AN: Also as a tumblr, written for an Anon prompt for a story about dead dream bubble Meenah and Vriska
ADVANC-E or A8scond
"What the HELL are you doing swimming in my bubble, bitch?"
Vriska whirls around on the ball of her foot, her sharp eyes immediately narrowing on the suspect lurking in the shadows. Despite the harsh tone, she can't help but catch the delicious 8's in her mind, wishing that she had been the one to speak first. She grins slyly, her pointed fangs glistening in the dim light.
"Well, well. Who do we have here? Did our bothersome little empress-to-be finally snap and break her little thinkp—" But Vriska cuts off mid-sentence. Something is wrong. This isn't who she initially thought it was. She had seen the sign, yes, and the colour, but this was different. Immediately, Vriska flicks her hand and catches her fluorite octate in her fist. Slowly, measuring her opponent, she slides her foot back into a stronger stance—offensive, not defensive. And today, Vriska feels like her lucky choice is advance.
That's where she fails this time, though. Usually she's a quick draw, but she's been in too many dream bubbles for far too long and she's used to always having the upper hand. If she had gone for defensive, maybe she would have had a chance. She could slip from her foe's grip and abscond the fuck out of there.
But she hadn't, so she couldn't.
Instead, the pole end of a 2x3dent is at her throat and she's wrestling. She tries to stamp on her attacker's stepping apparatus, but the troll is too quick and simply hops out of the way as though in dance.
"You're the one enloaching on MY turf, and don't you glubbing forget it, guppy," she hisses.
Vriska's had about enough of this 8ullshit by now, though, so she reaches up and grips the pole in her arms. The other troll laughs at her, mocking her, provoking her, and that's all the motivation Vriska needs. With one quick movement, she shoves herself backwards and hoists her enemy up and over her head, trident and all, and throws her to the floor.
Shocked, the troll rolls across the ground, straight into a standing position. Her tyrian lips spread to reveal her pointy smile, clearly enjoying herself.
Vriska isn't quite so amused. This time she acts first, throwing her dice and rolling a string of 8's. Of course they're 8's, they're always 8's, because Vriska has all the luck and even if she hadn't, she could beat this bitch blindfolded.
"Last words?" Vriska offers as the guillotine materializes around her foe.
"Yeah," says the troll. "We're already DEAD."
Vriska falters and the guillotine slams shut without the satisfyingly wet noise of the severing of a head. In a flurry of movement, she takes a kick to the stomach and arcs backward. Before she can roll back to her feet, the trident sails through the air, the prongs catching her arm between them and pinning her to the ground. Vriska tries to tug herself free, but the unnamed troll puts a foot on her shoulder and stamps her back down.
"You, maybe," Vriska grunts. "But I'm pretty sure I'd remember—"
"Remember your death? Lemme ask you somefin, then, girlie—does this look like the Alternia you know?"
Vriska hesitates, considering, then takes the convenient lull to drive her foot straight into the attacker's pantnook.
"Fuck! That was coddamn low, Aranea," the troll chokes.
"'Aranea'?" Vriska snorts, wrenching her arm free of the trident's hold. She pulls it from the ground and it's heavier than she expected, but she captchalogues it all the same. She can't use it, but that doesn't mean her foe should, either. "I think you've got the wrong goddamn girl, bitch. Why don't you glub on home and flounder to your fucking lusus about it?"
The troll stops for a moment. "Damn, bitch, I though you was looking different. Well, then, guess this old Meenah doesn't have to go playing nice with them landsuckers no more."
"'Meenah'?" Vriska repeats, raising a mocking eyebrow.
"Yeah, what about it? You got somefin wrong with your herring, guppy?"
"Nothing, really. It just sounds like a pretty stupid name." Vriska shrugs in what she thinks is a perfect imitation of a coolkid she once knew. It's her turn to provoke.
"Oh, yeah? What's yours, then, freak?"
"Spinneret Mindfang—and that's Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, to you, fishlover."
Meenah gives a very audible snorting laugh. "Mindfang! Damn, Aranea, that's gotta be you. Why are you all trying to fool a girl into believing that carp? All them stories been catching up to you?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Vriska snarls.
"Those raunchy stories you LOVED to write! Cod, when I saw the one with, what'd you call him, Dualscar, I nearly shit myself laugh—"
But Vriska's heard enough and she throws her dice again, much to the delight of the hysterically laughing Meenah.
"Oh, you mad, girl! This is positively eelectrifying!" Once again, she evades the drop of the guillotine, her agility more than making up for her lack in weapon. In one quick swoop, she lands a fist on Vriska's face and sends her skidding across the hard ground.
Slightly disoriented, Vriska gets to her feet, spitting out a mouthful of cobalt blood and wiping her mouth. She wonders why her 8x vision isn't working top notch today, but then, if she's dead, her eyes are blank anyway. Maybe that impedes the ability. Shit.
Damn.
She still had so many things to do, too, with the windy boy, so many unfinished plans. Is she really dead? She doesn't want to be doomed to wander these shitty bubbles forever, especially now that she knows she's one of the idiot players in these meaningless plays. Vriska is no mannequin, she's meant to be the puppeteer, and you can't pull the strings when you're dead.
If one things for sure, though, Vriska won't give up without a fight, life or no life.
There's only one choice left. She's not sure if it'll work, but she sure as hell is going to try. She gathers her energy, focussing on her target. It's time to manipul8 some bitches.
Crack!
Vriska falls again after a particularly brutal fist to the skull. Damn! How fast could this slippery bitch move? Vriska is getting her ass handed to her by a wannabe punk fool and a weaponless wannabe punk fool, at that. She's a downright failure.
"Sorry, mom," Vriska mumbles incoherently as Meenah grabs her by the throat and hoists her into the air. Meenah flicks her hand, drawing a fresh trident from her sylladex in delighted preparation. This one is nowhere near as fancy, but as far as weapons go, it's indisputably potent.
"You're done," Meenah growls, completely and utterly pleased with herself. Vriska stares blankly down at her. She can feel her airsacks screaming for want of air, but it's getting hard to move and all she can do is stare.
And stare.
And…
Manipul8.
Before the final darkness sets in, before Meenah can even properly raise her weapon, Vriska flashes a last, defiant grin.
Maybe she can win this.
She has all the luck, after all, and, as every good gamblignant knows, that counts for a hell of a lot.
There is a clash, a clatter, and Vriska falls, her airway no longer obstructed. The window of opportunity was brief, sure, but it was enough to distract the seadwelling douchebag long enough to get her to drop the heavy end of the trident on her own pan.
"Sorry, 8itch," Vriska croaks, slipping into her Alternian accent. "8ut I've got shit left to do and I 8n't going to let you get in the w8y of that."
"W-ELL, then," Meenah says in response, "i guess that makes two of us, little suckafish."
"I guess that does." Ever so slowly, the cobalt grin spreads across Vriska's lips and she grasps a handful of the seatroll's collar, drawing her close, careful to show off her fearsome fangs. "That only leaves one question for us to answer, hmmmmmmmm?"
"O) ( Y—-EA) (?" Meenah asks, flashing her own in response, "and what's T) (-E QU—ESTION?"
"Advance…or a8scond?"