Work Text:
You stare at the series of bubbles gathered like a party around you.
It’s been a long time since you’ve toyed with what was the dream bubbles, generally sticking only to traveling in parts of the universe where your impact mattered. Here, it was only the past and present, twisted in paradoxical sludge that throw your powers a bit off, where time and it’s balance was irrelevant. Though sometimes, you grow curious of your past; of a girl that fills you with discovered memories, sourness, maybe some sympathy. You occasionally visit these bubbles to remember where your motivations come from as your reflection stares back at you.
Casually, you prod at one, then some, with a touch of familiarity.
---
Tinkerbull buzzed like a fly around your head before you tiredly went off to find his son, telekinetics picking you up from the guild of treehives. Often you found the lusus to be as annoying as he was cute, though you didn’t blame his anxiousness. The day would rise soon enough, and Rufioh had vanished beyond the brushes hours ago. It was your time find him (again) so your rebellious firefly didn’t burn up like a worm on pavement.
You’d hope he wouldn’t be dramatically woeful about it, even if he was bound to get grounded for staying out so dangerously late (again...). He hated feeling tied down, unable to flex his wings. Hell, you two didn’t even have to go to sleep if he wanted. You both could sneak into your hive, stay up, and watch East Alternian flicks in your nerdy fort. Or connect your grubboys to play the fiduspawn game Mituna had gifted him a few perigrees ago.
Your seifuku catches on the wind during the search; pink trees provide decor, but no evidence on his whereabouts. It comes as a reminder that Rufioh did have his favorite spots however, and it’s a quick thought to go check them out.
The common sense pays off; a familiar pair of amber wings reflect the soft light of a forest lamp below. Your naive smile at the sight of him slowly purses with confusion however, as you glide closer. Is that another troll that he’s conversing with? You don’t remember him mentioning he’d be tagging along with anyone tonight. What are they doing, standing so close?
“Rufioh?”
When you finally touch the grass some yards away, you call out to him in east alternian as your head lifts back up.
“Rufioh! I’ve been looking for…-!”
A blink. Burgundy eyes doubletake.
“...for...you...”
Words die off your lips as they stay gaped in alarm, frozen. The new angle and proximity tells you that Rufioh is not talking to this troll.
They were silently speaking through a kiss, before Rufioh turns swiftly around in his own startled shock, a noted ‘pop’ of lips leaving lips escaping his face. The intimidating indigo, having glanced at Rufioh in some confusion, was now staring over his shoulder at you with an annoyed glower. As if you had interrupted something richer and more important than the mortified discovery.
That twilight, you met Horuss.
“...”
“Oh shit!...Damz...?” Rufioh replies dumbly.
It was a sight, and had you been like any other obnoxious Weeaboo, you’d fluster at the sight of forbidden blue on bronze action. Though you are much more than that. At least you would tell yourself that, when no one else would.
You are Damara Megido, and just then, your quadrant died beneath the snowing sakura trees.
---
Everything after that, up to now, is a mosaic blur. Or at the very least everything was an intense awful, and clarity comes whenever you care to remember during times you can handle thinking of the past. Or when the bubble itself choose to work.
He broke it off? You broke it off? Regardless, you were the one who dealt with skin off the back. He looked more sheepish and guilty than he did reflective.
You cried. That isn’t hard to forget. After walking away from the situation with confusion came anger, then tears. Despite how much you continue to loathe yourself, you don’t think that it’s far fetched for someone as young as you were to lose it. To not understand; not wanting to feel for the sake of not wanting to question her own worth. Just for a moment.
About a perigee passes and you keep it a secret. As much as you could call it out, you don’t. For one, he has a blueblood on his side; the idea of attempting to put that marinated dickhead in a state of ridicule was a dangerous one. Though you also have no one to tell anyways. This was school feeding drama, not an illegal gamble, and frankly you didn’t have enough friends during the time to inform. Even less that would understand you. Care to understand.
Generally, only he did, and that… that made you compliantly bitter. Let alone taking your trust, he could take your concern and words to a grave buried beneath Beforus’ largest cemetery. No one would fully understand your side.
Though as paradox space’s luck would have it, he doesn’t have to dissect anything when he spills the beans.
Regardless, the tyrian witch cackled.
--
One day, you dream of standing on heavy legs while standing on nothing at all. Being surrounded by a void of bleached nothingness. You didn’t feel...entirely lost. This was memorable, this atmosphere, and yet you couldn’t remember ever approaching it in the first place.
Something of a six sense screams at you to abscond. To not fall to the coercing temptation of coated coaxing to stay. You taste salt and dry air. You hear nothing but the faint pulsing of your veins; the faint ticking of time as you look at your shaking hands. Angry emerald crackling at the edges of your sleepless vision as your palms seem to glitch and faze...in and out...smooth to callous...ash to charcoal…
White noise and screaming of the damned sends your pusher into a gallop.
You wake up.
--
The next night, you and your acquaintances play a game.
Courtesy of Meenah, the world crumbled, and twelve trolls decided that they wanted to live. At first, while alarmed at the idea that video games were real, you take the facts with consideration. Everything was ending. You could feel the anxious aura of the dead around you, though they weren’t as stirred as the ones in your dream; they were more coherent and of this plane.
You still felt miserable, sitting in your treehouse and shuffled into your pile of sobakawa pillows and littered ramune. According to the trollian group you’d been apart of, all of you needed to play in order to survive, which involved teaming up.
At the very least, offering to play with Mituna was an idea, finding him to be one of the more tolerable you’d come to know with time. Though he’d been paired up already with this jabbering candy red text. Rufioh never apologized, and you gladly watch as he pairs up with someone else. Meenah’s violet spud of a friend had offered to take on the role of playing with the loud olive; you haven’t talked to her all that much, and she was excitedly overbearing, but you’d take her over your results.
It was like digital flightball. You were all but picked first with Horuss somehow ending up as your last result among trolls that you barely knew, and some you barely liked. Death was a considerable alternative, as you’d casually been pondering what more you had to achieve on this foul planet during your adolescent moping.
Tempting, but not tempting enough to sabotage the both of you by leaving him on read once you spot the file name sent over.
SGRUB_BETA_V1(1).EXE
“...”
You stare hard at your husktop monitor. That name. It sends that weird feeling through your spine again. The familiarity. Cold, but burning. It’s a bit distracting from your current shit you’re dealing with, and honestly, a distraction is what you’ve been needing. At first you start to go to another tab , but your mind wanders back to it with intensity.
Deja vu is a bitch.
“...Tch.”
Maybe another you out there decided that it’d be stupid to take the bait and click on it. To involve yourself in this versus giving yourself peaceful solitude. However, you are only 6. Hope is a disease that wrecks your body before your mind, and while you can play tough with as much time as you don’t have, the idea of death for as much as you indulge with is something you would rather postpone.
You are Damara Megido, and with a click of the mouse, you enter a second life.
--
You should have just died.
Meeting people online, offline, is worse than you expected.
Also, whoever thought that your group was the most well equipped to play this game must’ve known of a greater future, because this was a horrid set up.
At first everything seemed calm, especially on the first night; everyone met up with surprise and some casual greetings. You avoid talking to the obvious, though occasionally sneak peeks as your ex conversates with his new catch. They haven’t acknowledged you either, visibly at least, and you don’t know if you prefer it like that.
After some indescribable passage of time, “Kankri” spoke aloud.
About how the way to win this was through vital teamwork, self responsibility, talking to the imps about sharing the space, yadda yadda. Half of the group didn’t even seem to be paying attention; Mituna’s tongue poked out with a furrowed annoyance of the brow, and his main squeeze, Latula you believe, was of similar expression behind her specs, choosing to yawn a bit instead. Although, the amusing bore wasn’t so much a problem as it was a catalyst for Meenah to suddenly speak up.
“Okay, no. Just no. Nuh uh, I’m shuttin’ all that carp down before you ramble off the deep end, Vantas.”
“Excuse me? What are you talking about? I’m pretty sure this is basic sense when it comes to-”
“Anyways yeah so that’s cute. But playin’ nice with the “we come in peace” shit is gonna get us krilled. Let alone the fact that the lot of yall probubbley don’t even know how to walk, let alone throw a punch.”
Kankri is still glaring long after being interrupted, before relaxing his face and clearing his throat.
“Please, we are not going to get “krilled”. However, if you insist on instigating fights versus compliant diffusing of an environment that we’ve treaded int-”
“You done?”
His mouth is still gaped like a fish mid sentence (much to Meenah’s amusement, you note her smirk), before it falls into another stern scowl. It doesn’t go away this time, and you notice that the space between them has dwindled. Everyone else is now starting to pay attention.
“I suggest you sharpen up your behavior, Meenah. That attitude is better off absent, and if what you claim to happen will happen through careless swabble, you will be the first to go.”
Her lip twitched, just for a flash, but the grin forms with a rather satisfyed chin up, “Well aint dat darin’. What’s wrong? I’m just layin’ it down how I sea it, Kankrill-”
“Do NOT call me that…”
Oh shit. This sure was absolutely happening right now.
“Pff, whatevs. You should be honored I even gave ya a cool name.”
“I do not honor anything or any troll’s quippy gifts when they’re already set on a power high from their unchecked privilege being spoiled. Even those that try to hide that privilege, as a face of royalty, through playing victim and choosing to romanticize the idea of being oppressed by society and dragging others and an entire world into her runaway issues.”
Kankri spoke quickly, upset, and over the snort that Meenah almost let out before he continued. Eyes widening, and the spark behind fuchsia grew hostile. “Come again, basshole?”
“Oh. My. Gosh. Isn’t this just romantic???”
You jump a bit and turn. Kankri and Meenah sneer in each other’s faces as Porrim finally steps in to mediate, Meulin having ended up next to you. She is clasping her hands together in a way that doesn’t make the situation seem any more controlled. Her voice is a little too loud, but no one seems to be paying mind amongst the current discourse.
“This has GOT to be the rawrest form of pitchforking I’ve seen! The air is absolutely choking on such black tension!!” she turns her head to you, “Wouldn’t mew agree? Purlease tell me I’m not the only one seeing the chemistry here!!”
Well, that’s one way to read the room. Startled, you fluster a bit, not use to talking to others outside of weeaboos and Rufioh. So you don’t, looking at your shoes instead for help. When she asks if you are okay, you nod with a bit of a shy smile.
“Well that’s good! Don’t worry if you’re not the talkative type; Purrloz isn’t either! Even if he has a lot to say, teehee, right Purrloz??”
She turns to her right, and you tilt a bit to look over as well- Holy shit.
Has this guy always been here? How did you just notice his presence?
From across Meulin, Kurloz looks back at you with a crafted, threaded smile, and waves.
You wave back, hesitant. It’s tempting to gesture it in a way that’s as if you greeted him prior to now, but you resist the awkward hiccup.
He continues to smile and stand stalk like a scarecrow, and you glance for a moment more before turning away, letting Meulin ramble on about the scene (which Kurloz responds to with a huff through his nose and a dismissive wave of rejection, earning a whine from the olive).
An annoyed Porrim is pulling back a chittering Kankri, and Cronus copies the same manner, though Meenah snarls at him before he even grazes her arm, the wannabe wizard backing off with his hands up and a nervous chuckle. Aranea tries to ease her with a distant, verbal reassurance, though obviously not getting too close.
It was amazing really, how sudden she wanted to yank the leadership role away and steal it as some means of righter authority. Looks like the runaway princess still wanted to wear her crown after all.
You snort to yourself.
That shouldn’t have raised much suspicion, it really shouldn’t have, but Meenah’s head snaps around to look at the culprit, and you freeze.
“And waterever is so fuckin’ funny, Megido, was it?”
Shit.
“Ah…”
Your tongue is tied as she approaches slowly, the group staring. A few looked as if they were wanting to interfere, but didn’t. Some simply watched the show as you stood in place, hands to your sides and quiet as she stopped in front of you.
“Nah, tell me. I’m shore you’re getting a kick out of things over here.”
“Meenah, please. That’s enough. Let’s not carry things over into some befuddling round two. It’s uncalled for...”
“I mean like, okay Maryam, I’ll find some chill. After this tho; I aint keen on gettin’ slighted by two different shades of red you know?”
“Oh please, this wouldn’t have even started if-”
“Clam it, /Kanny/.”
Porrim covers Kankri’s mouth before he can start losing his cool again, nearly scratching the air like a purrbeast, and Meenah looks as if she’s thinking something over in the middle of her irritation, though smiles some soon after.
“So. Ruf’s told me aboat you. Didn’t think we’d be meeting so soon but them’s the breaks.”
She clicks her tongue, and eventually she slacks a bit in posture. Now knowing she doesn’t have to waste her anger. She almost looks amused at you.
“Gotta say I was expectin’ a bit more in person. Though sometides the guy likes to just go off wit sayin’ whatever. I guess there’s a reason yoar just chums now.”
Oh.
The comment makes your pusher sink to you shoes, a short spark of anger, before struggling to find leverage in your nervous voice, and she sees it clear as moonlight.
Hook, line, and sinker; this was your undoing. Giving her that single moment of weakness to let her know where to dig her claws in the next time. And the next time. And the next. The comment is muttered enough so it doesn’t reach too far, and you stare past her in Rufioh’s direction. He looks a little mortified, but isn’t exactly speaking up on the intimidating scenario in your defense. Horuss is standing next to him, arms crossed as if he has better planets to be on, but you catch the curiosity of his eyes at the right glare of his goggles.
“I…I don’t mean any harm,” you stress, “I’m just...standing here. Honest.”
"Oh my bad, speak up?"
The insincere tone is paired with a smirk; a palm cupping her fin, and hesitantly you repeat yourself, as clear as night.
“Dunno what you just said, but whatevs. Try an' keep up, Megidope”.
Your lips twitch, but you go silent after that. Meenah doesn’t seem as mad luckily, but her words didn’t make the feeling much better as she finally turns from you like a satisfied lion. It doesn’t need to be said with some cliche, but she’s bookmarked you for sweeps to come.
Soon she starts going off on the group about something; probably a parallel to Kankri’s previous speech about things ought to go. You don’t know, not really paying attention anymore. Face flushed, your shoes stared back at you.
--
You were still miserable.
You still take time to yourself when you’re not focused on the game. Thinking. You are not stuck in the past, but it follows you in the form of bronze.
Rufioh has started to talk to you again, much to your surprise. Though it’s not to apologize, still. Mostly to talk about the hardships of the situation at hand or casual updates on what he’d been doing. Amazingly, Horuss was brought up at least twice.
That makes you steamed, from such ignorance. That he’s just here to...talk? Like nothing happened? You despise it. You despise him?
Yet.
You feel it from him. The attempt to make things better, in his own Rufioh way. It’s almost as if he wants to rekindle something with you, and a small, selfish, stupid part of you is thankful. For him to break the silence that drifted for a few perigees now. If he didn't care still, then he wouldn’t have bothered to message you, right?
Your replies became less short after, and you feel clarity, for a moment.
Eventually he had to go. Horuss needed him for something. You say it’s fine.
AT: t1ght...thanks for be1ng here to chat , doll. 1 m1ssed being able to talk l1ke th1s w1th you...hah, bangarang. but uh, yeah, 1ll talk to you later.”
Saying goodbye, you close the palmhusk app, staring for a moment before you use your telekinesis to rest it to the coonside table some feet away.
Your pan feels cloudy.
--
After a sweep, Meenah bakes a cake. A celebration of what you all had rather been slacking on.
Despite the tension that had mostly came from her end, everyone saw it as a break. A timeout from everything going on and a chance to just remember when it was like to live. For a moment, you untense your shoulders as well as your fork carves through a slice with new gusto. It’s white and pink with icing, littered with white, glittering sprinkles.
Amongst the chatter, you’re quiet. Conversation, you, and your session mates never really fell into the same sentence. Rufioh doesn’t talk to you tonight, but that’s fine. You both seemed to have a knack for only conversing online now. It’d only make sense that he’d wish to hang out with the horse in a way to get him to chill out more than he didn’t. You came to find out over observance alone that Horuss was rather stoic.
Rufioh laughs sheepishly as he attempts to offer Horuss some cake on a spoon, much to the guys muttering, but acceptance. The blueblood’s hand shudders some with a cautious hold on Rufioh’s.
You can’t help but watch.
It’s hard to remember Rufioh’s warmth, when you use to hold hands.
You wonder if he’s already forgot.
--
Break time was over.
Another sweep, two maybe. It doesn’t really matter, though this game is getting rather long.
Everything started out as small little knicks and pokes, insults to get an amusing rise, but Meenah started to stab into the emotional weaknesses of her “friends”, going from comments about Kurloz’s silence, to passive aggressive insults to toward Latula’s inability to smell. Mituna wasn't happy about that. Cronus wasn't happy about Mituna's supposed shit talking about his magic beliefs. The Captor claimed innocence, though did say it was pretty stupid anyways. The slap fight to follow was amusing, if anything.
Porrim was told through the grapevine that Aranea said she was easy, and Aranea, horrified and blue in the face, pled against such accusations as quickly as she could, through the sloppy reveal that she'd read the jade's pan to know she was anything but. Oof.
Perigrees after that, last week, Meenah literally attempted to gut Meulin, when Kurloz wasn’t around to loom.
At least you can only assume, as she brought out her trident in vague threat to Meulin’s squawking about something obnoxious, from what you heard. Though surely she was merely egging her before Aranea got in between things with her “nerdy babbling” to ease her friend. God, she was such a suck up.
What was once an intimidating habit was starting to piss a few of you off. Even the imps didn’t bother attempting to attack anymore since you all seemed close to killing each other instead. This was so normal now.
Never to you, however.
Obviously you’d gotten your fair share of insults, once the threat of her gold teeth through your soft flesh, unable to defend yourself properly with a language barrier that she used to her advantage, but that’s just what they were. Insults; nothing more. Nothing that could change the past. And yet they still hurt. They served as a reminder of your failure. The failure of making your partner happy. Your inability for self serving purpose; that you’d chosen to continue this path instead of going out with Beforus. It still hurt.
Rufioh said nothing when it was made more obvious who Meenah was using as fuel against you. He looked like he wanted to jump in occasionally, but the cowardice didn’t seem to be approaching anytime soon. Maybe Meenah’s insults of you, at you, started to make him wonder if talking was even a thing he should do. If his decision for a better lover was the right one. That that blue buffoon had much more to offer.
No, absolutely not. There’s still hope that both of you can have /something/, and you don’t need her ruining that.
Fuck that. Fuck her.
You find your brows growing more furrowed than knitted each time she turns her back to you.
---
Yesterday, at your group’s training hub, Meenah grilled Cronus rather hard about his fancy fake magic; about how serpents of green were just old beforan mythos, and that he needed to grow up. That he wasn’t climbing up the echeladder or her quadrants any faster by talking for the fifth time about it. While you find him snotty, that first part made some empathetic blood boil for a split moment, but you loosened your fist.
She snapped his wand in half.
Only Kankri and you bore witness to this alarming situation. Cronus, with Kankri in tow from a previous conversation, came up to you in the first place when he saw you practicing with your own pair. Naturally it intrigued him and he attempted to find out more for his whimsy. More so talking about himself, but still, it wasn’t surprising that it happened. None of it was.
Meenah, passing through, saw it as the perfect bait.
He was silent. You heard the shaky huff of faux confidence that did nothing to mask Cronus’ shudder, giving his obvious flush crush a wide, glassed stare before he took a few steps back and ran to the nearest transportilizer.
Kankri lost his shit.
This was much more intense than the first time. He nearly spat at her without his jade leash, and Meenah eats it up as she spat back. It was getting a little intense, uncomfortably so, though you are a bit intrigued and watched longer than you should have. You wondered dark thoughts. What was holding him back from just...hitting her…? Slapping her lipstick against her own cheek? The imagery alone made you feel high, and you would not have found it to be a fail of his character if he rightfully snapped. He would be the bigger person in the end. She deserved it.
Though you had a choice. There’s no crowd, and you didn’t want any blood on the battlefield during the time.
You mediated your best ability. Obviously it was flawed, and aside from Kankri’s glower, Meenah rounded on you again with her smack talk. You expected it, and your pusher leaped. Had you been listening you may have caught something about your romantic life, your hair, whatever. Instead, you looked like you were listening as you only stared, directly through her cackling words as you fixated more actively on the twitch of your fingers. You watched her lips and noted that she didn't seal them that day. How easy it would've been to smear fuchsia.
What was holding you back?
--
Time passes, and one night something happens.
The ticking of clockwork soothes you during a trip to clear your thinkpan, toward a pond on your quartzy planet where you commonly come to contemplate. A wake of crystal shards from past venting guides you to your usual spot as you float down and sit, grass tickling your skirt as you stare at your reflection for a moment.
“...Wow…”
There are tears, but no sobbing as you swear a bit and wipe them away. You will not cry like a wriggler right now, and especially because you are not mad.
Something good has happened, you think, and you are simply overwhelmed!
Meenah talked to you. As in, like a normal person. About how things have been a little wavy between the two of you, and how she wanted to set things straight. She mentioned that she caught the date of your wriggling day from your trollian profile information, and that she wanted to throw you a party and have an excuse to make a cake anyways. It’s been a whale, er, while, and it would give everyone a bit of fun before they got back to work on this whole game business.
Was this actually happening? Well, it seemed like it because you said yes, and she nodded, understanding you. It’s safe to say that you’ll give Meenah credit; she does make a pretty mean batch of baked goods.
A genuine smile forms, and you gaze at yourself; being so out of your element is a rather silly sight. With a titter, you casually prod at the water with a touch of familiarity. The ripples quake and reflect with flashing, cold colors.
--
Your name is Damara Megido, and as was previously mentioned, it is now your ninth wriggling day, which for once is worth mentioning.
Admittedly, you were nervous; it’s been so long since you’ve celebrated your hatching, and never before with this group. However, there was a first time for everything.
Rufioh was to be your escort, based on Meenah’s instructions. You kind of wish he wasn’t the one to lead you to the destination of the party, but you get it. He was your best form of communication, and after some awkward greetings, you both head out. It’s at least considerate of the stars that Horuss isn’t glued to his side for once, as you can’t imagine the complaints of him having to help lead a “horse-toned commoner” to water.
You know what? Let’s not think about Horuss right now. This isn’t about him. This is about YOU. Your journey, the destination; the celebration that you were here, and people cared enough to show you a single day of appreciation.
What games would you all play? How would the cake taste, and how would the party favors make you smile? Maybe you all could end the day with one of your favorite movies, like an OVA of Pretty Seadweller’s Crescent Guardian-
“Hm? What is this for?”
“Meenah told me; uh, I guess it’s for that party element of surprise I think…?” Rufioh suggests as he gently evens out the blindfold over your eyes.
Well, it does makes sense.
“Hang on tight for me, doll, okay?”
Nodding, an arm is fixed behind his neck as his gloved hand rests against your side; you are wearing a special, alchemized outfit tonight. It’s red and decorative, the ruffled length of the skirt brushing your knees. Elongated pins balance your brushed hair bun.
Soon you’re being carried in blind flight, away from your detached treehive. There wasn’t much said during, not much to be said, and to make up for the lack of visuals, your mind wanders to his current hold on you. He’s not that far off in temperature, but you note the warmth. A protective hold as you put your faith, trust (“and pixie dust”) into him, to keep you from plummeting.
You were going to miss this.
--
“Damn...that’s cold. We both got got real good...”
You’d been standing for a good bit after the both of you landed, Rufioh asking you to wait as he checked something. Though his muttering only withered your patience as you finally remove the blindfold, frowning as you look around, then going a bit wide eyed. Instead of a sugary aroma, a roaming pack of your friends, or even Meenah’s overbearing color in some decor, you face the training grounds again. A pitstop…?
Wings audibly flutter, and soon he’s typing at his palmhusk again. You can feel your sylladex buzzing, and grew anxiousness. Are you perhaps lost?
“Nah like, I could scope with both my eyes closed…! But like…? I think getting lost was...the point? Damn Meenah, that’s intense…”
...Wait, what…?
With a trained quickness, your device pops out, and you open up to the same memo populated with responses.
There’s resistance. Maybe you oughta not do this? Your life would’ve been so much better, if you’d listen. Sadly, morbid curiosity cramps your belly like a gluttonous hunger, and you start to focus on the words.
GA: I do+n’t recall anything being sent to+ me.
AG: Indeed! Meenah and I actually scheduled in advance to spend the night on my planet for some casual girl time. There’s 8een nothing 8rought up in recent memory about invitations.
You scroll.
GC: y34h l1k3! 1 tot3s would’v3 us3d 4n 3xcus3 for grubb1n on som3 m34n 4ss sn4cks by m34n b34n p31! l44444m3.
GC: who w4s host1ng som3 s1ck crunk1n’ 4nd d1dn’t 1nv1t3 y4 gurl?
AT: meenah d1d! uh, 1 guess…?
TA: 5NR7!! C0MM0N 53N53 70 N17R4M? D0 Y0U C0PY? 1 7H1NK 4 F3W 5CR0LL5 UP M4D3 17 CL34R Y0UV3 833N M4J0R PR4NK3D!!
CC: yeah ruf i thought it was kind of obvious to yeet outta there
CC: i dont waste my cake unless we got some legit shit to celebait
CC: pike
CC: them dirty dusty ass training grounds foar a party get up reely?
CC: stfu wit that shit
CC: does she know already
CC: aquawaaard
CC: couldve just left her there so you didnt ruin my sick humpback for later
CC: btw in case you didnt catch it i meant comeback you kind of seem like you need a crutch rn
GA: Meenah? Did yo+u serio+usly just…make her walk all the way o+ut there fo+r no+thing?
CA: this is as vwicked as your cunning side is attractivwe.
CC: look i KNOW its bad also but its cool too and stfu cronus
CC: foar one thing rufiyos there so she aint walkin i know yall bitches can fly
CC: second
CC: megidull just needed to have someone sho her a good laugh
CC: sides dont start eelin like ur suddenly rememberin shit dis probably the only time yall gunna notice shes even here
GA: I wo+uldn’t put wo+rds in o+ur mo+uths like that...
AG: Agh. Well, I’m not saying is Meenah fairly correct with her actions, 8ut she does make a point. I never lose track of important information like this, for archival purposes, 8ut this just so happened to slip my mind. I can’t speak for the rest of you.
CC: like if any of yall fools actually remembered tonite raise your hands like im waitin
CC:
CC: exactly yall can thank me later for lettin ya know
You haven’t touched this memo in so long that they all probably forgot to check if you were active.
Except her. You can feel the text smiling.
She always knew what was going on. What she was doing.
She always knew and you didn’t and you were so fucking stupid, you were so stupid, of course this was planned. Of course, it was spelled out for you. Why did you believe her? Why are you so childishly dense?
Your face is red. You feel like you’re on a stage and the crowd needn’t be visible to be judging your clownish performance. Shaky hands are threatening to drop the device against the rocky ground and you want to punch her. You actually want to. For once you miss Meenah’s presence because the lack of it steals proximity to reach and rip off her scalp.
“Bitch…”
This is not fair.
“Bitch…!”
Never did anything to her.
“Stupid, stupid, nasty, awful bitch…!” There’s an easy stammer to be heard in your voice. You raise your arm, palm’s quivering before Rufioh can attempt to ease your foul mouth.
“Bitch, bitchiest of BITCHES, BITCH OF A BITCH, STUPID. NASTY. AWFUL. CUNT.”
You want her to feel just as bad.
With a scream, the red electronic goes smashing into the ground with a sharp scrape and shattering of glass, angry shards and plastic dancing away as you heave in their wake.
You’re done!
You can’t do this anymore.
Frozen in place, huffing in quick successions, eyes glide over the floor before things start to sink in.
Nobody was coming. There was no planned party. Because even if there was, none of them would’ve cared to remember you, even with the sweeps of publicized ridicule from Her Highness. They were all probably getting in on the joke and laughing right now, you know it. Jabs and shanks were now the new knicks and pokes.
Deep breaths attempt to ease the throbbing in your head; your face is still flushed, tear glands bubbling, but not wanting to waste on the likes of them. Everything feels like a burning numbness hollowing you out. Your veins are pulsing with the licks of your hair rising slowly with kinetic tension, like a bustling purrbeast’s tail.
It all dips when Rufioh, despite his hesitation, is bold enough to touch your shoulder. The loud silence suddenly simmers you down instantly, like he had expelled an invading poltergeist from your bones, and for a moment, you calm. Numb as your breathing shakily attempts to steady, head tempted to tilt to look behind yourself at him, for help.
Just this once.
You wait for him to talk, before facing anything.
You feel him staring, looking over the situation with those warm, filled eyes of his. Noting the way your fist clenches some, you can feel how he almost wants to pull his hand away in reflex. His mouth opens and closes audibly enough for you to hear, and his wings flicker with the passing beat.
Finally, his hand leaves you, and he speaks while scratching the back of his head.
“Aah, I mean, shoot...you know, Meenah’s just messing around. It’s been hard for everyone around here and like, I’m sure she was just meaning for things to be funny. I mean...it sort of was. But like, not in some vicious way! Just... funny how things happen. Just kind of dope that she got people thinking about you really. That’s something to see outside of uh...damn, there’s nothing around here to see but...shoot, you know, it’s just a funny prank? Nothing to get crazy over...
He glances at the back of your head, pursing his lips before he continues, a little frustrated at himself, but also at a situation he’d rather avoid entirely.
“I...I don’t know Damz. I’m sure Meenah still made some bomb cake, and that we can all laugh about it and just start crud over the next night. So just...maybe if you could just...lighten up a little, haha? Maybe just smile about things for once, doll…?”
You stare ahead. Not at him, but at those digestible words. With how raw the situation unfolded, everything suddenly sounded clearer. His voice was so crisp and your ducts, as clogged as your constipated pusher, were finally able to hear the clarity in his choice.
It's over.
Rufioh has been dead.
The ghost of his comforting touch lingers, and it finally clicks. He’s long since been replaced by a cowardly tool that adapted to his own situations, and thought that still dragging you around with some unapologetic friendship was a half compromise for his betrayal. That it was enough to keep you tied.
Duh.
After a moment of silence, you scoff once. Twice, into more of a brief chuckle. Yeah, you guess it worked. All these little games worked so thoroughly on you; finally, you can see that, and finally, you admit defeat. This game is over.
“...Right.”
He perks in surprise as you turn to him, expression lidded with fatigue, and smile.
It is now your turn.
--
“Yeah, I was tryin’ to figure out what was moar amusing. At first I thought of throwin’ an actual party and just dumpin’ a bucket of bronze in her hair. Food colored of coralrse. But then I thought eh, too much set up.”
“I see. Or rather sea, hm hm…”
Aranea sips her tea as Meenah cracks an amused glance, glugging on whatever sugary soda she’d been ingesting. The treasured planet sparkled as they two sat upon a field of tropical trees, upon the throne of an overlooking hive balcony that had a deep blue, depending on your angle.
“Meenah, are you sure this was a smart choice? It was an awfully cold one that we should probably make up for right afterwards. I mean, at least you should. I have nothing to do with this”.
Meenah snorts, giving her friend a quirked look. It’s very obvious that despite her next comment, she has no intentions of feeling sorry for the greater good.
“I mean, sure. Maybe later like? Its nothing personal. You know how I work serket city. I just gotta get everyone riled up for when we gotta face real shit.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Though I do feel as if things have been treading grounds better left alone. I think at this point we should start focusing on grist; maybe seeing if the imps are of any challenge again.
“If any of yall wanna break a nail than shore, but I can barely get anyone to get a headstart on alchemizing weapons we needs. Let alone being motivated to take their anger out on some stumpy nerds. That’s why this shit be poppin’.”
“Alright alright, I hear. Heh...I suppose it is rather amusing. That this game hasn’t attempted to try giving us any challenges upon our struggles to move forward. Quite the opposite of its point, really."
“Yeah, ship sucks.”
Both trolls both take a moment to watch the horizon in front of where they sit, occasional sips and slurps depending on who you ask.
After a minute, the midblood speaks up again.
“Hey-”
Rufioh’s bruised body cracks against the stone blocks a few feet behind with a solid thud, and upon a jumpy discovery, they both shriek.
“What in the clam shell!?”
“Ow...can’t...my w-wings..uurgh...”
There’s a pregnant pause as he groans back to unconsciousness, making Meenah release baited breath, before they both decided to finally look above him, where you'd been floating. Staring.
“Fuck you.”
“...”
“.........What...-”
You hate wasting time. Gracious enough, you let them gawk for at least two seconds more before lifting a paranormal hand. Aranea is brushed off the balcony ledge, considering she’s the last person you’re focused on.
“ARANEA!” Meenah bolts over to attempt catching the wailing Serket; they only get a high five in before she falls into the high trees below, vanishing more than a couple stories down as they shake ominously.
After assuming the worst Peixes turns around in full to your smirk, sneering venomously. You don’t give her the satisfaction of a comeback however, as a 2x3 stick of gold slips from her sylladex. You’re quick to yank it to the ground, simultaneously yanking her up by the neck. Meenah chokes and you don’t have much effort in pulling her so your nose to nose.
She barks out a few curses, and looks you in the eye as you stare each other down.
“This is what you wanted? For me to keep up??”
She doesn’t hear you, she doesn’t get you, but she at least reads your eyes at the right time.
They’re flashing.
A monkey’s paw raked through the air, and Meenah, realizing this, looks shell-shocked, before finally getting mad. MAD mad. Not an inch of snark to be found as she realizes that your anger isn’t the one she entailed.
It is not the one she can control any longer.
This game is sabotage.
“...Somefin interestin’ after all, at least.”
“Fuck you, chumbucket.”
“What was that?”
Her trident shudders with a velvet aura. Bringing her close and lifting her chin up condescendingly as she snarls, your gaze staying on those angry, pink lips of hers, you repeat yourself. Your claws dig uncomfortably through a poisonous translation.
“Fuh. Uck. You.”
--
Your breath runs ragged as you limp away from a crime scene, kissing the ground with coral footsteps. There were clear signs of a struggle, a well earned stretch. Yet, you are calm; even as you can catch Aranea’s shriek behind you at the sight of a corpse, the scent of rusty copper in the air, your gaze continues to peer ahead as you recover.
This was the climax of your troubles. Nothing will take this moment away from you.
Of course you knew that there could, would, be ways to revive the fallen Peixes. If you were cruel (and considering how much she’d riled you, you’re damn gracious is what you are), then you ought to have vaporized her corpse to an unreplenishable state of ashes. Instead you allow the edges of your mouth to curl at Aranea’s panic. There needs to be no further compensation of you standing a higher ground through abolishing Meenah’s existence completely; you’d proven your point, and you’d prove it again.
That, and hearing the cerulean toady bumbling from her best friend’s body behind leaves you voyeuristic.
You are not cruel. You can be crueler.
--
That’s enough.
Opening your eyes and sighing softly to yourself, you pull out of the memory in a teleporter’s escape. Seems you’d gotten lost in a marathon run again, as cathartic as it is. Though you’re still on a business trip.
You’ve gone through the other memories plenty of times to not feel like you’re missing anything as you leave. It was rather a mess, be it snapping Horuss’ neck, bleeding out after your fight with Meenah, and eviscerating the session through time travel that you’d pick up after your younger self survived; courtesy of the mime dragging you to the questbed. Happy Wriggling Day, you motherfucking owe a brother. Honk. Something like that. Creepy asshole. You saw enough of him when his boney ass first popped by the mansion, sporting a knowing look that knew he'd be one of the many things to help his lord. To help your existence, to help his lord. Fuck clowns.
In the end you didn’t actually owe him shit, because you gladly accepted his teamwork, much to the Prince of Rage’s delight. You weren’t apart of his whole religion shit, and barely knew anything about him. You just knew The Scratch meant that if you were to go down, through your less than acceptable rampage, you were taking everyone with you.
Maybe if you didn’t do that, business trips wouldn’t have to be your live anymore. You wouldn’t have to deal with cue balls, pool balls, more white noise.
Yet while you do you can at least vent; through your duties of warping the fate of your friends.
Rufioh started a revolution. One that he lost. You felt a little bad since he’d finally stopped pussyfooting around, an accomplishment you wish to have happened sooner. You could’ve stepped in and made Alternia not so bad for him, when having enough moments passing to think things over. Then, he found achievement, freedom, new love. You, as petty as may be, did not like that he was somehow rewarded despite everything.
So instead, you interrogate Alternia to eventually kill him; courtesy of Meenah’s rule. You’ve done better at this whole dangerous enabling bit than she ever did, now that you think about it. Her only benefit was that you were able to take the job from her.
Kurloz, a different version of him as far as you know, seemed to be having a blast on this stepping stone to his greater mirths, at least compared to everyone else. Some of your friends were caught in the crossfire as much as they were caught as bystanders in their previous lives. Kankri probably had enough to live for, enough to say, but the benefit was Horuss’ isolation, so you’re fine with a bit of charity. Poor Meulin, Porrim, and Mituna, at least? Sure.
Continuously, Meenah executing such punishments and fate surprise you none. She was always weaseling her way into things.
You knew that eventually the blood trail would lead back to you. You can feel it. You’ve already dealt it. You are your own paradoxical sludge, never to truly escape His grasp. That would be too easy. Paradox Space had never, will never play fair.
But that was fine, because while you’d never escape the hellhole that was karma, a mansion, and your business trips on loop, in the end you’d always be rewarded with reliving the fantasy you crafted into reality.
In the end, you and the Batterbitch would fight, and one way or another, you’d win again.
You smile.