The Silverchurch Mystery - Part 07

Thanks to Mystery man for reviewing.


= Be Vriska Serket

You are suddenly Vriska Serket. You're a rough-around-the-edges cop with a history as long and deadly as the Oregon trail itself, but deep down, quite a ways down, you've got yourself a heart of solid gold, just sitting there and being all righteous and shit.

Normally, at this hour of the night, you'd be curled up on your bed back in Rainbowfalls, reading a worn journal over a cup of herbal tea. However, right now you're in Silverchurch, dealing with a handful of something else entirely. Namely, a handful of John Egbert, resident assistant detective and your current person of interest.

Man, he sure does squirm around a lot.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want to hang out with me." You muse aloud.

John's still trapped under your arm, stumbling over his own feet and breathing heavily. If he passes out on you, then there's going to be some trouble.

"No. No, it's not that." He huffs. "It's just that… I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight."

"But the boss lady locked you out, huh?" Typical Terezi, pushing away the only people in this world that could possibly care. "What happened? Did you piss her off? Give her the slip so you could go dance around Mr. Rosewater's coffin?"

"She locks the door when it gets dark."

"It's always dark for her, John. If she wanted to let you in, she could have." You pat him reassuringly on the back, causing him to pitch forward. You catch him with your other arm though and hoist him upright before he hits the ground. Praise your badass reflexes. "You'll figure that out soon enough."

Not having permanent residence in Silverchurch, you and the rest of your police force have been given housing at the local inn. It's not the Ritz, that's for sure, but it's keeping you dry and relatively warm. Also your room is in the basement, which means taking John through the lobby and down the rickety, wooden steps is like condemning a prisoner to some sordid dungeon for interrogation. You like the effect it has on him.

"Wh-What's down there?" He asks, gazing down into the blackness.

"My room, silly. Now watch your step on the stairs. I'd hate for you to bust your head open on the way down. Mwahahaha!" Okay, the laugh was probably a little unnecessary, but you like the way his eyes widen behind his glasses. What's more, you doubt the knowledge that your bedroom awaits instead of a prison cell does much for his anxiety. If anything, it probably makes it worse.

You see him cast a look around the lobby before he descends. It's a nice place really, all dark wood and dancing fireplace. A lone concierge sits behind a counter, reading a book, but other than that the place is deserted and boring. John won't be getting any help here.

"I could probably just rent myself a room." He begins, picking his way down the steps nonetheless. "There's no need for you to-"

"Oh stop it with that, will you? It's no trouble at all!" You follow him down, blocking his exit route until you the bottom, then you have to step around him to unlock the door. "I like the company and besides," You thrust the door open and motion him inside. "There's a lot we have to talk about."

It's a one-room affair, with a bed and set of wooden chairs that are definitely older than you are. John stands awkwardly by the door, watching you like a hawk (or perhaps a less remarkable bird of prey) as you lock the entrance behind you and stride confidently towards the end of the bed.

"Take a seat, make yourself at home, hakuna matata and all that jazz." You shrug off your coat and make a big show of un-strapping your pistol belt, then draping both of the items over the end of the mattress. "You want something to drink? Water? I could call for some coffee. Maybe a nightcap?"

"I'm fine, thanks." He hasn't moved from the door, although his eyes are in constant motion, flying between you, the bed, and then the chairs. You almost feel bad for the poor boy, almost. "Um, you know I think I heard someone calling for me upstairs. I'm just gonna-"

Striding over to over to one of the chairs, you pick it up and place it again in the center of the room, slamming it against the concrete floor hard enough to splinter the legs a fraction.

"Sit down." You command, and he doesn't have to be told again. Good, he knows who's in charge. "Now, let's make some small talk. You know how to hold a conversation, don't you?"

He nods.

"Awesome!" You perch on the end of the bed, opposite him. "Hmmmm. So, why'd you come to Silverchurch?"

It's a simple question of course. No need to rip out the big guns yet. Still, he swallows hard, bobbing his adam's apple violently before answering.

"I wanted a change of scenery." He says.

"So you just decide to pick up your whole life and come all the way out to this shit town, just like that, no family or friends or job to worry about leaving behind. Just you?" You wait for him to respond, but when he just nods again, you sigh and take a moment to message the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. "A conversation typically takes two people, you know, actually talking to work. Come on, John. Relax! It's not like you're under arrest or anything. Haha!"

"Heh." He tries to chuckle, but you can tell his mouth is too dry. Something is holding him back, something other than just the standard apprehension. Terezi must have warned him about you, damn that psycho.

"How'd you land a job with Terezi?" You ask, trying to stay light.

"She had an advertisement listed on the message board. It just said that she was looking for an assistant. I didn't know what she did or anything."

"But you followed the lead anyways because you needed a job." You conclude, nodding with understanding. "You must have been pretty surprised to see what kind of business she was running, huh? Haha."

"Yeah." For the first time, a genuine smile tugs at his face. "Miss Pyrope sure is something else."

"Why do you call her that?"

"Call her what?"

"Miss Pyrope." You repeat. "She's not the president, John. Her name is Terezi. Did she tell you to call her that?"

"No. I just-" He fumbles, blushing horribly. "That's just her name!"

"Maybe if you were five years old you would call her that. You're a grown ass man, John! You can call her whatever you like." You cross your legs at the knee, bobbing your foot in the air like your conducting an orchestra. "Anyways, what's it like working for her? Seen anything cool yet?"

"Eh." He shrugs with forced nonchalance. "Not really."

"No- uh fairies or mummies or draculas?" You press. "How about a ghoul? Have you seen a ghoul yet?"

John's eyebrows knit together and the temperature of his glare suddenly drops a few degrees.

"If you're going to make fun of her, you can just save it. I've heard it all before." He states firmly.

You give him a long, hard look. He believes her, you realize, he believes all that supernatural gobbledy gook. Terezi will have him running through the fields with a butterfly net, trying to catch imps before the week is through, no doubt about it.

"I'm not making fun of her." You argue, waving your hand as if you can physically bat away the accusation. "I'm just really curious, what could she have possibly said to get you over on that side of the hedge? Did she show you something? Did one of her friends chat you up?"

He turns away, folding his arms, and you know that you've got him. You've been dealing with Terezi long enough to know how she operates. She's obsessed with this mystical shit, always looking to explain away the explainable with some inexplicable bullshit. Someone else in this backwards town must have vouched for her, several someone's possibly. It's funny how that works, peer pressure really can do so much damage.

You think you've danced around the bush long enough.

"I don't want to talk about Miss Pyrope or my job, which may or may not still be a thing in the morning." He proclaims, doing a very good impression of a stubborn child. You kind of want to hit him.

"Oh, but you see, I really, really want to talk about Terezi and your job." You lean forward off the bed, closing the distance between the two of you. "In fact, I want to talk about it soooooooo much, that little brain of yours would probably collapse in on itself if it knew just a fraction of the intensity for which I wanted to talk about this particular topic."

"What?"

"I have witnesses," You continue "Lots of witnesses, who place you and Terezi at the scene of Mr. Rosewater's murder this morning. Apparently you and her tried to gain entrance to the building, but then disappeared when Feferi wouldn't let you in. I know you want me to think that Terezi went back to her little hobbit hole, tail swung between her legs in defeat, but I know better."

"Oh yeah?" John questions. He seems a lot less sure of himself again.

"Oh yeah. I know for a fact that she broke into the pub and did some of that cute little detective work she loves to boast. I know that she found something. I know that she thinks she's hot on the case. And I know that she had a large, mysterious package delivered to the post office this past Sunday!"

John rolls his eyes.

"Oh great. You're going through our mail now too?"

"No. I just so happened to stumble upon that little fact in passing, if you must know." That's a lie. One of the first things you'd done upon arriving in Silverchurch was question the Parcel Mistress about any strange mail that Terezi might have been receiving. It was a tough exchange, as the Parcel Mistress is an incredibly hard woman to read. You'd gotten the information eventually though, and had been rummaging through Terezi's trash bins, looking for an invoice, when John had found you earlier. "What's in the package, John? What did you find at the pub?"

"I don't know what was in the package." He asserts. "Miss Pyrope wouldn't let me look. Also we didn't take a single thing from the crime scene because we never got inside. Duhh."

"Ugh. Listen, you idiot." You gnash your teeth in frustration. "You think you're being all high and mighty defending your boss's honor, but you really shouldn't be making the effort. She would not do the same thing for you, trust me on that."

"Of course that's what you think." He snaps. "You hate her."

"Ha!" You laugh. "I don't hate, Terezi. Are you kidding me?" His defiant stare swiftly shifts to confusion. You sigh with exasperation. "Fuck, Egbert. Has Terezi told you anything?"

"Yeah. She's told me lots of stuff!"

"Really? Did she tell you anything about herself? About where she comes from or why she's here? Did she tell you about me? Or about anything else from her past that might concern you? Did she tell you about Tavros?" You smirk as his already shoddy confidence falters. "Did she tell you about Karkat?"

His throat pulsates slightly as his pulse increases. You can already tell that he has no idea what the fuck you're talking about and, to be wholly truthful, it makes you pity him a bit. What a life it must be, to just blindly follow someone simply because you assume that they know what they're doing. Ignorance really is bliss. You're dislike for Terezi's behavior only grows.

"Terezi and I used to be… partners." You explain. Yeah, 'partners 'is about a good a word you're going to get. "We went to school together, studied the justice system together, basically clung to each other by the hip twenty-four seven. We were an unstoppable crime-solving team, the Scourge Sisters, they called us. With her knowledge and my skills we were on the fast track to wipe out all crime on the entire god-damn planet, and we would have too, if she wasn't such an asshole."

"What happened?" He asks. You've got him hooked now.

"What do you think happened? She took a handful of crazy pills and downed it with a bottle of nut-job juice. We've had our disagreements in the past, but nothing like that. It was like a switch had been flicked. One minute we were on top of the world, doing our part to save it, then next minute she's packing her bags and heading out east looking for unicorns and shit." You shake your head bitterly. "She just wanted the attention, if you ask me, and she got it too. All anyone could talk about back in Alternia for years was how she left me high and dry."

"Geez."

"Tell me about it." You brush a stray lock of hair over your shoulder. "So yeah, I guess you and I have a little in common, John. We're both… Er-" You gesture from your prosthetic arm down to his leg, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. You continue. "We're both people who've had to make do with the cards we've been dealt."

"I dunno…"

"We're both people that just shoved what we had into a suitcase and got the fuck out of dodge. I just so happened to end up a few miles south in Rainbowfalls."

"Maybe…"

"No maybe about it. We've both been burned by Terezi, pupa. She hires you on as her assistant, doesn't tell you jack, locks you out in the cold. What kind of person does that?" It's time for the ball to drop. "Bottom line is, there's no reason for you to hide her secrets for her. She doesn't trust you; she probably doesn't even like you. If you're smart, and I can tell that you are, you'll tell me what you know and just… get her out of your life." After a moment, you add: "Before it's too late."

John's eyes have fallen southwards to rest somewhere between the two of you on the dull, concrete floor. It doesn't take a genius to see the large, obvious, singular cog in that big ol' head of his turning slowly like a carrousel. You can tell that some part of what you've said has cut him, deep too. It's evident enough on his face that anyone, possessing an iota of empathy, would probably feel a little bad.

You smush down that feeling though. No matter how much personal information you divulge, it's only you and John down here. He won't tell anyone, partially out of respect and partially out of fear.

And besides, it's all just business in the end.

You wait for John to respond with something, anything that you can work with. His mouth opens once, then closes, then opens again. He looks a little bit like a fish gasping for air. You fight to stay patient and, quite unexpectedly, it's your patience that leads to your downfall. You wait just a little too long.

There's a knock at the door.

"Fuh. Hold that thought." You jump to your feet and skip towards the door, unfastening the lock quickly before opening it a tiny sliver. You hiss at the intruder. "What is it? I'm a little busy at the moment."

It's one of your lieutenants, the youngest of the bunch. He's a little dense and very squirrelly, but you've always been one to give the underdog a fair shake. You notice immediately that his eyes are blown wide with fear and that sweat is pouring off of him in sheets. He'd obviously just ran all the way here, from wherever it is he came from.

"Th- there-" He wheezes miserably, trying to get the words out.

"What?" You demand. "What is it?"

He pauses, sucks in a greedy, bottomless breath, and gasps:

"A body." The timber of his voice, or lack thereof, fluctuates as he stammers. "By the lake. W- We found a- a corpse!"

It takes a second for you to understand.

"Shit." You glance over your shoulder at John. He's watching your back with a slack jaw, hands awkwardly resting on his knees. There's no way he didn't hear that. You whip back to your lieutenant. "Give me thirty seconds. I'll meet you up on the street." Then you slam the door in his face.

"What's going on?" John asks, like he doesn't know. You can feel his eyes on you as you rush to the bed and being pulling on your gear. "Is someone in trouble? Should I… leave or something?"

The guy sounds pretty hopeful, the little sap. You whirl on him and quickly consider your options: telling him to stay here seems like the smart thing to do, but what are the odds him actually doing what he's told? Well, judging by the goober-ish expression on his face, there's actually a really good chance.

Probably.

If he decides to bolt for it while you're gone, then there isn't much you can do about that than besides just tracking him down later. In the eyes of the law, he's under no obligation to stay here with you and it's only through his own cluelessness that he's stayed here this long at all.

Whatever you decide, there's no chance in hell that you're bringing him along with you. As much fun as it would be to watch him squirm at the sight of a cadaver, you can't risk the chance that he'll scamper back to Terezi with the details of another murder. That despicable detective has already beaten you to one crime scene.

"I probably won't be back tonight." You tell him honestly, taking a moment to tie your hair up out of your face. "So you're welcome to stay if you want. Just don't touch anything."

And with a quick wave and a wink, you charge out of the room and up the stairs, making for the street as quickly as possible.


= Be John Egbert

You are once again John Egbert. Which means you are getting the fuck out of here.

It takes all of your willpower not to leap out of the chair as soon as Vriska disappears up the stairs. The fabric of your pants wrinkle stressfully as you grip it tightly between your fingers and listen intently as her footsteps quickly fade away and vanish. You wait, holding your breath, just in case she decides to return and… you dunno- beats you with a stick or something.

She doesn't.

You rise with an uncharacteristic amount of serenity and make your way from the room and up the stairs as well. Spending the night in Vriska's room, with or without her, sounds like one of your least favorite things amongst the infinitely long list of things you'd be inclined to do. God what is wrong with you tonight?

Wait a minute. 'What's wrong with you?'

Nothing is wrong with you, besides the obvious, of course.

It's everyone else in this damn town that's fucking crazy.

The concierge is leaning back in his chair, half asleep with his cap over his eyes, when you come up into the lobby. You give him a respectful wave nonetheless as you exit the building, just in case he's faking it. The street outside is deserted, luckily. Whatever it is that Vriska has to attend to must be been pretty damn urgent for her to have raced off like this. You think you may have heard something about a body, being whispered through the crack in her door.

Has there been another murder?

Part of you is curious, but the other part (the currently much more dominate part) is just so fucking done right now. You shove your hands into your pockets and start off down the street, a vague destination in mind, overshadowed by the myriad of other information flying around the inside of your skull like a horde of angry bees. You have to get your thoughts in order, which sounds much simpler than it actually is. Right now is one of those confusing times where you just have to take a deep breath, find your center, and ask yourself: 'where do I even start?'

You decide to start with that awful party/wake and all of your friends who were in attendance.

So, Rose is apparently some sort of magical future see-er, waving her mystical hands around, throwing out tarot cards like flap jacks and hanging out with her fashion-minded girlfriend, who says she isn't a vampire, but really it wouldn't surprise you if she was, not after tonight.

Miss Pyrope and Rose are also in cahoots, consulting with each other on paranormal phenomena and the like when the need arises. O-kay, but why all the secrecy then? Why wouldn't Rose just flat out tell you earlier, like the first time you met? Or hell, why wouldn't Miss Pyrope tell you that?

Privacy, you suppose. Rose likes her privacy.

The moon is still full tonight, which is actually pretty nice. You have little trouble seeing the path ahead. The wind chill is another beast entirely though and you struggle to button your coat with numb fingers while you walk.

Dave was Miss Pyrope's assistant at one point. He quit though, after only a few months. Why? Sure the job demands that you be put in some strange situations, but it hasn't been too dreadful yet. Did he have a disagreement with Miss Pyrope? Did something terrible happen? Maybe you're looking a little too into this one. Dave probably just wanted to devote more time to his beat-dropping service or whatever it is he does.

Maybe.

Perhaps it has something to do with the assistant who died. Did Dave come in the picture before or after that happened? And what does Vriska know about it? She certainly seemed to enjoy dangling coveted information over your head like that. Why did she bring up Tavros? Did Miss Pyrope do something to him besides what you've already been told? Also, who the hell is Karkat?

Probably just some stupid thing Vriska made up to fuck with you.

You sort of want to hit something.

The path your following ends on a street corner, just as familiar and unassuming as the dozen other corners you've passed during your walk. A faded sign swings pathetically on the chilly breeze and you crane your neck up to read it.

"Dave E. Strider: Rhyme Master Extraordinaire" It says, accompanied by a horrible artist's rendition of the man himself, all crooked smirk and nonchalance intact, but with paint smudged by the rain, giving him the appearance of an unfortunate burn victim.

You knock thrice on the door and wait patiently, stamping your feet lightly on the sidewalk to bring feeling back into your legs. You'll have to hit up Kanaya's shop before it gets any colder. The temperature seems to be dropping just about as swiftly as your mood.

Dave appears at the door a few seconds later and you breathe a sigh of relief. His hair is incredibly messy, contrasting harshly with the crispness of his bedclothes. Even at this hour, those damned sunglasses are still perched on the edge of his nose. You wonder if he sleeps in them.

"Egbert?" His face remains skillfully impassive. "What are you doing here, man? The party ended like an hour ago. Unless... oh shit. After party at my place?"

"Uh… No, actually. There was a thing." You motion vaguely in the direction you came from. "I, er- Can I stay here tonight?"

Dave seems taken aback, but nevertheless, he gives you a quick appraisal, then steps aside and waves you into his shop without another word. The inside is completely dark, save for a small candle on the counter which gives off just enough light to illuminate the rough shape of the room. Besides the counter, there isn't much to the place, just a few shelves and some plushy-looking chairs. Dave locks the door behind you, retrieves the candle, and then leads the way between a set of shelves to an inky black rectangle set into the wall.

"Hold up a sec." He says, once you've stepped through the second doorway. The candle bobs away from you and you hear several clacks as wooden logs are stacked together, then the striking of a match causes light and warmth to blossom in a hearth across the room. "So yeah, this is where the magic happens."

"And by magic, you mean whatever the opposite of cleaning is?" You inspect the items in the room and the layers of dust piled on top of them. Dave was right, he must not get a lot of business.

There are assorted musical instruments, large wooden crates overflowing with loose straw, and odd shapes covered with white sheets in almost every corner, giving no clue whatsoever to their identity. You guess they're either one type of musical equipment or another.

"You know, I still don't know exactly what it is that you do." You admit.

"Of course not. You were too busy chatting it up with Rose to hear any of my music tonight." Dave busies himself with pushing a large box violently into a corner, causing packing straw to spew everywhere. He doesn't seem to care though, in fact, the majority of the floor is covered with the stuffing. "So she told you her big, magical secret, huh? Not quite as exciting as she makes it out to be honestly."

"Hmmm." You really aren't in the mood to talk about it.

After getting the crate out of the way, Dave sweeps an egg crate full of miscellaneous nails and screws to the side with his foot, effectively creating a open space on the floor. He runs a hand through his hair as he inspects the spot.

"I'll grab some cushions for you from my room," He nods towards the ceiling, where his bedroom must apparently be placed upstairs. "You can make a little nest here in my storage room, like a pigeon or some shit, except with pillows instead of twigs. Is that cool?"

"Yeah that's cool." You're too tired to care at the moment. "Thanks, Dave. I really appreciate this. I'll make it up to you as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about it." Dave says as he sweeps from the room. "What else are friends for?"

"Yeah… Friends."

The floor is uncomfortable and the pillows that Dave brings don't do much of anything to help. Your leg is throbbing as if you've got a second heart stuffed down your pants leg and you groan in pleasure as you unbuckle the knee brace then fall backwards onto your nest to stare up at the ceiling.

All in all, you think this day could have gone better.

When it had started, you had been excited, just so very excited to start your new life in Silverchurch. Things had been weird, of course, always weird. However, in comparison to your situation now, things had been a whole lot simpler. It was just you and Miss Pyrope, doing your detective thing and running all over town. You may have had some misgivings, but you honestly felt that you could trust the people you knew, and that maybe they could trust you back.

Now though, hell, you're kinda of pissed at everyone.

Not a single person in this town has given you the clear picture on anything, only dishing out tidbits of information at a time, each more confusing than the last, and each simply raising more and more questions.

Rose, Dave, Jade, Tavros, Vriska, all of them have some sort of history. It's like you've joined a book club when the rest of the group is halfway through the novel and now you've got to struggle to catch up before the next meeting. Regardless, no matter what new information or revelation you're faced with, it all ties back to one person, your boss, Miss Pyrope.

Dave lets out a thunderous snore from his room, somewhere above you, and you roll onto your side to bury your head in one of the cushions. He was Miss Pyrope's assistant once and he didn't tell you. You'd think that's something people would share with one another, especially friends. Like 'Hey, you know that crazy lady, Terezi Pyrope, that's like some big mystery or whatever. Yeah? Well, get this. I used to work for her. Oh yeah, you bet. Now here's what you've got to look out for- blah blah blah and so on and so forth".

But no. It's none of your business.

A stray piece of straw tickles your nose and you bat it away across the room. Tomorrow morning, you decide fitfully, you're getting some answers.


The next morning, you get a grand total of zero answers.

Instead you're woken by the piercing sound of someone screaming:

"Murder!" Cries a voice. "Murder in Silverchurch!"

The words filter in through your sleepy haze and ricochet off the inside of your skull, repeating themselves like a mantra until you slowly begin to articulate meaning from them. Of course, another person was killed last night. You remember that vaguely from your encounter with Vriska.

She had needed to run off and investigate, leaving you alone in her bedroom, forcing you to wander the streets until you could find shelter at Dave's shop. Now you're here, spine painfully stiff, and everywhere else itchy from being scratched by the hay strewn higgledy-piggledy across the floor.

Another person is dead. You'll deal with that later.

Moaning quietly to yourself, your roll onto your side and throw your arm over the woman lying next to you. This person is incredibly petite and bony, but wonderfully warm in your embrace. You press your nose into their hair, breathing in the fresh scent of sweat and something else, something earthy and soothing, like coffee grounds mixed with fresh soil.

"Enjoying yourself, Egbert? Hehehe." Snickers your bed partner.

"GAAHH!" In a flash, you're scrambling away to the opposite side of the room, fumbling to cover yourself with something, anything you can get your hands on. You manage to snag a cushion and press it to your chest. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Miss Pyrope is lounging lazily on the floor, crooking her head towards you in amusement and with a shit-eating grin plastered over her face. You're simultaneously horrified by the circumstances and also… incredibly relieved.

"Dave let me in like thirty minutes ago. You're quite the heavy sleeper, you know that?" She stretches luxuriously, like a cat that's found a nice spot in the sun to relax. Her cane lies by her side, just in reach, and you notice that she's fully dressed in her working attire.

"W- Why were you in my bed?!" You demand, stooping quickly to grab your trousers from where you'd discarded them. Her smile grows wider as your belt buckle clinks loudly.

"I was planning on freaking you out."

"Mission accomplished then."

"It was funny up until you turned out to be the cuddly type, figures." One of your cushions gets flicked disdainfully. "And this is your bed? Wow. You really have to raise your standards, Egbert. This is the type of accommodations you'd set up for a new puppy you don't want pissing on anything you care about."

"Well it's all I could really manage seeing as you locked me out!" Now that you're mostly decent, you feel a whole day's worth of frustration beginning to bubble over the edge. "I'm really angry at you, Miss Pyrope."

"Yeah, well, join the club." She cracks her neck and climbs to her feet, snatching her cane up along the way. "If you want to file a complaint, you can fill out a form back at my office. Right now though, there's no time for such horse play." Miss Pyrope points towards the door. "That crier has been making rounds throughout the entire town. Did you hear what he said? Do you know what this means?"

"I'm going to guess that it means exactly what he said, someone else has died, right?"

"Precisely!" Miss Pyrope jabs her finger into the air. "But also, not really. Comb your hair and brush your teeth, John! We've got work to do."

She brushes past you then and disappears into the front of Dave's shop, leaving you to finish getting ready. Moving with incredible speed, you do just that, swiftly buttoning up your shirt and buckling on your knee brace, the irritated grumbles from your mouth contradicting the small smile on your face. Huh, maybe you aren't fired after all.


That Scourge Sisters Upd8 broke my heart and put it back together again, easily one of my favorite flashes. Just the art, and the do you remem8er me, and the ugh everything was great lol I seriously love those two.

Anyways, listen to Good Graeff and read uforin's theory post about Silverchuch on tumblr that will make the true ending to this story look like shit. I love stuff like that :3 shout out to anyone who wastes precious time thinking about crap i've thrown onto a word document. You are beautiful.

Thanks for reading.
- Mike