(Untitled)

[andthorns]

[Holidays on the meteor.]

[All in all, godhood has treated Rose well. There is less to worry about when you can see a virtual list of consequences ahead of you. The fact that she knows she'll see her mother again helped as well. But it wasn't her mother, was it? Genetically the same, but the woman she was raised by was still dead, left behind in a

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[andthorns]

[She stays as she is for a few moments. It can't be anyone but Dave. Kanaya would have knocked, Karkat would already be loudly filling space, and Terezi would probably launch herself at her. With a low sigh, Rose lowers her arm from its place flung over eyes and moves to the side, making room in the mutilated dragon plush pile for him. Her eyes stay firmly shut.]

Don't just stand there.

[andthorns]

[She flips an obligatory bird in his direction, but adjusts herself into a more comfortable position once he settles down, breathing a laugh at his complaint]

Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the terrible tale that comes troll midyear. On the twenty-fifth of December in paradox space... [she opens her eyes, frowning toward him.]...la da da, something ending in a description of yet another object made of dead troll infants. Happy holidays.

[andthorns]

Wouldn't want to spoil the weak and unworthy.

[It's good-natured teasing, but she sighs again to fill the silence, burrowing back into Terezi's pile. She likes their troll brethren, really - even Karkat. But they're not human, and this place isn't home, and sometimes it closes in on her like this. She presses her hand to her forehead and says]

I have a headache.

[but what she means is something else.]

[andthorns]

[She removes her hand from her own forehead and slaps it against his, replacing the pressure against her skull with her free hand. She leaves it there for a bit, lost in thought and staring at the ceiling. It's not helping. It isn't helping to sit there alone, together, with only their inner dialogue to fill the empty space. She huffs once and slides her hand down to cover his eyes, knocking his glasses down around his nose.]

[andthorns]

Your silence is abysmal. I'm suffocating.

[She grips his face just so and rocks it slightly back and forth, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. Less damaging than a game of passive-aggression, but the mechanics are the same: poke at it and see what happens.]

The shades were never cool.

[andthorns]

[she swats back, lightly at his face and replaces her hand, thank you very much.]

What a joyous gift. I think I would rather lick a live wire.

[andthorns]

[The air grows a little stiller. She stops smiling.]

As though I would need my hands for that.

[Something comes out of her mouth then, but it's not English - it isn't even human, like stones scraping in her throat. Like her memories of her mother's body, the consequences don't just go away just because it's convenient, and she still hadn't learned her lesson. You poke it, and it pokes you. It occurs to her that the abyss looking back is applicable in more ways than one here; she moves to pull her hand away again. ]

[andthorns]

[She pushes then, not enough to hurt but hopefully enough to make a point.]

You'd get a better response out of me.