Chapter Text
In the dank of the brood pit, the rebellion enjoys a rare moment of peace.
‘Headquarters’ is an ostentatious designation for the place where Commander Vantas has eaten, excreted, and barely slept for the past month. As far as cave systems go, it’s not the worst, but it does little to disprove propaganda about lowly, dirt-dwelling insects.
After dinner is parceled out, the commander shares a few words about the ebb and flow of fortune, the erosive tide of progress, and the oceanic nature of — he throws a mental dart at a map — love on the battlefield? He’s lost the thread in all of the water shit. It’s still pretty theatrical, he thinks. Swifer confirms with a thumbs up. Karkat waves and departs, weathering a few clumsy pats about the torso from the rank and file on the way out the door.
Back in his respiteblock, Karkat fingers an envelope.
The envelope has been the object of pointed disregard for several months. Karkat should have torn it up, burnt it, or left it in a grotto to rot in the damp. There's no reason to keep it, and even less to open it.
It’s a wedding invitation. Karkat knows the details. He’s seen Kanaya’s. Why would his invitation be any different than hers? It won’t be. He’s sure.
Maybe he should open it anyway. He drags the tip of his claw through a weakened seam and reads the card.
It isn’t any different from hers.
What a waste of fucking time.
Karkat’s hand twitches with the urge to clench, to crunch the parchment into a small bitter ball of red chicken scratches, creeping green tendrils and perfunctory salutations, to cast it into the offal drum and be done with it. Instead, he repackages the letter, double-checks the lock on his door, and considers his social calendar carefully.
–
ZAP.
Another blast of white light, and this time, an indescribable sound. Indescribable because your head hurts too much for you to try to describe it. Once again, you are flashbombed by the metatext. Or perhaps the paratext, the peritext, or that darn sneaky epitext.
You have no idea what any of those words mean, but a very intelligent young woman deployed them in conversation with you recently, and they seem like the kind of pataphysical jargon you’ll be needing if your infallible hunches are anything to go by.
Maybe you should invest in a mnemonic.
Para-peri-epi. Parappa the Rapper. Pen pineapple apple pen.
What you should invest in is some ibuprofen. You’re suffering a gnarly migraine and you think a few minutes on your back might help. You can’t see much, but the ground beneath your feet seems stable enough, so you go ahead and get nice and dorsal.
Eugh. This “floor” feels like rotten boards pressed into dirt. What is this, a cave for lowly, dirt-dwelling insects?
That last thought feels ripe with xenophobic sentiment. You have enough bug alien friends to know better by now! You feel a proportionate, actionable amount of shame about it and resolve to keep working on yourself.
What would Karkat say if he knew what you just thought? For shame. For shame. You think it would sound something like —
KARKAT: JUST, WHAT THE FUCK
Yes, something like that.
KARKAT: WHERE WOULD THEY EVEN FUCKING SIT ME, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO FUCKING *DO* WHEN I’M THERE?????
KARKAT: PLANT MY ASS IN A NAUSEATINGLY DELIBERATE SPOT FOR ME IN THE DEAD CENTER PEW,
KARKAT: SOME EXILE DESTINATION RESERVED SPECIFICALLY FOR THOSE WHOSE RELATIONSHIP TO THE BETROTHED IS “FRIENDS ONCE, BUT DECLINED NUMEROUS PROPOSITIONS OF A MÉNAGE À TROIS MARKETED AS A THROUPLE,” THE FALLOW LANDS ALSO KNOWN AS “AIN’T LIKE THAT NOW!” AND “GOOD LUCK LEAVING DISCREETLY,”
KARKAT: SOMEWHERE WHERE THE MISERABLE STENCH OF THE BARELY INVITED CAN’T QUITE WAFT ALL THE WAY UP TO THE ALTAR AND WRINKLE ANY IMPORTANT NOSES?
KARKAT: I THINK THE ONLY *WORSE* POSSIBILITY IS THAT THEY WOULD PUT ME IN THE FIRST ROW TO HIDE HOW FUCKING OBLIGATED THEY FEEL!
Karkat throws his hands up with such ferocity that he nearly loses his balance. You seem to have caught this Karkat at a bad moment, and the vein throbbing at his temple, in concert with his exquisite biceps, prompts you to roll under his sleeping platform and out of his way.
You’re familiar enough with this timeline to surmise that you should butt out.
KARKAT: SOUNDS GREAT, WHAT ELSE IS ON THE ITINERARY
KARKAT: GET BEATEN ABOUT THE HEAD AND SHOULDERS WITH OUR SHARED HISTORY (BUT ONLY SELECT PASSAGES FROM IT)!
KARKAT: CLAP AND SMILE. THROW FUCKING RICE. SIT THROUGH A GRUESOME BEST MAN’S SPEECH AND GO OOOOOH AND AAAAAH, THOSE CRAZY KIDS REALLY DID IT!
KARKAT: THANK YOU FOR RELEGATING ME TO THE “FUCK YOU” TABLE AT THE WEDDING RECEPTION!
KARKAT: YOU BOTH LOOK SO GREAT. SO HAPPY FOR YOU. WHEN CAN WE EXPECT GRUBS. I PROMISE TO NEVER VISIT.
KARKAT: OR SO MUCH AS ***BREATHE***
KARKAT: ******A WORD******
KARKAT: ABOUT!
About what? You wait patiently under the bed for an answer, but none seem to be forthcoming. Karkat’s face looks as scrunched as the piece of paper he balled up, threw, and missed the trash can with by about six feet. He paces, wrings his hands, runs his claws through his hair. The choreography is such that you can easily imagine the legendary diatribes he has deemed too acrimonious to enact aloud.
Also, he’s mouthing the words, and his thin black lips are very easy to read.
But even silently, he can’t bring himself to name it. That is, until —
KARKAT: AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
KARKAT: ABOUT—
KARKAT: ABOUT HOW YOU DON’T EVEN FUCKING MEAN IT!
KARKAT: ABOUT HOW YOU PROBABLY DON’T EVEN KNOW THAT YOU DON’T EVEN FUCKING MEAN IT.
KARKAT: OR YOU HALF-KNOW, BUT FOR SOME REASON YOU WON’T LET YOURSELF APPROACH ANYTHING RESEMBLING A CONFRONTATION WITH HOW YOU ACTUALLY WANT YOUR LIFE TO GO, BECAUSE YOU’RE AFRAID
KARKAT: YOU HAVE ALL THESE CHANCES TO MAKE MEANINGFUL CHOICES BUT EVERY TIME YOU FREAK OUT BECAUSE THERE’S NO ONE *ALIVE* WHOSE OPINION YOU TRUST ENOUGH TO TELL YOU THAT YOU’RE MAKING THE RIGHT ONE.
KARKAT: AND YOU CAN’T TRUST THE DEAD MAN WHOSE APPROVAL YOU’RE CHASING EITHER!
Karkat makes another ferocious hand gesture, this time smacking the back of his hand against a low ceiling beam. He barely reacts, and somehow you know it’s because his pain tolerance is insane.
KARKAT: YOU KNOW, I USED TO THINK YOU WERE REALLY BRAVE.
KARKAT: NOT THAT YOU WERE NEVER SCARED, BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE FUCKING STUPID IN CONTEXT 90% OF THE TIME, BUT THAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY SCARED PRETTY FUCKING OFTEN BUT DID THE RIGHT THING ANYWAY.
KARKAT: I THINK YOU ACTUALLY USED TO BE REALLY BRAVE, BUT SHIT HIT THE FAN, AND THEN YOU GREW UP TO BE
KARKAT: FUCKING
KARKAT: I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE BUT I DON’T THINK IT’S WHO YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE.
KARKAT: AND I WISH WE COULD TALK ABOUT THIS SORT OF THING, EXCEPT NOT REALLY, BECAUSE I THINK IT WOULD LITERALLY FUCKING MELT MY THINKPAN BETWEEN MY AURICULAR SPONGE CLOTS TO INITIATE A CONVERSATION WITH YOU. AND I KNOW YOU WON’T COME TO ME.
KARKAT: SO INSTEAD, I HAVE TO TALK TO MYSELF LIKE A FUCKING GRUB AGAIN!
KARKAT: I WISH I COULD TALK TO YOU AGAIN. THE WAY WE USED TO.
KARKAT: LIKE AFTER DIRK’S FUNERAL, WHEN WE…
KARKAT: OR MAYBE THAT WOULD ALSO BE TOO LATE?
KARKAT: THERE ARE JUST SO MANY LITTLE SHITTY UNPACKED, UNACKNOWLEDGED MOMENTS IN OUR HISTORY THAT I GUESS IT’S HARD TO PIN DOWN EXACTLY WHEN WE COULD HAVE HAD TALKED ABOUT THIS WITHOUT YOU BEING A FLIGHT RISK.
KARKAT: I JUST
KARKAT: WANT A VERSION OF YOU THAT WASN’T SO FUCKING SCARED OF BEING WITH ME.
KARKAT: BUT TO BE HONEST, I DON’T KNOW IF ONE EVEN EXISTS!
Karkat’s eyebrows draw together, and his mouth contorts.
KARKAT: MAYBE REALIZING THAT IS GOOD.
KARKAT: I GUESS GRAPPLING WITH THE FACT THAT THERE IS NO UNIVERSE IN WHICH WE GET TOGETHER IS HOW I CAN STOP FEELING THE WAY I DO ABOUT YOU.
KARKAT: WE WERE NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN, AND MAYBE THAT’S REALLY ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER?
Oh god, you know you should butt out, but how could you possibly?