thoughtformed | [TIMESTAMP: MIDNIGHT]

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[TIMESTAMP: MIDNIGHT]

[ When televisions snap to life across New Moore precisely at the stroke of midnight, all that happens at first is a bone-jarring blast of static. It does not flicker or slowly resolve; for an extended moment it just hisses and spits, blank and bizarre. But before anyone can start to wonder if this is some sort of fluke, the static abruptly cuts to a crystal clear image: a galleon. A pirate ship, in fact, if the just-visible flag snapping at half mast is any indication. Moonlight gently bathes the scene, lighting everything in shades of gray and dark blue.

The camera stays fixed on mid-mast, keeping the base just out of sight for now. And into view floats a girl. Though instead of covering her to the neck, her jacket is instead slit down the middle and is thus rather revealing. She looks somehow a little older than Vriska - or maybe it's just haughtier? There is something about her bearing that is at once more refined and more vicious. But strangest of all is her eyes. The sclera are white - but her irises, all eight of them, have filled in with a rich gold. This, obviously, is not Vriska. This is her Shadow.

The Shadow laughs, a wild and strangely beautiful sound, twirling her glowing blue sword. ]

This is what she wishes she was. Oh, no, wait -- this is what she tells herself she used to wish she was. Maybe we should ask her now?

[ The Shadow flies towards the camera, then reaches out towards it - and seems to somehow physically move it, tilting the view down. There, sitting on the deck, chained to the mast, is the real Vriska. Two thick iron cuffs bind her ankles, and her hands are bound behind her back with rope. The iron cuffs are secured with a heavy length of chain that is looped and locked around the mast. And, god, does she look angry. Her lips are peeled back in a vicious snarl, and she's actually growling - low and constant in the back of her throat, the sound eerily animalistic. The Shadow simpers at her. ]

Poor you. Always the outcast. Destined by blood to have the hardest lusus of all. No one understood, did they? The sacrifices you had to make. The hardships you went through. Stupid, soft, weak little Tavros gets to grow up playing card games and believing in fairies, and you have to go out and cull hundreds of young trolls for spider food. You hated it. You hated all that killing. You hated the burden, you hated being a slave to your lusus. You said it was fine, you said you got used to it, but deep down you had daymares about all that blood on your hands.

[ Shut the fuck up!

The Shadow just grins, huge and wicked, descending to land silently on the deck in front of Vriska. Once there, she drives her sword into the wood at her feet and leaves it there, embedded. ]

And look at you now. Oh, how the mighty gamblignants have fallen. Bowing to orders from some mutant blooded freak. Blending in with humans! All because you love that boy so much. You want to be such a good moirail to him. Because, let's face it, you don't have the courage to love him the way you wish you could. Oh, no. You can't bring yourself to break fearless leader's little bloodpusher anymore. You leave them alone because you want them to be happy … but you still wish it was you. [ The Shadow leans in, leering, and Vriska's expression blanks out into sick, agonized uncertainty. Her growling stops. ] Please. You know. We know. We created the humans! We created a whole universe. Why the hell do you need him? Or any of them! It's disgusting. Pathetic! A little wiggler wishing desperately she could fit in. Trying so hard to run from her past. When it's something you should be proud of!

[ She leaps up and beams into the moonlight, her eyes wild, hair tossed madly about by the wind. ]

We're blue bloods. Nobility! And none of the other castes got shit on us. Your so-called "dancestor"? Mini-Mindfang? She's nothing like our ancestor. That was a troll who ruled the seas and dominated with an iron fist! Everyone was afraid of her. And everyone should be afraid of us! Not our friends. They're pawns to be controlled. Used! And when their usefulness runs out, destroyed. After all, morality is seriously overrated. Especially human morality. You didn't understand why the knight helped you, still don't, because your idea of "morals" is to break anything that doesn't serve your selfish needs!

[ The real Vriska can't take this anymore. Her constant, low level growl from before returns, sharpening into a violent snarl as she surges up. But the chains catch at her ankles, clattering in an unholy racket, and she overbalances, crashing to the deck where she curls up in pain. The Shadow just cackles, a high, cold sound. She descends to the deck once more, then strides forward to haul Vriska up by the hair and into a kneeling position. With her free hand, she reaches out to brush Vriska's face in a touch that would be gentle -- until she curls her fingers in, sharpened nails digging deep enough draw blood. Vriska flinches, but doesn't make a sound. ]

But enough about them. This is about us, right? I am you. And we're the stars of this show! Which is as it should be. Because we're the greatest! The best there is. That's what you want to believe, right? But it's not true. [ The Shadow's voice changes from bright and boastful to low and acerbic in a flash. Her expression contorts into a snarl of condescension and she yanks harder on Vriska's hair. ] You're a monster! A heartless murderer good for nothing but killing and fucking shit up. What was it Victorious said…? "You're an abomination. No wonder your friends want to take you out." And you know it's true. Everyone you care about would be better off if you were gone because all you'll do is ruin them. You're Vriska Serket. That's just what you do. You can't surpass Mindfang! Hal was wrong. You wanted to believe him so badly, but you know he was wrong about everything. You can't do anything. You're not a good person. You ain't worth shit. Should've stayed dead, fuckup.

[ For a moment, silence rings. The Shadow stares at Vriska, challenging. And Vriska, after a moment, simply lids her eyes until they are almost shut and does not say a word. The Shadow finally lets go and disgustedly wipes her hands off on her clothing. ]

Always the villain, never the hero. And you so desperately want to be the hero. You wish you could protect everyone. You wish you could save everyone. Hahahaha! What a fucking joke! You're so fucked up you have no idea what that means. So you just break and destroy and ruin instead and then get upset when everyone hates you for it! What a fucking dumbass, am I right? [ She grins at the camera, flourishing with a hand like she's inviting the audience's laughter or applause. But just as quickly she turns on her captive again, ferocious and vindictive and poisonously beautiful. ] You don't know how to be anything else. The only person you know how to be is you! And that person is pretty fucking awful. The truth is, you hate yourself. Always have. You so badly want to have friends and to be liked, but when they start doing things you don't approve of, things you can't control, you lash out. You break them. Some friend you are. Can't support anyone. Can't manipulate anyone. So weakslime! Completely fucking useless. Maybe you should double die for real, loser.

[ Whatever was holding Vriska back finally snaps. She lifts her head, her expression tortured and angry and deeply sorrowful, and practically wails "Will you just fucking shut up?!"

At this, the Shadow plucks her sword from the deck, advances on Vriska, and cracks the hilt into her skull. Vriska crumples. The Shadow turns to face the camera again, spreading her arms in a grand, theatrical gesture. ]

Such dramatics. But then again, would you expect anything else?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

oh fuck.

Joooooooohn.

WELL THIS IS AWKWARD

riseup - 2013-04-26 21:48 (UTC) - Expand

if by awkward you mean horrifying then yes. yes it is.

hypertoxic - 2013-04-26 21:53 (UTC) - Expand

horrifikward.

riseup - 2013-04-26 21:58 (UTC) - Expand

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