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Your name is Vriska Serket and goddammit all, you're tired as hell. You've trekked so far that the desert sands surrounding your hive have turned to lush forest beneath your feet and then back to sand again. Only you're nowhere near your castle, because this is a beach you've somehow wound up on. It surprises you that you didn't hear the ocean a way back, but like you said: you've gone beyond the point of tiredness, and your think pan's shut down, letting your body run on auto-pilot. You're covered in the blood of approximately five billion former members of the undead, who are no longer hovering between this world and the next with any sort of uncertainty, thanks to the chainsaw in your hand.
The chainsaw that feels ridiculously heavy, even though your day of hunting heinous broods of daywalkers has guzzled down two-thirds of its fuel. You frown at your own overblown heroics, because you know better than reach the halfway point of any excursion without at least half a full tank. One small mercy rests in sunset already being an hour behind you, and provided you don't pass out on the way back, you can probably make it home before another day dawns and zombies once again begin crawling out of the earth.
Hunting the undead is a thankless, gritty job, but who better to do it than you? No one. Absolutely no one, that's who. Your sweeps of experience have taught you that there's no better weapon to use than a chainsaw. There's something wholly satisfying about the way putrid flesh and rotting bone gives way so easily at your behest, but you do wish it was a little more mobile. Your Sylladex involves a chastity modus that requires a whole lot of luck to unlock, and you don't trust your fortune to stretch far enough to allow you to just so happen to find the necessary key out amongst a gazillion grains of sand every time a stray zombie rambles your way.
And so as you approach the water's edge, you kneel down, carefully placing your chainsaw in the sand. No point risking letting it go to rust. You take your boots and socks off while you're at it and roll the legs of your pants up above your knee, because you might as well take advantage of the ocean now that you've reached it. A quick dip of your feet and a bit of cool water splashed on your face and you'll be right as rain, ready to make the arduous journey home.
Hopping over some of the larger rocks scattered in the sea, creating a bridge to nowhere, you stop on the edge of the one furthest out, and glance back over your shoulder, making sure your chainsaw's safe. As it just so happens, you have excellent hearing, and should anyone else wander out onto the beach and make the mistake of trying to steal from you, you'll be able to sprint over to them before they even figure out what end of the chainsaw to pick up.
You seat yourself on the edge of the rock, toes dipping in cautiously, at first, but it's not long before ripples in the water caused by waves further out are lapping at your shins. Palms flat on the rock behind you, you lean back, blinking heavily, as if it'll do anything to help your eyes adjust. You can see as well as any troll does in the dark, and the twin moons are full tonight, but it just isn't the same as being out in the sunlight. There's no way you'd feel this sleepy if the sun's blistering rays were making your skin buzz.
Before your thoughts can drift too far, and before your mind is lulled into sleep by the sound of the sea, you pull your legs up, heels resting on the edge of the rock so that you can lean forward. You do so slowly, careful not to lose your balance, and then, there, you can just about reach the surface of the water to splash it against your face. Lips pursed tightly and eyes screwed shut to keep out the salt, you cup as much of it as you can between your hands, throwing it up at your face. That's already much better. You blink your eyes open as water drips from the tip of your nose and the messy strands of hair framing your face, go to cradle another handful in your curved palms and holyfuckingshit there are two big, bright eyes staring up at you that definitely have nothing to do with your own reflection.
You jump – only because you're tired! – swear, and perform some sort of bizarre twisting motion with the top half of your torso, as if trying to break away from the rock you're on and propel yourself onto dry land. There's propulsion there alright, only you don't end up on the grainy, irritating embrace of the beach; you topple forwards, right into the sea, knee banging hard on the rock that's betrayed you as you go down. What follows is a great deal of flailing as you think it's a good idea to shriek while you're underwater, and you swallow half of the sea as bubbles obscure your vision all the more. Your lungs are already burning and you've completely forgotten how to swim, and just as it occurs to you to kick your legs, there are hands grabbing at your shoulders, and you're being pulled upwards.
You break through the surface, which, realistically, wasn't much more than a metre or two above you the whole time, and you've never before appreciated just how wholly and utterly wonderful oxygen is. You flail with your arms a little more, cling onto the side of the rock you just departed from, and breathe in so deeply that your lungs might burst. It's hard to make out much of anything around you, and while you very much feel like you've had your head dunked in seaweed, you know it's just your wet hair. Head shaking, you manage to get it out of your eyes but into your mouth as a result, and there before you is a sea dweller.
Shit.
She looks like— a sea dweller! You don't know. They all look the same to you, with their silly fins protruding from the sides of their faces, and their gills looking like carefully sliced cuts on their throats. She is also trying very, very hard to suppress a smile, and only when she's certain you've properly got hold of the rock does she let go of your shoulders.
“What the hell?” you ask. It'd be more demanding, but there's still water in your mouth and it comes out part-gurgle. You know that you're supposed to have respect for sea dwellers, what with them being as they are, right at the top of the hemospectrum, but you're equally aware of the fact that they straight-up hate all land dwellers, and if you're going to be killed, you want it to be with indignation and anger welling up in your chest. “Seriously, what the fuck? Who sneaks up on people like that!”
“I apologise,” she says, and wait, is a sea dweller seriously apologising to you? “Admittedly, my concentration was not where it ought to have been as I made my way to the surface, and this beach is, for the most part, generally uninhabited.”
Even as you turn your body to cling to the rock with both arms, you keep your eyes trained on her, hoisting yourself up very, very slowly. Your gaze doesn't leave her the whole time, lest she try something fishy, and you get to your feet, trying to get some of your bravado back by towering over her.
It doesn't work. Your knee, the one you cracked against the rock, gives under you, and you barely avoid falling back down. The sea dweller drifts closer to you, one hand raised out of the water (to try helping, the logical part of your think pan tells you), but you straighten yourself up quickly enough, holding out both hands defensively in front of you. For some foolish reason, you feel safe for being on land, as if she doesn't have to perfectly functional legs to walk out on.
“Yeah, well,” you begin, teeth grit, “You should be more careful!”
Oh, very firm. That'll get to her, that'll teach her a lesson. Providing she doesn't spear her trident through your land dwelling guts for your insolence, having decided it's your place to tell off someone of her caste. And hell, why shouldn't it be? Look at you! You're soaked from head to toe, and the added water weight is going to make it all the more difficult to trundle back home. What's more, she could've given you a heartattack, because that's definitely something that happens to a healthy troll of nine sweeps when they suffer a little fright. Besides, you're a jade blood, and that's got to be at least six times rarer than whatever particular shade of purple it is that she sports. You may technically rank below her, but you're one of a kind. You can't believe she doesn't know that!
God, sea dwellers are so ignorant.
“I will be sure to do just that,” she says, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk. You think she's being so understanding just to have the chance to patronise you. “Really, I am very sorry for having scared you. Is there anything I can do to make amends?”
“I wasn't scared!” you snap back, and then take the briefest moment to consider her offer. “Uh, I don't know. Can you make me dry?”
She shakes her head slowly, and you think she's lucky for having such short hair. You bet that doesn't get in the way of anything.
“Unfortunately, that's beyond my control. I have, however, managed to wash a good deal of what I can only assume to be was blood off the front of your clothes, so perhaps your spirits would improve if you took that into consideration.”
With a scowl, you tug at the bottom of your soaked shirt and pull it out, getting a look at it. A lot of the splotches of blood have faded from the material, and it's gone back to vaguely resembling its former jade glory. You tell her that, huh, you guess so, but that doesn't matter, because you could've washed it off at your hive! Which is where you'd be on your way back to, if she hadn't tried to drown you! She only sighs at that, swimming forward a few paces to lean against the side of the rock.
You stand your ground, but don't stop wondering whether you could dart back to the beach and salvage your chainsaw before she set a shark on you. Ignoring all of your accusations of murder attempts, she simply asks you what you've been up to that resulted in that much bloodloss in the first place, looking a little worried as she does so. You're quick to tell her that you've been hunting the undead, because god, no, don't let her think you've been killing trolls above your station, and she lifts her brow, incredulous.
You're even quicker to explain that it's what you do, because you're a jade blood and the sun only serves to invigorate you, and then she's as silently impressed as you knew she would be. For the first time since avoiding a watery grave, you stop feeling as if she's going to kill you at any given moment, and your heart eventually stops rattling around the inside of your chest.
When she points at the part of the rock next to her, offering you a seat, you only hesitate a little. Soon enough, she's got both of her hands pressed to your shin, just below the knee, and she's getting a good look at where you bashed it against the rock. She tells you that the bruise is already rather impressive and will only become more magnificent with time, and is happy to inform you that there'll be no lasting damage, so long as you don't put any unnecessary strain on it.
You grumble that getting back to your hive will be enough of a strain, and then she's asking you all sorts of questions, like exactly where it is you live, and what your chosen dwelling looks like. You're hardly surprised. You are, after all, very interesting! The ensuing conversation does more to wake you up than the cold water did, and after a while, you decide that she's not too bad. Maybe. Not a chump in your books, at the very least.
“I'm Vriska Serket, by the way,” you tell her as you get up to leave, because she's definitely not going to want to forget your name.
With a smile that shows off far too many of her fangs and sends a little shiver down your spine, she reaches out of the water, offering you her hand. You take it without thinking twice about it, and know there and then that Kanaya Maryam is one of the few people who, when presented with such a perfect set-up, wouldn't yank you back down into the water.
*
Despite any complaining on your part, you manage to get back to your hive, chainsaw intact, before the sun rises. Almost dry by that point, you unceremoniously flop into your recuperacoon, and let the exhaustion seep out of your bones. After a few more days spent protecting the ungrateful chumps of this planet from wave after wave of zombie infiltration, you find yourself back at the shoreline again, just because.
You're not expecting to see Kanaya again. She has a whole ocean available to her, and you tell yourself that she's not going to wind up on this particular strip of land for a second time. But that said, she did mention something about the beach usually not having anyone on it, which means that she must come here with some semblance of regularity. Not that it matters, of course, because it's hardly as if you want to see her; it's hardly as if you need to make friends, to have someone to sit down and talk to.
Wow, you're stupid. Stupid and a little desperate, because she was likely humouring you when she spoke to you that one time. Even if the two of you did talk for hours, even if you did keep making her laugh. You're talking yourself down, about to turn away, when you realise that there's a dark shape moving in the distance, beyond the rocks littering the shallows. An arm raised, waving at you. Kicking off your boots, you dart across the rocks – not because you want to rush over to her, but because you're too good to lose your balance and fall in – and then greet Kanaya with a simple, anticlimactic Hey.
Things go like this for a few weeks, until you're actually making plans when to meet up. You've gone to the beach a few times and not stumbled across her, and you're sure the same has happened vice-versa. It's just nice to have someone to talk to at the end of a long day spend mowing down the undead, and she's always happy to listen to your never ending supply of heroic tales about you going up against the world. She makes such a fuss of you, too, always asking if your knee's better now, checking that you haven't been lashed out at by any of your prey, and while, sure, it can get a little grating, you suppose that it's something you just have to put up with!
A perigee later, you meet at the usual time on your usual rock, and Kanaya tells you she has a surprise for you.
“Here,” she says, lifting a very bizarre looking piece of equipment out of the water, “I believe you will find our upcoming journey a great deal more comfortable if you strap the pack to your back and place the apparatus at the end of the hose between your lips.”
Well, that's certainly the strangest proposition you've had in a while. With a furrowed brow, you stare down at what she's given you, at what looks like some sort of canister merged with the skeleton of a backpack, and manage a rather eloquent, “Huh?”
“Oh, by all means, don't feel that you need to equip it. Of course, neglecting to do so will make breathing a good deal harder, which may put a hitch in what I have planned out with painstaking care.”
“No, seriously,” you say, turning the device upside down, like that'll cause you to understand what you're holding, “What are you rambling about this time?”
God, does she ever like to ramble.
“Vriska Serket, I sincerely doubt that you aren't fully aware of what you're currently holding. That is nothing short of a device that will allow your lungs to continue filling with oxygen and deflating in an orderly manner so that the cycle may begin over again,” Kanaya explains, and after a very brief pause that you wouldn't have caught if you hadn't spent so much time talking to her lately, she adds, “I would very much like to take you to my hive. If that is a thing that you would like to do.”
You're still incredibly wary of the tangle of machinery in your hands, but you're a little speechless, too. Only a little, though, because you still manage to ask her why she didn't say so in the first place. But the point stands that, wow, you really do want to visit Kanaya's hive, and purely because it is, in fact, Kanaya's. You've no particular desire to dive down into the depths of the sea, no matter how great of a pirate you think you would've made, had the opportunity presented itself to you, but you feel kind of like perhaps you haven't been annoying her this entire time if she actually wants to let you see where she lives.
Not wanting her to think, even for a moment, that you don't trust the equipment she's given you, you begin shrugging the straps over your shoulders. That's the easy part done. The tank on your back isn't overly heavy, but it's the mouthpiece that really bothers you. It's tiny, barely bigger than your mouth itself, with a part that juts out the back for you to hold between your lips, like some sort of plug. You can't help but think how easy it would be for it to slip out, and before you deposit yourself into the water, you make sure your teeth are digging in tightly, and that your mouth has formed a seal around it.
As you tread water next to Kanaya, she reaches around you, fiddling with twists and dials on the tank itself. You wish she'd just hurry up, even though none of this is making you nervous, not at all, even if you do jolt every so slightly when the oxygen tank comes to life with a soft hiss. Kanaya, graciously, says nothing about your involuntary reaction, unwraps a pair of goggles from around her wrist, and helps you ease them on. At first, you assume that she always carries a spare with her at all times, until you realise they're coloured jade around the edges. Kanaya finally gets the elasticated band around the mass of your hair, and you know that's it's going to be a pain to try pulling off. You don't even want to imagine how much it's going to tangle.
She tells you that you don't have to go through with this if you're not comfortable with it, but your mouth is currently full so you can't tell her that of course you want to do it, and of course you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You trust her. This isn't something that you'd voice out loud, but your stubbornness in certain regards doesn't stop it from being true, and you can't even fathom how you were so sure she was going to skewer you when you first met. Kanaya is utterly harmless. You'd be better off cowering in front of a cuttlefish.
Not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer, you take a final deep, pointless breath through your nose, and force yourself under. Even with all the equipment in the world, your reaction would still be on par with that one time you inadvertently slipped under the surface; everything swirls around you, because you're entering a whole new world, and for a few terrifying moments, you can't believe just how deep the ocean goes. There's a reason land dwellers dwell on land, because you're openly panicking now, feeling that your time's up, in spite of the way the oxygen tank does its job and keeps your lungs full. It's not until you settle down enough and make Kanaya out through the lenses of your goggles that you realise that you need to calm the hell down, because Kanaya wouldn't do anything to put you in danger.
She puts both hands on your shoulders, smiles widely, and then points down into the black of the ocean. You nod, uncertainly, and decide that you're just going to keep your eyes on her all the while, because then you don't have to worry about how far from dry land you are. Kanaya begins making her way down, and it's the most of her you've ever seen at once; and she was definitely made for this sort of thing, definitely designed to glide effortlessly through the water, and you're so distracted with watching her that it takes you a few moments to remember that, right, you're supposed to be following her.
Unfortunately, you don't have as much luck with the water. For what basically amounts to letting yourself sink, you find that you have a surprising amount of trouble doing so. You're in excellent shape, there's no doubting that, but swimming has never been something you do, and you just don't have the right muscles built up for it. You kick your legs as hard as you can and don't get far. The water feels thicker than it rightly should, offering up far too much resistance.
Calling out to Kanaya underwater with ridiculous pump in your mouth isn't going to happen, but luckily for you, it doesn't take her long to turn back to check that you're alright. When she sees that you haven't got far, and that the light of the moons are still visible on the ocean's surface, framing you, she lets herself float back up to you, offering you out a hand.
You take it, but you aren't happy about it. While you grudgingly admit that, okay, you aren't as good at swimming as Kanaya is, you don't need to be treated like a wiggler, because surely you're the best at swimming, as far as land dwellers go. You bet you're the best Kanaya's ever stumbled across, and make a mental note to ask her, once you're back in your own world again. Because that's what it's like, down in the ocean. It's a different world altogether, and once you've gone down, down, deeper than you ever felt was possible but still not all the way, you're almost grateful for the fact that Kanaya's holding your hand, pulling you along.
Now that you can see all of Kanaya, rather than just the top half of her that usually pokes out of the water, you can see that, wow, she's actually wearing a pretty interesting outfit. It's not like the usual combination of pants and a shirt; she's got all this material flowing around her, colours blending together like the scales of a rainbow trout. It all looks hand-made, albeit amazingly well so, and you're impressed. You've never met anyone who made their own clothing other than you, and you only do so to show off the jade. Because everyone should get to see as much of your blood colour as they possibly can, what with it being as rare as it is. You're doing them a favour. But with Kanaya, the material shimmers and glides all around her and shit are you really spending all this time thinking about what she's wearing? Get a grip, Serket.
Legs still kicking out behind you, despite the way that Kanaya does most of the work, they're aching by the time you finally reach her hive. You come to sudden stop, not letting go of her hand, and almost swallow your mouthpiece in surprise. It is, without a doubt, the hugest hive you've ever seen. A palace sits atop a giant coral reef, iridescent in the little light that makes it down that far, and— well, goddamn, you've never been good at describing anything, but the point is, it's enormous.
Not as cool as your hive, though. Castle trumps palace any day of the week, but that doesn't stop you from being impressed.
Apparently having enough faith in you to get the rest of the way there yourself, Kanaya lets go of your hand. You're only disappointed because it's extra effort on your part and your legs are already aching. Which is something you noted before she let go of your hand, so it definitely has to be true. Absolutely.
Not wanting to trail behind, you kick against the water as hard as you can, arms moving in strong strokes, and the added pressure of being so far down makes you a little light-headed. The palace only looks bigger still as you're stood on the reef, and Kanaya opens the front door for you with the sort of smile she's thinks should be held back. She's not happy because she gets to show off, because she's not like you. She's happy because you're there, pure and simple.
When she said she wanted to show you her hive, that's really what she meant. There's no sitting around to be done, no endless conversations that you'd usually indulge in to be had, because your silly land dwelling lungs don't allow you to be social this far down. And so the two of you rely solely on body language as Kanaya guides you around the hive, pointing out all sorts of royal relics and heirlooms, and you knew she was next in line, but this really puts everything in perspective. You can't believe that she's willing spending time with someone who's lingering around the bottom half of the hemospectrum, no matter how endlessly awe-inspiring your jade green blood is.
You'd slink away from it all, but the whole of the hive is so very Kanaya that you can't bring yourself to feel intimidated for long. More than half of what she's had seems to have been handmade, and every surface has a different fabric gently swaying in the water attached to it. She points to the furniture, then to herself; you lift your eyebrows, saying You made these, really? Wow! and she gets a little purple around the edges of her fins.
The last place on your tour is her respiteblock. Again, there's so much in there to see, but it's all so meticulously arranged that you've absolutely no chance of tripping over – or rather, floating into – anything you come across. While her back is momentarily turned, you dart over to her husktop that's been left on, and sneakily add your handle to her chumpRoll. If she clues in to what you're doing, she makes a point of ignoring your actions.
With everything there is to be seen seen, Kanaya looks at you expectantly, and you lift both of your hands, giving her two thumbs up. It's great! You love it! You're even willing to overlook all of the pesky water that's flooded the place. Kanaya kicks her feet and then she's right before you, and all of a sudden, you want nothing more than to drag her back onto land and take her to your own hive. To show her that while your blood may well be molten lava in comparison to the ice of hers, you've still managed to make something of yourself. You're still the most fearsome zombie slayer Alternia has ever seen, and you put up with your fate of being alone under a scorching sun with nothing but dignity.
And then something strange happens: you do something to put your life in danger.
Wait, that's not the strange part. You're always putting yourself in danger. You live to get into all kinds of deadly scenarios, the sort that leave you with your back against a cliff wall and a hoard of undead slowly closing in around you, no fuel in your trusty chainsaw, only the blades you keep sheathed at your waistband to give you a fighting chance and— whoa, going way off topic here, if only to avoid how stupid what you're currently doing is.
The fact that you're terrified of being so far below the surface still stands. You still haven't got used to the breathing apparatus that's doing all the hard work for you, and you feel as if you haven't taken a single breath the whole time you've been down there. Belatedly, you realise that Kanaya never told you how long the tank would last for, and there's always the chance that it'll spontaneously break. If something goes wrong now, there's no way you'll have enough breath left in you to make it back to land, no matter how quickly Kanaya pulls you up.
And in spite of all that, you still pull the mouthpiece from between your lips. It floats next to you, pushing a thousand tiny bubbles into the water. Kanaya furrows her brow, confused, and when she reaches out for the mouthpiece to force it back on you, you grab hold of her wrists and remind yourself that it's now or never; you have absolutely no time to hesitate, because you can't hold your breath for anywhere close to a minute. Let alone forever.
You tug her closer, press your mouth to hers, and kissing underwater is weird. It's weird and wonderful and you approach it very, very carefully, not wanting to see a cloud of jade puff into the air at the mercy of her fangs, before the still functioning part of your think pan kicks back into gear and screams that you're kissing the future Empress of the entire goddamn planet. Knowing that your days are now numbered (and that said number is zero), you make as much of it as you can, daring to reflect on the fact that Kanaya doesn't seem to be outwardly objecting to this. If anything, it seems very much like she's kissing you back, but it's hard to be entirely certain.
Before you can relax into it, your oxygen reserves deplete and, great, you're choking on the water, flailing your limbs out like an electrocuted starfish. Just like the first time you met, Kanaya's grabbing at your shoulders, trying to hold you still, and there's a very stern expression painted across her face as she manages to shove the mouthpiece back between your lips.
The only reason you don't turn and flee is because Serket's don't abscond from anything, and, deep down, you realise that she's not angry because you kissed her. You're sure that plenty of people have tried kissing her in the past, because honestly, she's very kissable! She's only looking at you like that because you put yourself in danger, and as soon as your mouth slants to the side and you give an almighty shrug, her expression softens.
Shaking her head slowly to herself, Kanaya points to the door, signifying that it's time you both made your way back to land. Uh, yeah, you think, that's a great idea, before you go ahead and nearly get yourself killed for the sake of inappropriate sloppy makeouts for the second time. Not that makeouts technically can be all that sloppy, being perpetually shrouded in water as you are, but that's neither here nor there.
You exit the hive, sort of getting the hang of this swimming thing, and Kanaya follows you out. You expect that your journey to the surface will be one undertaken alone, what with going up seeming a whole lot easier than going down, and that it'll be the end of things. But Kanaya reaches out to your wrist, and rather than tug you up like that, then pulls you towards her back. You tilt your head, confused, and she just nods, saying to go ahead with whatever you think she's getting at; it's hardly as if you can embarrass yourself any more tonight.
Arms wrapped around Kanaya's shoulders, you lean against her back, and let her guide you back to shore.
As soon as you surface, safe in the shallows, you make a mad dash for the shore, and spit the mouthpiece out, half-choking in exaggerated relief, as if you haven't had a decent supply of air all the while. Kanaya stays out in the sea, water wrapped around her waist, and as you begin wringing out your hair, she awkwardly calls out your name.
You turn to face her, feeling a lot more confident, now that you're back in your own world.
“I was wondering if, perhaps, you would care to discuss—” A pause. “Certain events that have unfolded as of late. It does not seem like the sort of thing that is better left unsaid, and so if you have a mome—”
“Nope!” you interject, chainsaw back under your arm. “I've got to run! Zombies will be up soon!”
Right, fantastic plan. Run from the future Empress while she's trying to talk to you, having violated her lips with your landlubbing mouth.
There is absolutely no way any of this will result you in you being culled. Great survival instincts, Serket.
*
grandiloquentAesthete [GA] began trolling atrophyingGraves [AG]GA: Oh Look A Mysterious New Username Has Somehow Found Its Way Onto My Trollian Client
GA: I Must Admit To Being Entirely Perplexed To As The True Identity Of This Mysterious Individual Who Clearly Added Themselves To My ChumpRoll In An Entirely Subtle Manner
GA: Leaving Behind No Clues Whatsoever
AG: Hahahahahaha, that's right! I waaaaaas pretty damn sneaky.
AG: Hey, Fussyfins.
GA: Hello Vriska
GA: I Hope You Realise That You Could Have Simply Requested My Handle And I Would Have Happily Imparted Said Knowledge Upon You
GA: Now That I Think About It That Probably Wouldve Been The Easiest Way For Us To Communicate In The First Place
GA: Regardless
GA: Youre Up Early
GA: Hmmm Or Is It Merely An Illusion Based On My Expectations Of How The Night Unfolds And This Is In Fact Late For You
AG: Wow! That's sure a lot of words to say "So did you just 6et up??????"
AG: And you were right the second time. It's late for me.
AG: I've been out in the wilderness, doing my usual service to trollkind.
GA: More Zombie Hunting Then
GA: Actually Thats What I Wanted To Talk To You About
AG: What, really? THAT'S what you want to talk about? Not other things like......
AG: Oh man never mind!!!!!!
AG: Let's talk about zombies until the sun comes up hahahahahaha.
GA: Yes
GA: Lets Do Just That
GA: Errr Anyway
GA: I Was Wondering What You Do With The Zombies Shadow Droppers And Other Such Undead Beings Once You Have Successfully Annihilated Them
AG: Um......
AG: Nothing? I just leave them there because they're not exactly hurtin6 anyone anymore! What else am I supposed to do with them, anyway?
GA: Oh I Wasnt Suggesting That There Was Some Sort Of Ritual You Ought To Undertake Following Decapitation
GA: Youve Every Right To Be Confused Because That Was A Very Bizarre Question Now That I Have The Time To Reflect Upon It
GA: The Next One Is Going To Be Substantially More Unusual By The Way
GA: Can I Have The Corpses
AG: All this purple font is remindin6 me to be respectful or whatever, so with all due respect......
AG: What the flyin6 fuck are you 6oing on about?
GA: There Is A Perfectly Reasonable Explanation I Assure You
GA: Well There Is An Explanation
GA: But Thats A Start
GA: While I Dearly Love My Lusus Very Much And Cannot Imagine Life Without Her At Times She Can Be Very
GA: Demanding
GA: Demanding In Her Hunger That Is
GA: Often My Moirail Assists Me By Bringing The Bodies Of Other Lususes To Feed Her Because She Honestly Is That Large But
GA: I Thought Some Additional Sustenance Would Help Both My Lusus And Take Some Of The Pressure Off Of My Moirail
AG: Ooooook! 6od, sea dwellers sure are stran6e!
AG: But I 6uess I can do you a solid.
AG: You can tell your lusus that it's only the finest rottin6 flesh for dinner from now on!
GA: Thank You So Very Much Vriska
GA: I Am Amazed By How Understanding Youre Being
GA: Really I Cant Express My Gratitude Enough
AG: But you're sure 6oin6 to try by blah blah blahin6!
GA: I Will Keep The Grateful Gushing To A Minimum In That Case
AG: Pffffff, likely!
AG: Soooooo.
GA: Are You Going Somewhere With That So Vriska
GA: Its Just That Its Been Floating There On My Screen For Upwards Of A Minute And A Half And Nothing Has Proceeded It
GA: Really The Suspense Is Starting To Get To Me
AG: So you have a moirial! That's 6reat!
AG: And totally not a surprise, because why wouldn't you have your quadrants full? Wow! I bet a lot of people want to 6et in with royalty. You must have your pick of the whole world.
AG: Like I said, totally expected.
AG: Not even a little bit......
AG: Unexpected.
AG: Or anythin6.
GA: Yes That Is Correct I Do Have A Moirail
GA: And Only A Moirail
GA: She Is A Land Dweller Actually And Does Not Reside Far From The Beach Where We Choose To Meet
AG: That explains it! :) So you're slumming with us land dwellers, huh! What is she? 6ot to be at least a blueblood, right?
GA: Actually
GA: She Is An Indigo Blood
GA: She Has Certain
GA: Issues
GA: Related To The Role Dictated By Her Caste
GA: Issues That Arent Easily Assuaged And Thus She Can Often Become Quite Violent
GA: So Its For The Best That I Visit Her Regularly
AG: ...... your moirail is a subju66lator?
AG: Are you insane??????
AG: No offence and all that.
GA: She Is
GA: And None Taken
GA: Somebody Has To Be There And Pacify Her And Like I Said Aradia Is More Than Reliable When It Comes To Feeding My Lusus
AG: That's cool.
GA: But Thats Not What You Want To Talk About Is It
AG: I am quite sure I don't know what you mean!!!!!!
GA: Of Course Not
GA: The Excessive Punctuation Isnt Telling At All
GA: Perhaps We Could Move The Topic Onto Matters Of What I Can Only Assume Are Of A More Scarlet Persuasion
GA: Well Either That Or Your Equipment Momentarily Backfired And You Required Oxygen Directly From My Lungs
AG: Oh shit I just remembered
AG: I l6ft my
AG: ir6ns
AG: in the fire!!!!!!
AG: Wow there are a lot of them to attend to, I'd better 6o now in case I burn my whole hive down.
GA: Vriska
AG: No t6me to lose!
GA: Vriska Wait
AG: And like I said, it's late! 6ot to 6et some sleep so I'm ready to hunt for your lusus tomorrow.
GA: Please Vriska I Just Need One Moment
AG: Later, Fussyfins!atrophyingGraves [AG] ceased trolling grandiloquentAesthete [GA]
*
Although technically now employed by royalty, you aren't earning anything in the way of a wage. Which doesn't matter a jot to you, because, honestly, you're just glad that someone's finally seeing the potential in the good you're doing. You've been out here since you were six sweeps old, clearing the desert and surrounding forests of the undead, and yet no one's ever stopped to thank you. And now there's Kanaya, offering to gush with gratitude over what you're doing. When she becomes Empress, you've really got it made.
You take a rare day off in order to make all the necessary preparations. You put literal irons in an actual fire, and begin beating a stack of scrap metal into shape. Good thing you've always hoarded this sort of rubbish away like some sort of treasure, always certain that it would come in useful, sooner or later. You're skilled enough with a spanner to end up with something that may not look pretty, but isn't about to fall apart any time soon: a great metal cart with sturdy wheels, and a decent wiring job that makes it roll after you when you hit a particular switch you've just fused onto the handle of your chainsaw. It even runs on solar power, panels tacked to the side.
My god, Serket, is there anything you don't think of?
You doubt it.
With everything set up, your work is barely any more of a strain that it was before. Which is to say, it's still endlessly exhausting, but you don't feel as if you're going to pass out from the added effort of having to lug corpses onto your shoulder and toss them in your cart. Besides, by the point that it comes to actually moving zombie remains, you've usually carved them down into smaller, more manageable pieces.
When you're done for the day, lazy sun sunk beneath the horizon, Kanaya meets you on the coast, and you tip the bodies out into a enormous net she has stretched out at the water's edge for you. You never linger around long, but don't feel as if you're trying to avoid her, or anything that silly. It's Kanaya! She's your friend, and there's absolutely no reason to dart away from her as quickly as possible. Well, except for the rather good one that revolves around not wanting to make any more unsolicited grasps at quadrants.
... which may not be as unsolicited as you're leading yourself to believe. Once the zombies are securely fastened in their net, just before you're about to head home for the night, Kanaya leans forward, placing a light, tentative kiss against your cheek. God, she's so shy sometimes, in spite of who she is, in spite of the power she holds. Maybe that's why you feel so comfortable around her. Being as endlessly composed as you always are, you blurt out that you'll see her tomorrow, you hope, as long as you don't get lost or something equally as retarded!
Smooth, Serket. Smooth.
After close to a week, you realise that feeding Kanaya's lusus comes with the added benefit of not having to avoid decomposing limbs as you scurry about, attention on the wave of zombies closing in on you. Not having to worry about tripping over anything only makes you faster on your feet, and maybe, just maybe, getting overconfident is what causes things to go wrong so quickly.
— nah, that can't be it. You've always been overconfident. This is a simple case of plain old bad luck.
So there you are, zombies all around you. There may be a dozen of them, but they forget one very important fact: the fact that you're the only one equipped with a chainsaw. It sings beautifully in your hands, and you swing it out in a half-circle in front of you, gutting two zombies in the process. Oh, there are intestines everywhere and it's truly disgusting, but this is how you've chosen to live your life. You're a hero out in the light, and a little exposed viscera isn't going to scare you off.
You do wonder, at times, where the hell they all come from. You wonder if the zombies have some way of reproducing (ugh), or whether they simply spawn from beneath the sand, but give up entertaining yourself with theories fairly quickly. You're the brawn of this outfit, not the cognitively aware part. You lash out with your chainsaw, break the dead into bite-sized pieces, and that's as far as your role in this goes.
Today, you're doing particularly well. It's barely midday and the cart's already overflowing. Funny how much easier it is to take down wave after wave when you know Kanaya's waiting for you, relying on you. It hasn't been this exciting in sweeps, ever since you first gathered up the courage to go out in the first place and nearly lost an eye as a result of not being prepared, but now, there's no way that anything could possibly go wrong. There's no way that you're going to mess this up, and fucking hell, something is clinging onto you by its teeth.
There are only three zombies left. You glance down at the one that's latched onto your wrist, jaw muscles not moving, and try not to panic. It's alright. You have plenty of time here. All you have to do is take down the two in front of you, and then it's simply a case of getting this bastard off your arm. You only need one arm for the chainsaw, after all, and with a great, frenzied slash, manage to get the saw through a zombie and a half.
Both creatures promptly and politely die.
The second one topples over with your saw still in its guts, but that's okay, you're far from unequipped. You reach down to your belt, pull out a dagger, and shove it straight into the zombie on your arm's neck. It groans so loudly your bones rattle, and then its eyes roll back in its skull as it stares up at you, unmoving. Tough little shit. You jostle the blade out of its foetid flesh, and don't take any chances this time. It goes right into its skull, and with a harrowing cry, the creature tumbles backwards.
You retrieve your chainsaw and blade before checking your arm, because you're quite sure that everything's fine. Quite sure until you actually look down at the back of your wrist, that is, and see jade blood oozing where the creature broke your skin. But more disturbing than the sight of your own blood is the way that something else is mingling there; a thick, grey substance, and shit, it's already in your bloodstream.
Goddammit, you are not accepting this. You're not accepting the fact that you're infected. Not knowing hat else to do, you leave the cart behind, and run back to your hive, as if there's some salvation to be found there. Your chainsaw clatters against the stone floor of you washblock, and you desperately pour scalding water onto the wound, even though you know it's no good. Your own blood washes away, along with the dirt and sand marring your skin, and in doing so, you're only able to clearly see what looks like an angry, purple bruise spreading across your skin.
It's moving all too quickly. It's already above your elbow, and soon enough, it's going to have taken your whole body. When you started out with your childish heroics, you knew that there was always a very real risk of infection, but you've been taking down the undead for so very long that you'd thought yourself above it all. And now you're caught in its clutches, about to lose yourself.
You try steadying your breathing, eyes frantically darting around the block if there's something, anything that can save you.
And to your relief, you realise that there is. Almost calmly, you shuffle across the floor on your knees, and pick up your chainsaw. You turn it in the light, examining the bloody blades as if you've never set eyes on the weapon before, and think: yes, this will do. There's no need to let the infection take more than your arm. It's almost at your shoulder, now. You start up your saw, knowing there's no time to waste.
Kneeling, you place the handle between your knees, holding it there tightly, good arm helping secure it. It's now or never, Serket. This is your one chance to save yourself. The ceiling of your washblock is as high up as any block in your castle, and as you lean forward, onto the saw, you hear your own screams already echoing around it.
It's tougher to work through strong, solid bone. Your flesh is healthy, thick, and the saw doesn't cut; it tears at what feels like a hundred different angles. It turns out that there's a lot more blood in a living troll, too, and once the saw's halfway through the joint of your shoulder, you're terrified that you're not going to be able to last. It's going to be stuck there, and you'll bleed out, never to be heard from again.
You screw your eyes shut, not knowing how you kept them open to begin with. Your arm hits the floor with a thud and a squelch, and you're pushing yourself onto shaky feet, scolding yourself for doing this so far from the nourishblock; you need to cauterise the wound, somehow. Out of the washblock you go, chainsaw still blaring behind you, bouncing of both walls as you try making your way down the corridor.
To your defence, you do manage to make it halfway there before collapsing in a heap, just outside your respiteblock.
*
Someone's trolling you. Oh, for fuck's sake, don't they realise that this isn't the time? Don't the realise that you're very, very busy, curled up on the floor in what you strongly suspect is a puddle of your own blood? You'd confirm this to add to your ire, if you could only manage to open your eyes. You're a very busy troll with plenty of irons in the fire, and you don't have time to be chatting online with any of the suckers you know. You wouldn't interrupt any of them while they were busy cauterising their wounds.
—no, that's not right. You didn't make it that far. You part your lips to groan, taste your own blood in the process, and then force yourself to truly comprehend what's going on here. It's simple, really: you got sloppy, ended up infected by a zombie, and took of your arm to save yourself. Upon trying to wrap up the whole mess, you passed out, and you're goddamn lucky that the sound of your husktop rudely interrupting what could well have been your last slumber was enough to rouse you.
Your husktop pings again. You try pushing yourself up with both hands, get a inch or two above the ground, and then slam down back against the stone floor when you recall that, right, you only have the one hand now. Taking a deep breath, your vision focuses, and god, that's a waste of your spectacularly rare blood. Again, you try pushing yourself up, and succeed this time. Clinging onto the wall, you let your legs guide you where they must, ending up in your workshop.
There's still scrap metal lying around from your last project, and it doesn't take long to get the fire started. Or it doesn't feel as if it takes a long time, because your consciousness is slipping and sliding around the inside of your spongeshell, distorting everything. You're sick with adrenaline, but it's a good thing, really, because before you know it, you're pressing a red-hot sheet of iron against the bubbling wound.
You pass out again, but don't feel quite as guilty, this time. You're not going to die of blood loss (probably), and you need the rest. When you come to, it's pitch-black, but by the time you managed to get up, the sun's already rising to greet another day. Everything inside of you hurts. The sting from your shoulder makes your eyes burn, but worst of all is the complete and utter absence of your arm. A hollowness resounds inside of your chest, and you're so desperate to distract yourself that you remember how your husktop was making grabs at your attention hours and hours ago. It could've been important. It could still be important. You drag yourself there, vision blotting out again when you slump down in your chair. Your nails dig into the fabric of your pants as you try to wait the blackness out, and once the fog clears, you do all you can to comprehend what's on your screen.
grandiloquentAesthete [GA] began trolling atrophyingGraves [AG]GA: Vriska
GA: Please Dont Think That Im Checking Up On You
GA: Although I Know Youre Going To Say That Im Being Silly For Fussing And Meddling So Very Much
GA: Which For The Record Isnt What Im Doing By The Way I Am Merely Expressing Concern
GA: But Are You Okay
GA: You Werent There At Our Scheduled Time Today And Naturally I Am Worried What With The Nature Of Your Profession
GA: Okay As Calm As I Was Trying To Remain
GA: Its Now Been Three Hours Since I First Messaged You
GA: Please At Least Let Me Know Youre There
GA: Im Sure Youre Very Busy With The Absurd Number Of Irons You Have In The Fire
GA: Please
GA: Just Respond
AG: kfg
That's no good. Try again. Don't worry about typing quickly; just focus on hitting one key at at time.
GA: Vriska
GA: Vriska Are You Alright
AG: kanaya
AG: no
GA: Shit
GA: Vriska Whats Wrong
AG: 6ot hurt
GA: Hurt In What Way
GA: Or Are These Pointless Questions That You Cant Currently Answer
GA: Do You Want Me To Come Over
AG: yes
GA: Okay
GA: I Am Heading Over Now
GA: How Do I Make My Way There
You spend a long moment staring at the chat window, trying to work out how the hell to give her directions. Eventually, head rocking forward and bumping at the edge of your screen, you log onto Trollgle Maps, screencap your area, and then scrawl a line from the sea to your hive, sending her the file.
GA: Ill Be There As Soon As I Can Vriska
GA: Please Just Hold OngrandiloquentAesthete [GA] ceased trolling atrophyingGraves [AG]
Eyes glazing over, you pull yourself out of your seat, tumbling onto your sofa. It's a good thing that the pain's making your think pan short-circuit, because otherwise you'd be working yourself up over all sorts of things. Like, for example, how the heiress apparent is on her way to your hive to see how you are, and is going to find you curled up on your sofa like a wiggler. If you could think about that much, your heart might be in your throat, and you really don't need a choking hazard to go along with the perpetual ache of your body.
Kanaya arrives, eventually. She is a great, towering figure over you, draped in thick, heavy cloaks, hood just pulled down. Oh, god—she risked going out in the sun for you. Before you've the chance to properly focus on her, she kneels down by your side, and you hate the way she looks so worried. You reach out a hand – your only hand – in an effort to place it against her cheek, but you miss entirely. Kanaya reaches back nonetheless, takes your hand in one of hers, and there's no need for her to ask what's wrong. If you hadn't been covered in several shades of zombie blood and flailed around like a drowning cat when you first met her, you'd be embarrassed to be seen like this.
One of Kanaya's hands covers your forehead, and you screw your eyes shut, because there's absolutely no way you're going to cry. The risk of infection's gone, the brunt of the pain is dealt with, and really, there's no need to break down now. Kanaya must see your face scrunch up, because she's suddenly moving her hand, using an arm to prop you up.
“Come on, Vriska,” she says very softly, easing you to your feet. The whole of your hive sways, and then you do too, until you've no choice but to reach out and cling to her with you remaining hand. It's not until the both are you are on land, stood side by side, that you realise how absurdly tall she is. You've never been anywhere close to short, and yet when you lean against her, your forehead barely touches her shoulder. “I promise, there will be plenty of time to rest later. For now, I'm going to get you some help.”
You grumble under your breath, because you don't understand how making you move will do a single thing to help you. But she shushes your complaints, entirely understanding as you remain wholly ungrateful for her help, and once she's got you outside of your hive, you realise that there's actually a carriage out there, two hoofbeasts reigned up in the front. One advantage of being royalty, you suppose as Kanaya helps bundle you into the back.
And even though you're safe and secure in the back seat, Kanaya stays close, arms around you, like you might slip away. You lean against her, as if fearing that you really might tumble out during transit. Once you manage to regain a hold on your words, you tell her in small, self-deprecating segments what happened. You feel her fingers press harder to the small of your back when you tell her that it happened while you were hunting zombies, and when she asks if it was her fault, you say you don't even understand how that makes sense. When you tell her about cauterising the wound, she tells you that you really are very clever, strokes your hair, and says that it's fine if you want to get a little more rest.
You immediately give in to sleep. Ignoring the fact that you've recently mutilated a large portion of your body and almost lost your mind to infection, it's one the most fulfilling rests you've ever have.
You don't wake until the carriage comes to a stop and your hipbones rattle. Kanaya thanks the driver, the one you hadn't even noticed upon getting in, and then helps you out of the the carriage. You'd expected to find yourself in the centre of a city, but instead, you're as in the middle of nowhere as you were back in your own hive. Great. Trust a sea dweller to get you lost inland.
Not that she seems lost. Kanaya tells you that the troll who lives in this quaint (her word, not yours; personally, you think it's run down) little cave is an old acquaintance of hers, and that she can't think of anyone better to help you out. Upon approaching, Kanaya's arm still around your waist, you're greeted by a hulking rustblood, rubbing his hands together, and, disgusting, sweating. He keeps bowing to Kanaya, telling her that it's an honour to see her here, and that, really, his hive is such a state, he'd rather be culled than have her suffer the indignity of stepping into it.
“Nonsense, Equius. I am only here to get assistance for my friend, and know that you will not fail me.”
At this, Equius turns to you, and says that it's almost as much of an honour to meet you, because look at the rarity of your blood. Under any other circumstances, you'd bask in the compliment, but now, all you want is to sit down with a nice, strong drink, until you forget how many limbs you're supposed to have in the first place.
Even being in the state that you are, you still manage to muster up the energy to be skeeved out by how very much he seems to enjoy being around authority figures. Luckily for you, you have the questionable pleasure of being in Equius' cave for upwards of three days, during which he spends a great amount of time pressing his fingertips and various implements to the joint where your arm once was. It takes you a while to work out what he's doing, and even longer to actually ask, to confirm; by which point he's shuffling uncertainly on his feet, holding up a prosthetic limb, glancing over to Kanaya for approval.
Kanaya stays with you the entire time. She stays with you, even though you tell her over and over to go back to the sea, to get on with important things; she assures you that she doesn't have anything more important to do than sit there and hold your hand as Equius sands away at what's left of your shoulder, smoothing out the jagged splinters of bone left behind by your chainsaw. She sits there with you as Equius threads wires into your nerves, as your body jerks when electronic sensors slowly begin to feel as natural as every other stab of pain you've ever felt.
When you leave, you thank Equius, but you don't shake his hand.
In the carriage on the way back to your hive, you sit there in silence, testing out the limits of your new, metallic arm. It feels entirely alien, bends and flexes too much, and weighs downs uncomfortably on you. Kanaya remains silent the entire time, except to say that you'll get used to it, eventually. You'd like to believe her very much, but she doesn't understand how disconcerting it feels to be able to wield wrought iron as you now do.
You should be endlessly grateful for what she's done for you, and you are, to an extent. You just can't express it yet, because there's still an odd hollowness to you. Your prosthetic arm may be moving, may have all the potential to be stronger than any other part of you, but it isn't yours. It doesn't make up for a lost limb. And, if you're honest with yourself, you're a little embarrassed at the state she's seen you in.
Getting back to your hive, you expect to part ways with her. You expect Kanaya to make her excuses and leave, but she simply says that she'll spend a few days with you, until you get used to things, and who are you to say no your future Empress? You simply shrug your shoulders, and enter your castle without a word. It's hardly as if your reputation can take any more of a beating.
Kanaya asks where your washblock is, and you're not surprised that she wants to jump into the ablution trap. You've noticed the way the her fins have been twitching more and more with the longer she spends out of the sea, and you're half worried that she's going to shrivel up. You point her in the right direction, and then make a hobby of feeling sorry to yourself. Back in your livingblock, you fall down against the sofa, and wonder how she's getting on with the no doubt rotting remains of your severed arm. You didn't exactly have time to clean up before you left. Maybe she'll feed it to her lusus.
Wishing you had the dignity to feel ashamed of yourself, you run your fingers through the mess of filth tangled up in your hair, wishing that the sun was shining down on you. You can't believe how much you've missed it, having travelled only at night and spent your days in a dark, dingy cave; you can't believe how exhausted you feel without it energising you. There's a lot to resent the sun for, especially the way it cuts you off from the rest of the world, from the rest of your race, but by god do you need it in your life.
Kanaya makes her way into the room a few minutes later, dry as a bone, looking a little pale around the gills. Which most likely means that she did stumble across your severed arm, after all.
“Your bath is drawn,” Kanaya informs you, and you grunt at the word bath. How much of a snob can one person even be. Wait, what—your bath? What about her? What about her sea dwelling withdrawals? You sit up, bemused, and she stands at your side, one hand placed against your shoulder. You lean against her without even thinking about it. “I hate to be the one to address the trunkbeast in the room, Vriska, but you are absolutely filthy. In fact, I believe the powers that be are in the process of creating a new word to describe just how repulsive a state you've managed to get yourself into.”
You laugh into her side, hating how she can cheer you up so effortlessly. Still, there's no need to be compliant and make this easy for her.
“What about this?” you ask, lifting up your robotic arm, spectacularly smug. You're quite sure that Kanaya didn't think of that.
“Don't be absurd, Vriska,” Kanaya says, fingers threading through your hair, and you instinctively lean towards her hand. It lasts no more than half a second, at which point Kanaya's reminded of just how filthy every inch of you is. “If Equius was able to create a fully-functioning limb for you that's no less sensitive and responsive than its flesh counterpart, then I am certain that it would be nothing short of offensively simple for him to make the device waterproof.”
Well, she certainly got you there. With a little more prompting from Kanaya, you suppose that it would be nice to get the layer of grime off your skin, and then with slumped shoulders, head off to your washblock. Door closed behind you, you slowly peel off your clothing, finding that the joint of your shoulder still aches if you try working it with too much force. You definitely, definitely need to see about getting a few drinks in. Maybe Kanaya would like to join you, you think, sinking into the water that's nothing if not the absolute perfect temperature. Not that you're willing to give Kanaya too many points for that, because it should come as second nature to her, being as she is.
As the water wears the tension from your bones, you wonder if Kanaya would like to join you in here, too. You close your eyes, immediately sinking lower into the water, telling yourself not to think like that. After the mess you've got yourself into, the best you could ever hope for from Kanaya is a palecrush, and she already has a moirail. Your irritation at yourself comes out in the form of bubbles spewing from your lips as your nose dips below the surface of the water, and who are you kidding? Even if she was unattached, she wouldn't want you, pale or otherwise. Especially not otherwise.
You distract yourself from failed romantic endeavours by hurrying to wash, and tell yourself that you should be grateful for that one kiss you stole. You laugh at yourself, and then choke on a little water. You should be grateful that she didn't have your head lopped off because of your utter inappropriateness. (But then again, another part of your mind interjects, Kanaya's never made herself out to be any better than you. She's never belittled you, never exerted any authority over you; hell, she's even lined up an array of soaps and shampoos you forgot you owned along the edge of your ablution trap.)
You let you think pan battle wrestle with itself, splashing around in the water, trying to drown it out. Plug pulled, you hop out of the ablution trap, and then assault your mess of hair with a dry towel. It's amazing how much better you feel, having simply washed yourself down. You kick your dirtied clothes into a pile in the corner, wrap yourself in a towel, and for once in your life, actually look forward to getting into some clean clothes. Just as you're about to scurry out of the washblock, you glance back at your ablution trap that's making a rather attractive glugging noise as the water drains, and after a rare moment's contemplation, you dart back across the block, and almost slip on the wet tiles as you reach to shove the plug back in and turn the taps on.
You dress quickly, material catching on your metal wrist, stitches ripping. Whatever. It's not like you did a particularly good job putting it together in the first place. Usually, you'd kick the edge of your recuperacooon, frustrated, but the scent of the shampoos Kanaya picked out for you have left you bizarrely relaxed. Maybe this is the acceptance phase that comes with the grief of having lost your arm. On the way back to the livingblock, you pop into the washblock, turning off the water. It's just about filled to the brim.
“Your turn!” you announce, strolling back into the livingblock with the smaller of the towels draped uselessly across your shoulders. Your long hair bunches up, dripping down your back, through your clean shirt. “You might not be as bad off as me, but you're still pretty gross! But it's okay, I'm not judging you. I get it! You're used to being surrounded by water aaaaaall the time.”
Kanaya looks up at you from the sofa where she's been waiting impatiently, face scrunching up as she decides how to process what you've just told her. For a brief moment, she almost looks embarrassed, but quickly shakes it off in favour of smiling at your ameliorated appearance. Rising to her feet, Kanaya stands before you (above you), and adjusts the collar of your shirt. You just know she's silently judging the stitching you spent hours on and pricked your fingers at least a trillion times. You shrug her off by means of grabbing your towel with one hand and ruffling your hair with it, and then step to the side, waving a hand out, directing her to the washblock.
“Well, if I'm offending your senses,” Kanaya says, smirking, and doesn't try arguing with you.
That's right. Everyone knows better than to argue with you. You shake your head out like a sopping wet woofbeast, and your hair goes flying along with drops of water, wrapping itself around your face. Falling back on the sofa, you tussle with your hair and the towel a little more, learning that if there's any advantage to be found in a metal limb, it's in how quickly you can now dry your hair.
You stretch out, taking up the whole of the sofa. Eyes closed, you listen to the sound of your hive, the slight splashing of water in the washblock. That one single noise blending into the background reminds you of how quiet your hive usually is, and in that moment, you miss your lusus. With a groan, you pinch the bridge of your nose. Now's no time to get sentimental. When your arm was freshly cut off, when you imagined that the infection was going to spread and you were never going to see the sun again; those were acceptable times to think about your lusus. And when you were curled up in your own blood, scraps of flesh hanging off in loose threads, thinking of the time that she could've come to help you; that too was acceptable.
The both of you knew that she wouldn't be long for this world, having abdicated her place in the brooding cavern, but that doesn't stop you from missing her any less. In the same way, you know that one day, you'll be chosen because of your blood, and taken into those same caves she left in order to raise you, and charged with looking over another mother grub in turn. Until the day you die. It's a cycle you've no hope of escaping, but it all seems so unreal to you that you can barely believe it's what's going to become of your life. You can block out those thoughts most of the time, but this isn't most of the time. This is a sore reminder of your own mortality.
You're so pulled under by the weight of your thoughts that you don't realise Kanaya's out of the ablution trap until her shadow's cutting a dark slice out of your midsection. Rejoining the present, you swing your legs around so that you can sit up, and with a smile of thanks, Kanaya sits down next to you.
She looks better like that, with a little shine on her skin. You catch glimpses of her from the corner of your eye, and you think that this would be the perfect time to thank her for all that she's done. Sadly, heart-felt shows of appreciation have never been your strong suit, and if you tried working your jaw now, the closest you could come out with would be I guess this robot arm doesn't totally suck! or I'm glad that I didn't have to sit in that weirdo's cave on my own!. When what you should really be saying is that you're grateful, surprised, and a little confused by the fact that she was willing to leave the ocean for you, to come to a strange hive in the middle of nowhere, and then sit and hold your hand while somebody she found for you grafted on new parts of your body.
You chew on your lower lip. If you could say all of that, it would, without a doubt, be the best thanks anyone has ever given, and you're all about being the best in everything you do. It's just a shame that your jaw's apparently been wired shut, because you can taste the words on the tip of your tongue, and as you press it to the roof of your mouth, you're afraid that it might sear through into your think pan. You turn to face her, legs crossed on the seat, and then smile.
It probably comes out more like a grimace.
In turn, Kanaya faces you, though her feet remain firmly on the ground, and there she is, as endlessly patient as ever. You can tell by the way she looks at you that there's something she wants to say, and you wish that she'd be more forceful, that she'd hurry up and spit it out, so that you'd have something to set you off.
Okay, Serket. You can do this. You've turned to face her, smiled, and surely you can manage a word. Just one, single word. Her name, perhaps.
“Kanaya,” you say, at the exact moment that she says your name. The two of you laugh under your breaths, jittery, and you lift one hand. “—you first.”
Kanaya nods, purses her lips together like she'd much rather you'd speak, but doesn't say anything about it. She looks away from you, and when her gills flex at her throat, you imagine invisible bubbles flooding into the space between the two of you.
“Are you— um. That is, are you feeling better?” Kanaya asks, unsteady at the beginning, but seems to brighten when she gets the whole of the question out. You're about to answer, about to tell her with some enthusiasm that you're finally feeling like you might be able to kick yourself into gear, when she goes ahead and silences you, cupping your cheek with one hand. When you only answer her by blinking increasingly quickly, she leans in a little closer, and says, “Are you?”
Kanaya's not asking if you're feeling better. She's asking for permission to do something more. The realisation dawns on you, and you swallow the lump in your throat with an audible gulp, certain that the sensation must run down the length of Kanaya's fingers. You'd like to think that you're absolutely, one hundred percent certain about what Kanaya's getting at, but you've been wrong before. Horrendously wrong. And so, for once in your life, you think about things rationally. Kanaya's just got you a shiny new arm. She's not going to go ahead and rip off one of your limbs if you try something, so what's the worst that could happen?
Beyond devastating humiliation, that is.
“Yeah,” you mumble, leaning closer to her. You have approximately no control over this situation anymore. “Much better.”
And then, before you get the chance to kiss Kanaya for the second time, she's covering your mouth with her own, effectively ruining that plan. Trust Kanaya to make sure that you're irrefutably alright before going in for the kill. You wonder if she could possibly be any more chivalrous, even if she tried, but then she places a hand to the small of your back, and pulls you flush against herself. You're not thinking about chivalry anymore.
Both of your hands, metal and flesh alike, press to her cheeks, and you move into the kiss with what most people would call desperation, but you know actually nothing short of passion. You hear her take deep, shaky breathes, feel her chest rise against your own, her fins flex at your fingertips, and can't be blamed for the way you run your tongue out against her lips. She shudders. You shudder when your tongue runs across the smooth fronts of her fangs, top row and bottom alike. You part your lips with a little whine, press harder against her, and at some point, she's managed to get her legs up on the sofa.
Straddling her hips, you take great care as you run your tongue against hers, feeling your heart pound faster because you know what'll happen if you miscalculate by so much as a fraction of an inch. But Kanaya, she's careful without having to hold herself back, and then all you can think of is how different she feels. Her skin still smells ever so faintly of salt, even though the scent of the same shampoos you both used tries to overpower it. You finally take the opportunity to run your fingers across her fins, and she makes a soft, satisfied noise into your mouth as her hands disappear under your shirt. You take a mental note to remember that for future reference, and slowly learn to stop thinking of the fins and the gills as something distinct from Kanaya. Breaking your mouth away from hers, you move next to her throat, seeing what happens when you make contact with the gills.
Good things, apparently. It feels weird against your tongue, but she arches up towards you wonderfully when you draw a line down her throat with the tip of your tongue, and that's enough for you. Even her skin feels different to yours. Not thicker, not rougher, but stronger, in some way. You wonder if the sun's just softened your own, but when you finally pull her shirt away, you realise that it isn't the case. Your arms wrap around her back as you move back into kiss her, and you feel the skin harden around her spine, until your can make out the distinct shape of scales beneath your nails. Kanaya catches your lower lip between her rows of teeth, and there's nothing more than a momentarily jab of pressure, but you buck your hips towards her, wanting nothing but to moan out her name, desperate and needy, just to let her know how much you want to unravel.
You dig your nails in hard against her back. Harder than you would with anyone else, and harder than you could stand, but the scales do something to absorb some of the scratching, and Kanaya only reacts favourably. Even the links in her spine feel different from yours; more flexible, you think, to go with the motion of swimming, and it's the last coherent thought you have.
Because while you're exploring Kanaya, finding her fascinating not only because she's a sea dweller, but because she's Kanaya, she, too, is exploring you, trying to map out as much of your body as she can. Her hands smooth across your back, taking in each and every one of the dozens upon dozens of rough scars littered across your skin. You feel every touch, every kiss, every scrape of her teeth, her nails, ten times more than you should, and the amplification serves to make it seem as if everything's slowed down; as if every spark in the pit of your stomach is going to burn there forever. But as slowly as it unfolds, you reach a point whereby neither of you are doing particularly well when it comes to being dressed.
You've got both of your thighs clamped around one of hers, and as you lean hungrily into the kiss that's doing more for you than a kiss ever should, she keeps angling her leg up, making you groan into her mouth. You've got your hands and her shoulders and she's just so cold that you want to press yourself even closer; you want to cover the whole of her body with your hands, lips and tongue, just to warm her up, even though you know it won't make any difference. This is how it is with highbloods, and though your efforts would be wasted, you wouldn't stop trying.
Kanaya's hands slide all the way down your back, and then she's holding your hips, pulling them closer. You grind yourself down her thigh, breaking the kiss off to tilt your head back and groan, and she plants little kisses against your exposed throat, fangs hovering over your pulse point. Arms wrapping around her shoulders, you bundle your fingers in her hair, and then she lifts her own hips in an act of mercy, pressing herself against you.
Your name is on her lips, but you almost miss it with the way that your own breathing comes out high-pitched and staggered. Despite the fact that this is already too much for you, and you're certain your mind, or some other vital part of you, is going to shatter, you can't get over how overwhelmingly careful Kanaya is with you, like you're something that needs looking after, rather than a great jade-blooded troll who wipes out armies of the undead on a daily basis. She holds you tightly, arms locked around your back, and she helps guide your movements as her own hips buck to meet yours.
“Hey,” you mumble when your vision reaches the point where it flashes, and the whole of your body is under her command. “Does this make me— fuck. Your trashy lowblooded consort?”
Kanaya laughs against the hollow of your throat. It's one of the more remarkable noises she's made throughout this all. She tries to plant more kisses there, but her movements are erratic, where you can tell that she doesn't have much more of a grasp on reality than you currently do. You moan from the back of your throat, face buried into her short hair, between her horns.
“I'd much rather—” she begins, and even the sound of her voice, no matter what she's saying, is enough to make your hips work harder, when she sounds that raw, “Have a scandalously trashy matesprit.”
“Yeah?” you breath out. “Good.”
And then you're repeating it over and over, good, good, fuck, Kanaya—, hips arching perfectly against hers, movements slick, as something thunders through the whole of your body. You grasp onto one of her horns as you come undone, and then your whole body becomes slack beyond all reasoning. But Kanaya doesn't let you ride it out easily, because she's not done yet, and the barely-functioning part of your think pan makes you slide your hand down from around her horn, fingertips rubbing at the base.
And then she's entirely dishevelled on your sofa, stretched out on her back, and you have to wonder what the hell you're doing, sitting up like that. With a last breath of air that you forgot could taste so clear, you fall down against her, legs becoming no less tangled for it. For a long, painstakingly enlightening moment, you can't comprehend how you ever thought the chill of her skin was a bad thing. You prop your chin against her shoulder, stretch out your legs, and your toes don't quite meet her feet.
“You know how I live in a desert oasis,” you say with a contented sigh, voice light enough to make you believe that you've just been pulled from a dream, “There's a spring.”
Kanaya's hand drapes across your back, and after a long moment, all she manages is an, “Oh?”
“It's a big one! You could go swimming, if you want.”
Kanaya draws in a deep breath, and you don't know how many different ways there are for a person to inhale, but she sounds so utterly blissful as she does so that you wonder if it's something that only sea dweller lungs can do. Her lips press to your shoulder where metal meets flesh, and you let out a surprised, strangled ah sound, because though the scarred skin there is still sensitive, though it stings a little, it doesn't feel wrong. It's just like any other part of you.
“I already said that I would stay for several days, Vriska. There is no need to find ways to try enticing me to do so.”
You bury an exhausted smirk against the side of her throat, and think that's right. Kanaya doesn't have to leave your side, doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to, because Kanaya is going to be Empress. She can have whatever warm-blooded land dweller for a matesprit she wants, and it's really not your place or anyone else's to question her (absolutely flawless) judgement.