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As the first drops of rain fell, so did the first of many tears. A small community gathered early, before the sun had risen, before any light touched the sky, to pay their dues.
"Today we have gathered," a gentle, feminine voice began, hollow as the empty space they had gathered in and outside, a shovel struck a stone, three feet into the ground.
"To say our final goodbyes to our friend," A clap of thunder struck, echoing far and wide, as though the whole planet had gathered in mourning. The lone grave digger, with shoulders hunched and horns, like spires tall and winding, let out a sob to deafen the clouds themselves.
"A caring individual, honorable and fair, our dearly beloved," the speaker choked, unable to let her voice repeat the name, so familiar that it should flow with ease, but as it was spoken, that day those simple words tasted of ash. The crowd sat in silence, even their tears hushed in respect for the late, and the struggles of his eulogy reader. "Karkat Vantas."
"He was a friend to us all, but also our leader, and he strived to be excellent in all aspects of duty and of life." The shovel struck another stone, hard, but not enough to break. The way it was tossed was sorrily lackluster for the normal behavior of its castor. The crowd, all in black, bowed their heads, almost a nod at the truth of the words.
"He was truly, one of our very best, and we shall all miss him dearly." She said, stepping to the side to allow the space for others to express their thoughts on her friend, careful as always of her long skirt, though today it was a cold grey instead of a vibrant red, to honor the memory of her friend.
Two stood, ready to take the podium to speak for their deceased quadrant mate. A simple gesture from the lighter haired male let the other pass by, giving a brief squeeze of the hand in consolation as he went to take the stage, stepping up to the podium.
"Karkat," he began, choking a bit himself, as though he had not said the name in too long, as though he had forgotten how. "Was the best kismesis, and one of the best friends I have ever had."
"He was a great leader, and an amazing fighter. He was a good person, despite his outward attitude, we could all atest to the fact that he cared deeply about every single person here. Sometimes, probably more than he should have." The ghost of smiles teased at the lips of the gathered, a happy memory at the deceased's tendency to flip pale on his friends in times of need. The gravedigger tossed down his shovel and climbed from the hole, soaked to the bone, but colder inside than he could ever be out.
"He brought out the best and the worst in me, and all of us, and I can be nothing but thankful to him for it. He held his own in every fight, and he never backed down from a challenge, because he refused to let anything limit him. He was the strongest person I ever knew, a truly worthy opponent. and I am beyond proud to be able to have called him my rival." The blue eyed man looked down to the crowd, meeting eyes with his moirail, who had forgone his shades for the grim occasion, nodding to let him know he was to be next. Outside, bare fists pounded a slab of stone into the ground at the end of the grave, rage pushing the sturdy rock past the obstacles in the earth till it was deep enough to stand on its own.
A lighter haired adult stood, coming to the stage, giving a brief squeeze to the hand of his best friend as the passed, both restraining tears from falling. The lone troll outside made his way to the door, letting himself in from the harsh storm, wild hair pulled down under the weight of the heavy tears of the sky. John went to stand by him, carefully rubbing the paint on his matesprit's face back into place, earning him the tiniest grateful smile.
"I have only cried five times in my life, and one of those was this morning." He begins, voice tight and formal, graceful fingers curling around the sides of the podium, and the restraint not to just tear it apart makes the veins in his neck bulge out.
"I'll tell you though, I'm not sad. I'm angry, doesn't even matter that we all saw it coming, or that there was never anything we could do about it. He planned for us to watch all his favorite movies on Friday, and now I'm pissed I don't get to be there and hold him until he stops crying like a grub over the unbelievably shitty attempts at romance by troll Will Smith." A quivvering smile came to his lips, gentle laughter shaking the audience from their own sorrows even as the last ones in the room shed their first tears. Fond memories and happy thoughts peeked from behind the gloom and the blond's story took the edge off the oppressive atmosphere.
"For as strong as he was, he sure did cry a lot, and I've always just been glad I wear a lot of red because if I didn't I'd have a lot of pink shirts. He was a lot more vulnerable than he let on, even to me, but he was just so damn stubborn about everything," Dave stopped, taking a small, shuddery breath. "But that was always the best part about getting to see him sweet and exposed, because he was just so fucking beautiful that I was falling for him before, and still falling hard after- after I knew what I was getting into. Hell, I still don't know which way is up, but i wouldn't ever change it." The hall quieted, acknowledging the statement as what it truly was, even if the blond had not stated it explicitly. Their matespritship had been a wonderful thing, plain as day and nothing short of serendipity.
The looming figure of the moirail of the late approached the stage, a nod to the other, no hateful gestures passing between them. This day was for sharing in grief. He stood beside the podium, looking over to the casket, open still, and a smile played on his lips, words tumbling out in the way they always did in the presence of his palemate, even after the fact.
"Y'know, I just all up and saw him last night, asked me to chat him up a little..." The purpleblood said, stuck still between the podium and casket, not moving towards either, but resting in the middle, looking to be in his place, it seemed, and pulled out the presumed list. "Told me he knew he wouldn't be around too much longer. Had me make a couple promises." His smile turned a bit sleepy, voice tired, but even through the paint anyone would know he was exhausted. Any lesser troll would have been dead on their feet.
"Made me promise to make sure you all knew not to use any powers in this. Frond dug, frond dressed, and tucked in all gentle with a rope how it ought to be like." A little half laugh leaves his throat as he looks around, crumpling the paper. "Told me to make sure you motherfuckers didn't get all to crying for him either. Said he could shed enough tears for all of us." A low rumble of laughter drifted back through the hall, smiles lifting the corners of lips briefly, even as tears fell at the fond memories everyone had at the truth in the statement.
"Brother was looking after me most of his life, and I did my best at looking back down to him, seeing him always come at life in leaps and bounds like he was charging at it. Motherfucker wouldn't have stopped at a brick wall if he thought he could push it down." The tall figure stepped closer to the casket. "Looking on him now... it's like seeing him while he sleeps. Chill as motherfuckin ice, but you can see the lines that he wore himself down with every time he was awake." The room was not too quiet, breathing still sounded softly, choked back sobs from a few and a gentle shoosh to those in pain from others.
"Took it on to make sure everybody got all their gloom shrugged off before they caused trouble, and kept me in check. We weren't easy on him, but I took it up to please him and get him all back to where he felt up enough to do it again, cause this here brother never got it in his head that it was okay to let anybody else feel anything but good in life." A tear fell, and he took a gentle thumb to the hardening cheek flesh of his late palemate and pushed one little unruly hair back into place, framing the face he had looked on for as long as he could remember as the greatest miracle ever made.
"Poor motherfucker though... let out on life after 18 sweeps..." He drew back, smiling sadly out at the attendance. "Last thing he told me was he wouldn't have traded it for anything, no matter how shitty it got. Said to me, Even if I got the chance, i wouldn't change a single fucking thing; wouldn't be where I am without having gone where i've been." The Juggalo smiled brightly, dizzy with diamonds lingering after his partner's passing. "Ain't that just the most true and real shit you ever got your listen on at? I'm gunna miss him, already hurts worse than anything I ever felt, but I'm at least glad he went on, charging forward and not looking back at times what could've been better. If my pan rots out to nothing by the time I age out to be challenging the motherfuckin soil on who got here first, I just wanna remember that bit he said, cause it's so true and so real and so... Karkat. Best little miracle ever dreamed up and made to sit with us like he didn't know he deserved any better."
The clown turned back to the coffin, face turning somber and his heart aching. "My brightest miracle, most pale of diamonds, pale as sugar- pale as snow- pale as motherFUCKING BONES," he said, breath catching in his throat, easing himself back into calmness with deep, shuddering breaths as his words echoed in the space. "My most beloved of moirails..." He trailed his finger pads over Karkat's cheek, all familiar warmth gone from it, but he still took the same care when he touched the corpse as he had every time he had touched him before. "See you later, Karbro."
He took his large, strong hands, and, gentle as the light of their one blue moon on this planet they earned and made and lived on, (thanks in no small part to his most precious mate) closed the lid.