Work Text:
You’re walking for the sake of walking. It’s the only thing you can think to do that sounds even vaguely productive. Everything out here is ultimately useless. Sure, you’re moving your body, but where are you going? There’s no such thing as a destination here. Maybe you’ll wander into another stupid bubble and navigate more dead memories with even more dead acquaintances. You can hardly call them friends. Anyway, your point of arrival is at the mercy of the gods of the Furthest Ring. And they’ve been leading you in figure-eights for a while now.
It’s hard leading a pointless existence. You know that now. It was fun for a bit… Not having any responsibilities. Opening up and sharing thoughts and feelings you never could in life. But now that you’re floating around in this purgatory on your own, futility’s weighing down your every prospect. You’re not in a hurry to jump on everyone else’ purpose and join the ghost army. You can’t bring yourself to give a shit anymore. And there’s no way you can confront her. The better version of you, you mean. Oh man, you are not cut out for this. She’s right. She’s got it together. She’s a troll with a mission. And what are you doing? Getting all sappy and introspective. Lazing around staring at flashing lights and haphazard destruction. Daring to think that being happy could ever be an option for you. Silly dead girl.
It’s better to keep walking. Walk and walk and never stop. Walk until space has no choice but to tie your path in knots. Walk back in time, walk straight out of corporeality. Walk until you’re nothing but quantum particles scattered, unobserved, never to collapse into a single form. Walk until a temporal fracture severs you in two. Or eight. Who cares.
What happened to that confident certainty? What happened to brazen self-assuredness? You’d like to believe in anything again, let alone yourself. Even if it’s just the deluded fake-y fake kind of believing. This is what you’ve been resigned to! Pathetic. You believed in your ancestor, and then you met Aranea. Ha! You believed in Meenah, and then… Ha.
This is what happens once you’re left alone to stew in your thoughts for too long. Without an identity to cling onto anymore, there’s nothing keeping you together. You feel like you’re bursting at the seams, crumbling into fairy dust. There are cracks running all through you, deep rivers etched into your bone. You don’t have a self anymore. Maybe you never did. You’re just a hodgepodge of traits you’ve stolen from others. You feel manufactured.
She was never like that. She had an identity, a vibrant personality. She was outspoken and funny and wonderfully silly. She had things to believe in. Justice always came first… Even before you. You used to think it was phony the way she clung onto her ideals, but weren’t you doing the same thing? It was the only way to live with what you had to do. You wonder how she’s doing now. Wonder if she ever spares you a passing thought.
That’s when you see something… Just a smudge on the horizon. A head? Two pointy horns jut out in the darkness, orange chitin catching the light in a funny way. There’s no way… And then her face comes into focus. Two downcast eyes, stark white against the grey of her solemn face. Is it really–?
The figure casts a searching glance in your direction and the lead in the pit of your stomach grows heavy. Can she sniff you out from this far away?
Her expression shifts immediately, that familiar smile stretching her cheeks impossibly wide. I guess that answers that! That’s certainly not the face you envisioned her greeting you with. If she could see her manic, toothy grin maybe she’d tone it down a bit. Nah, she’d probably pump it up a notch. You’d forgotten that she’s capable of expressions like this. You scan her features, losing yourself in her wide, hollow eyes. She’s grown. Her cheekbones are more prominent now. She’s even got a couple inches on you! You can’t stand to imagine how dopey you must look, just staring at her. You want to open your mouth, want to find the right words, but they don’t come. Of course they don’t come. You’ve imagined this moment countless times, scripted every nanosecond of this meeting. A meeting that paradox space has postponed for an absurd amount of time. Sweeps? Maybe even longer. It’s easy to lose track of time out here in the bubbles.
Terezi’s claimed a spot in the forefront of your thinkpan for an eternity now. When you pictured the moment you’d finally meet her, you saw yourself erupting with snarky wisecracks, friendly jokes… maybe even a hug. That’d be totally normal and definitely platonic, right? You look her over again. She’s grown into her long and gangly limbs and her body now resembles that of a troll rather than a flour sack with pencils sticking out of it. You can’t look away from the curve of her shoulders and the way they give way to long, slender arms. She used to be sharp edges and pointy angles but now she looks… soft. Her lips look especially soft. They’re as round as ever. Maybe you could… kiss them? That’d be totally par for the course! nothing out of the ordinary! Just, you know. like a peck maybe? Wow she is…….. pretty. Your face heats up and suddenly the most important thing in the world is whether ghosts are capable of blushing. Do you even have blood still? Fuck. Maybe you should apologize, but what for? You can’t seem to remember any of that carefully planned banter now that you’re actually face to face with the troll who has managed to plague your thoughts even in death.
You try your hardest to snap out of it. You fail miserably. Oh god she’s getting closer now. You will your stupid stumpy legs forward. Move, move, move!!!!!!!! She takes measured steps toward you, somehow appearing cautious and guarded even though that smile never slips off her face. This is the time to open with an amicable greeting, Serket! What are you waiting for. Just come in with a “Long time no see, Pyrope.” Oh fuck. Fuck. You blinded her, you ass. She never sees. Wait no okay, you’ve got this. “It’s 8een a while, Terezi.” Too formal? Are we even on a first name basis? Shit. Um, okay. You’re definitely overthinking this. It’s not so hard. Oh my god she’s like a foot away now. Okay. Alright. Here goes!
“Hi Terezi! Remember that time you killed me? Good times! And now you’re dead too!!!!!!!! Interesting!”
FUCK!!!!!!!! Fuck!!!!!!! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT????????
Why is it that when the subject of social interaction is broached your sparing intellect instantly assumes the most ingratiating posture of surrender imaginable? Way to be a jerk right off the bat! You probably hurt her feelings. No wonder she got sick of you.
Were you socialized in a bubble? …Well, actually you’ve been living in bubbles for a pretty substantial amount of time now. Shit. Bad metaphor.
You wait for her expression to drop, wait for her to turn on her heel and walk back up the path into the all-consuming oblivion. She’s spent more time looking at your back than the inverse. You don’t think you’ll make it if you have to watch her leave. They all leave.
It’s quiet.
You dare yourself to look up, to meet her gaze. The second your eyes meet hers, she completely loses it. She’s hysterical. The sound she’s producing can only loosely be described as laughter. She’s reaching decibels only audible to barkbeasts. Is she broken? she’s not showing any signs of stopping. She’s spluttering, sending teal-tinted saliva in every direction. What does this mean???????? Either you just fucked up worse than anyone in the history of any iteration of paradox space, or you’re the funniest fucker alive. Er.. dead. You’d better laugh too! You must’ve made a joke or something! Haha! The infallible Vriska does it again!
“Hahaha! Hahahahahahahaha! You know me, just a big ol’ barrel of laughs!!!!!!!!”
She pauses for a moment to process your comment and once it sinks in the laughter that wracks her frame somehow increases in volume AND intensity. She’s clutching at her sides, gasping for air. Tears are beading up in her dark lashes. You wish you were in on the joke too. What did you say? Did you hit a nerve? Is she seizing????????
And then the realization strikes you like a truck full of bricks. Stupid stupid dumb. Obviously, she’s laughing at YOU. She’s laughing at the weight you’ve put on, at your dumb tattoo. She can probably smell that you’ve been crying. She knows exactly how pathetic you are. She’s probably from a timeline where you ruined everything, as per usual, and even she thinks this particular instance of you is a miserable failure! Acid wells in your digestion sac and your entire body burns with shame. You’re sure you’re blushing now, regardless of whether it’s possible. To be fair you deserve it. You deserve the ridicule. You deserve every modicum of mortification she dishes out, eightfold. You feel your heart fold in on itself and it takes the combined effort of every cell in your body not to jump into the nearest temporal crack and fizzle out of existence for good.
Before you can register what’s happening, her arms are wrapped around your middle. She’s still warm, somehow. Her shoulders shake with the weight of her laughter. You can feel your bloodpusher grind to a halt as her tremors rock through your whole body. You feel all of the strain in your muscles evaporate into little wisps of smoke that fill your head and make you dizzy.
“I missed you, Vriska.”
She’s still laughing, but softer now. The point of her chin is pressing into your shoulder and you can feel her mouth forming shapes into your shirt. Her voice fills your auricular sponges. It’s familiar, but it’s has a new depth to it. Her laugh lilts like broken wind chimes. It’s never sounded sweeter to you. You tentatively reach your arms out too. Would it be okay if you…
She snuffles and pulls away from you, scrubbing at the tears in her eyes as she rides out the remainder of her laughing fit.
“You look different.” She points at your hair.
You have eight million responses to that! Is it bad different? She looks different too, maybe you should say so. You could make a joke! That didn’t go so well last time. Maybe if you-
“Very punky! Living out here has really changed you. You used to hate tattoos.”
She offers you a smirk that showcases her pointy teeth and accentuates the little dimples that frame her full lips.
“You too. You look…….. older.”
“Ha! Look at that! I’m finally taller than you!” She sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at you.
Now that there’s a distance between you, you miss having her close. You want to touch her somehow, just to reassure yourself that she’s really here. Of course you can’t let her know how desperate you are. It’ll take tact and finesse-
She grabs your clammy hand in hers and pulls you up next to her so that you’re standing edge to edge. She points past the abundant nothingness to the laser light show that Lord English is tearing through the Furthest Ring.
“Pretty”, she remarks.
Instead of looking out on the destruction, you watch her. You’ve wasted enough time bearing witness to the technicolor chaos. Your eyes follow intently as the light casts colors across her face, outlining every soft curve and pointy edge. Her upturned nose, and the little freckles that dust her cheeks.
“Yeah, it is.” You can’t help but agree. She’s beautiful.