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-- gardenGnostic [GG] opened a public bulletin board: trolls incoming! --
GG: rose and i have been talking and guess what!
GG: we can all stay at mine for when the trolls get here!! :D
GG: and we all get to meet!!
-- ectoBiologist [EB] responded to memo --
EB: what? are you serious?
-- turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo --
TG: uh yeah
TG: what
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] responded to memo --
TT: Jade, I told you to wait so that I could let the guys know separately and check everything would be okay for them!
GG: i knowww :( but its so exciting i couldnt wait!!
TT: Well, I won’t disagree with that.
TT: But there may be complications for the boys getting there.
TT: Personally, I’ll be fine. My mother won’t notice that I’ve even left.
TT: Nor will she notice the missing money that I’m taking for the flight and provisions.
TT: But your island is exceptionally hard to find, nevermind getting there.
EB: erm, yeah jade.
EB: this sounds so awesome, but how would we even get to your island? didn’t you say there’s no airport?
GG: there isnt but im not too far from costa rica so if you can fly to san jose
GG: then rose can use her moms money to buy a private flight to here :)
EB: jeez, won’t that be, like, mega expensive?
TT: Most definitely, but it’s not like my dear mother ever spends her money on anything other than alcohol.
EB: i don’t know if my dad would let me fly all the way to costa rica alone to meet people off the internet…
TT: Hmmm, yes, I can see how that could be an issue.
TT: Leave it with me, John. I’ll try to figure something out.
GG: or you could invite your dad too john!!
TT: That would be a simple fix.
EB: jegus, it’d be a lot to ask him. do we even know how long we’ll be there? i don’t know if my dad can miss too much time away from work.
TT: Doesn’t your father work as some sort of street magician?
EB: a street performer, yeah, i think so.
TT: You think so?
TT: You don’t know what he does?
EB: mm, not really. he doesn’t exactly talk much.
TT: Well, I’m not sure that street performing is a salaried position. He’d probably be free to take time off at his own leisure, if that is his job.
EB: heh, i guess.
EB: i’ll talk to him about it.
GG: sooo…
GG: how about you dave?! would you be able to come?
TG: nah my bro wouldnt let me go to hellmurder island in the middle of the sea
TG: sorry guys but im probably not gonna be there for the big troll meetup orgy
TG: a real shame coz i know theyd all be queueing up for a chance to see my huge human beef truncheon
TG: but my pork tenderloin wont be there
TG: and everyones going hungry
GG: dave!! gross :p
TT: Sometimes I think you say these things intentionally to provoke me. It’s sweet, really, that you make yourself such a brilliant case study.
TG: its all for your benefit rose
TG: just feeding your desperation
TT: Oh my, Mr. Strider! Your kindness knows no bounds!
EB: could you not just ask your bro, dave? he might surprise you!
John’s right, Bro does surprise you often, though usually with a sneak attack. You could leave without telling him, you suppose, but you’d be too afraid of the consequences of getting back.
TG: i dunno man
TT: If it’s a monetary issue, I’d be able to front you at least some of the money.
TG: ive got the money
TG: i make hella bank off sbahj
TG: ive got more loads than a dude on horny butler island
EB: what is that even supposed to mean?
EB: i mean, how horny do the butlers even have to be?
TG: fuck yea
What you don’t mention is the fact that you’ve been saving every dollar you make from Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, which isn’t a lot but it adds up, in order to do exactly this. So that you could one day book a flight to Washington or New York or the Pacific fucking ocean to get out of this damn apartment. You’ve thought of that day a million times: leaving without even saying so much as goodbye to Bro, slamming the door, and never ever having to see a smuppet ever again. You just don’t know how. Nope, you are stuck. Stuck at home. Homestuck? Nah, that sounds lame.
TT: Horny butlers aside, you could always just run away.
TG: and leave my decks behind rose really
TG: i couldnt do that
GG: i know its a lot to ask but dave
GG: i really want to meet you <3
EB: me too!
TT: I do, too. If only to see if you say as many fucked up things as you type.
TG: yeah
TG: ill see
You take a deep breath. You will. You’ll try. Not for the trolls, though, but for your friends.
Suddenly, you feel a rush of air behind you. You snap around to face Cal, his plastic puppet eyes transfixed to your computer screen. You’re not sure how but you are pretty certain he can read your mind. And you’re pretty certain that his sudden appearance was not coincidental. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when you take the note pinned to Cal’s hand:
Bro.
The only place you’re going is to the roof.
Right now.
Well, shit. You breathe shallowly, quickly. You make a mental checklist: sword, shades, Cal. You wince as you push your shades up your nose, still bruised and slightly skewed from the last strife. It can’t get worse, you suppose. You begin the long climb to the roof, taking the stairs two at a time to get there quicker. If there’s one thing Bro hates, it’s being kept waiting.
You kick open the door at the top of the stairs and are immediately met by the blistering Texas sun. The concrete of the roof waves and pulses from the heat and your brother, with his back to you, is almost silhouetted in the brightness. He turns his head over his shoulder and, though his cap and shades hide his eyes entirely, you know he’s looking right at you.
“So,” Bro’s voice is deep and mechanical, like it’s filtered through a computer, like he’s in witness protection, “you’re leaving, little man?”
You say nothing. Best not to provoke him even further when he’s like this. Instead, you throw Cal across the roof and he flops down unceremoniously, skidding to a stop at Bro’s feet. You watch Bro’s jaw clench and every muscle in his neck flexes like he’s gagging at your behavior.
“If you wanna leave, you’re gonna need to prove to me that you can protect yourself.” You doubt what he’s saying. Even if you could beat him in a strife, there is no way he’d let you go. He’d just heal up and hurt you more than you’d hurt him. Yeah, he’s never going to let you leave; you’ll have to just… go.
You chance speaking back to him. If you’re getting out soon, you suppose there’s no holding back now. “Protect myself from what? You?” you sneer.
He turns to face you fully, his hat pulled so low that a shadow is cast across his entire face. “Honestly,” he smirks at you. It’s devilish in the darkness with the burning red backdrop. “Yeah.”
And he’s gone.
You feel a rush of air as he flashsteps behind you, his sword grazing your arm as you whirl around. (Flesh wound, minimal bandaging.) You flashstep backwards slightly, holding a defensive position. Patience pays off when Bro’s this mad; he’s tactical at first, but he gets sloppier the angrier he gets, and then you can start getting hits in.
“You want to go hang with your little friends? Huh?” He swings down on you but you block. “On a sunny island?” He pushes his sword against yours, sending you skidding back. His position drops while you gather yourself. There’s a twinge of pain in your knee, likely just some bruising at the bone. Bro pulls up one fingerless glove, “you know how fucking gay that is?”
You go to charge him but are stopped by Cal tangling around your leg and dragging you to the ground. Your face hits the floor and a frighteningly loud crack echoes through your skull. You sit up, frantically trying to remove Cal’s grip from your leg, as Bro stalks toward you. You feel the blood pouring from your nose, far more than last time, and it seeps into your mouth, making you splutter. You’re a little dizzy. This’ll probably need some good first aid, if not actual medical attention.
Bro makes it over to you just as you remove Cal from your leg. He snatches the puppet from your hand and slings it over his shoulder. When Bro’s hand comes toward you, you try to get a hit in, fumbling with partial sight – he must’ve cracked your fucking sunglasses. You swing at his hand, somewhat blindly, and feel your sword connect. You follow the hit through until you feel bone, knowing a deep cut will give you some pause. Bro hisses, a sound kept exclusively for when you actually land a good hit on him; you’ve only heard it twice before, and from the periphery of your vision, you see something drop.
You shake your glasses off as Bro’s hand grips onto the neck of your shirt, spraying blood at your chest. You quickly look down and, yeah, that’s his fucking finger. You sliced off Bro’s goddamn finger. He’s going to kill you.
You’re six and a half feet up in the air, eye level with your brother. He snarls at you and slams the back of your head into the electrical box twice. You feel wetness spread over the crown of your head. You’re so dizzy. You’re so close to the edge. He could throw you from here.
But he doesn't. Instead, he drops you to the concrete of the roof and you flop like a fucking puppet, coughing as some blood pools in your throat. Bro grabs your wrist, the hot black leather of his gloves burning you slightly, and he holds your hand out in front of him. His glasses have slipped down during the strife and he makes eye contact with you, orange irises like flames searing your blood red eyes. He raises his sword and hacks at your middle finger.
“You’re not leaving,” he spits.
Then you pass out.
You don’t know how long it’s been when you come to but the sun is starting to set and the evening is muggy. The blood surrounding you is mostly dry, with some tacky pools of thicker blood. You don’t know how much blood is in a human body but you think most of it is on this roof. You cough and pink-tinged saliva gloops from your lip to the floor. You lift your right hand to wipe at your mouth, but your breath catches when you see it; your middle finger is sliced clean at the metacarpal, between the joints. The wound has begun to clot but a little blood is still pooling at the top of the stump. You reach for your sword with your left hand and slice a strip of fabric from your shirt to create a makeshift bandage.
You assess the rest of the damage: a shallow but definite crack at the back of your head, an obviously hand-shaped bruise on your wrist, an even more broken nose than before, a few new minor cuts and bruises, and a nasty sunburn. The usual routine would be to go to your bathroom and patch yourself up with the first aid kit, but Bro’s words ring in your head.
You stare at the sky for a while. There are barely any – maybe two – stars in the city sky. You hate it. Jade once sent you a picture of the night sky from her bedroom window; there were so many stars. You could trace the constellations and Mars was bright and so red. It was like a painting of the night, or one of those Nasa photos. You want to see it in person.
You stand up, fiercely determined, and start clambering down the fire escape.