of a thing on your planet?"

"They weren't a thing at all on our planet."

"Oh," The Maid looked a little taken aback, finally finishing with whatever she had been fiddling with. Where previously a completely blank stretch of beach had greeted them, a tall, rather rickety looking hive now stood before them.

"Do you know anything about them? About the Mirthful Messiahs and… what people believe about them?"

"Oh, uh," Aradia's laugh, if anything, seemed to have taken on a bit of a nervous tint.

"I'm not sure how well I can answer, honestly! I'm no clown myself. Non-purples very rarely get the sweeps of education you need to be able to take a pattern. But I do… believe in it. Kind of hard not to."

… Interesting.

"So then, would you prefer I ask Kurloz?"

"… I mean, I'm sure he could handle it! Probably. Total sidenote, are you and John just friends?"

The Seer blinked at the Maid, taking a slightly embarrassing amount of time to answer. "Aradia… where did that question come from?"

The troll grinned at her, leading her up to Kurloz' front steps. "Believe it or not, that question isn't just me being nosy. It's important, based on the questions you're asking here."

"... And it's also you being nosy."

"And it's also me being nosy!" Her grin widened as she agreed, stopping them both just before the door to the clown's hive.

"We…" The light player trailed off. She'd finally been able to hold a conversation with Kanaya about it, and the Sylph had been, predictably, rather taken aback. She'd known better than to mention absolutely anything regarding clownhood to the jade, but had mentioned that John wasn't… doing well. And that the two of them were rather interested in attempting a pale relationship.

The jade had frozen. And then kept frozen. And then asked if she and John would actually be entering a pale quadrant, or if it would be a human relationship mimicking moirallegiance.

After being assured that it would be a proper quadrant, and that a certain other quadrant of Rose's was more than still available, she'd been far more encouraging.

"We may… enter into a moirallegiance. Soon, I'm hoping."

Burgundy eyes practically glittered back at her. "Oh, that's so cute. You two would be such a pale power couple. It's also very lucky!"

"What do you mean?"

The burgundy reached up to give a couple smart knocks on the door in front of them. "Do yourself and John a favor. Wait until you're moirails. Proper moirails. And then ask him whatever you want about the Church."

"... Why do I need to wait?"

"Clowns get a pass on their quadrants."

Kurloz opened his door before Rose had a chance to ask what she meant.

"Long story short, our voodoos are all going to start syncing up."

John paused, pouring a healthy amount of maple syrup over his stack of pancakes before handing the bottle over to the troll across from him.

"Why didn't you just say that? Sync up how?"

The troll made a face. "The 'how' is the reason what it's taken me so motherfucking long on wording this."

Gamzee took a bite of pancake, chewing contemplatively while John waited, working on his own stack.

He'd been right to make them, at least. With the cherubic influence gone, they'd both been fucking starving.

"Both our shit will get stronger, at least. A lot fucking stronger." Gamzee shrugged. "It's the reason I'm thinking it was banned in the first place. Made Clowntown too much of a threat."

"So what will happen?"

The troll sighed. "A lot of what all you hear of merging is more… myth than on record, you know? Any clowns what actually merged were culled so… legends was all we had. There are tales what tell of The Grand Highblood and The Scarecrow mass chucklevood'ing multiple planets in one go, once they'd synced proper. Motherfuckers have claimed what they could jump from pan to pan, leave one body empty while two clowns operated one. Or even swap husks should they get their need on for it."

John blinked, frowning. A lot of that sounded… a little too grandiose to be true.

And one of those titles sounded oddly familiar. Where the hell had he heard it before?

"Is there anything you know for sure will happen?"

The clown winced. "I may not be on my knowledge of what's actually waiting for us at the end, but I… know what will happen in the meantime. That's the part they use to warn clowns with."

John frowned, waiting for him to go on.

"Our voodoos have to be having the same... ups and downs. In order to sync up right. So to make that happen, our pans will… be onto making us re-experience each other's ups and downs."

"Ups and downs…" John repeated, a sliver of fear entering his voice even as he tried to distract himself with more rainbow sprinkles. "All of them?"

"... All our miracles and revelations, yeah. In… our dreams."

…

Fuck.

"And there is no way to stop it? Or… shield each other from the worst bits?"

"N-no…" The troll swirled butter onto the top of his stack, looking like he was fidgeting more than anything. "The dreams… kind of force you at experiencing it exactly like the other clown experienced it. I-I think at the very least we'll know what each other's on their dreaming about. So we can… know what each other just… went through. Check in if we need to…"

The purpleblood was practically squirming by this point under John's gaze and… John couldn't blame him.

This was not going to be a good time.

… For either of them.

"So that's why you told me about Dave…"

Gamzee swallowed, very much avoiding eye contact. "You'll, uh… you'll be seeing that whole motherfucking mess eventually, yeah."

… And Gamzee would be seeing Game Over. He'd be seeing the Green Book. He'd be seeing that stupid fucking breakdown on the ship with Jade, and him beating the shit out of Caliborn. And Calliope showing him the Candy timeline.

And whatever… he'd been about to think in Gamzee's hideout.

Did Calliope erase it when she scolded him..?

Whatever. Fuck, he'd had a lot of revelations lately.

As well as his little miracles… Beforan Aradia not turning him in. Alternian Aradia giving him the wand. Rose not rejecting him outright for the paint. Calliope saving him just on time from his mission. Finding out he could actually help Kurloz.

The last one might be a little weird, considering Gamzee's relationship with his dancestor hardly seemed to be on the best of terms.

But this whole situation was weird, so there was probably no avoiding that.

"Are there… is there a pattern to it? Do you know when we are going to start having these dreams?"

"We should be having at least a little motherfucking time there. Got until your pattern heals."

…

His pattern had basically already healed.

"So the next time I fall asleep."

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

"Hey Kurloz! This," Aradia proclaimed dramatically, waving her hands in the Seer's direction. "Is Rose."

The mime in front of her blinked, looking at the human standing on his front doorstep with a hesitant nod. Rose gave a small, mysterious smile back, nodding in return.

Those stitches… Had this person actually sewn their mouth shut? What exactly had made John fall for him?

"Rose is John's Very Good Friend Who Likes to Make Sure He's Okay." The burgundy continued, her grin becoming ever-more-delighted as she heard the soft huff Rose gave next to her in response.

Perhaps it had been a small mistake to let the Maid in on her and John's hesitant quadrant status.

"She may or may not have heard something through the spherical fruit string about recent activities you two have been participating in and wanted to meet you!"

It was Rose's turn to blink, looking over at the Maid and then back to Kurloz with a raised eyebrow.

"Activities?"

Had John and this ghost already gotten into a quadrant and performed… the extracurriculars often expected therein?

Like… John as in John Egbert, the literal bane to the very concept of quadrants, if you listened to a certain Knight of Blood's thoughts on the matter?

The sheer magnitude of the tantrum Dave and Karkat would throw if they found out the Heir had game would be a spectacle unmatched for the rest of history, if it were true.

The Prince's eyes had widened, giving Aradia a look while shaking his head at Rose, hands raised in what very much seemed to be a "no, wait" gesture.

Aradia ignored him, turning to Rose with the unmatched cheer of someone who knew exactly how much chaos they could cause with only a few more words.

"Oh yes, Kurloz here has been teaching John how to put his fronds to wonderful use!"

Aradia's grin was blinding as Kurloz looked at her helplessly, and Rose suddenly had a very strong inkling that if she knew how to look for it, the troll would be blushing pretty hard at the moment under all of that paint.

Hm… John's blush had been on his neck. What's the most embarrassing way she could put this?

"So, you two have had relations?"

Aradia let out a shriek of laughter while Kurloz smacked a hand into his forehead, blatantly refusing to look at his two guests.

Ahhh, she needed to look at his ears. Every ounce of whatever flush the purpleblood had going for him at the moment could be found there, in absence of being able to look at his face.

"Oh, I knew bringing you right to him would be a fantastic idea!" Aradia grinned at her before turning to the mortified purpleblood in front of them.

"Anyway! Are you busy? Rose wanted to get to know you! See if you're good company for the friend she's totally platonically looking out for."

… Well, Rose thought as she fought down the urge to sigh. She supposed it was only fair that she had to take it as well as she could dish it out.

The mime looked a bit hesitant, glancing at Rose before making a few quick signs in Aradia's direction.

"Great! A little socialization never hurt anyone anyway." The burgundy turned to the Seer. "Just message me if you need help finding your way back to the ship!"

Kurloz shot her a deadpan look, a few more signs thrown her way.

"You don't know that. I could be incredibly invested today watching Rufioh try to have a decent conversation with Horuss. It's only been two millennia. He's getting close."

The Prince rolled his eyes at her before waving Rose into his hive, closing the door unceremoniously on a wickedly grinning Aradia before walking over to a nearby coffee table to pick up what looked like a whiteboard.

ACTUALLY WANT TO MEET? OR DID SHE JUST BRING YOU HERE?

That was probably a fair question. Rose gave him another smile, more sincere than the last one she had sent his way.

"Oh, I did truly wish to meet you. Meenah has been going around, claiming John impressed you into inducting him into your religion."

The troll scowled, rapidly writing his answer.

NOT A THING.

She hummed, amused. "John said much the same when I asked him about it, though he did mention that you've been helping him lately." She raised her shoulders in the closest approximation of nonchalance she could manage. "And from how bashful he was when he said it, I can assume he meant in more ways than one."

That flush was back, far gentler than it had been in reaction to Aradia's teasing.

… Which brought her to her next question.

"... Are the two of you in a quadrant? It's been a fair while since I've been able to see him. I have no way of knowing."

The purple dusting the troll's ears brightened as he shook his head.

ALSO HAVENT SEEN IN A WHILE. HAD TO CANCEL FEW LAST PLANS.

She raised her eyebrows, and at the silent question the troll quickly wiped the board clean.

NOTHING WRONG. FORGOT OTHER PLANS.

… Porrim had mentioned the troll in front of her was a total shut-in. "Do you have many of those?"

Another shake of the head.

WHY I FORGOT.

… Fair enough.

"So then how… I guess I'm simply wondering how the two of you met. Did you meet specifically to talk about your religion?" She glanced around the hive, noting the absolutely egregious amount of carnival paraphernalia around them.

Is this… did John recognize the clowns on the posters around them?

Did he worship them? Did the clown in front of her pray to them?

Kurloz snorted, watching as she glanced around his hive. The look he gave her was a bit resigned.

CLOWNS TALK ON REGULAR SHIT TOO.

Well, he could hardly blame her for asking with his choice of decor.

"Understandable, I suppose I simply wondered because John almost never… made his beliefs clear. Before you helped him, that is."

There was a brief pause as the mime hesitated.

:o?

Rose looked at the Prince for a second, trying to figure out what she should or shouldn't say. Was there a possibility she could get John in hot water here?

She was likely overthinking this.

"I suppose… well, in hindsight it's fairly obvious, but I never connected the dots before this, if that makes sense."

The mime tilted his head slightly, confusion clouding white, dead eyes.

"John being a clown. He never told any of us. He mentioned magic tricks on occasion, his Prankster's Gambit is still the highest of anyone I've ever met in my life, and of course he has that all-important joke book of his. But he never… painted. Not before you. Even though he mentioned to me that he's had that pattern for practically as long as he can remember."

Careful understanding clicked on the mime's face. His next answer was erased several times before he turned the whiteboard for Rose to see.

PAINTS PERSONAL. LOT OF REASONS NOT TO.

Hm… well, that brought new questions to the front of her mind, but before she could ask, Kurloz seemed to have beat her to it, scribbling out the question as she opened her mouth.

JOKE BOOK?

Oh, dammit.

Had John not mentioned Sassacre to Kurloz?

… Why?

Wasn't the book itself incredibly important to their belief system? Why wouldn't the Heir want Kurloz to know?

Maybe he hadn't had the chance to? It certainly wasn't her own information to just give out to someone she didn't know yet.

… But the clown in front of her might be able to tell her so much more about it.

…

Light kept glimmering in the back of her mind. A fount of knowledge about what could be going on with her friend was just standing in front of her, practically taunting her with what he knew that she didn't.

What she wouldn't give to just crack the mime open like a skeleton-themed geode and examine all of the pieces under a microscope.

John had to tell him eventually, right?

Did… had they even met up enough for John to be able to tell him about them all becoming trolls? Aradia knew, so Kurloz probably did too, right?

Maybe she could… skirt around some topics here, just in case.

"Nothing much to worry about. An incredibly expensive heirloom of his, written by an ancestor. He actually got me a copy once, after I asked a few times, but I… never truly understood it."

Kurloz was staring at her, his expression completely unreadable.

STILL HAVE IT?

"No, I returned it to him with an apology, though he seemed pretty cheerful about it regardless, all things considered."

Kurloz' brow furrowed, his expression cautious, but he made no moves to write anything else.

After a bit too long of a pause, she cocked an eyebrow at him, shaking him out of whatever thought process had frozen him in place.

The mime gestured to his couch, scribbling on the board.

WANT DRINK?

"... Do you have anything other than Faygo?"

That finally earned her a small smile, accompanied with an eye roll.

TEA?

"Perfect."

Dave Strider was so very, very many things.

Amateur photographer, DJ extraordinaire, rapper, artist, SBAHJ creator, quiet archeology enthusiast, and irony connoisseur supreme. Bitches wished they had the levels of control over their fucking accomplishments and hobbies that Dave had mastered since he was a kid. He held more titles than Hulk Fucking Hogan, thank you very much.

One title he hadn't quite realized he fully owned was becoming abundantly apparent lately, though.

Dave Strider was a tried and true "Being a Human" enjoyer.

And he hadn't exactly been able to fucking realize this extremely key componant of his character until he'd woken up this morning, a strong but weirdly muted ache shooting through his stomach and… lower.

Shakily, the human grabbed his shades from his nightstand nearby, swinging his legs out of bed and almost collapsing with a yelp at the corresponding wave of heat that shot through his abdomen.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, he hated this immediately.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He'd been trying to convince himself for however long it had been (he could find out for sure with his time shit, but he didn't want to) that turning gray is where it would stop. He and Rose weren't actually becoming trolls. They were just going fully fucking nuts, imagining horns on each other, and they were going to be gray but okay. All of the humans meeting up after however much longer this stupid voyage would take would be able to look at all of their gray but still extremely human faces and laugh about this.

Being lusus-white in the mirror had started to look super weird to him anyway.

But as some connection somewhere was made inside him and heat shot again through his body, collectively pooling between his legs, it was probably time to pay the fucking piper on that embarassing-ass, pathetic fucking fantasy.

Because troll junk was a little different than human junk and he was getting educated as fuck on that right now.

Keeping a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping out loud, the Knight got dressed, sliding his ever-handy godtier pajamas over his torso and, with some effort, pulling on his pants before awkwardly making his way from his room to the bathroom nearby, immediately closing himself into a stall to take a look at what was happening.

…

A-actually.

Actually, it would probably be a better idea to wait this the fuck out and not witness whatever Deviantart-ass shit he'd just seen down there.

That solved the mystery of his stupid soon-to-be horns, at least.

Rose had made good on her promise to show his drawing to Kanaya, telling her exactly what she'd told him she would tell her. The jade had been more than willing to help, but after looking through her various books and schoolfeeds, had come back to Rose wanting a bit more information.

The Sylph had been kind of insistent, wanting to know if they had for sure seen this horn type in Alternian media, or if it had been Beforan media. After being pressed on why this was important, the jade had admitted that grubs with that horn type were… rare.

And that her caste had had the unfortunate duty, more often than not, of ensuring they stayed that way.

She had neglected to tell Rose why, simply admitting that Alternia had been a rather cruel planet, but she had seemed so fucking hopeful at the idea that someone had "actually managed to sneak one by".

And now, as he stared at the lime staining his thighs as whatever was happening between his legs kept happening, he had figured out the reason why.

He'd never been more grateful to have the world's most lore-hungry lunatic as his ecto-sister.

When they'd first met up with the trolls, Rose had been incredibly gung-ho about exploring every aspect of their culture. Once they'd hit the dreambubbles, and Kankri let it slip that there was an entire caste of people who had been eradicated from day to day life on Alternia, she had grilled the dude within an inch of his unlife for further information.

Not that that asshole minded infodumping, but he seemed more than a little taken aback that someone actually wanted him to.

Limebloods, before their eradication on Alternia, had been something like fucked up social workers.

Antisocial workers, you could say.

Their very original purpose, back in the ye olde days of trolldom or whatever, had been as freshwater fishermen, often diving in and out of the dangerous lakewaters dotting the landscape to provide delicious, fishy sustenance to their fellow landdwellers, before some seawater fuck had decided that fish was a seadwellers only kinda deal and disallowed it.

To prevent any other castes from having sympathy to the, at the time, incredibly common caste, they'd been given a meager jurisdiction over their fellow lowbloods.

Like relationship counselors who could cull you.

They had been fully put in charge of policing the "morality" of their peers, particularly pertaining to how they went about their private lives, completely ignored by anyone Olive and higher, and generally disliked by anyone lower than that.

But that had actually been a precursor to what was coming.

Kankri had put forward the theory that the added responsibilities of limes had been a way to ensure the entire planet hated them, very specifically because of a unique ability the majority of them had.

The touch of a limeblood, one who fucking meant it anyway, was said to be able to calm even the most bloodthirsty fuschia.

Like a fucking tranquilizer with legs.

That level of shit had been completely unacceptable to the hemospectrum-obsessed planet, and once the Condesce had officially taken her "rightful place" as the next empress, she had decreed that limes had to go, putting out a planet wide hit list on every single lime alive.

And apparently put the onus on jades to keep it that way, if what Kanaya said had anything to do with anything.

One last wave of searing heat, vicious and awful, wracked through his lower body, taking the Knight by surprise as he let out a cry before smacking a hand back over his mouth.

His other hand was shaking as he tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe the mess off his inner legs with a bit of toilet paper.

If he was going to be a limeblood, literally none of the trolls out there could help him, could they?

A-and whatever he had between his legs now… he was stuck with, wasn't he?

He would never have a human dick again. Just whatever crazy troll equivalent they had, mixed with something entirely new.

This was… fuck…

He… he couldn't keep dealing with this alone, but who the fuck could help him now?

To the Knight's horror, tears sparked just behind his eyes, a small sob ripping from his throat before he could stop it.

Whatever changes had happened seemed mostly done, leaving the Knight sore as he tried to clean up, trying desperately to ignore the fact that he now had... far more to clean than he would have had previously.

A nook. He could call it what it fucking was. He had a nook now.

He was too dazed to hide his tears as he made the small trip back to his room

The time player had literally barely closed his door and thrown himself back into bed before he heard a tentative knock.

"Um… Dave? You haven't been around today, and I just… um.. I just saw…"

… Goddammit, of course Karkat managed to see him in the twenty-five seconds it had taken for him to get to his room. They had always managed to witness each other's most embarrassing moments on this meteor. Why would now be any different?

Hesitantly, he got up, wiping off his face in a hurry and opening his door barely a crack.

"Hey, man. Uh, yeah. Just watching crow videos while shitting. Those tiny, feathery assholes always get me, you know? Nothing to worry about. Probably the least worrying thing on this fucking meteor, you feel? Just sad I can't be harassed in my room by the damn things ever again since our planet bit the fucking dust, that's all."

There was a pause as the short, chubby little troll stared at him for a moment.

"I-I promise. I'm fine."

Karket winced.

"... Can I come in?"

Dave hesitated.

Then opened his door for him.

Chapter Text

Rose repressed a sigh for what may have been the fifth time that day.

This visit was giving her far more questions than answers, due in no part to the rather… limited means of communication left to the mime in front of her.

She was so curious how John had taken an interest in him. She was fairly certain her friend didn't know any sign language. How did they speak with each other?

Unless it was purely through this godforsaken whiteboard.

She'd gotten the formalities out of the way: the incredibly platonic duty of promising the troll that if the two did enter a quadrant, and he hurt John, she'd force the Heir to tell her about it so she could rip those stitches out of his mouth herself and sew it back up with his severed bulge inside.

Of course, idle threats fell a little short when the person you were talking to was already dead, and his only means of responding were quick, little answers with a dry erase marker.

The promise had completely bounced off him, though he'd complimented her for getting creative about it, seeming, weirdly, a little relieved.

When she asked, all she got in return was a sheepish little shrug and a few quick words.

GLAD HE HAS YOU.

… Flattery might get him somewhere.

Kurloz, for what it was worth, seemed patient about his only real means of communication, even if it felt like it took a good deal more time than simply talking or typing would have. It couldn't be easy having to handwrite all of your answers out to someone rather than simply signing them, if only Rose knew how to interpret what the dead teenager was saying.

But that wasn't the only thing keeping answers from her.

The mime was almost… coy. With how he interacted with her questions, always just believably enough misinterpreting a question or not giving her enough information whenever she gave him a desperately sought after query.

No matter what angle she took, no matter how she led into it, no matter how relentless she was, the mime seemed to take everything with a slight smile, gently dodging her questions or attempting to distract her with tidbits that ended up leading nowhere.

He was by far the most cagey whenever she attempted to ask about his spirituality. She'd almost immediately inquired about what Aradia had said about clowns "getting a pass" with their relationships. A pass on what?

The clown had simply answered her question with a question.

TOLD YOU TO ASK JOHN?

"... Perhaps."

The nod he gave her in return was irritatingly chipper.

SHES RIGHT. BETTER ANSWERS.

"Ugh, but why?"

His first question was modified a tad before he flipped it back to her.

ASK JOHN. HELL KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU.

… What the hell did that mean?

The Prince's unwillingness to answer her questions certainly didn't stop him from asking his own, though. Interspersed between all of her own investigation attempts were little probes here and there, mostly pertaining to the joke book John still apparently hadn't mentioned to him.

… She may have caused something here for her friend without meaning to.

But she… didn't quite want to avoid answering these quandaries.

His questions, ironically, were giving far more of a potential glance into that belief system of his than any of his answers.

Nothing bad could come of anything if she simply… regaled him of her own experiences, right? Irrespective of anything John had informed her of Sassacre, it was as if she was simply recounting a silly story about an internet friend.

And the book he had blatantly told her was a lost and highly sought after tome for a potentially dangerous religion.

Kurloz seemed particularly interested in the fact that John had gotten her a brand new copy without telling her, question after question pertaining to anything from the number of times she'd asked John about the book before the box showed up at her door, to the contents of the book itself.

The Heir followed Sassacre to the letter. Had he also followed some kind of protocol when sending her a copy…?

She did, for the breathbound's sake, conceal any information about the specific subject matter inside the tome, merely hinting at what she thought might be unimportant, but the mime appeared to have hooked onto a couple details anyway.

In particular, he had really started paying attention when she had accidentally let it slip that the book recognized different pranking styles.

… The Heir might be pretty annoyed with her if he found out about this conversation, honestly.

The Prince was, at the very least, more willing to tell her about himself than his ideology, cheerfully admitting that he was a pretty boring person, spending the majority of time holed up in his hive, reading books, playing video games, practicing his various clown things, and watching movies when the mood struck him.

Rose had offered a smile at the last one. "Are movies what you and John ended up talking about?"

A vaguely shy nod was her reply.

"Did you watch Con Air? He adores that film."

Kurloz shook his head, scribbling on the board.

SCOOBY DOO :o)

Ah, kid's movies.

What was it with her guy friends and having the most adorable non-dates they could?

Dave and Karkat had quietly watched a ton of kid's shows on the meteor as well, tucked away where they thought no one knew what they were up to and quoting Space Jam to each other for weeks afterwards.

… Rose supposed children's media did make for good, light date material. She'd never watched many herself growing up, preferring books to television. Perhaps Kanaya might actually enjoy something like that…?

She could always ask the Sylph when she returned to the meteor.

… And perhaps get Dave or John or Jade (once this maddeningly long voyage was over) to recommend something to watch if she was interested, considering her distinct lack of kid's film experience.

Oh!

But she did know of one movie Kurloz would likely enjoy very much with John, a charming little thing the Heir had actually recommended to her offhand years ago, practically when they'd all first met, before she grew weary of his… unique media taste.

"Has he shown you Spooky House?"

Blinking, the mime cocked an eyebrow, a small smile on his face as he shook his head.

"John watched that movie practically more than anything else when we were all quite young. It's a sweet little film, and, I'm certain, still important to him. Mention it to him the next time you're together, and I'm sure he'll show it to you."

For just one moment, dead eyes seemed very alive as the troll lit up at the suggestion.

"Dave, I don't know how to tell you this, but I am, in fact, a fucking person. New information will not kill me. Something is fucking bothering you. Something big. And if you don't want to share for your own sake, that's fine, but if you're holding back in any way due to some kind of perceived fragility on my end, you can shove that sentiment straight up your fucking ass."

Dave groaned, placing his head back on his knees from where he had pulled his legs up to his chest, tucked into a little corner on his bed by the wall. The troll was sitting just across from him, his ever-present annoyed tone at complete odds with the concern practically visibly radiating off of his body.

H-he got it, okay? He knew he was acting weird.

But how did a dude stop acting weird when his entire shit just changed?

And that change was just going to keep fucking going, whether he wanted it to or not.

"Yeah, dude? You think you can handle whatever sack of bullshit I throw in your fucking direction?" Fuck, the pain still cramping through his abdomen was making his tone a little challenging without him meaning for it to be.

Thank Jegus he'd never cracked any "are you on your period" jokes at Rose. Beyond being a very good way to end his life immediately (it'd be a Just death, don't even play), he had always thought those "jokes" were a little exaggerated.

But it turns out that your internal organs randomly deciding to kill your entire stomach and back and… lower than that… was in fact a great way to make you feel a bit more fucking hostile.

Who'da thunk.

… Trolls better not have periods. That would actually genuinely be too much for the Knight to handle for the rest of his immortal fucking life.

Please.

Please, no.

… They didn't give birth so he was probably safe, right?

Did he need to find some kind of fucking troll puberty book or something?

"Don't pull that shit with me. You know I can handle whatever you tell me, bulgesucker."

"Yeah? You fucking sure about that?"

"Yes?" The troll was looking at him incredulously. "What the absolute fuck, Dave. You can tell me anything. We've established this how many times now? Stop being a fucking dipshit. You've had your frond over your nutrition bladder basically since I entered your room. Are you sick? Are you patient fucking zero for some kind fucked up human disease happening here?"

Dave winced, said hand immediately leaving his stomach to join his other arm, wrapped around his legs.

He didn't answer.

There was silence for a moment, something neither Knight knew quite how best to fill.

Finally, Karkat tried again.

"... Is it some kind of embarrassing human problem you don't want me to know about? If so, I can fucking leave. I'm just con--… I-I mean, you don't usually…" Karkat's tone was getting weaker as he continued, clearly starting to flounder a bit.

… Alright, yeah he should… he should probably rip off this bandaid. Put them both out of their fucking misery.

"I-It's not… an embarrassing human problem, no."

Another pause.

"I… really don't like the way you said that."

"Yeah, me neither," It was barely a mutter as the Knight pulled up his left pant leg, showcasing what he knew was a fully gray limb by this point, refusing to look at the troll in front of him.

Silence stretched on again, a good deal more painful than the last.

Because this one kept going.

Finally, it got to be a bit too much, and Dave swallowed before looking up from where he had hidden his face in his knees.

The little troll in front of him was still as stone.

"... It's not body paint, if you're wondering."

Karkat didn't reply, though his gaze did flick up to meet Dave's, hidden behind his shades though it was, before turning back to his very troll-gray skin, those semi-red eyes of his wide as saucers.

Silence kept ticking on, each second passing adding another drop of anxiety into the time player's stomach.

.

..

…

……

………

"O-okay, yeah. Th-this was a mistake. This was such a fucking mistake. Forget I showed you anything, dude. It was all a fucking prank. Forget about it. Forget about everything. Nothingswrongeverythingsfinesorry," The words fell out of his mouth a mile a minute as he shoved down his pant leg again and moved to get up, startling the bloodbound out of whatever had frozen him solid.

"N-No! Dude. Fuck," The other Knight got up with him, his expression immediately panicked as his arms stretched wide to keep him from reaching his door. "Just give me some time to--w-we all thought we were going fucking nuts, okay?! Just give me a second--I-I'm sorry I should have said something fucking sooner."

If normal worry was a foothill, Karkat's expression was the fucking Alps as he tried to plead with the timebound.

"I'm just a fucking idiot, okay? Please don't shut me out. J-just tell me what happened! What the fuck is happening? When did this start?"

"I don't know what's fucking happening, okay dude?" Absolute dread had started to seep into his voice, quiet though he was trying to keep it, and he was not a fucking fan.

"Rose and I just started turning fucking gray one day. She's been fucking hiding it with actual body paint since the shit's on her arm. A-apparently she saw John however long ago in the dream bubbles and he's been going through the same thing, so we think it's happening to all the hum--w-wait a minute."

The human stopped dead as something the troll said finally registered.

"What do you mean we? Who all are you talking about? Who thought they lost their minds? W-we've all been hidin' this fucking shit for a reason, man. It's kind of fuckin' terrifying. Did you clock us and never clue us the fuck in? D-did you just let us keep going like this?"

Karkat winced at what Dave knew had to be an absolutely desperate look on his face, eyes concealed or not.

"Rose and I have been the ones debating our fucking grasp on reality here. Who's we and what in the hell have you fuckers been sayin' about us?!"

Try as he might, his voice was nothing but quiet panic. His stupid Texan accent was slipping. His chill was officially completely out the fucking window.

And he didn't care because Karkat needed to tell him what he meant right the fuck now. Had the trolls noticed this entire time and just let Rose and him suffer in silence like they had fully intended to keep doing until it became too obvious?

There was a bit too long of a pause again.

"Okay, no. No, you know what? I'm sorry. Maybe I-I just need a second."

Dave went to gently push Karkat out of his room. This was fine. Everything could be fine. He just had to… H-he just let someone know something they apparently shouldn't know, so now he had to figure out how to deal with that.

Karkat grabbed his hands and his brain finally quieted down for a fucking second.

"Dave, Please listen to me. Please. I'm fucking prostrating myself on the floor here, groveling like I just angered a whole fucking courtblock of the most bloodthirsty legislacerators you've seen in your fucking life."

The Knight swallowed, but didn't say anything.

"P-please."

"..."

"Please."

He was shaking. He knew he had to be shaking, but he let Karkat lead them both to sit down again on his bed.

"I-It was nothing like--we didn't know this was happening. We all just thought our pans were glitching out and making us remember shit that wasn't true."

"Again, I ask you, who the fuck is 'we'. What were you remembering?"

"Everyone! O-okay? Are you happy now? Everyone on this meteor, Aradia, and a couple of the ghosts. We… a-a few of the Beforan trolls and us got together a while ago, discussing what we were basically considering mass insanity."

The troll shook his head, everything about his body language absolutely begging his fellow Knight to hear him out.

"I-I straight up have memories of looking at John the first time, seeing his absolutely terrifying fucking lusus, and wondering how someone who grew up like that could be such a massive, pathetic dweeb."

Dave stilled. Soft hands squeezed his for comfort as Karkat continued.

"Terezi has weeks worth of memories of teasing you about your 'cute, little horns'. Kanaya can recall in absolute picture perfect detail what Rose's very underwater fucking hive looked like through our monitors. Vriska went on for a fucking decade about some shit, but basically everyone in the meeting tuned her out after the eighth paragraph of fucking backstory. I couldn't tell you what she remembers if you fucking paid me. Gamzee didn't join the meeting… but he told me he has memories of me bitching to him about Jade in some weird way that couldn't be true either."

…

"A-and the Beforan trolls?"

"Apparently there was some kind of… fight? Earlier? That some of them saw. Some godtier human bleeding out, probably from Jack Noir or something, I don't know. The human survived, and they all saw crimson blood when it happened, but the second they tried to remember it, the blood they remembered was absolutely not crimson."

"... What color was it? Who got stabbed?"

Karkat shrank back, expression weirdly ashamed. "I-I wasn't paying attention after a certain point. I'll be honest with you. I don't even remember who showed the fuck up other than Meenah. I hate the fucking Beforan trolls, and beyond that, I was kind of trying to figure out a good game plan for us all to spare you guys from the idea that we were completely fucking losing it. We didn't want you to think… w-we didn't want you to think we were forcing our culture on you, or something? Like trying to turn you into something you're not? Especially since we all--we all do have our regular memories still, j-just… we have… new memories. Alongside them."

Dave's brow furrowed.

"So… both species have been hiding shit from each other."

"Yeah…"

"Pertaining to this species swap shit."

"Yeah."

"For weeks, if not months, if not however-the-fuck long."

"Dave, you're a time god. I'm pretty sure you could just fucking find out if you wanted to."

He ignored him.

"This is like… actually impressive levels of dumbassery..."

"... Yeah, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. I'm pretty sure this was meant to happen."

"What."

"Like this is Comedy of Errors 101 shit."

"Um."

"Like whoever wrote this chapter in our fucking lives should either be proud as fuck or ashamed as hell for making us all dumb as fucking dirt."

"... I think you're starting to lose track here."

"No, man. Hear me out--"

"--Dave.--"

"--This is some straight up classic fucking communication failure. Like we should all be sheepish as fuck that we haven't been communicating this shit like fucking adults."

"We aren't adults, yet--Dave, I-I need you to focus."

"What--no, some of us are, I think. Some of us are totally adults, probably. By some kind of standard somewhere. Humans turn into adults at 18. When do trolls do that shit? Four hundred sweeps old or whatever?"

"Oh my fucking--nine."

"Like this level of miscommunication fuckery is some Midsummer Night's Dream shit."

"Dude. I have no clue what that fucking is, but purely from the way you're saying it, I can tell you're using that reference wrong."

"No, fuck you. I'm going somewhere with this."

"This is suddenly excruciating."

"No, hear me out. I'm about to blow your pan with this metaphor. Just let me get going."

"You absolutely will not."

"Actually, give me a fucking beat. This is some amazing rap material."

"Entering this room was such a fucking mistake."

Chapter Text

"Strider, if you make one more slant rhyme in my direction about whoever that dead human narrative poet is, I'm leaving this fucking respiteblock. And for the record I am not leaving this block until we sort whatever this fucking castrophy is out in a private and civilized manner, so cut that shit out right now."

"If we're out here cutting deals that aren't even fucking deals, let me have a go, dude. How's this one: the second we finish up the worst conversation we've been forced to have on this fucking meteor, you're gonna have a jam sesh with me."

"Wh--a feelings jam?"

"No, you goddamn--a fucking real jam sesh. Your quadrant-hungry troll culture fucking wished your pile bullshit was as good as the power of a solid fucking flow."

"You've been trying to get me to perform rhythmic verbal percussion for you for an actual full fucking sweep now. It's not going to fucking happen. I'm bad. Like bad bad. I'm like solidly fucking convinced I'll end my fucking friendship with you if I even try, and believe it or not bulgebreath, I kind of enjoy whatever travesty our interactions have turned into, so it's not gonna fucking happen."

"Beatboxing dude. I don't care if I'm going troll. The term is fucking beatboxing. And sans doing some stupid shit like picking up fucking ventriloquism, there's literally nothing that could end our friendship. We're in this shit to win it."

"Win what?"

"I don't fucking know, but we're about to top the fucking charts."

"... We are once again off topic. Why the fuck aren't you telling me your fucking caste, Dave. You said you know what it'll be. And a lot of how much I can fucking help you depends on that shit."

"Maybe I don't fucking want to, Vantas. Ever thought of that?"

Karkat groaned, dramatically throwing himself to the side. Dave rolled his eyes, legs crossed on his bed while he watched the eighth tantrum the troll had thrown in an hour.

It was… kind of nice actually, this dumb fake-exasperation game with the other Knight. It felt more normal than anything else had since he'd woken up this morning.

Hell, it felt more normal than anything had since he'd first spotted his stupid, gray ankle however long ago.

It didn't take away from one, very key factor though.

Telling Karkat the godforsaken, lime-colored future looming over his head was kind of fucking daunting.

Why? Who fucking knew. It wasn't as if he wouldn't… get it.

After all, Karkat hadn't exactly had anyone to turn to for his caste, or rather lack of caste, either.

But that was kind of contributing to the mire of shit they were both up to their fucking knees in, here. He didn't want to bring up bad memories. Or have the troll accidentally add to whatever horrorshow his imagination was rapidly turning this into.

And just… this whole fucking conversation made everything so much more…

… Permanent.

…

… What if he changed the subject again instead? Just one more time.

"What did Gamzee tell you he remembered about Jade? Also, what was John's lusus? Do I need to be fucking worried here? Is he about to get fucking eaten in whatever troll universe you people keep seeing in your heads?"

Karkat groaned, the sound muffled from where he was lying face down on the bed.

"Dave, believe it or not, when an entire meteor of trolls think they're going fucking insane on account of our memories, we tend to all try to repress whatever the fuck it was we were remembering. To, you know, not be crazy."

"At least you can fucking repress it, bro. Try ignoring your leg changing color."

Another huff into his sheets, softer this time.

Time ticked on, then the little troll sat back up.

"How's this? I tell you what I've been trying not to remember for fucking wipes now, then you tell me your caste."

"Future caste. I'm not a fucking troll yet."

"You know what? Sure. Whatever fucking helps you out at this point, nooklicker. Which is what I've been trying to do for hours now. Spill."

The time player hesitated, trying not to wince at the latest anatomical part mentioned.

"... You first. Y-you said you'd go first. Keep up your end of the deal, man. I'm just… like, running through some scenarios. You know, being prepared. 'Cause presuming that we're about to hit a bad timeline here, and there's no way you could help me--n-not for any abnormal reasons, just, you know, species transplants aren't exactly a fucking thing, then I'd just be telling you for nothing."

Karkat stared at him. Dave kept going.

"Like this hypothetical future where you have literally nothing to give me in exchange for the hot mess I dump in your lap, and I just end up freaking you out, and then you freak me out, and then we both just fucking continue freaking each other out until someone--Rose, I'm assuming--puts us both out of our fucking misery and feeds us to the motherfucking eldritch gods she pretends she still doesn't way too much attention to from time to time."

Karkat was still staring at him. Dave ignored him.

"Like what if that's what's about to happen here? What kind of fucked up future would I be bringing to us then? I'd straight up be shirking my duties as a Knight of Time or whatever the fuck, and, for all I know, Sburb considers that shit punishable by death. S-so, what if I just… didn't."

His voice was getting weaker as he went on, so he finally just… stopped. The expression Kakat was sending in his direction was completely unconcealed but absolutely indescribable.

If Dave had to put a finger on it, he'd say it was something along the lines of confused-amused fury-anxiety.

"Did you even fucking breathe through that?"

"Yep."

Karkat very much looked like he wanted to say more, looking away for a second and hesitating.

He didn't.

But he did grab his hand again, the little gesture helping more than Dave would ever admit as the troll… thank fucking god…

"S-so, about Jade."

… Changed the subject.

"Um. Gamzee mentioned me bitching to him about her not being able to just psionics battle her lusus into behaving. Like going on and on about some fucking problem she had with me when I brought it up, and how I'm an idiot, or something. As in, I straight up didn't stop until he forced me to take a nap in his stupid fucking horn pile to catch a breather."

… Ah, the mysteries of the juggalo troll. Dave still hadn't seen him. Not once. Not a single time since they'd set foot on this dumb space rock.

"... Psionic battle… so gold?"

"Yeah, probably," Karkat sighed.

Well, at least she would be a fellow a lowblood. The idea of a highblood Jade was… a little freaky honestly. Like giving a hyperactive border collie massive fangs and possible spider powers. Might not go well.

… Come to think of it, the idea of her with gold powers was still fucking horrifying.

"Did he mention if she managed to find a different caretaker than Bec?"

"I'm gonna guess that no, her lusus was exactly the same. A fucking planet guardian of all things."

"Well, that didn't change, at least."

"Yeah, the part that fucked everyone over for sweeps? You're right. Thank fucking Jegus she still had that absolute radiactive feverdream of a barkbeast to keep her company. What ever would we do if shit actually changed for the fucking better for once."

There was a pause.

"And… John?"

The troll winced.

"... Was it that bad?"

"Kinda honestly, yeah..."

He felt his brows pull together. "What the fuck did you even fucking see?"

"I… I can't remember John himself. He was blurry. For some gogdamn reason known only to the laughing cosmic entities shoving yet. Another. New thing down our abused and terrified protein chutes twenty seconds before we defeat Lord English."

Dave waited. Karkat went on.

"But his lusus was something out of fucking horror movies. Phantasm lusii tend to kind of be scattered around the higher end of the hemospectrum, and I didn't get a close enough look to see which one it was, so I have no clue what his caste is, but… holy shit."

… Well, that narrowed it down to at least a few things. John wouldn't be another fucking lime, that's for sure.

"His hive was dark, which makes sense for phantoms, and this massive, elongated, ectoplasmic nightmare with hopbeast ears just waltzed in and… um. Well, it did something horrifying that I maybe shouldn't tell you. But then John, like the massive dweeb he is, stared at the fucking mess it brought in for a solid two minutes before giving a polite thank you and hugging the damn thing. Then it phased into his nutrition block to start eating some kind of fucking cake he had made for it."

Uh.

"What… what are you not telling me?"

Karkat looked away, cringing a bit.

"I… I guess, I don't really have the context to put shit into perspective. Like the thing I saw would be kind of… par for the course… on Alternia, but I'm not sure if Earth would really work the same way?"

"... I mean, the Condesce found Earth, Karkat. If whatever fucking hell dimension you're remembering is just 'Earth, but Trollified', it probably didn't fucking matter how good or bad it was to live there before. She probably turned it into 'Alternia: The Sequel' the second she arrived."

The troll looked pained.

"I'm… I'll be honest, I'm really hoping that's not fucking true. None of you… deserve that…"

"Yeah. Well, you guys didn't either, and we can't really know until we know, so…"

There was another beat of silence as the other Knight looked down before Dave squeezed his hand.

"What'd it do?"

Karkat squirmed for a bit, seemingly looking for some way to word whatever the fuck was coming next, but then visibly gave up.

"... It dumped like eighty severed arms on the flocked ground covering of his commingling block, each one holding some kind of weird, hinged knife. It was the worst version of a pile I've ever seen in my life. After the damn thing phased through his wall, John just started quietly cleaning everything up, cutting the knives out of the severed hands like he was filleting a fish and throwing the arms themselves into some kind of thermal hull."

"... I'm sorry, what the fuck?"

"I-I told you dude. There's a reason we all thought we were going nuts. Like in the memory, I didn't know the guy yet, so I was just thinking 'wow, what a pathetic excuse for a highblood', but now I know the fucking dork, so I don't… I don't know. The shit fucking haunts me."

"I mean it sounds like it's about to haunt fuckin' John, goddamn."

"Y-yeah."

"Like literally."

"Huh?"

"You said it's a phantom, right? Shit would literally haunt him."

Karkat froze before giving him a flat look.

"... Dave."

"'Sup?"

"If my memories turn out to be somehow real, never make that fucking joke at him. Jesus fucking Christ."

"Too far?"

"About how his custodian probably terrified him his whole wigglerhood? Perhaps."

"... Yeah. Okay."

Dave sighed, leaning back onto the cool wall behind him . If anyone would know what it was like being potentially… afraid… of their guardian…

Point taken.

"You're probably right. Stupid lime shit's throwing me off."

"Of course I'm fucking right."

The clock gave five short ticks before both of them realized what the time player just said.

"I-I'm sorry, this fucking what now?"

"Time shit."

"Try a-fucking-gain."

Neither of them noticed the shadow quietly retreating from Dave's door.

"When I stop using the juju, it'll probably just put us back where we were."

"So right back in that block?"

"Yeah, pretty much the exact moment I grabbed you. I'm not sure any time will have passed at all for… them."

Gamzee nodded, looking away. They'd been finished with their pancakes for a while. John stood up, hesitantly reaching out to take Gamzee's plate.

"Um… are you going to be okay?"

Gamzee blinked at him. "... What are you meaning?"

"I mean… I saw you get shot that one time?"

"Oh."

Gamzee hesitated before standing as well, helping John gather the various odds and ends around the table.

"He… he isn't normally on his acting like that, honestly."

Somehow, the Heir didn't believe him. His words were hesitant as the two headed over to the makeshift sink in the poorly drawn corner of the room.

"So, he doesn't normally kick the hell out of you? Not to… um… not to push, but you do know that when I merged with you, I shared all of your thoughts, right? I think… I think I remember it being mentioned…"

The Bard shrank back for just a moment, something very close to shame flashing through his features before his expression smoothed out again.

"It's… only happening when I motherfucking deserve it."

John stiffened, shooting a look over at his fellow emissary. Gamzee turned on the water in an obvious effort to ignore him.

"He wasn't in his best of moods that night, and thought I was onto motherfucking pranking him after he'd told me all not to be doing that. He healed me up fast after. Figured it was a trick of the light."

…

There was nothing to say here, was there? Nothing that could be changed, no matter what holes in the Bard's logic he pointed out.

… He'd… just be causing more pain.

This was Gamzee's fucking eternity.

Gamzee turned his question back on him before he could figure out a reply, handing him utensil after utensil after they'd been (somewhat haphazardly) washed. John found it a bit hard to resist the urge to stick the things back in the water, but this kitchen probably wasn't even real, so why bother.

"How about you? You were scared as a motherfucker before you pulled me in here. Don't think I wasn't onto noticing that."

John winced, using the time it took him to put back a few various dishes to formulate a response.

Calliope's reaction to everything that occured in here was… inevitable. She was going to fucking kill him for using that cane in a way she hadn't specified.

Or, at least, hopefully she would chew him out, punish him even, if needed, and let them move on. The other option, of her doing nothing, and just quietly being furious or bitter or disappointed in him and his work… that seemed far worse, somehow.

But there was an option available that was even worse than that, and the question John had had circling in his mind shot out faster than he could stop it, something he would never have been able to do if the cherubs were both still in their heads.

"Do you know if they can fire us?"

Gamzee nearly dropped a plate.

"What?"

"A-as emissaries. For the merge? Or um… p-pretty much everything else we've done in here?"

There was a long pause before the troll started running the dishes back under the water again.

"I-I, um, I'm not thinking they can, no. I know Caliborn has done shit what's like that before, but that was with a temporary servant. I don't think… I think they're stuck with our asses."

"... Okay."

"You're not exactly sounding motherfucking reassured right now."

"I'm not."

"... Yeah. Um… I mean, I doubt they'll ask on the pailing part. The Mirthful cares whether or not I'm alive and how well I can function. That's about it…"

John winced. "The Mirthful may not but… Calliope will. If I hesitate during any part of telling her what happened, she'll either compel me to tell her everything immediately or just root through my memories herself until she finds it. I don't… I can try not to say anything, b-but…"

Again, something flashed across Gamzee's features, mouth tilting down into a small frown before evening out again.

"And she does that how motherfucking often?"

"What?"

"Compelling you."

…

Well, the irony of what he was about to say wasn't lost on the Heir.

"Not… that often. Only when I deserve it."

The frown on the Bard's face was back and John tensed immediately, turning away from him to put up the last bit of kitchen equipment and wishing he could shove every emotion he'd ever felt into the cabinet along with it.

God, that sounded so bad, didn't it? Considering Gamzee had just said the same thing about the grinning maniac he called his Messiah, and Caliborn was clearly a problem. Gamzee was clearly covering for him.

But Calliope wasn't nearly as bad as Caliborn. Not even slightly. She was a really good boss, honestly. She saved him during the last mission. She modified some of his missions so that he could be more comfortable doing them. She worried about him. She didn't want him to be unsafe or unhappy. She wasn't anything like Caliborn, and he probably just gave Gamzee a bad impression by saying what he had just said.

He had probably just fucking betrayed her, hadn't he? By making her sound worse than what she was.

The look Gamzee was giving him when he turned back was, thankfully, incredibly controlled. Cautious even.

… Sad.

"Right."

"Y-yeah, anyway." John took a breath as he looked around the room, blatantly avoiding eye contact with the troll in front of him. "I… I think we cleaned everything up? So I can… bring us back now… Are you ready?"

Hesitantly, the Bard nodded, grabbing the Heir's hand and squeezing as the Heir got out his cane again.

In a flash, they were back in the makeshift hideout, in exactly the same positions as they had been.

John!

Before either of them had a chance to say or do anything, there was a second flash, and the breath player was forced to watch as Gamzee disappeared in a beam of red before disappearing in his own green glare.

Chapter Text

Calliope's powers were red.

Something was wrong.

Something was very fucking wrong.

Calliope's powers were red.

The cherub may have lime blood, but every single time she had teleported him somewhere, the glow had always been red.

But Gamzee had flashed red.

All John could see, covering absolutely everything around him was green, from the carpets, to the walls, to the half-dozen couches in this massive living room.

Everything except the red, glassy eyes of the lunatic grinning at him, not five feet away.

Oh, no.

No.

Fuck.

"I see." Caliborn grinned at him. "So our trade off is complete. My sister gets a new jester. And I get one, too."

Stunned silence was all that met this announcement, the breathbound's thoughts halting before picking up double time.

H-had…

Had Calliope just given him up? Traded him in like a used fucking car?

Had… had he fucked up that badly?

What did he… no…

No…

He could make it up to her, please…

He didn't have time to respond before Caliborn burst into laughter.

"I'm joking. Duh."

…

…

…

John stared.

……………………….

His eyes narrowed.

The terror that had been rapidly filling his lungs left, replaced with dull shock, numbing him as the Lord in front of him cackled.

"You don't seem to be very smart. Which I guess. That makes sense. Considering you are a Fool. That is what you call a 'prank', something new that I just invented and that is good to do to others who deserve it. It is unlike one of your clown pranks. Which are confusing and meaningless. Mine is better."

… He had forgotten how completely insufferable it was to hear this shithead talk. He'd heard his rants once before, after very first getting possessed by the house juju. Great to see literally nothing had changed. The Lordling had matured zero days since that last encounter, if it had even still happened.

The thought was proven immediately as the cherub let out what could only be called a "menacing giggle".

"You idiot, you fell for it so hard! You should have seen your stupid, fucking face!"

Caliborn took the opportunity to sit back on one of the couches, sprawling out in over-exaggerated comfort. He grinned at John's frozen form, seemingly approving of the horrified statue before him.

"So you're my sister's new toy? I suspected something was fucked when you decided to hit my honkfriend with a juju. And I'm pretty sure it's just been confirmed."

The Heir stiffened. Caliborn's tone grew triumphant, the cherub swinging a gold cane towards him for emphasis.

"Because, as you saw, she had the audacity to steal my member of the Dark Carnival. So now I've retaliated. By taking hers. So that she will be forced to return him. Once he's back, I can make you go back. So I don't have to look at you anymore. And therefore, I win."

The breath player was pretty sure that wasn't how it worked, but he didn't say anything, staring cautiously at Caliborn.

After a moment of silence, the cherub scowled.

"You're witnessing yet another defeat of my sister. By my hands. You are her holy servant. The least you can do is call me a piece of shit."

"You are a piece of shit," John said flatly.

"Say it like you mean it."

"Trust me. I fucking mean it."

"Well done," The manic glee glowing from the gold-toothed grin shot his way somehow got even more hazardous.

"My sister always did get the best chess pieces."

"Everyone gets the same chess pieces."

He was ignored.

"Yet more evidence that life is unfair. A bad joke." The Lord snickered.

"Or it was. Until I realized that I can be the punchline!"

In a sudden movement, the cherub leaned towards the Heir, who had to resist every instinct not to flinch back. "Do you know what I used to do with my sister's pawns?'

It seemed to be a legitimate question. Hesitantly, John shook his head.

"I ate them."

The golden cane in the short Lord's hand was suddenly a golden tommy gun, and John found himself very much without any of his powers as he leapt back.

He maybe got a couple feet away before the cherub pulled the trigger, and abruptly life absolutely fucking sucked.

The bullets, of course, hit his brand new purpleblood lungs first (or bellowsacks, whatever), immediately destroying the Heir's ability to breathe as he involuntarily clutched at his chest, opening himself up to getting shot in the stomach and shoulder and neck and hand and fuck how many fucking bullets were in that fucking clip.

When he hadn't fallen fast enough, the Lord made sure to shoot his thighs too, ensuring he dropped to his shattered hands and knees, teeth gritted in bloody, silent pain as his assailant took the opportunity to shoot through his back as well.

The only thing that hadn't been targeted was his head. Caliborn seemed to be taking special care to avoid the part that would render him unconscious as the timebound fully unloaded his fucking gun into the emissary.

John had never been more ungrateful to be truly immortal.

Every one of his senses were telling him it was time to shut down. He had nothing but blood and pain and shock left for a body. He couldn't feel his fucking anything, jolts of cold and numbness-that-wasn't-numbness running through him in equal, gruesome measures. He couldn't even gasp for air, silent panic overtaking him in a tidal wave of dread.

It was like his entire body was made of painful TV static. He could only watch from beside himself as he faded in and out of desperation.

He was a fucking wreck, bloodstained, shot-through clothing in tatters around him as the cherub finally finished, leaving the Heir a shaking mess on the lime carpet, bright crimson pooling around him.

The cherub snorted as he looked at the emissary on the ground.

"You may bleed a better color. But you do not flail around as much as he does. This is a shame, I think. He makes this much more amusing. But that is the reason I picked the better emissary. And it is not because I thought he was literally my only option. One jester to match one cherub. Because you and my sister were hidden like cowards. That would be stupid and wasn't the thing that happened."

This dude was talking an awful lot to someone who had other shit to worry about right now. John only half listened, trying desperately to stay balanced on his hands and knees to keep from falling and causing even more damage.

The Lord knelt down next to him, grinning at the Heir's sudden heave as one of his lungs healed, labored, blood-filled breathing finally allowing him to make some kind of noise. "I could get used to this, though. You bowing to me is a very good thing. It should happen more often. Which is actually what I need to talk to you about. Asshole."

The cherub reached towards him, clasping his shoulder as a wave of searing heat and nausea rolled through him like a thunderstorm. In an honestly horrifying sensation, his body mass-ejected the bullets he had just been filled with, golden shrapnel immediately falling into the puddle of red swirling underneath him.

Another wave of heat, this one more bearable than before, and John's eyes widened as from the shoulder the Lord had grabbed, all the way down to his legs, each wound that had just been blown through him closed, connection after connection being made internally so he could feel his body again. The blood left his lungs bellowsacks, and one-by-one, strength returned to his limbs.

His nausea vanished. His headache vanished. The cherub had even taken away the pain from his ribs and their change earlier.

He felt better than he had in a while, and it was an unbelievably weird thing for his brain to accept moments after being used as ammunition storage.

It certainly wasn't accepting just who the hell it was who was healing him.

In seconds, the sensation was over, and John shivered as the last hole sealed shut before shifting slightly and flinching.

…

Correction. Second to last hole. There was one left, one of the bullets having shot perfectly through his left hand.

This seemed to have been what Caliborn was waiting on him noticing, as before the Heir could pull back, the hand that wasn't on his shoulder shot out like a snake to grab his wrist, holding the still injured limb aloft for John to see.

Both nauseatingly quickly and far too slowly, that gash closed as well, leaving a slight, raised scar on both sides, a perfect spiral.

"I think. That I am going to leave you a momento," The cherub's golden tooth glinted in the light. "Consider it a penance mark. You haven't been fucking praying to me."

John froze.

Uh.

"I-I'm sorry, what now?"

Caliborn's grin widened.

"You're a magician, aren't you? That denomination isn't used to praying, right? Did she not tell you? That that is now part of your job description as an emissary? Typical. She really is selfish. To both me and you. Because now you have been punished for slacking."

"You would have shot me anyway, douche," The words left his lips before the Heir could stop them, but the cherub in front of him looked delighted immediately.

"Hah! Perhaps you are smarter than I first gave you credit for. That would, of course, presume that I was incorrect for a moment. Which is impossible. But we can dream."

In one quick movement, Caliborn yanked John up from the floor before shoving him back a few steps so that the Lord could sit on the couch again, leaving John to stand awkwardly where he had left him, the human's own blood sinking into his shoes from the carpet as the Lordling got comfortable.

"Since my worthless sister has not informed you of your responsibilities, I suppose the task falls to me. Yet another sign that this universe is unfair. It will truly be a blessing when I end it."

The Heir didn't bother to hide it as he rolled his eyes at the obvious bait. The cherub, again, snickered. He had never seemed more genuinely cheerful than when John was deciding to be rude to him.

God, he was fucking weird.

"You are, of course, basically in constant prayer with my sister. Because she is always in your head. When you are not with me, that is. I am blocking her out, just like she is blocking me out of my merry jester friend."

John nodded, frowning. He really hoped Gamzee was faring better than he was right now. He had no idea what Calliope was telling him. But hopefully it was a more pleasant experience than… this…

His numb thoughts finally caught up with a couple facts, mundane as they felt in front of the Messiah. He had kind of liked this shirt… There was no saving it now, the whole thing soaked crimson and ripped to shreds as it stuck to him in various parts.

He was, once again, completely drenched in gore.

Though, this time, it was his own.

The various people whose blood he had also been covered in flashed through his mind. The Besotted, The Pawn, The Smitten, The Congenial, The Prognosticator… He'd avoided any spray from The Hierophant, but…

Purple, grief-filled, furious eyes burned in his memories again.

… Maybe the Mirthful had been right to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Caliborn continued.

"But, as you may have realised, my culture is better than your culture in basically every way. It's a tradition where it is recognised. That this is unfair when dealing with emissaries for rival cherubs. It can make pathetic squeebs like you, true servants, the servants we couldn't get rid of if we fucking tried…"

The cherub paused, grousing to himself.

"Even though it would probably make my life better. Not having to rely on stupid clowns."

John cocked an eyebrow, prompting the Lord to get back on topic.

"It would make you too fucking loyal to a single cherub. So it was decided that you have to pray to both."

The overly loud, choppy speech style of the asshat in front of him was never not going to give him a headache, was it? That was probably a meager complaint, considering how much pain he had literally just gone through, but it was a complaint nonetheless.

At least what Gamzee had said had been confirmed. They couldn't be discarded…

Thank fucking god.

… Or he guessed… thank specifically the fucking Mirthful, since that was literally who had just confirmed this for him.

He kind of… wasn't sure if the Merciful ever would have, actually.

Caliborn, for his part, looked unbelievably proud of himself for this explanation, very clearly waiting for John to respond.

"What… what do you even want me to pray to you about?"

The Lord snorted.

"Literally anything. I don't fucking care. A lot of you clown assholes pray to me for miracles. Or to thank me for miracles I did send your way. You could do that. You could tell me about your boring and shitty day. You could ask me how my day was. Like an actual considerate person. You just need to fucking pray to me."

"How often…?"

"Just once a day. Whatever. It could be for five minutes. It could be for hours. I will say it again. Because apparently you need to hear it again. I do not fucking care."

"O… kay..?"

Caliborn tutted, still openly amused. "Believe me. It is more annoying for me than for you. Because unlike you, I am being forced to interact with a lesser being. You should be fucking grateful. I will actually be able to reply to you. Which is more than you deserve, and definitely more than a non-emissary would get."

John's brow furrowed as he nodded again, blatantly ignoring the barbs thrown his way as his mind turned over what had just been said to him.

"W-wait, if you can reply to me… will you be blocking out Calliope while I pray to you?"

Giant, red eyes glittered maniacally at him. "It is truly a boon, isn't it? My sister cheated you out of the best part of your job description. A break from her to talk to a far better person in basically every conceivable way."

"Whatever helps you fucking sleep at night."

"Wow. You know. You have a lot of sass for someone who just got shot."

The cherub moved his cane again.

John flinched.

Caliborn grinned.

A small swallow centered the human before he replied. H-he knew what it was like now, at least. He could semi-prepare if it happened again.

… Poor fucking Gamzee, holy shit.

"I've been told I am good at being an asshole."

Caliborn rolled his eyes. "Well. Take it from someone who is the most skilled at being an asshole. Whoever told you that. They're fucking right."

"Now, I recognize that as an acrobat, you will be unused to the structure I am providing you with which to formulate your prayers, but I assure you, this will ensure our conversations go far more smoothly."

The troll stared at the Messiah he had grieved over for sweeps before blinking down at the prayer book she had shoved into his hands, still dazed as to how exactly he had even gotten on this rock.

One minute, he was assuring his fellow emissary (and new pitch quadrant... and first time… a-and merging partner… John had become a lot motherfucking things to him real fucking fast) that shit would be okay, and the next he'd seen the poor motherfucker disappear in the Mirthful's telltale green haze.

… John probably wasn't having the best of times at the moment, but he also probably wasn't under a full interrogation, either. Was this what he dealt with on the day to fucking day?

Hell's fucking pit, this was some nervewracking fucking noise.

"S-so… just to get my understanding on here, each day, you're wanting me to pick from a prayer in this book and get my devotion onto you?"

"Correct. I hope you understand, but as I am incredibly busy, it would be best if you kept things short and to the point. The prayers provided in that guide should be varied and vague enough to cover whatever you wish to talk about, and of course, should you need to ask for specifics, simply tack them on the end. I will respond. And rest assured, while you pray, you will be given a reprieve from my brother's… general personality."

Gamzee swallowed, trying his hardest not to frown. Caliborn wasn't the most… friendly of motherfuckers, but he did have his good shit about him. It didn't sit right, the Merciful dissing him like that.

The cherub huffed, the dead hollows of her eyes eerie in the gloom of the rock they were both standing on.

"I imagine he's informing my emissary of his duties as well at the moment. I'm sure John would have performed them, had I told him of them, but for reasons I am unable to provide to you, we both had to remain hidden. Now that you and my brother are aware of our existence, the performance of those duties is unavoidable. Whatever my brother is doing to him, I can only hope he's coming to the understanding that when I give him a tool, it is for its specified purpose."

… The vaudeville hook.

"U-um." Calliope's gaze snapped towards the purpleblood as he spoke up. Gamzee had to resist the urge to shrink back a bit. "He wasn't um… I'm obviously not abouts my motherfucking awareness of what all you told him for that hook, but he… he was telling me he used it so that I could be saying what all the merge was easier."

It was close enough to the truth. A rephrase of it, if anything. John had said absolutely nothing of why he had used that cane other than the two of them needing to be alone.

And considering the events that happened afterwards, Gamzee fucking agreed with the dumbass.

… But he had looked so fucking scared in that goddamn nutrition block. Maybe he could ease whatever ire the cherub was directing the human's way at the moment.

The cherub paused, frowning at him. Gamzee's pusher rate picked up, far too used to that look being associated with gunshots.

"Perhaps, but I had given him very specific qualifications for its use. If you are willing to speak on what happened in the pocket space he opened, however, I'm all ears."

Gamzee tensed. Fuck. What was it John had said about when he gave his explanation to Calliope? About what would make her compel him?

"Right. Yeah, of course. He… he made us grubcakes, because we were both motherfucking starving. And then I told him what the merge was. Neither of us got our hurt on of one another. We just talked…"

"Grubcakes…?"

"Yeah."

"And that's all that happened?"

"Once we got our understanding on of each other, y-yeah."

"And how did you reach this understanding if the talking is what happened afterward?"

Gamzee hesitated.

Which turned out to be exactly the mistake the Heir was warning him about.

One hundred percent against his will, the Bard felt his mouth opening as he fully explained every second that had occurred once John had hit him with the cane. The cherub's blank, hollow eyes narrowing and widening at different parts as the troll helplessly continued.

She thankfully let him skip over describing pailing, though she had seemed a bit too interested in who had done what before finally letting him jump past it.

…

Poor fucking John, what the fuck.

When he had finally exhausted what he could tell her, he stopped, breathless (a kind of hard thing to achieve for semi-aquatic motherfuckers). Silence stretched on for a second on the gray rock before Calliope finally sighed.

"I knew it. Emissaries tend to bond with each other in some way or another. And purplebloods have a reputation of mating for life, if allowed to. The loyalty you give is truly all-encompassing. To be very clear, I don't approve of this relationship. I think it's foolhardy and will put you both in danger. I was hoping whatever the merge was would be the only bond between you two, but it appears I was being optimistic about both of your levels of discipline."

She sounded so displeased. Gamzee couldn't hide it as he shrank away this time.

D-disobeying the Merciful… he'd thought she was fucking dead. He had thought he was lonesome in this soulless fucking hell, that there were no other true emissaries…

Only other servant he knew of was the fucking Condesce, and forgive the fuck out of him for not wanting to get his conversation on with that nightmare of a royal.

Finding out that John was out there, a full fucking clown, a fellow member of the Dark Carnival…

One he could talk to. One who fucking got it.

... One who was incredibly talented at testing his motherfucking patience.

That had been a miracle.

Th-that had been the best fucking news he'd heard in sweeps.

And now finding out that what they had done was against the will of the Messiah in front of him…

The cherub was watching him as he sank into his own thoughts, very much planning out how best he could show penance.

She sighed again, snapping his attention back to her.

"Consider this a reluctant blessing. Far be it from me to stop what was likely inevitable. But understand that when you two are together, work should stay at work.

Gamzee swallowed, nodding.

W-well, yeah. Neither he or John were about to just spill out their motherfucking goals. He had shit to do for the Mirthful what John would probably immediately stop if he got his know on of it, and he was sure that went both ways.

"Good." The cherub still sounded displeased, but her tone was a little softer as she continued, awkwardly reaching out to pat the clown's shoulder.

The clown flinched as his right frond suddenly burned, holding it up and blinking at it as a small spiral appeared on either side of his palm as though it had been branded into him.

"Consider it a promise, as well as my assurance that you needn't take an additional penance mark. I can only hope you two are good for one another… the duties of a cherubic servant are isolating. Perhaps you two can help each other after all."

And with that, the Muse clicked her fingers.

"W-wait," Caliborn's eyes shot wide.

John winced.

"You are telling me that you two morons entered into one of the most pathetic troll quadrants? Their weak fucking excuse for hate?"

The cherub immediately doubled over in laughter.

"Hoo hoo! Hah! Hahahahah! Oh that is fucking rich! You didn't have to tell me that. I was just curious why you idiots hadn't tried to kill each other!"

The cherub paused, the grin he sent John's way absolutely manic. "And it is a good thing you didn't kill each other, of course. I would have had to avenge my poor honkfriend if you hurt a tip of his stupid fucking horns. So I suppose. That you are quite lucky that you're desperate and sad."

The look the human gave the cherub flattened. How fucking often did Caliborn himself hurt the tip of Gamzee's "stupid fucking horns"?

"Y-you're not going to stop us?"

"What? Why the fuck would I do that? Go fucking crazy. I don't give a shit."

Caliborn continued with a snort, waving off the Heir's question as if it were a gnat.

"You know what? I even fucking approve. What a hilarious twist of fate! It has even taken me by surprise! You emissary fucks tend to either like each other or hate each other. How fucking stupid that it would be a watered down version of what cherubs do!"

He grinned at him.

"I suppose. That weaker beings have to mimic the strong however they can. I will watch and laugh as you try and fail to mirror actual romance."

John opened his mouth to reply, scowling, but the cherub had already snapped his sharp little fingers, enveloping the Heir once again in a green beam.

JOHN, are you okay?!

Y-yes, he was fine. Just give him a second.

The Heir was forced to blink the green light out of his eyes, re-adjusting to the gloom of the room he had just been snatched from.

… Gamzee was frozen, staring at him, wide eyes tracing every hole that had been left in his shirt, crimson stickiness making his clothing cling to him wherever possible.

"Um… g-give me a second to change my clothes and I can get out of here."

"Okay. Um. I have shit with what to be washing... that off..."

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

Chapter Text

"I suppose I've taken enough of your time."

Rose gave Kurloz a smile, something that had become more and more genuine as she had spent the evening getting to know him.

She could kind of see what John saw in him now, spooky, carnival themed hive and somewhat alarming personal presentation aside. The mime had been a cagey, but a fairly kind and attentive host, asking different questions about herself and her childhood friend, and readily accepting date suggestions that she knew her friend would like.

Once he'd stopped asking questions about that damn book anyway.

In return, she'd very slowly gotten a bit more information about him and John.

Aradia had introduced the two of them at a time when the Heir apparently had seemed a bit… stressed. The Prince had again gotten shifty when she asked what exactly he meant by that, simply waving away her question with genuine happiness that she and the breath player were going to be entering a pale quadrant.

When Rose had, somewhat reluctantly, admitted that she was pretty new to quadrants as a general theme, not knowing much about how moirallegiance worked other than the calming aspect of the relationship, Kurloz' eyebrows had shot up.

And then immediately, it was Rose taking suggestions for what could be considered decent pale dates, the troll apparently fairly experienced in them.

Asking about the source of this experience, however, had made the mime's face fall, the sadness in those strangely lively dead eyes prompting an almost immediate change of subject.

So they'd spent the rest of the evening discussing various counter-cultures on Beforus and Earth instead, particularly what each planet considered "alternative". Beforus had apparently been a bit… exuberant about policing anyone who let their presentation get a little too dark, but there had been a decent amount Kurloz had gotten away with due to his caste.

Rose's description of Earth's alternative scene, yet again, led to a movie recommendation. Nightmare Before Christmas, a shared favorite movie between all of the Beta humans.

Based on the troll's attire, Rose figured it was a safe assumption that he would like it too. Lord knew John would love to show it to him.

… Once she had gotten over her impatience with that whiteboard, Kurloz had, ironically, turned out to be a decent conversationalist, seemingly genuinely enjoying listening to her go on about whichever topic they were on at the moment. He clearly enjoyed communication, leaving Rose's mind to wander in a couple curious directions.

If he enjoyed talking to others so much, why did he get rid of his ability to easily do so? Especially so… visibly?

But she could ask personal questions later. At least… more than she had already asked.

Far be it from her to overstay her welcome.

She'd been at his hive for a couple hours, easily, and she could swear she could practically visualize the troll's social battery draining, hanging above his head as though it were a grist meter or vitality gel.

Which… did make sense, considering Kurloz himself had told her that he rarely ever left his hive to socialize anymore.

It was time for her to leave the Prince to his peace.

The ragebound, for his part, shot her a small, grateful smile, nodding his agreement as they stood up from the couch in the middle of his living room.

He wrote a quick message on the board before they made their way over to his front entrance.

THANKS FOR COMING :o)

Rose hummed, amused. "I should be thanking you. You were quite a good host, positively gracious about me showing up unannounced to interrogate you for hours."

The troll's smile turned a bit wry as he opened his door.

Only for both of them to pause as they heard voices nearby.

"--what you have against him. He's fine!"

"Yeah, motherfucking right. You tried telling him your shit yet?"

"... Um, no."

"Good. Take it from my stupid fucking ass. Don't."

"John? Gamzee?" Rose called into the dark. Kurloz stiffened behind her before following her out the door.

Both voices went silent before her childhood friend's voice, slightly alarmed, answered back. "Rose?"

Kurloz beat her around his hive, brisk pace in the sand almost nervous as he disappeared around a bend.

Rose didn't bother to run, taking her time to meet the sounds where they had come from.

What she found came as a bit of a surprise.

Since when had Gamzee godtiered? She could have sworn he mentioned one time that he hadn't, but here the troll was, in a rather… unfortunate variation of purple pajamas.

John's appearance also came as a surprise. It looked as though the gray on her friend had spread a fair bit, fully covering both (now pointed) gauged ears and his neck, the coloring disappearing beneath the hem line of his shirt.

Were it not for his paper white hands poking out from his undershirt, he'd basically look like a hornless troll.

Kurloz had frozen at the sight.

She'd been right to guess that the Heir hadn't told him yet, at least.

There was a beat of silence before John addressed Kurloz first.

"Hi. Um… s-so remember a couple nights ago when I tried to meet up again, saying I had something to show you? And then… you had to cancel?"

The mime nodded, brows furrowed.

Her friend gestured somewhat helplessly to his general appearance, his tone a bit weak as he replied.

"Here's… here's the thing I had to show you. It's… happening to all the humans…"

The Prince stiffened and threw a glance back at the other human in their little group. The one he'd had in his hive for hours now. The one who had also distinctly not mentioned this sudden turn of events to him.

Though, to be fair. She'd had more of a reason not to mention it to someone she had barely met.

John raised his eyebrows at her, eyes flicking to the arm he had to know was fully gray by now.

Rose sighed.

Fine.

Pulling a makeup wipe from her Sylladex, the Seer took a single swipe down her arm, frowning at John while she did so. Raising her arm for Kurloz to see the newly revealed gray streak, she turned the attention back on the… rather drained Heir.

He wasn't the only exhausted-looking one either. Both he and Gamzee were practically haggard, the pair of them looking like they were only still standing by the strength of sheer willpower alone.

… Kanaya would not be happy to see the two of them next to one another.

"What were you two talking about? Clown things?"

"Rose," John huffed with a small smile. "Clowns don't just talk about clown stuff. I promise."

"Then what were you talking about?"

"Clown stuff." Gamzee snorted.

Kurloz' frown deepened, hands visibly tense by his sides.

John was quick to ask his question next, likely seeing the barrage of inquiries heading his way if he didn't.

"What are you doing here?"

"You all but sang Kurloz' praises to me, John. I had to see if our skeleton-themed mutual friend here was worth the hype." She offered a small, teasing grin. "If it means anything, I approve."

Kurloz flushed next to her as the other human's expression went a bit shy. Gamzee, interestingly, made a face.

Did the younger troll not like the mime? Compared to the other dancestors Rose had made the acquaintance of, the dead teen seemed to be perfectly reasonable.

Regardless, he certainly seemed to be judging John's fondness for the Prince.

Curious.

"I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We weren't on our knowledge of each other three hours ago." Came the rather sardonic reply, Gamzee shooting a flat look at John.

"So you just met? What on earth were you up to? You both look…" The Seer paused, searching for the best word she could use at the moment. "Quite ill, if I'm being honest."

As if on cue, both clowns winced, causing the mime next to her to look back at them from where he'd been glancing at her arm, brow furrowed in open worry.

Or was it suspicion?

… Perhaps a bit of both.

The Bard opened his mouth to reply, but John beat him to it. "I had to save Gamzee."

The younger Makara blinked at this explanation, glancing back at her childhood friend. She couldn't see the troll's expression, but John had a very specific look on his face as he stared the purple-clad rage player dead in the eyes.

One she knew rather well, exhaustion tainting it only very slightly.

It was the impish grin of an amazing prank.

John turned his gaze back to her and Kurloz, schooling his expression back into something reasonable for storytelling.

"He was being totally dumb and self-conscious about how weak and terrible at fighting he is, and he tried to go do his godtier stuff to have cool powers and be immortal like the rest of us, but he forgot that Jack Noir was still around. So he tried to go back to a memory of his planet, but then Noir came and killed him and I had to rescue him and put him on his quest cocoon. He was basically a damsel in distress. It was terrible."

Gamzee had never stopped looking at her friend, but he gave a visible huff before also turning to Rose, easy-going smile a tad mismatched with his rather miffed tone.

"Sure motherfucking did. Noir's a mean motherfucker when you get your ass all up on his bad side. John stuck me on some kinda slab up in the memories, and when I was coming to, they were fighting. Brother got nicked before he grabbed me and ran away. Worst papercut I've ever seen. He was all abouts his braveness on it though. Only cried for an hour or two."

It was John's turn to shoot the troll a rather deadpan look as Rose cocked an eyebrow at the both of them.

"You cried?"

"Yep!" John gave a cheerful shrug.

"You never cry."

"Not often, no."

"Mhm."

"It was a very emotional moment. Gamzee cried first. Just absolutely sobbing. Very ugly. He had to fix his paint. And then I was overcome with the power of friendship and cried, too."

"... Of course." Rose shot a glance at the older Makara next to her. He looked… reluctantly incredibly amused, but his eyes were flicking back and forth between the pair.

… They were standing awfully close together, weren't they?

"And the real explanation of what you two were up to is…?"

John sighed, not even a tiny bit abashed at being called out. "That is basically it! I just embellished a little. Gamzee was in the memory bubbles and got attacked. And then I dropped him off on his cocoon and fought Noir for a bit before that fucking asshole decided he had better things to do. And then I zapped us here."

… Hmm. It was a believable enough story.

Maybe.

It wasn't ringing perfectly true, but why would John lie to her? Was it for her sake, or the rest of the little group?

"And that's actually what happened this time?"

"Rose," John groaned. "You know me. I am not a good enough liar to come up with a whole fake scenario out of nowhere."

Well, that was true. John had never been able to give her a solid lie before.

"Other than the damsel in distress story."

"Pranks aren't lying. They are just good fun!"

"Did you get hurt?"

"I gave his ass some Faygo. He healed up with the quickness after that." Gamzee piped up.

"Oh," Rose blinked. "I suppose you do drink Faygo now, don't you?"

… Of all of the things she had come to accept about her friend being a clown, picturing him drinking Faygo was, oddly, one of the hardest to get used to.

There was a beat.

"Huh?" The Bard looked back at the Heir, confused, the expression exactly mirrored by Kurloz. John shot her a look, not bothering to hide a tired sigh.

"Were you not drinking it before?"

"It was a bit hard to get on Earth… at least on the West Coast, where I was from."

"Brother, how in the motherfuck were you getting your fucking sugar without the motherfucking wicked elixir?"

"I… had other stuff…"

… Other stuff?

Wait a minute.

"John, is that what your obsession with Fruit Gushers was? Were they some form of clown dietary substitution?"

The look on the breath player's face was getting more and more chagrined with each word she spoke.

Gamzee turned back to him. "What are…?"

John's Sylladex flashed above him as he pulled out one of the telltale little yellow packs, handing the Bard one. Curiously, Gamzee opened it, staring at the sweets inside.

"Motherfucker, are these just Faygo: The Candy?"

"Pretty much."

"... You have the real shit now, right?"

John squirmed, shooting Rose another half-heartedly accusatory look before reluctantly replying. "I… I have been able to alchemize from what Kurloz gave me. He got me Firework and Cotton Candy… and now you have given me Faygo Dreamin'..."

There was a brief pause as both Makaras looked at each other, stunned. A single second later, Gamzee turned back to John, grabbing his shoulders to ensure the Heir was fully facing him, completely exasperated. "Open up that motherfucking Sylladex. Right the fuck now. You should have said some shit on this before, you dumb motherfucking--we're gonna hook you up. Hold on."

And with that, John was swarmed by the purplebloods, the two of them presumably giving the poor breathbound every Faygo flavor known to trollkind.

Rose stayed back, fighting between amusement and the tiniest bit of light guilt, a little mutter to herself popping out as the trio of clowns were distracted.

"I think I got him in trouble."

"I'm not sure 'trouble' is the right word here."

Rose jumped. Aradia grinned from where she had just… fucking appeared. Next to her.

… Thank goodness only the Maid had seen. She couldn't be caught off guard like that again. Her reputation as a Seer was on the line.

"I do think you got him fussed over. As any good moirail should do. You're doing great for being new to quadrants!"

"Aradia, where did you come from?"

"I was hiding under the expanding precipitation parapet up there." The Maid pointed high on the purpleblood's hive. Rose followed her line of sight.

"Oh. The awning of his roof. Of course."

"Pfff. Seadweller words," The burgundy rolled her eyes, sending a glance over her shoulder at the gaggle of clowns before looking back at her.

"If you like, I can just go ahead and lead you back to the meteor. They're probably going to be a while. There are a lot of Faygo flavors, and Gamzee has every reason to antagonize his kismesis as much as he can."

Wh--

"Kismesis?"

"Oh, come on. Look at them."

Rose glanced back at the little group, again noting how closely the Bard and Heir were standing, and… how easily the Bard touched her friend.

More than once, gray hands gently brushed against the human's arms or waist or even hips as the two trolls coordinated whichever flavor they were trying to get him next.

And John, for his part, touched right back, seemingly leaning into the little brushes against him whenever they were given, even as he protested against the two's attention.

Maybe the Heir did have game.

With Gamzee Makara of all people. In that fucking outfit.

Holy shit, Dave and Karkat would lose their minds when they found out.

… And Kanaya would lose her mind in an entirely different, far less amusing way.

Aradia grinned at her, startling her out of her thoughts as she started to pull her away from the scene. "Let's get going! You can grill him about Makara later. I know I'll be messaging both of them. I've missed Gamzee. He's been hiding out for way too long!"

Rose frowned at her. Gamzee was… back on the meteor, wasn't he?

Why couldn't she just reach him there?

Was this a different Gamzee? He did seem a bit taller…

"Hiding out doing what?"

"Clown stuff, probably. Keep up!"

"So it was due to some kind of fragility you were imagining on my end. Strider, you stupid fucking bulgesucker. You could have just told me off the fucking bat!"

"Vantas, I'm not fucking dumb. Your blood isn't exactly a topic you're willing as fuck to talk about in our day to day shit."

"My blood has nothing to fucking do with this. This is about yours for once, jackass."

"Yeah? So it definitely isn't bringing up bad memories here? You desperately sitting there trying to figure out how best to get me info on my brand-new, personalized version of trollhood?"

Karkat shot him a look from where he'd been searching on his palmhusk.

"Don't fucking worry about me, okay? Keep literally any thoughts of stupid shit like that out of your still-for-the-most-part human pan. Beforan internet has more than enough information for you, probably. I just have to find how to get to it."

"Ugh, don't bother, dude. Rose talked to Kankri about limes when we first got on this dumb fucking rock. I know vaguely enough about what they did."

The troll grimaced at the mention of his chatterbox of a dancestor.

"'Vaguely enough' isn't going to fucking cut it if our memories are real and you start getting some kind of onslaught of sudden schoolfeed knowledge you didn't have before."

Dave frowned, rolling his eyes at the troll. "Don't fucking lie to me. You'd love it if I suddenly knew your dumbass quadrants up and down like you do."

"Wh--quadrants?" Karkat looked up from his phone, confused.

Oh.

Kankri had told Rose and him about limes. Karkat had apparently been spared this information.

"... I mean that's what Kankri said they were in charge of. They, like, looked at all these lowblood relationship problems and tried to help. Or they just culled them. Because it was fucking Alternia."

Karkat frowned for a moment. "What did they do on Beforus…?"

"I don't fucking know. Same shit, probably. Just with a different meaning to the word 'cull'."

The frown on Karkat's face deepened as he looked away in thought, before it suddenly smoothed out with a grin, and Dave realized his mistake two seconds too late.

"So what you're fucking telling me is that you have no fucking excuses anymore to avoid good media."

Oh, God.

"... No. No, that is absolutely the fuck not what I'm telling you." If there was any alarm whatsoever creeping into the Knight's voice, he was more than happy to ignore it.

"It absolutely fucking is. You can't hide from this anymore, rotpan. The universe itself fucking decided that you had to fix the absolute tragedy of romantic ignorance swirling around in your dumb human nug. Give me a second. I have like twenty masterpieces to show you right fucking now."

Dave had gotten up, already walking to his own door. Nope. Okay. Maybe it was time loop time. Something to prevent the little menace of a troll in his room to forget he'd ever said any--

"Hey! Fuck you, let go!"

"No! You're not running from this anymore, nookwhiffer!"

Dave untangled one of his arms from where the troll had grabbed at him, trying and failing to reach his doorknob while the other Knight grabbed at his cape, pulling the human back like he'd just caught the Medium's most reluctant fish.

"Ughhh, I don't want to learn about troll romance, dude. Whatever's coming's fucking coming. Just let it happen naturally."

"Not on my strapped time dial!"

"I better not start using fucking troll phrases. Every goddamn one of them is clunky as shit."

Karkat had gotten tangled in his fucking cape again. On purpose, probably, as he tried to drag the hapless time player back to his bed.

"Jesus fucking Christ, let go!" Dave tried again to reach for his door, just for Karkat to reach out and grab his ankle, causing both of them to crash onto the floor.

The timebound tried one last time to get up before immediately falling again. Karkat, for his part, had wrapped his legs and arms around him in a surprisingly strong wrestling grip.

"Just… fucking… watch it!" The other Knight huffed as he shoved his palm husk in front of Dave's face again. The human had nowhere to turn, glasses askew on the ground as he struggled against the hold.

He was going nowhere, the two Knights' legs laced together in a way that made it damn near impossible to shift positions, the troll's knee situated perfectly just under the human's brand new... addition.

Karkat's free hand was on his stomach. Exactly where the fuck he needed that pressure right now, hot breath tickling his neck.

To the Knight's horror, he felt his face start to burn as the bloodbound started what was absolutely the Alternian version of The Proposal, Troll Ryan Reynolds' smug face looking back at him from the title screen.

This was going to be a distracted ass romance watching session.

Chapter Text

He should be back any time now.

That's what his schoolfeeds were telling anyway. Capra Amphiprios were super strong custodians. They were only on their leave when it was important, so maybe when he came home, he'd bring something with him!

He had before.

Last time, it was a half-eaten giant barracuda. He hadn't really… been on his knowing of how to store it, and the cooking drone what he'd called to his hive had thrown it out, but that was kind of a present, right?

He kept the fact he hadn't been able to eat it a secret. He didn't want GoatDad to be mad at him.

The little troll climbed up on the loungeledge just under his respiteblock window, looking out at the sea eagerly. He'd been keeping a bulb out all day, trying to find the telltale white horns peeking out the waves.

He'd been all up in his trying of cleaning his hive so that his lusus could come back and be proud of him. At least, the best he could. He couldn't really reach a lot of the shelves or tables or counters, and he had probably not swept the best, considering he'd never been shown how, and the Carnival of Carnage, his favorite Dark Carnival poster, was falling down, but GoatDad was big! He could fix it once he got home, once his horns dried off, that is.

He couldn't wait to show him his new one wheeled device. The fact that it was taller than him was probably fine. He'd just have to learn different tricks to get on it.

And he was on his way of learning all the tricks. Just give him a few nights and he would be the best. He was sure of it.

After some consideration, the tiny troll climbed back off the loungeledge so he could grab his tablet. He had some schoolfeed work he had to finish anyway, and it would be better if it was done before his lusus came back so they could play.

Normally, he didn't… really care, but they were finally talking about the cool shit! They were finally learning about patterns. He couldn't wait to get his. Maybe he'd even get it early!

And then GoatDad would have all the reasons to come back. And maybe even stay for a while once he did. A pattern meant that he could be a full clown, and that meant making people happy. He was about to be making his lusus so happy that he would know he had to come home as soon as he could.

What if he managed to get his pattern and paint up before he even returned! That would be a super cool surprise. He could probably even do it before the goat returned if he just really, really worked hard at it.

He had plenty of time, probably.

Gray eyes peeked out the window again, trying and failing not to fidget as he glanced at the white foam of the waves before he spotted it--a humongous shadow just under the cerulean blue. As fast as he could manage, little legs ran out onto the sands to greet the giant, white goat rising from the water, a grin blooming on his face as his pusher rate soared.

He knew it! All his prayers came true! He had come back! He never should have been worried. GoatDad always came back just on time.

It had only been a week, after all.

Blue eyes stared into nothing, going over Gamzee's first little miracle again and again as the sounds of the busy Beforan medical hivestem washed over him.

He'd tucked himself into a full anticipation block near where he knew the Hierophant was being held, the Prognosticator somewhere nearby. He watched as The Corrival, since cleaned up and released from a mental evaluation, fresh bandages placed just over her left ganderbulb, paced the hallway.

The emergency drones had taken one look at Makara and Captor before pulling them into medical scuttlebuggies, carting them off as the Hierophant finally passed out from some kind of mask they'd placed over his face immediately upon arrival.

The Corrival, while also promptly placed in a stretcher, had taken advantage of the fact she had been left conscious to get her story out as quickly as she could, painting one of the grandest lies John had ever heard in his life to the horrified attending storytellegislators.

In the world according to Vriska Serket, The Prognosticator had gone insane, his allegiances to the Cull-Rehaul group finally fully pulling him into anti-coolcaste extremism. He'd ransacked the Royal Recalcitransitioner's hive, leading to the loss of her eye(s), and upon finding his glasses lense in her driveway, she had immediately driven to where she thought he would be in an effort to save any highbloods nearby from his next act of terror.

Tragically, she'd been too late to stop the death of The Congenial. A shame really, she'd definitely always totally liked that spunky little oliveblood. The Prognosticator hadn't even seemed to be aiming for her, but in his crazed efforts to kill the The Hierophant of the Landdwellers, it appeared the misguided goldblood had evaporated his fellow extremist in a misfire.

It was a true horror story, honestly, Captor betraying the loyalties of his matesprite like that. Thankfully, Vriska Serket had been there to save Gamzee Makara's life. And now she was just oh so worried about his and his pet quadrant's conditions.

John's thoughts had completely shorted out upon hearing the tale, stunned at the fucking audacity of the cobalt. Part of him wished Aradia was here, just so she could tell him how badly the Congenial's ghost was attempting to kill The Corrival at the moment, even as she nervously kept glancing at the giant doors leading into the surgical wing.

He had to admit she was playing the role of "horrified victim" quite well, though. It wouldn't shock him if a good amount of that terror was real, considering her hive had, in fact, been attacked earlier that day.

And also considering the fact that her future was very much on the line, depending on who believed her story.

A gentle breeze blew her way, causing her to look up at the conveniently placed wall phone nearby. Just as John had wanted her to, the Recalcitransitioner immediately went to use it, calling up her kismesis with a whispered urgency that bordered on manic.

Their conversation was long, the empress' voice frequently maxing out the speakers as she reacted to whatever it was that Serket was telling her. Finally, audible to just about anyone in the vicinity, came what John had been waiting for.

"I'll be there in twenty finutes!"

John's thoughts fell into a lull again as Beforus' most infamous politician hung up, continuing to wait for any news.

… Gamzee, his Gamzee anyway, hadn't messaged him in regards to their first little foray into each other's "ups and downs". And John hadn't contacted either.

God, this was going to be an invasive fucking process, wouldn't it?

He had no doubt the other clown knew what he saw, once the purpleblood had woken up. It was an odd sensation, remembering the troll's own dream alongside his own.

Even if he couldn't for the life of him figure out why the clown would be dreaming of his first time watching Spy Kids. That wasn't a miracle or revelation, was it? It had just been a sweet, little memory. A nice time at the theater with his fath--

…

Shit.

It was after first watching that movie together, wasn't it? His dad first informing him of his "secret identity" as a street performer.

… He'd been so fucking happy to find out.

His own first miracle, then. He guessed.

Ugh.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him out of his head.

TC: :o)

EB: oh, hey! thank you again for the faygo. you didn't have to do that

TC: :oD

TC: :o/

EB: i am… assuming that look is in response to the gushers?

TC: :o1

EB: … fair. i had to work with what i had

TC: :o)

TC: :o)

EB: er sorry… i'm not used to guessing at gifs

EB: you want me to come over?

TC: :oD

EB: i can do that! we have been needing to catch up on mime lessons anyway, if you'd like to do that once i'm there. give me a minute to finish up some errands and i'll zap over, okay?

TC: :oDD

At least there would be something nice to look forward to, once this mission was over. It shouldn't take too much longer.

Or hopefully it would be nice. The impromptu meeting the other night of all of his quadrants or perspective quadrants in one place had been…

Something.

Messiahs knew what the mime had figured out. It seemed John and the younger ragebound had been more than a bit obvious. The Heir had already spent the better part of his morning answering messages back and forth from both Aradia and Rose, grilling him to various degrees about his new quadrant.

Aradia had literally opened their conversation by asking who topped.

Neither had seemed unhappy at the news, though. The Maid had been teasing, but mostly quite congratulatory, cheerily hoping the two emissaries could "fix each other". Rose had seemed more invested in asking if John had really only known the Bard for a few hours, and if so, how they'd formed a kismesissitude so quickly.

He hadn't really had any answers for her other than that Gamzee was incredibly talented at pushing his buttons. Which was true, but also not exactly the full answer.

He kind of… hated how she may never know that full answer.

Considering the weirdly strained relationship between the two Makara's though, John wasn't… quite certain if Kurloz' reaction would be as accepting of the situation.

… At least, he'd finally gotten some words out of Calliope.

After his fourth or fifth apology, she'd given up, compelling him into telling her the real reason he'd used the hook. She'd seemed genuinely surprised when it was the exact same desperate explanation he had already given her several times.

The merge had just been confirmed to be permanent. He had only wanted to see if there was a way to mitigate the damage before she found out how he had failed her again.

He'd just wanted… time...

In case he had been about to find out he wouldn't be functional as a servant for her anymore.

That would have been devastating. He didn't want that.

He never would.

She had apologized for not believing him, insisting that he needn't take any further penance for disobeying her. What Caliborn had put him through had been more than enough already.

He had never felt worse about the picture he had painted of her to Gamzee.

But… the troll had met her now. So surely, he knew she was fine! A really good boss.

Everything was fine.

Or. Or it would be. Depending on how his hang out with Kurloz went.

The doors into the emergency wing of the medical hive opened, and the Corrival looked up as a young teal detrimentender hovered awkwardly in the frame before heading over to the blueblood, clipboard clutched tight to her chest.

"Um… so I have good news, and I have bad news. Do you have a preference on which you hear first…?" The tealblood's voice was soft, forcing John to strain to hear from where he was sitting.

The Corrival's voice had no such issues, Vriska immediately putting on her most concerned expression as she loudly pleaded to know "what the damages of extremism had wrought".

John fought down the urge to roll his eyes, though it wouldn't have mattered much if he did. He was hardly the only one listening in after all, the crowded anticipation block full of trolls blatantly eavesdropping.

The detrimentender, from her expression, was more than a little aware that their conversation was less than private. Her voice was even softer as she attempted to answer.

"Mr. Captor is awake and alive, however his pan seems to have taken on quite a bit of damage… He's been attempting to speak with us all evening, however he's been less than coherent. Or… cooperative."

Vriska nodded sympathetically. John wondered if he was the only one who saw the joy dancing in her one good eye.

"And… his target?"

"Hierophant Makara is also now awake, and seems to be recovering well, however unfortunately, he will be unable to communicate in the way he's used to from now on. We were just about to call in a purpleblood interpreter so that we can verify your story with ch--"

"Oh, that poor man!" The Corrival's voice practically ricocheted off the wall, completely drowning out the tealblood next to her.

"Please, tell me you aren't going to force him to regale such a traumatizing event immediately. His matesprite just attacked him! My kismesis will be here quite soon. She has graciously offered her services as an interpreter for him."

The troll nurse gaped, stunned. "H-her Beneficence has offered to interpret?"

"Are you doubting the magnanimity of our empress? This is hardly a standard situation. She wanted to offer her full support for The Hierophant in these troubling times."

The younger troll's eyes were gigantic, looking over at one of the limeblood receptionists in John's anticipation block and making an urgent gesture to call.

Vriska pretended not to see it.

"O-of course not! Um, we may have to, um… we'll have to run this by the head doctor of course. She had really wanted to ensure it could be verified by a licensed--"

"Stop talking." Serket's "empathetic" expression went a little mean. "She's already here."

The medical hive fell silent as the elevator doors opened, Her Eleemosynary Beneficence practically gliding across the floor into the entrance. She aimed a gentle smile in the detrimentender's direction, who looked like she was about to faint.

And a far more… purposeful smile in Vriska's direction.

The Hierophant was fucked.

"I'm swimcerly apologize for sea-ing late. Would you brine gilling me in?"

The medical assistant swallowed, paling significantly as she shook her head. The seadweller took this as permission to loop the young teal's arm through hers.

"Perfect. Let's head somewhere shore private, and then you can tow me to The Hierophant's block, o-cray?"

The assistant nodded again, shooting another pleading look at the receptionist, who nodded towards the surgical doors. Through the window, a middle aged indigo woman could be seen running full pace towards the entrance, very very clearly wanting to catch the empress before she could enter their space.

A small draft picked up down the hallway, catching hold of a nearby scourdray and leading the little cleaning cart to scoot along directly into the indigo's path, catching her by the ankle and faceplanting the woman directly into the tiled flooring.

The receptionist swallowed, turning wide eyes back to the teal and shrugging his shoulders.

No help was coming.

The detrimentender gave a nervous smile.

"Yes. Okay then. Um. Right this way."

"Of course."

The trio breezed through the surgical doors, and the quiet anticipation block erupted into noise the second they closed behind them, troll after troll excitedly confirming with each other the identity of the beautiful seadweller who'd just been mere feet away from them.

They'd had no idea that the empress could interpret for purplebloods! What a hard working and generous leader! The Hierophant was lucky the empress cared so much for his well being as to ensure his voice was heard in this terrible tragedy.

What they wouldn't give for the Beneficent to interpret for them. It must be such an honor.

John felt his mouth tilt into a frown.

None of them had paid attention to what was going on there at all, had they?

Not a single one was thinking critically?

Not that any of them had details, so maybe he was asking a bit much, honestly.

Though… considering the similar behavior he'd witnessed during The Scorned's trial, he doubted it.

Whatever.

The Heir got up, stretching before heading to a nearby ablutionblock, closing the door behind him and not bothering to lock it.

Less than a second later, he was standing in a far quieter hive, surrounded by the familiar, comforting imagery afforded by Kurloz' various posters and statues.

It… really did feel like his old home, back on Earth.

For the first time in a while, John felt his shoulders relax as he pulled out his phone to shoot a quick message. It felt wrong to call out for the mime in such a quiet space.

There was a small pause, and then footsteps from the back hallway, Kurloz rounding the corner with a smile.

Before John could say anything, the purpleblood held up his whiteboard.

His other frond was holding a DVD. John stopped dead, unable to stop a grin from blooming onto his face the second got a good look.

"... Rose gave you some movie recommendations, didn't she?"

Kurloz gave a quiet laugh, nodding as he gestured for John to join him on the couch.

MIME LESSONS, THEN NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS?

"You have no idea how good that sounds right now."

Chapter Text

Kurloz hadn't questioned the new penance mark.

For long, anyway.

John had barely lifted his hands to practice talking to him when the mime had frowned, gently catching his wrist and turning his hand from side to side, running his thumb over the little spirals.

John had flushed, wincing at the memory of Caliborn "healing" it into him and trying to ignore the warmth spreading from his hand down to his stomach at the Prince's scrutiny.

"Don't…worry about it. I-I missed a few prayers…"

That frown had deepened, a small corner of their lesson on the whiteboard erased so that the Prince could write a few words, cramped and tiny where they had been shoved around their latest vocabulary list.

MAGICIAN, RIGHT? THEY DONT PRAY?

"Not… usually, no. I didn't before. I've just needed to start… recently."

Very fucking recently, and his lack of experience was apparently pretty obvious. Caliborn had just laughed at his first few attempts, the Heir having no fucking idea where to start or how to even open when reaching out to the Lord.

At least the cherub was weirdly willing to tell him how to do it.

"I can't afford to forget again, so… it's a reminder as much as it is penance."

The mime had just… sighed, nodding as he finally released his wrist, his expression a bit indecipherable.

But he hadn't asked any further questions, allowing their lesson to continue into the night and only stopping when it was time to put on one of the best movies Rose could have suggested to them.

Holy shit, Kurloz had fucking adored that little film.

The ragebound had seemed fully entranced, eyes shining from the very first song as they were introduced to Halloweentown.

John had ended up watching the Prince more than the film, unable to keep a small grin off his face at the charmed delight so openly available in the other clown's expression.

The fact that they were sitting even closer than they had before was far from lost on the Heir, and if his breath catching every time their shoulders or legs brushed against each other was audible, Kurloz didn't seem to acknowledge it.

If anything, he did it more, something that made John's cheeks burn once he'd realized it.

The mime couldn't be doing it on purpose, could he? The little purple blush dusting the guy's ears was probably just due to the heat of the soft blanket he'd pulled out for both of them.

Yep.

That was clearly what was happening here.

As evidenced by the gentle flush staying there the whole movie, only brightening when John had eagerly agreed to return the next night for further miming.

And further movies. The clown had apparently been pretty busy alchemizing the suggestions Rose had given to him.

John would have to thank her later.

Which led him to tonight, the Heir's paint barely sealed before he'd eagerly zapped back into the familiar, comforting living room, shooting a text to the mime just like before to let him know he'd arrived.

He still wasn't allowed to know why he was learning the language in the first place.

Every time he asked, Calliope simply declared it "spoilers", though he knew at least that he was on a bit of a time crunch. She'd said more than once that he would have to catch up to a certain skill level before he could continue much further with his missions on Beforus.

He didn't mind that at all. His lessons with Kurloz had been fun and relaxing so far, the complete opposite of his depressing, cruel fucking missions, and they let the mime speak to him more easily. Even if they were confined to pretty simple signs for the moment.

And miming itself was weirdly exciting, something he would randomly think about and look forward to learning, practicing fingerspelling in his free time. He hadn't expected to take to it much, but the differences in how the language was constructed and the extra added little meanings each sign could have were so… endless.

It was like wordplay had been mixed with performing.

It was… really fucking cool, actually.

It was the same feeling he got when he practiced magic tricks. This urge to learn more and just keep going and getting better.

Not that he'd stopped practicing those either. His sleight-of-hand had improved dramatically since Aradia had gifted him that wand, reigniting his love for the complicated misdirections and isolations required to pull off some of the more intense hijinks.

Weirdly, the two skills seemed to be leading into each other, coordination in one assisting the other.

Kurloz had visibly perked up when he mentioned how much he enjoyed their lessons, ghostly eyes sparkling with something that looked a lot like wonder as the troll obviously fought down a grin.

He hadn't seemed surprised though, writing that miming was a form of visual communication, just like most magic tricks, or all of the visual gags he enjoyed so much in movies.

It made sense, but it definitely wasn't something John would have connected the dots on if Kurloz hadn't pointed it out to him.

Today's lesson was on parts of the body, various signs related to caste, and Beforan society as a whole. Now that he had learned his letters and a few basic signs, the mime had asked him not to speak, wanting him to rely on spelling or pantomiming (which was different from normal miming) his meanings when he got stuck.

John had never been more grateful for his time on Beforus, because without having a decent basis on what trolls called different body parts, he was about ninety percent certain this lesson would have been incredibly overwhelming.

It was… more than a bit obvious that his gracious host was using this lesson as an opportunity to gain more information about his human guest's latest changes.

Which… was fair.

Between John's upper body now looking the way it did, the gray streak Rose had shown him a few nights ago, and the Heir's brand new penance mark…

Kurloz had been left in the dark for a while.

//FIRST GRAY WHEN?// Kurloz signed at him, gaze openly tracing the coloration changes as it disappeared into the collar of John's t-shirt.

John made a face, making the mime snort. He was going to have to get creative with how to phrase this, wasn't he? Each sign was mimed slowly at his teacher.

//OUR L-E-S-S-O-N FIRST. WE FINISH. I LEAVE. GO TO R-O-S-E. SHE SEES MY NECK. I SEE HER ARM. PAST ONLY A LITTLE GRAY. NOW MORE.//

The purpleblood nodded encouragingly, the small, proud little smile on his face doing funny things to John's heart rate.

It was his turn to ask a question.

//YOU, R-O-S-E MEET? LIKE HER YOU?//

That expression turned a little warmer as the troll nodded.

//SHE NICE. MANY QUESTIONS.//

It was John's turn to smile, the expression a little sheepish. //YES. WITH HER, THAT N-O-R-M-A-L.//

//L-I-G-H-T PERSON?//

//YES.//

//MOTHERFUCKING VERY NORMAL. YES.//

John laughed, immediately earning a grin from his teacher, thinking of the light player Kurloz had been stuck with for millennia. He and Aranea hadn't spoken much, the few brief times they had conversed being either part of Vriska's treasure hunting mission, or a rather… odd attempt from her one time to tell him about the Signless.

He had no fucking doubt that questions from light players were normal to the mime, yeah.

//QUESTION WHICH?//

The mime hesitated. //ABOUT TWO OF US. AND ABOUT CHURCH.//

Ah.

… He should have known Rose would immediately try to go interrogate the poor guy after he told her about him.

//FUCK. I'M SORRY. YOU TELL HER WHAT?//

The mime shook his head, raising a hand in a "don't worry about it" gesture. //I TOLD HER ASK YOU.//

//THANK YOU.//

//NO PROBLEM. VIOLET SHE? NOT KNOW CHURCH?//

John paused, attempting to resist the urge to look away. It was apparently pretty rude to do that in mime culture, considering looking at someone was necessary to see what they were saying.

But this was a bit of a harder question to answer with as… limited of a vocabulary as he had.

And he didn't really… know how the mime would react to his response.

//NO... NO ONE KNOW. E-A-R-T-H… NOT HAVE OUR CHURCH. HAVE OTHER CHURCH. NOT THAT ONE.//

Kurloz' frowned immediately, hands raising to ask further questions, then lowering again. He looked blankly over at the white board resting on the coffee table next to him, half heartedly reaching for it before letting his hand drop back to his lap, lost in thought.

A few moments passed, John simply watching as the clown processed what he had just said.

Finally, he huffed, raising his hands again slowly, the look on his face suddenly anxious.

//NEW SIGN. READY?//

//OK.//

//C-H-U-C-K-L-E-V-O-O-D-O-O.// Kurloz showed him the new sign after spelling it out.

John shrank back before hesitantly mimicking the new word. What was… the mime about to say here? Where was this going?

Thankfully, that hesitation seemed to be mutual. The mime's expression was nervous as he asked his next question.

//I CAN CHUCKLEVOODOO, CAN I?//

John froze, his first couple shared memories with Gamzee springing to mind immediately. His voice leapt out before he could stop it. "J-just to talk, right?"

The troll looked like he had just slapped him.

John quickly backpedaled, panic worming its way into his bellowsacks before skittering down his limbs.

"U-um, I didn't mean--I-I was not implying… I just wanted to make sure I knew what we were--"

A single gloved hand had already lifted, waving away his explanation as the troll took a breath, clearly trying to get some kind of grip on himself before he turned back to the Heir.

//YOU OKAY. NO SORRY. PLEASE NO SORRY. GOOD QUESTION. NORMAL QUESTION. I JUST… ONLY TALK, YES.//

John swallowed, searching the mime's expression for any clues to what had hurt him.

… He wasn't getting those clues, the face of his instructor already carefully schooled back into a reassuring, if still somewhat tense, smile.

It was… incredibly clear how much the purpleblood wanted him to move past his reaction.

Shakily, John lifted his hands again. //OK. TWO OF US CHUCKLEVOODOO. TALK MORE.//

The same quiet pain was still shining in those eyes, but gratitude quickly joined them as Kurloz let out a small, weak little breath.

Pale white eyes turned brilliant purple.

The presence in his head was hesitant, shy. Like an adopted cat checking out their new home for the first time.

"HEY."

The voice that ricocheted through his head was actually quite loud though, causing John to flinch, and the voice to immediately pull back a bit.

"Fuck. Apologies. Amplitude is a bit difficult to get right the first time you reach out to a motherfucker."

Oh.

Oh, wow. Okay.

John answered in his own head automatically, as if he were simply speaking to Calliope.

"H-hi. You're fine."

That was Kurloz' voice, huh?

In some ways, it was both the same as and polar opposite of Gamzee's. Smooth with a bit of a lilt to it, but deeper, more… direct and formal. It was as if the troll were making pains to enunciate everything perfectly, completely juxtaposing Gamzee's easy-going drawl.

It was… it was a really nice voice, actually. One that was hard not to pay attention to. It was a voice practically designed for public speaking, had the person he was talking to not silenced it permanently.

… Messiahs, this moment was private, the intimacy of knowing the mime's voice, hidden to the majority of the world, shooting heat through the breath player's frazzled nervous system and burning into his cheeks.

… It may be a bit hard to act normal while the Prince was in his head.

Kurloz offered a small smile. "Well, you seem to have your righteous sonority down just fucking fine, invertebrother."

John felt his blush brighten slightly at the compliment. "Well… it is my pan, right? So that would… maybe make sense?"

The troll shrugged. "Perhaps. You'd be shocked how loud a motherfucker's internal voice can get. We may have to experiment on that noise later and find out."

"Experiment?"

"Sure. I'm in your puzzle sponge now. If you'd like, later, you can practice your holy gifts on mine. Not like we don't have the time, and it's not like you don't have my permission."

John blinked, feeling a small, shy smile grace his features, but before could reply, Kurloz got them both back on topic.

"I-I don't do this often. This isn't a replacement for miming by any motherfucking means. The whole reason I asked to be in your pious nug in the first place… what do you mean no one knew the Church on Earth?"

Ah. Shit.

That probably would be something the Prince wanted clarified, wouldn't it?

It just… wasn't a very fun explanation, and it was too fucking complicated for John to come up with a good lie for.

"Kind of just… what it sounds like. No other humans had the same beliefs as me. Not any I had been able to find anyway. And even if I did, I am not… actually sure they would have the vocabulary to be able to tell me what they believe."

John looked to the side, allowing his mental voice to fall into a kind of mutter.

"I don't think I would have had the fucking vocabulary to know what to ask either, to be honest. I-I had had doctrine. I had beliefs. But I didn't know what they were before I entered the Medium."

He hadn't even known he'd had a fucking religion.

Kurloz frowned. "How did you know your doctrine if--"

"Great question," John spoke quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. He really didn't want to mention The Green Book at the moment.

Or his emissary status. Gamzee had warned him not to, and while he still didn't fully know what had happened between the two rage players, he knew Calliope was already annoyed enough with him for the moment without him pushing his luck.

The memory of Caliborn's grin, glinting in the green light of his hideout, was also a pretty good deterrent.

… The last thing he wanted was to pull Kurloz into something he'd never be able to get out of.

"Maybe it… just happened because of the game? Sburb works in weird ways, and every viable session needs a clown to complete it."

A small frown, just for a moment, appeared on Kurloz' face. "That's… true. Yes."

It… didn't sound like he believed him, but John was coming up with a flat zero on how to come up with a good excuse.

Unfortunately, the Prince broke the silence before he could come up with anything decent.

"You know… your palefriend didn't just give movie suggestions and pepper me with questions about our Special Stars while she was here. She… may have… mentioned something what's yours."

John froze, expression suddenly grim as he looked back at the mime.

… Did she now?

He didn't say anything in return, simply watching as Kurloz watched him.

There was a long pause before the clown sighed.

"Ninja… you're not required to tell me anything if you're not wanting to, but please don't treat me like I'm some mirthless motherfucking idiot. What is this," The clown raised his hands for finger quotes. "'All important jokebook' of an heirloom you got, and why were you following the Covenant of the Scripture Most Wicked when you showed it at her?"

…

Goddammit, Rose.

The Seer of Light had not started her morning on the right foot.

She had meant to wake up early, meeting with Kanaya for breakfast before retiring to her alchemical studies like usual, but the night before had been so uncomfortable, she'd barely gotten any sleep, missing her alarm once it sounded.

With a groan, and a hasty apology text sent to the jade, Rose slowly got out of bed, struggling to find the energy to even get dressed in the beautifully tailored outfit the Sylph had made for her.

Her body couldn't decide if it felt hot or cold. All it knew is that it was very… dry, an odd itchiness settling over her skin like hives.

It… had to be the change, right?

Slipping on a cardigan to hide her gray right side from any onlookers, Rose peeked out her door before quickly dashing into the shared ablutionblock just down the hallway, locking the door behind her.

Her eyes widened as she finally slipped off the little sweater, peeking into the mirror at her newest… developments.

Overnight, the gray covering her arm had spread in thick tendrils to her neck and over her chest, one beginning to extend down her back as well.

As she lifted her arm to look at the back of it in the mirror, she finally got a good look at her right hand, the violet webbing that had been slowly growing there seeming finally complete.

It looked like fate may be forcing her hand here a bit...

It was probably finally time to tell Kanaya.

But even as she thought it, the discomfort settling over her skin concentrated in her neck, forcing her to clap her newly webbed hand over her mouth to hide a cry as she collapsed into the sink.

Chapter Text

Rose Lalonde had been through pain before.

Of course she had. There was no way to go through a game like Sburb without pain.

From normal strifing pain, to the existential pain of wondering how many dead versions of herself and her friends may be out in the dream bubbles, to the horrifying psychological pain of losing herself to the horrorterrors, or her mother to Jack Noir, or her own mortality to godtiering.

Pain was practically a Sburb feature. She was shocked it didn't have a meter in the game's UI.

But for some reason, the pain of the change was different.

Because it was weird.

Right hand still clamped firmly over her mouth, Rose shakily reached up with her left to turn on the faucet of the sink in front of her, the sound of the water allowing her a little wiggle room to gasp without the chance of being overheard.

It backfired immediately, the water rushing into the sink only immediately reminding her of how terribly, agonizingly fucking dry her skin felt, the worst of it on the webbing between her fingers and the horrible concentration on her neck.

Thank god she was in the bathroom, at least.

Shoving her webbed hand into the sink, the Seer held her breath to keep from crying out as the sharp awfulness just above her collar increased, getting as much as the cooling sensation as she could before turning off the stream and stumbling over to the shower.

She didn't bother to shrug off her dress, her hands shaking as they steadied themselves against the tiled wall, reaching out to turn the faucet knob and not giving a single shit about the temperature of the water as it hit her body. The only thing that mattered was the relief against the horrible itchiness of skin that felt like it was practically dying without moisture.

It still wasn't assisting her neck, however. No matter how she tilted her head this way and that to try and get as much of the life-saving liquid on the area.

And then it got worse.

Relying on the streaming water around her to cover her cry, the lightbound finally brought down her hand from her mouth to gasp as a horrid pressure began to build, only for violet eyes to widen in horror.

S-she couldn't gasp.

She couldn't breathe. It was as if something was blocking her airway.

Alarm shot through her body like it had been fired from a cannon, both urging her out of and further into the shower at once. In the end, both options were taken from her as blank, raw panic battled with lack of oxygen. Her vision began to blur and gray along the edges, forcing both hands back against the wall as Rose sank to the shower floor to keep herself from falling.

H-had she misjudged this change? The Light had only rejoiced at every new change as it had occurred, but that wasn't necessarily a mark for or against her own comfort.

Or life.

Was it fucking killing her? Would it even succeed against her conditional immortality?

Probably not, right? Unless becoming a seadweller was somehow inherently Just or Heroic, and while several of the trolls on this meteor may have opinions one way or another on that idea, she highly fucking doubted it.

But the lack of breathing was… definitely… knocking her out, her pain and dread dulling as the Seer felt her thoughts slow, eyes beginning to flutter closed.

It wasn't like she could see at this point anyway, vision almost fully gray as she slumped over into the stream of water.

And then some connection inside her finally made its way to the outside, and the pained gasp she'd been attempting to make for minutes exploded out with a sharp yell, her vision flooding back as her ears rang, sensation returning to her in a tidal wave of white noise.

For a few, desperately needed moments, things settled down, the sounds of the shower and the wonderfully cool water on her skin the only things she needed to pay attention to as the prior agony settled into a far more tolerable ache.

Then the doorknob started rattling.

"Hey! Everything okay in there? I heard someone yelling."

Terezi.

Shit. How on earth was she going to explain what just happened? She was soaked from head to toe, dress a sopping mess around her. The lightbound may have just been about to tell Kanaya, but that certainly didn't translate to immediately letting everyone else in on her sudden change.

The jade would never forgive her if the meteor's Dynamic Duo were let in on Rose's recent changes before she was.

Or rather, she would. All while being obviously very hurt. And that was far worse in Rose's opinion.

Struggling back up and reluctantly turning off the faucet, Rose called back to the other Seer.

"Everything's fine, Terezi. Apologies for startling you. I fell."

"Um." Came the reply, making Rose roll her eyes, exasperated. The mind player had always had an incredible ability to tell when she was being lied to.

And it had never failed to be inconvenient.

This lie was even technically true. Kind of. Sinking slowly to the floor due to passing out was basically falling.

"That yell was something I'd expect more from someone getting their eyes plucked out by one of Dave's featherbeasts than a quick fall."

Jesus Christ.

Looking around for a spare towel in the room and finding absolutely nothing, Rose huffed and grabbed her still-dry cardigan from the floor where she had left it, hurriedly wiping the steam from the mirror in front of her to make sure it was covering everything.

And freezing immediately.

That's what her lack of breathing had been.

She was now breathing from a different place.

Along the sides of her neck, three evenly-spaced violet slits had opened, gently fluttering as she inhaled and exhaled, a stark contrast against the still mostly white skin in the area.

Terezi was probably still waiting out there for her to reply, wasn't she?

Hugging the dark cardigan as close to her soaking dress as she could, taking care to try and hide as much of her new addition as possible, the Seer stepped out of the bathroom, trying her absolute damndest to school her face into a vaguely annoyed frown.

Her fellow Seer had indeed been waiting, just outside the door. The second she stepped out, the mildly deranged tealblood took a long sniff in her direction.

"Where's your setae degreasing lubricant?"

Rose blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The slime you use to wash your hair. It smells absolutely delicious. Dave told me it was probably rose-scented, like your name. I told him that there was no way you were that silly and egotistical."

… Damn.

Okay.

She wasn't planning on getting burned that badly while still soaked to the less than metaphorical gills.

"Humans call it shampoo. I… changed it out. Got tired of the previous one. It's scentless now." The Seer pulled her cardigan even tighter around her as she spoke.

The teal frowned at her.

"Lalonde, are you okay?"

No. She absolutely was not. She needed to go back to her room, away from potentially prying eyes. Getting stuck in a conversation with someone who would absolutely see through whatever she threw at her immediately was a fantastic way to ruin that plan.

But acting any way other than casually would guarantee the tealblood picked up on whatever she didn't want her to know

Instantaneously.

"Yes, why?"

"You… normally talk a bit more than this? That's all. I didn't even get a rise out of you by insulting your delectable degreaser."

The lightbound huffed.

"I'm fine… I'm getting sick, and the fall helped nothing. I just need to get back to my room, that's all. I have some healing items there that will help me."

Terezi cocked an eyebrow.

"You're not talking about that drinkable earth suppressant, right? Vriska goes on and on about you using that stuff, you know."

A small smirk crawled its way onto the mindbound's face.

"She says you're giving your fellow light players a bad name."

In spite of herself, Rose snorted.

"That's a bold claim from Vriska, don't you think?"

To her surprise, the other Seer laughed. She'd kind of been expecting her to get defensive, with the amount of time the two Scourge Sisters spent together.

"I will tell her she's projecting."

Rose felt the corners of her mouth lift into a smile. "Please do, and inform me of her reaction later, after I take the healing items I need."

So saying, she pointedly took a small step towards her door, a less than subtle hint.

The teal in front of her hesitated.

"Are you sure you're just sick?"

Ugh.

Terezi continued. "Don't think I haven't noticed you and Dave acting weird lately. Not everyone has noticed, but not everyone is a Seer of Mind."

There was a pause. Rose opened her mouth to reply, but the troll continued, beating her to it.

"And not everyone can smell colors under clothing. Or hear loud conversations between Knights who don't know how to keep their voices down."

…

She wasn't... sure what the emphasis on the word "conversation" was about, but she probably should have known her ectobiological sibling would crack before she did.

The justice-obsessed maniac put on a voice that likely would have served her incredibly well had she ever had the chance to enter a courtblock. Prime interrogation material.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

… She wasn't going to answer that, opting instead to ask her own question.

"These things you've 'noticed'... have you informed others on the meteor of them?"

The troll lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"Nah. It's not really my business. But if you keep being a stupid, unapproachable human about it and hiding away from your friends…"

Terezi gave her a very genuine frown.

"I may just have to spill the fart niblets."

...

It was a well-issued threat.

Rose would give her that.

"... If what you were saying is true, Kanaya is who I would prefer to know first. In this hypothetical scenario in which what you're talking about makes sense... and it doesn't, to be clear... that may have been literally what I was about to do in my room before you decided to meddle."

"Woooooooow," The troll drawled, causing Rose to pull a face. Vriska's influence was incredibly obvious to anyone who bothered to listen for it. "I'm meddling for a reason! I was being serious when I said that yell sounded painful."

"It wasn't that bad. I was being dramatic."

"It sounds to me like you went from being 'dramatic' to being a prideful seadweller about it."

Again with people immediately assuming she would be a seadweller.

"How do you know that's my future caste?"

"Lalonde," Terezi snorted. "I've been treating you like a seadweller since you first set your peppermint-white strutnubs on this dreary, mushroom-flavored meteor. Human or not, you're the most obvious violet I've ever smelled in my life, including the Amporas."

The lightbound sighed. The mindbound grinned.

"Also, I got a whiff of your new gills. Wildberry surprise. I would love to lick them someday if you let me--"

"--Okay, well I appreciate the chat, Pyrope. But if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a Sylph to speak with."

The troll snorted, finally stepping aside.

"Don't let me get in the way of you finally getting some help. You humans are so dumb."

"We won't be staying that way for long, will we?"

"Oh, please. You'll always be a dumb human in my books."

Rolling her eyes, but unable to keep a small smile off her face, the 'dumb human' finally stepped past her fellow Seer, swiftly re-entering her room and allowing herself to groan the second her door was closed.

… Terezi better have been telling the truth about not telling anyone else.

With a sigh, Rose quickly changed out of her dress and into drier wear, a small puddle already having formed underneath her feet.

She tried to ignore that this was actually more uncomfortable on her still-too-dry skin than the previous arrangement. Swallowing, she shot a message to a troll to whom she'd owed answers for far too long.

TT: Hello, Kanaya. May I ask where you are on the meteor?

GA: Oh

GA: I Actually Find Myself In The Dreambubbles At The Moment

GA: My Dancestor Wished To Gift Me A Few Dress Patterns So That We Could Collaborate On A Few Gowns

GA: Apparently Shes Been Feeling Unduly Inspired Lately On The Possible Grounds Of New "Life" Being Brought To The Void

Rose's heart sank.

TT: Would I be able to inquire how far into the memories you are?

GA: Not That Far Out

GA: Twenty Minutes At The Most.

GA: Is Everything Okay

GA: Its Not Like You To Insist On My Whereabouts So Specifically Nor For You To Be So Straightforward While Doing So

GA: Porrim Isn't Expecting Me At Any Particular Time

GA: I Can Always Return To See Her In A Night Or Two

GA: Do You Wish For Me To Come Back To The Meteor

TT: I would love to tell you that things are, indeed, okay.

TT: Unfortunately… that wouldn't be an incredibly accurate depiction of the scenario I've found myself in. Would you be willing to meet me in my bedroom? No need to cancel your plans. I'll be in here whenever you come back.

GA: Give Me Five Minutes

GA: Im Already On My Way

The last sentence made the Seer's breath catch in her chest as she closed out of Pesterchum and pulled up her camera, reviewing the latest spreads of gray again nervously.

Should she put on her body paint? Swipe it off her skin when the Sylph came in for a dramatic reveal, like she'd unintentionally given Kurloz?

Probably not.

The paint she alchemized was hardly safe to ingest. It likely wouldn't go down well if it got stuck in her gills.

… What an odd sentence. This change was going to be a lesson in accepting multiple new facts about herself as quickly as she could.

And though she would never admit it… the thought was a bit nervewracking, her ever-looming situation more and more daunting as she gently ran a hand over the side of her newest breathing apparatus.

Paint was a no go, so instead, she put down her phone, flopping unceremoniously onto her bed as she waited for the most lovely troll she'd ever known to arrive at her doorstep.

… This might be an awkward talk.

Dave Strider had just emptied a bucket into a toilet.

Like… a fucking bucket. A troll bucket. The most sordid and lewd of misappropriated cleaning supplies, the mix of lime and crimson swirling down the drain bringing a bright blush to his stupid, gay face.

It wasn't even his bucket. It was Karkat's. A borrowed bucket. Something that was probably even more crazy pornographic to the weirdass fucking species he was turning into.

But it didn't feel pornographic. It felt like… a different kind of pornographic.

Shit had gotten practically fucking matrimonial up in this piece.

He meant what he had told the troll, though. The timelines were acting weird as fuck lately, colliding and overlapping like Dave had never felt before.

They were all adults. They had to be. Nine or eighteen or wherever the marker was set for each species. None of them had fucking noticed, but to be fair, he and Rose, at least, had had other shit on their minds.

Evidence of his latest death of fucking virginity down the drain, the Knight shoved the incriminating metal pail into his Sylladex before heading over to the sink, washing his hands and slashing water over his face to try and reset the bright-ass blush his cheeks had had the audacity to betray him with.

He could be cool. He could play this cool. He and Karkat could totally be cool about this.

Yeah.

So saying, the time player began to exit out the door, only to immediately collide into Terezi like he was auditioning for the Dallas Fucking Cowboys.

Or he would have, had he not just bounced off the tealblood like one of those randomized bouncy balls.

He missed those things.

Maybe he could alchemize one? It would annoy the absolute shit out of Karkat, which was enough of a reason to try on its own.

"Wow, Dave. Way to slam into a poor defenseless blind girl! Don't they teach you any respect for the disabled on Earth?"

"'Rezi, you're the least defenseless person I've ever met in my life. Don't fucking play."

She grinned at him, sharp fangs on full display.

"Less defenseless than you?"

"Did I stutter? I'm like a soggy box of Apple Jacks against whatever the fuck it is you got goin' on with your justice fetish."

The troll immediately wrinkled her nose.

"Gross. Just gross. Why do you always say the worst things you possibly can? I don't even know what Apple Jacks is but it smells like a lie, somehow."

"The most delicious lie Earth ever put down. Consider it an art--"

"But speaking of fetishes--!"

"--Say what the fuck now--?"

"--I drew you something!"

To the human's horror, the Seer shoved a crumpled piece of paper into his hands, the brightness of her grin practically lighting the damn hallway.

Hesitantly, the Knight unfolded the little thing, only to freeze, absolutely mortified at what was waiting for him.

There, on the yellowed notebook paper, was a crudely drawn picture of him and Karkat, lips stretched across the page in a ridiculous parody of a kiss.

Just underneath it was the real cause for fear, though.

His face was fire red as he zipped past the cackling teal into his room, the urgent way he slammed his door causing Karkat to look up in alarm from his bed.

"Hey man, can you do me a solid super quick?"

"What? Dude, what happened?"

"Can you murder me in cold blood? It'll be Just. I fucking promise."

Chapter Text

Kanaya arrived back at the meteor in record time, slowing her sprint down to a brisk walk to avoid questioning as she breezed by Vriska, a visiting Meenah, and even Gamzee as though they were furniture.

Not that she didn't mark where that backstabbing Bard was to check later. She still had no idea why Karkat had insisted on her or Vriska refraining from killing him, but she intended on fixing that mistake in judgement the moment she and the clown were alone.

… Even if she strongly suspected Rose had been sabotaging her efforts. The human had made it abundantly clear that she disagreed with her assessment that the Church and its followers were untrustworthy as a rule.

But that was a matter to be resolved later, after she could ensure her human friend was okay.

It was… incredibly unlike Rose to let anyone at all know that something was wrong.

Which was not cause for comfort in this situation.

For what may have been the sixth time since starting back, Kanaya shoved down well-earned anxiety, the unwanted emotion kicking up her breath and pusher rate beyond where they already were from her desperate dash to the meteor. That nonsense wouldn't do her any good, so she did her best to steel her nervous system as she plunged ever deeper into semi-lit hallways towards Rose's respiteblock.

Her mind wouldn't cease in its efforts to provide possible reasons she may have been contacted.

While she and Rose had shared endless information about each other's respective societal conventions, Kanaya knew that she had barely scratched the surface of knowledge on the other species.

She knew nothing of their illnesses or weaknesses. She knew nothing of the various ways things could go wrong.

She didn't even know if this was about that. Perhaps Rose had been attacked? Perhaps she was unhappy with the jade in some way?

… She may have reason to be.

The Sylph shoved open the heavy door leading into the section devoted to personal sleeping quarters, shoving down a guilt she'd been attempting to combate for wipes now along with it.

What if this requested rendezvous was in regards to Rose finding out about the trolls' own meeting? Every troll on the meteor and even some of the Alpha trolls had gathered to discuss some… defects in perception lately.

… Kanaya still couldn't quite shake the beautifully maintained seadweller hive from her mind. The gorgeous, pearl white spires carved seemingly directly into an underwater cliff. The all glass observationblock, for which she had watched Rose (was that her name in this scenario? It felt… incorrect) grief her ludicrously huge octo-meowbeast lusus for the rights to a key.

It was so… detailed.

So real feeling.

But it wasn't.

Rose was a human. These memories were incorrect, not really fighting her old memories of the lightbound's human home, but laying beside them, fitting into each other simultaneously, as though a picture of Rose's mentality and upbringing could not be correctly viewed without witnessing both in equal measure.

She knew, if anything, Rose would meet the odd, dreamlike memories with curiosity. The beautiful Seer was nothing if not endlessly inquisitive. She likely wouldn't be offended by a single thing Kanaya could tell her about the imaginary hive, questioning her for hours, if only for further details on a rather reclusive subcategory of troll.

… Their long talks into the night, sweetly comparing various human and troll customs, were some of the best moments the Sylph could remember ever experiencing. She had gone into the meeting more than willing to share their unusual experiences with their new friends.

But the meteor-wide agreement had been to keep their new, strange memories from the humans, and Kanaya had only been able to find herself concurring with Karkat and the others once they had explained their reasoning.

Even if she had regretted the agreement ever since.

As an odd glitch in the timeline? It was fine. Simply an interesting hypothetical.

But if it wasn't viewed that way… if it was viewed as a rewriting of their friends' histories and culture to suit what may be more "comforting" to the trolls…

That was another matter entirely, one far less acceptable considering their planet's history of cultural conquest.

Particularly in the matter of custodians. Both Rose and Dave seemed to have fairly… complex relationships with their guardians. While it had, at first, seemed to be a species-wide advantage that humans could freely communicate with the people raising them, the matter of humans being their own lusii seemed to do nothing but create further pitfalls for potential development, if you asked the Sylph.

Having an adult with their own goals, beliefs, duties, and wants suddenly be responsible for raising a completely new human… telling that child that whatever happened at home was fully normal while their schoolfeeds apparently left all socialization and teaching of manners up to that adult…

Well. Let's just say it explained some things about the… intensity so often felt from their human friends.

And that sentiment was coming from Alternians.

The fear of their human friends thinking they were replacing their guardians with "troll-approved" versions had been the main thing keeping everyone from saying anything.

But as she finally allowed herself to catch her breath outside of Rose's room, only to be unceremoniously yanked into the small, safe little space the second she knocked, the Sylph couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps they should have been a tad more forthright with their experiences.

Because if they had, Rose may have opened up to her as well before… apparently… she became amphibious.

The jadeblood stared at the Seer, unable to shake a crawling sense of dread from her nutrition bladder as the lightbound quietly waited for her to take her appearance in, the beautiful human's expression uncharacteristically strained with nervousness.

Her entire right arm was gray. Troll gray. As though she were wearing body paint, the discoloration spreading in odd tendrils across the human's collar and dipping beneath the hemline of her dress.

But body paint couldn't explain the all too real gills on Rose's neck, nor the delicate violet webbing on that newly gray hand of hers.

Had their memories been premonitions instead?

Oh, they should have said something.

Oh my goodness, they should have said something.

Kanaya opened her mouth to speak at the same time Rose did.

"W-when did this—?"

"Please don't—"

Both of them fell silent.

There was a long pause before the corner of Rose's mouth lifted in the slightest hint of a knowing smile, all too understanding given the circumstances, and she lifted her now webbed hand in a kind of "you first" gesture.

Kanaya took a nervous breath before launching back into her question.

"May I ask… if this is a new development?"

Rose shifted, rocking back on her heels uncomfortably.

"You can ask, and the answer is that it's not… exactly new. Though the gills certainly just happened today." The Seer's expression became a bit pained as she spoke the last part, making Kanaya's pusher rate kick up in worry.

"When did this start, then?"

"Perhaps… several weeks ago? Or months. It's quite difficult to get a feel for time lately… and Dave refuses to be helpful when I ask him about it."

The jade felt her brow furrow, nodding. She and Rose had discussed human time measurements before…

A month was approximately half a wipe, right? So that would mean this change…

Had gone for too long.

And… may have begun at exactly the moment the trolls noticed their memories changing.

… Both sets of species on this meteor were hopeless, weren't they?

"This is happening to Strider as well?"

Rose nodded before hesitating, gently pulling the troll to sit next to her on the bed, a far less confrontational position then simply standing there staring at one another.

Kanaya responded immediately, squeezing the light player's hands and drawing her knees up to sit more comfortably on the soft sleeping platform, the movements earning a small, but relieved smile from the beautiful human and pulling a similar expression onto the troll's features.

After a small breath, Rose spoke again.

"From what we can tell, it's happening to all the humans. John and I noticed it starting at the same time, when we very first met up."

The spacebound felt her mouth tilt down in a frown, a small pang squirming its way into her chest and forming a large, unyielding knot.

It was unfair of her, but the idea of her being the last person in Rose's life to know about these changes was… a bit unwelcome.

… Incredibly unfair, considering Rose's other friends were undergoing the same changes.

"I see. And is that what caused you two to enter into a pale quadrant? The fear of… whatever's happening? Is that what you meant by John not doing well?"

She was getting a little nosy with these inquiries, but Rose was shaking her head before she'd even finished the question, squeezing her hands gently and pulling them into her lap as though she somehow knew of the jade's embarassing thoughts.

"John and I looking into moiraillegiance had nothing to do with the change. We noticed at the same time, but we haven't actually discussed it beyond that." The Seer looked away uncomfortably. "I… apologize. For not discussing it with you either. It's a bit personal, waking up each day and seeing how much the gray has spread."

The Sylph hated how much that knot loosened as she heard that it wasn't a frequent topic. After all, the experiences Rose was describing… did sound uniquely horrifying.

If anything, the Sylph could certainly relate to waking up one day to rather abrupt changes in your physiology and chitin color.

… She still felt the need to send Porrim a thank you letter from time to time, her gratitude for being taught how to turn off her rainbow drinker glow nigh endless.

"Please don't be upset with me." Rose's quiet voice broke through the Sylph's thoughts, immediately shaking prior discomfort out of her system.

She'd forgotten to answer, hadn't she?

Kanaya quickly squeezed Rose's hands back, shifting to be closer to her as her next few words fell out a little too quickly. Haste to ease whatever worries she'd accidentally just caused turned her sentence into a tumbled wreck.

"I-I'm not angry. My apologies. I don't think I have… much room to be angry in this situation, if I'm being completely honest with you."

Rose blinked, raising an eyebrow at her, and nervously, Kanaya finally told the Seer about the strange memories of all of the trolls on the meteor, experience after experience tumbling from her chagrin tunnel as though they'd merely been waiting for permission to race out of her.

God, it felt so good to finally tell her.

The next time Karkat issued one of his well-meaning edicts, she was ignoring it.

Just as she had known she would, Rose looked anything but offended as Kanaya regaled her with the various inconsistencies each troll had witnessed, each memory recounted painting a new picture of a timeline that could be and… apparently was becoming.

Kanaya spent nearly an hour giving all the details she could about Rose's "hive", the Seer peppering her with questions this way and that about the gorgeous architecture, as well as anything Kanaya herself knew about seadwellers as a whole.

If the Seer was disappointed about Kanaya's… rather stark lack of knowledge regarding seadweller customs, she didn't let it show, brilliant lavender eyes filled with nothing but gratitude as the Sylph strove to give her every ounce of minutia she did know.

That curiosity didn't wane even slightly as Kanaya recounted the memories experienced of the other trolls.

Rose outright grinned as she described the way Terezi had gone on for almost ten minutes about Dave's "sweet little horns".

Her expression fell into far more cautious territory when describing the fight that the Beforan trolls had witnessed, however.

"Meenah kept skipping around when describing it, never mentioning who did the stabbing and who got stabbed, though based on the expressions of Aradia and whatever… clown she brought with her, I'm assuming that she was the aggressor."

Rose nodded slowly, mouth turning down only slightly at Kanaya's account.

"And why were they telling this story? Was this relevant to the new memories?"

"It was the first moment the Beforan trolls noticed something, to my knowledge. Whichever human got stabbed had bled in the crimson color so normal to your species… but when the trolls who had seen the fight attempted to recall the events, they could only remember purple being the color of their blood."

Rose's brow furrowed, something clicking behind those brilliant lavender eyes.

"I see. And a… clown was there? With Aradia?"

The Sylph shrugged. "I wouldn't put too much stock into it. Purplebloods have a reputation for only sparing empathy for their own. It's likely they were only there given the perceived caste of the stabbee. I only hope whoever it was can escape any future influence from whatever he was attempting."

Rose's frown darkened, but Kanaya ignored it. She and Rose could disagree on this topic however much they liked. Neither of them would budge.

Thankfully, the light player didn't press.

"Was the human okay? The one who was stabbed?"

"I would assume so, there was no recounts of a new ghost joining their ranks."

The Seer hummed, idly scratching at her arm.

Kanaya let her for all of a few seconds, rainbow drinker senses immediately picking up on how deep those oddly blunted human nails were going. Gently, the jade reached out to catch the Seer's hand, pulling a gentle flush onto the human's face.

"… I may have been neglectful in asking you about this change. Are you okay? Is it causing you pain?"

Rose hesitated, then sighed. "There are… more comfortable things I've gone through. The main thing bothering me now is how horribly dry my skin feels. I attempted to put some kind of lotion on it, but the relief offered was minor. And beyond that, I'm unsure lotion would do much anyway, considering the worst of it is on the webbing on my hand and... my new…"

"… Gills?"

"Yes," Rose shifted uncomfortably.

Kanaya nodded, hesitating as her stomach twisted.

This change was going to be odd, wasn't it?

And that was coming from an outside perspective. This had to be a horribly strange thing for Rose to discuss herself.

No wonder she and John hadn't spoken about it much.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much the Jade could offer the still-mostly human by way of advice.

"None of the seadwellers I knew ever talked about it, but it may be a common issue. You could always ask one of the ghosts how to care for your new skin and… added features."

Rose sighed.

"I'm not sure that leaves me with many options. The Beta seadwellers are six sweeps old. I would feel a bit odd gathering hygiene advice from them."

She grimaced as she continued.

"And the Alpha seadwellers… I can't exactly be certain Meenah would treat my 'condition' with the discretion I would prefer, and the violetblood I could ask is Cronus."

…

All fair points.

… Hmm.

The jade's voice was hesitant as she offered an idea. "I agree with your assessment regarding Meenah. She's far too close with the other Serket for comfort in regards to keeping private conversations private…"

Rose looked at her curiously as Kanaya trailed off.

"However… in regards to the other seadweller mentioned… this may be the Alternian in me, so you'll have to forgive me if it's a bit untoward, but you may be forgetting the power of a good threat."

There was a small pause as Rose processed what the jade had just said.

Then she smiled.

Jade Harley huffed, slumping onto the table where she was waiting for Nannasprite to finish up the pancakes she had promised for breakfast and quietly tracing the newest spreads of gray on her arms.

God.

How long had it been?

How long had it been for everything.

Not just the gray streaks, slowly spreading from where they had first started on her collarbone, overtaking her face and staining green eyes into an odd, heterochromatic mix of lime and powder blue. Not just the unbearable migraines that had started shortly after, her body newly craving caffeine like it was water from that point forward. Not just the strange, gold, sensitive ridges that had sprouted onto her ribs like fresh poppies in spring this morning.

Just… everything.

How long had it been since John and Davesprite died.

How long had it been since she'd buckled and screamed as she watched John's inky blue planet explode, immediately teleporting herself onto the surface of the ruined planet to desperately look for signs of life.

How long had it been since she had been forced by Nannasprite to give up her search, the gentle blue wisp of a woman attempting to explain what had happened even while Jade yelled and fought and cried as she tried to bring her back to the ship.

How long had it been?

How long had it been since she'd finally found their corpses, Davesprite an orange, mangled mess, John nearly untouched except for his eyes.

God, his fucking eyes.

Nannasprite's explanation had been helpful, at least. If so… so painful. She would see John and Dave again. Not just in the dreambubbles as ghosts (which was a good thing, because she couldn't find either of their ghosts no matter how hard she tried), but alive and healthy and okay.

From what she had said, John may even have his own memories of her horrifying death, or something similar. He likely would be as happy to see her as she was him.

If he even recognized her after she turned gray and grew horns.

But that didn't take away the image of her friends' bodies burning into her eyes.

And it didn't take away how stupidly fucking long it was taking for her to be able to see them again.

Nannasprite was doing her best, but the older woman turned game construct was only so much company for three years, and the ghosts she kept coming across were…

Well.

Either they were getting weirdly better at interacting with people, or Jade had been lowering her standards lately.

Woof.

They hadn't questioned her on the new gray marks at least, but from a few muttered words of "grimbark" she was assuming they were thinking it was from something else.

Her eyes changing colors had frozen one of the ghosts in place though. An odd-looking skateboarder with a helmet that looked more like protection against a bomb than falling.

She hadn't been able to understand a word he said to her, the miscommunication sending the poor kid into some kind of fit when she had attempted to clarify, but he had made her promise to "come back soon" before parting ways.

And to be honest? She might, once her ship hit another dream bubble.

She was starting to get a little desperate.

With a cheerful hum, Paradox Space's Ultimate Jesterly Grandmother opened the door from the ship's galley, massive plate of Funfetti pancakes in tow. With a muttered but sincere thanks, Jade wasted no time in snagging some, wolfing them down as she kept a careful eye on Nanna's pleasant smile.

The older woman had promised she would let Jade in on whatever the hell these new changes were today, which would be insanely helpful, because beyond Jade's connections to the game through her absorption of her own sprite, she knew next to nothing other than the fact that it was "nothing to be afraid of" and "all part of the code".

"All part of the code" indeed. She needed answers.

Particularly on why Nannasprite had saved her Q&A session for today, rather than any other day.

The kindly sprite waited until she was finished before cheerfully beginning.

"So!"

Jade frowned at her.

"So…"

"You, my dear, are becoming a troll, along with the rest of your friends. I'm sure you've been able to feel it from your own connections to the game, but these changes are nothing to be alarmed over. In fact, they're how things were always meant to be!"

The spacebound sighed. "Nanna, I know that part."

Or well, she hadn't known about her friends also changing along with her, but she'd desperately hoped it was the case.

The elder woman chuckled, completely undeterred by Jade's lack of enthusiasm.

"I know, my dear! You're an incredibly intelligent young lady! One must be cautious with what they assume they know, however. For example, if you already know all this, then I suppose you also know that you will be turning into a goldblood, a very powerful caste in its own right, and the rather… unfortunate fate often befalling those who bear such a burden?"

There was a pause.

"Unfortunate fate?"

Nanna laughed at her, making Jade repress another sigh.

Okay.

Point taken. She'd let the sprite continue.

"Goldbloods are often used for their psionic powers, completely against their will. I have it on high authority that this is a fate you suffer through… fairly often… if I'm being quite honest about it. Even in timelines where you remain distinctly human. Or well… anthropomorphic, at least."

The space player shifted uncomfortably.

That… was a bit unsettling to hear, truthfully.

"And will that… happen in this timeline as well?"

"Hoo hoo hoo, oh my dear, I hope not! That would be quite disastrous all things considered. You are a much stronger young lady than you give yourself credit for, you know!"

The sprite leaned over with a wink. "You may need some help reigning that in, in fact. If you don't wish to be taken advantage of in this timeline."

Jade frowned immediately. What… did that mean? Why would reigning in her strength be the key to not being used?

Nanna, in typical sprite fashion, seemed to be waiting for her to ask a question. After a moment's hesitation, Jade obliged.

"Who can help me, then? How long do I have?"

Nanna's instant rewarding grin let her know she had asked the right questions.

"There are two strapping young men in the Medium who can assist you. I'm afraid I don't know their names! But I believe you've already met one of them, as both are goldbloods, just like you're becoming! Some patience may be required on your end dear, as communication issues tend to be a… family problem for them, but with hard work, some peer pressure, and a not-small amount of manipulation, I'm certain you can get the answers you're needing!"

… Who in the hell was she dealing with if she had to manipulate them into helping her?

She opened her mouth to ask, but Nanna beat her to the punch.

"As for how long you have, that answer is distinctly up to you! Time in Paradox Space, as you know, tends to be rather wishy-washy. You'll have as long as you need and longer if you play your cards right, though I suggest you get off the ship and hop to as soon as you can to ensure you have that time."

The Witch blinked. "What do you mean? I have to leave the ship?"

"Of course! This ship will arrive on time for what's needed from it, but you have no need to be on it when it does! In fact, my dear, for lack of a better term, I'm kicking you off!"

Jade stared.

The sprite's beaming grin didn't fade an ounce.

It got bigger actually, because the sprite was laughing at her again.

"You'll be much harder to find by those who may wish to take advantage of you if you hide among the various labyrinth of memories we so often find ourselves passing through. Go ahead! Have fun intermingling with the ghosts. I promise they'll get better as you interact with them more. I do suggest you leave soon, however. My sources have told me the best time to leave would be… now!"

…

Jade's brain halted for a moment before kicking into double time, this immediate rush reminding her distinctly of when she'd first entered Sburb all those years ago.

But something wasn't making sense.

Well, okay, a lot of things hadn't been properly explained, but one thing in particular was bugging her.

Nanna stood up to clear her plate and the Witch found herself standing up along with her.

"Do I have time for one last question?"

"You do, indeed!"

"… How did you know this? My sprite connections to the game let me know about me. Since I'm my own player character. Shouldn't you know more about John than me?"

Nannasprite's laugh was bright and cheerful. Another correct question, it seemed.

"Simple enough! I cheated!"

Wait.

"What?"

"This information hasn't come to me from the game at all, dear! It was told to me by a rather pretty, devout young lady who had come to me bearing rather Merciful news of my grandson! He's finally claimed his birthright, you know, and we'll all be for the better for it!"

"… John has a birthright?"

"You'll see soon enough! My grandson, like all harlequins, is being a tad stubborn at the moment, but soon his new girlfriend may just knock some sense into him, and then you two can catch up properly."

... Honestly, the Witch wasn't sure which aspect of that sentence to question first.

Nanna's grin twisted just slightly as she gave Jade a look.

"Of course, that won't happen if you don't skedaddle! Move it or lose it, missy!"

The spacebound huffed.

Okay. Fine.

You know what? Fine.

She was just getting ready to leave before the sprite called out to her one last time.

"And Jade dear!"

"… Yes?"

She was handed an absolutely egregiously large basket, its contents tucked in with what looked like a red-checkered bed sheet.

"Take some sweets for the road!"

Chapter Text

… There was no easy way to describe this situation, was there?

No matter how John tried to phrase it, the entire Green Book mess would only sound as odd and overwhelming as it was.

And there was no way to avoid telling Kurloz at this point. He'd already kept enough from him, and the purpleblood's patience alone was likely the only thing that had let him get away with telling him nothing for so long.

Calliope had even already said she'd be okay with it! As long as kept his emissary status to himself, at least.

He just needed to find a way to start without sounding like an idiot.

"O-okay, um… I always… O-or I never…" John trailed off miserably as his ever-tolerant teacher waited beside him, seated where they were on the guy's ridiculously comfortable couch.

He huffed.

Or he could start in the worst way possible. That was also an option.

"You know what? Whatever. Uh, do you mind if I give you a hypothetical?"

The other clown's brows had furrowed, watching John curiously, but he shook his head, prompting John to awkwardly continue.

"So… purely hypothetically, say you didn't grow up with a religion."

Kurloz immediately cocked an eyebrow, but John's hand was already up, waving away whatever the Prince was about to say.

"Just… bear with me for a second."

The mime hesitated, looking at John's eyes as if searching for a joke hidden somewhere in them.

Finding none, the rage player let out a small sigh, smooth, clear psychic voice echoing gently through the Heir's head.

"That's a bit of a bold-ass start, brother, but okay."

John made a face, nodding his agreement.

"Believe me, I… wish I could start somewhere else."

Something flashed across the mime's face for a moment, something between confusion and concern, before it smoothed out again as the breath player continued.

"S-so… no religion. You never went to church because the churches on Earth felt wrong, you never looked into any religious beliefs online because anything you looked at felt like a weird lie, and you never knew what people were talking about like eighty percent of the time when they brought up religious stuff around you, but… you did have… truths."

Kurloz blinked.

"Truths…" He repeated uncertainly.

"Truths," John nodded again before elaborating.

At least… the best he could. The Heir couldn't resist falling into a bit of a ramble as he tried to explain.

"In… this scenario, for as long as you could remember, you… knew certain things. Important things about the way the world worked, about the ways that you personally had to behave, and about the ways that others should behave. Y-you never heard anyone else mention these truths, but you just kind of… figured everyone else must know them, as well. And if they didn't, it wasn't your business to inform them, because the way you behaved could protect them from that lack of knowledge anyway."

The same look was back on Kurloz' face, far clearer this time, as the expression seemed to be there to stay: far less confusion, far more concern.

After a moment of silence from John, the other clown hesitantly asked a small question.

"And… nothing you found on Earth was lending itself to these truths? You just… knew them?"

John hummed, looking to the side as his expression darkened.

"Well… that's where that… " The breathbound raised his hands for finger quotes. "'All important joke book of an heirloom' comes in."

He sighed, looking back at the other clown. "It's pretty much where… I think I got those truths. I don't know for sure, but it was the only thing I had that would explain it. The only thing. It was literally the object I was sent to Earth with as a paradox clone. It's been with me since I came into existence. I… was always told that it was passed down from Colonel Sassacre, an ancestor of mine, one of the greatest vaudevillian acts to have ever performed on Earth, but I don't even know if that's true anymore."

Kurloz' brows shot up, something clicking into place behind vibrantly glowing purple eyes.

"A-are you… attempting to follow in his motherfucking strutsteps here? Go from magician to vaudevillian with these lessons?" An edge of nervousness and something else crept into the psychic voice. "Would that be… the real reason you wanted to learn…?"

John blinked, a new truth sliding into place in his mind as though it had always been there.

A vaudevillian was the mime equivalent to a magician, wasn't it?

Had Sassacre been a mime…? Like a real one? A vow of silence didn't need to be a constant thing, not unless someone actually took stitches. It only needed to be in effect while mime paint was actually on, any given clown able to switch from their clown paint to mime paint and back again with nothing but the knowledge of Western Beforan Mimed Communication gatekeeping them away from it.

Was… Sassacre actually a proper clown? Had he taken a vow of silence?

Or was Sassacre's vaudevillian title simply a mislabling from a planet that had no clue what it was talking about when it came to absolutely anything.

Regardless of the answer to that question, there was only one true response to Kurloz' inquiry, considering… he had desperately wanted to hang out with him, but had only asked for these lessons on Calliope's orders. It had been such a huge request to demand a stranger to teach him a whole new language. He was still shocked Kurloz had agreed, honestly.

Endlessly fucking grateful, but shocked. The mime agreeing had been its own miracle.

Because now John absolutely had his own goals with learning, regardless of whatever the cherub wanted from him.

And he'd just made this miraculous teacher anxious as payment for his kindness.

"I-if I need to go vaudevillian I will, but actually being able to talk to you is my main goal," John swallowed, flushing as more words tumbled from his mouth, an attempt to reassure the other clown.

"Being able to hear you right now… may be making that goal a little stronger, honestly? I-It is… um," His internal voice faltered slightly before John pushed on, cheeks burning as he tried to explain. "You have a really nice voice, a-and I am excited to be able to see that in your miming as well as I can hear it right now."

The effect was immediate, Kurloz flushing bright purple, even as he looked away self-consciously. For a second, it seemed as though the mime had forgotten he was in John's head, shyly signing a few things that John hadn't quite learned yet before he seemed to realize what he was doing and switched back to chucklevoodoos.

"I… um… thanks," Was it possible for a voice with no breath behind it to sound breathless? "S-sorry, been a bit since I..."

There was a pause.

"Since you…?"

"Heard… a compliment like that." The Prince looked like he was trying the hardest he could not to fidget.

… He looked really, really cute with that blush, the realization shooting straight to John's stomach as he swallowed, the next words popping out of his head before he could stop them.

"Remind me to compliment you more often then. To get you used to it again."

The purple on Kurloz ears, if possible, brightened further, damn near matching the brilliant neon of his eyes as a tiny, nervous laugh escaped from behind a mouth that was still unstitched from their lessons.

"Uh.. y-yes. Okay. I…"

John quietly watched as the mime floundered, unused to the Prince looking anything but cool and collected.

"So. S-so that book what's yours?"

John blinked before his own shy smile graced his face at the subject change, his heart kicking up with a small realization.

He'd… managed to fluster the troll pretty good, hadn't he?

Messiahs, he was fucking pretty.

… He still owed him an answer though, and the thought sobered his system just a tad as the Heir took a nervous breath to re-center himself.

"Right, yeah. The book."

The mime nodded, immediately jumping onto the topic like it would save him from drowning.

"So the fact that this joke book was the only holy motherfucking lit you could get your fronds on… is that why you followed the Covenant? For lack of knowledge of anything else on your planet to protect?"

John looked at him carefully, resisting the urge to bite the inside of his cheek as he fought off the urge to lie again.

God, that was a temptingly easy way out.

But it would also be seen though pretty quickly, probably.

And beyond that... he was really starting to owe the guy after keeping him in the dark for such a long time.

"I… really wish I could tell you yes. I mean, I honestly probably thought that was my reasoning when I did it. I can't remember. It just… was the correct way to handle the situation."

Kurloz blinked. "Ninja… I'm certain you're as aware as I am that the only shit that Covenant's technically 'correct' for is… The Wicked Scripture. It's only meant for the holiest of motherfucking tomes, the likes of which haven't been seen for millennia. Not on Alternia. Not on Beforus. And from the sounds of it, sure the fuck not on Earth."

John was silent for a second as his thoughts clicked away on how to handle this.

Did… should he just come out and say it?

…

"So… I guess… let me list off a couple things about this joke book to you. S-so you… know what I've been dealing with my whole life?"

He hadn't acknowledged what the mime said, and he could see Kurloz frown as a result, but John plunged on, nerves tightening his stomach and straightening his posture.

He had… no fucking clue how this guy was about to react to this information.

"It, uh, its name is Colonel Sassacre's Daunting Text of Magical Japery and Practical Frivolity, but you'd never know that from looking at it. The text of the title has worn away. The book itself is actually technically teal, but my copy isn't. It has been through too much on my planet, the ichor and wear on the cover making it look green more than anything."

Kurloz nodded as he straightened as well. "Your violet friend mentioned the title… it's the reason I wanted to ask you about that book yours in the first place."

His mental voice fell into a mutter in John's head, barely audible as the mime fidgeted with his gloves. "Name sounded too motherfucking familiar for me to let go."

What.

The Heir's eyes flicked up to the other clown, his brows pulling into their own frown as Kurloz looked away, apparently lost in thought.

"Familiar?"

"I… n-not from right now, I guess? From before… back when I was alive."

…

"Do many things remind you of that time?"

"I'm fucking dead, invertebrother. Nothing reminds me of when I was alive. Maybe some mementos here and there of our heinous-ass waste of a Sgrub session, but never from back on Beforus, not since I first came upon the realization I had been upgraded to ancestor status thanks to our local misguided motherfucking heretic of a princess."

John shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do with this information.

Why would… hadn't Calliope mentioned that the name had been lost to both of the troll planets? How the hell would Kurloz know the true name of… in his words… The Scripture Most Wicked?

… It should be impossible for the mime to know the title of The Green Book.

Was the Prince lying to him? Trying to get more information?

Kurloz had shifted back, watching John's reaction as much as John had been watching his.

"You don't look like you're believing me."

John flinched, guilt flashing through his body at the nigh immediate call out. Kurloz' expression went a bit grim at the confirmation.

"John, have I pushed on literally any of the other shit you've been up to while at my hive? On your blood-covered ass needing ablutions? Or your harsh reaction to Meenah's blasphemy in your direction? I'm not claiming she didn't deserve it, but that was a hell of a snap on your side."

John sighed, looking away uncomfortably.

... He'd been taking advantage of the mime not meddling for a bit too long, hadn't he?

He... didn't want to anymore. It felt awful, keeping this amount of stuff from someone who had been genuinely kind to him the whole time he'd known him.

"I-I am sorry… It is… not that you've been behaving in a way that's super untrustworthy. I promise. It's mostly a me problem."

Kurloz shifted a bit, the voice echoing through his head hesitant more than anything.

"I'm used to secrets, brother. It's not like clowns aren't practically known for them. Shit's gotten me in trouble, too. I just... I need to have some kind of knowledge on what I'm working with here, you know? Why aren't you trusting me right now? What the fuck is this book and why can't I get it out of my sponge?"

John was silent for a while. The mime let him be.

"The thing that's throwing me off… you shouldn't recognize the name of the book. Its real name should have been lost to every clown that's ever searched for it."

The mime stilled next to him.

"What… are you saying here?"

The Heir drummed his fingers against his thigh, the gentle sensation helping him think before, purely on instinct, opening his Sylladex and pulling out the most precious possession he owned.

The massive text fell onto the laps of both himself and Kurloz like a blanket, making the mime jump as he stared wide eyed at the massive tome, snatching his hands away from it as if it was burning him and turning blank, bewildered eyes back to John.

There was a beat of silence before the Heir finally found the proper words he'd been looking for.

"Meet the way I was able to get educated on the Church on a non-believing planet. The text that's as much of a part of me as my fronds or my pan."

"J-John…uh… is… what is—?

"—This is the fucking Green Book."

Damn, she was not handling this well.

She was really not handling this information well.

"You're telling me…" The Maid of Life paced frantically from wall to wall of the little crypt she'd met him in, voice rising in a mix of panic and frustration. "That all of our friends have been turning into some consarned alien species we know nothing about? The same species as that clown fellow who keeps trying to sell us his cockamamie bits and bobs? Are you saying those gray delinquents have actually done something to you all? AND YOU'RE JUST TELLING ME NOW?!"

Dirk Strider did not wince as he quietly watched her pace to and fro, but he'd be insincere as fuck if he claimed he didn't stiffen at her rising tone.

God, he fucking hated when she got like this. Not that it wasn't reasonable as all get out given the data he'd just dropped in her lap, but let's be honest. Girl was more unpredictable than Brobot set to stalking mode, and these moods she got in made that behavioral quirk about forty times worse than her usual standard.

"None of us knew the others were also going through it, Jane. Not till Jake sat down and had a solid come clean moment with me. Then I checked with Rox. We had to catch each other up and make sure it was a universal thing." The Prince of Heart paused, voice going a bit light as he asked his next question. "You, uh, quite certain it isn't a universal thing? No splashes of gray on you at all or… changes to anything you've noticed?"

The Maid scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. "I think I'd notice something like what you're describing, don't you?"

"I mean, yeah, it was a little hard not to fucking notice when it started on me."

He'd thought the gray splash starting on his hip was an oil stain or dirt at first, but no amount of showering could make it go away, and then it began to grow in lightening-esque streaks across his stomach and thighs.

Then the real change hit and Dirk had been forced to come to the conclusion that he was well and truly fucked.

… He would take the secret of his undying relief of Jake coming to him in a panic once that same change hit him to his fucking grave. The guy was freaked enough without knowing his fucking wreck of a confidant had been taking comfort from his terror at the change.

But like… they were dudes. They could bro-bond about guy-panic together, right?

Especially when that guyhood had just switched all the way the fuck up.

"Exactly!" Jane huffed, blissfully ignorant to the heartbound's train of thought, beginning her pacing once more.

After a moment, Dirk tried again.

"For that matter, we don't know if the trolls actually did anything, either."

Even if they probably did. Wasn't the teenage version of the fucking Batterwitch still running around somewhere? He was pretty sure she'd high-fived him at some point, a thought as alarming as it was weird as shit.

"And who else could have done it?"

"No clue, honestly, but none of them have mentioned it to any of us. Hell, when I cornered one of the trolls, this shrimpy lil' man with massive horns and the worst stutter I ever heard, he straight up accused me of lying. Claimed I had come on behalf of some other troll to try and get under his skin."

"I doubt those horned hoodlums would tell the truth if they were the ones who did it."

"Sure, but would they really not mention it at all? You'd think with something as irrevocable as a species change, they'd at least gloat now that there's nothing we can do about it."

Jane groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration and…

Disgust.

Ever the quintessential Strider, Dirk refused to let a frown show on his face, though if an engaged enough audience would bother to check, they may see a pixel of his mouth turn down in this telenovela of a fucking drama scene.

"And you're certain there's nothing that can be done?"

"Jane, with absolutely every amount of respect in my heart, what the fuck would we do? Do you think I enjoy waking up every morning seeing how much more of my carefully honed torso is the color of fucking concrete?"

The Maid blinked, turning back to him and making the Prince immediately regret saying anything as cyan eyes innocently roamed said torso, trying to find any speck of evidence of what he'd just mentioned.

At least those eyes were at his chest. Most of his changes thus far had been a bit lower.

"Look, I recognize I got an impressive rack, but my eyes are up here, Janey."

The Maid rolled her eyes again, though the Prince could have sworn he caught a small smile as she turned away.

Progress.

He would take it.

"Is that why you switched out of that tank-top you love so much? I was wondering why you were in a t-shirt."

… Fuck. Okay, yeah. That one made him wince.

Because she was absolutely right.

The tank that had gotten him through the absolute hell that was post-apocalyptic Texan heat was light, breathable, and incredibly scanty feeling nowadays, the wide armholes now perfectly showcasing the brand new, weirdly sensitive, milk chocolate colored little ridges that had popped up on his ribs a couple weeks ago.

It was how fucking delicate the damn things felt that was getting to him more than their appearance, honestly. It had felt weird leaving them visible through his shirt, as if he'd cut out perfectly placed nipple holes in his clothing. He'd needed to cover up. Immediately.

"Maybe a bit. Maybe I also just came to recognize that on a meta-ironic level, people appreciate the goods I offer more if I leave some shit up to their thirsty-ass imaginations. Beyond that being a saying used against folks like me who know what they got and were willing to serve it up for fucking centuries, there's a subtle level of satire in which to twist my legendary katana to get the maximum amount of humor from covering up a bit. Gotta let'em daydream before I give'm the drink, you know what I mean?"

"Not even slightly," The Maid replied lightly, though a frown was back on her face as she turned to face him yet again, her pacing finally grinding to a halt.

"I don't like this change, Dirk. Meta-textual jokes or not, you liked that tank-top! And you've never had any qualms before about how much of your so-called goods you're showing. It almost feels like some wayward change in philosophy."

Striders didn't fidget.

They totally didn't.

Dirk was just shifting his weight to be more prepared to keep an eye out for threats. That's all.

"It's… not anything like that. I'm as adaptable as the next dude. This isn't me changing my fundamental process of how to process. It's… just me ensuring I can keep on keeping on, you know?"

Jane stared at him for a solid second, her expression far too concerned for Dirk's liking.

Finally she sighed, placing her hands on her hips in a stance that the heart player knew he would never win a battle of words against. That Crocker-brand stubbornness was something else.

"Well, you all may have given up on saving yourselves from becoming… whatever, but I have no intentions of carrying on the human race by my lonesome! I'll sleuth to the bottom of this, goshdarnit! Just watch me!"

So saying, she bent down to pick up the crimson red trident from where she had left it on the floor for their talk, freezing the Prince solid in the process.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck

How in the fuck had he not seen that splash of gray on her neck before?

… Damn shades had betrayed him in the shadows of this crypt, hadn't they?

"Y-yeah… uh… Jane. What if instead of leaving, you sat down for just a second." His voice was a bit higher than he would have liked, but at least it was fucking even as the lifebound shot him an odd look over her shoulder.

"Why?"

"… There may be one more bit of breaking news in this cursed excuse for a fucking broadcast."

Chapter Text

There weren't exactly a ton of people out there stronger than violetbloods.

Violet schoolfeeds on Beforus were always a bit of a mixed bag in explaining the strength levels of the different castes, giving tales of both the ludicrous physical requirements necessary to brave the Beforan seas on an evolutionary scale, and the inherent superiority of cooler castes when faced against their poor, warmer blooded peers in equal measure.

Completely ignoring the fact that quite a couple indigobloods could slam a violet through the floor was part and parcel of those schoolfeeds. After all, why would the indigos and purples making up the "gentle giant" castes ever use their natural talents against their benevolent, well-meaning aristocratic contemporaries?

The reaction among young seadwellers to these schoolfeeds was mixed. Some people simply accepted them point blank, some claimed not to believe it while obviously still believing it, while still others scoffed at the obvious propaganda, attempting to make amends for the rest of their caste's misguided superiority complex.

Cronus liked to think he had fallen into the last group. After all, wasn't he constantly assuring his friends that he could literally not care less about his royal status if you paid him to?

He didn't even think about his regal position and the fact that if he'd been hatched on Alternia, these air-suckers would have to bow down to him. That they'd have to treat him with the respect he deserved.

That they wouldn't fucking constantly make him feel somehow even more lonely that he had before he'd ever met any of them in person.

He didn't think about it.

Didn't even cross his mind.

But… he could think about it if someone seemed to want him to. Kankri wanted him to think about the obvious superiority and privileges of his caste all the time, and Cronus was more than happy to oblige.

Anything for a pal.

He'd griped to sought sympathy from his dancestor about this terrible inequality between timelines one time, the suitably lavishly clothed Prince of Hope, but the younger asshole had snorted immediately.

"Yeah, that's absolutely how nothin' ever worked. Ever." Cronus could have sworn he even saw amusement dancing in those similarly dead eyes.

Whatever. He was probably just messing with him. Just gloating about having been hatched on the obviously superior planet. Yet another person willing to rub it in.

Cronus could make due. He could show all of his ungrateful peers that he also thought he was no big deal.

Even if he was.

Not for his inherently royal blood. Just. You know. His music.

But…

Uh.

The obvious propaganda that he definitely hadn't been dumb enough to buy into still left a couple facts out there that required acceptance.

Such as the fact that actually having the strength to hold him down should be damn near impossible for almost any ghost in their session.

So when the Bard was yanked into one of the dark pseudo-hives dotting the memory bubbles, barely a little "EEP" escaping from terrified aquatic lungs before being restrained and held up by his throat, there was only one person he thought it could be.

"M-Meenah?" He choked around the hand just barely giving room for his gills to work. "What are—w-whatever you heard from Mituna, it's not true, 'k-kay?"

The webbed hand holding him up tightened as something that felt painfully like his old wand pressed into his cheek, and Cronus tried again. Alarm, cold and unfamiliar after so many peaceful sweeps in the bubbles, was starting to set in after attempts to kick out of the hold didn't work, eyes frantically scanning the dark and taking absolutely forever to fucking adjust.

"I—I haven't talked to him in almost two centuries, e-ever since he got in that pitiful fucking failure of a relationship w-with—hrk!" Those fingers graciously giving room for him to breathe finally found their way over his gill slits, silencing the Bard in undeniable panic.

Who the fuck had the bright idea to make ghosts panic over being strangled?!

He was already fucking dead—cool it!

If he'd been alive, his expanding and contracting bladder based vascular system would have been leaping out of his chest. Now, the most he could manage was a shiver and a desperate look forward in dread as the strength slowly left his limbs. He didn't know how long he had until he fell unconscious, but unconscious was exactly what he'd be if he couldn't figure out what he'd done to piss the princess off in time.

Then a light appeared out of nowhere, and the troll flinched as he frantically tried to blink spots from his vision, any attempts his eyes had made to adjust immediately being turned against him as the heiress' face came int—what the fuck?

Who even…

What the hell had he ever done to her?

Humans were not stronger than the majority of highbloods. Cronus knew that for a fucking fact.

But there was absolutely no denying the ridiculous strength in the webbed hand currently keeping him from—

…

What.

As best he could, the seatroll shook his head from side to side, a meager attempt to clear out the rest of his vision, only to feel his eyes widen as he finally got a proper look at his assailant.

It was… that human light girl? Rose, he thought her name was, as cold and unforgiving as a fucking glacier.

He'd tried to chat her up once or twice, just to let her know that a smile may do her expression wonders, but she'd always managed to duck out of whatever bubble they were in before he could get to her.

… Which meant that he had absolutely no fucking idea was going on.

Especially considering the gray arm holding him up and the… very real violet gills he was seeing on this human's neck.

W-wh…

His head was starting to get a little too fuzzy for higher cognition, here.

Maybe he was fucking hallucinating right now due to lack of oxygen. How the hell should he know?

Possibly sensing he was properly weakened from the literal stranglehold, Rose cocked an eyebrow at him before letting him go, the violetblood falling into a heap with an undignified gasp as he coughed and spluttered on the floor beside her.

"W-what the FUCK was that for?" He managed to force out between hacks.

The (mostly?) human shrugged, her tone infuriatingly calm for this hell of an introduction.

"I require assistance."

Holy shit.

"And THAT'S how you're goin' about gettin' it?" Cronus' voice, thank fuck, was finally starting to regulate along with his breathing, shaking hands finding their way onto the false flooring of the fake hive they were hidden in and weakly providing enough assistance for him to at least sit up.

"I needed your word that this assistance would be discreet. I can't exactly go to Meenah about anything without my business being across all of Paradox Space in moments." The lightbound gave him a look. "You, however… don't seem to blab as much."

Was… that a compliment?

"Not that you have anyone to blab to."

…

No.

No it was not.

With frustrated huff, Cronus finally managed to find his way back to his feet, ignoring how unsteady he still felt as he fixed this uppity little (she was actually a fair bit taller than he remembered) human with a glare, trying not to be obvious about the way he was eyeing the changes to her skin.

… That explained the strength, at least. Even if the gills he was seeing were violet rather than fuchsia… seatroll ladies still tended to be a good deal stronger than guys.

Like… a good deal stronger.

Fuck, he was gonna feel that grip on his neck in the morning.

…

Wow, the flush that had absolutely flooded his face at that thought would be unhelpful at the moment, wouldn't it? Damn his fucking internal shit.

Unless she was actually pitch flirting with him..?

... He was desperate enough to try and find out.

"Look kitten," He started. Rose glowered and took a step towards him. Cronus immediately backpedaled, both physically and rhetorically, crashing back into the wall he'd just been choked against as any caliginous hopes were dashed before they could even properly form.

No. That was a no then. Not pitch flirting.

"R-regardless of whatever you're assuming about my love life, and I have tons of people I could tell by the way, I'm not sure how much I can help you with… w-whatever… w-without knowing what's going on."

… "W"s being hard to pronounce would never not be the bane of his pathetic fucking existance.

Especially since that little speech quirk of his always seemed to pop up in moments exactly like this.

Heedless of his inner frustration, Rose hummed, seemingly accepting his logic.

"I'll need your word first. This reaches no one. It's not your news to tell."

… A deal, was it? Cronus could do that.

A-and it definitely wasn't out of fear. Absolutely not.

"Yeah… you have my fucking w-word, okay? Gossip's not my bag, anyway."

After a long moment assessing his response (Cronus did not hold his breath because he was not terrified, how dare that thought even be suggested), the human finally sighed.

With her non-gray hand (that he was just now noticing had been holding an absolutely devious looking wand before it was put away), she gestured down the grayness painting her skin.

"As may or may not have been established narratively multiple times, all of the humans seem to be… finding themselves a bit unable to accept that particular species label for much longer, replaced with that of our alien contemporaries," With a roll of her eyes, she held up her gray hand, fully displaying the violet webbing there as she dropped the formality.

"Everyone looks to be a different caste. I just seem to have been the one who won the fucking lottery."

He snorted, earning a small smile in the very corner of her mouth, and somewhere, a memory tugged in the back of his head, from far before he'd ever heard of Sburb, something that hadn't happened since Meenah blew him up.

It wasn't anything special. Not really. Just… him interacting with other seadwellers.

"Um… when did the webbing start? Or the gills?"

The two tell-tale features honestly looked a little odd against the stark lusus-white skin next to them, but not… out of place.

Honestly, it very much looked like they were meant to be there, however the hell that was possible.

Something shifted in the human's face, breaking through the ice queen exterior. Something… uncomfortable?

Maybe it was just annoyance. That tended to be the usual reaction to his bullshit.

"It doesn't matter, but it just… recently decided to become a bit too obvious to hide."

…

Hm.

"Don't, uh, don't take this the wrong way, babe, but w-why… are you hidin' it in the first place?"

That same look was back, a little stronger this time, allowing the Bard to get a bit more of a read on it.

Definitely discomfort then, possibly not even directed at him.

Damn, this might be a good day after all.

Especially since, to his surprise, the human actually answered him.

"Consider it… personal preference. I'd far rather the change be over and done with before people begin to react, rather than being able to watch my inevitable transformation as though I'm some kind of lab rat."

Cronus felt his brow furrow as he offered a nod, falling into his thoughts for just a moment as reality finally clicked into him.

The human's tone was so… resigned. Whatever twist of fate had caused this species wide change, she didn't seem to be particularly interested in fighting it. Moreso just… surviving it.

Another fact she'd presented to him flashed through his mind, pulling a different kind of frown onto his face.

If this was happening to all the humans… was it also happening to their planet?

Were humans even… going to keep being a thing?

The thought twisted in his stomach uncomfortably, thinking of his own fascinations and… to be honest, very genuine envy of the cool, casteless species.

A species like them woulda been considered damn near blasphemous on Beforus, and most definitely censored the hell out of.

A species out there with no hemospectrum, who didn't even have horns for you to guess at whose status was whose, who didn't have to sit there constantly worrying about the stupid fucking culling system saddling them with a whole other troll to take care of when they could barely look after themselves.

They… were gonna be gone?

The discomfort battled with another fun fact attempting to dance its way into his thick skull.

If this transformation was real, nothing could change it, right?

So… there'd be another seadweller around.

Someone who wasn't Meenah or his little shit of a dancestor. Or the smaller fuchsia gal who kept eluding him.

Or a billion times worse, himself.

A small sound pulled the hopebound out of his thoughts, the light player in front of him had looked away as she idly scratched at her gray arm.

… Actually, now that he was actually properly getting a look at that arm…

Oh. Uh.

The whole area was covered in small streaks of lighter gray than the area around it, dead skin from a dryness that every single seadweller knew way too fuckin' well.

"No—hey, don't do that," Without thinking, the Bard reached for the light player's hand, only to stop cold when she flinched back and glared at him.

Right, yep. He was still Cronus Ampora, the most unfairly beleaguered troll in existence. He'd forgotten that fact for a second.

Rose huffed at him, pulling him out of his immediate whining spiral justified indignation.

"I do believe I mentioned that I required assistance."

She sure did.

"R-right. Uh… I'm guessing amphibious integumentary hydration loss isn't somethin' humans have to really deal with?"

The look he got in return was as frustrated as it was furious, and Cronus got the distinct impression he'd just hit a nerve by daring to mention something the human didn't know about.

"Considering approximately zero humans are amphibious… I believe that question answers itself, don't you think?"

Yeah, probably.

"Gotcha…" One of Cronus' hands awkwardly reached up to rub the back of his neck. How the hell did he approach this without getting throttled again?

"Um… your skin's real fucking dry right now, right?"

"… Perhaps."

Goddammit, don't make this conversation even weirder by being cagey about it.

"Do you know how to pull back your webbing?"

The Seer shot him an odd look, which Cronus took as a solid "no". Without making the human answer, the seadweller offered out his own arm as an example.

"Seadweller skin gets a lot of its hydration externally… which means it loses its moisture a little too fucking fast for anyone's comfort on land. A lot of the water loss is through our gills and webbing. Nothing to do about the gills, but the w-webbing…"

He flexed slightly, muscles along the back of his arm working to pull the delicate violet membranes between his fingers back to where his hand could… almost… look like a landdweller's frond. Almost. The insides were still violet, and a bit was still extended, but nothing nearly like where the skin had been before.

Rose's eyes had followed along with the movement like a predator watching its prey before hesitantly lifting her own arm to try.

After a few seconds, she frowned, and Cronus somewhat meekly raised a hand to point along the top of her arm.

"Muscle you need is right there."

Refusing to look at him, Rose nodded, and after a few seconds, the violet skin between her fingers pulled back and she relaxed.

… No "thank you", huh?

Tough crowd.

After a few seconds, Cronus piped up with a couple extra words, more to fill the dead air around them than anything.

"A lot of seadwellers keep their webbing pulled back even underwater. Only way to wear rings comfortably."

Rose nodded, seemingly taking his words into account before brilliant lavender eyes met his own again.

"And this… will prevent itchiness? In the long term, at least?"

Ah.

"Um… it'll help. W-what you're really looking for is a kind of pill we all take. It's basically a vitamin. One that encourages your skin to produce its own vitamins. Your skin won't dry out as much if you take it regularly."

Rose studied him for a second, and his hand again found its way to the back of his neck.

"I don't know the science behind it if that's what you're askin', but I can get you those pills if you come with me to my hive so I can alchemize them."

The human was back to frowning at him, letting silence slither between them like the purely hypothetical snake demons he used to believe in before she pulled out that fucking wand again, pointing it directly between his eyes as Cronus tried not to flinch.

"Any funny business and I blow your undead brains out."

Wh—no, you know what? Fuck you. Way to threaten him with a whole load of nothing, for one. For another…

Unable to stop himself, the Bard finally let out a scandalized sound, the noise causing the human to raise her eyebrows again.

"I'm tryin' to help you. Just how fucking bad is my reputation that you'd think I'd do something stupid the second we're at my hive?"

There was a small pause as Rose processed what he'd said, distrust still clearly in her eyes as she cocked an eyebrow at him, deadpan response as sharp and deadly as a fucking harpoon.

"Bad."

…

Something stirred again in the hope player's stomach, something he, once again, was almost certain he hadn't felt since being forced into existing in these goddamn memorybubbles.

Shame.

Swallowing back his anger, eyes still firmly on that stupid fucking fraud of a wand in her hands, Cronus tried again.

"W-well, regardless of that, I'm not gonna try anything. I just gotta get you those pills, okay? And then you can fuck off and leave me to rot like everyone else."

If what he'd been giving her was bait, Rose ignored it like a champ, merely humming before slowly putting that stupid fake weapon away again.

"… Consider this amnesty. For now."

"Oh, let me bow down in gratitude. Follow me so this can never be an interaction we have again."

For some reason, Cronus got the distinct impression that he was being laughed at as the human voiced her agreement.

Chapter Text

To a true master of the blade, nervousness was an entirely foreign term.

Nervousness was for people who didn't bother to lay out their shit properly. It was the emotion of not knowing what was going to come next. Play your cards right, and that shit got taken care of. Anxiety was only felt by people without an ace up their sleeve. To a dude on his proper game, it was simply… alertness.

Um.

Dirk Strider was very fucking alert right now.

But like, name him a dude who wouldn't be a little on edge when one of their oldest friends was giving him the look Jane was giving him right now.

The Maid was frowning at him, hands on her hips in a stance that called to mind a preschool teacher getting a rowdy child in order, Crocker-red trident balanced awkwardly on her hip. It'd almost be insulting if Dirk hadn't known the life player for years. The posture he was witnessing at the moment was simply Jane's patented "I've had it up to here with the nonsense, Mister" pose.

"Dirk, what on earth do you mean by that? I've noticed none of these confounding changes like the ones you're reporting for everyone else, and for that matter, I haven't seen any changes on you either!"

Jane's eyes again flicked up and down Dirk's person, blatantly searching for the signs he had so carefully hidden with his reluctant-ass wardrobe switch up.

Seemingly finding nothing (and hopefully ignoring how his shoulders relaxed at that implication), the Maid continued with a tut. "How do I know this isn't some elaborate ruse of yours? A test to see if I've 'become more like Jake', as you insist on claiming would suit me."

If Dirk had literally any less self control, he wouldn't have been able to repress the groan building in his throat at the all-too-familiar tone being shoved his way. He loved the hell out of Jane. He really and truly did. But would it kill the lifebound to just take him at his word? Just fucking once?

"Janey, the only reason I used to say that shit was because you wouldn't believe me and Roxy when we tried to tell you about… anything, no matter what evidence we tried to present to you. And Jake believed us instantly, which was equally insane."

The Maid rolled her eyes, prompting Dirk to plunge on before she could reply.

"And that healthy sense of skepticism, while under-fucking-standable, isn't making much sense in this scenario, either. Why would I lie to you about becoming a troll? Why would I lie to you about you becoming a troll? Genuine question here. All my attempts at figuring out where this accusation is coming from, are coming up with a hefty load of nothing."

Fuck, his tone was getting a little terse here, and he absolutely knew it was brought on by memories currently sprinting through his head like he'd just handed them a baton and a swift pat on the ass.

So many years hiding everything about his and Roxy's situation… only to not be believed when they'd finally come out and said it.

They'd only been trying to tell her what they had lived through.

Jane's voice startled him out of his head before he could sink too deep into whatever fucking quagmire of shit his brain called a train of thought was, her tone bordering dangerously on the descriptor, "fighting words".

"Goshdarnit Dirk, I don't know why you'd lie! That's not what I'm claiming you're doing in the first place!"

"Then what do you call accusing me of creating some pseudo-ironic travesty of a scenario solely for the purpose of seeing what I can get you to believe?"

"I'm not!"

"You just did that. You called basic facts an elaborate ruse. Not to split hairs, but that's attempting to call me out on some textbook motherfucking dishonesty, Jane--"

"--I'm not claiming you're doing it for bad reasons!"

"Yeah, regardless of intentions, that shit still fucking sucks, okay?"

"That's not what I--I just--ugh!" The Maid let out a frustrated shriek, making the heartbound flinch as she threw her trident at the nearest dark wall of the cavern enclosing them. It stuck halfway into the rock like they were surrounded by chalk instead of hard slate, completely ignored by the life player as she began to pace yet again.

Son-of-a-bitch.

…. That splash of troll skin on her neck was practically impossible to ignore now that he knew where it was. Jane had always been terrifyingly strong, but where in the fuck was that level of strength coming from?

At least that throw seemed to have gotten some of the fight out of her.

"It just makes no sense," Jane's voice was damn near desperate as spun on her heel, fixing him with an absolute plea of a stare that could melt the heart of any hardened criminal, let alone a master of the blade. "Why would they want us to be trolls? It seems to me there's enough of those asinine aliens around without blotting out our species to add more!"

Well, that was… kind of the fucking question, wasn't it?

Earth's entire-ass apocalypse had been caused by the Condesce attempting to modify humans into trolls. Dirk didn't know if humans were just that inferior to the horn-having fuckers in the Batterwitch's eyes, or if she was going through some form of extended grief mental breakdown, but she had thrown away an entire planet of sentient beings with a perfectly good record of violence and destruction by trying to make exactly what was happening now, happen.

"I got no fucking idea, Jane. This was the Condesce's plan all along for Earth. Maybe she finally succeeded now that we've entered the game."

Even as Dirk spoke, he felt his face twist for a second before straightening it back out, like his own sense of facial control was rejecting the hypothesis. What he was saying made sense, but…

It wasn't fucking correct.

And the fact that he couldn't figure out why he knew that was setting him more on edge than anything else.

Based on the small noise Jane made in his direction, it seemed she didn't believe that that was what was happening either.

"Dirk, I've granted to you, against my better judgement, that my ancestor was the cause of the end of the world, but why would she have followed us here? Whatever brand of unmitigated balderdash that could cause someone's species to change, it doesn't sound like my family's!"

Dirk couldn't hold back anymore. He sighed, the frustrated huff painting a shadow onto Jane's face immediately. It wasn't like him to show that shit where everyone could see it. He knew that. His friends were counting on him to be cool as a cucumber at all fucking times.

But this shit was pushing every fucking button he had, drawing up his muscles and tightening him like an ill-made marionnette.

Neverending skepticism aside… he didn't like the way she had just called Batterwitch her "ancestor".

Where the fuck had that come from?

"Same logic back at ya', Janey. Why wouldn't she know about the game and follow us in? We're in this for a new planet. She probably fucking is, too. Wouldn't strike me as beyond her to gank our shit the second we finish up. Make sure a happy ending is impossible for the species she hated enough to end in the first place."

Jane groaned.

"So then why wouldn't she just reveal herself instantly? By gum, I know if I had such a duplicitous ace up my sleeve, I'd want to make sure my servants were doing their jobs correctly as soon as possible! Why sit back and wait for these so-called 'changes'?"

Serv--fuck--so-called?

Did her stubborn ass still not fucking believe him?

"Jane. They're not so-called. They're real as fuck. And they're happening to you, too--"

"--Well, I can't see them--!"

"--So maybe get your shit together and trust the dude who's trying to let you know about them before you get fucking blindsided."

Before Jane could open her mouth to speak again, Dirk gave up, lifting a corner of his top in frustration and fully displaying the absolute wash of gray he knew was splashed on the abs underneath it.

Jane fell silent.

…

After a moment, she swallowed, and a hand that was absolutely not shaking put his shirt back down as quickly as it could.

Mission accomplished.

He guessed.

And all it had taken was one of his best friends looking at his carefully honed body like he had the fucking plague.

It was the Maid's turn to let out a breath, turning around and swiping some bones off a nearby altar and hopping onto it like it was a bench before turning back to Dirk.

Who froze.

For one brief moment in the dim light of the crypt, he could have sworn he saw…

…

This had happened with Jake and Roxy as well, a brief flash of perfectly placed horns on Jake's head and black, curly locks of hair on Roxy's, small glimpses of a future none of them could change anymore.

And he'd just got a solid glimpse of Jane's.

… Well, fuck. That would explain the--

"Did you really see gray on my back?" The Maid's voice was quiet, shaking him out of the thought before he could finish it.

The Prince blinked a couple times, clearing the vision from his mind before he could properly answer.

"Yeah… there's some peeking up from behind your shirt."

Jane hesitated, the look on her face completely fucking impossible to read before it shifted into something way more recognizable.

Fear.

"... Would you… be able to look and tell me how far it goes down on my back? Maybe you could take a picture, so I can see?"

…

Those cyan, almond shaped eyes were pleading with him again, washing away his prior frustration like a fucking fire hose. It took a lot to scare Jane. It took so fucking much, but it looked like he'd managed it.

And he hated how guilty that made him feel. She needed to know what was coming, right? No one could be on their A-game unprepared, and Jesus Fuck, did everyone need to prep for whatever the hell was coming next.

But goddamn if that gesture felt like he was stabbing her in the heart instead.

"Oh!" The Maid seemed to have suddenly realized something, startling herself into speaking again.

"Golly, I guess that may be a bit of a forward request, isn't it? Dirk, I assure you, this isn't anything--I never saw you as--I'm just not able to see… I suppose you're dating Jake at the moment, aren't you?"

… He was definitely catching a sour note in that intro, but regardless, the lifebound continued, any bitterness lifting from her tone as she seemingly fought with herself on how to phrase the next words.

"So, I don't want you to think I'm being forward while knowing that I'm not your… type? Is that how they say it?"

Oh my god.

Oh, Jane, that was not something you had to worry about…

Like… to be fair, it was never something he had actually… come out and spoken to his friends about. Like he had never really wanted it to be a thing, or be thought of a thing, but…

Fucking Christ, she had no idea how to talk about this at all, did she?

Against his will, he felt the tenseness in his shoulders relax a bit, voice softening a good deal from the harsh tone that had crawled into it earlier.

The fight they had literally just finished aside… she was absolutely hopeless. Holy shit, he was so happy he knew her.

"Janey, everything's fine. I promise. I can look."

"... Thank you, Dirk."

"'Course."

Jade hummed to herself as she took a small look around the dreambubble she had found herself in, her mood flipping between frustrated and resigned every ten minutes or so. Nannasprite had assured her she had enough time… but the promise that if she didn't get her powers under control, she would lose her free will? That was enough to put a pep in anyone's step.

Where the heck were the two gold guys she had to talk to? She figured the skateboarder was one of them, considering the bright yellow of his outfit, but she hadn't seen him at all since their last failed conversation.

If she had a proper scent on either of them, she could just use her game-given Green Sun powers to teleport to them directly, but she'd only met the one once, and the other never, so she was a bit stuck.

It would probably also help if she knew their names. Or literally anything about them other than that they were goldbloods.

Nannasprite was sweet, but she was a terrible quest-giver.

Jade could fix this situation herself, though. All she had to do was ask around among the ghosts aimlessly milling about, and possibly use the 40 different types of cookies the circus-themed grandmother had snuck into her oversized picnic basket as bribe material.

At least she'd also packed her about 5 different computers and 20 different guns. Standard picnicking gear, really.

… Could she even bribe ghosts with cookies?

… Did ghosts even eat?

She certainly smelled… something delicious in the air that led to that conclusion, and following her nose, the scenery around her slowly changed from what Jade was assuming was an average Beforan suburb into a wide, open sky, one filled with lilypads and… floating brains.

What a mix.

The scent was stronger here, though, and with a start, Jade finally realized what the delightful, floral smell was.

Chamomile tea.

Oh my god, she wanted some immediately. It had been forever since she'd had something so subtle and soothing and warm.

… Was chamomile tea caffeinated? Probably not, but she hoped so. The beginning of a migraine was slowly creeping onto her temples. She may have to dig into the lifetime supply of white chocolate covered espresso beans that Nanna had also left her soon, the little sweets being the only thing that had kept her from going nuts on that ship.

The owner of the glorious beverage in question appeared to be an oliveblood girl, the troll sitting crosslegged in front of a small tea set and leaning against a massive… cat.

Ugh.

Well, that might be a problem for her more canine instincts, but it was nothing that couldn't be worked around, probably.

Trying to avoid any issues with disturbing the gigantic, multi-mouthed feline, Jade called out to the olive instead, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling in her direction.

"Hi!"

… No response.

Creeping a little closer, Jade tried again, trying to put a little "oomph" behind it this time.

"Hello?"

… Was the girl ignoring her? That was kind of insulting.

It appeared she'd gotten the lusus' attention though, making the Witch's shoulders tense in case the creature decided to run and activate her chase drive.

Thankfully, it had no such intentions.

The giant meowbeast paid her almost absolutely no mind, yawning before using its tail to tap on Tea Girl's shoulder, pointing her in Jade's direction the second the cat troll looked up.

In an instant, the girl waved and got up, cheerfully bounding over to the Witch.

"HI!" Ow, okay. There was talking loud and then there was… that.

… That migraine was suddenly a lot closer.

"... Hi?" Jade responded hesitantly.

The troll must have seen her flinch, as with an apologetic grin, her next words were a little softer, but still way too loud for the spacebound's liking.

"Sorry! Volume is a little hard to control when you can't hear your own voice. I'm Meulin! I don't think I've seen you around here befur. Are you with our dancestors? Where are your horns?"

… Maybe she should have thought twice before getting into a conversation with this bouncy troll. She wasn't planning on being immediately baraged with questions, and Jade wasn't in the best of moods, which was not helping matters.

Instead of answering any of the quandaries the overly energetic troll had just peppered her with, Jade opted instead to ask her own question.

"Can't hear your own voice?"

"Ohh sorry, I'm so used to efuryone already knowing. I'm deaf!"

… Dammit, Jade was the immediate jerk in this situation, wasn't she?

"Uh, right! Can I ask how you can… understand me, then?"

"I lip read! It's… not always purrfect. But I'm usually able to gather enough infurmation on what people are saying with context mews," Meulin looked particularly proud of herself for that last cat pun.

Jade hesitated. The sunny disposition of this troll hadn't broken, but she wasn't sure if she was being rude, or not…

"Do you need me to emphasize my lip movements? To… make things easier, maybe?"

"Hah!" The catgirl immediately looked chagrinned. "Thanks, but pawlease don't. It makes things soooo much harder to unpurrstand. I'm used to the way people normally talk! No one talks like that.

"… Got it. That makes sense."

The oliveblood snorted, the resignation in the sound making it sound like this was a conversation she'd had far, far more than once.

The question was… did Jade care?

The beginnings of a migraine throbbed again, answering for her.

Nope.

Anyway.

"Um… I'm looking for a goldblood? He's in a yellow skateboarding getup."

Meulin blinked, the expression on her face an immediate mix of several emotions. Jade could have sworn she saw some annoyance in there, mixed with suspicion, but they were washed away with an amused laugh as she began leading the human away from where her lusus had curled back up (it did not look like she'd be able to ask for that tea).

"I have no idea what the word you just said is. Not really one for introductions, I surpawse?"

Oh, whoops.

"I'm Jade," The Witch tried not to let a tired sigh enter her voice as she spoke. She'd gotten out of the habit of talking to pretty much anyone except Nannasprite and Jaspersprite (and even Jaspersprite was a bit… difficult, considering she just wanted to chase him everywhere).

Compared to a clown elder and a purple princess cat, this olive person took a bit more energy.

Which was… kind of impressive, actually.

The troll frowned as Jade spoke, watching her mouth for a second before sighing.

"Names are paw-ways harder… um, do you mind if add you on Trollian?"

Jade blinked before shaking her head, getting out her phone and stopping on the edge of where the lilypads merged back into the suburbs for the midblood to quickly add her handle to her account.

Meulin hummed, staring at her screen for a second before looking back up at Jade, her expression a little more confused than it had been.

"Uh, I'm still not sure what that means, catually?"

Jade couldn't repress a frustrated groan, not caring if this new acquaintance saw it. What insane troll word did they use for a skateboard?

"It's… like a long plank? Low to the ground with wheels. People do tricks on it."

"Oh!" The confusion cleared from Meulin's face like clouds from the sky as they started walking again. "A falldown slat!"

… Sure.

"I've nefur heard anyone call it a 'skateboard' before. Is that an Alpurrnian word?"

"Oh! Sorry, no. I'm a human." For however much longer.

The catgirl giggled, placing a hand on her hip in a "really now" gesture that set Jade's teeth on edge as they rounded the corner into the next bubble, a pair of deep umber cliffs.

"Good one! You don't look like any human I've seen so fur! Also," She grinned. "You still haven't told me your name! Or well, you did, but I didn't catch it. You're super cute, even with missing horns! I can think of a ton of people who'd love me to work my…"

The troll paused, gesturing to herself dramatically before giving another excited laugh.

"Mage of Heart magic with you. But to do that, I need to know what to tag the fic!"

What the fuck was she talking about?

"The fic?"

"The shipping fic!!"

That didn't make that statement make any more sense.

But regardless, it didn't look like Meulin was going to move on from this conversation without her name. Which was probably fair. Jade maybe should have clarified it in the first place. Her current annoyance was no excuse to be impolite.

Remembering what the olive had said about "names being harder", Jade opted to type out her name this time instead of saying it, barely looking at the screen as she sent the quick message.

Meulin nodded her appreciation at the texting, looking down with a grin once her phone buzzed.

"Aw, that's purretty! Am I saying it right? Like 'Jay-deen'?"

Wait.

What?

Pulling her phone back up to her face, Jade frowned at the name she'd typed out on the screen.

GG: jadIIn bazIIl

Th--

That was not her name.

But it was.

It wasn't… replacing anything, was it? Jade was definitely still her name.

But it was also Jadiin.

…

And why the fuck had she typed it like that? What a horrible way to type her… supposed last name. Anyone who read that thing in the wrong font would have no idea they were looking at "Baziil". Blurrily, the future goldblood's eyes scanned the rest of their conversation above it.

Why had she typed any of her texts like that?

She hadn't even noticed, just letting muscle memory carry her through the conversation like the smell of prey on a hunt.

"Um," Meulin's voice was a little strained as she broke Jadiin Jade out of her thoughts. "If you answered, I didn't see it."

Oh my gosh, she really had to get back into the swing of holding a conversation. The Witch immediately turned back to the Mage, making sure she could see her mouth as she replied.

"Sorry! You pronounced it right."

Technically.

That… was indeed how that name was pronounced.

The troll offered a grin, just as cheerful as before as they slowed to a halt, pointing across the cliffs at another slim figure staring at the sky, arms tucked deep into his pockets.

"Nice to meet you, Jadiin! There's your goldblood."

The space player frowned as she eyed the troll from afar.

"That's… not the skateboarder?"

Meulin laughed. "He sure isn't!"

The troll offered a shrug, the entire gesture very "what can you do". There was no malice behind it, but there was no helpfulness either.

"But my meowrail's not in a great mood right now? And it doesn't really seem like you are either, so now you're this other guy's pawblem instead! Tuna has enough to deal with. Bye!"

The Mage flashstepped away before the Witch could offer a reply.

…

Oh my god, she was going to smack her the next time she saw her.

Chapter Text

This was stupid.

This was so stupid!

Jade glared daggers at the goldblood in the distance, furious at being tricked more than anything. Maybe Meulin should stop making decisions for her "meowrail", considering he had literally asked to come see him again at some point!

Maybe he was in a bad mood because he had to deal with her obnoxious, overly cat-themed purrsonality? Did she ever think of that?

Ugh.

Whatever.

Maybe she should just get this interaction over and done with before loading up on as much caffeine as she could physically get her hands on and calling it a day.

And try to be polite, while she was at it. Regardless of her frustration, and the pain slowly getting sharper and sharper at her temples, it wasn't the guy across the cliff's fault.

… But it… was his fault that the second she started floating over to him, he started flying away.

Jade frowned, moving a little faster, only for the goldblood in the distance to also pick up the pace.

A little faster, he matched pace.

Faster still, he matched pace.

… Jade didn't have fucking time for this.

The goldblood in the distance peeked back at her over his shoulder, and Jade got a glance of white and black eyes before the guy kicked up his speed even higher.

… Big mistake when being followed by someone with a chase drive and Green Sun powers.

In a flash, Jade captchalogued her picnic basket before teleporting to just above where the goldblood was, full-body slamming herself into the skinny twit like she was tackling prey in the woods.

"Wh-HEY! Get the fuck off me!" The guy's arms flailed behind him as Jade felt some force try to throw her off. She clung harder, attempting to shove them both lower to the ground as the goldblood struggled to drag them up.

"No! Why are you running from me?" She tilted them down, her space powers taking advantage of a couple gaps in force from the guy's psionics, gaining several feet in her struggle towards the ground.

"Why are you chasing me?!" He snarled, horns sparking as he tried to whip them both back higher into the air.

"Because you're running from me!!" The Witch rolled her eyes as she teleported them both down, the dickhead yelping in surprise when he suddenly found himself being shoved face first into the dirt.

"You started coming towards me first, fucknubs," His voice was petulant as he seemingly gave up, arms going limp as he laid on the ground in defeat.

"Well, yeah," The spacebound put on her best "no, duh" voice, feeling absolutely nothing but petty satisfaction at the jerk's unhappy sputter in response. "I needed to talk to you!"

"Yeah? Has it occurred to you that I flew away because I didn't want to be talked to? I'm not in a great fucking mood right now, if you haven't noticed."

"Tough!" Jade's voice went a little harsh. "Neither am I, and I need your help!"

The Witch got off her next meal conversation partner, yanking him up along with her like he was a particularly stubborn weed.

She blinked once she got a good look at him.

"Wait, I have met you before! You were okay last time we talked," She let the unspoken what the heck changed pass without comment. "Remember? You even called Karkat a douche!"

"I do that pretty much constantly, always."

"No, it was a bonding moment!"

"Uh…"

"Because Karkat is, in fact, a douche!"

"Well, that's just plain basic facts. Do those count as bonding moments?"

"They can if you're not dumb jerk about them. Sollux, right?"

Her prey Sollux huffed, brushing himself off from where Jade had faceplanted him into the ground before finally looking up at her and freezing when he saw her eyes.

"Nope. You're fucking lying to me." He said flatly.

Wh--

Oh my god, you had to be kidding.

"No! I'm not! We've met before and--"

"Listen--your voice may sound familiar, but I'm not fucking blind anymore. Can't pull the woolbeast byproduct over my bulbs that fucking easy, got it?" The doombound glared at her.

Jade felt her eye twitch.

"I don't think I even look that dif--!"

"What kind of fucking Mage of Doom would I be if I got made a jackass out of twenty-two seconds after waking up this evening? You're trying to make a joke out of me before I've even had my Ticko Bell fucking breakfast burrito. Or you would be, if this weird afterlife was decent enough to have a fucking Ticko Bell. Never understood why AA liked this place so much. I'd even take a fucking McGrubbles at this point."

Jade blinked, completely ignoring the vast majority of what this person just blabbed to her as something he said earlier finally clicked.

"Wait, you were blind? And then… stopped being blind?"

The Mage groaned immediately.

"This again. I fucking swear. This again. It was a whole thing. An entire fucking thing. A thing that I have better things to do than explain to you."

"... Uh-huh."

"... Fuck you for that tone, first of all. My point stands, okay? Regardless of you knowing KK, I've definitely never met some weird, hornless gold before," A few more brushes and the Mage gave up on his attempts to dust himself off with a frustrated click of his tongue, looking back at her in earnest and frowning.

"How are you not blowing everyone up without your horns anyway? You're clearly spsionic… psionic as fuck with those fucking eyes."

Jade frowned at him, immediately stiffening at this new information. That… didn't sound good.

"I don't have… what do you mean, how am I not blowing everyone up?"

"What do you mean, you don't have--what do you mean, what do I mean? How do you think--you're not fucking stupid on top of being rude as fuck, are you? What kind of goldblood even are you if you don't know how your own psionics work?"

Maybe it was his snotty tone, maybe it was the confident incorrectness of a guy who was entirely too comfortable insulting her intelligence, but Jade snarled at the implication, stamping her foot in frustration as she felt her ears flatten on her head.

"Ugh! I will NOT be called dumb by someone who's so stupid and terrible that he doesn't even recognize me when we've talked before!"

Her migraine was in full swing by this point, wracking through her temples, down her spine, then swinging back up again to concentrate behind her eyes, the pain feeling more like lightning than anything.

"It's Jade, you utter moron! And to answer the other question, you want to know what kind of gold doesn't know their own psionics yet? A gold! Who isn't! A gold yet! That's kind of the fucking thing I wanted to talk to you about!"

… Literal lighting, if the few small zaps next to her eyes she could have sworn she imagined were anything to go by. Jade continued her rant, undeterred as Sollux's brow furrowed before his eyes widened in panic at… something, something finally clicking as black and white eyes zoomed first to her ears, and then the rest of her godtier outfit.

Let him be panicked all he wanted! This was stupid!

"I've been told that it's pretty much going to be a huge disaster if you don't, and it's from a very trusted source! For a 'Mage of Doom', you'd think you would know that, but instead you're sitting here being a dumb, stupid idiot and whining all over me LIKE A BABY!"

Sollux had, by this point, raised his arms in an ill attempt at a "calm down" gesture, the movement only serving to piss the Witch off further.

Oh, sure! Now he was going to care? Now that he had bothered to look at her for more than two seconds and seen that she was obviously herself?

His expression was distinctly alarmed as he tried his hardest to get a word in edgewise.

"Hey. Chill the fuck out, maybe? Yeah. Jade. I remember you now. Y-you look different, okay? It's the eyes. They're gonna throw off like every--"

"--I don't care, because I don't look that different--!"

"--And I can appreciate that now, but I'm really gonna need you to clamp those rumblespheres down if you don't want to--you--you said you need my help, right? You look like you need help."

Jade stared at him, completely flabbergasted, her migraine feeling like it was fully covering her whole nervous system by now in a blanket of pain and frustration, sparking at her finger tips.

"DO I?? Do I look like I need help now? It's almost like that's what I've been TRYING TO TELL YOU, JACKASS!!"

BOOM.

In seconds, the Witch and Mage were blasted in two completely opposite directions.

Being dead was an odd sensation.

Or at least it had been at first, the state of being slowly becoming the new norm as sweeps and sweeps of endless nothing passed by.

A million and one sensations you knew you should be feeling. A thousand and one opportunities for growth and change you were almost… forced to let skip past.

A hundred actions untaken a day. The urge to do literally anything washed away by the monotony of millennia with no hopes of anything new happening, ever.

It dulled passions. It dulled senses. It stuck you in an endless loop that was almost impossible to escape.

It was hard to be surprised by anything, when you'd been dead as long as Kurloz Makara, a worthless and useless excuse for a Prince of Rage if there ever motherfucking was one.

What kind of fucking mime had been abandoned from ever experiencing miracles and revelations again?

A failed one. That's the motherfucking answer.

But… um.

Those mirthless millennia had been distinctly John Egbert-less.

And maybe that had been his problem, actually, because Kurloz' senses felt quite undulled every time he and John were together, the bright, funny, faithful fucking breath player sweeping through his life like a hurricane and rattling against every routine Kurloz had built for centuries.

He had gone from… apathy. An afterlife of waking up, desperately finding something to do around his hive, giving up and moping on his couch, then falling back asleep, to… actually having something to do. Actually having someone to look forward to.

Beyond Aradia checking in from time to time, literally no one wanted to speak with him. Not since Meulin and Mituna left. The additional pains it took to communicate only served to lengthen these barriers.

But John had wanted to learn his holy arts, had told him he liked learning, had described the time he spent practicing, and from the dexterity and speed and understanding the breathbound was gaining with every new lesson, Kurloz absolutely believed him when he said that he was pouring his time into it, passion shining in those bright blue eyes like fire.

There was no goddamn way the motherfucker wasn't being called, a miracle in its own right.

He couldn't wait for John to develop his own accent in his signs. He already had such a distinct way of speaking, he was excited for the other clown to finally have a way to spread that voice into his movements as well, really paint his shit for what it should be.

And the mime lessons, while giving him a wonderful thing to spend his time on, were far from the only thing John wanted to do while at his hive, the Heir making it extremely clear that he… enjoyed spending time with the Prince, even if Kurloz couldn't figure out why for the motherfucking life of him. John had brought up movies and shows and… and had been talking about him with his palemate apparently, which was clear enough intentions, honestly.

That… last one still made his breath catch, along with the memories of her blessing, however teasing.

He'd… he'd only known the other clown for how long? It was kind of hard to tell in the bubbles. Time when nothing happened warped together, feeling like weeks when it had been decades. But so much had been happening lately… and so much of it when the unfairly fucking gorgeous, obviously pious (mostly) human was near his hive…

Fuck, he couldn't fucking lose him.

He couldn't.

Please.

The Angels had granted him a second chance… he couldn't squander this miracle. Shit would be damn near sacrilegious.

Of course, feeling everything a little more sharply than usual came with its downsides.

Like the fact that Kurloz could have sworn he was having a fucking pusher attack as John pulled out the most heavily chucklevoodooed object he'd ever laid his ganderbulbs on and set it in his lap like it was a motherfucking snuggleplane.

His frond had barely brushed that bitch before being yanked away and he was already feeling the book call to him. Taunting and inviting all in one go. Asking him to open the pages and learn until he couldn't bear it any longer.

At some point, maybe immediately, he asked a question.

At some point, probably immediately after, John answered.

But despite hearing his answer, the Prince couldn't parse it, his voodoos being called instead to this book, demanding their attention. Demanding his compliance. Demanding his devotion.

Like a fucking siren song.

A laughing hymn.

A mechanical organ.

A circus calliope.

With screams and whispers and honks and whistles.

And giggles and taunts and pranks and smiles.

And sobbing and laughter, and laughter and laughter.

And laughter and laughterandlaughterandlaughterandlaughterandlaughterandlaughter

ANDLAUGHTERANDLAUGHTERANDLAUGHTERANDLAUGHTERAND

LAUGHTEROPENANDMELAUGHTEROPENANDMELAUGHTEROPENANDMELAUGHTEROPEN--

"Kurloz."

A hand fell into his and the voices went silent, the gentle presence in his pan brushing the harshest voodoos he'd ever felt in his (un)life away like they were naught but cobwebs.

Slowly, painfully, the Prince was able to tear his bulbs away from the book.

The Green Book.

That's what John had fucking said it was when he asked.

The motherfucking Green Book.

In his hive.

That.

That John had grown up with like it was a goddamn respitetime story.

"Th-thank you."

"Y-yeah, are you okay? I am sorry, I didn't think it would--"

The rage player waved him off with a quick //I'm fine//

Yeah, he didn't expect John would know if he cracked through the Books influence that terrifyingly fucking easy.

First his motherfucking dancestor, coming to him with some tale near bordering on heresy, had Kurloz not been able to tell that misguided Bard was fully getting high on his own supply.

Then his meeting with John out of nowhere, the bloodcovered Heir zoning out in his hive still fresh in the Prince's mind.

Then the discovery what had happened nights before. That not only was John… pitch-talking with Gamzee (not that he was mad, but it was alarming as fuck), but that he was apparently... turning into a troll(?), visions of purple blood Kurloz had seen weeks prior finally being given context before being dragged to some special stars-forsaken meeting by Aradia.

N-now this.

Now this.

After millennia of no revelations or miracles.

Motherfuckers really did hit all at once, didn't they?

Oh Angels, what the in the fuck was happening?

"Are you the Keeper?"

It was the first question to enter his nugbone, flying out of him and into John's waiting sponge before he could stop it. His breath stopped as soon as he asked, the question feeling as blasphemous as it did devout.

The Keeper was as inextricable from the Green Book as its pages or its ink, supposedly an ephemeral being, one whose home was in no timeline to name, a being in direct contact with the Angels of Double Death, bringing about their wisdom in a wash of comedy and tragedy wherever they went.

The breathbound paused in response, the bright purple glow of chucklevoodoos in his eyes unfortunately keeping Kurloz from reading most of his expression.

Finally, the Heir answered, his mental voice a bit light and strained as he gave a tense shrug.

"Y-you know… I have never asked that question before? O-or been asked that question before. Um.. but that would definitely be… a lot, you know? Like way too much actually, considering I'm already--"

The Heir cut himself off. Kurloz frowned.

"Already...?"

Panicked eyes filled with the sacred glow so associated with their caste met his for a second before quickly looking away.

"Um. Nevermind..."

What even...

... Wait.

That would explain John hanging out with Gamzee, wouldn't it? Regardless of if Kurloz agreed with him on... certain things, there was no denying the holy missions the Bard undertook. The sacred objects he so frequently handled. The constant rips and bloodstains Kurloz constantly saw the Bard having to repair in his outfit, Kurloz several times even reluctantly helping him clean up particularly brutal injuries as they healed under his hands.

... Like John's arm had--

"But um… regardless, I am pretty sure the Book is how I became a clown on a mirthless planet. Even if I had almost no other influences… The Green Book would definitely… be enough."

Understatement of the motherfucking century.

In a flash, The Green Book was back in the breathbound's sylladex, the movement somehow both awkward and reverent as John looked over at him nervously.

…

"Do you… believe me, then?" The Heir's voice was quiet, cracking in spite of a mental voice having nothing to crack on.

"Yes."

Oh, he believed him.

Holy shit, did he believe him.

… Those chucklevooodoos had rattled him pretty good, almost fully ensnaring him, had John not broken through them like they were nothing.

That type of shit didn't come from normal objects.

That type of shit didn't come from anything.

Holy shit, he had so many questions, and every motherfucking one of them felt like unrighteous desecration of what he'd just witnessed to mention... well, not out loud per se, but the point stood regardless.

Not that he would have been able to if he tried.

His pan kept skittering around, grabbing one thought before tossing it away in favor of three or four more. It still felt like he was hearing static, his gaze locking and drifting whenever he didn't catch himself, unable to focus on any one thing.

Holy shit, that book got him good.

"And you.. still want to hang out?"

Wait, what?

Kurloz blinked a few times, taking a second look at John.

The clown next to him, if anything, looked a little pale around the ears, his posture hunched and anxious. He damn near wasn't blinking as he waited, tauter than a tightrope.

…

The Heir had fully counted on him disregarding this, hadn't he? Throwing him away for being a heretic, maybe. Someone who had managed to fake their way into clownhood even, considering John's unbelieving planet.

But there was nothing heretical or fake about that Tome. Or John. Far the fuck from it, and Kurloz would bite what was left of his tongue off before he ever said anything similar.

His pan was still tugging at him, trying to connect some dots from earlier, but no matter what the Prince tried, he couldn't grab the thoughts to know what they were.

… They were still holding hands.

Shifting, Kurloz took full advantage of this, interlacing their fingers as he turned to face the Heir fully. His body felt like it had been unlocked now that The Book had been put away, unfreezing from where he wasn't even aware he'd been frozen.

Unthinking, he moved to sign his response with his free hand, the quick //Of course, I still want to hang out, brother// already feeling shaky even before he realized, yet again, that he had not, in fact, taught John several of those words yet.

The Heir's eyes, to his credit, had snapped onto the signs immediately, brow furrowing as he attempted to fill in the blanks.

Nervously, despite their pans still being connected, John's free hand also rose.

//Of course, you… something… want… something, invertebrother?//

Quickly, Kurloz clarified, and John's eyes widened in relief before letting out a shuddering breath and looking away with a small, grateful smile.

... He really wanted John to smile more around him. To laugh at his jokes. The motherfucker looked so much freer when he was happy, but the clown had the worst case of resting sad face the ragebound had ever seen.

Fuck, he missed sharing stupid jokes back and forth with people who actually fucking understood his ass.

But John would soon, if that passion kept up, and the thought left a comforting aura before slipping away into the odd, fuzzy little notions left in the wake of Sassacre.

Growing up with a Holy Tome... that didn't happen to just anyone, right? The Heir had seemed so unsure of the Keeper label, but the only other members of the Dark Carnival that were rumored to be able to hold the Wicked Word were...

Were...

... Why... couldn't he finish that thought..?

Neither of them had spoken for a bit, John thankfully equally zoned the fuck out next to him, face occasionally shifting as though he were holding some unheard conversation with someone. Probably... with himself, quite honestly. Motherfucker's pan and ability to zone was... a tad worrying for clowns what knew the dangers of a brain hardwired for harshwhimseys.

… There would be no goddamn way they were getting back to their lessons after this. Not this motherfucking night most holy.

Holy shit, he'd have to pray for a while after this, thank the Merciful for... whatever had happened here. Was it a revelation? It felt like one, but with no conclusion, like it was being blocked, or...

Wow, fuck, yet another train of thought he couldn't finish? Thank fuck they didn't have to leave the hive any time soon at least.

But... a new idea had arrived. As soon as the thought of prayer entered his head, as if bidden, another thought followed, curving lips still unstitched from their lessons into a grin.

If he couldn't fucking think anyway, why not lean into it?

"I believe we'll require some help to relax after this noise, what do you think?"

John looked back at him, startled out of his head. "Help…?"

Kurloz offered a shrug and a soft smile, gently unweaving their hands before holding up a single finger and heading upstairs.

It didn't take him long to gather the supplies he needed, captchaloguing them before rushing back downstairs.

At John's curious look, Kurloz ejected everything they could need from his sylladex:

Nothing much. A grinder, some flower, some papers and a couple filters, along with a one-hitter Meulin had gotten him eons ago, back when they were still alive.

"Ever smoked, ninja?"

Chapter Text

Shit, what had he done?

Why had he fucking done that?!

He never got the urge to show someone Sassacre, not ever, every instinct he had always screaming at him to keep the book as safe and protected as possible, hidden where it was in his Sylladex unless he was alone to read it.

Even if he… had never known why.

Or well, okay. He kind of knew why.

Dad had told him to.

In their quieter moments, the man had always been… almost urgent about it. Insisting he locked his magic trunk tight when they had company. He could talk about Sassacre, of course. It was a huge part of his life! But he could never reveal what was inside. If someone showed an interest, it had to be a sincere interest, shown through a number of little tests.

They had to ask about the book at least three times, over at least three different days, but not with more than a week or two apart between asks. Never mocking it. Never downplaying their interest. He wasn't allowed to encourage or discourage anything either way, simply taking any fascination into account before changing the subject.

It wasn't that much of a test, honestly, but if they met the requirements, he could send them a copy. Again, he couldn't encourage or discourage fascination in any way, so he couldn't tell him he was sending it. And it had to be a copy. He could never let them lay eyes on the family heirloom so protected by their family. Dad had been absolutely insistent on this fact.

John had just.. always assumed it was because it was valuable.

And it was. Purely from the perspective of monetary value, the ancient copy of Sassacre in the Heir's possession was probably worth more than his childhood home.

But considering what he knew now, that… was the farthest thing from the real reason it was so guarded.

When Rose had met the requirements, John had been overjoyed, running to his father and showing him their various messages over the week. His dad had been happy for him, of course, but reminded him to temper his excitement. Sassacre wasn't for everyone, after all.

And, true to his father's prediction, it hadn't been for Rose, but John had hardly cared, cheerfully agreeing when she informed him she was sending it back. He could swap out his ancient, precious print for the new copy once she sent it back and lock Sassacre where it really belonged, in his father's massive safe.

Dad had checked on him after she had informed him, but John had waved him off. Rose being non-judgemental about the contents in the mirthful guide had been enough cause for joy, honestly. It was okay that she hadn't connected with it if she could understand that he did.

And she did understand. An extra… allowance for his love of magic and pranks almost immediately noticeable in her behavior, even defending him from Dave a few times when the Knight's moods brought his teasing closer to cruel than friendly.

It was appreciated then, when he didn't know what his own connections to the text were, and it was still appreciated now that he had a better understanding of what had been happening.

Messiahs, he was so happy he knew her.

As John had grown up, these rules so carefully protecting The Green Book had burned into his system to such an extent that they were hardly thought about anymore, just another part of life living with Sassacre's text.

He hadn't had a name for them… but Kurloz had.

The Covenant of the Scripture Most Wicked, guidelines for only the most gatekept and fundamental secrets of the Church.

… It was so weirdly formal, but it did sound right.

…

But showing Kurloz the text had also sounded right, and look what had fucking happened as a result.

He hadn't even known The Green Book could do that, Kurloz immediately zoning out while he was speaking to him, his eyes widening in… horror? Maybe? As something pulled his attention away. John hadn't even realized what was happening until he'd heard the taunting call to read echoing through the Prince's thinksponge.

The voice had sounded… familiar. Even while it fought to take control of his unsuspecting host. Comforting in a way he couldn't really place.

Though that may have just been the result of growing up under The Green Book's influence.

Influence that had apparently very nearly harmed Kurloz. In the middle of a free language lesson. Before an almost guaranteed movie night afterwards. After the Prince had already called him on the number of secrets he was keeping from him.

And he'd gotten the ragebound almost voodoo'ed for his troubles.

He… he would need to take penance after this, wouldn't he?

Again.

He'd broken the Covenant. And look where it had gotten him.

Why.. wh-why did he just keep fucking up? What was wrong with him???

Don't take penance, Fool. Your instincts were correct

What are you talking about? Kurloz got--

--Do you remember the Covenant's requirements for fellow clowns?

Calliope… he had never been around other clowns on Earth.

What about your father?

Fuck off. Dad wasn't a real clown. He was lying.

And yet, you followed different rules for him when he wanted to see Sassacre than you did for Rose. Do you remember?

…

You followed the Covenant, John. And you'll follow it again, given a bit of… time.

And when would that be? Spoilers?

Seems you're catching up.

Ugh.

Fine.

Then what the fuck did Kurloz mean about the Keeper? Surely someone couldn't be an Emissary and the Keeper all in one go. Calliope wasn't that bad of a writer. She didn't make him a Mary Sue, right?

Ha. Ha. You're hilarious, Fool.

He was her jester; he better be hilarious. Who's the Keeper?

Not you.

Thank fuck. Who is?

Spoilers.

Typical.

Kurloz came back downstairs before he could continue his conversation with Calliope, the quiet excitement in those ghostly eyes oddly out of place, considering everything that had just happened, until he de-captchalogued what he'd gathered onto his coffee table.

John blinked at the various… stuff, the smell ridiculously familiar from the Beforan hive he'd been hiding in, before sheepishly looking up at the mime's question.

"N-no, I have never smoked before. I don't really know… how to…? I-I have never been high before, so…"

Kurloz blinked as he trailed off, signing a few things to himself that John couldn't quite catch before his eyes flicked back to John.

"Well, if I didn't believe your ass before when you said there was no clowns on that unrighteous planet of yours, I'd believe it after a statement like that."

"Was it that common?"

Kurloz gave an easy-going shrug as he went back to sit on the couch, sadly a little farther than they'd been positioned previously, allowing the mime room to grab a jar of olive and purple colored "catnip" and a small, round container.

"Amongst our painted brethren? It was damn near the only solace what got clowns through the night. At least on Beforus, considering the… general shit what the Beneficent laid on the Church…"

The Prince's mental voice went a little sour, making it John's turn to blink as he watched the other clown put a couple chunks of the plant into the capsule, several sharp spikes on the inside being used to break up the clumps inside.

Before he could ask, the mime continued.

"The reason I said what I did though, was you saying you'd never been high before," Now properly ground down, the clown next to him started sprinkling the powdered plant onto a small, thin piece of paper on the table, his concentration not breaking even slightly as his voice echoed gently through the Heir's pan. "Not even through means of pixie smoke?"

His pan answered before he had time to stop it. "What is pixie smoke?"

Kurloz straightened in surprise, glancing John's way before turning his attention back to rolling the little paper on the table.

"Fuck, that's right. No motherfucking clowns on your planet… so no Churches and no pixie smoke… no holidays or massacres or… " The mime looked a little sad as he carefully sealed the little roll. "Damn, okay."

John frowned at the mime's reaction. He'd hidden himself in churches on Beforus a couple times, but he had no idea what Kurloz was talking about. Was the clown referring to the powder thrown into the candles there? That… didn't get you high, did it? It just smelled nice. Like Fruity Pebbles if you could somehow smoke them like a brisket.

"What is it…?"

"Oh yeah, apologies. It was a holy treat for sermons. Something only ever taken at Church. I'm… I'll be honest at you. I have absolutely no idea how motherfuckers made that shit, but whoever first discovered it made an outright stars-blessed miracle immediately. It was a kind of incense used during service. Shit could get you high off sugar."

Oh.

"Wait, really?"

Kurloz grinned as he watched the implication hit John's face, bringing out some kind of ornate lighter as he carefully began applying it to the end of the blunt he'd just made.

"Like I said, a motherfucking miracle. Everyone brought Faygo to service for far more than just keeping away sugar lows. Pixie smoke on its own? That didn't do much. But church smoke with something sweet? Your eyes would be redder than our daymare of a sun before you got even a couple sips in."

… Well that explained some things. Namely the clowns' reactions he'd seen as he watched service from afar, often too distracted with whatever his mission was to be able to pay attention.

He'd just been assuming most of them had taken something before service. Not that the service itself was getting them high.

"Is it anything like this stuff?"

Kurloz shook his head before carefully demonstrating how to smoke the blunt to John, taking a pull between two fingers and making a little motion to his chest as he held it for a bit before releasing the breath into a cloud around them.

The mime's mental voice continued as John carefully took the blunt from him. "Nah, it was kind of hard to describe. It chilled you out like this will, but it didn't slow your thoughts at all. Church was usually near the water. Couldn't afford to have slowed reflexes with the sea that close."

… Kurloz' hive was also next to the water, but John chose not to comment on it, experimentally taking a pull from the alien blunt.

Before immediately doubling over in a cough as it burned down his throat and up his nose.

Kurloz' hand was on his shoulder instantly, bracing him as John hacked, blinking tears from his eyes as the mime carefully rescued the blunt from his fingers.

"That's… pretty normal," Kurloz' voice was apologetic even without the quick //SORRY!// John saw signed through watery eyes. "But… I've always gotten a lot motherfucking higher when I get in a coughing fit like that, s-so…?"

The mime's psychic voice trailed off a little awkwardly as John's coughing subsided, his hand slowly falling from the Heir's shoulder down his arm as he checked his guest over.

… It was sweet of him to be so worried.

It was just coughing. John would live. He was far more interested in the pleasant buzzing that was already humming in the very back of his mind, and without thinking, the Heir's hand rose in a quick //I'M FINE//, the same one the Prince had tossed at him earlier.

At least he could finally return the favor both Kurloz and Gamzee had offered him so many times. In a flash above them, John pulled out two Faygos, handing the Prince a Jolly Green Apple and grabbing a Moon Mist for himself, something to both soothe his throat and reassure the mime a bit.

Hesitantly, he took the blunt again when offered, more prepared for the sensation this time as he took a smaller puff, holding it like Kurloz had shown him before releasing it carefully. The mime was watching him the whole time, a small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, expression otherwise unreadable as he took the little roll back from his guest.

He signed his question before he could think to ask it mentally.

//… WHAT?//

The mime shook his head before taking a long drag, holding it for quite a while before releasing and stubbing out the burning end in a little ashtray on the table.

//NOTHING… EXCITED. HOPE YOU LIKE.//

The pleasant fuzziness was growing in the back of his head, slowly settling over him in a wash of relaxed warmth as John grinned.

//I WILL, I THINK.//

The mime's smile bloomed into a full on grin back, one of the few John had seen on him that he hadn't immediately attempted to hide.

//GOOD. IF YOU START FEEL BAD, TELL ME.//

John nodded his agreement again as the mime pulled out an utter shock of a movie from his Sylladex, one that made the Heir's eyes widen in excitement even as a gentle haze started to set in at the corners of his vision.

"Spooky House? How did you…?"

A quiet chuckle met his question. "Consider that one of my secrets, ninja. Though, I'm sure you can figure it out."

Used to spelling out her name, John went to sign it before he could think it.

//R-O-S-E?//

Another quiet laugh from Kurloz, breathy and delighted, was his confirmation.

//...I KNEW IT. AMAZING SHE. I O-W-E HER.//

The laugh grew a little louder, the mime raising the hand on John's shoulder to sign quickly back. //GOOD G-U-E-S-S//

With a shake of his head, the ragebound continued in his pan.

"She was telling me how much you loved it as a wiggler. You two seem to be an angels-blessed match if there ever was one."

John's grin grew a little shy.

"Yeah… I really think so, too."

The look in Kurloz' eyes grew a little softer as he watched him, making John flush slightly until the mime took pity on him and raised the DVD again.

//READY?//

//YES!//

With another grin, the mime went to put the movie in, yet again going to grab a snuggleplane from the fabric cubby in his hallway before turning out the lights and spreading the soft blanket over the two of them on his return.

The movie turned on, beginning, as always, with a magician's performance. The Great Zamboni had a talent for holding his audience as captive outside of the screen as within.

John's breathing slowed as the familiar scene washed over him.

…

… This…

Was kind of perfect.

Maybe it was the gentle high overtaking him like a warm, fuzzy updraft, slowing his thoughts to just being able to focus on the TV in front of them.

Maybe it was the movie, the light kid's humor and cantankerous nature of the lonely magician within it as nostalgic as any childhood toy or momento.

Or maybe it was his host. The cool shoulder next to him rising and falling with the mime's own breathing as half-lidded eyes watched the sweet little flick.

John realized a little too late that he had begun to lean against that shoulder, but before he could straighten, the mime leaned back, letting one arm gently fall between them, an open invitation.

It was far too easy to take it, and throughout the little film, nerves calmed by the effects of the alien weed, John found himself gently tracing his fingers along the back of that gloved hand, only to shiver slightly when Kurloz returned the favor.

Even after they paused the movie to take another pull and grab some more Faygo, they returned to position the second the movie was back on.

... The shape Kurloz was tracing was familiar, and John almost jumped when he realized what it was.

It was a heart.

…

Yeah.

This was fucking perfect.

Could they not get to his hive any faster?

… At least they were close.

How the fuck had Cronus gotten himself into this stupid mess?

He was all for helping a fellow violet out, but Rose was far from friendly company, glaring at him at even the smallest attempts at making small talk on the way to his hive.

Fine. See if he cared. He was only attempting to comment on how nice it was to finally talk to a fellow royal.

It got lonely with just him and Meenah.

And it definitely wasn't because Meenah avoided him like he had some kind of horrible disease, only popping up to insult him and make him feel worse about his miserable existence.

It wasn't casteist to be stating plain basic facts, was it? Of course not. And he would most definitely ask Kankri about that later to double check that his allyship was as spotless as his human-white shirt.

… Fuck, if they even wore white anymore, after whatever was happening… finished.

"Wh-why aren't you fighting it?" The question was quiet, far quieter than his previous attempts at small talk had been.

Rose blinked next to him, too confused to give him her usual "silence" glare. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean… I guess if things were reversed and us Beforus cats were all becoming humans… w-well, I wouldn't be fighting it, but quite a couple of the squares in these void bubbles would be." Cronus groaned at the thought. He could already picture it, and he let his hands rise with him to articulate that picture as he spoke next.

"They would all think it was just awful losin' their horns and castes and… everything else. There'd be meetings and plans of action… not any that w-went anywhere, of course, but they'd at least act upset about it." The seadweller let his hands drop miserably.

"'Cause not a single one of them would know a good thing if it was lookin' 'em dead in the eye, trying to compliment them as best it could… and writing them songs they might like…"

Rose cleared her throat.

He might be getting off topic.

"Point is. We're fuckin' dead. Nothin' makes us fight anything that happens to us. Wh-why… aren't you fighting it?"

The Seer huffed.

"I'm not sure what exactly there is to fight. Even if a cause were to be found as to why this change was happening… what if it couldn't be reversed? I'd far rather be a full troll than… whatever I am now." The mostly-human's voice went a little bland as she gestured to herself, the paper-white human coloring on the rest of her body incredibly stark against the troll gray climbing onto her neck, forming little streaks onto her face.

The lightbound looked a little lost in thought as her gaze turned away from him, further into the dreambubbles. "And beyond that…"

She trailed off.

After a few moments, it was Cronus' turn to clear his throat, startling her line of sight back to him.

"And beyond that…?" He prompted.

She sighed.

"It's… just not something we're supposed to fight. It was meant to be this way." Her gaze fully met his and something in it made his fins prickle with vague alarm.

The Seer's gaze, normally crystal clear and sharp as a dagger, seemed oddly… dulled.

Compliant.

Like… well, like any ghosts' expression when you asked them to do something that wasn't in their… script.

… Even if he couldn't figure out what he meant by…

Hm.

He opened his mouth to ask further questions, but before he could find a way to word what he needed to, there was an excited shout from nearby before a blur of over-energized chaos popped up next to them.

Rose's gaze returned to normal, even more vicious than before as she narrowed in on their newest compadre.

Ah, fuck.

A shark-toothed grin met them both. As Meenah looked first at him, then his acquaintance.

"Whale, Cronus. I was wonderin' who all you managed to conchvince to stay around your whiney bass long enough to be waltzing offshore to your hive."

She wiggled her eyebrows at him, pulling an automatic frown onto his face.

"That was where you were heading, right? I don't see nofin else around here."

Her grin sharpened. Cronus' frown turned into a scowl.

"Or at least that's what I thought till I saw who you was with, that is. Ain't no way Lalonde here is dumb enough to fall for your pathetic grovelling, freak that she is. Codda be somefin else happening here."

Cronus reeled back, wounded in spite of himself. Always. Like clockwork. Did she always have to rub it in, remind him of his cruel existence in the bubbles, trapped with a bunch of air-sucking losers who couldn't understand the expanding and collapsing bladder based vascular system of a true artist?

She did this every fucking time she talked to him.

It shouldn't even hurt anymore, but somehow, it did, their interactions falling into a familiar, self-pitying pattern before Meenah dunked on him in some way (sometimes literally, if they were near the ocean) and she skipped town again.

Every single one-on-one conversation ended the exact same way.

But this time they weren't alone.

… It would be so easy to just… try to pretend something more was happening here.

… Rose would make him wish he were dead.

And he already was.

She would make him wish he were more dead.

Yet more proof he was just meant to suffer.

"For your information," Cronus started haughtily, painting a bored look onto Meenah's face instantly. "I was doin' what you would never even think of doing and being a model citizen. Rose needed assistance, and I gallantly offered my aid to help a gal in distress."

Rose hummed at that. Cronus shot a look at her as Meenah raised her eyebrows.

"Uh-huh. And she was boats down wave someone pike you lending a helping fin? I'm beta-ing she didn't even need the kelp and you nagged her till she gave in. Can she seaven stand your over-cologned draft as it wafts downstream?"

Wh-hey!

"Wh-what's wrong with my cologne?" A shot of distress went through him at the thought, even as Meenah's grin widened.

It.

The thing was.

It could just be her fucking with him, like always, but…

Did he actually stink? Was that not helping his case? Were his friends ignoring him because he smelled like stagnant sea water or something? He didn't even go in the water that often--

"I came to him for help, actually." Rose's cold voice cut through the short little spiral, bringing Cronus firmly back down to reality. As Meenah's gaze turned towards her with a frown.

"Uh, what's wave your arm?"

"Make-up." Rose replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Riiight," Meenah dragged out, frowning at the human's neck. "And the--?"

"Special effects make up." A slight smile had started to grace Rose's features, almost flirtatious. One that dared the fuchsia princess to challenge the assertion.

…

Meenah had flushed a bit while she glared at the obvious lie. The gills on Rose's neck were unmistakable to any seadweller who even slightly looked at them.

Cronus had to hand it to the Seer.

She had some fucking globes.

The Thief puffed out her cheeks, looking like an offended blowfish. "Say I sealieved you. Are you actsholey out here wearin' 'special effects hake-up' to look like a seadweller for the halibut? That's my culture, Lalonde." Meenah sniffed before a vicious grin found its way back into her expression. "Surprised Kankri isn't after your bass for cultural appropriation."

Oh, please don't fucking tempt him. Much as he enjoyed the bloodbound's… passions for Problematics. Cronus could barely pay attention past the second sentence of his best and only friend half the time.

And he would never leave the three of them alone once he was summoned from wherever the hell he came from.

"Why would he? I was working on my trollsona," Rose continued with the lie as if she hadn't just been called out on it, as if boldness alone could force the fuchsia to believe her.

Or frustrate her into not asking anymore questions.

"My compatriots on the ship suggested this to be the correct caste for an endeavor into the fantasy of a species swap. I've… apparently… always had a bit too close of a connection to violetblood behavior for it to be ignored. Or comfortable for others."

… Well, if that didn't describe the experience of every fucking violetblood he'd ever known, Cronus didn't know what did.

The Thief rolled her eyes. "Man, first bluebuoy going clownfish and convincing everyone he was bleeding purple, now your ass with gills. What is with your weird species and pretending to be a betta one?"

Something flashed across Rose's features, too fast to catch.

"Blueboy? You mean John? The one you stabbed? My moirail?"

Oh, no.

Meenah blinked before her shark's grin popped back.

"Oh? Your moirail, huh? Thought you had better taste than going after some dweeby blue nerd. Pretending to be a purple was the fin-niest thing he did during that clamotion. Most purples can at least take a hit."

Rose stepped forward slightly, lips raised in a dangerous smile. "Perhaps he was distracted by your rotten fish stench."

Meenah looked genuinely taken aback before her lips turned down in a snarl.

"You betta watch that fuckin' mouth, Lalonde. 'Specially while wearin' them 'special effect gills'. I may just decide I'm done with you faking my shit and rip 'em off."

Light flashed in the Seer's eyes, despite there being no source for it. The mostly-human looked completely delighted as she openly sized up the lifebound, making Meenah stiffen under the challenging glare.

"Try it, 'bish'."

"Oh, you fucking--"

"--OOKAAAY" Cronus stepped between the two seadweller ladies, voice a good bit higher than usual as he held his arms as far apart as he could to separate them.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a scene was playing. One with Meenah taking shit too far with their planet's most dangerous burgundyblood.

… He still remembered the absolute horror on Horuss' face as he found his "secret" lover face down and unable to move, vowing to build him a "better" body.

Meanwhile, Meenah had been left to bleed out on her questcocoon.

Not again, thanks. Please no.

Not that scene again.

He still had daymares of Hoofbeast Rufioh.

And he definitely had daymares of the scary-ass fujoshi who came to haunt them all as a result.

"W-we should… probably get goin', wouldn't you say, Lalonde." Cronus' voice was weak as he offered a way out.

Unfortunately, Rose's small smile had gone from dangerous to amused as she looked back at him.

"Whatever for?"

Meenah laughed next to him. "You heard her, Ampora. Gonna have to try better than that."

Oh, goddammit

God-fucking-dammit.

They kept arguing for the next three hours, Rose and Meenah sniping back and forth at each other, seemingly delighting in the Bard's increasing exasperation with them both, the hopebound more than a little grateful when Meenah finally fucked off so he and Rose could finish their short journey to his hive.

He alchemized the vitamins she had needed in the first place for her, handing her the bottle roughly before gently shooing her out of his hive.

"I'd say it's been fun. But it hasn't."

Rose gave the tiniest huff of a laugh, fixing Cronus with a look he couldn't quite place.

"Perhaps not for you. Though, you did appear to save me quite the strife with your friend."

"'Friend' is generous at the moment." The Bard grumbled, turning the Seer's expression even more amused.

"Regardless. Perhaps I should have your Trollian handle? To prevent future strifes? You seemed rather deadset on keeping one from happening."

Cronus looked at her blankly, thinksponge too exhausted to question the request much before bleakly holding out his hand for her phone.

cretinousAmour began trolling tentacleTherapist!
CA: here i am
CA: happy nowv?
TT: Very much so. I suppose I should thank you for this Endeavor, and for the Vitamins. Hopefully you didn't ovre-exert yourself.

Cronus rolled his eyes at Rose's open grin, closing the door to his hive unceremoniously before going to sit on his couch and covering his eyes with his webbed hand.

Ugh.

Fuck his fucking miserable afterlife.

First he was threatened. Then he offered to do a good deed. Then he was immediately punished for it as he was forced to mediate between two of only other seadwellers in the--

He damn near fell off the couch as he realized what just happened.

"W-WAIT, WHAT???"