Chapter Text
Relations 8etween Her Radiant Compassion and the purple8loods had 8een contentious for centuries. Really, the institution of culling had only 8ecome a formal social and legal o8ligation early in the reign of Meenah’s predecessor, the Compasse, empress of 8eforus when our session 8egan. Inter-caste violence was incredi8ly rare, 8ut 8eforus still contained a great many dangers, from the sun to the wildlife, and for all their psychic gifts warm 8loods often led unnaturally short lives. When the Compasse ascended the throne, she created the institution of culling, so that warm8loods could depend on the protection of a stronger and longer-lived cool8lood.
The purple caste — highest of the landdwellers — fought horn and claw to 8e exempt from this institution, claiming that their religious 8eliefs conflicted with the Compasse's orders, and they would 8e unfit guardians for warm8loods. Frankly, many warm8loods agreed, citing rumors of terrifying and mysterious chucklevoodoos that purple8loods supposedly possessed. 8ut, the Compasse had decreed that culling or equivalent community service 8e mandatory for all castes, and as the highest landdwellers the purple8loods had a lot of responsi8ility to contri8ute. Most purple8loods were forced into culling warm8loods as punishment for other social transgressions. The Compasse and the Grand High8lood negotiated a vast num8er of treaties to try and smooth over these difficulties, until the Compasse proposed a very peculiar arrangement:
If ten purplebloods are willing to spend one )(undred sweeps culling trolls olive and warmer, t)(en t)(e entire caste will be exempt from culling for t)(at period. In addition, t)(e Grand )(ig)(blood's )(eir must pledge to protect my greatest treasure for )(is entire lifespan, but t)(en )(e will also be exempt from culling for )(is w)(ole lifespan.
The purple8loods considered this treaty a 8argain. The ten volunteers stepped forward and were exalted 8y their peers as generous martyrs, and history does not recall any particular distur8ances in their time as cullers. As for the High8lood's Heir, he journeyed to the Compasse's amphi8ortress at his elder's command, expecting to spend an uneventful few decades as a glorified watchman. 8ut this treaty set into motion events that would alter the course of 8eforus's history forever.
This is the story of how the Mirthful met the Chimeric.
Gamzee stood in the central hall of the palatial amphibortress, passively observing the volcanic rock and coal architecture. Most every wall depicted great carved murals of Beforus’s glorious history, as empress after empress presided over what was surely a finer and greater age than her predecessor. But, Gamzee didn’t care too much about that kind of shit. The political fires burning in the hearts of others as others swore up and down that the Compasse was breaking the chain of great empresses didn’t blaze in Gamzee’s blood pusher. She was being all kinds of motherfucking annoying, but he could deal with that no problem.
Serve her for the lifespan of her greatest treasure, huh? The Compasse had reassured the Grand Highblood that the treasure’s lifespan would not be longer than fifty sweeps. For a hundred-and-two sweep old, fifty sweeps was still a daunting amount of time, but in the grand scheme of his lifespan he’d probably barely remember it. Much like his politics, Gamzee couldn’t feel too mad playing guard barkbeast to one of the Empress’s pets. He’d learned as a wiggler to put his faith in the Mirthful Messiahs, so whether he spent the next hundred sweeps as a petsitter or returned to the Church in time for the next Parade of Horns didn't matter much to him.
After a few minutes of staring at the walls and getting his contemplative zone on, her Radiance arrived, swathed in a simple fuchsia dress with very little adornment, save a fine mesh of gold netting holding her curtains of hair behind her shoulders. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Gamzee, like he was the answer to some unspoken prayer.
“Mirthful! Thank goodness you’re here, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you in person!” The Compasse spoke like a song, light and energetic. She held her two hands out to Gamzee, and he briefly took them in a sort of double-handshake. His large fingers dwarfed her slender, seadweller palms. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”
“Wicked motherfucking greetings to you, Compasse,” Gamzee pulled his hands back and flicked an imaginary handful of special stardust at the empress. He wouldn’t waste the real stuff on a heretic, royal or otherwise. “The journey didn’t trouble me a bitchtitty bit.”
The Compasse giggled, but Gamzee spent his whole life surrounded by free-flowing fountains of laughter and knew she was forcing it. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate your greeting and your blessing, but in light of your new duties, you will have to limit your use of profanity. Please, do not swear in front of the young one.”
“But I can get my motherfucking swear on at you, right?”
The corner of her smile twitched. “That’s… fine. But perhaps, you could adjust your makeup? It could frighten him.”
Gamzee grinned as wide as he could, stretching the lines of the traditional Terrighteous Skull face paint. “Why don’t we let the other motherfucker decide if he’s gonna get his fear on?”
The Compasse’s eyebrows knit together a little more, but even on this point she had to relent. “Fine. I understand the paint is spiritual for you, but if it agitates him, you will change it. Am I clear?”
“Absolutely, my fishy sister.”
“If you’ll follow me, please.”
Gamzee fell into step behind the Compasse as she led him down an adjacent hall. He knew he had won that round of negotiation—everything from the blessed swears to the choice of greasepaint was meant to subvert the Compasse’s orders and prove that the purplebloods would not be udderbeasted by her whims—but his heart still wasn’t really in it, much like the politics. None of this really affected the grand mirthful design that led to the Dark Carnival. Gamzee could spend his whole life waiting talon and claw on loathsome heretics and the ultimate destiny of all creation would not change. If the Empress thought she was the biggest fish in the sea or not, what did it matter? If Gamzee made himself a thorn in her gills, what would that accomplish? Well, as far as the Grand Highblood was concerned, Gamzee’s treatment during his indentured servitude would dictate tyrian and purple cooperation for the next few centuries, so he might as well try to get along and see if the Compasse would meet him halfway.
“I have received your vacation calendar as well,” the Compasse made small talk as they walked. “Your religious festivals have been noted, and I will be sure to find a replacement culler for those times so you can observe your traditions.”
“I thought you motherfucking said I was going to be a protector, not a bitch-ass culler.”
“Then, I suppose it’s time to tell you. My most precious treasure is a rare and special young troll. I found him as a grub, passed over by all the lusus naturae. No creature would raise him, so I brought him into my hive.”
Gamzee pulled a face behind the Compasse as he tried to contemplate what that meant. A grub without a lusus happens every so often, but a grubunchosen by a lusus was impossible. What was wrong with this wiggler?
“How old is he?” Gamzee asked.
“Nearly a sweep old. His wiggling day is in the next bilunar perigee. He just finished his pupation, too. It’s getting harder to keep up with him now that he can run, and I do still have my duties as Empress to attend to. I want him to have the most beautiful experience his allotted lifespan on this planet will allow, and he needs someone to protect him when I cannot. I think a minstrelister like yourself would be the best candidate for such a task.”
Gamzee didn’t frown, but he was hardly pleased. This joke, tricking him into becoming a culler, was not very funny. Well, it shouldn’t be too bad. From the way the Compasse was speaking, fifty sweeps sounded like a generous estimate for a troll so deformed no lusus would choose him. The little motherfucker probably wouldn’t live much past ten. He’d reach adulthood, receive his title, and kick the wicked motherfucking shit.
The Compasse arrived at a heavy wooden door, but paused before opening. In the silence, Gamzee could hear quick thumps and ripping sounds from inside.
“Oh, carp…” the Compasse hissed, and she opened the door.
All of the furniture had been knocked over and piled in the center of the room. End tables, an ottoman, some chests, a statuette or two, a few chairs, and was that a bookcase? Yes, that was an overturned bookcase, with all the discarded books scattered about the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs. Several titles, as well as some swaths of torn curtain, served as roofing for the impressive bunker of miscellaneous furniture.
“Karkat!” her Radiance cried, and with another mighty riiiiiiiiiip, a wall hanging on the far side of the room separated from its hooks, pulled by a very determined young wiggler with puffy hair and nubby horns. As soon as the young thing caught sight of the Compasse, he shrieked an ear-splitting “NOOOOOOO!” and sprinted away, dragging his curtained cape behind him.
The Compasse immediately chased and quickly caught her prey, using the curtain he had torn down as an impromptu net. The wiggler continued screaming incoherent bloody murder as the Compasse held the swaddled troll in Gamzee’s direction.
“Mirthful, may I introduce my cullee, Karkat. He’s three weeks post-pupation…” The Compasse breathed a huge sigh. “And I am exhausted. He will not stop running into trouble, and I’m so afraid he’s going to get himself hurt. I promise you will receive support in turn, but I cannot go on culling him the way I did before. I need help.”
Karkat continued to writhe in the Compasse’s arms, not enjoying her radiant compassion one little bit. He fought with everything he had to escape the curtain, but the Compasse was simply too strong. Gamzee found himself faced with two conflicting emotions as he stared at the troll in the Compasse’s arms. Half of him was horrified he had to spend any length of time looking after this tiny demon. The other half wanted to follow Karkat and see just how far this little soul full of rage would propel him.
“Why don’t you set the little mother—uh, grubber down? I wanna meet him on his level.”
The Compasse follows Gamzee’s direction and placed the bundle of screaming troll between them as the adults knelt. Even Karkat could see there was nowhere to run as he untangled himself from the fabric and looked Gamzee over, standing a little closer to the Compasse than to the newcomer, falling silent for a minute. Gamzee looked him over in turn. He looked fairly strong for a wiggler, evidence of a well-fed grubhood. He wore no shirt, just some swaddling around his legs.
“What’s… wrong with his scars?” The two vestigial grublegs on Karkat’s sides were an unnaturally bright red.
“That’s his blood color. He’s has an off-spectrum mutation. I have reason to believe he is warmer than a burgundy in that respect.”
Gamzee bit back a ‘damn’ and continued to stare at Karkat. “Is that what you’re so angry about, little bro? Do you think you’ve got bad blood all up in your pump biscuit?”
Karkat took a step closer to Gamzee, carefully examining his face, until he reached out and slapped his cheek. As a wiggler not even one-fourth Gamzee’s size, the blow didn’t even sting, but when Karkat started to mash his hand and smear Gamzee’s paint that was the last straw. Gamzee grabbed hold of Karkat’s arms, holding them far away from his face. The child’s arms were about the diameter of one of Gamzee’s fingers.
“Be careful with him, Mirthful!” The Compasse interjected as Karkat began to struggle. He stamped his feet and shook his body and head and flung his arms forward into Gamzee’s hold. Finally, Gamzee decided he’d had enough and released the boy, letting momentum carry him forward to fall flat on his face. The Compasse gasped, scandalized, but Karkat lifted his head and for the first time smiled. He picked himself up off the floor and rushed at Gamzee again, only for the same thing to happen. Catch, struggle, drop.
“Mirthful, I really don’t think you should play with him like that! When he was a grub, he liked lullabies and stories and tickles—”
“Compasse, I don’t mean to get all up in your opinionations, but this little moth—um, mothling just got himself a pair of arms and legs. He just wants to get his wicked exercise on. There anywhere he can run around and get some starlight on him?”
“Well, no. He hasn’t been outside quite yet, but once he’s older and stronger he will—” A small ringing sound filled the air between you, and the Compasse hissed again as she lifted a small shell phone to her ear. “Yes, Seafarer? Yes. I understand, I’m almost finished…”
As the Compasse delivered her status report to some dignitary, Gamzee returned his attention to the wiggler still playing in his hands. “You’re an angry little troll, aren’t you?” he whispered to the child. “You’re only happy when you’re hopping mad… Almost like you’ve got a little harshwhimsy in you…” Karkat said “NO!” a few times, but that just seemed like the only word in his vocabulary so far.
The Compasse clipped her phone shut and stood. “I’m so sorry, but there’s urgent business waiting for me. I will be back in a few hours, and I can send you a seamail with more instructions. In the meantime, I don’t expect you to clean anything, but… don’t let him break anything else?”
“You got it, my fishy sister,” Gamzee answered. He let Karkat free and watched as the Compasse left, since then the coast would be clear to play whatever rough-and-tumble game Karkat wanted to play. But, when he looked back to Karkat after the Empress’s departure, he had gone. A few giggles revealed that he had burrowed himself in the bunker of assorted busted furniture.
“Now what are you in to?” Gamzee noticed a few tunnels in the pile, and reached a hand in one. Nothing. He slapped the floor a few times and heard Karkat laugh again. Yep, that motherfucker was toying with him. Gamzee pulled his arm out and circled the bunker, looking for a more likely opening, and he reached his hand in again. Same result. The third time, Gamzee picked a hole, waited, then snapped his hand forward like a viper and caught Karkat’s ankle, dragging the little wiggler out of the pile and out into the open.
“Gotcha,” Gamzee told the young wiggler, and with his charge secured, and hanging upside-down in his hand, Gamzee looked back to the closed door. What was this mutant actually worth, such that the Compasse would offer Gamzee’s caste such a lopsided deal to secure his protection? It didn’t make any sense, she completely ingratiated herself before the Grand Highblood just to find a surrogate lusus for her little—
“FUCK!” A sharp pain pierced Gamzee’s hand, and he instantly released his hold on Karkat, only to remember just in time that he needed to catch the child with his other hand so he wouldn’t fall on the floor. A set of round teethmarks covered one of his fingers. Karkat had wiggled his way into grabbing hold of Gamzee’s hand and decided, once in reach, to bite him. Purple blood welled up from the little row of punctures as Gamzee continued muttering curses. “Motherfucking bitch-ass teeth, too motherfucking sharp for your own good, fuck…”
“Fuck!” Karkat repeated. His wide eyes glimmered like Gamzee had taught him a secret of the universe. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Gamzee gaped at his wound and the nascent foulmouth who injured him, but then sighed and licked his hand clean. So much for not swearing in front of the Empress’s treasure.