thanks but no thanks i dont need a watch or a clinic or any kind of human companionship during my unplanned vacation to ghost town limbo county its mind boggling given the statistical evidence but some thirteen year olds dont need constant vigilance twenty four seven to keep from randomly dying like stupid assholes go figure step off my grill im good ill walk it off all i really want is some kind of news update so i can get my bearings so question has the world ever ended here you know even a little bit inquiring canaries must know
Third Person:
There was a flash of green, and it was all over.
Davesprite hovered over the Battlefield--now deafening in the sudden silence after the Reckoning, after Jade's and Rose's and his other self's ascension--and thought of exactly nothing. He had nothing left to think, for a time. It was a merciful quiet.
He was done.
He sank slowly to the broken, checkered tiles below him and tried to hold that well of silence inside him, but already reality was trickling in again. Just echoes, at first. They did it. You're done. It's over. He pressed his hot cheek to the swell of the ground and tried to immerse himself in only the sick, unending torture of his torn wing and stomach, but even that didn't stave off the next round of returning awareness.
They were done, and Bro was still dead.
Davesprite was out of tries. He wasn't the time guy no more, he couldn't go back and fix it. Not even Dave could, apparently, because here they were and Bro was still gone, and something inside him knew that that was how it was supposed to be. Not for some kind of terrible justice, not because it was part of his--or Dave's, since Davesprite's path probably didn't matter anymore--not because it was part of Dave's epic bildungsroman (thanks, Rose), but because that "supposed to" was supposed by some sadistic gods of space and time who didn't give a syphilic shart about four kids and their dead, doomed Guardians.
Drifting in his wounded, bitter haze, he felt a pang of pity for Jadesprite, who'd been so unhappy only for alpha Jade to subsume her personality, and didn't have the heart--though he did have the perspective, that much was given him as Dave's sprite and spirit guide--to recognize that it was a pang of pity for himself. Poor, doomed Davesprite. She left him all alone on a battered, busted planet.
Not that it mattered. He was just going to have a lie down for a while. It's not like he had anything else to do. He'd done what he came back to do, and everyone was alive, except for the people who'd ever given half a fuck about him after he'd prototyped himself.
When he opened his eyes again, his bleeding torso still ached but his cheek was pressed against a pane of cool glass instead of the cracked chessboard tile of the Battlefield. He frowned, then lifted his head from the window. He was on a train?
"Motherfuckers," he croaked, then let his head thump back against the glass with a groan. In a minute, he'd get up and reconnoiter. For Dave. For the game.
[CANON] DAVESPRITE || Homestuck || reserve || 2 of 2
thanks but no thanks
i dont need a watch
or a clinic
or any kind of human companionship during my unplanned vacation to ghost town limbo county
its mind boggling given the statistical evidence but some thirteen year olds dont need constant vigilance twenty four seven to keep from randomly dying like stupid assholes
go figure
step off my grill im good
ill walk it off
all i really want is some kind of news update so i can get my bearings
so
question
has the world ever ended here
you know even a little bit
inquiring canaries must know
Third Person:
There was a flash of green, and it was all over.
Davesprite hovered over the Battlefield--now deafening in the sudden silence after the Reckoning, after Jade's and Rose's and his other self's ascension--and thought of exactly nothing. He had nothing left to think, for a time. It was a merciful quiet.
He was done.
He sank slowly to the broken, checkered tiles below him and tried to hold that well of silence inside him, but already reality was trickling in again. Just echoes, at first. They did it. You're done. It's over. He pressed his hot cheek to the swell of the ground and tried to immerse himself in only the sick, unending torture of his torn wing and stomach, but even that didn't stave off the next round of returning awareness.
They were done, and Bro was still dead.
Davesprite was out of tries. He wasn't the time guy no more, he couldn't go back and fix it. Not even Dave could, apparently, because here they were and Bro was still gone, and something inside him knew that that was how it was supposed to be. Not for some kind of terrible justice, not because it was part of his--or Dave's, since Davesprite's path probably didn't matter anymore--not because it was part of Dave's epic bildungsroman (thanks, Rose), but because that "supposed to" was supposed by some sadistic gods of space and time who didn't give a syphilic shart about four kids and their dead, doomed Guardians.
Drifting in his wounded, bitter haze, he felt a pang of pity for Jadesprite, who'd been so unhappy only for alpha Jade to subsume her personality, and didn't have the heart--though he did have the perspective, that much was given him as Dave's sprite and spirit guide--to recognize that it was a pang of pity for himself. Poor, doomed Davesprite. She left him all alone on a battered, busted planet.
Not that it mattered. He was just going to have a lie down for a while. It's not like he had anything else to do. He'd done what he came back to do, and everyone was alive, except for the people who'd ever given half a fuck about him after he'd prototyped himself.
When he opened his eyes again, his bleeding torso still ached but his cheek was pressed against a pane of cool glass instead of the cracked chessboard tile of the Battlefield. He frowned, then lifted his head from the window. He was on a train?
"Motherfuckers," he croaked, then let his head thump back against the glass with a groan. In a minute, he'd get up and reconnoiter. For Dave. For the game.
He still had shit to make transpire.