Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

===> Be Past Karkat
Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and you have somehow been manipulated into reading trashy romance novels to Rose Lalonde.

She approaches you out of nowhere, a few nights after an incident you'd really rather forget about in the common room. You've been avoiding everybody, even Gamzee, since your narrow escape from death by severe and acute embarrassment.

If you're honest with yourself, you'd admit that's not the only reason you've been hiding out for so long. That miserable bastard Strider's physical shenanigans had gotten you really worked up, and that's usually a coach ticket on an express train to pure, unmitigated torment. Days like these, you can't stand anyone, most of all yourself, and even a feelings jam with Gamzee feels like pointlessly retreading the same tired ground. Blah blah crawling out of my skin here blah blah blah what the hell even am I today blah blah blah abhorrent festering meatsack.

Of course you hate yourself, but that's different somehow, an immutable facet of your personality. This weird intermittent body fixation is deeper and worse, and it just makes you want to claw your own eyes out. Anything that makes you too aware of your own physicality has a chance of setting you off, and you're especially nasty when that happens. You'd only caved and left your respiteblock when the need for food became pressing.

You hesitate entering the common room, listening carefully for any sign of the others. You're pretty sure there's nobody in there, though Kanaya's gotten uncomfortably quiet ever since she became a rainbow drinker and it's kind of hard to be sure. You cautiously open the door, and finding the room empty, make for the kitchen area, piling some leftovers onto a nutrition plateau.

“Hello Karkat,” says Rose, and you nearly wrench the door off the hunger trunk in surprise. You wheel around to find her standing in the door you just came through. Several bottles clatter to the floor, and you stoop to retrieve them.

“Lalonde,” you grumble. There are much worse fates than cold leftover beefgrub, and being around people who saw your shameful display is high on the list right now. “Don't mind me, I was just leaving.” You start to huff toward the door.

She shuts her eyes and smiles for just a moment. “You're quite free to leave, of course, but I was rather hoping to solicit your assistance.”

You stop, and stare at her suspiciously, trying to figure out her angle. “You've been in charge since we got here and there hasn't been so much as a single murder on your watch. What could you possibly need from me now?”

She proffers a book, and hesitantly you close the distance to look at it. Your bloodpusher sinks as you eye the tacky, generic cover. Four adult trolls interlocked in a series of complicated embraces. It's the shitty romance novel you used to make a complete ass of yourself in front of everyone, the one Rose swiped from you just a few days before.

“This isn't fucking funny, Lalonde.” Your cheeks redden as you set the book on the countertop (it slams, because you always overdo the follow-through when you're upset). “I'd really like to just fucking forget about that, actually – but by all means feel free to poke fun at my back on the way out.” You turn to leave.

“I can assure you, my intentions were nothing of the sort. It's more of a request for a personal favor, and only if you're willing.”

Your head hurts. You wince quietly, eyes shut tight, but you stop anyway. “Do I get to find out what this favor is, or is this some kind of cryptic guessing game?”

“I was wondering if you'd be willing to read it aloud to me,” says Rose. “Or at least teach me the writing system, if that's not too complicated.”

That opens your eyes. “I'm not saying yes or no yet, ok? First you need to tell me why.”

That enigmatic smile again. “Call it cultural exploration. I find myself fascinated by the quadrants, and how your people approach the topic of romance. This seemed like a decent place to start.”

“Cultural exploration? Rose, that book is objectively awful. I only even pulled it off the shelf because I thought it might be within Dave's narrow intellectual grasp. You're asking me to read you a smutty, melodramatic pile of formulaic hoofbeast leavings. I literally cannot believe that someone like you is asking me to share with them something like this.” You realize you just implied a compliment there, but it's hard to tell if Rose takes any notice – her expression remains impenetrable as ever.

“And yet, here we find ourselves. Don't dismiss popular literature as an effective tool for elucidating the important ideas that a culture revolves around. A lack of subtlety can itself be informative, by means of sheer contrast.”

You have no clue how to respond to that. But she seems sincere, and to be honest you're secretly a little astounded that your expertise in this area might be of interest – to anyone, really. Captive audiences are no substitute for willing ones, and this is the first time one ever walked right up to you and literally requested you share your knowledge.

“Well...fine. We can do that. Just so long as you understand that you are literally debasing us both here.”

Chapter Text

===> Be Rose.

Your name is ROSE LALONDE, and you are getting quite an education in TROLL ROMANCE.

Karkat's raspy voice quavers a bit as he finishes a particularly steamy passage at the end of Chapter 4.

“...”Be careful,” whispered Durzok, as the light of the moons rippled against the surface of the lake. “You might give me ideas.” He shivered softly against Korzan's firm and chiselled chest, biting his lip quietly as the older man gently teased his grubscars.”

He closes the book and tenses a little, anticipating your next question. He's learned to be wary of those, though at least the terminology is evocative enough to stimulate your formidable imagination.

“I'm guessing you want to know what those are.”

“It had occurred to me to wonder,” you smile.

“I am shocked beyond all capacity for sarcasm,” he says, and rolls his eyes. He takes a breath before trying to explain, holding up the cover of the book. “But...okay, look, it's like this. When a troll grub pupates, your body changes in the cocoon to be...” he waves a hand. “You know, way more troll-shaped than it was before, and significantly less grubby.” He indicates the highblood man on the cover. “The extra legs go here.” You spy a little row of three dark nubs running down the side of the highblood man. “They're sensitive, and I guess sort of titillating but not actually obscene. Are you following me?”

You're intrigued. “And I infer that all trolls have them?”

Karkat goes quiet, clenching his teeth and staring at the floor. “Of *course* all trolls have them –- if you started as a grub, you kind of have to have grubscars. It's not fucking theoretical physics.”

The apparent opening proves too much to resist. “I detect an implied “but” here.”

“I have no idea what sort of “but” you think you're detecting Lalonde, implied or otherwise.”

“Only that you hesitated before answering the question.” You're really not trying to goad him, but it takes some cajoling to get him to open up. You rather get the impression Karkat will let you know if you cross the line.

“So I fucking hesitated.” Karkat's scowl could curdle milk. “Congratulations on your astute psychological acumen, Doctor Scrutinously Observant. I sure do hope that “therapist” in your chumhandle's not just an affection, because you've got a real calling here.”

“Why thank you. It appears to be rather a delicate subject for you.”

Karkat almost looks like he's getting wound up, but instead he takes a deep breath, and slumps back in the chair instead with a small huff.

“It's just... look. I'm just sort of not the best person to ask about some of this. Not that anyone else really wants to answer your prurient questions about what sort of ghastly anatomical horrors are lurking like jungle prowlbeasts under our clothes.” Despite Karkat's words, he sounds significantly more pained than offended.

You wouldn't say you take pride in your clinical detachment – it's much more integral and essential to who you are than that. But something about what Karkat's saying hits uncomfortably close to home, and you can't shake the impression that you both have a great deal more in common than you initially realized.

–--

Six months into your journey, you still don't know your Alternian companions all that well, though you have been spending quite a bit of time with Kanaya Maryam. You enjoy the hours of conversation almost as much as the quiet time -– you writing while she sews -- but you sense unglimpsed facets of her personality, and no small amount of turmoil that she has trouble containing. With the exception of Terezi Pyrope, most of the trolls are reserved with their positive feelings, but in Kanaya's case, you think there's more to it than that. She's not aloof at all, but you sense hidden depths. They invite illumination.

Honestly? You find it very attractive. You find her very attractive.

And that's the problem. You're definitely interested in Kanaya, and it's intimidating - but it is also a thoroughly nice sensation that you're in no hurry to dispel. She's your first crush, and you intend to savor that.

Until this happened, you had always tried not to give too much thought to the matter of your orientation. Not because the question isn't interesting, mind. You honestly have no idea what the answer is, so of course you wonder. No, it's because you've talked to other girls like you (back before you'd ever heard of SBURB). From them, you've heard too many horror stories, and far too few happy endings. It didn't seem to matter whether they dated men or women.

Beyond that, there's the issue of cultural competence. You've picked up on the quadrants, of course, and they fascinate you a great deal. But there remains a great deal you've yet to learn about the practical side of things, whether social or anatomical. You're pretty sure that Alternian society has similar norms about body modesty and sexuality to your own (that is to say: frankly prudish). And you have absolutely no idea if Alternian culture has a concept of what trans people are. Perhaps it doesn't come up for trolls. Or worse – perhaps it's thoroughly stigmatized, just as it was in your world.

You needed information. Any information, even just a starting point. So when the opportunity presented itself, you eagerly availed yourself of Karkat's “years of romantic expertise.”

It was also a chance to get to know him better – although truth be told, Karkat isn't even remotely difficult to figure out. You had him pegged the day you arrived on the meteor: loud and obnoxious because he has something to protect, with a layer of more-obvious insecurity that serves as backup ablative armor for whatever genuine vulnerability he's guarding. All of the defense mechanisms depend on keeping others at some distance, though – it took perhaps just one reading session to realize that he's actually rather sensitive, and quite uncomfortable with having his feelings on display.

The following night, you're up late, too tired to work on your book any longer but too awake to really fall asleep yet. Time gets away from you on the meteor with its unchanging dimly-lit corridors. (You resolve to alchemitize a few full-spectrum lamps with timers – when you're more awake, of course). Dave and Terezi are off doing whatever, and Kanaya is stalking after Gamzee again. So when you get the pesterchum message, it's actually a welcome relief...

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling tentacleTherapist [TT]

CG: HEY
CG: LET ME KNOW IF YOU'RE THERE, LALONDE.
TT: If I'm not mistaken, this is the first time you have ever messaged me.
TT: To what do I owe the pleasure?
CG: IT'S ABOUT OUR READING TIME.
CG: I'M NOT SURE ANYMORE IF IT'S A GREAT IDEA.
TT: I see.
CG: I SINCERELY DOUBT THAT.
CG: BUT LOOK, THAT DOESN'T MATTER. THE POINT IS IT'S A BAD FUCKING IDEA AND WE NEED TO PUT A STOP TO IT.
TT: It's a sensitive issue?
CG: LALONDE
TT: You know, I'd really prefer you address me by my given name.
CG: FINE. WHATEVER.
CG: ROSE.
CG: THE POINT IS, YES IT'S A SENSITIVE GODDAMN ISSUE AND I DON'T THINK I CAN DO IT.
TT: Do what, precisely?
CG: THE FACT IS
CG: I AM THE LAST PERSON WHO SHOULD BE TEACHING YOU ANY OF THIS.
CG: I ONLY EVEN AGREED BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE SEEMS PARTICULARLY ANXIOUS TO TAKE YOUR HAND AND TEACH YOU ALL ABOUT THE QUADRANTS, THE BIRDS AND THE BULGES.
CG: AND PLEASE, JUST DON'T ASK WHAT “BULGE” MEANS HERE.
CG: JUST
CG: FUCKING DO NOT.
CG: I JUST REALLY CANNOT TAKE THAT RIGHT NOW.
TT: I understand. My apologies.
TT: But I have to confess, I'm puzzled.
TT: Is there any particular reason why you feel you're uniquely disqualified in this regard?
CG: I PROBABLY SHOULDN'T EVEN BE TELLING YOU THIS.
CG: BUT... I SORT OF CAN'T HELP MYSELF RIGHT NOW.
CG: IT'S ALL GAMZEE'S STUPID FAULT
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHY I EVEN DRANK THAT SHITTY SODA OF HIS.
CG: JUST HIS FUCKED-UP WAY OF TRYING TO CALM ME DOWN I GUESS.
CG: HE'S KIND OF A FUCKED-UP MOIRAIL REALLY.
CG: ANYWAY.
CG: I'M JUST REALLY NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THE WAY READING THIS SMUTTY MATERIAL IS GIVING WAY TO ANATOMY LESSONS.
CG: BECAUSE IT'S MAKING ME SPEND WAY TOO MUCH TIME THINKING ABOUT *MY* BODY.
CG: AND THE PROSPECT OF TEACHING A CLUELESS ALIEN WITH NO PRIOR CONTEXT ALL ABOUT NOOKS, BULGES, GRUBSCARS AND SHAME GLOBES IS KIND OF FREAKING ME OUT.
CG: AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH THAT.
CG: THE THING IS?
CG: I'M NOT SURE I REALLY WANT TO STOP READING.
CG: IT'S ACTUALLY SORT OF NICE.
CG: JUST
CG: YOU'RE MAKING THIS ABOUT A THOUSAND TIMES HARDER, ASKING ALL THOSE QUESTIONS.
CG: AND EVEN IF IT'S JUST YOU BEING NEW TO ALL THIS? IT HURTS.
CG: IT'S FAIRLY EXCRUCIATING, IN POINT OF FACT.
TT: Karkat.
TT: First, I want to say how much I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.
TT: Making you squirm appears to be simplicity itself, but the last thing I want to do is contribute to that sort of thing.
TT: And on a personal level, it's also very easy to relate to what you're saying about yourself.
CG: HOW COULD YOU UNDERSTAND A THING ABOUT IT?
TT: I'm sure that I can't say I know precisely what you're going through. We are two rather different people, from two rather different species, and it would be remiss of me to assume too much about our similarities.
TT: But there's a lot that's familiar in you've said here. Both the generalities, and the specific details in what you're saying.
TT: If it's not too personal, I'd like to reciprocate the disclosure.
CG: KNOCK YOURSELF OUT, LALONDE.
CG: I MEAN ROSE. DAMMIT.
TT: It's quite alright.
TT: I struggle with complicated and often difficult feelings about my own body.
TT: And the way that relates to the norms and ideas I internalized while growing up.
TT: I hadn't planned to say anything about it you any of you, honestly – being mutually alien to one another is liberating, in a sense. It means you come with very few preconceptions.
TT: Other than those you've garnered from our interpersonal interactions.
TT: Well, and observing our entire session from start to finish. But in a way, that's almost as comfortable, because you're interpreting the facts of my existence freely, without the biases and blinders that someone from my culture would possess.
TT: And you are presumably at least somewhat aware that your own biases and preconceptions are unlikely to apply.
CG: ROSE, JUST SO YOU KNOW?
CG: I HAVE *NO* CLUE, *WHATSOEVER*, WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE GOING ON ABOUT HERE.
TT: Karkat, in all your observations of our session, did you happen to notice the significance of gender for our species?
CG: I'M NOT EXACTLY A XENOANTHROPOLOGIST, ROSE.
CG: NOBODY IS.
CG: THAT'S NOT EVEN A WORD.
CG: IF YOU MEAN DID I NOTICE THAT HUMANS GENERALLY COME IN MALE AND FEMALE, THEN SURE. ALTHOUGH I'M NOT SURE WHAT JADE'S DEAL IS THERE.
TT: Only Jade knows what Jade's deal is there, I suspect.
CG: I DON'T EVEN PRETEND TO UNDERSTAND HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO WORK FOR YOU, BUT AS A BASIC FACT ON THE GROUND? KIND OF DIFFICULT TO MISS.
TT: Yes, I imagine that it would be.
TT: On my world, Karkat, gender is considered more or less a given.
TT: You're born, you get sorted into a category on the basis of what's between your legs, and ostensibly that's the end of it.
CG: OK
CG: JUST SO YOU KNOW
CG: THIS IS MAKING NOT A SINGLE NUGGET OF SENSE SO FAR.
TT: Which part, precisely?
CG: “WHAT'S BETWEEN YOUR LEGS”
CG: HOW THE HELL IS THAT EVEN RELEVANT
CG: OR INTERESTING
TT: I don't pretend to understand it myself.
TT: But regardless, that apparent dimorphism is usually invoked as the basis for assigning us to whatever gender role we'll be expected to occupy for the rest of our lives.
CG: THAT'S
CG: THAT'S *COMPLETELY* SHITHIVE MAGGOTS.
TT: I couldn't agree more.
CG: SERIOUSLY, I AM UTTERLY LOST HERE.
TT: Suffice it to say, some human girls are just told that they're girls from the day they're born.
TT: And some of us have to figure it out along the way, and deal with whatever pushback we get for it.
TT: I suppose it's not a given that those of us in such situations will feel discomfort with our bodies.
TT: But from what I understand, it is rather common.
TT: And those feelings are...intensely familiar to me, much as I'd rather it weren't the case.
TT: Anyway, I wanted to tell you that so you'd know I understand. As much as I'm capable of understanding what you're going through, anyway.
TT: If you're uncomfortable with it, that is a legitimate way to feel and I certainly don't want to provoke these feelings for you.
TT: But please know that I have been enjoying the time we've spent together, and have been very greatful for your considerable familiarity with the topic of troll romance.
TT: I find it fascinating, and our reading sessions quite thoroughly pleasant.
CG: LOOK.
CG: IF FOR SOME UNFATHOMABLE REASON YOU ACTUALLY LIKE HEARING ME BABBLE ON FOR AGES?
CG: I GUESS WE CAN KEEP DOING THAT.
CG: JUST... MAYBE WE SHOULD HAVE A BACKUP OPTION OR SOMETHING.
CG: FOR THE DAYS WHEN IT'S TOO MUCH.
TT: That's perfectly acceptable. Perhaps if you get exhausted with the book, we can watch a movie instead?
TT: One you don't have to narrate.
CG: UM. SURE. I GUESS.
CG: IF YOU REALLY WANT TO.
TT: One more thing.
TT: At least on my world, terms of reference are often a real problem for humans in my situation. I don't know if there's an analogous problem for trolls like you, but is there anything you'd rather I call you? Whether names, or pronouns?
CG: MY NAME IS KARKAT VANTAS, AND THAT'S NOT CHANGING FOR ANYBODY.
CG: I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY ABOUT PRONOUNS HERE.
CG: I MEAN WHAT ARE EVEN THE ODDS THAT BOTH OF US SPEAK LANGUAGES WHERE THAT INFORMATION IS MARKED ON THE THIRD PERSON.
CG: GAMZEE JUST CALLS ME WHATEVER I ASK HIM TO THAT DAY.
CG: NOBODY ELSE HAS EVER ASKED BEFORE.
CG: IT'S NOT REAL CONSISTENT.
CG: BUT I'LL LET YOU KNOW IF YOU SCREW IT UP.
CG: WHICH, LET'S FACE IT, IS PRETTY INEVITABLE.
TT: I would be happy to be corrected on this point, Karkat. Whenever it's needful. Even if it changes.
CG: HEY ROSE
TT: Yes, Karkat.
CG: I REALLY NEED TO GO.
CG: BUT THANKS.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TT: Happy to oblige.

Chapter Text

===> Be Gamzee.

Your name is GAMZEE MAKARA, and you are just presently GETTING YOUR PALE ON.

You and Karkat have worked out a kind of system for keeping track of each other. The way it works is real simple-like: when they're upset about something, or harboring a deep concern for your own well being, they come looking for you in and among the various dark and dank corridors of the meteor – and when you've all got a mind to be found, you'll see to it you've done and situated yourself in one of the places where they'll actually think to look. Sometimes you go all out and sneak your way into their block, when that day-glow chainsaw sister's too busy with sleeping or whatever to be hunting you down -- but you mind to do that strictly on the seldom because it's kinda motherfucking dangerous.

Just right now, your moirail has got down to the right considerable job of neatening your hair, skulking behind the horn pile in one of the side wings off the main rumpusblock. They – that's how Karkat asked you to call 'em by today, and you are happy to help a motherfucker out. Now granted, the only person you are habitually finding yourself using the third person to refer at your palemate is the Mayor, and he doesn't seem all as to be exercising his word hole on the regular, but you still make the effort. You're wearing a funky little half-finished dress you all up and swiped from Kanaya's sewing room a while back. It fits you wicked comfortable, the purple stars on the front smudged with the ruins of old greaspaint you smeared onto it accidentally while crawling around in a duct somewhere.

Karkat has some kind of choice teasing prong in their hand and is using its long teeth to tug at your gnarly-ass headfibers. You don't know that it's called a pick, or that Karkat made it with a code that they got from Dave after Terezi borrowed one from him and told them it was the best thing ever. What you do know is your hair has broken lesser instruments, and even this wicked human hair tool is barely up to the task of working your righteous locks. There's a lot of tugging and swearing from behind your back, and you feel it good and hard as a particularly big knot comes free. You kinda can't help but smile at the pain, then and you find your shoulders are relaxing a mite.

“Fuck's sake, hold still," Karkat hisses. They thwap you with the handle of the pick, all scolding-like at the back of your neck. “You're messing it up faster than I can work here, dumbass." They resume attacking the snarled mass. “It's like you go to sleep with your head in the load gaper." They sniff. “After using it." The tugging continues. “Where are you even sleeping these days, anyway?"

You don't plan on telling them where it is you get to resting your think pan. Wouldn't do Karkat no good to be knowing or thinking about any such thing, and besides, they don't really care if you answer. They're just fussing over you. It's enough to all up and make you feel a warm squishy sensation deep down in the recesses of your pump biscuit. You just sit there and grin and take it.

Really hard tug, this time. Enough to pull your head backward even, on the basis of all not being prepared for that. A particularly strong stench fills the block. “What the hell..." Karkat breathes. “Gamzee, I was just kidding about the damn load gaper, what is *in* your hair..." They remove the pick and start working the mess with their fingers, cursing softly under their breath. “It's sticky and...and... what the fuck... oh no, tell me that isn't..."

Behind you, Karkat tenses right up.

"No. Just, no, no no no no no it can't be..."

You turn around to look. Karkat is starting to go glazed in the eyes and kinda trembling more than you think is good. On their fingers you can distinctly see the caked-on, half-dried remnants of olive-green blood. You kinda get to thinking maybe the finger painting you did the other night got away from you a bit.

“You...sick fuck," Karkat whispers, pulling away. They shut their eyes and hastily rub their dirty hand on the short, grey denim skirt they've taken to wearing on the recent. It takes a while before they can speak again. “I knew you still had the bodies, because you're a disgusting corpse-hoarder... but that's just fucking gross even by your standards, you miserable festive shit-harlequin."

There's a lot of awkward-type silence up in this respiteblock all a sudden.

You don't rightly know as what you could be saying to explain yourself here, so you just don't go flapping your trap at all.

“It's all my fault," they babble. “You needed someone more than ever and I just left you alone. And then I was too busy being a disgusting coward to be there for you before anyone got hurt. It's my fault you went on that rampage, my fault for being such a coward and sending Equius to stop you when I knew he was never going to be able to stand against you. It... it's my fault that Nepe--"

“No," you whisper.

“What?"

“No. Ain't even a little bit the truth what you just up and said, and I surely don't appreciate hearing anyone make such slanderous accusations against my best motherfucking palemate, even if it's themselves what's sayin' it." You turn to face them, but there ain't a whole lot more to be said.

Karkat stares off into space for a moment, finally shutting their eyes and rising to their feet with a sigh. They pause when they reach the door, but don't go bothering to turn around before speaking.

“Wait here, asshole. I'm gonna go get some scissors and cut that out."

===> Future Gamzee: Troll Karkat

-----

terminallyCapricious began trolling carcinoGeneticist

TC: honk honk motherfucker :o)
TC: IT COMPLETELY SLIPPED MY MOTHERFUCKIN THINK PAN
TC: did you talk to her last night
CG: TALK TO WHO?
TC: the sassy rose sister what you were all reading your sappy love stories to
CG: OH. YEAH, THAT WAS A COUPLE OF NIGHTS AGO. WHY DO YOU ASK.
TC: JUST GETTIN MY CURIOSITY ON, YOU FEEL ME?
TC: you were all sorts of outta sorts there for a spell
TC: IT WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE A BRO CONCERNED
CG: ACTUALLY, IT WENT FINE.
CG: I JUST...TOLD HER WHAT THE PROBLEM WAS, AND WE SOLVED IT.
TC: :o)
TC: THAT'S PRETTY FUCKIN RIGHTEOUS IF YOU ASK ME
CG: IT WAS KIND OF BIZARRE TALKING TO HER ABOUT IT, ACTUALLY. I'M STARTING TO THINK WE HAVE MORE IN COMMON WITH THE HUMANS THAN I FIRST REALIZED.
TC: how so
CG: I'M STARTING TO GET THE IMPRESSION THAT MAYBE IT'S NOT JUST US WHO WERE ALL DEVIANTS, OUTSIDERS AND OUTCASTS
CG: SERIOUSLY.
CG: LIKE MAYBE IT'S SOME KIND OF WEIRD SCREWY INTER-UNIVERSAL CONSTANT
CG: MAYBE PARADOX SPACE JUST HAS A THING FOR COMPLICATED MISFITS.
CG: FUCK KNOWS THAT EXPLAINS MOST OF OUR CREW.
CG: I'M NOT REALLY SURE YET. I'D HAVE TO ASK STRIDER TO BE SURE THAT IT'S ALL THE HUMANS.
CG: AND WOULDN'T YOU KNOW IT BEFORE I CAN HAVE *THAT* CONVERSATION WITH *HIM*, I REALLY DO NEED TO TEND TO THIS BUSY SCHEDULE OF STICKING A LIVE ELECTRIC SPIKEWEASEL INTO MY VARIOUS NETHER ORIFICES, JUST FOR KICKS.
CG: I'M SERIOUSLY BEHIND ON THAT.
TC: HAHA
TC: honk :o)
CG: OH GIVE IT A REST.
TC: SO
TC: you gonna keep readin your special stories then
CG: MAYBE AT SOME POINT. I THINK THIS NEXT TIME WE'LL JUST HANG OUT AND WATCH SOMETHING.
TC: OKAY
TC: have fun i guess
CG: YEAH, NO OFFENSE DUDE, BUT I COULD KIND OF DO WITH SOME COMPANY THAT DOESN'T SMELL LIKE THE WRONG END OF A CHOLERBEAR HAVING DEBILITATING INTESTINAL SPASMS.
TC: HAHA FAIR ENOUGH
TC: you know where to find me
CG: NO I DON'T, ASSHAT, AND YOU KNOW IT.
CG: <>
TC: <>

terminallyCapricious ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist