The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-09-30 08:04 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thecapitol2014-09-30 08:04 pm
I picked my life up piece by piece in the style of an awful metaphor
Who| Initiate and Open (with a special prompt for all those who helped him in arena)
What| Initiate is no longer avox. But he's still a little different.
Where| D5 floor, around the tribute tower, and the speakeasy
When| Forward dated to after his death and revival, late week 6.
WARNINGS| Language. Animal death mention?
A -- (For Jane Shepard, and Open)
He wakes up to a self unfamiliar. With a sudden breath of air and a clear head. Clear of the drink, clear of...
The Avox, the Alternian, the Other-- that's what he'd been calling it. All him, part of him, now and forever. But he thinks, at least now, he recognizes the Other a bit more. Enough that he can slip into this new skin and feel comfortable enough to explore what as it will do for him.
This new skin comes with a healed leg, one he can walk on without limping-- which is as weird as the last time he had a leg injury. It comes with those stupid little fins he'd hated so much before they were gone with only the ghost of an ache. It comes with a tongue, which settles all strange in his mouth. If he tries, he can probably make a sound now. He doesn't.
His hair feels strange all long now. He wonders if he should cut it of his own volition this time. For now, he will simply braid it back, and with that all done, he carries himself on out of the room, trying not to feel like a ghost what ain't really here with no presence to his name. He finds a water for himself from the district five fridge, then heads on to settle into one of the lounge chairs. He doesn't have to do anything. He does have to go anywhere at all. He hasn't got a job here right now. He just has to keep telling himself that.
B -- (For Terezi and Signless, Closed)
There's a weight around his neck. He'd almost not noticed it, with everything else, but he does now. He can feel the tube of paint and know he ain't got to be a bare-faced sinner disgrace for his Messiah anymore. There's a golden goat's skull; the necklace from his moirail. There are three rings interlocked, teal, indigo, mutant red. His ashmates
He'd spent too long over his ownself and upon the realisation, he curses himself for it. He had people to find.
And not find. Like Kurloz, over which he evicted no exclamation like he had the last time he'd wandered into district two, or when he watched Kurloz be dragged off with Gamzee. As his face twists in the empty doorway, he has no doubt in him that this time his other self won't be coming back. There's a second or two where as he prays, bids the motherfucker on to shangri-la , and then he moves along. He's Kurloz now. There's nothing what as he can do for this past.
Or the future, it turns out. The Disciple wasn't the first on his list or even someone what he'd call close, but she was with the three of them when they were on the run and, truth told, he's hesitant to look for, say, Terezi first in case she might not be there. But with the wake up call before him now, he wastes no more time.
He goes to find his ashmates, fidgeting the red and teal of the rings on him as he hurries on through the halls. If the Signless ain't there, so help him, he'll leave a goddamn note. And Terezi... with a heavy weight in him, he decides not to think if she ain't there. He raps his knuckles upon the door.
C -- (Open)
He ain't an avox. Not anymore. He knows that.
But on some level, he supposes he doesn't, because when them things spill, he wastes no time in dropping to kneel. He picks it all up piece by piece, slowing only for a short second and frowning as the realisation hits him of what he's doing. But then sure as sure, he's picking everything all back up anyway. He might as well, he's already done this much.
He rises up to give all back to the rightful owner. Whoever that is to be.
D -- (Open, especially to every single person who helped him in arena or even just talked to him)
There were a lot of people what had helped him back there. A lot of motherfucking people. More people than he thinks he's ever had deigning to nicety at one singular time. It's weird, in retrospect, and it leaves an odd feeling in him, one he's not sure how long all he wants to get a ponder on to.
But he owed these people. He ought to say something to these people. He knows this but he also know such things as they be is, well, a whole other sort of weird in itself. So he comes up with a new idea instead.
It doesn't take horrendously long to catch the proper amount of rats and birds needed, but still some time (and much of that is spent determinedly ignoring the looks of capitolites and the pressing feeling that he's out of place there and would be more in place in an avox uniform). Once done though, he finds himself falling into step easy with cleaning the corpses and collecting the bones and feathers from the dead things. He's already got the string pieces ready and he settles into that same comfortable quiet as he did when he did this in arena with some teeth. They're not particularly elaborate or superbly fanciful, just bones and beaks dipped into color and strung together, but they're things what he can slip easily on a door knob with no ceremony, while still managing to thank in some small way.
He still feels ridiculous, but not as much so as he thinks he might've before this all. He didn't exactly wake up with his pride restored.
From there it's just a matter of slipping them on the doors as he'd intended. Ideally it would be without notice, but he could hardly help it if anyone caught him in the hallway.
(After all is done, much later, he's still got yet more to see. People he owes explanation to. People he owes apology. This must be what it means to start his life all the fuck over again. He can't say he's exactly eager, but he ought to chew the motherfucking munitions now. Even if it means hovering outside the door.)
E -- (Open)
Finally, his task is at it's end. There's just one last thing he wants to do. He heads to the Training Center to paint.
Just the same as always, he gathers up the paint of the camouflage area to settle before the wall. He dips his fingers into the color, raises them up to the wall. Then stops.
He's never been stuck on a painting before. This is new.
F -- (Open)
When he finally goes to the speakeasy alone and for his own whims, he orders Gin. He can recall, from the arena, drinking himself stupid with it, but of course he couldn't taste nothing of it. He had some sense of taste without a tongue but not nearly enough to truly distinguish.
Turns out Gin is pure motherfucking sin in a goddamn glass. Bluh. He coughs, sputters, looks at what he's order just to be sure it's indeed the same thing, and then pushes it away.
There's an unpleasant pout upon his features as he quickly orders a soda to rectify this madness what he hath partaken in, promptly swearing to never have such blasphemy again. He holds the soda glass in hand, sliding it carefully back and forth between the other one.
What| Initiate is no longer avox. But he's still a little different.
Where| D5 floor, around the tribute tower, and the speakeasy
When| Forward dated to after his death and revival, late week 6.
WARNINGS| Language. Animal death mention?
A -- (For Jane Shepard, and Open)
He wakes up to a self unfamiliar. With a sudden breath of air and a clear head. Clear of the drink, clear of...
The Avox, the Alternian, the Other-- that's what he'd been calling it. All him, part of him, now and forever. But he thinks, at least now, he recognizes the Other a bit more. Enough that he can slip into this new skin and feel comfortable enough to explore what as it will do for him.
This new skin comes with a healed leg, one he can walk on without limping-- which is as weird as the last time he had a leg injury. It comes with those stupid little fins he'd hated so much before they were gone with only the ghost of an ache. It comes with a tongue, which settles all strange in his mouth. If he tries, he can probably make a sound now. He doesn't.
His hair feels strange all long now. He wonders if he should cut it of his own volition this time. For now, he will simply braid it back, and with that all done, he carries himself on out of the room, trying not to feel like a ghost what ain't really here with no presence to his name. He finds a water for himself from the district five fridge, then heads on to settle into one of the lounge chairs. He doesn't have to do anything. He does have to go anywhere at all. He hasn't got a job here right now. He just has to keep telling himself that.
B -- (For Terezi and Signless, Closed)
There's a weight around his neck. He'd almost not noticed it, with everything else, but he does now. He can feel the tube of paint and know he ain't got to be a bare-faced sinner disgrace for his Messiah anymore. There's a golden goat's skull; the necklace from his moirail. There are three rings interlocked, teal, indigo, mutant red. His ashmates
He'd spent too long over his ownself and upon the realisation, he curses himself for it. He had people to find.
And not find. Like Kurloz, over which he evicted no exclamation like he had the last time he'd wandered into district two, or when he watched Kurloz be dragged off with Gamzee. As his face twists in the empty doorway, he has no doubt in him that this time his other self won't be coming back. There's a second or two where as he prays, bids the motherfucker on to shangri-la , and then he moves along. He's Kurloz now. There's nothing what as he can do for this past.
Or the future, it turns out. The Disciple wasn't the first on his list or even someone what he'd call close, but she was with the three of them when they were on the run and, truth told, he's hesitant to look for, say, Terezi first in case she might not be there. But with the wake up call before him now, he wastes no more time.
He goes to find his ashmates, fidgeting the red and teal of the rings on him as he hurries on through the halls. If the Signless ain't there, so help him, he'll leave a goddamn note. And Terezi... with a heavy weight in him, he decides not to think if she ain't there. He raps his knuckles upon the door.
C -- (Open)
He ain't an avox. Not anymore. He knows that.
But on some level, he supposes he doesn't, because when them things spill, he wastes no time in dropping to kneel. He picks it all up piece by piece, slowing only for a short second and frowning as the realisation hits him of what he's doing. But then sure as sure, he's picking everything all back up anyway. He might as well, he's already done this much.
He rises up to give all back to the rightful owner. Whoever that is to be.
D -- (Open, especially to every single person who helped him in arena or even just talked to him)
There were a lot of people what had helped him back there. A lot of motherfucking people. More people than he thinks he's ever had deigning to nicety at one singular time. It's weird, in retrospect, and it leaves an odd feeling in him, one he's not sure how long all he wants to get a ponder on to.
But he owed these people. He ought to say something to these people. He knows this but he also know such things as they be is, well, a whole other sort of weird in itself. So he comes up with a new idea instead.
It doesn't take horrendously long to catch the proper amount of rats and birds needed, but still some time (and much of that is spent determinedly ignoring the looks of capitolites and the pressing feeling that he's out of place there and would be more in place in an avox uniform). Once done though, he finds himself falling into step easy with cleaning the corpses and collecting the bones and feathers from the dead things. He's already got the string pieces ready and he settles into that same comfortable quiet as he did when he did this in arena with some teeth. They're not particularly elaborate or superbly fanciful, just bones and beaks dipped into color and strung together, but they're things what he can slip easily on a door knob with no ceremony, while still managing to thank in some small way.
He still feels ridiculous, but not as much so as he thinks he might've before this all. He didn't exactly wake up with his pride restored.
From there it's just a matter of slipping them on the doors as he'd intended. Ideally it would be without notice, but he could hardly help it if anyone caught him in the hallway.
(After all is done, much later, he's still got yet more to see. People he owes explanation to. People he owes apology. This must be what it means to start his life all the fuck over again. He can't say he's exactly eager, but he ought to chew the motherfucking munitions now. Even if it means hovering outside the door.)
E -- (Open)
Finally, his task is at it's end. There's just one last thing he wants to do. He heads to the Training Center to paint.
Just the same as always, he gathers up the paint of the camouflage area to settle before the wall. He dips his fingers into the color, raises them up to the wall. Then stops.
He's never been stuck on a painting before. This is new.
F -- (Open)
When he finally goes to the speakeasy alone and for his own whims, he orders Gin. He can recall, from the arena, drinking himself stupid with it, but of course he couldn't taste nothing of it. He had some sense of taste without a tongue but not nearly enough to truly distinguish.
Turns out Gin is pure motherfucking sin in a goddamn glass. Bluh. He coughs, sputters, looks at what he's order just to be sure it's indeed the same thing, and then pushes it away.
There's an unpleasant pout upon his features as he quickly orders a soda to rectify this madness what he hath partaken in, promptly swearing to never have such blasphemy again. He holds the soda glass in hand, sliding it carefully back and forth between the other one.
no subject
Yeah, he thinks he's getting a pretty clear picture of the Captor jam if all he hadn't already. The smiles returns back and he lets that serious presenting of his fall away again. It tires him now, even though it used to be the other way around.
"IT'S CHILL, BROTHER. I get you. HE SAID THE SAME THING, MY PALEST BROTHER. I know sure as shit I could do for having my voodoo back. SHOULD BE ALL TO FEEL THE FEARS OF EVERYONE WHAT BE ALL AROUND HERE. Feels like a motherfucking snoutplug being clogged. OR A LOST LIMB'S PHANTOM. You get hatched with psionics you just be figuring it's part."
It had gone past enlightening, seeing what normal trolls must feel like-- by not feeling anything. But there was the thing of it, he couldn't feel anything. Made him like he was numb sometimes. It was strange.
"MIGHT GET CHANCE STILL, SOMEDAY," He assures. All while hoping it's true. Maybe not right now, he had enough of his own fear right now, but he doesn't want it gone forever.
"As for your ancestor," He says, breathing deep, "he was first called the Psiioniic. BUT I DIDN'T MEET HIM THEN. When I met him, he was being called the Helmsman. HE WAS A SLAVE UP IN HIS EARLY DAYS. But he broke out. HE GOT TO BE MORE THAN. One of the most powerful psionic trolls what was. HE MET UP WITH THE SIGNLESS. They had their posse, them two, the Disciple... the Dolorosa I think it was. THEY WERE PART OF A MOVEMENT. A motherfucking rebellion, what had the Signless at the figurehead. I'D BEEN HUNTING HIM DOWN LONG BEFORE I EVEN KNEW OF THE PSIIONIIC. I came here, but the me what was to be couldn't outrun so long. THEY SIGNLESS WAS MADE THE SUFFERER. the movement what had gotten to be so great was crushed. THE PSIIONIIC I DRAGGED TO HER IMPERIOUS CONDESCION. She made him her Helmsman. SHE EXTENDED HIS LIFE TO STRETCH A THOUSAND SWEEPS. And only by the end did he come here to meet me. I CULLED EVERYONE WHAT I EVER CARED AND HE GOT TO WATCHED EVERYONE HE EVER CARED BE CULLED. But we were happy, here, for a little motherfucking while."
It sounds like such a pathetic tale all summed up like that. It doesn't proper enscapulate the strength of him. What hardships he got put through. So he shakes his head and tries on a new way.
"HE WAS BRAVEST MOTHERFUCKER WHAT I EVER KNEW. A snarky asshole what all was good to get a laugh with. MOTHERFUCKING GENIUS UP WITH COMPUTER NOISE I AIN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK HE GOT LEARNING THAT FROM. He'd act like he didn't give a shit sometimes or got as to preach he thought someone was a stupid fucker. BUT YOU COULD COUNT HIM TO BE AT BY YOUR SIDE, GIVING HAND AS ALL WHAT WAYS HE COULD MANAGE. He always felt guilty, like it was his fault he couldn't stop me from becoming what I did. NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I MADE CLEAR HE WAS THE ONE WHAT CHANGED THAT."
The smile he gives then is both easy and forced somehow. He lets that all sink before saying, "There, now you know your ancestor."
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It's a sort of comfort, though, to commiserate about what they're missing. His voices may be what got him started, but the psionics he misses without caveat or complication. Those were awesome.
Again he shushes down to quietness for the sake of listening, though. He may not have met his ancestor, but it only takes so many mentions to make him curious of the whole. And god, but it's a lot to take in.
Slavery, helmsmanship, and rebellion he didn't all know about. He's only ever spoken briefly to the Signless, and both conversations went without the subject, ending in his own frustration for one reason or another. He may have to reconsider him, maybe give him another chance, but in the present moment his thoughts are on the story being told. It's a life harder than his own, that sentence unimaginable to his mind, and it makes it stranger still to think how somehow those two went and shaped themselves a diamond.
"Ath well ath I'm going to without meeting him," he murmurs at the end. His head lifts. "He thoundth... It'th more than I imagined. And he thoundth like me in wayth, but he went through more than I ever did and more than I can comprehend. I'm... fuck, I'm kind of at a lothh. I don't know what to thay."
It's strange, too, knowing now the part the Initiate - the Grand Highblood - had in his ancestor's fate. But they turned it around, didn't they? And he has his trust of his difference. He would not be sitting here live to hear this if he were the same troll, at the same path as he started.
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He finds himself satisfied when Sollux gives his ancestor's story the proper awe it is due. Makes him realise that's part at least of what he's looking for. That recognition. That passing along. That knowing that the motherfucker was worth something, even for all the times Mituna himself thought he wasn't.
"WITHOUT THE MOTHERFUCKING MEETING OF HIM, YEAH," He agrees sadly. "S'alright. YOU AIN'T GOT ALL TO KNOW WHAT TO SAY PERFECT. This is fine. HE'S GOT A LOT LIKE YOU. Figure as it's natural. GAMZEE AIN'T BEING ALL UNLIKE WHAT HIS OWNSELF WAS ONCE. Even if the kid's a little more pan rattled in ways and starry eyed more than my ownself managed to stay. EVEN THE VANTASES HAD THEIR SHARE OF SIMILARITY. The motherfucking Pyropes too. NEOPHYTE ALL THREW ME A HUNDRED FUCKING LOOPS WHEN SHE WAS BEING HERE." But it hurts... a lot more now to think of that. Now that he knows what as was involved.
He sighs, eyes closing, "He lived hard. IF HE'S DEAD AT LAST, I HOPE HE'S AT HIS PEACE. But it's being as what I said. WE GOT OUR CHANCE HERE. Might as well motherfucking find the little things as to enjoy. GET OUR APPRECIATION ON TO THE MIRACLES. Remember they's still there." He lets his eyes open. "QUESTIONS STILL OPEN, IF AS YOU GOT ANY."
(1/2)
(
Two people.
(2/2)
But other things hold more interest. He's not sure in whole how to feel on his similarity to his ancestor, but it's not negative as it sits now. He sounds like a good enough troll to be like, horrid and undeserved though his fate was. He never knew Terezi's ancestor had been here, either, but he follows enough to guess that's who the Neophyte must be. It follows from the context. But he doesn't dig, and has no reason to.
"He should be," he says as he answers the one thing he can. "If he wath thtill alive thomehow in my lifetime, then the Vatht Glub would have killed him. I heard it - not jutht the part where it killed me, but all of it, everyone, in thith big wave."
He didn't have time when it happened to think about it much. He had to save Feferi, and he did, and then he was gone. Still, it sends a shiver through him to think of that magnitude, and to remember the endless noise of it.
"I don't think I do yet. But I guethh if you want to athk me thtuff, I'll let you. It'th fair after everything you've told me."
gdi sollux and your fucking two puns
If Mituna's dead he's free. If he can't ever save of him, at least there's that. That's what matters here.
"That's good to know," He breathes, in a voice all unsteady. "GOOD TO BE MOTHERFUCKING KNOWING CONFIRMATIONS DONE."
He hums to himself and Sollux's offer. He almost thinks there's nothing-- sure he has a lot of questions about their Messiah chosen quest, but ain't none of that's relevant to his existing no more. He'd played his part. But...
"There's one thing, perhaps. WE MADE THE HUMANS. Your lot did. HE KEEPS BEING TOLD THAT. What's that mean? I KNOW SOME SHIT GOT HAPPENSTANCE UP BETWEEN. But what was it going to be?"
He watches Sollux careful, for whatever he may answer. He feels like a wriggler saying at to a preacher, tell me of shangri-la. He all but holds his breath.
I HAD TO
He lets the Initiate think, and instead takes focus to what's asked.
A thoughtful quirk pulls his mouth as he considers it. "It'th... complicated. By which I mean it thoundth completely shithive maggotth jutht to thay on itth own. We didn't jutht make the humanth, but their whole univerthe, and kind of... indirectly? Thave for two of uth who did the actual breeding for it, which is the weird part."
He breathes in, holds it a space, then sighs out. "Tho, the univerthe - the one we made - ith a frog. Not jutht any frog but thith big, giant athh one called the Genethith Frog, though we really jutht called him Biliouth Thlick, which ith a euphemithm thethe guyth in the game had for him..." His hand waves it away. "Whatever. He'th a frog, anyway, and he had to be bred from a bunch of other frogth thomehow through thith ghotht thlime prothethh called ectobiology, don't even athk.
"If Karkat were thtill here he could tell you..." A sharp frown twitches his lips. "Or Kanaya, if she showed up. They're the oneth who did the main part." And fuck, but he misses them both now in different ways. It's enough to quiet him a short moment.
"It wath meant to be our reward for winning the game. Thith demon came and attacked uth right at the end before we could claim it, tho we ended up on thith meteor lab in the Furthetht Ring, but it thtill ekthithted out there in Paradokth Thpathe like the retht of uth. It had itth own galakthieth and tholar thythtemth and planetth and everything, and humanth on Earth. One of them, Dave, thent Terethi a money tranthfer becauthe reathonth, I guethh, tho she had me trathe it, which ith how we learned about them. Of courthe I got roped into thetting up a network tho everyone could talk to them, but I mothtly ignored them after that - at leatht while I wath thtill there."
He looks back, falling quiet to let the Initiate speak or question more.
no subject
Frogs.
Of all things, why frogs? He didn't have no problem with them but... why?
But he does have a problem with one of those names. There's an obvious shift to him, the way he goes a little more still, face a little more hardened. But he holds his tongue-- heh-- as more explanation comes.
The shit what matters.
They made the humans. Everything with Beforus, everything Alternia was built the fuck up to-- how Alternia built them and they built it in return-- right all until their descendants. It was for the humans. Messiahs wanted them to make the humans. Not as real gods, as Messiahs were, but as creators. He'd already figured the humans had come after their world somehow, but to know the proper process of it is something else. He's a little breathless.
A demon got in the way... but he knew that wouldn't last. The Messiahs had a great plan lain out. He cannot imagine they'd be stopped by that alone.
"IT... it sounds incredible," He says, understating it. The grand purpose was clearer and clearer every day. "A LITTLE ENVIOUS, IF ALL YOU'LL MIND HIM SAYING SUCH. To be a part of it all somehow..." What he wouldn't give to serve Messiahs in such a way. Even with how things all fell apart for them.
He gives a bow of his head. It's a gesture of gratitude, but he couldn't deny at least a little deference. If his own time of Beforus had not failed... but that doesn't matter, for he wouldn't exist as he does now to wish it.
"HIS GRATTITUDE, SOLLUX CAPTOR. I'd not have gotten so much from the others, I think."
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"Geethe, don't bow to me, I didn't do thomething that great." And god if it doesn't feel weird to have the would-have-been Grand Highblood himself give him that. Embarrassing, almost, and the faintest tinge of gold hits his cheeks, but mostly it's bewildering. "I didn't do anything that great. I jutht told you what happened. Karkat and Kanaya had the main part in it, like I thaid."
His hands lower, and his mouth has caught into a little frown. "I don't know why you had to hear it from me. I didn't even thpeak to the humanth before I came here. And what'th to envy when we never got to vithit it?"
no subject
"TEREZI SPEAKS SPARING UPON FUTURES. She claimed once of 'spoilers' but mostly he believes it makes her unhappy," He explains, as he lifts his head. He pays no mind to the flush of yellow. "FURTHER, SHE CANNOT STAND THE PREACH, AS HE TENDS TO IN THE CASE OF THIS. He knows you are an atheist, Captor, so he ain't to fool himself in thinking you'll believe. BUT HE KNOWS MESSIAHS' WORK. He knows you have done a great motherfucking thing, chosen person by the holy two. PRIDED MYSELF AS THEIR MOST LOYAL SERVANT. How could he not feel so motherfucking envy for chosen ones to know he has no more part of future in their designing? YOUR VISITATIONS UNDONE IS IRRELEVANT. You are still chosen, and still a great part of what is to come and the holy workings. BUT ENOUGH OF THE PIOUS NOISE. He knows you have little care for it." He waves a hand and smiles like it doesn't bother him that he's surrounded by atheists at all times now.
Speaking of things what bother him...
"KARKAT AND I DID NOT GET ON," He says. "He arrived here before myself. I WAS DIFFERENT THEN. When I had mistaken him to perhaps be the Signless, I was hostile as due. NEVER GOT TO FIXING IT ALL, WE. Wasn't fond particular as how he treated Terezi or spoke on my moirail. MADE TRUCE ON TEREZI'S ASKING AS TO HARM NONE OF HERS. I would have been given nothing from he."
And he can't pretend like he misses the motherfucker either. Even as he knows his ashmates do.
no subject
And Karkat... there's too many unknowns there. The Initiate tells him a little, but he wasn't there, and can't imagine a lot of it. He knows little enough of his ancestor to figure how he and Karkat might get on. Even with similarities, there are sure enough differences that it could have turned things different than they ever went with him. He shifts his jaw and settles with saying, "KK'th a terminal athhole even to the people he liketh. But I don't really want to talk too much about him right now."
It's a sore spot, and his eyebrows flinch in to think too much on it. Seeing him die, learning he's gone, and in the way he did... He's still sore about the Signless's attitude on it. He rubs the bridge of his nose, then sets his shades straight as he looks back.
"I wathn't chothen and I don't want to be treated like I wath," he says now, face setting to sternness. "The only reathon it had to be me wath becauthe of temporal predethtination. The time loopth were already thet in plathe, and if I didn't do it I wouldn't have ekthithted to do it in the firtht plathe." And it's not out of bitterness that he says that, not to his own fate. Doom is what he's used to, and in a sense that's what it is: unavoidable fate.
"But you're treating it like I did thome grand thing when I fucked uth all over, too. I thtarted putting the code together becauthe I'd theen visionth of the end of the world and wanted to thave it, but I didn't learn until it had already thtarted that it would be the trigger. I'm rethponthible," he insists. "Even if time bee-ethh thayth I had to I thtill made the game that ended the world, and made uth go nektht-to-ekthtinct. That'th not thomething to be praithing your Methhiath about. Alternia'th a bunch of dutht now and the Vatht Glub killed everyone elthe."
He holds back from outright insulting his religion, and it's in that act that he shows respect for him. But the rest he can't agree with, even a little. He's not some chosen hero; he's a grand fuckup forced by time, and he doesn't have to be a Megido to know it.
no subject
Even if all he can neither agree, nor fully offer the remorse or regret what he suspects that Sollux is looking for. He speaks distant and airy, weighed by nothing of it.
He says, "ALTERNIA WAS ALWAYS MEANT TO MOTHERFUCKING DIE. I was meant to die with it. I KNEW THAT. You know how many prophets I've heard on in the times so long before yours? HOW MANY MOTHERFUCKING SCRIPTURE BITS WHAT FORTOLD? It was going to come, Sollux. WHETHER YOU DID NOTHING OR NOT. And you know that. I AIN'T BOTHERED BY IT. My purpose is to serve the Messiahs what would in fact have anticipated this shit. THEY HAVE SPOKEN TO ME AND LAIN THEIR WRIT ON MY BONES. If there be one thing what I know for true of my future, I did not die on that throne begging for no mercy. NOT A TEAR WOULD I HAVE SHED. I have awaited the Messiah's greet for longer than you've lived. AND EVERY HIGHBLOOD WHAT TRIES FOR THRONE INTENDS TO DIE ON IT. There is more than Alternia, brother."
And then that seriousness is shaken off. His eyes look less distant. He's just a normal troll again, see?
"BUT HERE, I DID SO MOTHERFUCKING PROMISE TO FORSTOW THE FUCKING PREACH. Pious, pious, pious. I AM OF THE GODS THROUGH AND FUCKING THROUGH," He chides himself. And this he does with a shake of his hand and waving of his hands. "Ain't know how you atheists ever imagine on otherwise. FORGIVE HIM THIS. And I will say now I will not treat you different as all what you can tell. TEREZI PYROPE IS MY BEST MOTHERFUCKING FRIEND, AFTERALL, AND SHE DOES NOT TAKE KIND TO THE SING AND SWING OF HOLY PRAISES. She would not be such if I could never learn to bite my tongue."
As the joke comes out on his last words, he has to resist laughing at it his ownself. Even as morbid as it is. Partly because so.
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Still, it doesn't negate the hand he had in it. If hadn't done what he'd done, the end would come the same, but for the manner of a timeline failed. To do things right, it had to be him. It digs at him, and it makes the Initiate's pious acceptance lay strangely on his mind.
"I really do not get how you cultithtth do it," he says at length. "Tho conthider uth even there. And be glad I actually like you; I don't really have much rethpect for that thtuff." The preach. The whoop whoop and miracles and shangri-bullshit-la. Though he raises an eyebrow to the joke, he finishes, "I'll keep my own trap shut too."
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"BUT IT SOUNDS LIKE WE GOT OURSELVES A MOTHERFUCKING DEAL, THEN." He starts to rise up, stretching out. "Well, I got more motherfucking place to be. I'LL SEE YOU AROUND, CAPTOR." He gives a parting nod.
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For now, he nods back to the words of parting. "Alright, thee you later."
He doesn't bother with thank yous or the like for the info he's been given. He presumes it's understood.