"Do pass the sugar, love," the Commodore says, so Annie finishes stirring her own and complies. The Commodore has a very well-made sugar bowl: porcelain, with blue and green patterns all over, and even if it's a little chipped in the spoon-notch it's nicer than anything Annie has in her house. "Thank you," he says
( ... )
"What about this one?" John asks, already reaching up with one of his grubby molting glyceride-infested human fingers to touch Karkat's poster.
"Hands off, Egbert," Karkat snaps. "That one's a classic."
John puts his hands behind his back and grins sheepishly. Karkat hates his stupid flat buckteeth. "Okay, what is it called?" John asks. "I can't read the Alternian and I don't recognize the actor. Well, the Troll version of the actor."
"That's Graeme Trollespie, you mouthbreather. And the movie's called Wherein a Green-Blooded and Otherwise Wealthy Adolescent Troll With a Gift For Imitating the Voices of Others Forsakes His Custodian and Makes His Way in the World By Prostituting Himself, Until a Subjugglator Takes Pity On Him and Makes Him His Deputy, and In His Travels He Finds First His Matesprit, a Neophyte Guttandsniper, and His Kismesis, the Spy for a Rival Colonial Faction, and He Messes With All Of Their Heads by Masquerading as a Female For About Half of the Time, and Also There Is A Plot. Seriously, look at those horns.
( ... )
"That's the thing," Will says. "It's not that she pushes me around. That's her job. She's running the country, and I'm supposed to understand that, and I do understand that, and I'm just doing my job, which is to get pushed around."
"In truth?" Vossler asks.
"Well, not literally. But no. Hell, it's not even she that's the problem. Like I said, they pay me to get pushed around, and actually my job is to push back. To be the equal and opposite reaction, if there;s supposed to be one."
Vossler considers this, thinks on Raminas' advisors, those of value and mettle and more than the security of their own favor. "It takes a wise ruler to heed such counsel, and an even wiser one to enlist it."
Will sighs. "I know she's wise. But even wise people have oversights. And flaws. And even malice."
"Then perhaps that is why she has you," Vossler suggests. "You would not serve her if you did not trust her."
Since this assfaced tool has decided to deprive Karkat of the use of his arms, Karkat spits. The loogie's pretty fucking impressive if Karkat says so himself, and hits the interrogator on the nose. "I did better than try."
"That depends on who's still fighting." The interrogator doesn't even wipe the spit off his face, just lets it drip, skirt the corner of his mouth and crawl down his collar. "Let me tell you a thing or two about revolutions. They're always uphill battles. Now, judging by your aim, you're not half bad at physics. I bet you know just how much force it takes to keep a ball rolling up a hill, don't you? Constant impulse. Constant, constant impulse. And sooner or later, unless you get more people to push that ball up that hill, you're gonna run out of force, and that big old ball is gonna squash you like a bunch of sisyphean dandelions
( ... )
Chris knocks on the door with the butt of his rifle. The thought of what it might do to the glove of his uniform is enough to make him recall what passes for lunch rations out in 12 and remind himself not to lose it
( ... )
Comments 23
Annie and Oliver's not-here tea party. Go.
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"What about this one?" John asks, already reaching up with one of his grubby molting glyceride-infested human fingers to touch Karkat's poster.
"Hands off, Egbert," Karkat snaps. "That one's a classic."
John puts his hands behind his back and grins sheepishly. Karkat hates his stupid flat buckteeth. "Okay, what is it called?" John asks. "I can't read the Alternian and I don't recognize the actor. Well, the Troll version of the actor."
"That's Graeme Trollespie, you mouthbreather. And the movie's called Wherein a Green-Blooded and Otherwise Wealthy Adolescent Troll With a Gift For Imitating the Voices of Others Forsakes His Custodian and Makes His Way in the World By Prostituting Himself, Until a Subjugglator Takes Pity On Him and Makes Him His Deputy, and In His Travels He Finds First His Matesprit, a Neophyte Guttandsniper, and His Kismesis, the Spy for a Rival Colonial Faction, and He Messes With All Of Their Heads by Masquerading as a Female For About Half of the Time, and Also There Is A Plot. Seriously, look at those horns. ( ... )
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"In truth?" Vossler asks.
"Well, not literally. But no. Hell, it's not even she that's the problem. Like I said, they pay me to get pushed around, and actually my job is to push back. To be the equal and opposite reaction, if there;s supposed to be one."
Vossler considers this, thinks on Raminas' advisors, those of value and mettle and more than the security of their own favor. "It takes a wise ruler to heed such counsel, and an even wiser one to enlist it."
Will sighs. "I know she's wise. But even wise people have oversights. And flaws. And even malice."
"Then perhaps that is why she has you," Vossler suggests. "You would not serve her if you did not trust her."
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Since this assfaced tool has decided to deprive Karkat of the use of his arms, Karkat spits. The loogie's pretty fucking impressive if Karkat says so himself, and hits the interrogator on the nose. "I did better than try."
"That depends on who's still fighting." The interrogator doesn't even wipe the spit off his face, just lets it drip, skirt the corner of his mouth and crawl down his collar. "Let me tell you a thing or two about revolutions. They're always uphill battles. Now, judging by your aim, you're not half bad at physics. I bet you know just how much force it takes to keep a ball rolling up a hill, don't you? Constant impulse. Constant, constant impulse. And sooner or later, unless you get more people to push that ball up that hill, you're gonna run out of force, and that big old ball is gonna squash you like a bunch of sisyphean dandelions ( ... )
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