"If I was truly omniscient I would know why I'm still here," Beq mutters to himself as a high-as-Gamzee subconscious iteration of John's subconscious rambles on about absolutely nothing in particular. Even though this was to be expected, and even foreseen by Beq himself, it is annoying as fuck. Why did he even come here in the first place … wait … yeah, to keep John company. Trolls that fall into comas tend to go crazy from the apparent isolation, and lack of knowledge about what the fuck is actually happening.
"And … you know … it's just … it's just like, you know?" What?
"Yes, John, for the eighteenth time, I know." He doesn't know. "Now, please put your clothes back on. I'm tired of having to see you in your underwear." Yeah, like John's actually going to do that. "Why couldn't he just wake up already," Beq mutters once again. Unfortunately, he has another half hour yet to wait for that glorious moment.
"So, now that that's out of the way … Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." Great, now John decides to use grammar perfectly. Unfortunately, that perfect grammar seemingly makes absolutely no fucking sense.
"John, buffalo from Buffalo do not buffalo other buffalo from Buffalo. It's kind of hard for buffalo to buffalo Buffalo buffalo. Or anywhere else the buffalo come from." Oh great, now he has Beq doing it. "Great, now you have me all buffaloed."
"Hehe." John rolls back on his back, holding his legs in the Indian style position he was sitting in. "I never noticed how dark the inside of my head is. Hehe." He pauses for a few moments. "Why? I mean … it's so dark that I can see colors." Really?! "Come to think of it, what is the darkest thing people can see?"
"Anything represented by the Hex code: #000000. Really, John, with you knowing how to build websites and memorizing all these codes, I would have expected you to know that." Beq facepalms. He stopped trying to control the new troll an hour ago. This was NOT in the First Guardian job description. He decides to go back to recording all the events taking place so that the readers may witness them while they wait for the author to return from the ER, so, in a way, he was lying when he said he isn't the author. Instead, he is a temporary replacement, like John Oliver on The Daily Show with John Stewart.
"So," John says as soberly as his high-as-Gamzee self can manage, "What were you going to tell me b4 this?" He turns his head toward the First Guardian behind the laptop. Beq considers answering. After all, this could be the only time to tell him without him actually remembering it.
"Uh, well, I was going to say that bingo isn't a language."
"No you weren't! I know that's a lie right now. There aint no possibly way that you cood no how im ta-taa-alalalalal … that's a weird sound … alalalalalalalalalalalalal …" This pains the poor-fortuned First Guardian to even consider writing this, however, in accordance to the readers' enjoyment, I must. I hope you enjoy my pain you ungrateful oafs.
I'm terribly sorry that I said that. I'm just frustrated. Actually, you know what, this is frustrating—writing in third person point of view when I'm right here. So, from now until I decide to change the topic over to anything outside this pathetic troll's subconscious, I will write like this—in first person. Just. Because. I. Can.
As previously mentioned, it pains me to type this. Yes, because I am, well, I have determined by recent events that I am only mostly omniscient, I know exactly how he is spelling his voiced words. I also know what he wants to know. I am just being hesitant on answering. I know how he's going to react, and though it would be amusing on my behalf, I do not wish to destroy friendships, no matter how inevitable.
"Are you finished with your sound exploration," I ask John in an obviously annoyed tone.
"Maybee … wait … bee—are there any bees here?"
"What? No, I don't think so, anyway … …" Seriously, do any of you know what he could possibly be talking about? I don't see what bees have to do with any of this. Please, any sort of help in understanding this newly hermaphroditic boy would be greatly appreciated. I'm beginning to think that his sole purpose in existence is to confuse me.
"Aw, that's tooo baaaaaaaad. I wuz reely wanting som mined hunny." By now, he's standing right next to me, watching me type this and it's kind of creeping me out. But I don't think he cares. SERIOUSLY, JOHN! TAKE THE FREAKING HINT AND GO SIT BACK DOWN! … Aaaand he's still here. Okay, you want to know what I was about to tell you before you blacked out and woke up like this?"
"Yes." He rocks on his heels and the balls of his feet, giving the laptop screen a rather creepy stare, kind of like this:
John, that is really creepy, please go sit down. Then I'll tell. No, not right here, over on your chair. "Thank you," I say when he finally complies. Right now, some help in telling him would be greatly appreciated.
"Sssssoooooo0o00o0000oo … ?"
"Was that really necessary?" An eternity in your human "Hell" probably wouldn't be as bad a torture as this.
"Yes."
"Well, it's probably a good thing you're sitting down for this—"
"JUST GET ON WITH IT!" Okay, that was kind of scary. It pains me to admit that I never knew he could sound as demonic as he did with that, but nevertheless, I didn't, which is making me even more nervous to tell him. I may not know much about this hermaphroditic boy, but I do know that his reaction won't be good.
"Okay … uh … well, it wasn't Karkat whose hand you crushed. In fact, he is over at the Striders' house. Ironically, the owner of the hand you crushed is a Strider." I give John a nervous grin and study his reaction. So far, it is more neutral than anything. "John, please understand that your friend just worried for you. He would never do anything to hurt you or your matespritship with Karkat. He just wanted to get close to you and comfort you when you needed it." I await the inevitable reply in silence. After a few minutes, I leave him alone. In his subconscious to inform the girls outside his head that he should be kept away from Dave.
Their reactions are no less than priceless as I materialize right in front of them. I take a quick look at John's unconscious body before speaking. It has taken the full appearance and qualities of a natural-blooded troll. "Keep him away from Dave. Even though he is high, he can still comprehend." I give a saddened look before teleporting to my mansion. From here, I continue to record events.
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Jade, Roxy, Terezi and Ms. Paint look confused. What exactly did I mean by that, they wonder. Why should John be kept away from Dave? If the First Guardian tells them to do something, they know to heed it. Roxy gets out her phone to pester Rose just before she and Kanaya walk in the room, stomachs full and a little grossed out by the pudding-covered body in front of them. "Uh, what is going on here," Kanaya asks.
"We covered John with the powerful soothing and healing agent known as sopor slime," Terezi says with a mischievous smile.
"Okay, where did you get sopor slime?"
"I don't know. It just started oozing out of his ears."
"So sopor slime is earwax?"
"I don't know! I'm just as confused as you are!" Terezi looks at Kanaya with a glare that says, "Gog, you are such an idiot." She, as well as Roxy, Jade, and Kanaya, would be lying to say that she isn't surprised at Rose's silence. Rose, however, couldn't be more distracted, and rather pissed off at a certain ecto-brother, to notice anything. "Alright, Dave, you can just stay behind then, if that's what you like to do," she shouts at her phone before turning it off and shoving it violently into her pocket. It is at this time Ms. Paint decides to speak up.
"Uh, child, would you mind following me into the kitchen," she says in a soft, motherly tone—almost mocking Kanaya's.
"I don't feel like talking to anyone right—"
"I said follow me into the kitchen. Now!" And the soft, motherly tone is gone just like that (Imagine that you just saw/heard me snap my claws.). Rose gives an annoyed sigh and begrudgingly makes her way through the small hallway into the kitchen. "What?"
"I know that you're stressed, but you don't have to take it out on your poor little mobile talking device. Or, at least I hope you just named it Dave and weren't actually talking about Dave."
"No, I was talking about Dave." Rose really doesn't need this, but maybe someone else psychoanalyzing her for once would be a nice change. She must have a lot of pent feelings that she needs to get off her chest. "You know, sometimes he can be a real ass!"
"Well, from what I saw from him, he doesn't really seem like it." Ms. Paint give Rose a kind smile. It's like she can just turn it on and off at her own will. She places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure whatever he did couldn't possibly be that bad."
"Really? What did you see out of him?" Rose gives Ms. Paint an annoyed glare.
"Well, here, let's sit down at the table." She drags Rose over to the small table that just barely escaped being the flambé that was John. "There. I think this is much more comfortable than standing?"
"Just get on with it!"
"Okay, uh, well he had this kind personality. He was really caring and comforting to John while he was in there with him." Ms. Paint pauses and gives a kind smile as she thinks back about an hour or so ago to those moments.
"Go on," Rose pushes, annoyed at the carapacian's silence.
"Right, now where was I? Oh, he seemed to really worry over John. He sang ever so softly in his ear, almost beckoning him to wake up. I thought that he was even being softer about it than what I was, but it actually seemed to work a little bit, well, after he started kissing him."
"And there's the grubfucking problem! Dave can't keep his goddamn hormones in check enough to control himself when he's alone with John!" Rose slams her fists down on the table hard enough to bruise her hands.
"What do you mean?" Ms. Paint is utterly confused.
"I mean that Dave's face has no right to be in any sort of proximity that close to John's! John isn't dating Dave! Ugh, sometimes I just wish that murder was legal!" Rose gets up and stomps back over to Spades's room with the others to wait for John's awakening, leaving Ms. Paint to rethink her people skills.
.
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Okay, if it wasn't for me forgetting to record this in much more detail, even putting in more parts that happened, say, more dialogue (I know I'm an idiot, so shut up.), this would make so much more more sense. Ugh, dammit, I typed "more" twice. And now I'm just going to start stating the obvious. Yes, "Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's the First Guardian, Captain barkmeowing Obvious!" I should really get back to the story right now. But had it not been for me telling John about Dave's slip up, Roses shoutment (hehe, like a statement, but shouted. Get it?) would have taken him by complete surprise and he would have instantly woken (not really) and found his way to the hospital to personally pull Dave's rectum out through his mouth, and then break his hand … again. And then his feet, and legs, and other hand, and arms, and ribs, and spine, and then finish him off by snapping his neck. Yeah, he's that pissed, even though he's high beyond any sort of recognition right now. What makes it even worse is that trolls have an excellent memory and a tendency to become violent when pissed.
In fact, right now, he's plotting out his revenge on both Dave and Jake. Dave for the obvious reason, and Jake because, well, let's all face it—Grandpa's mouth belongs nowhere near Karkat's junk. Though, I do wish that I could get it through his thick troll skull that Jake's incident was just a misunderstanding and Dave was just worried. Oh well, I guess those two will just have to learn the hard way not to fuck with a troll and his matesprit.
Author: Thank you for taking over for me while I was in the ER. I do appreciate it and I'm sure the readers do as well. Now, where are we in the story.
Beq: You can read through this chapter and figure out by yourself. I am never doing this for you again. I have no freaking clue how you manage to do it.
A: It's easy. All you have to do is WATCH AND TYPE. Seriously, you're practically omnipotent and you can't even do that much?!
B: Oh shut up and take back responsibility for this stupid thing happening on my stupid planet.
A: Okay, technically it's my planet, considering I lived on it long before you. Up yours.
.
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The author apologizes for the readers having to put up with the crappy First Guardian, but in his own defense, you all are the reason for him having to leave. Just … never by surprise and correctly guess a character's name ever again. For both yours and his own sake …
Anyway, back to the story. Now, since I, the true author of this charade, feels as though Dirk has suddenly become an attention whore, being as the Texan can't even go a few chapters … okay, eight, but still. Therefore, he apparently must think that in order to gain the author's attention, he must go on some sort of rampage. Long story short, he's wanted for murder. But in his defense, the man put himself out of the misery brought upon him by Dirk's katana.
Fortunately for him, he heeded Jade and, dare he say it, Jake's advice, and always carries around more than one portable computing device. Unfortunately, he fears that Jake may be the only one he can trust in this sort of situation, given that both the elder Striders do not like to hurt anybody, which he could claim hypocrisy on had he been there when Other Bro rescued the group from the fuzz.
As of right now, he is sitting on a branch high up in a pine tree in a dense forest. His exposed eyes are wide with fear: fear of getting lost, fear of being caught, fear of loneliness, and most of all, fear of rejection from everyone else once they learn what he did … which should appear on the six o'clock news later tonight. He runs a hand through his snow-white hair, which has lost its stiff spikes several hours ago from sort-of-forced exercise and sweat. He figures that it's now or never, so he takes off his pants and pulls off his iBriefs, being quick to replace his pants out of another fear—the fear of being caught in the nude. He looks at the screen in the crotch, waiting for the things to turn on. He does this for several minutes before realizing "Oh shit." They are already on, and snapped a picture of his personal area. For being a technological expert, he really needs to learn how to delete pictures, and better yet, not allow them to be sent to other people by his junk, which just so happens to be the case with this particular picture of said junk. He doesn't even want to see who it was sent to, but alas, being the ingenious idiot that he is, he looks anyway. Apparently it was sent to Jane, John, Dave, Rose, Mom, Other Mom, Dad Egbert/Crocker, Sollux, Terezi, Karkat, Kanaya, and Bro. Well, at least it wasn't sent to Jake … Oh, wait … it was. Damn it. Well, there goes his only hope of escape.
"I bet you think you have no more hopes of escape. Am I correct in this assumption?" The sudden voice causes Dirk to jump nearly three feet off the branch. He looks behind him, but the owner of the voice is nowhere to be seen. He turns back around, only to be greeted by the troll that happens to own said voice, and the exact person he would never like to see at a time like this. "You haven't answered my question," the troll says, irritation evident in his voice.
"H-how long have y-you been there?" Dirk backs into the trunk as far as he can manage.
"That doesn't answer my question, fuckass. If you don't want my help in getting back, then I should just leave, right?"
"Since when do you want to help?"
"Since I see the perfect opportunity to get what I want. Now, I can get you back to your house in a vascular-pumpbeat—for a price." The troll grins evilly. His teeth show his wickedness in full detail, and his eyes burn with the hatred of a thousand hells.
"Since when are you a loan shark?" Dirk is beyond nervous. He's heard of things that the Cherry Knight has done to people he doesn't like or that have pissed him off.
"Oh, I don't want money. No, what I want is much more precious. Dirk, I want John's life." The god's evil grin turns into a full evil smile and he gives a slight maniacal laugh. Dirk's eyes widen in horror of what he has just heard.
"What? Why John's? Couldn't you at least want me to kill someone more appropriate—say, for example, Jake? Come on, man, take the hint." He pleads with the troll, eyes like a sad puppy's. Unfortunately, Karkat hates woofbeasts. Even his mortal self does, for no apparent reason.
"Alright, I'll let you deal a great amount of pain to him. But that's it! After you get back home, you won't do anything else to him, alright?!"
"Uh … sure? I don't see how I can hurt him when we aren't even in the same place … "
"Oh, there's a way. Now, do you accept the deal?" godKat stares at the confused Dirk for a few minutes before the latter responds with a "Yeah, as long as I don't get caught by the police or anything."
"Alright. Now, you may feel a little bit of pressure …" godKat snaps a finger and the Strider kid turns into a red liquid and disappears.
.
Back at the Pyrope/Strider household, a young green-eyed boy that answers to the name "Jake English" lies in a bed, fast asleep and dreaming sweet dreams about skulls and adventures and eye sockets and that weird picture that he got from Dirk around midnight, which he guessed meant that Dirk had apologized? But either way, it was weird and it's popping up in his dream a little too close to the eye sockets to be considered a friendly gesture. The sad part about this is that this is a lucid dream. Now, what does that say about Jake's sex life?
Enter Name: Jacob Hiram English
That would be so much more surprising had I not just told you his name like, barely even a paragraph ago. I'm more surprised by the fact that you know his middle name. Now stop showing off your sudden observational skills and read along here.
As previously mentioned, before you, the reader, rudely interrupted the author of this charade, Jake is having a dream that says that he doesn't get laid very much. Or, at least, is suffering from withdrawal from not getting laid in the past however long Dirk has been away. Who knows with those two? They might breed like rabbits, or they might rarely do it at all. This is probably making you uncomfortable. Serves you right for interrupting me with the completely obvious name of the character we are now following …
Suddenly, he is woken by a sharp pain in his genital region. This is probably a good time for him to rethink Terezi's suggestion to get tested for any sort of STD, though everyone is pretty sure Dirk doesn't have anything. What Jake is feeling now, however, points toward the contrary.
He reaches down to grab Little Jakey, because, that's what everyone does when they're in pain—they grab whatever's hurting and that seems to always help. Well, that doesn't help now, especially when his hand notices a certain wetness to the area. Yeah, he probably should get checked. "Oh, well, perhaps it was just a wet dream," he says to himself before he feels the wetness spreading like wildfire, which is what it also feels like in his nether region. He doesn't really want to see what it is, and he especially doesn't want to know what's happening to him, but alas, he really needs to, and he knows that he needs to, so he raises one hand up out from under the blanket and turns on the lamp on Dirk's nightstand. He is taken aback by the sight before his face. When he looks at his hand, he sees that it's covered in blood. He rips off the blanket to find that his human bulge is spewing blood everywhere out the little orifice on the very tip. Seconds later, the veins in both of his elbow crooks pop, forming large bruises that break through his skin, shedding even more blood everywhere and causing even more pain. The veins in both his wrists follow suit, and soon, he is writhing in complete pain, blood gushing everywhere: on the floor, on the bed, on the nightstand, etc. He almost lets out a scream, but muffles it in Dirks' pillow, which has somehow gone untouched by the metallic smelling fluid, and somehow gained a rather large dent …