Hi got a notif that you posted for the first time in yearsss and wanted to let you know that I missed you / your art and this account <3
(( Omg hi! I legitimately figured anyone who used to follow this blog either unfollowed long ago or also hasn't logged on in years lol. Thank you for the message! I hope you've been well.
There's not quite as much Homestuck art nowadays, but if you wanted/needed a link to my art account, its @rynies ))
Vriska looked down over the crowd, watching as they celebrated with laughter and cheers. Couples kissed, children spun noise makers, and fireworks lit up the night sky.Â
"They didn't even notice. 1929 to 1920. How many times have they done this?"Â
Damara placed a hand on her hip, idly watching over Vriskas shoulder as the masses joined together to sing Auld Lang Syne.Â
"More than you want to know. But you must look for silver lining - La Veuve Noire is reborn, and will still stand when you return. Though... Aranea is casino figurehead, this time. Vriska Serket, on other hand..."
Was part of the MCPD, alongside her partner Terezi Pyrope. She both envied and pitied her replacement.Â
"8lech, you really are going to 8e 8ored out of your mind with this timeline. Aranea will run La Veuve Noire into the ground in record time, and my altern8, 8eing a very capa8le Vriska Serket, will have the Felt and Crew all round up 8efore the month is up."Â
"I will manage," Damara shrugged, eyes turned skyward to watch the fireworks.Â
"We need to go." The voice crept into Vriskas thoughts, impatient as ever. Never a moment to dilly-dally under the careful watch of the fish princess.
"Yeah yeah."
With a deep sigh, Vriska stepped back from the ledge and onto the rooftop proper, dusting off the back of her dress. "Looks like it's time for me to get going. Iâve got worlds that need saving and people who need rescuing. You know how it is, hero stuff. Try not to 8r8k the timeline again while I'm gone, Megido."
"We will see. Make sure you return. Because, without you, there are none who remember our friends. And I need someone to laugh with me, when I mock them."Â
A shared smile and a somber laugh was their last exchange before Vriska disappeared behind the roof access and down the stairwell, a faint and almost otherworldly shadow hot on her heels.
Crowds were already beginning to form; humans, trolls, and carapacians alike gathered together in spite of the cold and the long wait ahead of them. They still had hours to go before the countdown would even begin, and with no alcohol to boost moral, the masses had to rely on what paltry entertainment lined the streets. Musicians, mostly, with the odd street artist here and there.
Vriska crinkled her nose.
"Is this how poor people cele8r8 the new year? What a 8ore. If I were hosting a gala of my own--"
"You get arrested again?" crooned a familiar voice, her broken English and sultry tone quite unmistakable.
"Pro8a8ly," Vriska agreed, her gaze never straying from the window. "I'm sure you had a perfectly good reason for not using your time powers to warn me a8out that?"
Damara smiled, fingers laced between one another as she rested her chin atop them. "No."
This bitch.
The two sat in silence, save for the steady ticking of a bookshelf clock. Notably, only one clock, as they had decided to meet up not at the Felt Manor, but instead, Vriska's old casino: La Veuve Noire. Its doors had been shut years ago, and the building was due to be auctioned off in the coming months, but until then, it was still her home.
"Want to see how I do it?" the rustblood purred, interrupting Vriska's thoughts.
A frown tugged at her blue lips as she turned to face the other troll, brow furrowed. "I'm not interested in your sex life or 8eing part of it."
"Your loss." Damara leaned back in her chair, head canted to the side as she observed the other woman.
"But not what I mean. I ask if you want to see how I reset timeline?"
Oh. That.
Vriskaâs frown deepened. Damara had explained it in the simplest terms (though the Scorpio would argue that she'd figured it out on her own and it required no explanation, simple or otherwise):
The timeline they resided in was, at its core, a stage, and everything in it, from planets to people, were little more than props and unwitting actors, borrowed from doomed timelines whenever necessary. The timeline never stretched beyond a single decade because the setting never called for it. There was no 'before', and there would be no 'after'. Lord English himself had decided it would all take place during the 1920's. His love for gang wars, hatred of women, and desire to keep technology stunted just enough to hide the truth had made it an ideal choice.
The actors themselves came and went, replaced just as quickly as they disappeared, without even the slightest suspicion. Vriska's own successor had stepped onto the stage in her place, and even though she played an entirely different part, no one had ever given it a second thought. And now, as they neared the end of the decade, it was time to turn back the clock and do it all over again - a little different, perhaps - but following a similar script.Â
"Why don't you just let them go? 8ig, green, and ugly isn't here to 8oss us around anymore," Vriska pointed out, arms still crossed over her chest as she strolled across the room"Or at the very least, aim a 8ig asteroid at the planet and put everyone out of their misery."Â
The witch quirked an incredulous brow, seemingly amused.
"You were miserable? You did not enjoy your place in Midnight City? Rich. Famous. Powerful. Many lovers. Lord English gave you coveted role."
"He also made me an orphan and let me die in a 8ack alley, so forgive me for not singing praises."
"That is why it is not musical," Damara hummed, noting the beginnings of a smile as Vriska rolled her eyes.Â
"Come," the witch instructed, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she rose to her feet. "You live here long time. Should see how it works, from other side."
(( I canât remove the âborgatabentâ section of my blog without it nuking my theme bc tumblr is whining about the assets not coming from an HTTPS site, so anyway if you stumble upon this blog, Iâm not borgatavriska. Please check here for the full list of Borgatabent characters, thanks! ))
Unbelievable! Itâd been at least two sweeps since theyâd started dating and still that thoughtless little idiot hadnât bothered to come up with a single gift he could give her. A yellow scarf or ribbon perhaps. Something  to show off her caliginous quadrant. Gold was a good choice as well. 14 karat, preferably.
None of it was official, of course. Neither of them had ever actually asked, and it seemed silly to do it now. When I get 8ack, the troll thought.
Vriska fiddled with the clasp of a bag sheâd slung over her shoulder. It was already full of useless knicknacks - a music box, a mechanical toy spider, a well loved scalemate plush - little mementos to keep her company on a long journey. This would have to be the last, she decided, Â having to shuffle the bags contents around just to make room.
It was a photograph of the three of them. They hadnât sprung for colour, as neither Felt liked to be reminded of their green skin and eyes, and Itchy had a slight blur to him, having found it difficult to remain still for any period of time. But she treasured it all the same.
âYou will not return.â
Vriska nearly leapt out of her skin, teeth grit as she stifled a yelp. That thick accent could only belong to the resident mini-maid. An unwelcome intrusion, to be sure, but Damara had never been known to pop up at a good time.
âCool your heels, toots, Iâm coming 8ack,â she assured the other troll, sliding the photograph into her bag.
âNo,â Damara said, sounding⊠uncharacteristically urgent. Vriska turned to face her.
âAh. The pajamas again. Pruning the wreath that is this unending, hellish timeline?â the blueblood inquired, working the buckle of her bag until it was securely shut.
âI see all branches of time. Every possibility. Every outcome. You do not return, Vriska Serket.â
A frown spread across her cerulean lips. That was troubling, to say the least.
âWhat? You mean Iâm going to die or something? Pssh, 8ig deal. I died once 8efore, right? Oh, and thanks for fixing that little mess. I owe ya. Free drinks at the casin--â
âI do not know if you die,â Damara interrupted, shifting slightly in mid-air. âI only see this timeline. This timeline that you do not return to.â
Vriska rolled her eyes. âWhy are you even 8othering to tell me this? Itâs not like you care. And donât pull that âservice to the Feltâ 8ullshit either. Lord English is dead, I think that means my contract is up. Yours too, for that matter.â
Damara crinkled her nose, looking downright offended. Maybe she still had a hard-on for the boss. Weirdo.
âAnyway, Itâs not like I can just⊠not go. My Moirail is counting on me. My ancestor too. And I think Iâm running out of time. It feels like the whole world is starting to forget they ever existed.â
The witch winced at this, hands idly rubbing at her arms. âIt is. This timeline falters without Lord English. So many disappear. And we forget. Forget they ever exist. You will be forgotten.â
Vriska swallowed hard. The little psycho was just messing with her, right? Damara had more than a few screws loose, telling half truths as best and outlandish lies at worst. Still, it would make sense if it were true. There were people she remembered but couldnât name or even put a face to. It was like an odd sense of nostalgia - remembering a feeling but being unable to describe any of the details.
Would that happen to her too? Just a vague memory of some no-name kid who ran errands for the Felt?Â
No, that was stupid. Damara was stupid. There had to be infinite branches of time. Infinite! Thereâs no way they could all be checked.
âI think youâre just getting rusty, Megido. Iâll 8e 8ack. We Serkets have aaaaaaaall the luck,â she insisted, swinging the bag back around to rest on her hip. âJust keep this timeline in one piece while Iâm gone, doll. Iâll 8e sure to 8ring you a souvenir when I get 8ack.â
She flashed one of her signature grins, offering Damara a lazy salute as she strolled on past. âAu revoir, mini-maid. Take good care of my 8oys while Iâm gone.â
And with that, she disappeared down the hall, a subtle shadow on her heels and an uncertain Damara left lingering in the doorway.