A/N: Yeah, I got bored and decided to write this early. Oh and there is some ooc-ness due to this particular time period not very Homestuck-character-friendly. By the way, I am not sorry for the length (x'D).

Chapter Two

Everyone's Caste

"Your highness" a boy with dazzling blue eyes, and a mop of jet black hair bowed to Queen Feferi for a few minutes before unrolling the large scroll he had been holding since he arrived at the castle.

"Go on, Sir Egbert" the Queen responded and rested her right elbow on the armchair of the throne she sat upon, her painted lips quirked into a settle smile as she looked down on the goofy messenger. "What does Hopeland report this time?" Though she would not admit it, the Queen was rather dissatisfied with the news feed lately and overall annoyed by the consistency of it all. The poor messenger had been traveling back-and-forth between the lands for several weeks now, reading off what was technically the same thing occurring but worded different.

The messenger—Johnathan Egbert—audibly cleared his throat, and only then did he continue onward. "Dearest Feferi, I have received your notice on the assassination occurring in your Kingdom and assure you that I am doing my best to locate the witch that is responsible for this."

"Wait a minute," the Queen held up her hand, cutting John off so that she could interject. "The King thinks a witch is murdering the nobles? How does he figure that now? I thought we had decided it was a lone male assassin harboring a heavy load of hate for anyone of nobility?"

"Permission to continue on, your highness" was all John could think to say that was appropriate in the presence of her majesty. Though she had expected such an answer, Feferi still sighed in aggravation.

"Go on" she said again, waving her right hand to the right to symbolize he had free will to speak.

"Now I am aware that this bit of news may confuse you, but I assure you that was most definitely the work of a witch, as my consorts saw the geometric proof haggardly written on the wooden floor beneath the body of Sir Michaelis and his wife." The Queen gasped at this discovery, but pursed her lips and remained silent so that John could finish the entire script. "I know that it will be hard for you to accept this knowledge, as I am just barely keeping it together myself from it, fighting a never-ending internal rage over all the turmoil this witch has caused Hopeland Kingdom, but I must request that you cease your interference in this case and let the people of Hopeland solve the problem—" the Queen rolled her eyes at that. "For it is my Kingdom that shelters the witch and therefore, my duty to extirpate her. Though I look forward to your next response, I ask that it include your official agreement to step down from this matter and allow me to carry my own weight. Signed, His Majesty. P.S., shan't any other unfortunate assassination occur over in your Kingdom, I apologize in advance, but please refrain from ever bringing it up to me if it does happen." John rolled up the scroll and placed it back into the cloth roll on his bag, then pulled out one of his blank scrolls (he had the location of them memorized by now) as well as his quill and ink bottle from the satchel he wore around his waist. "Whenever you wish to proceed with recording the response, your highness."

"You know, it reely gets my blood boiling that he thinks he can order me around like that. I am a Queen, for Christ's sakes!" the young Queen shouted in her fit of anger and made a violent shake of her head, the beaded tassels at the ends of the golden rods of her headdress following with the vicious motion. However, her face only grew paler when she realized that John had dipped his quill and was had his hand poised to write. "Oh for crying out loud—don't glubbin' write that, fish!"

At first, the messenger had looked dumbfounded until he realized that he hadn't really taken note of the dialect the Queen had been speaking in. It was far from her "writing voice." "Oh, right; my apologies, your highness!" he bent down for a rather stiff bow and didn't rise until she said so. After that, he dipped his quill again just in case it had dried over the course of their small talk, and got ready to record her exact words. Being a scribe was quite a difficult job in his opinion. John looked up at his Queen with twinkling blue eyes and nodded his head once.

"Dear King Ampora, I have received word of your response to my last scroll safely by my loyal subject, Sir Johnathan Egbert. If you do not receive this by that very person, then this is a false message. Then again, I would like to think that a thief would be smart enough to skip over that line, so feel free to completely disregard it Sir Egbert. Meaning I want you to scratch that last bit or ignore it when you read this to the King. Anyways, I will adhere to your request for my concession, but in turn I ask that you no longer report to me on your Kingdom's series of unfortunate events, nor request for the help of my troops if the hunt gets too tough for you to handle—do we have an agreement now? Good. I pray that the witch trials go on swimmingly for you, though, and hope that your skies reely do clear up once the witch is eradicated. I bid you good day now, King Opheacus, and eagerly await your next verbal letter myself" the Queen finished up rather quick and waited until the resounding scratching had ceased before reminding John to sign her name. The messenger then bowed to her with the usual "your highness" before turning around to depart for the second time that day.

"And make sure you come back before dusk so that you can read it to me immediately!" the Queen had shouted out to him before he vanished outside the double mahogany doors, then sunk down in the hard seat of her throne.

Although John had heard full and well what she said, he knew that what she really meant was that he got back before her bedtime so that he could scribe the day's diary entry, which was always a pain in his rear. If women were allowed to learn the written word, his job would have been so much easier. Then again, he wouldn't even have a job in the first place if that had been so.

Nodding to the Queen's closest knight, Davidson Strider, Johnathan Egbert jogged across the wooden bridge that had still been set down over the alligator-ridden river ditch—that helped to protect the castle—since he had entered. The day had only still just begun for him (even though it was currently midday), and already he was exhausted to the core.

Passing by the many citizens wandering about the busy brick road, John gave curt nods to those that paid attention to him until he reached his favorite destination lately: the ferry man's post. His chapped lips quirked up into a wide grin when he saw the familiar blonde bob of the doctor, and he waved his hand in front of her face until she took notice of his sudden presence. Of course, the woman could never have dreamed of upholding her medicinal job without pretending to be male, having had to cut her hair short and bind her blossoming bosom so that she was flat enough to get away with it. Of course, John didn't know her real gender at first, but he was a man of good instinct and could tell when someone feigned the opposite gender over time (though he still had yet to meet a man pretending to be a woman, which made no sense to try in a world where man thrived and the majority of women suffered).

"Hey there! Busy, too?" Unfortunately, John lacked knowledge of her given name—or any name, really—so he had to refrain from using any kind of formal greeting when around her. This also included the ferry man, who was nearing the deck as John greeted his daily ferry-riding friend.

"Good day to you, too, friend. Has your day already begun or no?" the doctor turned her head and spoke in the best male voice she could muster. John hated it when she spoke in that tone around him, but he figured that it was better to take precautions to one's surroundings before letting loose.

"Unfortunately, yes it has" his broad smile faltered at the memory of his first meeting with the King that day, but it rose again when he thought about the reward he would be receiving at the end of the day. That was it—the thought of getting paid was what kept him going nowadays. "And it's not nearly over, either."

Their conversation was cut short when the obese noble had waddled on past them, cursing under his breath about the absurdity of the bumpy ride that he, a noble, had just faced. "Uh, hey there, you two. Uh, H-Hopeland?" the ferry man called out to them, his voice squeaking at the end of his question like it normally did.

"Yeah—"

"Have you ever known me to go to Brinkman now, ferry man?" the doctor cut John off with and boarded the long wooden boat before him, claiming "ladies first." John was about to remind her that she was no lady in her disguise, but decided he better not and boarded on after her in silence.

"So, uh, how have you two—been?" the ferry man broke the silence when the boat was reaching the halfway point, preferring to talk when facing the thick fog rather than suffer it quietly.

"Oh you know—the usual running back-and-forth between the Kingdoms. Doesn't pay nearly as much as most jobs but eh, what can I do to change it now after doing it for so many years?" John was the first to speak out, and the ferry man turned his head around to reveal his usual banana-shaped smile. It was the only feature of his that ever showed underneath the large, dark hood he wore on a daily basis. Creepy, yes, but John had no room nor reason to judge the man for it.

"That sucks, I guess." The ferry man could think of no other appropriate response to John's sarcastic comment. John didn't seem to mind, though, and just sat still in his seat, quiet as the snow that seldom fell in their county.

"As for myself, business has been booming as always. Got a couple cases over in Hopeland, but that shouldn't come as a shock to you, ferry man" the blonde-bobbed doctor eventually responded with her own inquiry, finding the new silence unbearable. "The people catch all kinds of things over there; have to wear my face mask for protection when I work or even wander around. Though it always seems to be disease-safe around the baker's. You should stop there sometime, ferry man—he has some delicious pastries, if I do say so myself…" the doctor continued to babble on until they were only a few minutes away from Hopeland's ferry port, and only then did she put on her game face.

"By the way, what shall I call you two? I mean, we've only been riding together for two years or so now, have we not? I would like to at least know your last names."

"Ah, but it is the last name that is the most important, uh, isn't it?" the ferry man responded in an instant, a slight frown on his dainty features.

"I do not think so, ferry man. Besides, my first name is too precious to me to give out" the doctor responded to him, giving John no room to put his two cents in.

"Well, I don't really care about hiding names so you two can call me Sir Egbert if you want. It's what the Queen calls me, and so does Knight Strider so you two might as well do the same." John burst out before the ferry man could respond again, though he appeared a little too excited to share as a result.

"Doctor Lalonde is fine, then."

"Uh, uh…" the ferry man pulled up to the port and looked back at them with an apologetic smile. "Guess I'll, uh, tell you when you two return later?" The messenger and doctor shared a look with one another before eventually nodding to the ferry man and exiting the boat together, ignoring the comments they received from the impatient nobles that were waiting to ride over to the Kingdom of Tartaunus for God-only-knew what.

Though they had walked for quite some time together (in silence, of course), the two had split up when passing up Hopeland's best baker's tent, as Doctor Lalonde had chosen to approach the thick cloth set-up and purchase her favorite pastry.

John pulled the tight black clothing—that hung over his blouse—over his mouth and nose for protection from the diseases that permeated the air, gripped the straps over his shoulders to his scroll-holding pack, and set off down the brick road to the miles-away castle.

"Good day to you, too, Ma'am. How may I help you today? Cream-puff special?" the baker fixed the doctor with his signature lazy smile, moving his hand above his display as means of showing it off. "Or would you like to try one of my mini-pies, popular with the ladies."

"Huh," the doctor shook her head with the slightest smile on her pale face. "I still don't know how you can tell, but you're always able to see through my disguises. Cream puff please."

"As expected," the baker clicked his tongue, and then winked at her upon handing her a few wrapped cream puffs. "Quarter of a Euro, please" he tilted his head at her and waggled his brows, making her laugh aloud as she retrieved the cent from the small pouch at her side.

"Always manage to make me laugh, too. Hope you have a good one, baker" the doctor picked up the wrapped pastries, and only then placed the cent in the center of the man's moonlight palm. They exchanged friendly smiles with one another until the doctor shuffled on through the crowd to get to her first job, and the baker a new customer to distract him.

Not far from the baker's tent, a girl with ratted black hair and crudely-made circular glasses played beautiful music from her precious nickel flute, a small smile painted on her ivory features and jade green eyes shining with delight as she swayed her hips to the free-fall of the notes she let loose; in her own world. However, she was not completely detached from the world, and would shoot casual glances at the baker, watching his actions as closely as she could.

Though he pretended not to notice, the baker knew full and well of the flute-playing girl's glances, but would only humor her with a look every so often, not wanting to appear suspicious to his customers.

However, the girl did not only play around the baker's tent, for she liked to follow along the brick road, cheering the solemn citizens up the best she could. While she could not fix the gray sky above her that was the major reason for the gloom of the city folk, she could at least share her carefree spirit with them through song and ease their sorrows for the moment, their closed eyes and overall relaxed expressions fueling her as well. So, dancing along then, the girl stopped in front of a tent some feet away from the baker's. Peering inside the pulled-back flap of the thick cloth while still managing to play the right notes, the girl nodded her head at the blacksmith. The tall, burly dark-skinned man had ceased pounding his stone hammer on top of the red-hot metal of his current sword commission, expression unreadable and covered in sweat just like the front of his shirt. Choosing to move on from there, the girl backed up and turned around to head back along the same way. After all, ogling the baker was fun! Unfortunately, a certain female thief had stolen her show by snatching up one of his signature mini pies and running elsewhere, the baker hot on her trail in a heartbeat.

At least he had her to watch his stand for him.

Moving as fast as her feet could take her through the trees, a woman with long ebony hair held back by a rubber band and dressed in peasant garb clutched onto the pastry she had oh-so-easily stolen. Just as easily as she had captured the little delight, however, the baker had caught up to her and pinned her against one of the many trees of the otherwise forbidden forest. Considering they had crossed the Brinkman borderline meant that the woman was most likely a part of the female population. Which also meant she had been banished for some unacceptable deed. Though a little horrifying to take into consideration, the baker wasn't necessarily all that good either, as the citizens of Hopeland seemed to think he was.

Holding out his hand to her, the baker offered the thief a more defined smile—though it didn't reach his eyes—and waited for the pastry to be given back to him.

"Damn you're good," the thief looked him up and down as she spoke, still clutching onto the little pie.

"And you're a thief. You know," the baker leaned down closer so that his face was only inches away from the thief's, his hot breath blowing out onto the woman's nose, and she wrinkled it as an immediate response. "If you were that desperate, you could have just motherfuckin' asked for it for free, and I would have been more than happy to oblige."

Pushing the baker back so that she wasn't so constricted, the woman made a dry-sounding chuckle before throwing the pie down on the ground. "Yeah, well, that kind of takes the fun and thrill I get out of the thievery now, doesn't it?" The woman turned up her nose at him before stomping off to her large house in the forest town called Brinkman, lifting her middle finger high into the air in hopes that the baker would see it even as she walked away.

The baker did see the finger, and only smirked at the humorous display as he wandered back down to his little baker business in Hopeland Kingdom, hoping that the witch had gotten the hint to watch it for him.

Upon reaching her "humble abode," the woman stripped of the hideous garb she had adorned to better conceal her appearance in case of a possible recognition. She then wandered on into her personal bedroom and changed into the sapphire blue silk dress she had set on the bed prior to her thieving event. Once that was done, the woman, walked about the house with her hands behind her back, tying the ribbon on the corset top of the dress. However, movement not far from outside the window she faced had caught her immediate attention. Walking closer to get a better view, the woman narrowed her eyes and scoffed in disgust when she realized who it was.

Black as night truffles of hair billowing around her due to the pick-up of the wind, a young porcelain doll of a woman had knelt down before a small headstone in the "backyard" of her house. Moving the ruffles of scarlet aside so as not to dirty her dress, the woman set the bouquet of flowers she had gathered from down the slope where the Hopeland and Brinkman borderline was in front of the tombstone, whispering sweet nothings to her late husband in hopes that he might hear her on the other side.

The wind picked up then, blowing some fallen leaves around her in a sort of tornado-like twist. Her ruby red-painted lips curled up into an innocent smile at the settle movement, believing it was a sign from the dead that her words had been heard and were appreciated. However, a swift movement among the trees not so far-off from her yard had her standing up, for she had been expecting the figure to appear. If only she could catch her.

Said mysterious figure had made it to her small hut deep within the forest town of Brinkman, free of any followers. She walked up to the front porch, the old grey hound lowering his lifted wrinkled ear that had been listening for any non-recognizable footsteps and stared on at the girl with half-lidded eyes. Bending over to pat the old hound's head as a means of affection, the girl laughed at his floppy ears before looking up at the dangling shrunken heads from the porch's awning in disdain, wondering when her time would come and how she would pass on into the next life.

Ah well—no need to worry just yet. As long as the Kingdom went on believing that the widow was the witch, she was safe. And her rituals would go on undisturbed until she got what she wanted: peace. Stepping onto the porch now, she dipped her free hand into the large clay vase next to the door in order to gather some salt, then sprinkled it in a line along the door crack behind her after she entered the hut. Only then did she turn around and take a big whiff of the air, the scent of oak tree, sage, and multiple spices filling her nostrils and ultimately cleansing her soul. Exhaling slowly, the girl closed her eyes and took a few moments to connect with the spiritual energy of the forest outside the safety of her hut. After that, the girl allowed her eyelids to literally snap open before getting down to "ritual" business. Picking up some sage, the girl wandered out to her backyard to start the fire and retrieve the little gift that Jameson was supposed to capture for her while she was away on flute duty.

A little while later when she had gotten the fire started and singed the tips of the bundled sage for some necessary cleansing, the girl heard Jameson's call to signify when the baker was near-by. Smiling now, the girl went about with the cleansing ceremony and waited patiently for the baker to step foot out from his hiding place in the woods. Though she appreciated his disturbing ability to blend in with the shadows, it worried her sometimes when she lacked knowledge of his exact location and when he was to pop out, potentially frightening the crap out of her.

The witch felt a lot better when the baker did make himself known, the light of the fire illuminating his tall and lanky form, as well as his ridiculously unruly, puffy mess he called "curls." Clad in his nightfall leather outfit he claimed his disguise for whenever he went out to see the witch and aid her in her rituals, the baker placed his hands on his hips and fixed the witch with his serious business expression.

"Can we just get this done and motherfuckin' over with all motherfuckin' ready, or do I have to all up and motherfuckin' stand here and stare at the miraculous flame of the Messiahs for ten minutes while you motherfuckin' 'cleanse my soul?'" The baker tapped his pointed boot in an impatient manner, waiting for her to run the sage over him his body.

Though she was a little annoyed by his impatience, the girl walked over and made quick to cleanse him, too excited to go about the ritual to care all that much about the baker's rude behavior (when compared to his friendly atmosphere to his customers in the morning when he was selling goods).

Once the ritual was completed and the rabbit's blood used as their sacrifice, the baker exchanged farewells with the witch and headed back down the hill. Dancing among the shadows as he did, no one could ever trace him when he was in the groove—not one soul. When he had reached the back of his cottage-like house (he had taken the back ways of the Hopeland half of the forest to get there), he caught sight of the investigator looking to nab some poor souls that were up and out after curfew, and ducked inside his house through the back door. If he had been caught, he would have been stuck spending jail time in the basement cells of Hopeland Kingdom's castle, which was a huge no-no for him being of the respectable baker status he was. Plus, the investigator hated his guts and would have loved to see his pretty face behind rusty bars. Of course, he equally hated her just as much and would have her detained had he been given the opportunity to, but so far there was no such luck so he was better off sticking to the shadows and ignoring her existence in general.

The investigator, a small woman with crazy and short orange-red locks, didn't exactly like her job. Sure, it was kind of catlike, but walking around at night and looking for late-nighters and teenage goofballs was far from her ideal career. Driving the carriage was a hell of a lot better than that, actually. Stopping in her tracks, the woman piqued her hearing and narrowed her hazel eyes at the sound of the violin that carried on into the otherwise soundless night. She was going to catch that pesky violin player one of these days, oh yes she would—

"Hey! Watch where you're going, God damn woman of Eve!" a man just as short as she had bumped into her then, as if realizing his mistake for making his presence known to the investigator of all people, dashed off into the night, coated head-to-toe in black clothing. "F-fuck! Don't follow me now, I mean it!"

However fast as she was, the investigator could not catch up to the short man and pursed her lips in anger, a low growl escaping her. She could have had someone! Swiveling on her heels then, the woman decided to carry on back to her own home, turning in for the night.

The short man had not given up chase, though, and ran straight for the ferry dock, thankful that it was one of the ferry man's late nights. Though at first the sound of a violin had stopped him dead in his tracks, when the short assassin had caught side of the phantom-masked and cloaked figure that snuck on past the assassin like a cold breeze, the angry man had forced his feet to carry him onward and practically dove on into the ferry boat, surprising the two passengers as well as the ferry man himself.

"Woah there, uh, budd—"

"To Tartaunus—now! And don't you dare fucking delay either, you monkey-faced Charon!" the short man had cut the ferry man off and stood up, wiping at his scratched nose from his hard landing. The other two passengers just sat in silence, sharing only one quick glance between them.

"O-okay. These two were just, uh, g-going there as well, heh" the ferry man responded and moved the long oar to get the boat going. The short man sat down on the first bench of the three total, cursing himself under his breath something along the lines of "stupid fuckass" like a personal mantra.

Upon arrival to the Kingdom of Tartaunus' port, the assassin made a mad dash for the dock, throwing his fare money at the ferry man in a hurry as he ran. Some of the coins had fallen into the water and were not retrievable.

Patting him on the shoulder, John offered him one of his goofy grins with a thumbs-up as he handed the ferry man his fare. "Don't worry about it, Nitram—I'm sure he won't be back anytime soon with the way he was running, haha!"

"To be honest, Sir Egbert, that just worries me even more for his safety" Doctor Lalonde spoke out as John exited the ship and handed the ferry hand her fare money. "I think he just might be back once he realizes just who you are, Sir Egbert."

"Ah no, you think?" John's broad smile faltered at that thought.

"Did I not just say that? Men can be so dense sometimes…"

"Hey!" the ferry man shouted over at the doctor, a little offended by her comment.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean you, sweetie. You're far better than most men I've met, and I've met a lot of men." The doctor waved the ferry man good-bye and only turned around when she was sure he couldn't see her anymore. Now she could return to her home and crash for the night, beat from the hard day's work she had faced.

As the messenger walked on ahead of the doctor, however, he was little worried to have caught sight of the black clothed man running off to noble territory. So he did what someone of his position only could do: he told Sir Strider. Unfortunately, Sir Strider saw as some kind of misunderstood circumstance and waved it off, telling John he was "delusional" and needed to "get some rest" but first "report back to the Queen."

Where did the short man run off to now? The house of the duke of Tartaunus, of course. Why not aim high? Too bad for him the duchess had to wheedle her way on out of it, and a wild goose chase had arisen as she ran off in the direction of the castle, knowing full and well that she would definitely be safe there. While the duchess had managed to get away with her life, begging to Sir Strider to let her in, the duke did not and passed away rather painfully as he lied on the lush center room rug back in the duchess' household.

She was noble-less as well as penniless now, and had no other option but to seek residence with the Queen. Possibly forever. Fortunately, some good did come out of it since she was able to accurately describe the basic outline of the mysterious assassin. The Queen was pleased to learn that her hypothesis had been correct, and that the assassin was indeed a vengeful man and not some second-rate witch.

The duchess was soon made the Queen's personal tailor after she had shared of her only craftsmanship, and was to share a room with the Kingdom's seer, whom the duchess hadn't even known existed before until the unfortunate event that befell her. She was an interesting woman of around the same height at the duchess, though her hair was a light brown compared to the duchess' midnight spikey bob, and her hair was almost shoulder-length. And blind, the duchess couldn't forget about that obvious trait that sometimes inconvenienced her when she was on duty and the seer couldn't find the way to the bathroom.

The following day, the witch had awoken to Jameson's affectionate cleansing of her whole face…with his saliva. Disgusted, the witch had gathered what little self-cleaning materials she owned and headed down for the river downslope past the Hopeland border. When she reached said river, however, she heard an unfamiliar musical tune. It was coming from some unknown area to her near the beginning of the forest.

Curious, the witch left her items in a rotting spot of a tree for the time being and ventured off, following the mirthful music the best she could. Eventually, she had happened upon what looked to be some old fallen ruin structure covered in moss. There were only two noticeable stones left and between them…was a man? She couldn't really tell from the distance she was standing at behind a tree, but she could definitely make out the instrument-playing forest animals. Yeah, that wasn't odd at all.

Snaking on through the tree as swiftly as possible for her, the witch had stopped at the back end of one of the two stone hedges (the right one from where the man stood between them), and peered out from behind the back edge of it. Yep, the dancing figure was definitely a man from what she could tell. Well, a really lanky one (lankier than the baker; and that was saying something), but the figure was still a man. Though she couldn't quite make out his face, for he was moving too fast and with such vigor that she could swear he knew of her presence and was concealing his face from her view on purpose. What did he have to hide that she didn't?

Then the man stood still and tall, and the witch could make out now that the man had been dancing in front of a…heap of dirt. That didn't make any sense, unless he buried—oh wait, now she noticed the makeshift cross and sage burning on top of the pile. Wait a minute, he used sage?!

"You can come out now, witch."