You're curled up in your scalemate cape on the cold floor of your respite block when you hear it.
A whistle.
Loud and clear as a bell, you hear a whistle. And even before she says a single word, you know who it is.
"Whoaaaaaaaa, Neophyte. You really let yourself go!"
No. No no no no no. You are so not in the mood to deal with this, and really? You never will be. But you've tried before, and when you ignore her she just gets worse. Angry, violent, and loud. So loud that you want to scream, so loud that you're covering your ears and desperately hoping no one walks in because gods, you know they won't see or hear anything and they'll just think you're crazy. So you sigh resignedly, slowly dragging yourself up from the floor and pulling back your hood, squinting even in the low, warm light of your respiteblock. Of course, you don't need to see to know who spoke. Even if your lovely guest hadn't paid you a visit before, her voice was instantly recognizable - it was a voice you had played over in your head ever since you killed its owner. So when you look up, you aren't surprised to see the 6-sweep old version of Vriska Serket, hands on her hips and a confident - albeit slightly disappointed - expression on her face.
You don't know how anyone deals with being able to see. It's fucking ridiculous and annoying and you wish you could just go back to smelling. When you could smell, Vriska was just a blueberry blur. She was easier to deal with that way, quite frankly.
Life was easier to deal with that way.
She surveys the room, as unimpressed as you'd expect a girl who grew up with a fucking castle for a hive to be. She turns her gaze to the floor, kicking an nearly empty bottle of cherry Faygo out of her way, letting the meager remnants spill onto the block floor. She glances back up at you, quirking an eyebrow in unspoken judgement. You opt to just sit silently in your corner, the red fabric of your scalemate cape tangled around your legs. You absently hug one of the many empty bottles of Faygo to your chest, bracing yourself for the inevitable shitstorm that seems to be destined to rain down on you. You stare at Vriska - you always stare when she comes around. She looks at you, painted blue lips spread in a wry smile.
"Take a picture, Pyrope. It'll last longer." She teases. You fix her with a frown in return.
"We both know that nothing would come out but an empty room." You say, your voice hoarse. Vriska gives you a grin that could scare the Cheshire Cat, stalking over to you. Suddenly the room seems very big and time feels slow. You feel like you've been here for hours, and when her shadow falls over you, you barely register it. She stands with a nightmarish smile, towering over your cross-legged form even at her 6-sweep old height.
"Ooooooooh, look who's decided to acknowledge her own hallucination." She says, triumphant. You just grimace, weakly pushing her away and attempting to stand up, only to trip over your own cape, falling flat on your face.
"Look at you! Too drunk off your ass to even stand up." She exclaims, and you hear the smooth, familiar roll of her laughter as you push yourself up from the floor. The only difference is that this time, it isn't accompanied by yours.
"Just leave me alone." You mutter into the tangle of your hair. She laughs again, and it kills you that without so much as a glance, you know she's doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach. It kills you that you know her well enough to remember that, and it's like a stab to the heart when you recall that one of those arms would have been around your shoulder.
"What was that, oh 'M1GHTY L3G1SL4C3R4TOR'?" Vriska croons, crouching over you like a predator.
"You don't exist." You say louder, brushing your hair out of your face and glaring at her.
"Leave. Me. Alone." Vriska narrows her eyes at you, her eyebrows knitting together and her lips pulling together until they're nothing but a small blue lump on her face.
"Face the facts, Neophyte. I'm your fucking hallucination. I leave when you get your shit together." She says in a low voice. You grit your teeth and resist the urge to punch her. Your fist would never hit anything - you speak from experience.
"My name isn't Neophyte." you reply, still unable to banish the shakiness from your voice as you turn back around and lie down with a thump, staring at the wall.
You can feel the floor vibrate with heavy stomps as a shadow creeps up the wall. Vriska leans down, so close to you that you can feel her breath hot against your ear, wisps of her hair brushing against your cheek.
"I'll be back." she warns, her voice as sharp as broken glass. You hear footsteps march to the door, even though the both of you know that they'll never go further than that. The door handle clicks, and then there's nothing there but the distant sound of keys clacking on a keyboard and a faint rattling in the air vents. You squeeze your eyes shut and draw in a shaky breath. You reach your hand out blindly, your fingers searching until they land right on top of what you're looking for. You circle your hands around it, slowly drawing yourself back up to a sitting position.
You don't even need to open your eyes to turn the bottle cap.