Your name is Jade Harley. Dr. Jade Curie Harley, if you want to get all stuffy about it, which you rarely do. You are a fully realized Lady of Space, a class shift power-up gained via shenanigans some time ago - it doesn’t really mean as much as one might think; the Witch class was already a powerful active controller to begin with. In your spare time, you’re a roboticist, a tinker, a cybernetics crafter with your own little chain of shops scattered around timelines you don’t belong in, all connected by fenestrated planes. They’re not very successful or popular in most, but money’s never an issue - you’re just happy to help when you can. You live in a little copy of your childhood tower placed on your terraformed battleship, orbiting a small curated land you hope will one day be a happy new world for you and your friends, if you ever meet them at that victory platform.
Your friends. You miss them. You know where John and Dovesprite are, and where Jane is of course. But the rest of them? Dave and Rose and Dirk and Roxy and Jake, Terezi and Karkat and Kanaya and… Vriska? You’ve never heard from them again, at least not your timeline’s instances. Your arrival from the yellow yard found you in empty Paradox Space, no signs of the new session you were supposed to meet in; it all fell apart according to your lovely Jane you found and revived in the bubbles. You suppose the others must be out there too. As for the meteor crew? You’ve never been sure. You wander the depths and breadths of Paradox Space seeking them all, broadcasting your message out into the void hoping they’ll find it, find you.
Your broadcast. It beams from the tall radio transceiver on your ship, one of the few places you didn’t put turf, calling out into the void across all imagineable channels. You keep it running 24/7, occasionally updating its content when the mood strikes you. The mood has struck you.
You shuffle your ruby-slippered paws down from your workshop which you’ve been spending far too much time in, floating straight down the central tower stem to the Grand Foyer. Becquerel and Giger are there, napping in front of the fireplace; your old dog found you across timelines somehow despite him being a part of you, and your strange betentacled mutt was given by a… scientifically zealous Rose with too many eyes. You let them rest, slipping out the front door silently to cross the field to your radio tower.
You let yourself in with the passkey, then settle into the chair at the booth. Your last recording plays quietly through a speaker on the console -
“if you can fly, fly here -”
You click stop on the recording, leaving space silent for a moment, and shrug on the headphones you custom made for your ears. You bring the mic close and make it live, the soft whine of electronic feedback crackling in the feed. Then you begin to record your new message, your new beacon for them, keeping your voice as steady, recognizable, and calm as the emotional task will allow.
this is jade curie harley, from offshoot timeline beta phi epsilon, calling out into the void to find my friends! we all got separated so long ago but i am still out here, still alive and doing my best to make things work! still… still doing this, still making it ‘hapen’, h-hah…
You sigh at your own lame joke.
i really miss you all a lot. i think about you all every single day! ive been having these weird dreams even! i - i have so much i want to show you all, so much ive built! a safe new home where all the little consorts and carapacians from my ship live happy and free, and where we all can too! ive built robots, and gadgets and so much cool stuff! but its… not the same without you all around. this isnt victory, but i know we can do it! even echidna thinks so! and shes a big mean snake lady! so if you think you are from this timeline - if you are stranded out there on a broken meteor or are lost in the bubbles and need help… consider this message a beacon! john and jane are already here so dave or dirk or roxy or jake or ro- r-ro…
Your lip quivers a moment. You bite back a sniffle. Not on your recording.
o-or rose or any of the trolls! dont just let this be background noise! follow the signal, or transportalize to the coordinates at the end, or if you are in the bubbles and need a revive or just a pick-up, reach out! i can find you… i can come save you! i know we can do this…
my timeline-signifier chumhandle variant is greensunGnostic, for timeline split beta phi epsilon. i hope you are still okay out there… i miss you. this message will repeat, for as long as it needs to.
You cut the feed and wipe your watery eyes, setting your recording to repeat. It was sloppy but… cathartic. You rest your head in your arms at the quiet desk, weeping for sheer lonely catharsis.
==> Be Jane.
You are now Jane Helena Crocker, and you love your wife very much. In fact, you've just now wandered into her study with a piping hot loaf pan of banana bread to share with her. Oddly, she is not in her study... nor in her lab... nor in her workshop... nor in her observatory. These are her usual haunts when she's not out cavorting with Dovesprite or John. So where in the dickens could she be?
Such a question is redundant, of course. You're Jane Crocker, Boiled Gumshoe Extraordinaire! Wait, that's not quite right. You're Jane Crocker, Hard Dick Extraordinaire! Hold on, that's not it either. You're Jane Crocker... Problem... Sleuther? Oh phooey, you do the thing where you deduce the solution! Using your astute powers of observation, you notice that there's a slight chill in the air near the Grand Foyer. It's almost as if some outside air had managed to slip inside.
Tiptoeing past the sleeping Becquerel and Giger, you let yourself outside into the field. Before you is the grand Golden Yard, its deck covered by terraformed grass and soil. It's serene at times like this -- the overgrown stalks waver in the errant breeze, not unlike a grassy field. You maintain a slight aura of smugness; you did, after all, consult on the very type of soil and grass necessary to do so. Being a fully realized Maid of Life wasn't so useful for revival these days. After all, you need conflict and injury and death in order to use the healing aspects of your powers. But having become totally intimate with just what constitutes Life has its perks every now and then.
You make your way across the field, following a small trail left by someone. The tall grass parts in a straight line, as if signifying purpose. The trail goes cold at the old radio tower -- the one that had actually come with the Golden Yard originally. Its golden metal frame is browned and dilapidated, but it's still entirely functional. The red transmitter atop the tower is blinking, letting you know that Jade's signal is still broadcasting. You have your suspicions regarding whether it will ever find anyone, but then again, you are merely a Maid, not a Seer.
Mysteriously, the red transmitter stops blinking. You furrow your brow and head into the radio tower, careful to sneak about silently in case the person you're tailing is not actually Jade. In the broadcasting center, you can just barely make out a voice. It's Jade's. She's speaking something into the mic. You wait just around the corner, straining to listen in. What you hear next has got to be the saddest thing that ever got said. Part of you wants to just rush in there and scoop your poor wife up into your arms and smother her with love and affection, but that would definitely be without the tact that you're known for. Instead, you approach her slumped-over form quietly, comfy blanket in hand. It's still warm from the dryer. You drape it over her reassuringly, like a crisis survivor being handed a mug of hot chocolate in the movies.
There, there, dearie. That was a swell broadcast. I'm sure it will reach someone out there. After all, it has been a few years. The odds of someone floating by have got to be getting better every day, right?
At least, that's what you try to tell yourself too. Deep down, you really don't know just how big Space is, Paradox Space notwithstanding. All you can say for sure is you aren't exactly holding your breath for a miracle moreso than maybe a boon. You'd settle for a Karkat at this point. Or heck, even... a Jake.
