You name is Gamzee Makara, and the Empress has given you a motherfucking job to be done.
She told you the most secret of secrets, she told you your nubbiest buddy was the spawn of the sufferer, told you he was set to up and destroy the world.
Told you all the movers-and-shakers of the last thousand sweeps were back, the ones who'd shaken the world like a pop can 'till the carbonation had to place to go but out. Told you you were one.
Aint that the sweetest.
Told you you'd be grand highblood one day, and don't that feel right. Doesn't that sing in your motherfucking blood like the messiah's finest hymns. Told you to finish what the blood in your veins had started.
Told you to off your oldest fucking friends, and ain't that the motherfucking sweetest.
The whole world's gone muzzy with it's carbonation, fit to pop, and don't it feel right that you'd be the one to let the pressure loose, take that can in one hand and pop the tab, let chaos go where it may.
Hunt your nubbiest brother down until the soil ran faygo-red and his little horns were worn to tingling stubs. Hunt your sweet brown-eyed brother down and rip the blasphemy from his back, hang them like fucking tapestries, saw his horns off and leave him to rot, earthbound.
Gave you a ship, all your own, dripping purple-black and full of your subjects. The ship is dark as the blood of your blood, painted every corridor spectrum-bright, painted every shipmate white-grey with the god's paint, purple-black with your rule. You are headed for Alternia in your own goddamn time, full of the ones who will wreak the messiah's will upon the land and wipe your brother's revolution from the world, scrub the earth clean with elixir and blood.
And won't that mixture water the ground so nice. Won't the finest things grow from your brother's veins.
Won't the old man be proud, watching from the dark carnival, laughing from his throne of skulls and horns. Won't that be so fucking sweet.
When you get there the sky will rain with your kin, the world will bleed. motherfucking. Indigo. And you will take your throne with fire and blood and the most secret of secrets will be held no more.
It'll rain secrets. It'll motherfucking bleed secrets. Secrets'll water the throats of the Blasphemers until they sing the motherfucking spectrum.
The Empress and her oldest of blasphemers have given you a job to be done.
And you will do it. You will do it with fire. You will do it with blood and sacrifice and the strength in your two motherfucking hands will do the job with claws and fists and terror.
You will do the motherfucking job, or the world will do it the fuck for you.
You are Gamzee Makara, and you are going to slaughter a rebel and put the world back where it ought to belong.
That's it for the intermissions, next time we return with the plot, and hopefully something a little longer for you guys. Again, thanks for all the support.
-A