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There is an ancient troll proverb, about there being a hundred billion universes, each one only slightly different from the next. For example, an entirely different universe could be split each time you decided to cut one fabric rather than another. Or decided to fix your hair, instead of your lipstick. Or decided to cut Eridan in half with your fingers instead of your chainsaw. That sort of thing.
You’d like to think that this proverb is true. That there are a hundred billion universes—no, more. That there are an infinite amount of universes out there, each one stemming from a myriad of decisions no one can fathom the consequences of. Each one with its own unique charms. Each one with decisions stemming from the one that fruitfully cut it off from the other, like a vine.
You miss tending plants. That is a thing that you miss doing.
Now that your universe has ended, maybe you will get a chance to tend plants again. Or perhaps not? It is a very confusing thing that your universe has done, regardless. You used to think that you understood this game, that there were pawns and kings and queens, and that you had your place amongst them, calm and collected and infinitely patient. You had a purpose. You had direction. You had sanity. That seems like a very long time ago. Ages. Sweeps.
“Maybe you should talk to her,” Rose says, next to you. Her fingers are covered in blood—yours, hers. You resist the urge to let go of her hand, to bring her fingers to your mouth and suck them. You never liked the taste of your own blood, but hers is sticky and sweet, red like candy. You used to think Terezi was odd for her choices of metaphor. There are pieces of you at war here: the rainbow drinker, the matesprit, the very confused and upset girl whose entire universe (not metaphorically, actually completely physically and in a very real way) was just destroyed in a very loud POP.
You almost find this funny, that the universe disappeared in a POP. You would have had it go out with a BANG.
Vriska is sitting on the edge of the cliff, alone. It has been hours and hours since the universe ended, and although you are not sure what you will do—what you will all do, since your concerns are not for yourself, but rather everyone else—you are confident in Jade’s ability to figure something out. That is what Jade does. You are standing in the wreckage of what used to be a place you knew. You don’t know what it is now, other than a sort of combination of every dream bubble you’ve ever step foot in. It’s like the asteroid, but bigger. Vriska is sitting on the edge of it, alone, purposefully so. Everyone else is talking, sitting, taking deep relieved breaths. And you are sitting at another edge, holding hands with your Human Girlfriend, who is weaving a knitting needle in between the fingers of the hand that is not wrapped up in yours.
“She’s alone,” Rose says.
“I know that,” you snap, and then shut your mouth, slowly. You find this so strange, that the universe can completely end, that you can participate so purposefully and delicately in it, and yet that staring at Vriska your insides knot in a painful way so completely familiar you want to bite yourself for lack of anything to do about it.
Rose’s voice is deep with affection and amusement. “I won’t be jealous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not that,” you say. Although there is always a part of you that will be worried about that, that you will push these boundaries, quadrants falling on top of each other in a terrible heap. How is it possible for one person to have this many feelings in one body? You would ask your ancestor, but she is meditating, so ancient and tired. You would ask Karkat, but he is … somewhere, being Karkat. You will have to wrestle out of this mess on your own. Humans don’t even have quadrants. Their romance is lackluster, as Karkat used to say. You know, now, of course, that that does not even come close to the truth, that there is so much more to humanity than that, and that Karkat is mostly to blame for it. Or maybe to praise for it. “I have not spoken to her since before her death.”
“Well,” says Rose, rising to her feet, untangling your fingers, “I think now is a good time to try.”
You look at her helplessly as she smiles at you, moves a lock of hair behind your ear, and walks off toward what appears to be Terezi and Nepeta deep in conversation. Your girlfriend. You may never get used to that. It’s not a new development, but it will never fail to be an astonishing one. Rose is the most unusual person you have ever met, troll, human or otherwise, and while she walks away you watch her legs, the way her fingers drip still, the way she is so slight yet so curved.
In one of the billions of universes out there, you do not have to speak to Vriska Serket about your past. You think you wish you were in one of those universes, but you probably don’t. You were always more comfortable making decisions than avoiding them. That is the thing about Vriska: she confuses you, sets your internal compass on a completely different plane. You pride yourself on being so settled, so calm. Vriska upsets that. She always has.
“Hey, fussyfangs,” she says, as you move to stand behind her. Her voice is soft. There’s no venom there, and you are surprised. You had expected some. There is no malice behind her nickname for you. There is just fondness. You try to say something, but the words get caught in your throat, stuck between the vertebrae of your windpipe.
She turns to look at you. Her eyes are both here, full and bright and alive. Your stomach does a backflip. Your legs, somehow unbidden, betray you, and before you know it you are sitting alongside her on this edge of paradox space, looking at the stars and the dream bubbles and the moons.
“I didn’t think anyone wanted to talk to me,” Vriska says. “I already said what had to be said, you know? To everybody.” She holds her eight-ball in her hands, tightly. Her mannerisms are so different from what you remember. She is a different person, now. The thought scares you a bit. “I’ve been sitting up here forever. Aradia was here for a while, but she left when Sollux came looking for her.”
“You seem to have made amends with her,” you note.
Vriska shrugs. “Being dead, you kind of get over the shit that doesn’t matter. She still doesn’t like me much.”
You place your hands behind yourself carefully, so that you can lean on them. Paradox space is beautiful, endless, with thousands of dream bubbles so carefully arranged in a line. The colors are bright and breathtaking. You can’t seem to focus on them. You sit there for a while, the two of you. If this were the past, you would try to fill the air with your words, to make it less unbearable. But this is the present, and you are a different person. You have grown. You have both grown. The idea is so strange, but you suppose that if you are a different person now, Vriska must be, too, no matter how much you thought that could never be.
There is so much to say, but so little to say, simultaneously. This is making your head hurt.
Vriska, unexpectedly, begins to laugh. You start, and then stare at her. “What?”
“Same old fussyfangs,” she says, and smiles at you, in the way that used to make your heart feel like it was vomiting all over your lungs. “Trying so hard to figure out the right thing to say. You’re so stupid that way. God. I never understood how you could stand me in the first place.” She giggles, kicking her feet over the edge of the meteor like a child. “You’re so—you’re so fucking regal. And I’m just like, this huge fuck-up. I never could understand why you cared so much. It’s not like I did anything good for you, or anyone.”
She doesn’t sound bitter. Just self-aware.
“I’m tired,” she continues, kicking her feet to an unknown beat. “This has been a long and fucked-up journey. I’m tired of being—of being, well, fucked up. I want to be different.” She pauses. “I don’t want to worry about what everyone thinks about me. How do you do it? You were always so good at that.”
Somehow, you find your voice. “I cared what you thought.”
“And I just shit all over you, didn’t I?” Vriska sighs, and leans backward until she’s resting on the ground, her arms beneath her head. “You’re something else, Ms. Rainbow Drinker. That’s still awesome, by the way.”
“You managed to get hundreds of ghosts together for an entirely intelligent plan,” you say, looking down at her. She laughs.
“Some intelligent plan! More like ‘stupidest plan ever.’ It didn’t get me anything I wanted. It just showed me how stupid I was.” She shrugs. “I did get to hang out with my ancestor, though.”
“She seems fond of you.”
“Yeah, she’s cool.” She shrugs again. “Being dead is boring, though. There’s nothing to really do except make out with everyone you’ve already made out with.” This seems to remind her of something, and she looks at your face, suddenly. “Were you really flushed for me?”
You blink down at her, shock coloring your features.
“That’s what you said,” Vriska continues, “I mean, dream bubble you. One of the dream bubble yous. That you’d always been flushed for me, and I was just completely stupid about it, and blah blah blah.”
Evidently, an alternate version of you was fed up with your romantic entanglements and decided to say something about it. This shouldn’t shock you as much as it does; after all, wasn’t this what you should have spoken to Vriska about in the first place? You desperately wish for Rose to come and save you from yourself. But she appears to be having a conversation about something and having her hair braided, and you must battle this situation on your own, without the use of a chainsaw.
“You should have just said something,” Vriska says. You look at her again in surprise. “I probably would have said something stupid, but I always thought you were too cool for me. For anyone, really. It’s hilarious that you’re with that pink human—she’s probably the only one cool enough for you. She definitely wears enough black.”
You realize that Vriska has just had this entire conversation that you were planning in your head by herself. She has confessed for you, she has reacted for you. Suddenly, you are angry. You are not a pawn to be tossed around in this. You are so tired of being a pawn. “You were unpredictable and dangerous,” you say, “and you needed to be pacified. My feelings were not important in the overall scheme of the—“
“Oh, shut up,” Vriska says, and kisses you.
You are so surprised that your mouth opens immediately, and she gently—gently!—bites your lower lip, just a little. You wonder if she can taste the blood you drank earlier. Her kiss is long, lingering, and when she pulls back, she is grinning her feral grin. Your stomach does another flip. “You’re an idiot,” she says, “and you always have been. Almost as big of an idiot as me.”
She clambers to her feet, with an exaggerated oof. You are frozen, blinking. She stretches, then continues to grin at you. “You look like you’ve seen a rainbow drinker,” she laughs, kicks you gently in the shoulder, and walks off toward what appears to be Karkat having a dedicated argument with his ancestor.
Helplessly, you blink, once, twice, and then look to Rose, halfway across the meteor, who raises her eyebrows at you, holds two thumbs up, and mouths, That went well!
You are surrounded by completely confusing people, all of the time.
There are a billion universes, and you are probably confused in all of them.
The first thing you should do, when you find a new home, you decide, standing up to walk back to Rose and figure out what the fuck just happened, is to ask Karkat why you are doomed to love infuriating women.