Notes: The only thing I really have been able to handle writing this week. I've been feeling pretty miserable, you know? But while I was recovering I found a pen, some paper, and started to write. Because I feel like the best thing I can do when I feel miserable is to take it out on characters. But you expected that, right? We all knew this couldn't stay happy, right?
Behind Blue Lies – Part 19
There had been few points in Vriska's life where she'd truly regretted failing to tell her guardian about her gift. The first real time had been when she'd been in the hive during Gamzee's rampage. The burning fire of the purple's rage had been compelling, and Vriska had half wanted to tear out her own guardian's throat. And Karkat's pity and desperation, confusion and clear flushed feelings had almost overwhelmed her in their own way. Even as she'd struggled to keep Gamzee from—justifiably—bludgeoning her guardian to death Vriska had wished she could better control her empathic gift. The second time had been the first time she had been forced to stand by and watch as Veruna killed someone. The third had been killing the rustblood, when the pain had been mixed with the rush of power of the misusing of her gift.
None of those compared to what she felt now, huddled on the floor of the ballroom and clutching at her horns. Her pan swirled with different flavors of fear, panic, pain, joy, fury, and too many other emotions to name. They fought her for control, the waves of emotion refusing to leave her alone no matter how much she struggled to press them aside. It was the only thing Vriska could think of, the only thing in her mind. Whether a minute or hours had passed, she didn't know, though if she could have spared a thought to it Vriska would likely have decided it was only minutes, because no one had even touched her yet. But she couldn't think, could only struggle in her own mind for sanity.
If only the pans around hers were more like Equius's. Voids she couldn't pierce, could not touch. But no, they were the minds of common trolls, ones that lived their whole lives guided by volatile emotions. Yet the very memory of the chill touch of her kismesis's pan was enough for an idea, at least on an instinctual level. As swiftly as it could her pan wove together its own wall, wrapped itself in a cocoon of indifference and ignorance. And as layer after layer spun itself around her pan, the pressure of the emotions lessened. Layer after layer after layer and she could see. Could hear the trolls around her screaming, shouting, panicking. Could feel a pain in her right leg that made her wince as she stood. Could see the trolls running around as if the world was ending, many cut down by the enforcers at the doors.
Vriska only barely had time to examine her leg—cut by a shard of glass from the drinks she'd dropped as likely as not—before something called to her through the protective cocoon around her pan. Not that if was powerful enough to do so, but familiar, something her gift marked, highlighted in her pan. It felt like Veruna and Kythal as well. Sure enough as Vriska turned to face the doors at the far end of the ballroom, they sprang open and from them came Kythal and Veruna with a small guard of violets. In Kythal's hands was a large energy rifle, such as was banned for anyone planetside, used as they were for planetary defense systems. Veruna too was armed, carrying with her a large, golden, three-pronged and dual headed warfork. The others with them also carried a variety of weapons, making their intentions more than abundant clear. Good thing Vriska had managed to convince them that survivors were ideal for telling the story of fear.
Veruna didn't look much like Vriska had ever seen her before. The rebel Empress didn't wear her bloodied white dress, and her horns were even clean and shining. Hair normally left in disarray was bound in a braid that trailed after her on the floor, and its dark shine offsetting the fuchsia of her long gown. She was radiant, the picture of a benevolent ruler, and a pure and simple lie. Which would be obvious to anyone who heard of what happened here today. A troll who committed, allowed an act like this would never be mistaken for kind or caring. Especially not with how she was looking around, her eyes cold and uncaring as she regarded the suffering around her.
Well, there would be time to deal with that one soon enough. The more pressing concern was the royal's party. Quickly Vriska turned her attention, psychic and physically, towards the platform at the front of the room. There was little of it left, and yet Vriska could sense minds there. A rush of activity even. Someone, multiple someones, were still alive over there. Immediately she grabbed the place where her pants were cut by the glass and tore with all her might. The fabric parted easily, leaving only a scant length covering her leg, and bearing the pair of daggers strapped to her leg. They were in her hands, more for her own protection than anyone's harm, as she advanced towards the platform. As risky as it was, she needed to know what was happening. She needed to know where they stood, if Feferi was still breathing, if her and the other fuchsias got out alive.
The center of the platform was a smoking ruin. The precious wood that made it was burning. And behind it Vriska could feel waves of pain. As she watched her vision eightfold focused sharply to pick up some movement. The shape was easily identified through the smoke, things always were when she focused. Tethys Hydrus was kneeling, a horrified look on her face, a blade in her hand. The Enforcer's lips were moving, not that her words reached Vriska. There were still so many screaming voices, shouting voices, protesting voices. Vriska still knew what was being said, the perks of mutation. Tethys was calling for Eridan, ordering him to grab the Heiress and other girls, and get them to safety. Good, at least they were still alive. Yet things boded badly for everyone if Tethys stuck around, there would be a fight. And if she remained, there was nothing to guarantee that her ward would obey, even if it was in everyone's best interests.
Which meant it might as well be up to Vriska to give him a reason to haul keel and get his moirail and her wardmates out of here. It might be the only way the Heiress made it through this. So, daggers in hand, Vriska threw herself at the ruined platform and where Eridan would be with Feferi.
They were just about where Vriska expected to find the pair, on the ground behind the platform. Feferi was holding one of the younger fuchsias tight in her arms, holding her sister in her tears despite the fact that Feferi herself seemed ready to cry. Her dress was torn and charred at the edges, her hair singed, her iconic goggles cracked but not falling apart. The other girls were curled around Feferi, looking and radiating fear, even when their eyes fell upon their enforcer guardians. Between the nervously glubbing girls and Vriska's daggers stood a furious, bleeding, sword wielding seatroll she'd only ever met over Trollian: Eridan Ampora.
"Still here, fishy?" Vriska asked, crooned really, twirling one of the daggers through her fingers and smiling as widely as possible.
"What do you want, traitor?" Eridan hissed, his voice wavering, though not with nerves. No, it was righteous indignation, and sounded a bit like his typing quirk too. To be honest, Vriska had always wondered how that would sound. Too bad she had to learn under these circumstances.
"Lose your taste for reform, highblood? Shame. Thought maybe you'd still be harboring some aspirations after all this time. But no, you don't have the shame globes for stabbing your moirail in the back, do you?" Vriska quipped. She was already damned for her actions, why not take them further to save the life of someone that, for all intents and purposes, counted as a friend?
All Eridan could do for a moment was stare at her, his fully violet eyes wide with shock. As well he should be really, but that was the way things went. His enforcer troops were less hesitatnt though. They had stayed themselves at Eridan's body language, but at Vriska's hierarchist language, they had started to move, en mass, towards her. Would have rushed her too had Eridan not noticed and waved them off, and slid so easily into a defensive stance.
"Vriska."
"In the flesh, Ampora. And I've got to say, you're really doing a lot of my job for me, leaving the fuchsia flock here. So kind."
A flash of pure rage, almost enough to threaten the memory of Gamzee's righteous fury, and then Eridan was moving. Were it not for her own sweeps of training, or repeated nights spent learning to react before thinking, the blade would have taken her left arm. As it was, her dagger swept up and around, knocking into his blade. It wasn't effective so much as surprising, and when Eridan flinched at the move, Vriska brought the other dagger into play, making a cut for his chest. The seadweller danced back a step, and when Vriska felt for him with her gift she almost smiled at the faint flicker of shock and indecision. It was gone as quickly as it came, and already Eridan was on the attack. Vriska's world became a thing of parries and blocks, of whirling blades flashing with light and narrow misses on both sides. All the while her gift kept her appraised of Veruna and Kythal's slow advance across the ballroom floor, reminding her just how important it was to get this finished soon. By the time the pair made the ruined platform there would be no chance for Feferi's escape.
A defensive approach to the battle was obviously not working. Vriska had to run the risk of injury if things were to go well. There was little else to be done, really, and gritting her teeth she lunged forward, ducking below the strike that Eridan had no idea he telegraphed perfectly for someone with vision eightfold. Eridan wasn't prepared for the move, meaning Vriska had free reign to cut in with a dagger, forcing Eridan to stumble back a step to keep her from slicing him right across the gills. It didn't give her much room, though, because Eridan immediately pressed right back in. He brought his far larger weapon down in an overhanded strike, and it was all Vriska could do to cross her daggers and catch the attack, then throw it quickly to the side. This time Eridan was at a loss for a moment, thrown to the side, and Vriska too the chance to bring her daggers to his throat. They were close now, too close for either of their comfort, but it was what it was: her chance.
"Eridan," Vriska hissed, under her breath so that only he could hear it.
"This isn't the time for talk, Serket."
"And yet here we are," she said, utterly serious. "Eridan, you have to get the Heiress out immediately. Veruna will have them killed if you remain here."
"Like you care. You're trying to..."
"Save your glubbing life. Just take my word for this. You NEED to get them to safety. Please. They are our future."
"Vriska..."
"We've been still too long. I need you to knock me down. Then look around, notice the approaching force, and command your men to grab the girls and leave, like your guardian commanded."
"I..."
"Just do it fish soup pan."
There was no time to prepare herself for the knee that Eridan delivered to her torso. It was powered by all the strength a violet could muster, and Vriska could feel a rib break under the blow. Damn him for making it so serious. The problem was that Eridan didn't end it there. Didn't just let that be the blow that ended it. As she fell Vriska had time to see the blade flash out, moving as if it was in slow motion as it neared her seven-pupil eye. All she could do was close her eyes as tightly as possible and pray even as pain erupted in her pan.
Through the haze of the pain she heard Eridan start shouting orders, heard movement rushing around her as the Heiress and fuchsias were gathered and rushed for the secured exit. Somewhere beyond her, Vriska could sense Veruna's fury, directed quite clearly at Vriska, and Kythal's resigned annoyance. Soon the sounds of Eridan and his group faded behind the creaking of a door, leaving Vriska to finally risk opening her eyes.
It was a slow process, and a painful one. Her normal eye was perfectly alright with opening, with looking around, with just being. But the mutated... the pain was far too much to even try to open it fully. She gave in quickly, groaning in pain as she slowly sat up. With her uninjured eye she could see Kythal and Veruna's increased pace, but little of the details. Odd, how blurry and unclear the world looked when she didn't have her full vision eightfold. Was this the sort of thing that normal trolls had to deal with? Pathetic. There were more pressing things to consider than that, though, and Vriska quickly tore one of the sleeves off of her service uniform. That sleeve was quickly torn into strips that she used to gently clean as much of the blood as possible from her face The rest was turned into padding over her eye, and the other sleeve came off to tie the bundle into place to protect her injury for now. There would be a chance to deal with the injury later, to make sure Eridan hadn't ruined her vision. She didn't think he had, she could still feel the potential of her vision in her pan, but who was to say that was enough.
But no, that wasn't a concern for the moment. Veruna was approaching and Vriska had to deal with that. Carefully Vriska rose, daggers back in hand, and clambered back over the platform. It was time to meet with her master. Time for the announcement. Time for the world to end.