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 --- intro.html | 72 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++------------------------------- 1 file changed, 36 insertions(+), 36 deletions(-) (limited to 'intro.html') diff --git a/intro.html b/intro.html index 4992710..053ecba 100644 --- a/intro.html +++ b/intro.html @@ -14,12 +14,12 @@

Somewhere, in the distant reaches of space...

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Surprise, bitch.

I bet there was a moment just now when you thought to yourself, oh thank god. Thank the maker. Thank literally what-the-hell-ever recalcitrant entity was, is now, or perhaps always has been responsible for piloting this story. Whoever it is whose cataclysmic fingers hang suspended and quivering with anticipation somewhere beyond the curtain of the world; whose hunched form lurks forever in the shadows, its work seemingly unimpeded by the very real threat of a chronic lumbago; making no sound, giving no speech to thought, save for that fateful moment where first one elongated phalanx, and then another, crosses the threshold between thought and reality; when ten declamatory digits, possessed for the moment of a zealous frenzy, reach down and set the air astir with the heart-rending creative cacophony of an overly rambunctious mechanical keyboard.

Whichever accursed species of demiurgic figure that is, you thought, let's just thank the ever living fuck that this time they decided to call it a night and get out the drawing tablet instead.

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

ROSEBOT: No, but I do.

ROSEBOT: It averages out, you see.

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DIRK: Ok but like what are you actually calling me about.

ROSEBOT: I just thought you might like to know that we're getting pretty close to your chosen crash site.

@@ -95,7 +95,7 @@

DIRK: There's a few stray dust motes still left to eradicate.

ROSEBOT: Just don't get too attached to having everything organized neatly, will you.

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Rose signs off the call without much fuss. She knows that I'm not really cleaning, but doesn't care enough to know what I'm actually doing. I know that she knows this, but I don't care enough that she knows, nor do I care that she doesn't give a shit. We're all just here, not giving a flying fuck, like a normal, functioning group of people.

I walk— oh no, right, I don't have to do that explicitly. It's easy to get into the habit of just narrating everything, even when it's a bit creatively redundant. This is where the advantage of visuals comes in, to make my life as an omniscient overseer a little bit less tedious. I can just do whatever, and we can all see it happen, and nobody has to fight with a testy cherub lady for control of their own legs or anything. No need to pull a whole thesaurus out of my ass just so I can go to the bathroom. Seriously, it's a big relief.

That doesn't mean this (*gestures to the narrative*) isn't still going to be a thing, though. Sometimes retreating back into the warm, welcoming folds of traditional prose is just going to be the best way forward, and as someone whose mind is uniquely capable of understanding this conceit, I'll be the determining factor as to when and where it happens. I think that's more than reasonable. And yes, I am capable of being reasonable. All in all I think you'll find, as far as narrators go, I'm an excellent... hm. On second thought, maybe that's a bit of a problematic phrase. Yeah, yikes, that one's got a sordid history. Best we steer clear of it. We're all lucky I'm around to make those kinds of sensitivity judgements on everyone's behalf.

@@ -106,19 +106,19 @@ Dirk:
> Dirk: Commune.
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Channelling my full potential as an ascended player of Heart, I expand my consciousness to commune with the boundless force of collective willpower that is the internet. My mind floods with its divine potency, a million formless cries coalescing into a sequence of discrete, formal instructions. It is a maelstrom as chaotic as it is deafening. And yet from this formless, uninterrupted spate of hard, unembellished data, a single suggestion takes form, as if bubbling up from a vast, infinite ocean of possibility. It is a whispered prayer to a compassionate god whose ear attends faithfully the will of his believers.

Ok, let's see what you chucklefucks came up with.

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Dirk:
> Dirk: Stop making Homestuck.
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I...

You know what? You've convinced me. There's no way I'm fucking with this shit.

I'm nobody's puppet, of course. But this was going to be a little fun we had together. A callback to simpler times. I just wanted to play a game, and you were going to be part of it. That submission box was my olive branch, dipped tentatively and at arms length into the trash furnace of creative potential known as 'Online'.

@@ -127,7 +127,7 @@ Dirk:

> Dirk: Examine room.
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See? That wasn't difficult. Seriously, what's wrong with you people.

This is my PRIVATE STUDY on board the THESEUS, a LIGHTSPEED CAPABLE VESSEL built for tearing around the cosmos like there's no tomorrow. This is where I keep all of my PRIZED ARTIFACTS, CANONICAL KEEPSAKES, and other assorted OBJECTS OF HISTORICAL AND/OR ARTISTIC PERTINENCE. Some of these items were really hard to come by, requiring very creative use of my full faculty as an ascended Heart player. The rest was just stolen from my friends' houses when they weren't looking. It's nothing they'll miss, though. I also keep my FLORA OF THE SUCCULENT PERSUASION in here, so's I can keep an eye on them. Make sure nobody's eating any. It's happened before.

This is where I come when I want to sit and think about important plot details, which is pretty much any time I'm not training or laying down mad enfilades of philosophical shit with Rose. It's important to have things around to remind me of where we came from.

@@ -138,7 +138,7 @@ Dirk:
> Contemplate equine icongraphy.
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Beautiful, isn't it? A piece of this quality deserves nothing less than the pride of place in my private collection. Am I being sincere about that? Who the fuck can even say.

A parting gift from an old flame, it was given to one of my splinters in a distant timeline before ending up in my posession via lots of complicated shit that I don't wanna get into. This painting used to belong to one of the most powerful men in Earth's history, and now it belongs to one of the few people ever to hold him in the palm of their hand.

It came with a note, which has since been misplaced. But I know the words by heart.

@@ -147,10 +147,10 @@ Dirk:
> Paint. Paper. Get to work.
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Nah. This is FACE PAINT, not for painting pictures. Unless those pictures happen to be on a face, I guess.

This set of paints and the charred remains of my HORNED HEADBAND are the only surviving relics of the first and last WORLDWIDE INTERSPECIES ROLEPLAYING SESSION we ever attempted on Earth C.

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Calliope got it into their head that dressing up in cosplay would be a fun community activity. Vantas had some very uncharitable things to say about the idea, and for once in his life I think he was right. This thing was an unmitigated disaster from start to finish. A complete bloodbath.

I'd spent months perfecting my character. Countless late nights were devoted to scrupulously studying the intricacies of OLD ALTERNIAN CULTURE. EVERY INCH of my body was coated in cloying, meticulously sealed GRAY PAINT. Yes, even there. I know you were thinking it.

It was the perfect trollsona. I was a highblood called...

@@ -159,14 +159,14 @@ Dirk:
> Inspect delicious houseplants.
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Three years is no small amount of time. While I spent a lot of it in pursuit of a greater understanding of combat and philosophy, that doesn't mean there wasn't room for life and love in the equation too.

Plants are basically the ideal friends. They don't constantly question your decisions, or try and undermine your authority, or suggest that perhaps you should try talking about your feelings every once in a while. Plants lie down in the dirt and take it, metaphorically speaking.

I've genetically enhanced these succulents to make them more hardy in a low-gravity environment. They all got drastically discolored as a side-effect, but frankly they look better like this.

The downside is that I'm not the only person who's taken a liking to them. And speaking of which... "Delicious houseplants"?

...

Oh god damn it.

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TEREZI: NY3H3H3...

TEREZI: H3H3H3H3H3....

@@ -259,11 +259,11 @@

TEREZI: >:]

DIRK: Wait.

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DIRK: Computer. Enhance.

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DIRK: Mother fucker.

TEREZI: NY3H3H3H3H3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@@ -295,7 +295,7 @@ Terezi wrote:
> L1B3R4T3 L4LOND14N L1BR4RY
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DIRK: That one was a bit alliterative, but I think you're getting the hang of it.

DIRK: You want me to pick up this book, right?

@@ -317,7 +317,7 @@

TEREZI: "R3M3MB3R LONGC4T J4N3?"

TEREZI: COMPL3T3LY 1NCOMPR3H3NS1BL3

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DIRK: (I captchalogue the book into my MSPA MODUS. Forget HASH MAPS, PICTIONARY, or any of that shit. This thing is where it's at.)

TEREZI: 4W WH4T TH3 H3LL

@@ -330,7 +330,7 @@ Terezi wrote:
> SCR34M L1K3 4 W1GGL3R 4ND T1DY YOUR D3SK
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DIRK: Well, if you insist.

TEREZI: 4UURGHHH D1RK YOUR3 NOT M4K1NG TH1S 4NY FUN 4T 4LL

@@ -352,7 +352,7 @@

TEREZI: 1F SO, 1T M1GHT JUST B3 TH3 F1RST FUNNY TH1NG TH4TS 3V3R H4PP3N3D TO YOU!!!

DIRK: Ha ha.

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DIRK: You know,

DIRK: I actually kind of resent the idea that I don't know how to loosen up or have fun.

@@ -360,8 +360,8 @@

DIRK: It's just that the kind of fun I'm naturally predisposed to is rather intense.

DIRK: Not many really understand that when pleasure is taken seriously enough, it can easily mimic the appearance of business, just as when irony is practiced with enough passion, it becomes indistinguishable from sincerity.

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TEREZI: DO YOU... W4NT TO T4LK 4BOUT 1T...?

DIRK: Absolutely the fuck not.

@@ -372,8 +372,8 @@

DIRK: It's something a bit more important than that.

DIRK: We've made some good progress by now, so here. Let me show you something.

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DIRK: Smell this Terezi?

DIRK: This is a panel.

@@ -499,9 +499,9 @@ Dirk:
> Dirk: Get this show on the road.
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ROSEBOT: Tidying all finished?

DIRK: In a manner of speaking.

@@ -574,7 +574,7 @@

But that struggle finally ended a few years ago. My head isn't fighting to stay above the water anymore. There isn't even a metaphorical head to speak of. I'm only the water now.

It's proven to be an immensely comforting way for me to exist. It reminds me of the feelings I had during long nights alone, looking out over the dark ocean which surrounded me. The ocean that effectively raised me, because nothing else was around to do it. During those lonely nights I spent many hours wondering what would happen, what would even be the difference, if I jumped in and never came up. If I simply disappeared.

But now I finally have. I've disappeared into the infinity of myself. And I am... magnificent.

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DIRK: What's that noise I'm hearing.

DIRK: It sounds a little bit like a cat being caught in a ventilation fan. A sort of...

@@ -598,7 +598,7 @@

DIRK: ...

DIRK: How do you feel about games?

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> CHAPTER 1. Ghostflusters

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