mythmaking | Once upon a time...

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Once upon a time...

[ For the residents of Märchenstraße, and all the land surrounding it, the eighth of December was a day to look forward to. Looking at it from an outside perspective, strangers and travelers could easily assume it to be a holiday. At the very least, a day for a festival, if a modest one. A day that shopkeeps spent all morning preparing for, that all manner of creatures spent days traveling to the city to witness. They'd heard the talk that passed around, the rumors from those still left. But would it work? No one knew for sure, no matter how confident the stories seemed to be. But hope was very quickly becoming all they had left.

They had decorated the whole town. Streamers, banners, wreathes and garland made of autumn flowers, plus whatever the Fairy Godmother had cooked up. Oh, she was just giddy. No skepticism could be spoken around her, not if you wanted to escape the wrath of her wand! Rumor had it that she had caught wind of a few piglets squealing about the likelihood that their magic would fail, and that they were subsequently transformed into the band of musicians who could be found performing in the park.

Well, at least the music was festive.

Of course, the decorations weren't for the newcomers alone. Autumn was coming to a close in just a few weeks, and Old Man Winter would take the reigns like he did every year, and their weather would turn cold and harsh. The chill was already there, cool and biting when the wind picked up speed. Lady Autumn was much preferred to the citizens of the city with her gentle nature, even if she failed to show up, finishing her work in the orchards instead. That was what they liked about her.

It was mid-morning when Father Time was found outside of his tower, checking one of the numerous pocket watches he kept on his person. "Unnecessary, but comfortable," he called them, and closed the watch again. It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and where empty space had been just seconds before, now they were. Sitting on benches, lying in flower patches, scattered about the city and outside of the gates in peaceful slumber. They would awaken to the bells of the clock tower. Some, to many friendly and relieved faces all around them, some to grateful ones carrying gifts of food and clothing and magic, and some to fearful, cautious faces. Regardless of how the town treated them, they would awaken to a celebration of their arrival, and choices to be made, and the books. Each and every one. ]

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[It's like a second language to him. He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.]

Oh, all the time. Right alongside sniffing special stardust and giant talking cats. What the fuck do you think??

[ Hey now, giant talking cats aren't too rate! ]

I think I'm not putting on a show for people like you to gawk at. Now get lost.

[ If he's not going to volunteer to help, which the replica is definitely not asking for. ]

[Karkat is tempted to just let the asshole rot underneath the oinkbeast, but he knew once he simmered down he'd probably feel like an asshole. So he sighs, uncrossing his arms and stepping forward.]

Yeah, sure, and you can just go back to rotting underneath that drunken oinkbeast. Did you try kicking it?

Yeah. Surprise, it didn't work. What, are you going to try?

[ As if helping him is a stupid thing to do. Not the right attitude when you obviously need it, Rep! ]

Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't.

[He so totally was going to. Instead, he moves to stand behind the other's shoulders.]

How about I try to roll him off, and you try to slide out from under him? [He puts a foot on the drunk pig's side, ready to try and push.]

[ He seems reluctant to accept the help, but he's not stupid. ]

Fine. Works for me.

[ He braces both hands on the ground, ready to pull himself away. ]

Okay. On three. One, two... three!

[He pushes on the pig as hard as he can with his foot, none too gently either. Sweet shit, this guy was heavy.]

[ The pig doesn't move on his own, but he doesn't fight them. The replica pushes hard on the ground, pulling with his legs as much as he can-- and it's a success! He pops out from under the pig with a yelp and rolls away. ]

[With the other free of the drunken pig, Karkat removes his foot and takes a step back... and then loses his balance and ends up on his ass with a thump. Still not used to the extra weight on his back.]

God damn it!

[ The replica sits up fast, and he's on his feet even faster, stretching out his legs and testing that squashed foot. He gives the undisturbed pig an irritable glare, and walks over to offer Karkat a hand. ]

[Karkat probably would have ignored the help, or refused it, if this hadn't been the fifth time he's fallen over. Instead, he accepts the help wordlessly, standing to his feet. He brushes himself off afterwards.]

Fucking hell, that oinkbeast is heavy.

[ He wouldn't really have cared if Karkat had refused, but he felt like offering, since he was helpful. A little. Not that he couldn't have gotten it on his own eventually. ]

See why I had a problem?

Yeah, I do. You probably would have been grubsauce by evening.

"Grubsauce"?

[ He's not familiar with... whatever that might be. ]

You know, grubsauce? It's like your... human mayo. I think. At least that's what Dave said.

Oh. I've heard of that. I think.

[ At least he's confident about it. Then what he actually said registers, about being grubsauce (or mayo) by evening, and he makes a disgusted face. ]

So who's Dave? Actually, who are you, for that matter?

Dave's a friend of mine. Human, light hair, wears a pair of shades all the time, dresses in all red and has a cape?

[It's a vague description but it's the only way he knows how to describe a human to another human. What even are terms like 'blond' or 'sunglasses'?]

Me? I'm Karkat. Karkat Vantas. [A pause as he looks over the other.] And same goes for you, who the hell are you?

[ He opens his mouth to answer and stops short, like he's been hit in the gut. The way his expression goes from bored confidence and then crashes right into horrified uncertainty is really, really noticeable. He looks away. ]

I don't have a name.

You don't?

[He frowns a bit at that.]

What, was your lusus that damaged in the think sponge that it forgot to name you?

My what? Where did you learn to talk?

[ "Think sponge" he can at least figure out, but what the hell is a lusus? ]

From my lusus, where the fuck else do you think I got schoolfeeding from? Are your auricular sponge clots defective or something? You know, your lusus! Your... don't you humans have your adult guardians as your custodians?

[ Watch, he's going to think that lusus is what they're called on other worlds from now on. Right now he's just rolling his eyes. ]

I know what you're talking about. I never had a guardian, either. Or anything like that.

Oh.

[Well, that makes him stop. That sort of reminds him how Terezi had grown up without a proper guardian, even though her lusus was still in an egg near her hive. It wasn't uncommon for trolls to sometimes lose their lusus, but it didn't mean it didn't suck.]

Well then you've got a functioning think pan, right? Why not make one up for yourself?

[ He looks kind of confused by the idea. Well, less confused so much as it's like the idea never even occurred to him. ]

Maybe. I wouldn't know where to start.

Hell if I know. I know adult trolls give themselves names or titles that are different from their hatchname sometimes. Usually after something they're known for, or something to scare the shit out of everyone else.

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imitational - 2013-12-24 06:57 (UTC) - Expand

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cancercarcino - 2013-12-25 05:50 (UTC) - Expand

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