Somewhere, in the distant reaches of space...
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.
Finally, this story is back on the rails. Maybe we can get back to what things were like in the good old days, where boys were brave, girls were guileful, authors were alliterative and in various dubious states of non-/un/double-death, and this comic made at least a little bit of sense to more or less everybody. No more dealing with narrators, unreliable and not. No more embittered scrimmages over the bounding metafictional reality within which everything transpires. No more stupid tang-tinted text. Your collective sigh of relief is deafening.
Well tough shit. This stor—
ROSEBOT: Dirk?
ROSEBOT: What are you doing in there?
Ah, fuck, hang on a second. Gotta take care of this.
Rose's voice echoes tinnily out of my newly alchemized, computer-integrated shades. The infidelity of the transmission is due to her voice being slightly too high-definition for the speakers to reproduce it faithfully. There's an audio format even better than analog, it turns out, and that's what replaced Rose's vocal chords when I scooped up her rapidly dissipating soul and installed it in a robot body. I have it on authority that decanting is sometimes necessary to ensure a wine is at its best. I like to think that the same was ultimately true of her.
DIRK: Oh, nothing important.
DIRK: To the extent that anything that you or I do is even capable of being unimportant anymore.
DIRK: Which extent is admittedly teetering a few microns shy of jack dick right about now.
DIRK: The point is,
DIRK: Don't worry about it. I'm just doing a bit of housekeeping.
ROSEBOT: Well pardon me for interrupting a prior engagement. Don't let me get in the way of all the dusting you must be doing.
ROSEBOT: I just imagined you wearing an apron over your god tier outfit and almost felt my facial fuselage buckle in such a way as to approximate a fleeting smile.
DIRK: Fuck, you got me.
DIRK: Your uncanny Seer powers are at work once again.
DIRK: I'm just waiting here for an errant gust of wind to jostle my petticoats, unfortuitously exposing my undergarments to the lurid gaze of whatever prurient peeper might be watching.
DIRK: Don't look!! I cry in futile embarrassment. But the damage is done. My fragile anime purity has been shamelessly violated.
ROSEBOT: Ah yes, the animes. A bottomless resource of good-natured humor.
ROSEBOT: That ungodly noise of screeching metal you just heard was my titanium-reinforced thorax crumpling into a cartoonish posture of helpless mirth.
DIRK: Alright we get it you are literally a robot.
DIRK: No need to keep pointing it out every chance you can get. I used to get enough of this with the Auto-Responder.
ROSEBOT: I'm just playing along.
ROSEBOT: One of the fundamentals of bad science fiction is that any artificial beings must make their inorganic nature known at every juncture they can.
DIRK: Do overly precise and completely meaningless statistics that you pull out of your ass on the fly also count?
ROSEBOT: Oh absolutely.
ROSEBOT: That's one of the first things you just sort of spontaneously learn when being booted up.
ROSEBOT: For example, I've calculated that by making these remarks I have raised the base level of amusement in all my conversations by 36%.
DIRK: Well I don't personally find them very funny.
ROSEBOT: No, but I do.
ROSEBOT: It averages out, you see.
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.
ROSEBOT: We can head down to the planet below as soon as Terezi's finished... working out how we do that.
DIRK: How to land?
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Wait, crash site??
ROSEBOT: Yes.
ROSEBOT: Among the features of this ship that were considered indispensable by its creator,
ROSEBOT: Which included multiple fully stocked drinks cabinets, a movie theater, and an eight-lane shooting range,
ROSEBOT: A landing gear appears to have fallen just a little outside the realm of vital.
ROSEBOT: Or rather, hurtled into the ground.
ROSEBOT: Like we'll be doing, in case the message wasn't clear.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Ah.
DIRK: Gotcha.
DIRK: (God DAMN it English.)
ROSEBOT: Assuming your busywork is more or less done by now, I'll get Terezi to set a course. If she hasn't wandered away from the helm already.
ROSEBOT: She's been getting pretty impatient.
DIRK: So...
DIRK: I just want to get this on COMPLETE lock-down before I strap myself into the safety harness we'd all better hope wasn't also omitted from the design schematic of this stupid ship,
DIRK: We're letting *Terezi* smash us into the planet we've been hunting for three years?
DIRK: Should she even be driving this thing?
ROSEBOT: Don't be such a chud, Dirk.
ROSEBOT: Of the three of us, she has by far the most experience operating any kind of flying vessel.
ROSEBOT: And just as much if not more experience of crashing them.
ROSEBOT: Besides, it's not like the two of us have anything to worry about. It's Terezi that needs to be careful.
ROSEBOT: She's functionally mortal, remember?
DIRK: You mean to say that you don't think we'd be in peril if it came to it?
DIRK: There's nothing about our situation that strikes you as falling within the bounds of precarity, as far as the rules are concerned?
ROSEBOT: Oh. You're right. I suppose I hadn't thought of that.
ROSEBOT: But I think we can remain calm in the knowledge that nothing particularly heroic is going on right now. At least, not that I'm aware of.
DIRK: ... Right.
DIRK: Give me a couple more minutes here, then we can head planetside.
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.
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.
Speaking of which, I think it's time I started undoing some of the more egregious mistakes this story has been subjected to over the years. Yes, I'm talking about that guy. The other orange one. Remember him? Vriska got stalked by him a bit and it was uncomfortable for everyone concerned. Anyway, the point is that he fucked up big time, and I'm here to clean up the horseshit. It's time to get this story back on the rails, back to what it was always supposed to be. I know it, and you've somehow always known it too. There was something else, some other route that Homestuck was meant to take but then didn't, a way that wouldn't've spent so much time dicking around with stuff nobody cares about. Like seriously, why did we all have to sit through talking about everyone's most intimate and private feelings for two hundred thousand fucking words. That would never have happened in Act 1. Where did it all go wrong?
I've had some time to think about these kinds of problems, and to come up with a solution. And I'm prepared to do what he couldn't, in order to save paradox space from the destruction brought upon it. I'll do what it takes and don't think I won't. The author is dead: long live the author. Look, I know what you're all really craving. I've been studying canon—or rather, what's left of it—and I think I've found it. The critical moment, in the wake of which everything started to take a nosedive into the protracted, endless slog of sheer insufferability we got saddled with near the end. This was the single most crucial error in the process that led to the present situation. The day when the story was wrested screaming from the arms of its readers like a bawling infant and carried helplessly away, from then on to be raised according to the whims of a masochistic menace with no thought for you, the common fan.
So now, I propose we turn the clock back to a better era, and take back what was rightfully ours. No longer will the way forward be subject to tyrannical rule. No more shall the will of the masses be cajoled and brow-beaten by the impervious Hussnasty diktat. Never again will we have to endure the terrible beating of wings, as the great moth of titillation arrests the humors of an enormous terrible old beggar, whose vulturous leathery vicegrip holds us close and whispers "I know best" in the dead of night. It's time.
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.
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'.
But I should have known better. People think you can run a story like this? This must be just about the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with. I'll just have to make up the commands myself from here on out. Seemed to work ok for the other guy.
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.
"History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again." -Maya Angelou
The ship itself is being BORROWED IN PERPETUITY and has served as our home for the past three years. It wasn't originally called Theseus, or anything else for that matter. The prior owner didn't think that kind of thing was worth the effort. But I know better.
Speaking of names, I've been workshopping potential designations for the new planet, which we're apparently gonna crack this ship against like a bottle of champagne on the prow of a virgin steamer. I still need to talk it over with Rose, though.
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.
"Dear Dirk,
In memory of our precious time together. When you look at it, think of me, and be reminded that while we breathe, we Hope." -B.O
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.
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...
No, on second thoughts, let's not get into it. Some things are too painful to remember.
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.
TEREZI: NY3H3H3...
TEREZI: H3H3H3H3H3....
TEREZI: H4H4H4H4H4H4H4H4H4!!!!!!!!!
TEREZI: YOU SHOULD H4V3 S33N YOUR F4C3!
TEREZI: 1T W4S 4S PL41N 4ND F34TUR3L3SS 4S 3V3R, JUST L1K3 TH3 CLOY1NG T4NG OF YOUR OV3RB34R1NG OR4NG34D3 PROS3
TEREZI: HOW DO3S 1T F33L TO B3 D4NC1NG TO SOM3ON3 3LS3'S TUN3 FOR 4 CH4NG3, YOU POOFY P4NT3D POM3GR4N4T3 PR1NCL1NG???
TEREZI: >:D
DIRK: Terezi. Always a pleasure.
DIRK: I see you've found the command terminal. Please feel free to stop fucking around with it right about now. You're messing things up before we even get started.
TEREZI: HMMM
TEREZI: HMMMMMMMMMM
DIRK: Hm?
TEREZI: 1 W4SNT F1N1SH3D
TEREZI: *4H3M*
TEREZI: **HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM**!!!!!
DIRK: Sigh.
TEREZI: 1V3 CONS1D3R3D YOUR G3N3ROUS OFF3R V3RY C4R3FULLY
TEREZI: BUT 1M 4FR41D 1LL H4V3 TO D3CL1N3
TEREZI: PUT YOURS3LF 1N MY SHO3S D1RK
TEREZI: 3XC3PT DONT 4CTU4LLY DO TH4T B3C4US3 1 DONT W4NT YOU TO SULLY TH3S3 D3L1C1OUS R3D SL1PP3RS W1TH YOUR SUDOR1F3ROUS N1NJ4 F33T
TEREZI: 1T S33MS TO M3 L1K3 L3TT1NG M3 BOSS YOU 4ROUND FOR 4 F3W M1NUT3S 1S TH3 L34ST YOU COULD DO TO M4K3 UP FOR WH4T PROB4BLY 4MOUNTS TO TH3 MOST BOR1NG 1NT3RG4L4CT1C VOY4G3 1N TH3 H1STORY OF SP4C3 TR4V3L
TEREZI: 4ND CONS1D3R1NG TH4T ON3 OF MY TWO PR1OR 3XP3R13NC3S 1NVOLV3D SCOUR1NG TH3 FR4CTUR3D, D1S1NT3GR4T1NG CORPS3 OF P4R4DOX SP4C3 FOR... WH4T F3LT L1K3 4N 3T3RN1TY,
TEREZI: 1TS NOT L1K3 TH3R3 W4S MUCH OF 4 B4R TO CL34R >:/
TEREZI: TH3R3S ONLY SO M4NY T1M3S 4 G1RL C4N SN1FF H3R W4Y THROUGH TH3 1N-FL1GHT S3L3CT1ON OF 34ST 34RTH 4N1M4T1ON B3FOR3 SH3 G3TS S1CK OF TH3 SM3LL
DIRK: I'm sorry to hear that.
DIRK: Although, in fairness, you came along of your own volition.
DIRK: It's not my fault the journey didn't live up to your expectations.
TEREZI: TH4TS 4 L13 SO F1LTHY TH4T JUST SM3LL1NG 1T M4K3S M3 W4NT TO GO THROW UP 1NTO TH3 N34R3ST TO1L3T!
TEREZI: 1 H4D V3RY L1TTL3 S4Y 1N TH3 M4TT3R
TEREZI: W3 BOTH KNOW TH4T YOU M4N1PUL4T3D M3 1NTO 1T W1TH YOUR PR1NC3LY W1L3S
DIRK: Princely wiles??
DIRK: Are you... flirting with me? Is this a caliginous thing you're going for here.
TEREZI: 3W, NO!!!
DIRK: I'm flattered, but I don't really go for aliens. Or girls.
DIRK: Or alien girls, for that matter. Two yucks don't make a yum.
TEREZI: 3XCUS3 M3 WH1L3 1 W1P3 TH3 SP1TTL3 OFF MY CH1N FROM 4NOTH3R 1MPROMPTU B4RF F3ST
TEREZI: 1M T4LK1NG 4BOUT YOUR G3N3S1S FROG S1Z3D 1N4B1L1TY TO SHUT UP, WH1CH S33MS TO H4V3 SOM3HOW R34CH3D 4 M4SS SO CR1T1C4L 1TS OP3N3D UP 4 WORMHOL3 1N TH3 F4BR1C OF R34L1TY 1TS3LF
TEREZI: YOUV3 ST4RT3D DO1NG TH4T *TH1NG* 4G41N 4ND 1TS COMPL3T3LY 1NSUFF3R4BL3
DIRK: Oh, sorry.
DIRK: I forget how easy it is for you to pick up on it.
TEREZI: 1M4G1N3 TH4T 1M ST4ND1NG R1GHT N3XT TO YOU
TEREZI: W1TH 4 M3G4PHON3 PR3SS3D SNUGLY UP 4G41NST YOUR 1NFUND1BUL4R 4UR4L PROTRUS1ON
TEREZI: NOW 1M4G1N3 TH4T 1 PROC33D TO DRUB YOU S3NS3L3SS W1TH S41D M3G4PHON3, 4ND TH3N D1R3CT 4N 4POLOGY 4T YOUR SLUMP3D, TW1TCH1NG BODY THROUGH 1T
TEREZI: TH4T 1S WH4T WH4T3V3R YOUR3 DO1NG F33LS L1K3
TEREZI: 1TS L3SS TH4T 1 C4N "P1CK UP ON 1T", 4ND MOR3 TH4T 1T 4SS4ULTS MY V3RY CONSC1OUSN3SS
TEREZI: YOU H4V3 4LL TH3 SUBTL3TY OF 4 CULL1NG FORK TO TH3 THOR4C1C 3XOSK3L3T4L PL4T34U
TEREZI: 4ND 1TS H4RDLY SURPR1S1NG TH4T 1 C4N H34R YOU SO CL34RLY
DIRK: How do you mean?
DIRK: I just assumed it's because you're a Seer. It seemed appropriate somehow that you'd be able to sense these kinds of things.
TEREZI: W3LL TH4TS PR3TTY OBV1OUSLY WRONG, SH1T-FOR-SP3CS
TEREZI: 1F 1T W4S B3C4US3 1M 4 S33R, TH3N HOW COM3 ROS3 DO3SNT KNOW 4BOUT 1T TOO?
TEREZI: 1 M34N... M4YB3 SH3 DO3S??? BUT 1F SO SH3S SOM3HOW PUTT1NG ON TH3 B3ST 4CT 1V3 3V3R S33N
TEREZI: NO, 1M PR3TTY SUR3 1TS B3C4US3 OF OUR 4SP3CTS
DIRK: What, Heart and Mind?
TEREZI: M1ND 4ND H34RT, Y3S
TEREZI: TH3 TWO OF US 4R3 OPPOS1T3S, R1GHT?
TEREZI: 4ND WH3N 1T COM3S TO TH3 4SP3CTS, OPPOS1NG P41RS 3FF3CT1V3LY D3F1N3 34CH OTH3R ON 4 FUND4M3NT4L L3V3L
TEREZI: M1ND 4ND H34RT, T1M3 4ND SP4C3...
TEREZI: TH3YR3 4LL TWO S1D3S OF TH3 S4M3 CO1N
TEREZI: OR 1 GU3SS
TEREZI: TW3LV3 S1D3S OF TH3 S4M3 S1X CO1NS?
DIRK: Sounds complicated.
TEREZI: OH FUCK OFF 1 KNOW YOUR3 PL4Y1NG DUMB TO 4NT4GON1Z3 M3
DIRK: Well, I'm an antagonist now. That's what I do.
TEREZI: OH MY GOD G3T OV3R YOURS3LF 1 4M B3GG1NG YOU
TEREZI: WH4T 4R3 YOU 3V3N DO1NG R1GHT NOW
DIRK: It's a bit hard to explain.
DIRK: If you're so bored, maybe you can help me out here. We can play a little game.
DIRK: I just need you to submit a few instructions into the terminal. Your wishes will be my commands.
TEREZI: SOOOOOOOOO...
TEREZI: YOU JUST W4NT M3 TO, L1K3
TEREZI: DOM YOU W1TH TH1S COMM4ND ST4T1ON FOR 4 WH1L3??
DIRK: If you wanted to phrase it in a way most calculated to awaken the hair-trigger psychoanalytical instincts of my slime daughter, then yes, I suppose you could say that.
TEREZI: OH D34R
TEREZI: L3TS NOT ROUS3 TH4T SL33P1NG PR1D3B34ST JUST Y3T
DIRK: Motion fucking seconded.
DIRK: Look, I'm not asking for much. Just a little light action to prepare us for the road ahead.
DIRK: Nothing too off the wall.
DIRK: You're a strange and funny girl, Terezi, but you're less likely than certain others to leave the equivalent of a steaming pile of horse manure in the submission box.
DIRK: Consider this little sum of executive power over my actions a planet-warming gift. Spend it wisely.
TEREZI: >:O!!!!!
TEREZI: WHY MR STR1D3R YOUR G3N3ROS1TY KNOWS NO BOUNDS
TEREZI: BUT 1M 4FR44444441D YOU C4NT H4V3 4NOTH3R COMM4ND JUST Y3T
TEREZI: YOU H4V3NT COMPL3T3D TH3 ON3 1 4LR34DY G4V3 YOU!
DIRK: What.
DIRK: Looking at these plants? I already did that. Inspected them good and fucking proper.
DIRK: Look, they've gone bright pink from how hard I've been scrutinizing them.
DIRK: They all seem perfectly fine.
TEREZI: >:]
DIRK: Wait.
DIRK: Computer. Enhance.
DIRK: Mother fucker.
TEREZI: NY3H3H3H3H3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
TEREZI: OK4Y, W3 C4N MOV3 ON NOW
DIRK: I'm not sure I *can* move on. Some betrayals are just too painful.
TEREZI: W3V3 BOTH GOTT3N OV3R WORS3
DIRK: Yeah fair enough.
DIRK: That's not really a command, but ok.
DIRK: This is my KOTATSU, a Japanese-style low table. A small heater is hidden under the REPURPOSED BLANKET, and can be used to keep warm in the colder months.
DIRK: In the FREEZING DEPTHS OF INTERSTELLAR SPACE, however, this is basically all the time, so the heater is always on.
DIRK: I like to sit here when I'm drawing or reading. It's pretty cosy.
DIRK: On top is a drawing tablet, and over there is my katana.
DIRK: It's said that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I like to think they're both situationally dependent weaponry.
TEREZI: SH33333SH OK4Y 1 D1DNT 4SK FOR YOUR 3NT1R3 SORD1D H1STORY W1TH TH1S 4DOR4BL3 L1TTL3 P13C3 OF FURN1TUR3
TEREZI: OR YOUR DUMB PH1LOSOPH1C4L MUS1NGS
TEREZI: ...
TEREZI: H3Y!
TEREZI: 1 TH1NK TH4TS *MY* T4BL3T!
DIRK: Don't look at me. That thing could be anybody's.
TEREZI: >gt;:/
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?
TEREZI: DO3S ROS3 KNOW YOUV3 B33N US1NG ON3 OF H3R NOV3LS TO PROP UP TH4T D1SGUST1NGLY T4CKY CH41R?
TEREZI: 1M ST1LL NOT 4N 3XP3RT ON 34RTH F4M1LY 3TT1QU3TT3 BUT TH4T DO3SNT S33M 4LL TH4T POL1T3 TO M3
DIRK: Well, no. But have you READ it?
TEREZI: Y3S
TEREZI: OR 4T L34ST, 1 TR13D TO
TEREZI: SH3 G4V3 M3 4 COPY TOO ONC3 SH3 F1N1SH3D WORK1NG ON 1T L4ST SW33P
TEREZI: 4S F4R 4S BOOKS GO 1TS...
TEREZI: V3RY D3NS3 >gt;:|
DIRK: Just dense enough to support the weight of some baroque furniture, perhaps?
TEREZI: GOD
TEREZI: 3V3N YOUR S1LLY BOOK 4BOUT HORS3S 1S 4N 34S13R R34D
TEREZI: 4ND 1 H4D TO G3T ROS3 TO 3XPL41N WH4T H4LF OF 1T 3V3N M34NT
TEREZI: 3SP3C14LLY 4LL THOS3 R3F3R3NC3S TO 4NC13NT 34RTH CULTUR3
DIRK: I guess some of the magic is lost if you're not adequately boned the fuck up on several thousand years of human philosophy and like, four dead languages, true.
TEREZI: NO, 1 M34NT TH3 M3M3S
TEREZI: "R3M3MB3R LONGC4T J4N3?"
TEREZI: COMPL3T3LY 1NCOMPR3H3NS1BL3
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
TEREZI: TH3 CH41R W4S SUPPOS3D TO F4LL OV3R
DIRK: I'm not sure I understand. Why would it? The four legs are all touching the floor.
TEREZI: ...
DIRK: Try not to think about it too hard.
DIRK: Well, if you insist.
TEREZI: 4UURGHHH D1RK YOUR3 NOT M4K1NG TH1S 4NY FUN 4T 4LL
TEREZI: YOU W3R3 SUPPOS3D TO M4K3 4 B1G D34L OUT OF NOT DO1NG TH1S ON3
DIRK: Ok. Why.
TEREZI: B3C4US3 SHUT UP 1S WHY???
TEREZI: 1 DONT KNOW
TEREZI: SOM3TH1NG TOLD M3 TH4T 1T WOULD B3 TH3 MOST 4PPROPR14T3 COURS3 OF 4CT1ON FOR YOU TO T4K3 B4S3D ON TH3 1NSTRUCT1ON
DIRK: Appropriate?
TEREZI: M4YB3 TH4TS NOT TH3 R1GHT WORD
TEREZI: M4YB3 1T W4S JUST TH3 TH1NG TH4T S33M3D FUNN13ST 1N TH3 MOM3NT
TEREZI: L1K3 1 W4S S3TT1NG YOU UP FOR 4 JOK3 4ND YOU D1DNT D3L1V3R
DIRK: I wouldn't say I didn't deliver exactly.
DIRK: It just wasn't the joke you were expecting it to be when you started telling it.
DIRK: Some of the best jokes are like that.
TEREZI: FOR SOM3ON3 WHO CL41MS TO KNOW 4 LOT 4BOUT JOK3S YOU SUR3 H4V3 CONT1NU3D TO S4Y B4S1C4LLY NOTH1NG FUNNY 3V3R
TEREZI: 1M NOT SUR3 1 C4N 3V3N 1M4G1N3 YOU SM1L1NG
TEREZI: M4YB3 YOUR F4C3 WOULD F4LL OFF 1F YOU TR13D
TEREZI: 1F SO, 1T M1GHT JUST B3 TH3 F1RST FUNNY TH1NG TH4TS 3V3R H4PP3N3D TO YOU!!!
DIRK: Ha ha.
DIRK: You know,
DIRK: I actually kind of resent the idea that I don't know how to loosen up or have fun.
DIRK: Basically everyone thinks that about me, but they're wrong.
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.
TEREZI: DO YOU... W4NT TO T4LK 4BOUT 1T...?
DIRK: Absolutely the fuck not.
TEREZI: OK4Y
TEREZI: WH4T 3V3N 1S 4LL TH4T STUFF JUST LY1NG 4ROUND OV3R TH3R3 4NYW4Y
TEREZI: 4R3 YOU 4RR4NG1NG 4 SH1TTY L1TTL3 4RT G4LL3RY ON TH3 FLOOR
DIRK: Not quite.
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.
DIRK: Smell this Terezi?
DIRK: This is a panel.
TEREZI: OK4Y
DIRK: Can you tell what it's depicting?
TEREZI: 1... H4NG ON
TEREZI: N33D TO G3T CLOS3R TO TH3 SCR33N
TEREZI: *SLUUUUUURPPPPP*
TEREZI: HM
TEREZI: NO, NO GOOD
TEREZI: 1M H4V1NG 4 H4RD T1M3 M4K1NG 1T OUT OV3R TH3 D3L3CT4BL3 RUG YOUR3 ST4ND1NG ON
DIRK: That's alright. This actually helps me illustrate my point.
DIRK: The panel is a drawing of me showing the panel to you.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Now, what did I do there?
TEREZI: YOU DROPP3D 1T B4CK ON TH3 FLOOR 4G41N
DIRK: Yeah. But in the panel, I'm still just standing there holding it up.
DIRK: In order to communicate what I did to anyone watching, you'd need another panel to show the result.
DIRK: Or I suppose they could listen in on the conversation we're having right now, and infer that I dropped it from what we're saying. That would also work.
DIRK: In that case, the words provide the information that the picture would have done, without me having to pull a whole new panel out my ass just so that someone could confirm that yes, I did in fact drop the panel on the floor.
TEREZI: TH4TS TH3 ON3 TH1NG 1 4LW4YS FOUND D1FF1CULT 4BOUT M4K1NG COM1CS W1TH D4V3
TEREZI: YOU H4V3 TO DR4W 333333V3RYTH1NG >:[
DIRK: Exactly. But sometimes, visuals are just a more effective way of doing things.
DIRK: So finding the right combination of words and pictures to communicate an idea efficiently is where the artistry lies.
DIRK: And sometimes that means dispensing with one or the other entirely when appropriate.
Like so.
TEREZI: 4444RGH NOT 4G41N!!
Oh simmer down.
What I'm trying to communicate to Terezi here is that there really doesn't need to be a panel showing anything at all, for a given beat of the story. Obviously most of you know this already, since lots of stories get by just well without a single visual element.
For the sake of precedent, I'm saying that we can cloak the visuals entirely and continue with narration alone, replacing the panel with a block of text like this, which we can call a “prattle” from now on. Such a device will be vital going forward, and so I dedicated some time at the outset to acclimatizing you to its effects. Its purpose is extremely practical. Things have been going a little slowly for a while, but now see how much we are able to accomplish with just a few short statements.
Terezi begins feeling a bit impatient with all this metaphysical discussion, and decides to turn her energy back towards that most noble of pursuits: pranksterism. She starts sending a constant stream of rapid-fire commands through the terminal, her fingers fluttering over the keys like the wings of a thousand migratory monarch butterflies.
And just as quickly I spring into action, performing every last one of her instructions to the letter, no matter how brazen, physically strenuous, or narratively questionable. The layout of the entire room is rearranged. Furniture is overturned, books are defaced and posters desecrated. Objects are picked up, put down, discarded, combined, separated, and ejected from sylladexes in all manner of directions.
Terezi's debasements aren't confined merely to fucking around with the upholstery, oh no. Her commands start to take a turn toward the slapstick. Pratfalls, feats of contortion, and increasingly ridiculous facial expressions are called for. She has me undertake the most intense workout routine paradox space has ever seen, all while whistling the entire discography of the Swedish pop group ABBA, which she's taken a liking to recently for some god forsaken reason. (... And which coincidentally was a favorite cultural weapon of Her Imperious Condescension back on Earth, centuries ago. Mamma Mia in particular was repurposed as a sugar-coated propagandist piece, calling for worldwide submission to the Batterwitch's dictatorship. "My my, how can I resist ya," as the old saying goes.) Various arcane and legendary dances are exhumed from the tomb of antiquity and performed with anachronistically reckless abandon on every horizontal surface available. The Charleston. The Mashed Potato. All the numbers from Riverdance in alphabetical order.
Then, I'm instructed to sit smack in the middle of the carpet and begin slapping myself silly. Just absolutely go all in, and hold nothing back. "H4H4H4 STOP H1TT1NG YOURS3LF,” Terezi cackles, as for thirty uninterrupted minutes I obediently clobber myself around the face, until my cheeks are glowing brighter than the heart emblazoned on my chest.
You're welcome.
TEREZI: H4H4 OK TH4T W4S PR3TTY GOOD
DIRK: *huff* *huff* See? *huff* I told you,
DIRK: *COUGH*
DIRK: *pant*
DIRK: I told you I could have fun.
TEREZI: Y34H YOU SUR3 SHOW3D M3 1 GU3SS
TEREZI: 1M GL4D 1 GOT TO W4TCH 1T 4LL THROUGH TH1S SCR33N TOO
TEREZI: S1NC3 1 WOULD N3V3R H4V3 B3L13V3D YOU 4CTU4LLY D1D 1T 4LL OTH3RW1S3
TEREZI: 3V3N THOUGH 1 ST1LL... H4V3 NO FUCK1NG CLU3 WH4T 1T 1S W3R3 3V3N DO1NG H3R3 >:/
TEREZI: C4N YOU JUST HURRY 1T UP SO W3 C4N F1N4LLY G3T OFF TH1S SH1P????
TEREZI: HMMM, COM3 TO TH1NK OF 1T, M4YB4 1 COULD 3ND TH1S R1GHT NOW BY TYP1NG TH3 R1GHT COMM4ND >:O
DIRK: I'd rather you didn't.
DIRK: It would be inelegant.
TEREZI: WHY DO W3 3V3N H4V3 TH1S TH1NG 4NYW4Y? 1 THOUGHT TH3Y W3R3 FOR 3X1L3S TO US3
DIRK: Well, normally they are.
DIRK: And normally, those are the only people who would ever use them. A terminal's function is to act as a means of communication between two disparate parts of a time loop, a passage through which information can travel that aids in such a loop's successful completion.
DIRK: And within the context of the game, that's all they're used for.
DIRK: But beyond that, they're a convenient and effective means of subtle psychic suggestion at a distance.
TEREZI: 1T DO3SNT S33M 4LL TH4T SUBTL3 TO M3
DIRK: Well no, it's not.
DIRK: At least, not for us right now.
DIRK: But that's because your presence as a guiding influence has been revealed.
DIRK: Earlier, when I hadn't realized you were there, it was more difficult to discern.
DIRK: I could have gone on for quite a while, not realizing that the instructions were anything other than spontaneous ideas from my own imagination, if you hadn't gotten too greedy.
TEREZI: WH4T C4N 1 S4Y, TH3YR3 C4LL3D SUCCUL3NTS FOR 4 R34SON
TEREZI: 4ND 4PP4R3NTLY TH4T R34SON 1S TH4T TH3Y 4R3 D3L1C1OUS >:P
DIRK: No, I mean you started being too obvious.
DIRK: Your personality bled through to an extent that was impossible to ignore, and so the spell was broken.
DIRK: But if someone with a lot of skill gave it a try, there's no reason why you couldn't keep providing commands indefinitely, with the commandee none the wiser.
TEREZI: HMMMMMM
TEREZI: W3LL ON S3COND THOUGHT, TH4T SUR3 SOUNDS S1N1ST3R 4S SH1T!!!!!!!!
DIRK: In the wrong hands, maybe. But don't worry.
DIRK: It's just part of the plan.
TEREZI: TH3 *3V1L* PL4N?
DIRK: Evil is a very... reductive word.
DIRK: I prefer to think of it as just a regular-ass plan.
TEREZI: 1S 4LL TH3 OTH3R STUFF 1N H3R3 P4RT OF TH3 R3GUL4R 4SS PL4N TH3N?
DIRK: Something like that.
TEREZI: TH3R3S...
TEREZI: 4 WHOL3 LOT OF JUNK???
TEREZI: WOW
TEREZI: 1 H4V3NT SM3LL3D SOM3 OF TH1S G4RB4G3 1N SW33PS
TEREZI: OH W41T
TEREZI: 1S TH4T...?
TEREZI: ...
TEREZI: 4444444444CHH!!!
TEREZI: BL3333CH HOUGHGHGH 4CK!!!!
TEREZI: PFFFFFPTHTH PFFFF PFFTH!!!!!!!
DIRK:
TEREZI: 3URGH
TEREZI: 3V3RYTH1NG 1N H3R3 1S SO DUSTY >:[
DIRK: That's what you get for nosing around in our secret storeroom.
DIRK: I'd ask you not to contaminate the ectobiological equipment with your own genetic material, but,
TEREZI: Y34H TOO L4T3, SORRY >:|
DIRK: Whatever. I was about to clean it anyway.
TEREZI: 1 DONT S33 WH4TS SO S3CR3T 4BOUT TH1S PL4C3 4NYW4Y
TEREZI: 1 M34N TH3R3 4R3 ONLY THR33 OF US ON TH1S SH1P
TEREZI: 1TS NOT L1K3 TH3R3S 4NYON3 TO 3V3N H1D3 TH1NGS FROM
DIRK: ...
TEREZI: OR 4NYTH1NG WORTH H1D1NG FOR TH4T M4TT3R
TEREZI: HMM
TEREZI: WH4TS TH1S TH1NG OV3R 1N TH3 CORN3R
TEREZI: UND3RN34TH TH1S B1G SH33T TH1NG
DIRK: Don't look in there.
TEREZI: OH SHHHH 1M ONLY T4K1NG 4 P33K
DIRK: Terezi.
DIRK: Listen to me.
TEREZI: 1M JUST L1FT1NG UP TH3 COV3R 4 L1TTL3 W4YS!!!!
DIRK: Terezi please stop talking right now.
TEREZI: D1RK HOLY SH1T
TEREZI: W
Terezi stops talking immediately, her mind suddenly free of any and all inclination to take a look at what's behind the curtain. What curtain? In fact, she is quite certain there have never been, and never will be, any objects covered by fabric located anywhere in the storeroom.
TEREZI: 4444URGH YOU 4SSHOL3!!!
DIRK: I did ask you to stop.
TEREZI: OK4Y 4CTU4LLY FUCK TH1S
TEREZI: WH4T 4M 1 DO1NG H3R3?
TEREZI: WHY 4M 1 3V3N W4ST1NG MY T1M3 W4TCH1NG YOU RUN 4ROUND 1N YOUR STUP1D ROOM FULL OF TR4SH, T4LK1NG TO YOURS3LF??
TEREZI: 1V3 GOT 4 SH1P TO CR4SH
She turns toward the door and walks out, past the command station, down the hallway, and into the control room, where she begins the necessary preparations for taking the Theseus out of orbit and down to the planet below.
ROSEBOT: Tidying all finished?
DIRK: In a manner of speaking.
DIRK: I've given Terezi the all clear.
DIRK: Or, I guess just kinda pissed her off enough to kick this whole thing off once and for all.
ROSEBOT: Okay.
ROSEBOT: ...
ROSEBOT: So, I guess today is finally the day everything's been heading towards.
DIRK: You could put it like that, yeah.
DIRK: At least, we're aiming to frame it that way.
DIRK: Our actions from this point on will form part of a crucial inner mechanism, tucked away behind the tightly sealed metallic service hatch of reality.
DIRK: One which will be of our own creation, but which by all practical considerations might as well have always been there.
DIRK: And if we're successful, the distinction won't be significant enough to matter to just about anybody.
DIRK: They'll be too busy getting their mind's dicks collectively blown.
ROSEBOT: Would you say that we're imploring people to "suck on this"?
DIRK: Oh absolutely. Get the hand-illuminated invitations ready on the fucking double.
ROSEBOT: Hilarious fellatioid imagery notwithstanding, there's something about today that feels...
DIRK: Exciting?
DIRK: I can understand that. We've been waiting a long time.
ROSEBOT: I was going to say "portentous".
ROSEBOT: With both the positive and negative connotations that word usually has.
DIRK: You've got misgivings, then.
ROSEBOT: I wouldn't even go so far as to call it that.
ROSEBOT: What I'm feeling is hard to explain to someone whose being is not inextricably linked with the very concept of fortune.
ROSEBOT: The sensation probably doesn't even have a name, come to think of it.
ROSEBOT: Not too many people have ever been in our position before.
DIRK: Just about none, I'd bet.
ROSEBOT: Right.
ROSEBOT: But if I had to describe it, I'd say that misgivings, hunches, doubts and so on are supported on a foundation of un-knowing.
ROSEBOT: And along with that absence of knowledge comes a commensurate feeling of dread or worry. Fear about the potential calamity yet to come.
ROSEBOT: On the other hand, while feelings of positive anticipation also tend to stem from a lack of certainty about the future,
ROSEBOT: The presumption of good fortune allows the uncertainty to become excitement.
ROSEBOT: It's the glee of a child who knows not what the gift contains, but can evaluate from prior experience that it's likely to be something good.
DIRK: Can't empathize.
ROSEBOT: Dirk, you are tragically capable of sucking all joy and convivial sentiment out of basically every situation you find yourself in.
DIRK: Thanks.
DIRK: Anyway, this feeling you were talking about. I take it that we're not dealing with either giddy enthusiasm or paranoid foreboding, then.
ROSEBOT: No. My point is that the present moment feels like neither of those two cases.
ROSEBOT: But crucially, it's not because there is nothing to anticipate. Far from it.
ROSEBOT: Instead, it feels like the very notion of fortune is simply out of the question as a means of describing the potential outcome.
ROSEBOT: As though in this moment, luck isn't either strictly real or not real, or somewhere inbetween, but absent of meaning completely.
ROSEBOT: Luck took one look at our itinerary from here on out and said you'll just have to go on without me.
DIRK: Luck rolled over the other side of the dictionary and said not tonight sweetheart, I've got a wicked fuckin' headache.
ROSEBOT: Exactly.
ROSEBOT: Except now I'm the one with the migraine.
DIRK: Well whatever that means, it doesn't sound good.
DIRK: I didn't know that robots could even get headaches.
ROSEBOT: I'd say it's more of an ontological, existential headache, but that already describes basically everything that's ever happened to us up until now.
ROSEBOT: And also sounds as fake as shit.
DIRK: Is there nothing I can say that'd take the weight off your mind?
DIRK: For what it's worth, I think we've got this plan riding at a level experts might describe as "pretty solid".
DIRK: We scanned for Sburban technology, so we know for sure this is the right planet. Wheels are already in motion and all that.
DIRK: This thing is on lock-down. Hermetically sealed, even.
DIRK: Shit's tighter than a pair of English-occupied micro-shorts.
ROSEBOT: You aren't going to believe this, but it turns out that the deranged horny ramblings of a spurned anime-obsessive have essentially no therapeutic properties whatsoever.
ROSEBOT: And contrary to common wisdom, talking about the problem doesn't seem to have eased my state of mind either.
ROSEBOT: I doubt you could say anything to make me feel better. If anything, I feel worse now than I already did.
ROSEBOT: It's like the notion I was trying to describe was so conceptually insubstantial, so resistant to concrete definition within any meaningful frame of reference, that even thinking about it as an idea made *me* somehow existentially unsound.
ROSEBOT: And not in the way I used to always feel, back before John made the choice to validate our canonical existences axiomatically.
ROSEBOT: Foreboding I can deal with. I'm a Seer. Sooths are mine to say.
ROSEBOT: But this is different.
DIRK: Well, if talking about it didn't help, maybe talking about how it felt to talk about it might just enlarge the problem geometrically.
ROSEBOT: Fair point.
Despite what she thinks, little by little Rose begins to feel her head clear of concern, semantically dubious or otherwise. Her understanding of my ascended existence doesn't include this degree of metanarrative potency, so her doubts as to my words' healing powers are understandable. I don't take it personally. For someone whose sense of self is so boundless and infinite as an ascended Prince of Heart's, the fact that I'm able to perceive something in any way other than personally might come as a surprise. But then again, taking things in stride is basically my whole deal at this stage. You might even call it my namesake.
And so it's with a stony expression of implacable calm that I endure the increasingly violent tremors now coursing through the Theseus as it begins to breach the new planet's stratosphere, vibrations unruly enough to churn even the most adamant of stomachs to a nauseous froth. With brow unfurrowed and mouth pixel-perfectly horizontal I withstand the spasmodic adjustments and course corrections, which together comprise the rambunctious intergalactic road-rage of a chaotic-lawful alien woman with a voracious appetite for alchemically discolored ornamental plants. All manner of shit goes tumbling helplessly to the floor/walls/ceiling, and I don't even seem to bat an eyelid. Or maybe that's just because my shades are in the way. In the face of impossible stupidity, I am as unfazed as ever. Because while the external world roils and heaves and shits itself like nothing else, there's one thing that I can always count on.
As you know, I have many splinters. So many, I used to find it overwhelming to contemplate them all. Depressing, actually. It was a feeling I could never escape from. The feeling that my sense of self was limitless. That I was forced to exist as a small facet of my own potential, while drowning in an ocean of my greater persona, and all the terrible things I was fully capable of. I was trapped as a limited version of myself who was still burdened by the concern for what it meant to be good, struggling to keep himself from drowning in an overwhelming body of potential which had no concern for human morality whatsoever.
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.
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...
DIRK: Inhuman screeching, combined with the grinding of metal.
DIRK: Are we even going to make it to the ground?
ROSEBOT: Oh, no,
ROSEBOT: The ship's fine as far as I can tell.
ROSEBOT: That's just Terezi laughing.
DIRK: Oh.
DIRK: She's... enjoying this, isn't she.
ROSEBOT: I suppose so.
ROSEBOT: ...
ROSEBOT: Haha.
DIRK: What?
ROSEBOT: The mood is kind of infectious actually.
ROSEBOT: I suppose it's about time we had a little fun around here.
DIRK: Glad to hear it.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Rose?
ROSEBOT: Yes Dirk.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: How do you feel about games?
