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So the universe was at peace and PB was her own gem, free to be whoever, whatever, and wherever she wanted. Except for the one place she wanted to be, which was at her Jasper’s side.
“She’s not your Jasper, Pearl,” Peridot chastised her for the millionth time. PB was helping with something Peridot called a performance meep morp and she sat very still as the former kindergartner painted her skin with stripes of fluorescent pink, white, and orange. The brush felt cool on her form and tickled her skin. “And you sure as sand don’t belong to her anymore! Cheer up!”
PB had moved to Earth and settled in Little Homeworld where she became acquainted with the Peridot that Jasper had been sent to escort to Earth. She learned that the Lapis Lazuli prisoner they had taken with them also had a history with her quartz. PB hoped that by staying somewhere so connected to her gem she would be around if Jasper ever turned up again. Jasper had come back to Homeworld changed and instead of the comfort of a familiar world her Homeworld was dismantling itself more and more each day. It challenged everything she knew, everything she was. Once Yellow Diamond released her armies, Jasper released PB from service as well and then disappeared. Instead of finally having a chance to have a relationship with Jasper as equals like PB dreamed, she was alone.
“I really am trying,” PB protested just as Peridot’s brush hit a sensitive patch of skin and sent a shiver up PB’s spine. “But I’m so worried about her.”
“Worried? About Jasper?” Peridot snickered. "The only things in the universe that could threaten Jasper are Lapis Lazuli, yours truly, the Diamonds...and maybe Jasper herself. And the first three are totally reformed now! But if Jasper doesn’t want help or friends or whatever then no one can make her accept them, right? You should take care of yourself until she’s ready.”
“That’s...pretty perceptive actually,” PB mused.
“I know, I’m pretty much a master of interpersonal journeys and reform. Aaaand...I’m done. Don’t smear it before we get on stage.”
PB stood and examined her new colors in a tall mirror propped against a wall. She looked like someone out of the old Earth cartoons about girl bands with big hair. Half an hour later under purple lights in the warehouse at the edge of town, the stripes seemed to glow. PB and Peridot took the stage in a cloud of fog, PB trembling and armed with her contrabass and Peridot with her triangle and harmonica. Some of the human organics called their music “punk” or “glam” or “indie.” To PB it was exciting and heady, a merging of emotion and metal in a way she could share.
And she shared it with a mixed audience of humans and gems who responded so positively that PB couldn’t feel alone in that moment.