Chapter Text
You are the head cook. You are a magnificent cook, commander of the kitchens, wielder of the- shit, let’s stick to third person and past tense.
The cook was an irritable person, quick to tempers and banging pots. The jade eyed girl knew that. The jade eyed girl would also like to point out to scoffing people that it would be totally legit to liken her eyes to precious stones, especially the said stone, because her name was Jade.
Jade Harley, at your service.
She received a slight flick in between her eyes from the woman, and stared up with an adorable mischievousness. The cook, Mrs. Black, told her to stop running about the kitchen and get out under everyone’s feet.
“Stop running ‘bout the kitchen and get out under everyone’s feet, brat!” She stepped brusquely around Jade and lifted the heavy plate of plum pudding over the little girl’s head. Contrary to its name, the main ingredient of a plum pudding was not plums. “Marianne! What did I tell you about letting Harley’s spawn of spawn in the kitchen! Get the girl out of here!”
Marianne hurried to scoop Jade up in her arms and power walked to the kitchen’s side entrance, the one leading out into the vegetable garden. She put her down and smoothed Jade’s mussy black hair. It was never kempt, even with all the time the maids spent in their free time trying to tame it- not that they had much free time.
“Darlin’, there’s a big dinner going on in the house so we’re all a wee bit busier than usual. Her Grace is entertaining some very important guests,” she babbled, trying to softly push Jade into the garden, “So why don’t you run along and help Mr. Umbert with the tatties?”
Jade frowned slightly, “But I wanna help!”
“You’ll be help soon enough!” barked Mrs. Black from across the room, busy with her pots and pans. “Now listen to Marianne and get out of the bloody kitchen!”
Marianne looked scandalized at the cook’s language, but she nodded along and prompted Jade to step out.
Jade turned a pair of puppy dog eyes upon the maid, full force, nothing but those jiggly green eyes and the Scottish gal’s breaking heart.
“But the tatties don’t need help,” she whined, “And Grandpa said that the Duchess don’t mind if I stay anywhere.”
Mrs. Black grunted, “Harley needs his head checked if he thinks he can dump a brat on us in such a short notice," she harrumphed.
Marianne finally succeeded in closing the door on Jade’s practically whimpering face. She went back to her place near the door and continued to check the list of the dishes that were just about to be done.
“What I don’t understand is, is why Mr. Harley would rather leave his lassie here with us instead of upstairs. His Grace would allow it, Mr. Harley is a dear friend of his. She’d have free run o’ the nursery and I cleaned there before, it’s full of all them toys that the lassie’d love.”
The other cook, Mrs. Bradley, snorted. “Harley’s a sweetheart a’right, but Tricia’s,” Mrs. Black’s first name, “got somethin’ right an’ it’s that his head needs a little checking.”
“Or bangin’ to get it working right,” cut in Dana, one of the scullery maids.
Mrs. Black harrumphed at their preposterous assumptions, “I didn’t say anything about something wrong wi’ his head, Bradley, and you better shut your mouth before you start putting words in mine. There was a big fat ‘if’ in my sentence and you all know it!” She flicked a towel at Dana, “You, girl! Go out and get some parsley, we’re running out. And we all know it’s not something ‘bout Harley’s head,” she added, and the rest nodded along with her. “He’s American.”
“I heard there was a book written a few years back,” injected Mrs. Bradley as she poured sauce on her finished creation, “that the air over there makes people a bit slow and queer.”
“The girl’s poor accent, though,” said Dana pityingly as she handed a sprig of parsley to Mrs. Black. “Maybe if she stayed with us long enough this time she’d lose it, just a little.”
This time it was Mrs. Bradley who flicked a towel at her. “I’d say that when she grows there’d be plenty of lads that find her accent exotic.”
“Mrs. Bradley, she’s only six!” exclaimed Marianne.
“Young Master Dave is only six and you’d see her Grace’s eyes flitting around looking for a suitable future fiancee,” said Mrs. Bradley bluntly. “Oh, don’t give me those eyes, I said nothing wrong!”
“You’ve seen the littlest son before?” asked Dana curiously. "I’ve never seen him.”
“No one’s seen him until he turned five last year-”
A cough. The butler raised his eyebrows delicately as he interrupted the gossip.
“Dinner is ready to be served.”
Jade ==> Exposit on the Harley family circumstance
You will do your best! But since the you in the current time of the story is only six the exposition is limited to a few sentences at best.
Your name is Jade Harley and you love your Grandpa! He is the most awesome Grandpa ever. If you drew a picture of your family you would draw a tiny dark haired girl on top of the shoulders of a big, buff, dark haired man. Your Grandpa is the strongest, smartest, man in the whole world!
(Many would even say the handsomest, but you didn’t know that at this time)
Jade => Exposit on the Strider family circumstance
You cannot do that because you are only six and don't know about any Strider family circumstance.
Jade ==> Fine, then talk about Dave Strider
You cannot talk about Dave because you do not know about Dave Strider yet!
==> Is there anyone who can exposit on this mysterious Dave Strider?
Is there anyone who would mind switching back to third person and preterite?
No?
Very well.
The birth of Dave Strider was scandalous. The Striders were a well respected family, to say the least. “To say the least” because the Striders were high end nobility; Lord Strider wasn’t just Lord Strider- he was Duke Strider. And he had already been in France for a year and a half when news of his wife’s sudden pregnancy back in England reached the public.
In short, Dave Strider was a bastard. Let’s press the replay button.
==> ==>Years ago, but not many...
SLAP!
Victoria Elizabeth Margaret Lalonde-Strider raised a trembling hand to the blossoming mark on her face and stared at her mother, struggling to stay straight faced. Her mother, who had an equally long name but ending in Lalonde had bulging eyes filled with unshed tears of shame.
“Who?” she asked, “Who made this happen, Victoria?”
“I don't know, mother,” Duchess Strider answered, “I don’t know how- I swear, I touched no one!”
Another slap.
“You’re too old for lying. Who?” Lady Lalonde asked again.
“I’m not lying!” she calmlymaintained, hysterical inside. “Everything was normal until a month ago, when the symptoms started. But I touched no one, I swear on my name!”
“Your name is going to be dragged in the dirt soon enough,” muttered her mother, a dark hand massaging her wrinkled brow. “Since you’re bent on not telling me anything, there’s nothing I can do. It might as well be devil spawn if you’re to be believed. Get rid of it.”
“Mother, no,” the Duchess Strider breathed.
“Why?” she asked sharply. “Want to keep a little reminder of someone? Victoria, get rid of it.”
“I did nothing to be ashamed of. It’s staying,” she said determinedly. “On my name, it’s staying.”
A hand was raised again, and the daughter flinched. Because that’s all she was right then to the Lady Lalonde. A daughter. The hand stilled, and returned to massaging a wrinkled brow. Lady Lalonde sighed tiredly.
“Is this for revenge? For Herbert not being here enough?” she questioned bitterly. “You can’t fault him for that, it’s normal-”
“Yes, a year or so in France with a pretty mistress is normal enough for Herbert,” spat Victoria Strider. “I told you the truth, mother, I did nothing. But now that I do have the child, I have to keep it.”
Her mother’s dark lips turned down. “It’s going to be a bastard. Kept out of the Strider family- it wouldn’t even have the name. They’ll make you send it away. Get rid of it and prevent any future embarrassments.”
“No, mother.”
She sighed.
Herbert Strider received a letter from his wife that contained two words, "I'm pregnant." He abandoned his mistress and rushed to the Duchess' side, ready with petty apologies and loving kisses. He held her hand, her waist, kissed her down her neck and ripped open her bodice before she stopped him.
"No, Herbert. I'm keeping it," she breathed into his ear. "And you'll have to live with this."
He grimaced. "Not in my line of sight, no. I won't. You'll regret this."
The Duchess was a very selfish woman, thought Dirk, as he watched the carriage containing his mother pull out and wheel away, out of his life.
Dave spent the first four years of his life with naked eyes and gazed at the world in all of its wonder. There wasn’t much to gaze at. The sky was overcast most of the time, and the London fog, contaminated with industrial fumes, wasn’t much of a place to play in. It didn’t matter, because his mother never let him outside.
Not with red eyes. Maybe he really was a spawn of the devil.
→ In the Past, but closer to the Beginning of the Story
Victoria blah bluh glub Lalonde Strider had a sister, years before Dave was born. It came as a surprise to both her, her parents and certainly her brother, coinciding with Dirk’s conception and a young Jake English’s blunder into an awkward British wedding reception.
But let’s talk about her niece, the only daughter of the only son of the Lalonde family, conceived just around the same time as Dave. Rose Lalonde.
“But mother,” complained Andrew Lalonde as he gazed down at Rose, “Just ‘Rose’ sounds too bare! Let’s make her Rosalind Mary Elizabeth. It’s proper.”
He was a weak willed man, pushed and pulled by the household servants, his family, and everyone else. It explained Rose’s birth.
His mother put her foot down. “A daughter born out of wedlock doesn’t need a name like that.”
Rose's mother was scheming, smart enough to shower ‘Master Andrew’ with praises until she lured him into her trap.
Oh, such a good and honest man like you is so hard to find!
Whatever will I do, Andrew, I’m pregnant with our child!
Oh, the child must have a proper father.
But even she had a hard time to convince her lover to announce the truth. It went on until Rose was about to be born when he decided to spill the beans to his mother. Andrew Lalonde wasn’t there for the birth. She died due to blood loss, leaving a baby daughter with fortune glinting in her eyes.
Rose was put in the care of the servants and stayed in a spare guest room, next to the library. She grew up waking up at night in sweat tormented by dreams, sneaking next door and reading by candlelight when sleep couldn’t find its way to her. Her room had pink walls, courtesy of her aunt Roxy, and fluffy drapes and a decent bed, also courtesy of her aunt Roxy.
When she turned five, her father Andrew Lalonde remarried. A Cinderella story was about to blossom, its bud trembling in the warm spring wind of the frosty Lalonde household.
She wore a white muslin dress dolled up with ribbons and a hairband in the wedding. The dark band contrasted with her otherwise ethereal and angelic appearance, and its place in her life was relatively insignificant but peculiar, having found it in her little box of trinkets mysteriously one day. She theorized that it must have been Roxy who left it there, and it was was to be the first sign of any passive aggressive thoughts that crossed her mind. Her pale hair framed a face plump with toddler’s fat and dark violet eyes. A faint blush was held in place by the stifling heat of the marriage venue. Whoever said that England wasn’t hot because it was located in northern Europe should daintily step in to Hell and BURN.
There was a great dispute over whether Rose should be the flower girl or not. Lady Lalonde was adamantly against it, insisting on her staying in with the kitchen staff. It wasn’t that Lady Lalonde was consciously a cruel woman, or that she actively hated her grandchild, it was that appearance meant a lot, and family meant a lot, so the appearance of the family meant very, very much to Lady Lalonde. Unfortunately, Rose wasn’t part of the family. If her features hadn’t born a striking resemblance to the Lalonde bloodline, she would have been dumped in the farthest orphanage the Lady could find to rot, Andrew’s complaints or not.
Therefore what Rose was to Lady Lalonde was an embarrassment to the family, a sign of her only son and heir’s mistake, much like what Dave was to her, but Dave lived in secrecy and had never been seen by any part of the upper echelons of society. Rose, meanwhile, might be presented as a dolled up bullet of rumor to darken the days of Andrew’s marriage. She cannot be seen. It is enough that she is an intangible rumor, she didn’t need to be seen.
But Lady Lalonde wasn’t heartless. When Rose came up to her grandmother, a small bouquet of flowers in hand and said please- well, all Lady Lalonde did was to mutter something under her breath and sweep out of the room. But not before taking the flowers. Roxy took it as an unconditional approval and sent out the maids for the tailor- as a terribly efficient thirteen year old girl, she doted on her niece.
Rose suffered her cheeks to be pinched by the sweet scented fingers of her soon to be stepmother. They put a little too much pressure and a took a little too long to release the baby fat on her face. Juliet was careful not to show any annoyance to a five year old, and the five year old in question was only astute enough to note that her mother to be might not be quite as nice she wants people to think she is. The thought didn’t stick in her mind, since there were so many other things that would interest a five year old in a wedding. Like a fellow post toddler, blonde like her but donning a pointy and dark eyewear, clinging to her aunt Victoria.
The boy garnered more attention than she did, even considering that they were in the room of the bride. The lady friends of Juliet and their maids tried not to openly stare at the boy and not to downright kiss the ass of his mother, Duchess Strider.
“Pearls would suit you best, dear,” said Duchess Strider to Juliet. “That’s why I brought the ones from my wedding, a simple family heirloom. You would look lovely in it.” She pulled a string of pearls out from a box. Simple family heirloom in this case meant a pearl and diamond necklace that could have bought half a family mansion.
“Why, I would love to have this honor,” answered Juliet sweetly. “If you truly do not mind.”
“Silly girl!” chuckled her soon to be sister in law, “Of course I would not mind! This necklace was passed down mother to daughter, and since I have no daughter until one of my boys bring one home, you should wear it for your wedding.”
Dave stared at Rose, standing next to Juliet quietly, as their respective guardians began to chat. She was so pretty, like a little doll, and he wanted to touch her to see if she was real. Her eyes snapped from the necklace in Juliet’s hand to his protected ones, concealed by dark eyewear given by Bro. Dirk had shoved a pair onto his face- gently- once when he visited their home in London. It had given Dave freedom to take his first step outside, hand in hand with the butler as he went about town on errands. The outside world was grimy and smelled, but the air was fresher and he saw so many things that Dave felt as if he filled his Seen So Much Quota for his whole life. He played it cool, and totally did not jump up and down begging anyone to take him outside on errands. Totally.
As the necklace was clasped around Juliet’s slender neck, Rose took a few measured steps toward the mysterious boy. The boy in return took a few silent steps towards the pretty girl. They stopped with their noses just a few inches away from each other, ignored by the adults as the big people continued with their chatter and arrangement of the bride’s outfit.
The world didn’t slow down but the two children’s visions filled with each other as their minds went into overdrive. Had they met two years later, Rose would have been able to define this moment as one of deja vu, and Dave would have- well, Dave would have done the same thing he did right then, except smoother and more in control of his motor functions. They did say that girls mature faster than boys.
“Sup, Lalonde” he tilted his head up in the cool way Bro had, but it ended up looking like he was moving his head up by a huge margin to gawk at the ceiling for a moment.
“Hewo, Stwider,” said Rose, struggling to enunciate properly. There was a feeling that if she didn’t he would make her regret it for life.
The two of them had no idea where the names came from. It just flowed like honey out of the mouths as pieces of dreams they had began the uphill journey of piecing themselves together.
Dave struggled for something intelligent and cool to say. He came up with, “Are you a doll? You look like one from the shop windows. Creepy creepy doll.”
Rose smiled and tried to raise an eyebrow like Lady Lalonde, but she just widened her eyes as if in innocent glory. “I ashowe you that I am not a cweepy dohw.”
“You talk funny.”
“I will outgwow it shoon enough but you willw stillw have no dep-ah-th in your sentences.” She meant depth, but the other didn’t know that.
“I will have depath in my sentence. I already have a lotta depaths in my sentences they are a good paragraph of depath sentences.”
“You awre a funny boy.”
“You’re a silly girl.”
A bond was formed.
→ Let’s Complete the Set
If by completing the set means introducing the friendleader, the palhoncho, the John Egbert...
Then yes, let’s meet the Heir of Breath.
…
A boy glanced up at the screens in front of him, following the lives of his friends up until a certain point in time when the screen froze. He stared at the stopped scene of a tiny Rose in a puffy white dress and Dave in one of those lame anime sunglasses sitting together and being stared at in a Victorian wedding reception.
They were only five years old and their lives were steeped in rumors and intrigue. Jade, on the other hand, he saw sitting on the shoulders of a handsome Jake English who was sauntering through the market square. She had been giggling at “Grandpa’s” stories when that screen, too, froze.
The boy looked in confusion and poked at the keyboard. Nothing changed. He looked up again at the screen, this time at one that was focused on a short angry boy being teased relentlessly by a cackling girl. They had no horns and the girl wasn’t blind, but somehow the two were together, as if drawn by fate. That screen was frozen too. Every screen was frozen. All of them.
He frowned.
“Aradia! Sollux! Something weird is going on here!” he called. “Seriously! The screens froze and everything!”
A grey hand slapped itself on the doorway and pulled the rest of a haggard and tired body in, dripping with sopor slime.
“JN, I was just about to fall asleep, so this had better be good,” grumbled Sollux as he slumped next to John.
“Yeah, this is pretty good. Or bad. I don’t really know,” said John. “I’m still not really sure about this system yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to freeze like this. Does this mean that something went on down there?” John nervously glanced out the window and towards the galaxy that his friends were currently residing in.
“There shouldn’t be,” said Sollux. “Everything should already been created and happened already when the frog matured. We are literally outside the stream of time and the screens are just projectors that show us stuff that technically already happened. So if anything is broken I don’t think it’s the universe. But the screen shouldn't be broken.”
“Oh, good,” said John, relieved. He settled into a chair, backwards, leaning on the back of the seat. “So what’s happening?”
“Probably something to prevent a paradox. You remember how we set this up or are you too self centered and fed on those shitty movies to remember the basic technical details?” Sollux said.
“Hey, chill,” said John. “Yeah I know the basic stuff, like how we can gain access to see basically everything in the universe on this viewport except the sections of space and time we're going to physically involved in because the chicks don't want any spoilers.”
“Unless you override my system,” added Sollux.
“Unless we override your system, but you’re so good at this I don’t think anyone will!” grinned John easily. “I feel better knowing that nothing’s really wrong. If they’re getting hurt down there I’m not sure if I would be able to stay put and not go there and pull a I Am Your God like Karkat did.”
Slightly appeased by the human’s compliment, Sollux typed in a load of programming codes, while John sat by and watched humbly. He loved to see someone at work on the computer, especially someone like Sollux who was so good at it- John himself gave up after the 10,000th time of failed coding. Before a minute even passed, the troll returned the screens to viewport mode. They were still frozen, but Sollux didn’t look worried. He pointed a finger at John.
John pointed to himself for clarification, as in, “Me?”
He received a middle finger and a, “Yes you, numbnut!”
“Okay, what?”
“You'll have to go down there. The viewport’s not going to show us anything as long as you’re still here because you're supposed to be down there. You’re meant to be with them,” Sollux explained.
“But,” said John, “what about you and Aradia?”
“What do you mean, what about me and AA?” asked Sollux, practically sighing because he knew this human had to get all sentimental.
“You’d be left all alone here with only Aradia because everyone’s all gone this time around, and Aradia’s always spending time in the dream bubbles guiding ghosts and stuff. And I guess you used to do that with her, but recently you’ve been staying here too so-”
“Aaaargh you’re such a dumb fuck!” Sollux shouted, “I won’t be lonely, I’ll tag along with AA again so get your ass on Earth number 3!”
John pouted, “But last time didn’t really turn out nice! There was a lot of bad stuff, and if some of us weren’t here in the station doing stuff the ones on Alternia number 2 could’ve led even more fucked up lives! I know that I would have died as a wriggler alien baby by a tumbling rock if you hadn’t crushed it with your awesome psychic powers. Karkat told me,” he explained.
“Don’t you miss your friends?” Sollux asked, rolling his unseeing eyes.
“Yeah, kind of. But I can still see them, even if it’s like stalking and I feel a bit weird doing it,” John glanced at the screen. “And you’re also my friend. Aradia too. Don’t deny it, you’ve all been caught in the web of the human emotion called friendship a long time ago. Even though friendship isn’t an emotion.”
"Come on don't be a baby," said Sollux. "It's only going to be couple of more hourse before you come back with the other nook sniffers."
"Oh, fuck you too! 'Only a couple more hours' for you, maybe. It's going to be years for me!"
“Whatever,” Sollux said. “You’re going to go anyway, for one reason or another. Doesn’t matter. Time and space stuff here.”
“Ugh, I hate it when things go like that,” complained John. “I mean, it’s kind of cool, but also confusing and annoying. And sometimes sciencey. Science sucks.”
“Shut up, you nook-sniffing bulge licker and save me the trouble of prolonged contact with someone who won’t shut up like yourself and just go and be born,” snarked Sollux.
“But-”
“And don’t pull that palhoncho thing on me because I might really listen to you and then when you actually do go I’d feel dumb for not making you get out of here earlier.”
“...Alright.” John conceded. He got up and stretched, floating a few feet off the ground. “I’ll miss flying. Flying is really awesome! Hey, Sollux, can I-”
“No, you can’t! I should’ve known you wouldn’t shut your mouth for even one second, I hate myself for knowing that but still getting worked up.” He groaned. “Now just go.”
“Alright, I said that already! No need to be that high strung, jegus.” John lifted himself a couple more feet in the air and propelled himself to the doorway. “I’m going, I’m going!”
“Huh? Wait, you’re actually going?” Sollux widened his half seeing eyes and turned his head toward the direction John was in. “I mean, yeah, of course you are. I just didn’t expect you to agree so easily. I mean, I suppose you did put up a fair argument.”
John chuckled again. “Well, duh I’m going! It actually is kind of getting boring just sitting around and watching the rest of my friends living non-boring lives. I was just still bummed out how my troll life on Alternia 2 turned out, I guess. Since, you know, I kind of went crazy and started killing everyone! But since we’re all going as humans this time it should be easier. And yeah, tell Aradia I said bye. Wait, let me write a note.”
Aradia came home to a sulking Sollux and a note written in blue ink.
hi, aradia! and sollux too, i guess, but he knows this already.
so, sollux would have told you already, but i’ll be going along with the rest! yes, i’ll be giving the reincarnation thing another try. apparently i was meant to go in the first place, but who knows if it’s because the screen froze, or if it would’ve happened even if sollux didn’t design a limited viewport. whew, stuff like that makes me confused! i’m sorry for not waiting until you’re home, but i really wanted to get this over with...because i’m still a bit scared, i guess. but i know that you and sollux have got my back so i won’t be murdered as a child or anything. although after 15 years old sollux would probably let any random person kill me. but i hope that you and sollux would take it easy and just hang out instead of working all the time and that you know that i’d miss you guys even though i won’t remember much if i don’t meet the others.
remind sollux that his programming is awesome, and that of course we’re still friends! i’ll see you two soon!
-john
→ John: Be Alive on Earth
A man strode down the cobblestoned streets of London, his cane and well polished shoes tapping in rhythm. He was a serious businessman, although not the serious businessman that people might think he was. For one, the serious businessman he might have been confused with would certainly not have kicked the abandoned baby basket off on the side of the street. But this one did.
The child cried and cried, but no one cared enough to bother. He opened his eyes and saw the gray sky. And tears came out of eyes of the color the sky should have been.
A young lady finally took heart to the poor dear, being from a rather well off family in the countryside, new to London and its crime and grime. She gathered up the baby and marched off to the nearest church orphanage and deposited him in the arms of the matron.
They searched the basket, but couldn’t find anything except a piece of paper on which someone wrote a sentence in rich flowing blue ink.
My name is John Egbert.