Revelations Cycle Tenth Iteration: Under Eyes of Stars and Planets
Coming up on the end of act one pretty soonish here. Within a few chapters, for sure.
Also third patronized trollkid get. Gamzee and Tavros are both really fun to write, but I swear to god their typing quirks are driving me up the wall.
<==
~~~
AT: i, uHH, i DON'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS,
GG: don't worry so much, timm!
GG: you're doing just fine!
AT: nO BUT, yOU DON'T UNDERSTAND,
AT: tHIS IS JUST, a LITTLE TOO MUCH, fOR ME,
GG: don't be such a wriggler.
GG: i have to go now because bluh bluh timey wimey shit yes tg i get it already.
GG: but ct is on his way!
AT: oH, tHAT'S, vERY REASSURING, yES,
-- ghastlyGentry [GG] ceased trolling apisTemerity [AT] at 23:45 ! --
Your name is Timothy "Timm" Martin, and you are having a very bad day. A very bad week, even. Or month, or year. You might go so far as to say that you are having a very bad eternity, making this but an additional blemish on top of the proverbial shit sundae that is your life, as Karl would put it, but even that doesn't really capture the enormity of how fucked up your life is right now.
Case in point: the fact that you are currently dangling by one foot in the grasp of a huge, hairy monster, staring into beady, watery black eyes and wondering if it was the constant beeping of your phone that got to it or if it just didn't like the cut of your jib.
TC: ChIlL tHe FuCk OuT, mOtHeRfUcKeR.
TC: YoU gOt ThIs.
AT: uM, nO, nO, gARY, i REALLY DON'T,
AT: tHERE IS A, gIANT BULL MONSTER ATTACKING ME,
AT: tHIS CURRENT SITUATION DOESN'T REALLY, sEEM LIKE, tHE DEFINITION OF 'CHILL',
AT: tO ME, aNYWAY,
TC: DoN't FlIp YoUr TiTs, BrOtHeR.
TC: YoU gOt AnY oF tHe wIcKeD eLiXeR oN yOu?
AT: i'M, uM, nOT COMFORTABLE GIVING THE CONSORTS ALCOHOL, gARY,
AT: eVEN IF i HAD ANY ON ME,
AT: wHICH, i DON'T,
TC: :O(
TC: ToO bAd.
TC: ShIt AlWaYs CaLmS mE dOwN.
TC: GeTs Me NiCe AnD lOoSe FoR lAyInG dOwN sOmE tRuTh BeAtS, yOu DiG?
AT: i, i DON'T THINK HE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT, tHE icp,
TC: ShIt, I dIdN't SaY yOu NeEdEd To GeT yOuR eVaNgElIcAlIzE oN wItH tHe MoThErFuCkEr.
TC: BuT mUsIc Be SoOtHiNg ThE sAvAgE bEaSt AnD aLl.
The phone continues to beep as the minotaur snorts, growing impatient and fed up, and shakes you roughly, nearly jittering it out of your grasp and almost wrenching your leg straight out of the socket all in one go. When the world stops oscillating for a few seconds, your thoughts have been shaken around enough that you can make a logical connection that somehow escaped both you and your erstwhile stoner companion as the blood was rushing to your head--
AT: dO YOU THINK THAT, mAYBE, yOU COULD DO SOMETHING?
TC: LiKe WhAt DiD yOu HaVe In MiNd?
AT: wELL THIS IS OBVIOUSLY JUST A SUGGESTION, bUt, mAYBE YOU COULD PICK UP HIS AXE,
AT: aND THEN,
AT: yOU COULD CONSIDER POSSIBLY, pERHAPS, hITTING HIM WITH IT,
AT: yOU KNOW,
AT: iF YOU FEEL LIKE IT,
TC: FuCk, My FiNe BrOtHeR, yOu ShOuLd HaVe SaId.
TC: I cAn DeFiNiTeLy Be AlL uP aNd DoInG tHaT.
Before you can type another word, before you can think, the minotaur is howling in pain and the steady, crushing pressure around your ankle is relaxed, allowing the forces of gravity to step in again and take over, sending you hurtling towards the ground. You meet said ground inelegantly, like a giant sentient jug of sugary red liquid hitting a brick wall, crack your head on an inarticulately placed rock, and lay there moaning as the cursed consort moves off, sporting a gash in its shoulder and trailing candy red blood.
Your head throbbing, you sit and then stand and then decide that this is too much effort and anyway everything hurts, and lay back again, your phone resting on your rapidly undulating chest as you contemplate the unholy mess you have found yourself in. This game is not Pokemon. It's not even Dungeons & Dragons, which is what you were lead to expect from Nell's excited, hyperactive voice message. You'd been able to hear something roaring in the background, and this should have been the first sign for you to stay away, but you'd be letting Nell down if you didn't at least try, and Solomon had sent you that beta copy for your birthday last year, so wouldn't it be rude not to play it? Of course, so you'd contacted Solomon as directed even though you didn't really know him and still don't and that was awkward ("ii can't beliieve y0u diidn't 2t0p tw0 thiink that maybe ii have more iimp0rtant c0ncern2 riight n0w than c00rdiinatiing every0ne'2 2hiit when ii gave nell a perfectly g00d lii2t 0f 2erver player2") and then you had to deal with Earl and that was even more awkward ( "D--> Such beautiful creatures, i believe i shall require a towel") and now you are on your back in the dust with hot summer sun beating down on you and minotaurs trying to eat you and holy shit you guys, when do I roll for initiative?
You are pretty certain that this is not at all related to what you signed on for.
TC: YoU bEsT bE lOoKiN oUt, BrO.
TC: UnLeSs ThEsE sWeEt-AsS bRoWnIeS i BeEn MuNcHiNg DeCiEvE mE, yOu AbOuT tO hAvE cOmPaNy.
TC: We TaLkIng GiAnT mOtHeRfUcKiNg DrAgOnS, yO.
TC: TaLk AbOuT yOuR sToNe CoLd MiRaClEs.
You are also pretty certain that the rest of the world is one hundred percent okay with that.
---
"Prospit rises in Cancer's gate," Aurthour commented, pointing at a patch of distant stars reflected in the pool. It was high noon, and had been high noon for the last two hours as Karl sat cross-legged on the rock and listened to the centaur ramble.
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" he asked, exasperated, blowing an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes with an irritated puff of hot air. The clearing was oddly silent save for their voices and the rustle of wind in the long grass and the occasional caw of a far off crow, picking at the leavings of dead horses that spoiled and ripened in the perpetual sunlight. "Everything is dying here," Aurthour had said, an hour in, and Karl had believed him; when the wind shifted and became warm and humid, he could smell the rank and sweet scent of rotting flesh somewhere near.
Now Aurthour took a moment to prod at the surface of the well again with one gnarled, weathered finger, the two of them watching distractedly as ripples formed and spread out, lapping at the shore and carrying the old stars with them, leaving in place nothing but unbroken sky. "You asked why I wished to see you and not my son," he went on, and Karl mentally glossed over how weird it was that Earl was apparently descended from a race of horse-men who seemed morally opposed to shirts-- weird, but not altogether surprising. "There is little time, and the Heir must learn."
"Little time? We've been here for hours, and I still have no fucking clue what you wanted me to learn!" Karl bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl, his fingernails gripping his calves hard through his jeans and digging in, hard enough to leave bruises behind unseen.
"Prospit rises in Cancer's gate," the centaur repeated solemnly, and stood. "It is time again for the stars to fall."
There was something in his tone, in the sound of the words, that was like a tomb slamming shut to Karl, like someone dancing on his grave. Mouth dry, he swallowed thickly, throat contracting around dust and sandpaper, and his mouth moved unbidden, lips forming words. "Somebody is going to die."
Aurthour inclined his head. "Yes. By necessity."
"And you're telling me this... why? Just to fuck with me? Put me on edge?" Karl considered something and then added hesitantly, "So I can stop it?"
"You cannot stop it," Aurthour told him ruefully, his eyes sad and old as the sea. "Unless you may hope to turn the wrath of a god onto yourself, instead. Prospit rises, and the Witch's star crosses the plane of Aries, while Sirius sets in the East. This is fate."
Karl cursed and scrabbled to his feet, leaning hostilely towards the monster. "How do you know?"
"No one need tell me; the knowledge is in my bones. And yours as well, if you cared to look." Aurthour sighed, his horse's tail swishing and dragging over the ground in melancholy. "I have watched you all for years, especially my young charge, and always before now it has been the same. But this, too, is fate, that the cycle should be broken." He straightened up fully, then, and waved a dinner plate sized hand at Karl dismissively. "That is all I wished to impart to you, young leader. I hope you have enjoyed this brief respite; it shall be one of your last."
Karl tried to no avail to rouse the centaur into speaking again, first through yelling and then ingratiating whining when his throat grew raw and sore, but nothing could move him out of the contemplative silence he had struck, staring across universes into the pool. Karl wondered vaguely what he saw there, but found himself unable to care as he trudged away at last, back towards where he had left Teri and the others. He was tired, Karl realized as he kicked the gate open again and stalked through, his eyes shadowed and hung with purple bags beneath. The weight of a hundred lifetimes was pressing down on him, driving him down, and he wished for nothing more than to be done, to sleep. He could not afford to, though. Not yet.
After all, Prospit was rising.
---
The last message he sent you reads as follows: dont wait up for me. At the time, you were perplexed, but now confusion has been swapped for anger and a sort of soul-deep sickness as the tiny screen flickers before you, unseen. You run your fingertips over it, wishing for texture, for the braille of the books you poured over at home. You wish to see the color red again.
You know his text is red, though you have never seen it. He only began to pester you after the accident, a mysterious figure, and you can still remember the first message he ever sent you, too, when you were down on your luck and refused to get out of bed, every day lazy and lackluster and devoid of light or color. You'd hauled your laptop over to rest on the warm, thick blankets pooled on your stomach for just a second, intending to check your email through the voice software your doting, brainless parents had installed and a textbox had popped up.
TG: so what youre just going to give up then
TG: sit in bed like some coma patient
TG: oh doctor will i ever be able to play the violin again
TG: get up t
You'd been offended, hurt beyond measure, and you'd lashed out-- YOU DON'T KNOW 4NYTH1NG 4BOUT M3, 4SSHOL3.
TG: what you think youll never get to be an artist now
TG: let me tell you something
TG: art doesnt have to be fancy and perfect
TG: if it looks like shit just say its ironic
TG: some dadaist fantasy figure
TG: thats what i always did
TG: portrait of the artist with bacon
TG: i can show you how
GC: >:|
GC: SHOW M3?
GC: H4 FUCK1NG H4 H4.
TG: tell you then
TG: whatever
TG: ill throw down some mad beats and set it to music if you need me to
TG: but all this awesome excellence coming your way is predicated on you getting out of bed
TG: coolkids dont throw their lives away over little shit like this
GC: 1'M BL1ND, YOU TROLL1NG FUCKST1CK. DON'T YOU TH1NK TH4T COUNTS 4S SOM3TH1NG B1G?
TG: only if you let it
That was before you knew him, but he pestered you and pestered you and refused to go away, and before long you felt that you'd been wrong. You did know him. You'd known him forever, something deep and instinctual, and you'd told Nell because you could always rely on her to take sappy shit like that seriously. And she'd giggled and said that she felt the same way about Karl, that the two of them were destined to know each other in one way or another, and you'd rolled your scarred and sightless eyes behind shades that the teachers no longer griped at you for wearing indoors, because who believes in fate and destiny anymore? This is the twenty-first century.
Well, you certainly believe now.
You take a moment to raise your head, eyes closed-- a pointless gesture, but you find that it helps you focus even now, the symbolic removal of one of the senses, heightening the others --and lean back against Lemonsnout's broad side, listening carefully. Karl is gone, and Nell and Earl are wrapped up in each other, Nell's soft, concerned words blending with his low rumble as they speak of things both private and public, the best best friends that ever were. If you could see, you'd be tempted to throw up in your mouth a little at how sickeningly, platonically adorable they are, Nell with her arms wrapped around his strong chest like a baby koala bear clinging to the trunk of a eucalyptus tree for dear life. They are not paying attention to you, insofar as they have ascertained that you are alright (or, at least, in one piece) and somewhat mentally stable and are not, therefore, a cause of concern, or particularly interesting. Nell is chatting animatedly about some silly vapid thing, and Earl is listening, because that's what he does. He listens, and watches her, and keeps her out of trouble when her impetuous nature leads the tiger just a bit too far down the tree branch, calling her back from the very edge of sanity.
They need each other. Therein lies the difference, you think. They need each other, and you need no one. Is that not the nihilistic essence of being a coolkid? To keep yourself removed, detached, loving no one, because if you give your heart away, show one sincere emotion, you will lose the air of mystery and careful calm you cultivate. Because to have a visible emotion is to be weak. After the accident, you subscribed to this theory fully and with no regrets, because what else was there? Surrounded by friends and family who cooed at you and spoke too softly, handling you with kid gloves like you were a newborn, twisted and wet and broken, until you wanted to scream-- all you wanted was to be strong. To go back to how things were before. And you loved it, this philosophy that left you isolated until you'd pushed everyone away, until even Karl was gone and Nell held you at arm's length for fear of having her hand bitten off; you loved it, because if no one loved you, then there was no one left to hurt.
Now you think it's all a bunch of bullshit, just like everything else he told you, every poisonous lie poured into your ear by thin and pasty lips, every scarlet word typed, spilling over you and mixing with your heart's blood until you beat false, in time with his liar's tongue. He told you that you were special, that you were someone beyond who you are, that there was hope, and then he left you, and you can't tell what's real or what's fake anymore.
dont wait up for me
Fuck you, you think. As if I would waste my time on you anymore anyway.
Then Karl is stomping back over, scowling and confused, a thunderstorm brewing behind his eyes, and the first thing he spits out as he walks past on jerky legs, like a zombie, is, "He told me to tell you that justice will be served. Oh, and some fucking stupid thing about the universe eating paradoxes." And then, as a frustrated afterthought, "I'm not passing anymore verbal love notes for you fuckholes, okay? Do your own dirty work from now on."
Suddenly, everything is different, lighter, and you grin again as something stirs within you again, singing the song of thought and memory. And something else, some forgotten, forbidden emotion that you have caged, held back as evil all these months and years. Above you, unseen, a speck of fire burns a trail above the sky, and a third song sets in your breast, trembling, reverberating in resonance with the natural frequency of your soul and you remember that nothing is simple with him, nothing clean-cut. "I hear you loud and clear," you whisper, and you wonder if he can hear you or watch your lips as they move, challenge heard and accepted.
You recall, as if in a dream, that he has hunted you before and fallen short; that he will come again, or try, and when that day comes you must be prepared. And that, more, you can work for it too. "If you can't come to me, I'll come to you."
"You talking to me?" Karl demands as your head lolls back, Lemonsnout's hot breath wafting over your face as a forked, serpentine tongue examines cheeks gone red, and you can't even care that Karl is stupid and high maintenance. He's someone else's problem now. Or will be, anyway, as promised.
It doesn't matter. You have your own promises to keep, as you work towards the day when Terezi Pyrope will ride again.
---
"So, what's next fur us?" Nell asked, practically bouncing up and down as their motley party made their way towards the gate, escorted by a battery of scowling centaurs. Earl walked proudly beside her, his chest thrown out to display the bow strung over one shoulder, a gift from his consorts, who seemed less overtly murderous than anyone else's had been, beaten into subservience by Aurthour. It was a good bow, an excellent weapon, its stave of polished yew and string of something considerably higher quality than the catgut Karl had used, experimenting with the school archery club's bows. There was something off about it, though, and about the whole business, that Karl was too busy being relieved that they were leaving to properly examine. "Whose world are we going to be exploring next, I mean?"
Karl shrugged one shoulder and looked to Earl, who kept his gaze trained forward on the way ahead, emotionless. "I was paired with Martin as a server player," he informed them, and Nell clapped her paws excitedly, apparently glad to have reason to see one of her roleplaying buddies again. Karl found it difficult to share her enthusiasm. As Nell's friends went, Timm Martin was one of the less offensive, but that didn't mean he was fond of the boy by any stretch of the imagination-- such weak, spineless people quickly exhausted Karl's patience, a commodity whose reservoirs had already been painfully depleted by the onslaught of trolls, Aurthour's cryptic babble, and Karl's own tangled and twisted feelings.
"End of the line, Earl," Karl told him as they stepped up to the gate, which hovered a surprisingly inoffensive distance from the crest of the tallest hill, which they now stood upon. "I know you have some kind of disgusting fantasy love for these freaks, so if you want to hug that shit out before we leave, now's your last chance." Earl wound up to punch him and Karl ducked instinctively, grinning, but Nell caught her friend's arm and held him back.
"Nooo, Earl! Karkitty's just trying to get your goat. Don't hurt him!"
Earl frowned but stepped back, inclining his head slightly. "Yes, our unfit leader may be fond of uncouth remarks and lewd language, but it would be unconscionable if I forgot my own strength and did something... unfortunate."
"Duly fucking noted," Karl snapped, and then, flushing from embarrassment at the barbed rebuke, stepped forward, reaching up to touch the gate.
Instantly, darkness. But the darkness resolved itself rather quickly, scenery fading in around Karl, and that was different, because that had never happened before. He felt flat and fluid, as if he floated in mercury, and indeed the world around him seemed to flicker with silver, shades of molten metal surrounding him, engulfing him, holding him and lifting him up. Nothing in the universe seemed solid or defined save for a three-by-three inch square window hanging in space in front of him. Looking through it as though in a dream, Karl could see a dark and shadowed room hung with rich purple draperies, each baring a different occult symbol. Only four did he recognize as anything-- a cog, a sun, what appeared to be a stylized atom, and a set of parallel horizontal lines that presented themselves in his mind as representing 'breath'.
Karl blinked and a shadow stirred, removing itself from the rest and sweeping forward, a figure in a hooded cloak the color of wine, the sun symbol outlined on the breast in muted lavender. Faceless, the shadow swept forward until the light source was eclipsed, and then for a second there was nothing but the blackness between the gates-- and then an eye was pressed up to the window, the white yellow, the iris invisible for the inky darkness of the pupil.
Hmm. Prospitian again, I see. Well, I can't very well say that I'm surprised. Some things never change.
Surprised, Karl blinked again and the vision was gone, replaced by solid ground under his feet and a distinct skyline before him, the real sun blazing red and hot over the baking ground. It was a desert they were in, the kind without sand but with dried and cracking mud beneath their feet and a horizon filled with rusty mesas and cacti, the sort of place that you'd expect gallant cowboys to gallop through on their way to the next cattle drive or hoe down. Before he could get his wits about him or take steps to contain her, Nell was bounding off on her own, Earl dutifully following her-- "Hey, we have to stick together!" he shouted, finding his voice, but they ignored him, and Karl pouted after them as Teri laughed.
"Calm down, Karl," she told him, sounding a lot more like her old self as she too strode forward, albeit in an entirely different direction from the one Nell and Earl had taken off in. "This is a game, isn't it? It's supposed to be fun."
"You could have fooled me," Karl griped, following her with his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do. "What the fuck was Solomon thinking when he coded this?"
"No clue! Probably something along the lines of 'Alice will be so impressed with my apeshit bananas hacker skills if I create something that is capable of resurrecting her as a god'. We should do that too, by the way."
"Do what?"
"Don't act stupid. I'm saying we should find our quest beds."
Karl's scowl only intensified with the enormity of the confusion that this sparked. "Are you talking about that thing that I... that Alice... the bed? That thing?"
Teri nodded, the arm tied to Lemonsnout's reins swaying slightly as she dragged the dragon behind her. "See? I knew you knew what I was talking about. Remind me when we find Timm's alchemiter to zap you up some 'thank you for not being a braindead moron literally all of the time' cookies."
"Oh, no. No no no no no no no. I am not killing you too, Teri," he told her, stopping dead in his tracks with his hands on his hips to show exactly how fucking serious he was about this. "That is not a thing that's happening. It was traumatic enough taking the hammer to my best friend's girlfriend who I'd known since we were like three-- no way in hell am I doing that to you, too. You think this is all shits and giggles party hour over here? It's not. I'm going to be having nightmares about that shit for years."
"You do not have PTSD, Karl."
"How the fuck do you know?"
"Because if you did, you'd still be screaming."
"What the fuck kind of logic is that?" Karl demanded, stomping forward again, and was met with a small and pathetic "ow". He tilted his head to the side and examined Teri quizzically. "Ow?"
She shrugged. "Don't look at me. I'm not the one who got his very soul ripped to shreds by the homosexual love confession of an internet troll."
"How the fuck did we get back onto this topic of conversation?"
"Because it's hilarious, that's how. I am not a homosexual my ass. You must burn through half your allowance money every time there's a new Gerard Butler flick out, it's pathetic."
"Gerard Butler's movies are crass polemics meant for an uncultured proletariat. You're just mad because you can't appreciate the cinematic and cultural splendor of The Notebook like I can."
"Ow."
"Oh, will you put a sock in it? Nobody wants to hear about how you cried straight through Titanic three times in a row again. You know what, Karl? Your heart will not go on, okay? A gray-skinned alien from beyond the stars who also happens to be your god owns it, that heart is not going anywhere but right back in a cage where it belongs. Anyway, your time would be much better wasted on your knees serving at the altar of your master the Great and Almighty Egbert, wink wink nudge nudge."
"Well, at least I'm not the one who almost went catatonic after her internet boyfriend gave her the cold shoulder for five minutes!"
"God forbid anyone be a little concerned for someone else's safety! He could have been dead for all I knew."
"Um, you guys? Ow."
"Will you shut up?" Karl and Teri shouted at once, and then as one realized their mistake; looking down, Karl saw that he'd been standing on Timm's stomach for the duration of this conversation.
"What the hell are you doing down there, fuckass?" he asked, taking his foot away immediately and offering Timm a hand, which he took shakily, eyes wide and nervous. There was a spatter of dark, dried blood down the front of his orange plaid shirt, but it didn't appear to be his, which was perplexing enough on its own, because Timm was just as scrawny and malnourished-looking as ever, pale and brittle boned, his skin as thin as rice paper.
"I was, uh. Taking a nap?" Timm suggested cautiously, cringing slightly as he stood before Karl, shoulders scrunched in on themselves. "Gary told me you were coming but I didn't think it would be so soon..."
"That's okay," Teri told him with a note of sympathy that might have fallen anywhere on the sincerity spectrum, from facetious to blatantly false to haltingly true. "You can help us out, as long as we've found you! We're going on a quest."
Timm's face fell and what little color he had drained from his cheeks. "What kind of quest?"
Teri grinned, and for a fleeting moment she looked quite nearly shark-like, teeth glinting in the sun. "We're going to achieve immortality."
==>
Also third patronized trollkid get. Gamzee and Tavros are both really fun to write, but I swear to god their typing quirks are driving me up the wall.
<==
~~~
AT: i, uHH, i DON'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS,
GG: don't worry so much, timm!
GG: you're doing just fine!
AT: nO BUT, yOU DON'T UNDERSTAND,
AT: tHIS IS JUST, a LITTLE TOO MUCH, fOR ME,
GG: don't be such a wriggler.
GG: i have to go now because bluh bluh timey wimey shit yes tg i get it already.
GG: but ct is on his way!
AT: oH, tHAT'S, vERY REASSURING, yES,
-- ghastlyGentry [GG] ceased trolling apisTemerity [AT] at 23:45 ! --
Your name is Timothy "Timm" Martin, and you are having a very bad day. A very bad week, even. Or month, or year. You might go so far as to say that you are having a very bad eternity, making this but an additional blemish on top of the proverbial shit sundae that is your life, as Karl would put it, but even that doesn't really capture the enormity of how fucked up your life is right now.
Case in point: the fact that you are currently dangling by one foot in the grasp of a huge, hairy monster, staring into beady, watery black eyes and wondering if it was the constant beeping of your phone that got to it or if it just didn't like the cut of your jib.
TC: ChIlL tHe FuCk OuT, mOtHeRfUcKeR.
TC: YoU gOt ThIs.
AT: uM, nO, nO, gARY, i REALLY DON'T,
AT: tHERE IS A, gIANT BULL MONSTER ATTACKING ME,
AT: tHIS CURRENT SITUATION DOESN'T REALLY, sEEM LIKE, tHE DEFINITION OF 'CHILL',
AT: tO ME, aNYWAY,
TC: DoN't FlIp YoUr TiTs, BrOtHeR.
TC: YoU gOt AnY oF tHe wIcKeD eLiXeR oN yOu?
AT: i'M, uM, nOT COMFORTABLE GIVING THE CONSORTS ALCOHOL, gARY,
AT: eVEN IF i HAD ANY ON ME,
AT: wHICH, i DON'T,
TC: :O(
TC: ToO bAd.
TC: ShIt AlWaYs CaLmS mE dOwN.
TC: GeTs Me NiCe AnD lOoSe FoR lAyInG dOwN sOmE tRuTh BeAtS, yOu DiG?
AT: i, i DON'T THINK HE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT, tHE icp,
TC: ShIt, I dIdN't SaY yOu NeEdEd To GeT yOuR eVaNgElIcAlIzE oN wItH tHe MoThErFuCkEr.
TC: BuT mUsIc Be SoOtHiNg ThE sAvAgE bEaSt AnD aLl.
The phone continues to beep as the minotaur snorts, growing impatient and fed up, and shakes you roughly, nearly jittering it out of your grasp and almost wrenching your leg straight out of the socket all in one go. When the world stops oscillating for a few seconds, your thoughts have been shaken around enough that you can make a logical connection that somehow escaped both you and your erstwhile stoner companion as the blood was rushing to your head--
AT: dO YOU THINK THAT, mAYBE, yOU COULD DO SOMETHING?
TC: LiKe WhAt DiD yOu HaVe In MiNd?
AT: wELL THIS IS OBVIOUSLY JUST A SUGGESTION, bUt, mAYBE YOU COULD PICK UP HIS AXE,
AT: aND THEN,
AT: yOU COULD CONSIDER POSSIBLY, pERHAPS, hITTING HIM WITH IT,
AT: yOU KNOW,
AT: iF YOU FEEL LIKE IT,
TC: FuCk, My FiNe BrOtHeR, yOu ShOuLd HaVe SaId.
TC: I cAn DeFiNiTeLy Be AlL uP aNd DoInG tHaT.
Before you can type another word, before you can think, the minotaur is howling in pain and the steady, crushing pressure around your ankle is relaxed, allowing the forces of gravity to step in again and take over, sending you hurtling towards the ground. You meet said ground inelegantly, like a giant sentient jug of sugary red liquid hitting a brick wall, crack your head on an inarticulately placed rock, and lay there moaning as the cursed consort moves off, sporting a gash in its shoulder and trailing candy red blood.
Your head throbbing, you sit and then stand and then decide that this is too much effort and anyway everything hurts, and lay back again, your phone resting on your rapidly undulating chest as you contemplate the unholy mess you have found yourself in. This game is not Pokemon. It's not even Dungeons & Dragons, which is what you were lead to expect from Nell's excited, hyperactive voice message. You'd been able to hear something roaring in the background, and this should have been the first sign for you to stay away, but you'd be letting Nell down if you didn't at least try, and Solomon had sent you that beta copy for your birthday last year, so wouldn't it be rude not to play it? Of course, so you'd contacted Solomon as directed even though you didn't really know him and still don't and that was awkward ("ii can't beliieve y0u diidn't 2t0p tw0 thiink that maybe ii have more iimp0rtant c0ncern2 riight n0w than c00rdiinatiing every0ne'2 2hiit when ii gave nell a perfectly g00d lii2t 0f 2erver player2") and then you had to deal with Earl and that was even more awkward ( "D--> Such beautiful creatures, i believe i shall require a towel") and now you are on your back in the dust with hot summer sun beating down on you and minotaurs trying to eat you and holy shit you guys, when do I roll for initiative?
You are pretty certain that this is not at all related to what you signed on for.
TC: YoU bEsT bE lOoKiN oUt, BrO.
TC: UnLeSs ThEsE sWeEt-AsS bRoWnIeS i BeEn MuNcHiNg DeCiEvE mE, yOu AbOuT tO hAvE cOmPaNy.
TC: We TaLkIng GiAnT mOtHeRfUcKiNg DrAgOnS, yO.
TC: TaLk AbOuT yOuR sToNe CoLd MiRaClEs.
You are also pretty certain that the rest of the world is one hundred percent okay with that.
---
"Prospit rises in Cancer's gate," Aurthour commented, pointing at a patch of distant stars reflected in the pool. It was high noon, and had been high noon for the last two hours as Karl sat cross-legged on the rock and listened to the centaur ramble.
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" he asked, exasperated, blowing an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes with an irritated puff of hot air. The clearing was oddly silent save for their voices and the rustle of wind in the long grass and the occasional caw of a far off crow, picking at the leavings of dead horses that spoiled and ripened in the perpetual sunlight. "Everything is dying here," Aurthour had said, an hour in, and Karl had believed him; when the wind shifted and became warm and humid, he could smell the rank and sweet scent of rotting flesh somewhere near.
Now Aurthour took a moment to prod at the surface of the well again with one gnarled, weathered finger, the two of them watching distractedly as ripples formed and spread out, lapping at the shore and carrying the old stars with them, leaving in place nothing but unbroken sky. "You asked why I wished to see you and not my son," he went on, and Karl mentally glossed over how weird it was that Earl was apparently descended from a race of horse-men who seemed morally opposed to shirts-- weird, but not altogether surprising. "There is little time, and the Heir must learn."
"Little time? We've been here for hours, and I still have no fucking clue what you wanted me to learn!" Karl bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl, his fingernails gripping his calves hard through his jeans and digging in, hard enough to leave bruises behind unseen.
"Prospit rises in Cancer's gate," the centaur repeated solemnly, and stood. "It is time again for the stars to fall."
There was something in his tone, in the sound of the words, that was like a tomb slamming shut to Karl, like someone dancing on his grave. Mouth dry, he swallowed thickly, throat contracting around dust and sandpaper, and his mouth moved unbidden, lips forming words. "Somebody is going to die."
Aurthour inclined his head. "Yes. By necessity."
"And you're telling me this... why? Just to fuck with me? Put me on edge?" Karl considered something and then added hesitantly, "So I can stop it?"
"You cannot stop it," Aurthour told him ruefully, his eyes sad and old as the sea. "Unless you may hope to turn the wrath of a god onto yourself, instead. Prospit rises, and the Witch's star crosses the plane of Aries, while Sirius sets in the East. This is fate."
Karl cursed and scrabbled to his feet, leaning hostilely towards the monster. "How do you know?"
"No one need tell me; the knowledge is in my bones. And yours as well, if you cared to look." Aurthour sighed, his horse's tail swishing and dragging over the ground in melancholy. "I have watched you all for years, especially my young charge, and always before now it has been the same. But this, too, is fate, that the cycle should be broken." He straightened up fully, then, and waved a dinner plate sized hand at Karl dismissively. "That is all I wished to impart to you, young leader. I hope you have enjoyed this brief respite; it shall be one of your last."
Karl tried to no avail to rouse the centaur into speaking again, first through yelling and then ingratiating whining when his throat grew raw and sore, but nothing could move him out of the contemplative silence he had struck, staring across universes into the pool. Karl wondered vaguely what he saw there, but found himself unable to care as he trudged away at last, back towards where he had left Teri and the others. He was tired, Karl realized as he kicked the gate open again and stalked through, his eyes shadowed and hung with purple bags beneath. The weight of a hundred lifetimes was pressing down on him, driving him down, and he wished for nothing more than to be done, to sleep. He could not afford to, though. Not yet.
After all, Prospit was rising.
---
The last message he sent you reads as follows: dont wait up for me. At the time, you were perplexed, but now confusion has been swapped for anger and a sort of soul-deep sickness as the tiny screen flickers before you, unseen. You run your fingertips over it, wishing for texture, for the braille of the books you poured over at home. You wish to see the color red again.
You know his text is red, though you have never seen it. He only began to pester you after the accident, a mysterious figure, and you can still remember the first message he ever sent you, too, when you were down on your luck and refused to get out of bed, every day lazy and lackluster and devoid of light or color. You'd hauled your laptop over to rest on the warm, thick blankets pooled on your stomach for just a second, intending to check your email through the voice software your doting, brainless parents had installed and a textbox had popped up.
TG: so what youre just going to give up then
TG: sit in bed like some coma patient
TG: oh doctor will i ever be able to play the violin again
TG: get up t
You'd been offended, hurt beyond measure, and you'd lashed out-- YOU DON'T KNOW 4NYTH1NG 4BOUT M3, 4SSHOL3.
TG: what you think youll never get to be an artist now
TG: let me tell you something
TG: art doesnt have to be fancy and perfect
TG: if it looks like shit just say its ironic
TG: some dadaist fantasy figure
TG: thats what i always did
TG: portrait of the artist with bacon
TG: i can show you how
GC: >:|
GC: SHOW M3?
GC: H4 FUCK1NG H4 H4.
TG: tell you then
TG: whatever
TG: ill throw down some mad beats and set it to music if you need me to
TG: but all this awesome excellence coming your way is predicated on you getting out of bed
TG: coolkids dont throw their lives away over little shit like this
GC: 1'M BL1ND, YOU TROLL1NG FUCKST1CK. DON'T YOU TH1NK TH4T COUNTS 4S SOM3TH1NG B1G?
TG: only if you let it
That was before you knew him, but he pestered you and pestered you and refused to go away, and before long you felt that you'd been wrong. You did know him. You'd known him forever, something deep and instinctual, and you'd told Nell because you could always rely on her to take sappy shit like that seriously. And she'd giggled and said that she felt the same way about Karl, that the two of them were destined to know each other in one way or another, and you'd rolled your scarred and sightless eyes behind shades that the teachers no longer griped at you for wearing indoors, because who believes in fate and destiny anymore? This is the twenty-first century.
Well, you certainly believe now.
You take a moment to raise your head, eyes closed-- a pointless gesture, but you find that it helps you focus even now, the symbolic removal of one of the senses, heightening the others --and lean back against Lemonsnout's broad side, listening carefully. Karl is gone, and Nell and Earl are wrapped up in each other, Nell's soft, concerned words blending with his low rumble as they speak of things both private and public, the best best friends that ever were. If you could see, you'd be tempted to throw up in your mouth a little at how sickeningly, platonically adorable they are, Nell with her arms wrapped around his strong chest like a baby koala bear clinging to the trunk of a eucalyptus tree for dear life. They are not paying attention to you, insofar as they have ascertained that you are alright (or, at least, in one piece) and somewhat mentally stable and are not, therefore, a cause of concern, or particularly interesting. Nell is chatting animatedly about some silly vapid thing, and Earl is listening, because that's what he does. He listens, and watches her, and keeps her out of trouble when her impetuous nature leads the tiger just a bit too far down the tree branch, calling her back from the very edge of sanity.
They need each other. Therein lies the difference, you think. They need each other, and you need no one. Is that not the nihilistic essence of being a coolkid? To keep yourself removed, detached, loving no one, because if you give your heart away, show one sincere emotion, you will lose the air of mystery and careful calm you cultivate. Because to have a visible emotion is to be weak. After the accident, you subscribed to this theory fully and with no regrets, because what else was there? Surrounded by friends and family who cooed at you and spoke too softly, handling you with kid gloves like you were a newborn, twisted and wet and broken, until you wanted to scream-- all you wanted was to be strong. To go back to how things were before. And you loved it, this philosophy that left you isolated until you'd pushed everyone away, until even Karl was gone and Nell held you at arm's length for fear of having her hand bitten off; you loved it, because if no one loved you, then there was no one left to hurt.
Now you think it's all a bunch of bullshit, just like everything else he told you, every poisonous lie poured into your ear by thin and pasty lips, every scarlet word typed, spilling over you and mixing with your heart's blood until you beat false, in time with his liar's tongue. He told you that you were special, that you were someone beyond who you are, that there was hope, and then he left you, and you can't tell what's real or what's fake anymore.
dont wait up for me
Fuck you, you think. As if I would waste my time on you anymore anyway.
Then Karl is stomping back over, scowling and confused, a thunderstorm brewing behind his eyes, and the first thing he spits out as he walks past on jerky legs, like a zombie, is, "He told me to tell you that justice will be served. Oh, and some fucking stupid thing about the universe eating paradoxes." And then, as a frustrated afterthought, "I'm not passing anymore verbal love notes for you fuckholes, okay? Do your own dirty work from now on."
Suddenly, everything is different, lighter, and you grin again as something stirs within you again, singing the song of thought and memory. And something else, some forgotten, forbidden emotion that you have caged, held back as evil all these months and years. Above you, unseen, a speck of fire burns a trail above the sky, and a third song sets in your breast, trembling, reverberating in resonance with the natural frequency of your soul and you remember that nothing is simple with him, nothing clean-cut. "I hear you loud and clear," you whisper, and you wonder if he can hear you or watch your lips as they move, challenge heard and accepted.
You recall, as if in a dream, that he has hunted you before and fallen short; that he will come again, or try, and when that day comes you must be prepared. And that, more, you can work for it too. "If you can't come to me, I'll come to you."
"You talking to me?" Karl demands as your head lolls back, Lemonsnout's hot breath wafting over your face as a forked, serpentine tongue examines cheeks gone red, and you can't even care that Karl is stupid and high maintenance. He's someone else's problem now. Or will be, anyway, as promised.
It doesn't matter. You have your own promises to keep, as you work towards the day when Terezi Pyrope will ride again.
---
"So, what's next fur us?" Nell asked, practically bouncing up and down as their motley party made their way towards the gate, escorted by a battery of scowling centaurs. Earl walked proudly beside her, his chest thrown out to display the bow strung over one shoulder, a gift from his consorts, who seemed less overtly murderous than anyone else's had been, beaten into subservience by Aurthour. It was a good bow, an excellent weapon, its stave of polished yew and string of something considerably higher quality than the catgut Karl had used, experimenting with the school archery club's bows. There was something off about it, though, and about the whole business, that Karl was too busy being relieved that they were leaving to properly examine. "Whose world are we going to be exploring next, I mean?"
Karl shrugged one shoulder and looked to Earl, who kept his gaze trained forward on the way ahead, emotionless. "I was paired with Martin as a server player," he informed them, and Nell clapped her paws excitedly, apparently glad to have reason to see one of her roleplaying buddies again. Karl found it difficult to share her enthusiasm. As Nell's friends went, Timm Martin was one of the less offensive, but that didn't mean he was fond of the boy by any stretch of the imagination-- such weak, spineless people quickly exhausted Karl's patience, a commodity whose reservoirs had already been painfully depleted by the onslaught of trolls, Aurthour's cryptic babble, and Karl's own tangled and twisted feelings.
"End of the line, Earl," Karl told him as they stepped up to the gate, which hovered a surprisingly inoffensive distance from the crest of the tallest hill, which they now stood upon. "I know you have some kind of disgusting fantasy love for these freaks, so if you want to hug that shit out before we leave, now's your last chance." Earl wound up to punch him and Karl ducked instinctively, grinning, but Nell caught her friend's arm and held him back.
"Nooo, Earl! Karkitty's just trying to get your goat. Don't hurt him!"
Earl frowned but stepped back, inclining his head slightly. "Yes, our unfit leader may be fond of uncouth remarks and lewd language, but it would be unconscionable if I forgot my own strength and did something... unfortunate."
"Duly fucking noted," Karl snapped, and then, flushing from embarrassment at the barbed rebuke, stepped forward, reaching up to touch the gate.
Instantly, darkness. But the darkness resolved itself rather quickly, scenery fading in around Karl, and that was different, because that had never happened before. He felt flat and fluid, as if he floated in mercury, and indeed the world around him seemed to flicker with silver, shades of molten metal surrounding him, engulfing him, holding him and lifting him up. Nothing in the universe seemed solid or defined save for a three-by-three inch square window hanging in space in front of him. Looking through it as though in a dream, Karl could see a dark and shadowed room hung with rich purple draperies, each baring a different occult symbol. Only four did he recognize as anything-- a cog, a sun, what appeared to be a stylized atom, and a set of parallel horizontal lines that presented themselves in his mind as representing 'breath'.
Karl blinked and a shadow stirred, removing itself from the rest and sweeping forward, a figure in a hooded cloak the color of wine, the sun symbol outlined on the breast in muted lavender. Faceless, the shadow swept forward until the light source was eclipsed, and then for a second there was nothing but the blackness between the gates-- and then an eye was pressed up to the window, the white yellow, the iris invisible for the inky darkness of the pupil.
Hmm. Prospitian again, I see. Well, I can't very well say that I'm surprised. Some things never change.
Surprised, Karl blinked again and the vision was gone, replaced by solid ground under his feet and a distinct skyline before him, the real sun blazing red and hot over the baking ground. It was a desert they were in, the kind without sand but with dried and cracking mud beneath their feet and a horizon filled with rusty mesas and cacti, the sort of place that you'd expect gallant cowboys to gallop through on their way to the next cattle drive or hoe down. Before he could get his wits about him or take steps to contain her, Nell was bounding off on her own, Earl dutifully following her-- "Hey, we have to stick together!" he shouted, finding his voice, but they ignored him, and Karl pouted after them as Teri laughed.
"Calm down, Karl," she told him, sounding a lot more like her old self as she too strode forward, albeit in an entirely different direction from the one Nell and Earl had taken off in. "This is a game, isn't it? It's supposed to be fun."
"You could have fooled me," Karl griped, following her with his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do. "What the fuck was Solomon thinking when he coded this?"
"No clue! Probably something along the lines of 'Alice will be so impressed with my apeshit bananas hacker skills if I create something that is capable of resurrecting her as a god'. We should do that too, by the way."
"Do what?"
"Don't act stupid. I'm saying we should find our quest beds."
Karl's scowl only intensified with the enormity of the confusion that this sparked. "Are you talking about that thing that I... that Alice... the bed? That thing?"
Teri nodded, the arm tied to Lemonsnout's reins swaying slightly as she dragged the dragon behind her. "See? I knew you knew what I was talking about. Remind me when we find Timm's alchemiter to zap you up some 'thank you for not being a braindead moron literally all of the time' cookies."
"Oh, no. No no no no no no no. I am not killing you too, Teri," he told her, stopping dead in his tracks with his hands on his hips to show exactly how fucking serious he was about this. "That is not a thing that's happening. It was traumatic enough taking the hammer to my best friend's girlfriend who I'd known since we were like three-- no way in hell am I doing that to you, too. You think this is all shits and giggles party hour over here? It's not. I'm going to be having nightmares about that shit for years."
"You do not have PTSD, Karl."
"How the fuck do you know?"
"Because if you did, you'd still be screaming."
"What the fuck kind of logic is that?" Karl demanded, stomping forward again, and was met with a small and pathetic "ow". He tilted his head to the side and examined Teri quizzically. "Ow?"
She shrugged. "Don't look at me. I'm not the one who got his very soul ripped to shreds by the homosexual love confession of an internet troll."
"How the fuck did we get back onto this topic of conversation?"
"Because it's hilarious, that's how. I am not a homosexual my ass. You must burn through half your allowance money every time there's a new Gerard Butler flick out, it's pathetic."
"Gerard Butler's movies are crass polemics meant for an uncultured proletariat. You're just mad because you can't appreciate the cinematic and cultural splendor of The Notebook like I can."
"Ow."
"Oh, will you put a sock in it? Nobody wants to hear about how you cried straight through Titanic three times in a row again. You know what, Karl? Your heart will not go on, okay? A gray-skinned alien from beyond the stars who also happens to be your god owns it, that heart is not going anywhere but right back in a cage where it belongs. Anyway, your time would be much better wasted on your knees serving at the altar of your master the Great and Almighty Egbert, wink wink nudge nudge."
"Well, at least I'm not the one who almost went catatonic after her internet boyfriend gave her the cold shoulder for five minutes!"
"God forbid anyone be a little concerned for someone else's safety! He could have been dead for all I knew."
"Um, you guys? Ow."
"Will you shut up?" Karl and Teri shouted at once, and then as one realized their mistake; looking down, Karl saw that he'd been standing on Timm's stomach for the duration of this conversation.
"What the hell are you doing down there, fuckass?" he asked, taking his foot away immediately and offering Timm a hand, which he took shakily, eyes wide and nervous. There was a spatter of dark, dried blood down the front of his orange plaid shirt, but it didn't appear to be his, which was perplexing enough on its own, because Timm was just as scrawny and malnourished-looking as ever, pale and brittle boned, his skin as thin as rice paper.
"I was, uh. Taking a nap?" Timm suggested cautiously, cringing slightly as he stood before Karl, shoulders scrunched in on themselves. "Gary told me you were coming but I didn't think it would be so soon..."
"That's okay," Teri told him with a note of sympathy that might have fallen anywhere on the sincerity spectrum, from facetious to blatantly false to haltingly true. "You can help us out, as long as we've found you! We're going on a quest."
Timm's face fell and what little color he had drained from his cheeks. "What kind of quest?"
Teri grinned, and for a fleeting moment she looked quite nearly shark-like, teeth glinting in the sun. "We're going to achieve immortality."
==>