GHB: And so now you know the meaning of what it would be to follow this angel among trolls, and to have ALL CASTES AND COLOURS FIT TOGETHER. GHB: GOOD MOTHERFUCKING LUCK TO YOU for the having of this knowledge, by the most gracious face of the for realest of gods.
Gamzee stared at the new message that the Grand Highblood broadcast to the contestants - for a lot longer than it actually took to read, but everybody on board this ship thought he couldn't string two consecutive syllables together without actually factually sweating blood, and he could get away with it. But he had to look back at the viewscreen eventually.
"So, um," said Gamzee, watching a freshly-judged loser - this one all the way dead already, thankfully - get shot up into the air by the psychic trigger, contorting and cracking and spraying green on the way. "I'm guessing this is all up and, like, motherfucking supposed to be, fucking hilarious. And shit. Right?"
"It is meant to be a parable," said the Grand Highblood, who hardly looked to the viewscreen at all. But that was better than the times when he did look, though. "These little lost woolbeast cultists do so motherfucking love their parables. Should they wish to set themselves against the laws of blood and the mirthful messiahs - they get, as the oldest of the scriptures say, to play. a. game." He dropped his preacher's voice and flipped more casual. "And to learn the cost of what it would mean to change all things."
The body of the troll who'd lost dropped back down, slow and steady now, a whole new shape for the contestants below to try and make a space for. It was probably going to take a long time before they built something stable and high enough to climb out of the arena. Or colourful enough. The Grand Highblood had said he sometimes let the contestants out if they had a really good eye for composition.
Gamzee traced in his mind his best friend's symbol, his would-be pale brother's sign, the bright red sacrilege stamped on the walls of the arena. Karkat had never shown much on an inclination for painting and shit like that.
He thought about the message Karkat had received, a sweep and a couple of seasons ago, to move somewhere he wasn't known and change his sign before the time of Ascension, and he thought how he'd told Karkat it was a miracle to get such a caring message from right the fuck out of nowhere. There had been a lot of arguing and research and fear among some of his friends that Gamzee still hadn't caught the track of, but Karkat had after all decided to hide his true sign, long ago, and by now he was all settled aboard his own ship.
It felt more like a miracle than ever, knowing he was safe. But if the gods turned their laughter away from this sign, then where could that miracle truly have come from?
FILL: TEAM KARKAT <3 NEPETA - Tetris (1984)
GHB: And so now you know the meaning of what it would be to follow this angel among trolls, and to have ALL CASTES AND COLOURS FIT TOGETHER.
GHB: GOOD MOTHERFUCKING LUCK TO YOU for the having of this knowledge, by the most gracious face of the for realest of gods.
Gamzee stared at the new message that the Grand Highblood broadcast to the contestants - for a lot longer than it actually took to read, but everybody on board this ship thought he couldn't string two consecutive syllables together without actually factually sweating blood, and he could get away with it. But he had to look back at the viewscreen eventually.
"So, um," said Gamzee, watching a freshly-judged loser - this one all the way dead already, thankfully - get shot up into the air by the psychic trigger, contorting and cracking and spraying green on the way. "I'm guessing this is all up and, like, motherfucking supposed to be, fucking hilarious. And shit. Right?"
"It is meant to be a parable," said the Grand Highblood, who hardly looked to the viewscreen at all. But that was better than the times when he did look, though. "These little lost woolbeast cultists do so motherfucking love their parables. Should they wish to set themselves against the laws of blood and the mirthful messiahs - they get, as the oldest of the scriptures say, to play. a. game." He dropped his preacher's voice and flipped more casual. "And to learn the cost of what it would mean to change all things."
The body of the troll who'd lost dropped back down, slow and steady now, a whole new shape for the contestants below to try and make a space for. It was probably going to take a long time before they built something stable and high enough to climb out of the arena. Or colourful enough. The Grand Highblood had said he sometimes let the contestants out if they had a really good eye for composition.
Gamzee traced in his mind his best friend's symbol, his would-be pale brother's sign, the bright red sacrilege stamped on the walls of the arena. Karkat had never shown much on an inclination for painting and shit like that.
He thought about the message Karkat had received, a sweep and a couple of seasons ago, to move somewhere he wasn't known and change his sign before the time of Ascension, and he thought how he'd told Karkat it was a miracle to get such a caring message from right the fuck out of nowhere. There had been a lot of arguing and research and fear among some of his friends that Gamzee still hadn't caught the track of, but Karkat had after all decided to hide his true sign, long ago, and by now he was all settled aboard his own ship.
It felt more like a miracle than ever, knowing he was safe. But if the gods turned their laughter away from this sign, then where could that miracle truly have come from?