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“Captor,” Equius Makara says, his artificially deepened and amplified voice putting a stop to your tracks. You hate his voice so much right now. It hurts your already throbbing, heavy head.
“Mr Makara, sir,” you say with a bow.
Your bow is stiffer and not as low as you usually do. Your back is still creaking from yesterday’s excursion and psionic overuse. Your eyes are burning behind your glasses, your head is buzzing with electricity, you can barely hear him over the clowns’ loud hymns…
The lyrics are of sacrifice.
Rite of passage today, huh… You wince. You really don’t want to know what body part this young troll is sacrificing for the Mirthful Messiah now.
You should have called Eridan here. He would have soothed you, and he would’ve been the solo singer, and you would’ve been able to focus on his voice instead of the pain-
Cold metal touches your throat.
You look down to see Equius Makara’s arm cannon shoving its way through your throatflaps.
A choking sound croaks out of you.
“Captor!” Makara shouts, and the tip of the cannon heats, causing you to wince. “Focus. There’s no time to waste. I need you to solve an urgent matter in my office.”
You straighten yourself, chin up high so that the cool air of the church balms the burned skin.
“As you wish,” you say slowly. It hurts so much to speak. “Lead the way, Highblood.”
Makara does just that, and you follow obediently, one step behind. He probably wants you to get rid of more paperwork from the Lower Parliament. The tenacity of those Tealbloods really knows no bounds…
Wait. He’s going behind the curtains. This isn’t a matter of paperwork. Your body heats up in nervousness. He isn’t firing you, is he?
And then he sits behind his real desk - not the one with paperwork that he uses to greet his fellow cyberclowns, but his technological work desk, half-broken, unfinished weapons and cybernetics just laying there. One of them is even smoking.
You almost sag in relief. He probably just wants you to rewire things his huge, too-strong arms have broken.
“Sit down, lowblood,” orders Makara.
You do just that, too, pasting a smile on your face. Even though your head hurts, you’re ready to fasten some screws and weld some tiny pieces of metal. Which is a welcome respite from the disastrous mission. You’re so tired of the discussions. Of Terezi’s yelling. Of debating with the Signless Revolution’s High Command. Of trying to ignore your visions to make Eridan happy.
This time, you can simply depend on your own dexterous, gentle hands, just like sewing and knitting.
“What can I help you with, sir?” you ask amiably.
Excitement buzzes under your skin, sparks of your psi running down your arms. Your hands are itching to touch a screwdriver again. To feel the buzz of energy replenishing your pitiful psionics.
“Let me cut to the chase, Captor,” Makara says, “What were you doing in Stormsurge yesterday?”
The buzz dies out.
“S-stormsurge, sir?”
No. No. Nonononono.
“Yes, Stormsurge, in the Conther province,” Makara presses on, “My moirail lives there. They told me you and a Violetblood visited them at their workplace and attacked them.”
No.
Nepeta Pyrope, the scammer, is Equius Makara’s moirail?
No! No, no, no! Why is the world so small?!
Your head’s buzzing more, your eyes heat up with overloaded psionics… wait, it’s wet. You’re crying.
Oh, you are dead .
You cannot jeopardize the Revolution’s safety. And as much as you want to, you can’t even jeopardize Ampora’s safety.
“Perhaps. Your moirail. Is mistaking another psionic for myself,” you lie, your tone deliberate but not too slow. Not too fast either… You hope. “I do not… fraternize… with seadwellers. My common blood. And my common sense. Do not allow it.”
“Really?” Makara demands. He’s activating his arm cannon again, hot-white light in the muzzle reflected in his shades, and then he looks from the cannon, to you.
Squarely in the eyes.
“They explicitly said they met a Goldblood named ‘Kanaya Captor’.” He leans closer to you. “Is that not your name, lowblood?”
You’re at a loss for words. How could Pyrope do this? Do they want the Revolution to burn down? Did they and their partner not really want to join you?
Makara sighs and deactivates his cannon.
“I’m not here to fire you, Captor! Or fire at you, for that matter!” he says, “My moirail can defend themself just fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” Your eyes widen. “Why?”
“You are under my employ, under the church’s rule, yet my moirail saw you working with a seadweller,” Makara replies, leaning his arms, both cannon and real, on his sides. “How did you get extorted by a Violetblood? Did you tangle yourself up with a Senatormentor? Or an Orphaner?”
Um. You’re tangled up with a violet-blooded cullbait , but you can’t tell him that.
“It was… a one-time arrangement,” you say instead, “He wanted a favor… I could not refuse a royal-blood, sir. Therefore, I did what he asked of me.”
“Dangerous game you’re playing, Goldblood,” Makara chides. Chides?
“…my sincerest apologies.”
“You sound so shocked!” He puts his arms on the desk again. But this time, the cannon is off, and his eyebrows are knitted in concern. “I don’t want you to die, Captor. You’re a valuable asset and you have been very helpful. You are even worth endangering myself in the mines.”
You’re right. He does endanger himself, there, for you.
As horrible as he is, he has helped you a lot.
“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head. You’re safe. The Revolution is hopefully safe, too. But… you have another nagging worry.
“Did your moirail… tell you anything about the seadweller?”
“No,” Makara says. His voice is… strangely small? “Not at all. Not even his name.”
You restrain yourself from sighing in relief.
“And that’s a problem,” your employer continues, “Because Nepeta has a fascination with seadwellers.”
Oh, no.
Time to be a listening ear, then. You tear your attention away from your headache and lean forward on the table; this is what he pays you for. “What do you mean by ‘fascination’?”
“Pardon my crudeness, Captor,” he lowers his voice, “But it seems like a fetish . They often told me of their associate, who is pursuing a seadweller for one of his quadrants, and they sound jealous … longing …”
Associate? As in Sollux ? Who is he trying to court?
“That sounds worrying,” you agree, “Are you concerned that they are pursuing the seadweller romantically?”
“Yes!” Makara cries, sweating, suddenly out of breath. “Specifically, in the pale quadrant!”
Nepeta Pyrope <> Karkat Ampora? You want to laugh. That’s a match made in the crackiest of fanfictions.
“Their behavior concerns me. And not only they’re strangely quiet about the seadweller who asked you for a favor, they’ve been talking to this- this one seadweller fanfiction writer! And they can’t stop gushing about this guy!”
He starts gasping, claws clutching the edge of his desk.
“A fanfiction writer?”
His fingers squeeze harder and harder, denting said desk.
“They think a mere student of the Academy of Literatorture is better than the descendant of the Mirthful Messiah ?!”
His arm cannon starts to whirr into activation again.
“Captor!” he shouts, pointing the cannon at you, “Do you read fanfiction?”
You reflexively stand up and step back.
“Do you?!”
“Y-yes!”
“Is any of your favorite authors a seadweller?”
“I- uh-“ You take out your palmhusk and go to the Fanfriction Scarchive. There, on your bookmarks, you quickly scan the color of the authors’ names… Jade… Teal… More Teals… Rusts… Cerulean… Gold… Gold, Gold, Cerulean, Gold… Bronze… Indigos… so many Indigos… Violet! There!
“Yes, sir!” you cry, “Their username is VioletProse!”
“VioletProse,” Makara repeats darkly. He’s putting his cannon back at his side now, morphing it back into a hand… no. A clenched fist. His fists are both clenched now, and his teeth are gritted, and his throatflaps are droning in rage.
You bet his eyes are red behind those shades.
You take one further, tiny step back.
“Do you think. That VioletProse… knows Nepeta’s… object of affection?” you dare yourself to ask.
“Oh, do they know ?” He growls. He raises his hands in a boxing pose, then unclenches his fists, fingers curling as if to strangle someone. “VioletProse is Nepeta’s object of affection! How dare they!”
“I am so sorry,” you say placatingly, and you really mean it. Having your object of affection pursue a troll of a higher caste than yourself really does a number on your psyche, you know how Eridan looks at that casteist intruder. You know how desperately he wants “Kar” in the Revolution.
And you know how much it burns you up inside.
Intensifies your visions of doom.
“I am. Truly sorry to hear it, Highblood.”
He sucks in a breath from his gritted teeth, spit wetting the sound. You almost recoil from that. But you can’t. You won’t.
You have to be here for him. Equius Makara is dangerous, and he’s terrible, but he is also just a seven-sweep-old tangled in quadrant problems…
Just like you.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Find those meddling seadwellers,” Makara orders, “But first, talk to VioletProse. Tell them not to touch my moirail – they’re taken, and they’re mine . Even a royal-blood should fear the wrath of the Mirthful Messiah and their descendant.”
You have a few concerns.
- How about Pyrope? Aren’t they the one pursuing seadwellers? Why isn’t Makara doing anything about their supposed infidelity?
- If VioletProse is anything like Karkat Ampora, they wouldn’t even be interested in touching someone as “lowly” as a Tealblood. You don’t say that, though. You will somehow find a way to placate a royal. Or perhaps you can ask Ampora to do it. He must know a lot of trolls, even if he doesn’t read fanfiction…
- Do you tell Eridan, Terezi, or the Revolution about the fact that Pyrope possibly has a crush on Ampora? How will that go? What would happen? And do you even tell Ampora himself that a Tealblood may be smitten with him (somehow)?
You decide to vocalize the first one.
“Pardon my forwardness,” you say, “But you told me… that your moirail is the one pursuing seadwellers. And possibly flirting with them. Should I do… anything… about that?”
“No,” the cyberclown replies, “ I will deal with my moirail. You, just stop those seadwellers! I will mine more gems for you, or buy you more fabric and all that fashion materials you need. Whichever you see fit! But only if you have done your work and report to me.”
Those are great incentives. You can’t wait to get more materials for Eridan’s first big project. He’s designed such a beautiful set, and you can’t wait until those drawings become reality!
“As you wish, Mr Makara.” You bow. You’ll plan your next move as soon as you’re back at your hive. “Thank you for your generosity.”