Chapter Text
The one smart move Dave Strider makes when he begins his involuntary three year siesta on a psionically hurled meteor through paradox space is that he gets one of the worst moments of it out of the way on his first day.
“Day” is a weird word to employ when you’re living on a floating rock but Dave knows it's still the first day (14 hours, 33 minutes, and change since he awoke in his fancy new pajamas) when he starts looking for a room where he can drop a bed and crash. The meteor is full of quiet hallways, too many rooms for so few people, and signs in jagged Alternian text that Dave can’t read. It’s the first place he’s been to since entering the session that didn’t give him the uncanny feeling that it had been made with him in mind; even sleeping to wake on Derse always felt like a homecoming of sorts. The meteor just feels wrong.
The third room he opens, he finds Karkat inside. His back is to the door, bent over as he picks up what looks like scattered cards, dropped haphazardly and strewn over the floor. Nearby is a table, utilitarian and metal like most of the furniture around the meteor. Across it are stacked neat piles of… just stuff. Rolled up posters in a tidy pyramid, a deck of the same cards Karkat seems to be picking up, a box of orangey luminescent spheres that flicker with something alive inside, and one of those chitinous weird troll laptops sitting closed with its legs folded flush to its body.
Dave lingers too long, looking around, and Karkat stiffens, like he’s just caught the scent of an interloper. “What.” he says, one word, quiet but hard. It’s not a question so much as a demand.
Dave has never met a demand that didn’t make him bristle like a pissed off tomcat. “Just looking for a room. Relax, small, dark, and shouty.” He frowns. “Why are you packing up? Sort of early to throw yourself off the meteor, isn’t it?”
Karkat looks up, and his face looks weird. Troll complexions aren’t quite the same as humans; their skin looks tougher, thicker, and the splotchy angry red of Karkat’s cheeks is less obvious against grey as it would be against most human skin. “It’s not my room, you arrogant mouth breather. It’s-- it was Tavros’, but.” His mouth twists sharply, and Dave bitterly regrets opening his goddamn mouth.
Speaking of, Dave flounders badly in the face of such potent, desperate sadness. He only knows Karkat from lines upon lines of verbosely disdainful text scrolling up his chat overlay, and matching it to the troll in front of him with his hunched shoulders and wounded expression is hard. Karkat is much smaller than Dave ever imagined.
In text, Karkat was so much easier to deal with. Easy to wind up like a top and watch the show.
The skin on the back of Dave’s neck prickles with sweat. “I think I chatted with that guy. Brown text color right? Inverted caps and lots of commas?”
Karkat stares back at him balefully.
“He seemed cool. Or, trying to be. We had a rap battle. He had some…. There was some great ideas in…” Dave feels like the cool grey of Karkat’s eyes are digging into him like knives. He hitches a thumb over shoulder. “I’ll find another room.”
“I’ll just be here cleaning up the effects of all my fucking lost friends. Thanks for the break, Strider, it really helped with my delicate healing process.” He turns and bends to pick up another card. “Bye, get out.”
Dave bails out as fast as he can without outright running. Once the door is shut, he leans against it for a moment.
Three years. About 1094 days, 9 hours, 20 minutes, and change.
He pushes off the door and goes to find Rose.
The room Rose has picked isn’t far from the entrance of the building. Dave thought he wanted more distance from everyone, but lets the idea slip through his hands when he finds Rose sitting on a bed already. It’s a copy of the bed from her room, he thinks, its lavender bedding almost blindingly bright in contrast the the grey grey grey of literally every other goddamn thing.
She looks up when he stands in the doorway, and the wan smile she flashes him is the weakest shit he’s ever witnessed. “Hello.”
“Hey.” He nods to the bed. “Tired?”
“Exhausted, I’m afraid. There is so much I’d like to do but…” she shakes her head once. “Sleep is far too tempting. And I guess we have an abundance of time.”
“S’only thing we’ve got. That, and really pissy trolls.”
One narrow eyebrow lifts. “Oh? I thought you were on good terms with at least one of them.”
“Yeah, but not the one I ran into. Hey, if you see Karkat, the guy with the tiny horns and no indoor voice, I highly advise you not to approach lest you get your head bitten off. Dude’s going through some shit.”
“Aren’t we all.” She scoots back on the bed, running her fingers through her hair, her headband sliding loose. “I’ve realized that when I go to sleep, I won’t be visiting Derse anymore. It’s hard not to find this whole ascent to godhood bittersweet.”
This is the point when Dave is supposed to say something funny or at least wildly inappropriate enough to pass for humor. But more than anything, he’s tired too.
There are other rooms, and Dave should be settling into one, but he hangs in the doorway longer until Rose sighs and says, “We’ve been through a rather traumatic experience. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to reach out for familiar things in such a trying time.”
“Are you headshrinking yourself now?”
“Just get over here,” she commands, scooting across her bed.
That night, Dave shares his bed for the first time in his life. His sister sleeps against the wall, curled like a comma, a pause, a break for them that’s going to last a long goddamn time.
Her breath hitches a few times, then evens out, and only then does Dave shut his eyes. After everything’s that happened, Dave doesn’t expect to sleep well, but be hit with dreams of green fire and the whipcrack-quick pain that came before darkness.
But he sleeps, and is too exhausted to dream.
A week later, Rose moves to the room across the hall, effectively settling the whole issue. Dave unpacks some things he’d been carrying around in his sylladex to fill the empty space of what’s now his room.
Things are so quiet in the first month of time on the meteor that Dave can sort of feel it digging into his brain. There is a desolation here that makes Dave think of the aftermath of a nuclear strike. It has to be something like this. Back home in Houston, he could always hear the distant sounds of the city, of his neighbors downstairs, of his Bro in the next room doing whatever he was wont. In the Land of Heat and Clockwork, there were constantly nakking consorts, the shifting bubble of lava, and constant movement of clocks (loud clanks of gears, rapid ticks of hands, the occasional faraway gong, and how every hour on the hour the whole planet would ring out in noise). Even Derse had its bells, its little chess people with their tired eyes, and the most dour street music Dave had ever heard. The moon’s chain creaked sometimes, a nice counterpoint to the quiet whispers of the horrorterrors.
On the meteor, it’s silent. Moving through space means he can’t feel their passage through the paradox space. Everyone sticks to their rooms unless they are moving to someone else’s, scurrying along like being out in the open is a risk.
Well. There’s still bloodstains, a lurid scatter of gradient colors, that says it is. Unless Karkat’s cleaned that up already. Dave wonders if anyone’s helping the guy. He also wonders if anyone cares enough to. Trolls are weird.
Eventually, Rose visits him, inviting herself in without knocking, and peers around severely. “You don’t have a chair.”
“Chair kinda implies wanting guests. Best keep a tight lid on that shit or else everyone will be vying for my company. How’d you even make it past my bouncer?” Dave barely looks up from where he’s sprawled on his back over the bed, his leg bouncing on his knee.
“I’m not too familiar with the tradition myself, but I believe the standard admission would be granted by lifting my top.”
Dave pulls a face before he can stop himself. “Please don’t say shit like that now that you’re my sister. Twin? Are we twins?”
Rose pushes some of Dave’s things off the low table next to his bed (which would be a coffee table if, one: he had any coffee, and two: there were any place to sit and drink the coffee) and sits on the edge. “I’ve been your sister all our lives.”
“Technically, yeah, but practically, not really?”
“No, I think I know what you mean.” She reaches out, like she’s going to nudge his sunglasses up, but Dave lets out an annoyed sound and turns his head. “Having a brother to bother is quite an experience. I only regret it took me so long to know we were related.”
“There are, like, at least a handful of other people on this rock to bother.”
“Are you sure? Since we arrived, I’ve only spoken to you and Kanaya. Everyone else has sequestered themselves away. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” She leans forward, arms on her knees. “Have you looked at the room next to yours?”
“No. Caught Karkat heading in there the other day.” That’s explanation enough, really.
“It’s the trolls’ old command center. It’s a huge computer room. Lots of space, vaguely central to everyone’s chosen boarding. I want to turn it into a common room.”
Dave snorts. “Yeah? And how’d Karkat react when you totally mentioned this to him before coming to me? He still loudly not being the leader of the trolls?”
“He’s just having a bad reaction to his misassigned guilt after losing so many of his team. Besides, Kanaya asked him. The entire thing was her idea. Apparently her fellow players aren’t doing great on their own.” She extends a leg, poking Dave in the side. “Karkat has already cleared the personal effects out of the command center. Kanaya has a… truly impressive amount of linens in her sylladex. There is an alchemiter lab nearby as well. With a bit of work, we can make something nice.”
Rose continues to poke him until Dave catches her ankle, pushing it peevishly away. “Cool plan. Lemme know how it goes.”
“You are as close to an A/V specialist we have. Come set up a little area for us. TV and things.”
“Do you have a TV in your sylladex?”
“This place is not short on monitors. I believe in you. You can do this and ensure the continued peace on this meteor for humans and trolls alike.”
“Fiiine,” Dave sighs. “Just tell me when and I’ll work my sick magic on the common room and turn it into a swinging fucking crash pad for you and me and maybe Kanaya.”
“Please trust the local Seer of Light on these matters.” She stands and looks down at him, hands on her hips. “This is vitally important to our futures.”
“TV always is. Gospel from the Book of Samsung, right there.”
The room Rose’s setting up looks like a Pier One exploded in a high school computer lab. The dour, sad grey room has been cleaned of the rainbow sprays and pools of blood, and in their place are rugs overlapping on the floor, all mixmatched and angled oddly, stretching to cover paths on the floor. Many of the computers have been removed, replaced with flower pots, of all things. There are empty bookshelves, big ornate gold things stacked against the far lab tables, and a table with a fucking candelabra standing on it. It’s the most ridiculous hodgepodge of styles Dave has ever seen.
“Holy shit, it’s like Beauty and the Beast got into a fight with the Nebuchadnezzar in here,” Dave breathes, whistling lowly.
“Hello, Dave. Would you hand me that featherbeast alarm clock?”
Kanaya is standing behind him, up on one of the lab tables. She has a hammer, and is pointing to a cuckoo clock on the table.
Dave picks it up and looks at its face, nudging the minute hand back a half-inch. “Hey, uh, Kanaya, right. Rose got you working on this little common room project too?”
“The idea was one we both arrived at together. Even as solitary as my species tends to be, the thought of a sweep and a half of so much isolation would have me evacuating the meteor long before our journey’s finished.”
“What, didn’t bring enough crosswords?” He hands the clock up to her, though not before tapping the pendulum, ensuring it’s ticking on time.
“I’m going to assume that is some invention of your species and not actually angry words.” She turns, settling the clock on the nail she’s somehow stabbed into the metal wall. When she makes to step down, Dave awkwardly offers his hand, helping her hop off the table before shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I am pretty sure I’ve got the captcha for a crossword book somewhere. At this point, we should share all our codes with each other, see what we can get going.”
Kanaya smiles, a slow curve of her lips, a dark enough green to nearly be black. Seeing the sharp teeth hooked over her lip makes Dave want to step back. How does she avoid lipstick stains on those fangs? Maybe it was a vampire thing. Sorry, rainbow drinker thing. Harder to take seriously until the actual sharp teeth were suddenly so close.
“Rose mentioned something like that. She should be on her way, actually. We are moving things into the room, as you can see.”
“So more kitchsy shit is incoming? Damn.”
From the doorway, then: “I’ve seen what you consider interior design, and I’m unimpressed.” Rose sweeps in, her orange robes moving counter to her, like a dramatic breeze was rolling in just to help make her godtier outfit seem less silly. “Perhaps we could hang a sword up on the wall, make you feel at home?”
Dave watches her drop a huge red cushioned sofa out of her sylladex onto one of the rugs. “Where in the fresh hell are you finding this stuff?”
“We have been utilizing some of the alchemiters to synthesize some suitable furniture,” Kanaya says. “I have plenty of logged fabrics, and Rose has the codes from her hive. Bold colors should help with how dire some of the meteor’s decor is.”
“I still need to see if we can combine a few items into some nice tapestries. Cover some of the walls.”
“I’m sure between the two of us, we can manage something.” Kanaya smiles at Rose, who smirks back.
Dave blows out a breath. “Well, I think I’m gonna bounce on back to my room and leave you to it at this rate, because god for fucking bid I get in the way of such mastery of textile and knickknacks.”
“No, no, wait a moment.” Rose holds up a hand, quelling, before expending two identical golden pots of roses by the entryway. With a satisfied nod, she catches her fingers at the elbow of his sleeve. “I still would like you to set up a little entertainment area, but I also had an idea I wanted your thoughts on.”
Dave lifts his eyebrows. “Shit, my opinion? That’s new.”
She sighs, short and terse, and looks over his shoulder at Kanaya. “Excuse us a moment, I’ll be back to help.”
“Of course.” Kanaya turns away, head tilting in that instantly recognizable expression that meant someone was accessing their sylladex. Damn, maybe she’d add a chandelier or a papasan chair next. Complete the confused mess of the room.
He didn’t get to see, though. Rose leads him out of the room, into the hallway, and only lets go of his arm when Dave pointedly tugs against her grip.
“Just wondering,” Dave says once they’re out of earshot, leaning on the wall with his hands deep in his pockets, “are you at all worried about playing house with a vampire?”
“Not at all.” Her hands fold almost primly in front of her, chin lifted high. “Kanaya has remarkable restraint. I am sure we’ll eventually have to broach the topic of her eating habits and how they’ll have to adapt to such a small pool of people, but she wouldn’t drink from anyone who wasn’t willing.”
“Uh huh.” Dave stares across at Rose.
She ignores him. “That is related to what I wanted to talk about, though. Kanaya and I have been brainstorming about how to spend our time here. If we do nothing, I fear the extreme isolation and dire circumstances, not to mention the presence of horrorterrors all around us, will drive more than a few of us to go grimdark.” Her mouth twists unhappily. “Not the sort of thing I wish on any of us.”
“If one of the trolls went grimdark, how would we even tell?”
“The speaking in tongues would probably be a giveaway.”
Dave sighs. “You ruin everything. Anyway, what’s your Grimdark Prevention Plan?”
“The common room, in part. Using it enough for it to become a fixture of life on this trip, to stir people out of their rooms. To that end, I was wondering how much you knew about cooking?”
“Cooking? Like, food?”
“Coming from a household with a mother who was wise enough to know when she wasn’t sober enough to man a kitchen, I grew up on a wide variety of oven and microwave meals, all premade. I can follow instructions, but have no practical knowledge of cooking. What about you?”
Blowing out a breath, Dave shrugs. “Most of my kitchen wasn’t used for, like, food storage, so.”
“Of course, the incredibly unlikely and esoteric life of Dave Strider,” Rose murmurs. “Well, lucky for us, I’ve spent my time with the alchemiter wisely and have produced the more infamously simple meal possible.”
“Oh shit, you alchemitized a fucking Chinese take-out menu? Hell yes, I’ll take all the crab rangoons you got, and if they got sushi, I want the little octopus ones because eating an entire creature in one bite makes me feel like a titan or some kind of monster like that.”
“No, but god, I would pay every ounce of grist I have for some really good lo mein.” She reaches into her sylladex and produces a box of spaghetti and a glass jar of store shelf pasta sauce, smiling. “I think this is doable, though.”
To a degree, Rose is right; pasta is pretty foolproof, even for ingenuous fools like them.
Rose has a small kitchen set up in the common room. Though, kitchen is really fucking generous; on the computer tables that line the entire room, Rose has a corner dedicated to cooking things. There’s a sink, a hot plate, a convection oven, and miscellaneous utensils and pots and things. It makes a college dorm look like a full range.
“What, no microwave? Seriously? The staple of the American kitchen?” Dave asks, picking out a decent sized pot and starting to fill it.
“I did figure out the captcha code for one, but the amount of grist needed was frankly disturbing. The game considers microwaves to be endgame items.” She hovers just behind his shoulder. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“More than you do,” Dave says, and points to the hot plate. “Generally you need two of those to make pasta and sauce, Rose.”
Her cheeks color just slightly. “Oh. I should have remembered that. Here, I’ll go make another.”
Shaking his head, Dave puts the half-full pot of water on the heating element and turns it on high. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. That sauce isn’t cold, so if we just put it on the spaghetti and put it back on the burner for a bit, that should work.” There’s a cylinder of table salt within reach, and Dave shakes some into the pot of water. “This is going to be a sad little meal.”
“Perhaps I can punch it up a bit.” Rose withdraws a long stick of crusty bread from her sylladex. “I actually got this first, and decided pasta sounded like a good starting goal for my food alchemitizing session.”
Dave takes the long loaf and nods. “Sweet. Hey, did you get garlic?”
“Yes. And cinnamon, but I doubt that helps here.”
“Nah, but good to know for the future. Cough ‘em up, sis.”
Part of Dave expects Rose to jump in and take over as he cooks (which is generous-- he just waits for the water, dumps pasta in, and sets a mental timer before cutting the bread in half and killing it with butter and garlic). She continues to hover, but makes no move to actually take over, instead watching Dave with that haughty, knowing gaze of hers. It’s sort of annoying, but Dave’s busy, so he’s not going to start anything with her.
And he doesn’t mind, exactly. It’s Rose. They held each other as a fucking bomb went off in their faces. He’d like to think they don’t have anything left to prove to each other. Screwing up the suicide part of a suicide mission hand in hand wins as far as bonding experiences go.
She frowns when he strains out most of the water from the pasta before throwing it back into the pot and grabbing the sauce. “You didn’t finish with the colander, there’s still water.”
“You’re supposed to leave a bit of the starchy water in the pot,” Dave replies easily as he mixes in sauce. With the pot back on the hot plate, it starts to bubble just slightly. As long as he doesn’t burn anything, this is going to work. “Did you not watch Food Network, jesus.”
She shoots him an unimpressed look. Or, more unimpressed than normal, anyway.
There are too-big bowls on the table, and Dave fills them and shoves a bit of now toasty warm garlic bread into the pasta. Everything smells fucking divine as the Sistine Chapel, and Dave can’t remember the last time he had a real, honest to god meal, even something as modest as pasta. Long before the start of the session, probably.
“Forgot the most vital ingredient,” he points out as they both twirl spaghetti on their forks.
“Hm?”
“Shitty parmesan romano cheese powder in the big green plastic canister.”
“You might be right about that. Cheese cuts the spice a bit, makes it a bit more palatable.”
“Spice, what spice? It’s fucking meat sauce with a dash of garlic and pepper.”
“You put in far more than a dash,” Rose grouses, and Dave watches her shake a bit of excess sauce from her fork before taking another bite.
Dave’s sort of aware that being Texan affords him a certain fortitude in the taste bud region that Rose might not be able to stand up to, but come on. It was just a bit of garlic, and the most risque thing in the jar had been basil. He snorts and takes a big bite of his bread, peering at her over his sunglasses.
“Think Kanaya would like some garlic bread?” Dave asks.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would accuse you of experiencing some much belated protective brother instincts,” Rose shoots back quickly. He shrugs, unashamed. It’s mostly just fun to needle Rose a bit. “But you raise a good point in a terrible way. We should see if human cuisine is amenable to the trolls. Do we have enough pasta to bring one of them?”
“Cold pasta, yum. Nah, but since you’re too much of a goddamn wuss to eat your bread, I’ll leave it for one of them.”
“Hopefully they like it, and are not allergic. It’d be a shame if we couldn’t rely on human food. I enjoy their company but have no desire to learn about their cuisine.”
Dave wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. Agreed.”
Dave drops off a plate with a loaf of garlic bread outside a specific door, pulling what he assumes is the nicest ding dong ditch in the history of the universe. Aw, shit, another bag of dogshit. Nope, fucking freshly made garlic bread, free of charge, don’t even have to buy the salad at Olive Garden. Dave is a saint, he knows it, and is gonna ride this wave of good karma for the rest of the week.
carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]
CG: STRIDER DID YOU JUST KNOCK ON THE DOOR TO MY BLOCK AND FUCKING LEAVE?
CG: ARE YOU A WRIGGLER WITH NOTHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR TIME?
CG: FURTHERMORE DO YOU THINK THAT I ALSO HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN HUMOR YOUR IMMATURE ATTEMPTS TO STAVE OFF YOUR OWN BOREDOM-INDUCED MENTAL BREAKDOWN?
CG: GET A FUCKING HOBBY. LEARN A USEFUL TEXTILE CRAFT LIKE ROSE AND KANAYA. OR FIND OUT ALL THE WAYS YOU CAN SELF-TERMINATE AS A GODTIER. I DON’T CARE. JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK OUT OF IT.
TG: how do you know it was me
TG: maybe you got a visit from troll santa
TG: leaving you with delicious treats for being a swell guy
TG: though shit given how troll world worked maybe troll santa would only reward the most ornery asshole kids
TG: sit on my lap and tell me all the terrible things youve done little billy
TG: how many innocent kittens did you dropkick into the river this year kiddo
TG: four? shit thats worth a new xbox
TG: high five billy
CG: I SAW YOUR STUPID CAPE AS YOU RAN AROUND THE CORNER. YOU’RE HARD TO MISS.
CG: I SPEAK FROM EXPERIENCE. I HAVE COMMITTED UNTOLD HOURS OF STUDY TO THE FIELD OF TRYING TO IGNORE YOUR HIDEOUS PRESENCE.
TG: aw karkat am i haunting your waking hours
TG: just cant get me out of your head no matter how hard you try
TG: common affliction
TG: i hear there are support groups you can join
CG: WHO IS THE PERSON IN YOUR LIFE THAT CONVINCED YOU THAT YOU WERE HUMOROUS?
CG: DID YOUR HOME PLANET ADEQUATELY PUNISH THEM FOR THEIR HEINOUS CRIMES?
TG: nah it all comes from my heart
TG: anyway did you try the thing i left you
CG: LEFT ME?
TG: aw shit
TG: i hope its not cold already
TG: i left a plate outside your door dude
TG: go get it quick quick
CG: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS THING
TG: its a delicacy from my home world
TG: garlic bread aka ambrosia of the gods
TG: a mighty and revered morsel with a recipe only handed down to the most beloved and trusted humans
TG: no seriously eat it
TG: if it gets cold its not gonna be any good
TG: im not poisoning you and its not a joke or prank or gag or other semantic variation on jape
TG: disclaimer over did you try it
CG: TAKE A FUCKING DRILL AND AIM IT RIGHT AT YOUR SKULL. IT’S VITALLY IMPORTANT TO YOUR OWN SURVIVAL THAT YOU LOCATE AND UTILIZE THE RARE RESOURCE KNOWN AS “CALM THE FUCK DOWN JUICE,” HIDDEN DEEP IN YOUR THINKPAN.
CG: BECAUSE IF NOT I’M GOING TO FUCKING STRANGLE YOU.
CG: IT’S NOT BAD? IT’S WEIRD.
TG: good weird or bad weird
TG: or shit is it weird tingling in my throat weird
TG: please don’t be allergic to garlic bread karkat
TG: i will write direct shoot and star in a lifetime movie about the tragedy of tolls being allergic to ambrosia
TG: win myself all the emmys
CG: HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A FUCKING LIFELONG MOVIE ABOUT SOMETHING SO STUPID?
CG: IT’S LIKE GRUBLOAF WITH A WEIRD TASTE. I GUESS IT’S NOT COMPLETELY AWFUL, BUT I HAVE LOWERED STANDARDS AND IT APPEALS TO MY STRENUOUS CRITERIA FOR FOOD.
CG: 1. IT’S NOT PACKAGED SHIT OUT OF MY SYLLADEX, 2. IT’S STILL WARM. SO, RELAX.
TG: fucking score one for humanity then
TG: glad we can see eye to eye on the wonder that is garlic bread
CG: DO I EVEN WANT TO KNOW THE WHY BEHIND ALL THIS?
CG: AM I BEING BRIBED? WHAT DO YOU WANT?
TG: what no
TG: its not like youre the leader of anything anymore
TG: mr im not the leader guy
TG: what would be the point
CG: WHATEVER.
TG: eloquent as fuck man
TG: rose wants us to start up a community mealtime
TG: tho i think by us she means me
TG: girl has no idea what to do in a kitchen
TG: but she thinks someone might go off the deep end and maybe even grimdark if we dont do something
CG: THAT’S NOT THE MOST TERRIBLE IDEA I’VE HEARD IN MY LIFE.
TG: holy shit go easy on me
TG: i can’t handle that much enthusiastic gushing praise in one go
TG: hearts racing man
CG: WHY DIDN’T SHE ASK ANYONE ABOUT THIS?
TG: like i dunno man
TG: if only we had a leader guy who she could confer with
CG: WHY ARE YOU FIXATED ON THAT?
CG: YOU’VE MENTIONED IT LIKE FUCKING TWICE IN AS MANY MINUTES.
TG: man cause like
TG: i kinda get it
TG: lots of bad shit went down in your session
TG: and thatd make anyone gunshy around the sawed off shotgun we call leadership
TG: but you fucking know if you dont step up then the spider queen is gonna do it
TG: dont subject us to that dude
CG: OKAY, IT’S A LITTLE WEIRD THAT VRISKA’S ALREADY THOROUGHLY GOTTEN ON YOUR RUMBLESPHERES. LIKE, I’VE DONE MY TIME IN THE SERKET WEB OF BULLSHIT AND ATTEMPTED MURDER. I HAVE EARNED THE RIGHT TO HATE HER.
CG: YOU HAVEN’T BEEN SHARING LIVING SPACE WITH HER FOR LONG ENOUGH TO LOATHE HER FUCKING MANIPULATIVE SHIT THIS MUCH.
CG: WHAT GIVES?
TG: maaaaaan
TG: i did not sign up for nosy troll hour
TG: you up for community mealtime or what
CG: CONSIDER THAT BOOKMARKED FOR LATER, STRIDER.
CG: YOUR GARLIC BREAD FOOD IS SUPERIOR TO THE TUBER PASTE AND GRUBSNACK I’VE BEEN FORCED TO SUBSIST ON.
TG: wait you eat grubs for snacks
TG: arent grubs little trolls
TG: are trolls cannibals
CG: WHAT THE FUCK? NO, IDIOT, GRUBSNACK IS NOT MADE OF GRUBS, IT’S *FOR* GRUBS, FOR US. LIKE GRUBLOAF AND GRUBMEALS AND FUCKING GRUBFRUITS.
TG: whoa hang on
TG: paradigm is having a fucking shift here
TG: world: in the process of being rocked
TG: so trolls combine words to show what they are?
CG: I’M GOING TO GO TO THE ALCHEMITER AND FIGURE OUT THE CRAFTING RECIPE FOR A HUGE FUCKING AWARD AND BRING IT TO YOU AND THEN BEAT YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD WITH IT.
CG: YES, OUR LANGUAGE USES COMPOUND WORDS TO DENOTE MEANING.
CG: WE’RE SCHOOLFED THE BASIC WORDS FIRST SO THAT WHEN WE FIND ONES WE DON’T KNOW, WE CAN FIGURE OUT THE MEANING AND ADD IT TO OUR LEXICON. AND IF WE DON’T KNOW THE EXACT TERM FOR SOMETHING, WE CAN STILL MAKE A WORD THAT IS CLEAR TO OTHER TROLLS AND AVOID WASTING TIME EXPLAINING SHIT.
CG: UNLIKE HUMAN LANGUAGE WHERE EVERY DAMN THING HAS ITS OWN TERM AND EVERY FUCKING DEFINITION IS LIKE FIFTY OTHER UNFAMILIAR WORDS.
CG: BASK IN OUR SUPERIOR LINGUISTICS, ASSHOLE.
TG: so when you call a cat a meowbeast and a horse a hoofbeast
CG: “BEAST” IS THE CORE WORD AND ITS MODIFIED BY A DESCRIPTOR. YES.
TG: that
TG: is pretty smart
TG: so if i wanted to say bird in troll but didnt know how
TG: i could say like
TG: beakbeast or featherbeast
CG: EITHER ONE AND A TROLL WOULD KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT.
CG: EXACTLY.
TG: huh
TG: man i wish TZ and i were still talking
TG: i made a lot of fun of that shit
CG: …
CG: INTERESTING.
TG: what
TG: that the feeble human mind has caught up with your glorious troll syntax magic
CG: NO.
CG: TEREZI’S NOT TALKED TO YOU SINCE SHE STARTED HANGING AROUND VRISKA’S BLOCK, HAS SHE?
CG: I’M TAKING YOUR SILENCE AS TACIT ADMISSION.
CG: ANYWAY, GOOD JOB FOR NOT POISONING ME. IF YOU MAKE MORE GARLIC BREAD, GIVE ME SOME.
CG: I MEAN.
CG: THANKS FOR SHARING. I’D LIKE MORE IF YOU MAKE MORE.
TG: so thinkpan is pan with think as modifier
CG: “PAN” IS A CORE WORD FOR CONTAINERS. A PAN THAT HOLDS YOUR THOUGHTS, THINKPAN, OR BRAIN.
CG: CONGRATULATIONS ON MASTERING THIS SIMPLE CONCEPT.
CG: WHICH I HAD FUCKING LEARNED BEFORE I WAS TWO SWEEPS OLD.
TG: its not my fault english is weird.
CG: I GUESS. BUT AS ONE OF THE LAST HUMANS, YOU INHERIT THE BLAME.
CG: SEE YOU AROUND.carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG]