Notes from Mama Lobster: Relax, guys, Mama's got you in her crusher claws. And "siiiiign" is the meme-thing! Maybe it only works when Roxy says it... I like it though. I'm keeping it.

Named for the Gorillaz. Someone tell Gamzee to shut up, please.


O Green World

== Be Jade

You're getting better at being Jade now.

John's teaching isn't exactly patient, but he's betting better at explaining things than he used to be. Something that parenting has brought out in him, you're sure. He's explained to you the difference between a standard and an automatic, and it certainly helps that you're a fast learner. It only takes you a couple of tries before you start speeding around the edge of the parking lot, shifting gears like a pro.

"John, why didn't you tell me how much fun this was!" You giggle a little, noticing John clutch at the passenger's seat handle in panic.

"I kind of figured you would know how to drive by now!" He adjusts his grip on the side door, staring at you as if you have three heads.

You laugh again. "I had space powers, John, why would I need to drive? And then there was the bus, and I guess I never really cared enough to learn, but oh my gosh this is so cool!"

Your foot finds the brake a little too abruptly, and John lurches forward in his seat.

"Ugh!" He clutches his stomach, and your grin couldn't be wider. "Jade, I don't think I can do this anymore if you don't slow down. Don't we have an appointment to get you to, anyway?"

It's true, but it's not something you really want to think about. You've been speeding around in the parking lot of Anna L. Vasquez, Attorney at Law, for the past forty-five minutes. In fifteen more, you'll be upstairs in that office discussing the finer points of separating from a man you haven't seen in a year.

Mmmm... nope. You're not done just yet.

You swing the car around in a fast donut, tires the tires screeching almost as loudly as your brother next to you. You roll the window down, letting the breeze take your mass of hair out behind you while you hang your head outside. You can vaguely hear John shouting something about you not being a dog, but the thrill of adrenaline and the wind in your ears drowns him out. It's not until another driver pulls into the parking lot that you actually bother listening to his warnings.

You sigh, shoulders slumping as you pull into the nearest parking space. You're not as neat in the lines as you would have liked, so with a slight bump you pull over the median to the spot on the other side. John practically whimpers beside you.

Throwing the car into park, you lean your head back against your seat. You've never actually been to see a lawyer before, for any reason. You never thought you'd need to. You had your citizenship handled without issue, and you'd gotten so used to handling your disagreements yourself that the whole idea of a court sounded bizarre and foreign.

Well, there was that one advocate who tried to talk you into sending your husband to jail. You refused to ever speak to her again.

In time, John releases from his "oh shit" handle and relaxes enough to unbuckle himself. He keeps glancing at you expectantly. He probably wants you to say something, but you have no idea what.

Minutes pass in silence. It takes some time for you to realize that he wants you to move, and even longer for you to come to terms with the fact that you have to. You will yourself to unbuckle, once, twice, again and again. You count down from three, readying yourself to move. You do nothing.

John runs a hand through his hair; his patience is wearing thin, and you're grateful for his putting up with you all day. It's not been an easy trip for anyone. He meets your eyes, and you manage a slight smile. He hesitates before speaking.

"Are you too sore for this? We can probably go home and reschedule for another day."

"No, I'm not sore. I just…" You turn to stare ahead, looking through the windshield and at your hands on the wheel. You've still got a leaf stuck in John's windshield wipers, and there's a tan line on your finger that just doesn't want to fade. John covers it, squeezing your fingers lightly.

"Seriously, we can go home. No big deal."

You clench your fists around the wheel before releasing them. After one more count to three, you unbuckle yourself and open the door. It's getting to be winter out, and you pull your coat around yourself for comfort.

You kept hoping that this would get easier, and you suppose to some extent it has. So you're not okay with this. So it's not the life you wanted for yourself. So what? You can handle it. You spent your whole life alone. Now you can go home to John and Casey, and have dinner scheduled with Jake on the weekends.

So what if you're not going to be a wife and a mom. You can do this. You have to do this.

You wipe your eyes once before taking John's hand and dragging him inside the building.

== Be Gamzee

Brothers and sisters, sinners and messiahs, allow me to extend to you my greatest of motherfuckin' apologies! I promised you a motherfuckin' show, and a motherfuckin' show you shall receive. Our players are back in center stage. Our Knight's all actin' like he's fixed all that clockwork rustin' in his motherfuckin' thinkpan, and it creaks and it sings and sometimes it might even motherfuckin' tick, but we know, brothers and sisters, we know it can never keep the time.

The feral child doesn't know. That girl with all her animal senses will never know her little motherfuckin' Scarecrow is back and missin' her touch. And that motherfucker could never stand without her to hold him right the fuck up. He's not like you and me, brothers and sisters. His motherfuckin' knees have been cut since birth and he's always needed somethin' else to walk for him. Little bitch won't do it this time. That motherfuckin' poker-faced guardian can't even hold his own motherfuckin' self. Windy boy tries, we know how that motherfucker does. But, brothers and sisters, you know he doesn't have the motherfuckin' understanding. He can't handle the motherfuckin' stress.

No, it will be my chemical sponsors who lift him once again, to carry him to the motherfuckin' stars and beyond.

Sure, he's left our carnival for now, pushin' and pullin' and shovin' his rusted pieces together with everyone else's, hopin' that one day they can build a motherfuckin' workin' machine. One by one the motherfuckin' pieces drop, crackin' under pressure or finally collapsing into dust. The Knight, the motherfuckin' Scarecrow stays for a while, pretending he's a part of their motherfuckin' universe, but the pieces just ain't gonna fit. He's kept his goddamn self all locked up for too motherfuckin' long, and believe me, brothers and sisters, his thinkpan ain't gonna be able to handle no motherfuckin' sunlight. And who will be there to collect the burnin' ash but your dear messiahs themselves.

BOTH OF THEM.

The girl will go and then he will be ours.

AND THEN HE WILL BE MOTHERFUCKING OURS.

:o)