From 69c0314adcccf6373252757454b39e2a9b9c6ddd Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: "(quasar) nebula" Date: Tue, 8 Oct 2024 21:00:08 -0300 Subject: fix up images --- chapter7.html | 46 +++++++++++++++++++++++----------------------- 1 file changed, 23 insertions(+), 23 deletions(-) (limited to 'chapter7.html') diff --git a/chapter7.html b/chapter7.html index 8125785..ea8f305 100644 --- a/chapter7.html +++ b/chapter7.html @@ -14,8 +14,8 @@

CHAPTER 7. Distress Call From the Closet

- - + +

The mood at the scene of the crime is mixed. All three of them would label the main emotion as “extreme tension,” but that is a concept that means vastly different things to each of them.

Vriska, thriving on it, has not felt so decadently alive in a very long time. Tavros has never in his tragic existence felt so close to death, which is surprising to him.

Vrissy is trying her best not to grapple with any cosmic truths at the moment, since she’s getting a phone call in the middle of hiding for her life.

@@ -37,7 +37,7 @@

VRISKA: As much as I’m loving watching your m8sprit attempt to squirm out of any responsi8ility for his dum8shit actions, we should pro8a8ly get to the getaway part of this 8ackwards heist.

VRISKA: Does he have a real plan this time or are we just gonna try our own luck?

- +

HARRY ANDERSON: where even are you? this audio sucks shit, it sounded like you were...i couldn’t hear you right.

VRISSY: We’re in the janitor’s closet near what you always tell me is the Good Water Fountain, 8ut we can’t stay here.

@@ -57,7 +57,7 @@

VRISSY: >::::[

HARRY ANDERSON: christ, what a shitshow.

- +

They stand up and brush themselves off. There’s no time to waste, but there’s one final element they’ve not worked out.

Part of the reason, Tavros thinks, that he’s been so game to continue on with the worst plan anyone has ever concocted, is that the more bullshit they endure, the longer they can put off actually doing anything that matters.

If he’s getting sprayed with a sprinkler and getting clown feet in his face, it’s a farce. It can’t hurt him. But if they get to the part where he’s shoving the uncooperative weight of his uncle’s corpse in an incinerator, he will stop floating in protective semi-consciousness above his body and it will all be real.

@@ -73,12 +73,12 @@

VRISKA: Yeah. Fuck it. I’m done dealing with him.

VRISKA: Finally.

- +

VRISKA: 8ye 8itch.

 

- +

Trolls are made for the battlefield.

From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub’s pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.

But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.

@@ -87,7 +87,7 @@

But he didn’t die. He is, despite everything, one of the only Alternia-born trolls left standing. From the humblest of beginnings, he has risen to the highest echelons of achievement.

Or so all the pamphlets say.

The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.

- +

MEENAH: yo nubs is that u

MEENAH: pretty rank

@@ -163,7 +163,7 @@

MEENAH: well we woulda taken credit for it anyway so this saves us the time

MEENAH: thanks jane owe u one

- +

KARKAT: SHIT.

KARKAT: THE TIDE OF PUBLIC OPINION IS DEFINITELY TURNING AGAINST JANE.

@@ -182,18 +182,18 @@

KARKAT: NOW?

KARKAT: NOW WE PIVOT FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS.

- +

KARKAT: I NEED TO TALK TO EGBERT.

 

- +

Harry Anderson has rushed home faster than ever before in his high school career. It doesn’t occur to him once along the way that he could have provided a less ostentatious getaway car for his friends.

It’s no matter. They’ll make it. He won’t allow himself to internalize any other option.

He is too busy with these mental gymnastics to notice his father’s car parked outside.

- +

John, Roxy, and Harry Anderson proceed to have the tail end of a conversation they had before, in another medium.

- +

The three fugitives arrive, and, at Vrissy’s direction, park in the back. Unsure if it’s safe to go inside, they hide in the landscaping and text their contact. Vrissy is no stranger to sneaking in and out of Harry Anderson’s window, but the stakes are quite a bit higher, now.

VRISSY: Are we good to go? Your mom’s Car is in the driveway.

@@ -207,8 +207,8 @@

HARRY ANDERSON: but no worries, i asked my mom to pick me up some snacks so she’ll leave to go to the store in a sec.

HARRY ANDERSON: just sneak in after she leaves and hide in my room, and i’ll be back in a bit.

- - + +

VRISKA: Ok, she’s gone.

VRISKA: I’ll take out the side window with this rock, clim8 in, and then let you two in the 8ack door.

@@ -226,13 +226,13 @@ (Room:)
> (Room: Examine yourself.)
- +

A bedroom stands empty. There is no boy standing in this bedroom, or indeed anyone else. However, if the boy whose bedroom it was were here, one might remark that his name was HARRY ANDERSON.

And FUCK, one might say, does he like MUSICAL THEATER.

He has been in his fair share of school plays, but he has LOFTY ASPIRATIONS to STAR in bigger and better productions. He especially appreciates modern MUSICAL REMAKES of classic OLD EARTH MOVIES. It's a craze that not everyone is happy about, but in the absent boy they have found a DEVOTED FAN. There is also just enough overlap between his taste and his father’s to allow for SOMEWHAT STILTED CONVERSATIONAL BONDING from time to time.

The boy who is not yet here has also been known to dabble in ACCESSORIZATION. He could be described as a COBBLER ASPIRANT, a NEOPHYTE MILLINER, or even a BIT OF A WHIZZ WITH A NEEDLE AND THREAD. His mother got him his first SEWING MACHINE when he was 10, to keep him from using hers all the time. His looks are HAND-CRAFTED, often IMITATED, but never DUPLICATED. His COSTUMES appear in various AMATEUR PRODUCTIONS, the devising of which takes up most of his FREE TIME. His friends are usually LESS APPRECIATIVE of his attempts to dress them up than he would like, though.

While it is full of these important details and more, the room still stands empty. But very soon it will remain un-stood in no longer.

- +

Getting there is uneventful. There are no barking dogs, no traps, no lurking observers. The thrill of success is short, and it isn’t long until they’re wading agonizingly through the slow thickness of time.

They have nothing to do but wait.

@@ -242,7 +242,7 @@

TAVROS: So I haven’t seen anything,,

VRISSY: Eat your heart out, Tav.

- +

TAVROS: Wow,,

TAVROS: That’s quite a lot of attention,,,

@@ -254,7 +254,7 @@

VRISSY: May8e if we all survive this, I’ll look them up and see if they need new models.

TAVROS: That’s the spirit,

- +

VRISKA: How long is this going to take?

VRISKA: I know John is all depressed and long winded now 8ut surely he should have dropped his precious 8oy 8ack home 8y now.

@@ -266,8 +266,8 @@

They stare each other down. Did she mean the fugitive situation, or Harry Anderson’s fashion choices? Vrissy feels silly wondering this, but despite the situation they’re in, she can’t help but feel more acutely anxious about Vriska’s presence.

She likes her life, and she trusts her own choices. But now, looking at everything from Vriska’s vantage point, it all feels silly. Unimportant. Childish.

She can’t tell if she wants Vriska to rip in to Harry Anderson or if she wants her to stay silent. To put off the moment where she has to defend him or join in.

- - + +

Luckily, Harry Anderson opens the door and puts off any fraught decision making for the moment. He kisses Vrissy’s temple and she leans in to the warmth of him.

HARRY ANDERSON: aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.

@@ -286,7 +286,7 @@

VRISKA: Yeah. Are we all here and acqua8nted now? Gr8. What’s next?

 

- +

John Egbert has not had a day like this in a very long time. He can barely keep track of this series of epiphanies he’s having. He stretches out on his couch to relax and process the gifts of advice and connection his friends and family and ex-family have just given him.

He is in the middle of wondering if it’s even possible to reach further depths of insight when his phone rings.

@@ -307,7 +307,7 @@

JOHN: well yeah, actually.

KARKAT: JOHN I’M BEGGING YOU TO TURN IT ON. ANY FUCKING CHANNEL WILL DO.

- +

John takes it in silently. The slain clown, the teen fugitives, the self-righteous political spin. God, the photo. The photo of his son’s friends, actual goddamn Vriska Serket, and the very clearly dead Gamzee, doused in a cascade of tepid public school fire sprinkler water, the flash from the alarms illuminating them in a holy fluorescence. It’s the stupidest, the most dangerous, and the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The absurd joy of it bubbles up his chest and out his mouth in the most genuine fit of laughter John has felt in years. And now that he’s started it, he can’t stop.

@@ -322,7 +322,7 @@

KARKAT: MORE HINGES ON THIS THAN JUST THE LIVES OF THESE TEENAGERS, WHICH SHOULD BE ENOUGH FOR YOU TO TAKE SERIOUSLY, BUT APPARENTLY NOT.

KARKAT: JOHN, THIS IS A LINCHPIN MOMENT FOR THE ENTIRE SYSTEM. THIS COULD BE HOW WE LOSE, JOHN.

- +

John wheezes himself into relative calm. He has to get Karkat to understand. He clears his throat and breathes.

JOHN: karkat, this can be how we win.

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