((the ending is bad because the gag is that terezi can’t know what the fuck she’s doing at age 23 cause EYE dont know what the fuck i’m doing at age 23 gnight everybody))
When you turned exactly 11 sweeps old, you decided that you needed a change in occupation.
Altogether, it was an odd wriggling day; much more Alternian than you had become used to. During the game, (and, hell, even after it) you became much more accustomed to Earth birthday traditions. You had grown fond of your bi-and-one-third-yearly cake, which was always comfortingly the same:
Chocolate layers, a crude face drawn in cherry frosting on the top, and a special surprise always hidden within the cake’s sweet, delicious layers.
The hidden treat was something proposed by your Dave – he had gotten the idea from something that he dubbed a “Wonder Ball.” You kept all of the trinkets on a shelf in your room on the ship. Altogether, you accumulated a grimy duck Beanie Baby, 3 fidget spinners, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” on vinyl, and a shark tooth necklace.
When everyone had left the hive, and ultimately the planet, there was little you could do besides send out party invites and hope your friends would return. Sometimes Dave would come, he’d bring along John, and there would be a brief thrill of dancing and revelry for the afternoon. Often, Callie came as well, always making a point to show up with something thoughtful and decorative. Her brother, too, (or at least, some version of him) would often crash the party. Ending the evening with a violent brawl was a highlight of your wriggling days.
There were times, when they stopped coming, that you suspected that Dave’s new job, Callie’s explorations, Eridan’s newfound interest in Earth, everyone’s abandonment of the hive, Alternia, and of you were Caliborn’s doing. On many occasions, you called him, demanding that he release your loved ones from whatever trance had confined them. He always cackled and hung up, leaving you in painfully deafening silence.
On your 11th wriggling day, you realized that your friends had simply grown.
The hive was quiet, except for you.
In those days, occasionally you would tune up the van, and drive it around in circles on the beach. By then, nobody was around to mind the deeply carved holes from the Mystery Machine’s wheels.
A long time ago, you promised to protect Alternia, your friends, and everything that you cared about. You even died for it.
At some point, Dave decided to go to school. You did, too, for a while, because it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. You never really showed up to class, but you always aced the exams. Earth law was much, much easier to understand than Alternian. Every night, you returned to the hive from your classes, and did a routine inspection to ensure its safety. No one ever tampered.
Eridan had become fascinated with Earth’s wildlife, particularly in coral. He still sends you samples, proud of the bright, pink luminescent coloring. He’s implored you a thousand times to join him, but you always decline. You’ve never been fond of swimming.
Callie had done the same; she was a hero in her own right, and found pleasure in wandering from planet to planet, universe to universe, and spreading her own brand of cheer and happiness everywhere that she went. She healed, when she could, learned music, and always told beautiful stories of humans and animals and aliens that greeted her where she went. You love an adventure, but following her would have taken you too far from home.
On your 11th wriggling day, you were finishing another inspection. Dave, Eridan, and Callie had all explained that they were truly, truly sorry that they couldn’t make it. You believed them; you still do. It was fine, anyway. By then, you had learned how to make cake in a mug, and dug up some pretty fascinating treasure on your own by the beach.
You treated yourself to a flight, and soared over to the mainland. Gazing over the Alternian forest, you swooped down, perching high on a branch and looking down. The ashes of your old treehouse had all but blown away, and mixed into the soil of the ground. It was hard to even smell that there had been a fire there. Deep, deep below the forest canopy, there was a small mound surrounded by dead flowers. The humor was still not lost on you that, for all of his best efforts, Caliborn still hadn’t managed to burn away all of the dangling, colorful scalemates that your other self had hung as a wiggler.
You swooped down, hovering next to one of them, before you untied the plush toy. You squeezed it, and it squeaked, slightly choked, as if its throat was full of dust. You held it down and breathed in, slowly, inhaling its scent.
It was a dusty orange, experiencing some wear and tear, but altogether fine. All the important parts were still there. You couldn’t, for the life of you, remember why you ever used to hang these. You spent so much time carefully piecing them together, carefully writing each and every case that you developed, simply to declare it, “GU1LTY!” and string it up, before you started the whole process over again.
Around you there were probably a dozen scalemates, scattered throughout the trees. It felt wrong to release the rest of them; though they were not technically put up by you, this graveyard felt like a testament to your own twisted, confused youth. You would keep one; that’s a decent enough birthday present.
Beasts roamed around on the forest floor aimlessly, searching around for food. New life was starting to grow from the scorched ashes of the forest. It was hard to tell from your stagnant safe place on the ship, but Alternia was growing, and changing.
There had been several times when you had attempted to live on Earth; you tried with Rose, gave it a shot with Dave, even rented a place with Eridan. No matter what, though, you always came back to this specific iteration of Alternia. Not the one that you were hatched upon, not even of your universe. But more than your own, it had always felt like home.
The flight home was solemn. With the rusty-colored scalemate clutched tight in your hand, your nails pulled at some of the poor toy’s stitches. As you entered the cracked maw of the ship, the heavy scent of microwaved chocolate filled your nostrils; but you weren’t hungry.
The ship was covered in dust; you were a protector, not a maid. You relied on your friends to help you clean up, and now that they were moving on, things seemed to fall into disrepair. That’s probably why they wanted you to move on, you figured.
You floated into the kitchen and took the white, stained mug into your hand, holding the scalemate gingerly in the other. You floated for a while, deep in thought, until your wide circles landed you next to the sendificator. You punched in random digits, not paying attention to what coordinates you entered. You placed the mug on the platform, hit send, and it was gone. Maybe it was someone else’s wriggling day, and they could have used it more than you.
You tucked the scalemate into the front of your shirt, its little plush head poking up right under your neck. You leaned over, and punched in some new coordinates, this time making sure to carefully note where you were going.
> If you ever need a bag, you figure that you can just come back and grab what you left.
> Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and it’s probably time to do some growing up.
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