orphead-blog

[orphead-blog]

"He's—"

She's back to not being able to finish a complete thought. Thinking hurts and speaking hurts more, but every second of silence, every infinitesimal packet of time reminding her that there was a time where time itself—its motion, direction, organization—answered directly to him, and fuck it all if it didn't make existing at all just a little bit harder. Time, time, time, everything was time, and that wasn't making anything easier in the moment.

"He's not the one we knew," she breathes out raggedly.

The admission doesn't make it hurt any less. She's not even sure how much she can make herself believe it, force herself to acknowledge that he's not just a fever dream hallucination taking on the form of her brother in days long gone.

Nothing feels right, and hope feels all but evaporated.

The darker side of her, the one in harmony with oblivion, that feels at home in black holes and who blacks out everything in her wake, is consumed by an irrational, directionless fury.

That part of her just wants him gone. Dead, even, maybe, because at least he wouldn't be there to taunt her anymore.

She doesn't say it, but Equius would have a hard time not seeing it.

What you get from that is she’d like a chair— it’s what you would want. You take the one you’d set up moments ago and present it to her.

"He is…British. He possesses the certain dry wit and rambling speech that Da—" you stop, squeeze your eyes shut behind your glasses, and look for another way to word it. “…that Strider alternates tend to possess. He has a leg injury.”

To continue strikes you as folly; this woman is speaking in the tone of someone looking for a target.

You keep going anyway.

"It forces him to walk with a cane. I do not know if it is permanent. And he…shows an interest in being my friend."

Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, because you’re brimming with emotion threatening to spill over and you need a physical reminder to keep it in check.

"He is not the one we knew."

#indigenceinexcusable #plot

[orphead-blog]

"Yes," she says. "No."

Stops. Tries to breathe, but it won't come. She has to say something else.

"I don't know."

A gasp, another pause. A shaky breath.

"Maybe just...rip out my heart or my throat or wherever this knot I can't get out is, just so it won't be in me anymore, so I can face it like I need to, it's—"

She shudders.

"It's not his fault—"

She stops abruptly, choking out a breath, then a cough.

"I want to, something, I want to break things, or maybe the whole world. For doing this. For doing this to my Dave and giving me this, is it, is this supposed to be some fucking consolation present?"

It seems that she trusts him enough to cry in front of him. She didn't know that, either.

"What do you know about him?"

Her voice changes tenor, almost vengeful in tone. She's not sure why.

"Gerald will attend to it."

As soon as he’s put the pulse rifle back on the rack and replaced it with a duster, that is.

In the meantime, you step into the room proper, righting a fallen chair and shutting the door behind you. She’s distressed, clearly (or as clearly as Rose can display and you can analyze), and the privacy of a sealed arena is the best you can offer right now. Alternian politeness.

"Is there…anything you would like?"

#plot #indigenceinexcusable

[orphead-blog]

"Hi, Equius."

She looks around the room, and the royal clusterfuck of a mess she's managed to make of it just by simply appearing. There's a pair of underwear dangling from the ceiling fan.

"Sorry about the mess."

She looks up, takes the underwear off.

Her face scrunches up for a moment, still trying to shake off the feeling of overwhelming dread and wrongness that came with seeing that name, that face, everything about him...

She hoped he knew anything else about who he was, if not her Dave. Their Dave.

Gerald registers an intruder; human, guest room, solitary, you get the notification on your glasses before he heads to deal with it. You command him to stand down before going there yourself.

You’re almost reluctant to open the door. You’ve shut the lid on your past, or at least done a good job starting it, and you can’t help but draw comparisons to the last time she came here under urgent circumstances. It didn’t end well.

You open the door.

"Hi," you say, unsure how else to start it.

#plot #indigenceinexcusable

[orphead-blog]

Not much later, Rose—and the contents of an overnight bag, violently wrested from their position in space, appear strewn around the guest room of Equius' and Kanaya's home with the silent immediacy that only a Void player can muster.

There she sits, breathing in heavy, fractured shudders, probably until Equius notices she's there.

Some people in your life just come and go, and as much as it hurts you to gamble with your emotions, it’s something you’ve learned to accept.

Rose is one of those people. That’s why it’s only moderately surprising when you find a letter addressed to you on your kitchen counter, weeks after you replied to the first.

What’s inside is a reminder that those people never come back with anything as simple as a “hi, how are ya?”

D —> It is not (the paper is torn there) him D —> That much I can say conclusively

D —> But

D —> My home is open to you if it is di%ussion you require

—EZ

The crumbled paper and ink stains (cursed fragile pains) should say more about your emotional state than your words did.

#plot #indigenceinexcusable

[orphead-blog]

What she has just seen spreads pallor through her veins instantly, ghost-white with horror, a hot, wet miasma of revulsion lurching from the pit of her stomach. The visceral reaction that takes her by force is simply nonsensical; her body goes limp and her eyes forget to blink and time loses all meaning as she beholds it.

She can't even take the time to feel ridiculous over how something as simple as a Tumblr follower would do this to her, she can't even think because the Dave Strider who sneaks onto her follower list quietly is—

Isn't hers. Can't be hers.

It doesn't change the way she feels, a violent arc of electricity bolting her to where she sits for what could only be an eternity.

Helpfully, a letter pops itself into existence on the counter in front of her.

When she finally musters the willpower to allow a single muscle to move at all, she looks inside.

Inside is a letter that she has ostensibly written, and a curt response from Equius.

You don't thank Future Rose for the consideration.

—

It's weeks before any form of response comes.

Rose's first letter was written with an exquisite care indicative of a hand steadied by the practice of eons. Hours, days, weeks she might have sat with that letter incomplete until the form matched exactly as it should. 

This one is a mad scrambling, a temperament overridden by emotion clouding the care she typically takes with her penmanship. She's clearly distracted and distraught, and emotions as thoroughly scrambled as they are, even after weeks spent in virtual isolation, it reads something like a cry for help.

Which it might well be.

Have you seen it, Equius? That blog, that Dave, it's

It can't be it can't be it can't be—

I don't know. I need to talk. Something. I know you would understand. Maybe you're the only one who would understand.

Can we meet?

—r

A letter makes itself known to Equius.

How, exactly, would remain a mystery to all those unschooled in the whisperings of the Void, and even attunement itself came inevitably with an acceptance of its mysteries. All that can be said for sure is that wherever it is now is not where it had been moments before.

The envelope is elegant but hardly ostentatious. It contains no stamp, marking, or address, and aside from the heavy paper’s texture has only one feature along its folded side: a wax seal adorned with an immediately familiar signet: the crest of Void.

Inside the envelope is a message of almost unimaginable simplicity, considering its author. Written in fine blue pen, without introduction or pomp, is the line:

Let’s talk.

—RL

—-

Only Rose could leave a letter in your tent when you’re camping in the Redwoods, without ever being told where you are, after months of the two of you not speaking to each other.

You assume it’s going to be important, but then again, it’s Rose. She’s got a little bit of a flair for the dramatic.

It’s been a while since you’ve partaken in any sort of mail communication, but perhaps online isn’t an option for her at the moment. Some scrounging around in your sylladex yields a piece of paper normally reserved for blueprints, on which you write:

D —> Gladly D —> Regarding what

—EZ

It’s an easy matter to send it through the Void, where you assume it’ll reach the right person.

#plot #indigenceinexcusable

[orphead-blog]

"Dave."

And that's all you say.  As if there's anything else you can say—your eyes remain unfocused, staring out into nothingness unaided, even as your arms slide a little bit to accommodate Aradia inside them.  Jade—Jade was different.  Jade you had time to see coming, time to grieve, and you could watch her pass on as she died.  And Jade was a friend.

Dave you loved.

Love?  No, you're just hallucinating.  You're just crazy.

"I must be crazy."

Your moirail senses are tingling, so you immediately put down the beanbag frog you’d been dancing with and head to Rose’s room. Having been absent from Tumblr for most of the night, you weren’t around for her short discussion with Karkat about death and its lack of permanence, but you know something’s wrong when you knock on the door and she doesn’t get up to answer it. With a small frown, you turn the knob and open the door to find her curled up on her bed.

No, this just won’t do. This won’t do at all.

In about four steps you traverse her room and lay down on her bed, wiggling up to squeeze yourself into her arms and bury your face in her neck. “You’re upset,” you state, as if it isn’t obvious. One thing you’ll never not hate is seeing Rose like this. “What’s wrong?”

#adnominatingacersecomic #plot

[orphead-blog]

You're curled up in a ball on your bed.  It's ironic, considering what you just said to Karkat.

No tears come—but you aren't sad, really.  Just convinced you're insane.

#plot

[orphead-blog]

You can't even really fathom what's going on.  Vriska's dead, Vriska can't be here, you saw her corpse, but oh god she's hugging you this is real she's really here.  And that cynical, pessimistic part of you just shuts up shop as you realise that Vriska is back, she's not just any Vriska but she's yours.  All that remains is the warmth in your heart, the elation that the girl for whom you professed your love is—quite literally—back from the dead.

There's no time for coherent thought and conversational negotiation, no time to hash out why or how she's even still alive because it doesn't matter.  There will be time for that later.  As she releases you from the tight hug and takes your hand, uttering that rakish "hey" as if this were the most casual reunion in the world, you can't resist it.

"You son of a bitch," you say, and kiss her on the lips.

At first, you are confused.

Then, overjoyed.

A smile quickly spreads across your face, ear to ear, and you drop your keys before rushing forward to pull her into a hug. It’s only been a short time since you’ve seen her, but to her it’s been a month, and you can only imagine how terrible it must have been for her. You’re kind of hoping she says something, anything, but for now you’re content with just knowing that she’s okay. You pull back from the hug and slide your hands down to hold hers.

“Hey.”

It’s not much of a reunion kickstarter, but it’s all you can manage right now. That and a smile, and everything is okay.

#8lackguard #o8liter8ed #plot

[orphead-blog]

Your travel (facilitated by Void; you're going to save so much on your electricity bill now that your abilities have been realised and refined to the point where you can move at will) straight from your Toronto apartment to the door of your landlord, and after a brief, pleasant conversation, you provide her a check, and then take the elevator to the top floor, steeling yourself mentally.

Approaching the door, your eyes are shut.

You adjust your glasses.

Smooth your shirt out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Your fingers guide your key to its lock.

A half turn,

click,

and—

unlocked.

Ajar—six inches,

one foot,

wide

wide

open.

Vriska is standing in the doorway, seemingly about to leave herself, keys in hand.

You suddenly understand jack shit.

As soon as you find yourself back in the penthouse, you head straight for your room to change. There’s about a month’s worth of dust on everything, so you wipe off your dresser and strip out of your shirt before rummaging through your drawers for something not garish. You’re planning on heading to Rose’s apartment in Toronto to surprise her, and damn it, you’re going to look good when you officially come back from the dead. A blue cropped top that says “nothing says I love you quite like fisting” is the first thing you pull out, and, nope. Nope you are not wearing that. Twenty novelty shirts later and you finally find something acceptable.

You run a comb through your hair and fix your makeup. Once you’ve deemed yourself presentable, you hum the theme to Friends and head downstairs to the kitchen for a snack and your car keys. Everything is still where you left it before everything with the Handmaid happened, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or saddened. It’s clear that no one has been here in at least as long as you’ve been gone, and you find yourself worried for Rose. How has she been holding up? Is she okay? Did she move on?

It’s all tossed away with a shake of your head as you snatch up your keys and head for the door.

#8lackguard #o8liter8ed #plot

[orphead-blog]

It's around that time to pay for utilities on your New York apartment, but this time you leave for it with a heavy heart.  The last time you came to do so, you met with Vriska, declared your attraction, and started a relationship—only to have her killed just a single day later.  The memory weighs on you significantly, and after a good deal of coaxing by Aradia, you manage it.

She wants to come with you, but you know this is something that you need to face alone.

At least this time around.

It's a way of coming to terms with what happened, of finding some kind of inner peace with yourself, of processing the pain and the anger in a way that will allow you the room for remembrance, for grief, and for the beginnings of acceptance.  You haven't really had time for grief, with the life-threatening assault from all sides throwing you into disarray for many of the subsequent weeks.  Now is a good time to pull yourself away from that and find a fresh start, for everything.

And then, after that, you can think about the right step forward.  You'll probably sell the apartment; too many bad memories there, and the loss of Mother only amplifies it.  A little time away, too, to visit your grandfather might go a long way at establishing some healing.

#8lackguard #o8liter8ed #plot

[orphead-blog]

While there seems to be a sea change in your actions—and her actions—that allows the two of you to fit together like this, part of you knows that this is different.  For trolls, it's Different.  You want to be culturally conscious, having learned enough about trolls to interact with the minority population without too much of a strain, but you've never endeavoured into the murkier regions of the pale quadrant.

"Is this...er, would this be considered behaviour indicative of a...I'm sorry, this is somewhat new ground I'm facing here..." You stutter and fall all over yourself, a little mortified at the fact that you can't spit it out.  Relationships, romantic connections have never been your forte.  Adding another three possible lobes can only confuse you further, but this seems to be it, right here.  Good work, Rosalyn.

It’s no big deal, really.

Only it is. This is such a big freaking deal and you know it. You know exactly what boundaries you’re crossing here and you feel bad about it, because you know—through some rather unsubtle posts on Tumblr—that Terezi has some sort of pale feelings for Rose. Who are you, exactly, to stand in the way of them? Who are you to step in instead? It is so, so selfish of you, and god, do you know it, but you need her, just like she needs you.

So you don’t even make a move to say it’s no big deal. Instead, you kiss her on the cheek again and smile against her face. “There is nothing wrong with a little fear! Or even a lot. No matter how scared you get I’ll always be here for you. Promise.”

#adnominatingacersecomic

[orphead-blog]

Few can see you like this, and you recognise, on some level, that this isn't a thing that trolls really do with just anyone.  The reassurance, the emotional support, this is something special, and Aradia is providing it to you.

And she's special, she really is.  She's the one who would—and did—listen, the one who filled a rotting chasm in your heart, the one who let you in when she struggled, and the one whom you let in in all of your struggles.

She's also warm.

"You're too kind to me, Aradia," you say, staying close to her as you mutter the words, "being all supportive of me and dismissive of my paranoid fears.  Thanks for sticking around."

You can’t say you don’t understand her point of view. She’s seen so much death, so much loss, and you remember how broken you were when you found out Karkat was dead. Nothing in life had meaning for you anymore for a seemingly endless stretch of days. He was your best friend, but you know that Vriska was much, much more to Rose than just a friend. Perhaps that makes the loss hurt more.

Consolation has never particularly been your strong point. Death intrigues you, always has. But this is something different; this was the friend of a friend, the most important person to someone you have cone to care for greatly.

It is for that reason that you press your lips to her cheek and murmur reassurances. “No one will die again, not if I can help it.”

#adnominatingacersecomic

[orphead-blog]

"...Thanks, Aradia," you say, pulling her closer still into a tight hug, blocking out the thought that she'd do the same thing, like all of your friends, like everyone who'd ever been your friend had done.  Even Karkat—Karkat was the alternate version of himself that had only gone and gotten himself killed temporarily, instead of the one who had gone and gotten himself killed permanently.  Hopefully Aradia wouldn't do the same.  It's all you have to go on at this point.

"I must simply be a little selfish about it.  For all of her heroism in allaying the Handmaid long enough to protect Auto, Equius, and Kanaya, I still don't want her to be reduced to a memory—since we know how the Handmaid's death is one without a dreaming afterlife that follows."

“You won’t.” It’s solid, truthful. “I don’t know a lot about a lot of things and I’m really aloof and silly sometimes, but I can promise you that you’ll never, ever lose me. I won’t let it happen.” You couldn’t do that to Rose; you can’t even stomach the thought of it.

It saddens you greatly that she feels like this, and even more so that she’s blaming herself for what happened to Vriska. That was entirely out of her hands, out of everyone’s hands, and even though it sucks a whole bunch of ass it’s not something anyone can change.

Your frown deepens considerably. “It’s not your fault. And you shouldn’t beat yourself up for it! I’m not sure if it will offer much consolation, but it wasn’t for nothing. Her death, I mean. It was really, really heroic. And, hey!” You hold your entwined hands up to her chest, right above her heart. “She’s not all gone. The ones we love are always in our hearts.”

#adnominatingacersecomic

[orphead-blog]

"Just...first Jade, then Dave, and then Vriska atop all of that?" you murmur, eyes far beyond crying for them, but face twisting with despair in all of the familiar ways. "I just don't know why it's had to be this way—first my closest childhood friend turned into a monster only to be killed, losing my brother with those stupid heroics of his that I knew would always be his downfall—but Vriska?  She didn't even tell me that she would do it, if I had only been there to protect her, I could have saved her—"

You stop, abruptly.  There wasn't any use dwelling on what could have been.  Just focus on what you have here, Rose.  "I don't want to lose you like that, Aradia."

Frown. You know she was really close to Vriska, but it wasn't something she ever really talked about, and for good reason, you think. So if she's willing to talk to you about it, it's got to be bothering her a lot. There isn't much you can do aside from be there for her, so damn it, you're going to be there for her.

"I wish I could have gotten to know her, she seemed really sweet," you reply, resting your head on Rose's shoulder and grabbing one of her hands. You play with her fingers a little before slipping them in between your own and giving her hand a squeeze. Rose is one tough girl, and you know it, so seeing her like this hurts.

It's like seeing your father cry. Or well, you suppose so. You never had a father.

#adnominatingacersecomic

[orphead-blog]

Even you, Ice Queen Rose Lalonde, can't resist the positive energy that Aradia brings into the room, and a small smile comes to your face. "I can't even fight back with my hair, it's too short to do anything," you say, tugging gently on Aradia's braid, and pulling her up closer to you as you shuffle the laptop back and look back at her, smile giving way to a sigh.

"I miss Vriska."

You don’t bother replying back on Tumblr, instead choosing to plug your phone back in so you can flounce over to where Rose is and sit next to her. Your hair is braided for the first time in a while—it’s a pain in the butt to brush out, but you had a lot of free time today—and you flip it over your shoulder before picking it up by the elastic band and tickling Rose’s ear with it.

“Boop boop, one smiley Aradia here from your mail order catalog. How may I serve you this evening?”

#adnominatingacersecomic

[orphead-blog]

You warp back, this time at the doorway, smiling at the sight of her draped on the bed.

Weren't we going to make pancakes and bacon?  It's past noon, you know.

You warp into Aradia’s bathroom and write in expo marker “You’re pretty” all over it for her to see the next time she’s inside.

#adnominatingacersecomic

[orphead-blog]

You warp into Aradia's bathroom and write in expo marker "You're pretty" all over it for her to see the next time she's inside.

youll be at it all day then >:o

#adnominatingacersecomic