He's no idiot - he knows exactly what's happening. A few months of retrospect will do that for you; he's some odd anomaly, a carrier or a prototype or something, and now that the world is changing around him it was really kind of foolish to hope that his own little universe would stay unchanged. After all, everything else is warping around them - Vriska's remains are in the basement, burnt and buried as per her wishes. (She'd bet that wouldn't have the decency to do it himself. He'd thought it had nothing to do with being decent - he'd rather die again than let someone else take the one kill he'd been promised. Turns out a shotgun was just enough for whatever gods were watching.) Sollux is - god, he couldn't kill Sollux, of course he couldn't. The mindless bastard's probably still munching on Karkat's body, right where they left him. And Bro's nowhere to be found, same as always
( ... )
[Dave's voice doesn't snap her out of the fog of her own thoughts so much as it gently draws her out, like a lifeline pulling her to shore. She takes in a shuddering breath and looks up, more out of some obligation of politeness than any real need to face him, and leans into his touch.
[ He sits down next to her, scooting in only to drop his hand down and wrap it around her side. He's still wearing that gaudy red jacket of hers - couldn't leave that thing behind if he wanted to, at this point - and he hopes that for what it's worth, the smell will make this whole thing go a little easier.
He still hasn't put those shades of his back on. It's oddly freeing, not having to give a fuck anymore. ]
Same old, same old. Figured I'd drop down and say hey - Orange is getting his sulk on again, and there's only so much of that shit John can take.
[ He hugs her tight to him, from his little side position, and then his arm moves to rub at her back. It takes him a few moments to say: ]
So how much longer you think you're around for?
[ And fuck if that doesn't hurt more than anything else that's happened yet. ]
[She almost wants to snap at him when he asks that. The fuck does he know? Maybe it was just allergies. Maybe she would be just fine given enough time. Maybe not everything had to be about zombies, did he ever think about that?
She thought she had been so careful about hiding it. But it had been months since this all started, and it was stupid to think she'd ever be able to keep it a secret for any length of time. Especially from him.
She tries to stay cool when she answers, but she can't quite keep the quaver out of her voice.]
I don't know.
[She's close, she knows that much.
She already feels sick to her stomach, caught between clawing hunger pangs and wanting to throw up everything in her stomach. It's getting harder to breathe all the time. She can't smell or taste as well as she used to, and she hates it, hates being so blind. She wants the colors back, blueberry bubble gum and tangy mustard and cherry candy, bright and vivid like sunbursts in her mouth.
[ He hugs her a little closer, trying to pretend that nothing's wrong for at least a little bit. It's not much, but some semblance of normalcy might help right now.
her light is fading away, little bit by little bit, but she's still as beautiful as ever. it's like some fucked up greyscale rendition, like he's watching a silent terezi film from the thirties, and he knows the parts that are coming up and his own mind gets to play conductor for just this tiny little bit.
the meaty smell is drifting away. that's not terrible, though, he could grab that off john no problem. pretty sure the goob won't mind if he just inhales around him every now and then.
His spare hand goes up, stroking at terezi's hair. After a moment, he speaks up: ]
The fuck kind of conditioner do you even use? This shit's like velvet.
[ Anything but thinking about the issue at hand. ]
[Oh, is that what they're doing now? Pretending everything's alright and that she isn't on the verge of death and losing everything that makes her her?
She can do that. She's 0kay with this.]
Jeez, it's about time you noticed for all the effort I've been putting into it. [She'd be flipping her hair right now if his hand wasn't still in it.] It's Russian Amber Imperial Conditioning Crème by Phillip B. I only use the best.
[Bullshit. It's just the regular cheap stuff. She never cared about how she looked like Kanaya or Feferi or-- or any of the others did. As long as it got her hair clean and made her smell nice, she didn't care.
She turns and presses her face against Dave's side, trying to bury herself in strawberry red. The longer she stays there and tries to breathe it in, the more she thinks she can smell it.]
You never did get rid of this jacket. Is my awesome fashion sense finally rubbing off on you? Do we need to go raid my wardrobe for things for you to wear?
Keep dreaming, Tuh-reh-zi. The only thing keeping this shit on my back is the mad irony involved.
[ It's about as boldfaced a lie as you can get, and they're both aware - everything, from the hint of jest in his voice to the way he wraps around her and tries to hold her as close as he can, screams that there's nothing ironic about any of this. He wears it because it reminds him of her, and her smell, and that teal life running through her, and chances are he's not going to drop it anytime in the foreseeable future either. This is his, now, the only way he'd relinquish it for a second is to let her hide in it and even then he'd be collecting on that debt nice and fucking quick.
He holds her there next to him, not really sure of what else to say, and after only a moment's pause he forces out- ]
Striking you up a deal right now. You remember that red piece of shit suit in my closet? [ And then, hardly stopping for breath, and his voice might be getting wispier and a bit strained because of it- ] It's all yours. You can fucking cavort
( ... )
That's the best-- ["--plan anyone's ever fucking come up with" is what she wants to say, but instead she immediately disentangles herself from him and pushes him away because she's suddenly coughing and she really, really doesn't want anything getting onto him. She curls in on herself, hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking, trying to keep it all contained. Pain blooms in her chest and stomach, and it's the first thing she's tasted in a while, sickly sweet magenta lined with maggot white in the back of her throat. When she stares down at her hands in some distantly terrified fascination, she realizes nothing has even come up yet.
Fuck.
After she's done, she slowly unfolds herself and says roughly:] Sounds good.
[The other sentence was just too fucking long to say.]
[ He's back at her side almost as quickly as she's pushed him away, not sidling close to her but setting a hand lightly on her back. When she's finally finished hacking away, he scoots in again, gingerly wrapping one arm around her and grabbing a hand with the other. ]
No shit - I'm good like that.
[ God, if she's hacking how long does she have? He goes over everything in his head, tries to find someplace to start -
A knocking from the staircase door interrupts him, and he yells (a little louder than he might have intended): ]
Hey, can't a guy get jiggy with his girlfriend in peace around here?
[ Whoever it was yells some sort of apology, but Dave isn't listening. The sound of footsteps grows dimmer, and finally vanishes completely.
Dave holds himself to Terezi and tries to remember how to breathe again. ]
[She blinks away something that might be the start of tears when he does for her what she wouldn't do for him at the start of all this -- a hand at her back, a hand in hers -- and she wants to cling to him and not let go. She had never been fond of knowing when and how she'd die (a juggling club to the back of the skull, a scream from beyond the stars, a flash of sour apple heat, a blade shoved between her ribs--), but at least she could stop those deaths. Helplessly waiting for the end and not knowing was so much worse.
Her heart flips with fear at the sound of someone knocking (no no no, she doesn't want anyone else to see this, doesn't want anyone else to know), and for a moment she just goes completely rigid while Dave drives them off.
She coughs again into her free arm, trying to clear her throat of the taste, but even that gets her stomach roiling and almost sets her off again.]
Ooh, Mr. Strider. [Short sentences. Breathe.] Is really that something you should be announcing? What will the others think?
Doesn't matter. Let them know - I'll scream it from the mountaintops or some equally pretentious romantic bullshit. "My name's Dave Strider, and I'm totally banging my girlfriend in the cellar," loud and clear.
[ "Is there anything I can do to make this easier," he wants to ask, or "Tell me if you need me to do anything," but all he can remember then is staring down Vriska on one end of a shotgun, and if he weren't already empty on the inside he'd be puking up whatever was left. So instead of saying anything aloud, he scoots in a bit more, only hesitating for a moment before pulling the hair back from her face and kissing her on the cheek.
The warmth is fading. ]
In fact, you know what? Fuck that. Once we're done pailing in the basement, we're moving up and kicking in all the PDA in the world. Right on Egbert's couch. That'll show him to mind his own basement rumpus business.
[He'll be totally banging his girlfriend in the cellar right by the buried remains of his other girlfriend that he killed.]
You paint such an enticing picture for me. How could I ever refuse?
[She wouldn't mind the rest of it, though. Moving someplace where there's light and heat sounds like the best idea in the world right about now. She wants to curl up under a million blankets somewhere with Dave and forget about all the terrible things that have happened and how the rot is worming its way through her guts and up her chest to infect her lungs and corrupt her from the inside out and she better quit this line of thinking right now before she throws up.]
[ He's trying very hard not to think about that. Failing miserably, but trying. He squeezes his arm closer (lightly, as lightly as he can get it, he doesn't want to disturb her stomach right now) and snorts with bitter amusement. ]
Fuck if I know. Can't think of anyone that wouldn't want some quality macking time with Mr. Strider while one John Egbert watches like the goob he is.
[ And then he falls silent again, doing his best to reassure her that he's there, he's not going anywhere, and goddammit he's seeing this entire thing through one way or another. ]
[The silence stretches on between them. She wants to fill it with their dumb ironic banter, to go back to pretending everything is fine, but she hurts too much for her to muster up the effort for stuff that doesn't actually matter. There are things she still wants to tell him and she's not going to waste the time she has left when she'll never have another chance at this.]
Dave, I--
[But before she even starts she's cutting herself off, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to cough, and she turns away from him again. She knows he's there for her through all this, but she still doesn't want him to watch her (die) break down like this in front of him. There's something forcing its way up inside her, strong and sharp and wrong she coughs so hard it feels like something in the back of her throat is tearing she's gagging and she wants nothing more than to get it all out--
Her hands are wet when she finally draws them away from her face.]
[ He leans in, listening intently as she struggles with words - and then she's hacking everything up before she's even had a chance to speak. He stays by her side, watching her turn away to cough up something, and he doesn't move because he knows there's absolutely nothing more he can do right now.
When she finally stops coughing, he traces reassuring circles with his fingers, tries not to think about irony or cold or hunger or anything but the girl at his side. He finally manages to speak up, in the quiet- ]
[She can't stay upright anymore. She's on her side, curled up on the floor. The cold cuts her down to the bone. Violent shivers wrack her small frame as she fights for every breath. The urge to vomit rises harder and stronger now, but she wants -- needs -- to keep it down. Her words come out as a harsh rasp, rambling and desperate and rough and occasionally punctuated with a gasp for air. There's a part of her that's half out of its mind from the pain and hunger and doesn't quite know what she's saying, only that she just needs to say it.I'm sorry I fucked up your universe and I'm sorry I killed you and I'm sorry everyone's dead or dying or on their way there and you can't do anything about it and I'm sorry about that one time I ate your refrigerator magnets, I never told you and I think you might have blamed Vriska for stealing them but that was totally me, and most of all I'm sorry I never told you how much you mean to me without couching it in dumb word games or ironic displays of affection. It's a lot, by the way, in case you were
( ... )
He's no idiot - he knows exactly what's happening. A few months of retrospect will do that for you; he's some odd anomaly, a carrier or a prototype or something, and now that the world is changing around him it was really kind of foolish to hope that his own little universe would stay unchanged. After all, everything else is warping around them - Vriska's remains are in the basement, burnt and buried as per her wishes. (She'd bet that wouldn't have the decency to do it himself. He'd thought it had nothing to do with being decent - he'd rather die again than let someone else take the one kill he'd been promised. Turns out a shotgun was just enough for whatever gods were watching.) Sollux is - god, he couldn't kill Sollux, of course he couldn't. The mindless bastard's probably still munching on Karkat's body, right where they left him. And Bro's nowhere to be found, same as always ( ... )
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How long has she been sitting here with Vriska?
Where did the time go?]
Oh. You know. The usual.
[Technically not a lie.]
Sup with you?
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He still hasn't put those shades of his back on. It's oddly freeing, not having to give a fuck anymore. ]
Same old, same old. Figured I'd drop down and say hey - Orange is getting his sulk on again, and there's only so much of that shit John can take.
[ He hugs her tight to him, from his little side position, and then his arm moves to rub at her back. It takes him a few moments to say: ]
So how much longer you think you're around for?
[ And fuck if that doesn't hurt more than anything else that's happened yet. ]
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She thought she had been so careful about hiding it. But it had been months since this all started, and it was stupid to think she'd ever be able to keep it a secret for any length of time. Especially from him.
She tries to stay cool when she answers, but she can't quite keep the quaver out of her voice.]
I don't know.
[She's close, she knows that much.
She already feels sick to her stomach, caught between clawing hunger pangs and wanting to throw up everything in her stomach. It's getting harder to breathe all the time. She can't smell or taste as well as she used to, and she hates it, hates being so blind. She wants the colors back, blueberry bubble gum and tangy mustard and cherry candy, bright and vivid like sunbursts in her mouth.
But now everything is just muted and grey.]
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[ He hugs her a little closer, trying to pretend that nothing's wrong for at least a little bit. It's not much, but some semblance of normalcy might help right now.
her light is fading away, little bit by little bit, but she's still as beautiful as ever. it's like some fucked up greyscale rendition, like he's watching a silent terezi film from the thirties, and he knows the parts that are coming up and his own mind gets to play conductor for just this tiny little bit.
the meaty smell is drifting away. that's not terrible, though, he could grab that off john no problem. pretty sure the goob won't mind if he just inhales around him every now and then.
His spare hand goes up, stroking at terezi's hair. After a moment, he speaks up: ]
The fuck kind of conditioner do you even use? This shit's like velvet.
[ Anything but thinking about the issue at hand. ]
Reply
She can do that. She's 0kay with this.]
Jeez, it's about time you noticed for all the effort I've been putting into it. [She'd be flipping her hair right now if his hand wasn't still in it.] It's Russian Amber Imperial Conditioning Crème by Phillip B. I only use the best.
[Bullshit. It's just the regular cheap stuff. She never cared about how she looked like Kanaya or Feferi or-- or any of the others did. As long as it got her hair clean and made her smell nice, she didn't care.
She turns and presses her face against Dave's side, trying to bury herself in strawberry red. The longer she stays there and tries to breathe it in, the more she thinks she can smell it.]
You never did get rid of this jacket. Is my awesome fashion sense finally rubbing off on you? Do we need to go raid my wardrobe for things for you to wear?
Reply
[ It's about as boldfaced a lie as you can get, and they're both aware - everything, from the hint of jest in his voice to the way he wraps around her and tries to hold her as close as he can, screams that there's nothing ironic about any of this. He wears it because it reminds him of her, and her smell, and that teal life running through her, and chances are he's not going to drop it anytime in the foreseeable future either. This is his, now, the only way he'd relinquish it for a second is to let her hide in it and even then he'd be collecting on that debt nice and fucking quick.
He holds her there next to him, not really sure of what else to say, and after only a moment's pause he forces out- ]
Striking you up a deal right now. You remember that red piece of shit suit in my closet? [ And then, hardly stopping for breath, and his voice might be getting wispier and a bit strained because of it- ] It's all yours. You can fucking cavort ( ... )
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Fuck.
After she's done, she slowly unfolds herself and says roughly:] Sounds good.
[The other sentence was just too fucking long to say.]
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No shit - I'm good like that.
[ God, if she's hacking how long does she have? He goes over everything in his head, tries to find someplace to start -
A knocking from the staircase door interrupts him, and he yells (a little louder than he might have intended): ]
Hey, can't a guy get jiggy with his girlfriend in peace around here?
[ Whoever it was yells some sort of apology, but Dave isn't listening. The sound of footsteps grows dimmer, and finally vanishes completely.
Dave holds himself to Terezi and tries to remember how to breathe again. ]
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Her heart flips with fear at the sound of someone knocking (no no no, she doesn't want anyone else to see this, doesn't want anyone else to know), and for a moment she just goes completely rigid while Dave drives them off.
She coughs again into her free arm, trying to clear her throat of the taste, but even that gets her stomach roiling and almost sets her off again.]
Ooh, Mr. Strider. [Short sentences. Breathe.] Is really that something you should be announcing? What will the others think?
Reply
[ "Is there anything I can do to make this easier," he wants to ask, or "Tell me if you need me to do anything," but all he can remember then is staring down Vriska on one end of a shotgun, and if he weren't already empty on the inside he'd be puking up whatever was left. So instead of saying anything aloud, he scoots in a bit more, only hesitating for a moment before pulling the hair back from her face and kissing her on the cheek.
The warmth is fading. ]
In fact, you know what? Fuck that. Once we're done pailing in the basement, we're moving up and kicking in all the PDA in the world. Right on Egbert's couch. That'll show him to mind his own basement rumpus business.
Reply
You paint such an enticing picture for me. How could I ever refuse?
[She wouldn't mind the rest of it, though. Moving someplace where there's light and heat sounds like the best idea in the world right about now. She wants to curl up under a million blankets somewhere with Dave and forget about all the terrible things that have happened and how the rot is worming its way through her guts and up her chest to infect her lungs and corrupt her from the inside out and she better quit this line of thinking right now before she throws up.]
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Fuck if I know. Can't think of anyone that wouldn't want some quality macking time with Mr. Strider while one John Egbert watches like the goob he is.
[ And then he falls silent again, doing his best to reassure her that he's there, he's not going anywhere, and goddammit he's seeing this entire thing through one way or another. ]
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Dave, I--
[But before she even starts she's cutting herself off, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to cough, and she turns away from him again. She knows he's there for her through all this, but she still doesn't want him to watch her (die) break down like this in front of him. There's something forcing its way up inside her, strong and sharp and wrong
she coughs so hard it feels like something in the back of her throat is tearing
she's gagging and she wants nothing more than to get it all out--
Her hands are wet when she finally draws them away from her face.]
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When she finally stops coughing, he traces reassuring circles with his fingers, tries not to think about irony or cold or hunger or anything but the girl at his side. He finally manages to speak up, in the quiet- ]
I'm listening.
[ And that feels like a defeat all on its own. ]
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