If there was one thing that told her that something wasn't right, it was silence.
To say that Kankri got willing visitors often would be a lie, and while they all did feel guilty about it, it was not usually strong enough that they would risk having to sit through one of his imminent lectures.
He had gone off on one several nights ago, leading most of them to wonder just why he had been invited in the first place. But while everyone else had begun to tune him out around the first hour, something had possessed one individual to continue listening. And she found herself thanking the stars that she had.
When no one had heard a word from the one who usually never stopped talking, Aranea debated for hours on end whether or not this was a good idea. Would he appreciate her gesture, or simply pass it off? It was worth a try. At the very least, it would show him that someone cared. Even he couldn't get offended by that.
The book was cradled in her arms as she made her way to his hive. No one knew that she had it, why would they? It had never seemed important until now. She knocked once, twice, four times before closing her eyes. He was really that upset about it? It hardly seemed reasonable. But then, she had no way of knowing what his life had been like before they'd met.
This book, the journal of her ancestor, was the one object she cared for more than any other. But he needed to know that he was not alone, that he was not the first to endure this fate. And so she tore the pages. Those written in grey were ripped from the rest, the ancient paper tearing easily. It was not a cheerful story, but he didn't necessarily have to know how it ended. They were slid with care under his door, though not before a single line was circled, a note written beside it.
Something to do with this, may8e?
Six trolls having culled him, nine escape attempts. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing.
It was later that night that a message arrive on Aranea's computer screen. And unlike the ones that usually were written in that brilliant red, it was not paragraphs in length, but two words.
Thank y9u.
No one ever asked how Kankri Vantas chose his quirk. Perhaps they didn't want to hear a lengthy background story, or perhaps they believed it to be thought up on the spot. But seeing those numbers mixed into his words always filled Aranea with a sense of pride. For while her ancestor had not been able to keep their memories alive, his story could at least be passed onto his descendant.
Karkat Vantas would not be forgotten.