hey to anyone still following on this blog and the other ones. so, today, found that quite a number of my fics were scraped by the word-art-vomit-machine, and that's to be expected in today's world. somehow, the ripple effect, I found, did not get scraped.
but I took no chances and it has been deleted entirely from AO3. it was a somewhat... hmm, annoying decision but that's the ONE story I do value at this point in my life, so it's gone. I appreciate all the time and attention folks gave to it while it was up!
over the next few days, the chapters will be removed from this tumblr. (heads up to folks who know me in other fandoms, my entire personal blog will soon be emptied out entirely of all works I've ever done over the last ten years on here and in other places, this whole thing made me go 'nah' so it's time to clear out.)
with that being said, if y'all wanna save the chapters yourselves from here before it goes, I will say feel free! just, you know, don't post it anywhere. can't control what people do, but I trust y'all to not. lol
anyway, that happened, and thanks again for supporting it while it lasted!
I’ve been busy the last few weeks, but I figured that was decent time to think about the outcome of the post poll. I’m surprised it was as high as it was, as I was expecting maybe a few, not even double digits. However, my personal sentiment was that it had to be 80% or higher in order to be considered for completion, and it missed it by a few numbers. As sad as it is in its own way, I think retiring it permanently is best. I discussed it with my partner at length too, so this was after weighing pros and cons.
But I will keep this blog up, since I do think I can use it to make sense of characterization, aesthetic and art made by my partner or fans of Odessa herself. She deserves attention in all forms. lol
But I appreciate the results of the poll; it showed me that people did want it, but I don’t think it was enough, and I think it’s safe to say it can be laid to rest. Probably not what some of you were hoping, but this will be a new chapter for Odessa and co. officially. They’re not going anywhere, they’re just going into something else.
‘An unexpected visitor’ - Part 3: It’s finally here! The ‘visitor’ is Skeletor, Hordaks old mentee! I love watching the episodes of ‘Heman’ and ‘Shera’ from the 80s. It’s so silly and some of the villain insults is the perfect combination and dad jokes and Shakespear!
AN: The author’s note on AO3 explains a bit more, but to say it here, this fanfic was on the verge of being abandoned by me. But at my girlfriend’s insistence that people do ask about it, and the response to the meme the other day kind of showing that, I will complete the fanfic. Thank you all for your patience! Read, reblog, like it here, or comment and kudos on AO3.
Title: The Ripple Effect
Characters: Odessa and co, Hordak, Entrapta, feat. others
Rating: T
Perceptions
-
Aurora sits on her chair, adorning her forehead with a small silver circlet. Staring at her reflection, making note of any curl out of place, magenta eyes brighten at the look of perfection in the mirror. Her brown skin has a radiant glow and her clothes, tight-fitted and colorful, outline her curves. The earrings she received from Minette adorn her ears, a favorite of hers now. She has always been aware that her beauty enabled her to receive, and achieve, the benefit of others. But she doesn’t do it to manipulate anyone, as it is not in her nature to deceive.
She has appearances to keep. Plain and simple. Even if her parents tell her otherwise, she is a princess—the Princess of Bright Moon. The kingdom is living a time of prosperity and peace. It is up to her to ensure that it continues to remain that way. What else is a princess supposed to be, but a servant to her people?
A knock at her door beckons her attention. She calls, “Come in!”
Marlena and Clawdeen, her friends since childhood, step into the room. Clawdeen immediately rushes over to her, “Oh! I didn’t know you were getting ready right now.”
“I’ve been up since sunrise,” Aurora explains, pushing away from her vanity, but remaining seated.
“I could’ve been called sooner to help you,” Clawdeen replies. “But you look like you’re ready for the day.”
Clawdeen, her chosen lady-in-waiting, crosses over to her, tucking away loose strands and flyaways. Her nails don’t ever scrape her head, filed down to avoid snags on apparel and people.
Marlena is her chosen lady-in-waiting too, but she dislikes the title, and had demanded to be a ‘bodyguard’ instead. A more physical individual than her sister, Marlena keeps her body fit and sharp. There is no danger to be found, but it eases her companion’s tense nature.
Having ladies-in-waiting is an old custom from archaic times in Bright Moon. The last one to have them was her grandmother, Angella, before she opted to remove them. Her mother told her that she felt it was a loss, since she would’ve liked to have more friends when she was younger. Glimmer reinstated the tradition once Aurora was born, and from there, allowed her to choose her playmates.
Aurora rises to her feet, “What do we have on the schedule today?”
Clawdeen adjusts Aurora’s cape, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, “Your archery lessons will begin soon, followed by political science. Afterward, you shadow your counselors to a few meetings, and afterward, you join your mother for magic practice. Then you finish your day with singing lessons.”
“Excellent!” She loves singing.
Marlena stares out the window, hands at her side, ready, “Do you have any plans for this evening?”
Aurora smiles at her, “No, I’m off the next few days. My parents like when I relax.”
“You do tend to push yourself,” Clawdeen remarks.
“I don’t push myself any more than the usual royal,” Aurora says.
The three young women walk through the halls, heading toward the gardens. Beyond them, an archery range had been developed for her and her father’s practice. Bow stands before them, plucking at the string of his weapon. He waves at his daughter, “Good morning, Aurora! Marlena, Clawdeen, a pleasure to have you join us.”
“Hello, Papa,” Aurora greets in turn. Walking toward the selection laid out for today, she doesn’t bother to notice the other choices. The longbow fits comfortably in her hand, a familiar, steady weight.
“You don’t want to practice with the other forms?” Bow teases.
“I will later,” she says, looping the string perfectly at the ends.
“You may as well just take that with you,” he says.
“I like to return to it,” Aurora replies, drawing back the string to her cheek, an arrow already notched. She releases it, the string thrumming in the air, vibrating into her palm. The arrow lands with force into its target, embedding deep into the cloth and straw.
Bow grins with pride at his daughter, “You’ve come a long way!”
“I try to do my best,” Aurora smiles at him. Taking another arrow, rotating it in her fingers, she asks, “So, what’s new in the castle since last night?”
Bow lightly taps his fingers against his thigh, “Not much has occurred in a day. The only thing we have is that Odessa is returning from her journey.”
Aurora gives a polite ‘oh?’ before releasing her arrow. It barely hits the center.
“Hordak and Entrapta called us late last night to tell us the good news! Well, Entrapta did—Hordak more grunted—but she’s right to be excited. I talked to Scorpia and Perfuma about Hydrangea coming too.”
“And Tristan, right?” Aurora asks.
“Yes, of course, Tristan too!” Bow says, grinning.
Aurora blushes at Marlena’s superior expression, lightly clearing her throat. “Anything else?”
Bow shakes his head, “No, not that I can think of. I’m relaxing at the moment with you—the meeting we have today is going to be a long one.”
“A teacher slacking off?” she gasps. “I should ask for a better tutor!”
“Good luck finding anyone else,” Bow laughs, shooting his arrow, landing right beside Aurora’s.
The lesson passes with ease, more to keep the archers at their best. As Aurora walks away to her next item on the agenda, Clawdeen smiles at her, “That’s exciting, isn’t it? I can’t believe it’s been two years since Tristan went off to space.”
“I’m sure he’s as good-looking as usual,” Marlena goads, elbowing Aurora in the arm.
“It would simply be nice to see him again, that’s all,” Aurora feigns disinterest, despite a light smile playing on her lips.
“Uh-huh,” Marlena replies. She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, “So, her cybernetic highness returns, huh?”
“Yes, it would seem,” Aurora says, adding nothing more. She tries to focus on her tasks for today, with the occasional thought of Tristan’s imminent arrival breaking the monotony of work. Sweet and even-tempered, she finds it difficult to believe that Tristan is content with his choice of friends. He keeps the oddest company imaginable. Hydrangea isn’t someone she speaks with too often, but she’s a noble princess as well, dedicated to serving her people; which proved bizarre to Aurora that such a princess was fine to leave for so long. Other than that, Aurora’s opinion of Hydrangea is lukewarm.
Odessa is the one… weird thing he keeps.
But she hopes he will eventually grow out of his attachment to Odessa, and, perhaps, decide to spend time with less abrasive company instead.
-
“Welcome back!”
The fanfare is more than appreciated, and Odessa smiles at her family. Entrapta embraces her closely, with Hordak patting her head and her leaning up into it. Imp and Emily emit their respective chirps and beeps to her arrival, leaving Odessa warm from how clearly they care about her.
“Aw, look at you! You look so much older!” Entrapta shouts.
“I don’t appear that much different, Mom,” Odessa says.
“Nooooo, you do! Doesn’t she, sweetie?”
Hordak peers at his child. Thinking. “Perhaps a little.”
Odessa smiles at him, “If you say so.”
Hydrangea is scooped up in Scorpia’s arms, spun around in a circle with such enthusiasm, Hydrangea lets out a surprised cry, “Mom! Mom, dizzy!”
“Oh! Sorry, sorry! I got so excited! I can’t believe my baby girl is back!” Scorpia cries, wiping tears away.
Perfuma kisses Hydrangea’s cheeks and nose, near tears at seeing her child again, “It’s been too long! You missed out on so much here on Plumeria, young lady, we have to catch you up on everything.”
Tristan watches from the ramp, walking slowly down the incline. He scans the area and spots Seahawk in their midst. Smiling at his father, he waves at him, “Hey, Dad.”
Seahawk puts his hands on his hips, “That won’t do!” He immediately crushes Tristan to him, which proved to be comical for everyone watching as Tristan was lifted above his dad’s head. Blushing at the affection, Tristan mumbles, “Okay, Dad, you can put me down… Now…!”
Setting him on his feet, Seahawk grabs his arms, “My boy, we must celebrate your return with a drink!”
“That sounds good,” Tristan replies, brushing away his hair. He pivots to his friends, “Hey! You guys wanna come?”
“Later,” Hydrangea answers. “I have to go and check on Plumeria.”
Odessa nods, “And I need to go over findings with my parents. I’m down for it afterward!”
Tristan grins at them, “Great! Keep me posted.”
Hydrangea gives him a light kiss on the cheek, and Odessa pats his back before he heads inside the portal.
He arrives quickly on a sandy beach, the scent of the sea drowning his senses. He releases a contented sigh. Inicos was a respected reprieve from space, but there was nothing quite like the sharp smells of his home. Tristan turns to Seahawk, whose hair and moustache show the lightest colors of grey streaks, more apparent than they had been when he was last here. But, not lacking in energy, Seahawk points toward his usual haunt, “Come, boy! Tonight, we party!”
Tristan, truth be told, was exhausted and beginning to feel the drain of time and gravity returning to his mind and body. Odessa warned him and Hydrangea about the effects of it once they returned. However, he couldn’t deny his father such a simple request. And he could always sleep in the next couple of days. Maybe a week or two. A month is preferred.
Entering the bar, Tristan flops onto the chair, a little harder than anticipated. Wincing, Tristan sighs, then lets out a surprised ‘ack!’ as Seahawk grabs Tristan into a headlock.
“A round of drinks for me and my son!” he calls to the bartender, who gives a quiet nod.
Tristan turns to his father, “How have you been since I left?”
“I’ve been fabulous, my dear boy! So much adventure and daring-do has occurred, and I’ve accrued more voyages on my countdown to being the most sailed pirate on Etheria! No—” Seahawk declares, standing upon his chair, one foot on the table and pointing to the ceiling. “The universe!”
Tristan lightly shakes his head, smiling. Pretty sure Odessa has him beat on that.
The bartender gives his most, unfortunately, frequent patron his libations with a sour look. Tristan takes a sip of bitter liquid, with it becoming a smoother taste as the time passes. Seahawk doesn’t refuse anything, and is currently downing another mug of ale while engaging in arm wrestling with a stout, muscular woman.
Tristan glances to the side, wondering if his mother would be remotely happy to see him back. She wasn’t there when he arrived. He knows it’s a slim chance, though. She tends to withdraw when she’s upset and having been gone for two years likely didn’t help anything. He had thought of calling her on the communicator, but every time he made an attempt, it left him clammy and dry-mouthed.
She doesn’t… understand. She’s been that way since he was a child. He’d come forward, wanting her time, her attention, and it’d blow up in his face. He likes to believe that she loves him, deep down. Even if she doesn’t express it. When he got older, Seahawk told him that Mermista is a woman that has difficulty revealing her emotions, which makes it hard to talk to her. She hides her feelings behind apathy at best and biting comments at worst.
Tristan took to leaving home more often, until he eventually would stop being there for longer than a couple of weeks. This was the longest he’d been gone and he isn’t entirely certain if it’s worth going back for a conversation.
He wishes she would talk. Talk to him openly, and go over why he feels the need to retreat, as much as she does.
A loud crash breaks him from his reverie, watching a body slump down the wall. Sighing, Tristan rises to his feet, a little inebriated and trudges over to Seahawk, “Hey, Dad, I’m heading out.”
Seahawk, now caught in a headlock by a tall individual with tattoos, grits his teeth. He slaps down his open palm on a chair’s end, calling for a truce. Released, he takes a breath, then grins up at his child, “Yeeees?”
“I said I’m heading out,” Tristan repeats, a little louder above the din.
“The night’s only begun!” Seahawk insists. “Why not stay… a biiiiit more…?”
“I’m tired, Dad,” Tristan says. He pats his father’s shoulder, “I’ll be at my usual spot.”
Seahawk opens his mouth to answer when he’s suddenly accosted by several people at once, breaking into a brawl. Tristan ducks from a bottle smashing at the door, before slipping out into the cool evening air. The scent of brine somewhat clears his senses, as he makes his way along the beach.
Moonlight gently cascades over greenery, painting it delicate silvery blue. The shoreline is empty save for himself, and the occasional crustacean scuttling around. Soon enough, his hut comes into view, shaded by the fronds of trees and slightly hidden by bushes, with a small port for boats leading out from it to the ocean. It’s a quaint little thing—a project that Seahawk and he had built together when he was 14. It fell apart a lot at first, neither of them were handy people, but they eventually got it solid and sturdy. He loved working on it with Seahawk, who sang shanties the entire time.
The door creaks open, and he reminds himself to oil it tomorrow. Or whenever he gets to it. The bed remains as it was when he last was here—unmade, with the pillow at the foot of the bed. A desk with his favorite novels are strewn on the surface, several sketchbooks, a lantern, and navigational equipment. A chest beside it contains non-perishable food and drink, courtesy of Entrapta’s research, a few blankets, a first aid kit and an extra communicator. It’s a little dusty, but everything is as it was.
Tristan sits upon the mattress, and he finds his body immediately going limp. Everything here is familiar and safe. Comforting.
Undressing so he’s only in his underwear, he brings the pillow up, dusting off its surface before fluffing it and settling his head on its cool surface. He covers himself with the blanket, a warm breeze entering the room. Sticking a leg out, he yawns as he closes his eyes.
He loves sleeping.
He never has to think about anything.
-
“Odessa.”
She turns, finding her father walking into her personal lab. Wet specimens are affixed to their shelves, the life forms copious in size and species, swimming in specialized liquid of her making. They float, preserved in death. Books on biology, chemistry, psychology, anthropology, biochemistry, physics, microbiology, chemical and mechanical engineering, nanotechnology, and any other topic she could lay her hands on, line her walls on wooden cases. Quite a number of them were donated from Bow’s fathers, who found her intrigue with education refreshing. Turned out, their university was sorely mistaken about First Ones, but had an adept collection on those materials. Withal, not adept enough to please Hordak and Entrapta’s minds, so they helped throughout the years to improve the university’s range on teaching those subjects, and updating anything that was proven faulty.
Several robots, both complete and in progress, are in all corners of the room. While fully capable of creating machines on par with her mother’s abilities, they were more to destress and relax than to pour her entire energy into, so they tended to be more commonplace in her bedroom. Entrapta and Hordak reign champions in their fields of robotics.
But the most noticeable aspect of her laboratory is the large freezer built within the mountainside. Excavated around a decade ago, lined with simple white walls and flooring, it contains the DNA samples of almost everyone she’s ever known. Her loved ones are all in there, of course. Her parents were the first to give her their DNA, and it fascinated her that the people she adores more than anything in the world, were all just clumps of cells. Insignificant to the universe, but not to her.
And anyone who consented to it, they were there too.
Odessa is not one for extreme heat, and tends to keep her lab slightly below room temperature on principle. The lab is marginally colder for this purpose.
Hordak walks over to her, sitting down on a nearby chair, “I’d appreciate a talk with you.”
“What is it?” Odessa asks.
He decides not to mince words, “Why did you go to the flagship?”
Odessa brushes a lock of hair that was nowhere near her cheek, “I wanted to see it for myself. There have been so many stories about it, that I felt I should.”
Hordak’s gaze never wavers from her frame. She can feel it.
He replies, tone even, “Odessa. Surely you don’t believe your father to be an idiot.”
“I would never think that of you,” Odessa answers, turning to look up at him, appalled.
“Entrapta has said nothing to me of your exploits,” Hordak continues, their eyes on each other. “She would never betray your confidence, but I know she wouldn’t want to betray mine either, and thus, has been in a position I want to relieve her of.”
Odessa glides the tops of her fingernails against each other, creating an odd clicking noise. “I… I know…”
Hordak tilts his head, voice gentle, yet firm, “I want to give you freedom. Freedom to do as you wish. And the privacy to do it. However, even with your return, you have avoided the question I have for you, each time: What. Are. You. Doing?”
Sighing, Odessa moves her nails against each other harder, faster. She sets them on her lap, where she claps them on her thighs, “I went to the flagship to look at Prime’s room.”
“Which one?”
“His room. The corpse room.”
Hordak’s ears move down and up for a split second.
“There must’ve been… hundreds of them up there, dangling from the ceiling. When I got inside, I touched one of them and it opened.”
“I assume you didn’t merely leave it where it was.”
Odessa sighs, “No.”
Hordak folds his arms, “I see.”
“I only took the brain!” Odessa explains, waving her hands. “Nothing too crazy!”
He stares at her, “Show me.”
Knowing better than to argue, Odessa stands to retrieve her secret. She’s gone for a few minutes, entering the vents and bringing it out. Setting the organ onto the table, Odessa steps back, allowing her father to scrutinize it.
His face doesn’t change, a nonchalant appearance. He rises, walking around the container, observing it from every angle. Odessa waits for him to say his opinion. But he doesn’t. He stares at it for a good, long time.
Hordak wonders if it’s worth being angry. He’s come far in terms of controlling his temper, and abiding by social constraints of when it is and isn’t appropriate to ‘lose your shit’ as Catra had told him one day. They were both guilty of allowing their rage to overtake them, and both had made conscious efforts to keep those destructive parts of themselves at bay, especially after their children were born.
But a part of him, deep inside, wants to be angry. Angry that, even if he doesn’t see his face, this is part of Prime. Part of something he wants to leave behind. He wants to be angry that, even if he does all he can to avoid it, somehow it will be dredged up. He wants to build a future where he doesn’t have to worry about anything coming out of the blue to snatch that away from him.
This… thing is both a memory and a link. How often did he look at bodies strewn around himself? Unimportant, unless it was to serve. They were all Prime and Prime was all of them. This brain no longer has use—it’s dead. Dead as his brother. Savior. Tormentor.
Part of him wants to be angry that his child would not only go and bring it here, but that she lied to him about it. Why would she lie to him?
Hordak turns to look at her. Her face is colored the way his is, but all he sees are her mother’s features. Her features are relaxed, but he notes that she’s tense—in her hands, her shoulders, her eyes. Would it be right, to be angry at her, for wanting to understand something he’s been too sullen on discussing with her? Is it really her fault that her inquisitive nature would propel her to learn all she can about them? He knows no one will. He knows that, even if they don’t know what they are, she’s proud of who she is. She isn’t afraid to chase the unknown aspects of that, the worst aspects of that.
He may not want to know everything—there's sadness there. An emptiness. But he understands the drive, the need for knowledge and to comprehend as much of the world, and beyond it, as he can. After the war, he had to make reparations for what he had done, but he felt untethered for the first time in his life. He could simply live and be who he wanted. He could love who he wanted.
For his daughter, her desire is to learn. She found that string he cut, and she wants to follow where it leads. Where it begins. Where it ends.
How can he be angry at her for doing what she feels is right?
“Odessa.”
“Yes?” she asks, giving her best militaristic stance.
He motions her forward. She closes the distance between them, and doesn’t take her eyes off his face.
Hordak sighs, patting her head, “What am I going to do with you?”
“You’re not mad at me?” she questions, a little surprised. Her hands tap rapidly at her thighs.
“No… but I don’t… appreciate that you lied to me,” Hordak says. “I believed that we could talk about anything...”
“We can!” Odessa replies. “It’s that… I know Prime is a sore subject for you, and I wasn’t sure how to approach it.”
Hordak’s shoulders sag, heaving another sigh, “I know that. And your compassion is not being undervalued. But if understanding Prime is that imperative to what you are researching, you shouldn’t feel as though you must omit it from me.”
“Okay…” Odessa replies. “I understand. I’m sorry for lying to you. I didn’t want to upset you…”
“I’m not made of glass, Odessa,” Hordak says, patting her head again. “All I ask is that I be informed of what you’re doing. You don’t have to tell me everything, if you’re concerned that it may be too much emotionally—not just for me, but for any of your relatives. What bothers me is that you lied.”
“I am sorry for lying,” she murmurs.
“And I’m sorry too. For making you feel as if you could not come to me.”
Nodding, Odessa can’t help but exhale in relief. She thought he was going to be furious with her. But he handled it pretty well. She gives a hesitant smile, “Would you say I’m in the clear?”
“Perhaps,” Hordak answers, hands behind his back. “I could punish you—should punish you. Everything has a consequence, Odessa. I’ve always heard that ‘grounding’ was a popular method.”
For a split second, she’s concerned. Then he smirks, and all worry dissipates from her.
“Dad, nooooo!” Odessa cries, throwing herself at him. “How are you going to keep your Best Father of the Year award?”
“I can give it to Talon this year,” Hordak teases, holding back a chuckle. “It’d look well on his mantle.”
Odessa groans, clinging to his shoulders.
“But since this is your first offense, you’ll be pardoned.”
“Really?” Odessa asks, surprised again. “You mean it?”
“Don’t repeat these mistakes, and you’ll find I can be forgiving,” Hordak says, smiling at her.
Grinning from ear to ear, Odessa nods.
“But I do have to ask: what exactly did you intend to do with this brain?” Hordak says, looking down at it. “It’s not going to be much else but macabre decor.”
Releasing his shoulders, she looks at it too, “I don’t know. The body fell out of its case, and I figured having something to study is better than nothing.”
Hordak can understand that. He isn’t sure if the niggling sensation in the back of his head is cause for alarm, but he opts to observe what will happen for now, and simply be glad that Odessa is being open with him again.
-
Hydrangea finds the natural sunlight welcoming. And grating.
After being in space for a couple of years, the change to her sleep cycle has been a… challenge.
She’s been back home for two weeks now, and it’s still a little hard to adjust to it. The warmth, the brightness of the sun makes her feel at peace for a moment before she internally screams at the fact she wants to keep sleeping. Her body sinks its weight into the mattress, beckoning her to not move.
But she forges on when she’s called downstairs to eat breakfast. Her legs have become accustomed once again to Etheria’s gravity, but it’s still a little odd when she recalls that sometimes they could be weightless in Celeste. It wasn’t often, but it’d have to be done when they needed to work on some problem.
Hydrangea sits down beside Scorpia, who pats her back, “Hey, kiddo! Sleep tight?”
“A little better, yes,” Hydrangea answers, reaching for the pitcher of juice.
Perfuma gives a delicate sniff of her tea, her brows knitted together.
“Is something on your mind?” Hydrangea asks, hoping not to get into an argument.
“No,” she says, and continues drinking.
Perfuma has been fussing over her since they came back. Between the little comments of her body adjusting to ‘proper life’, constant litanies of how Hydrangea should never go that far that long again, and hovering over her near every minute of the day, Hydrangea is slightly perturbed by her mother’s newfound smothering. Well, she was always a bit protective, but she would ensure that Hydrangea had the freedom to move and interact with the world beyond Plumeria.
Lately, she’s made it clear that she didn’t approve of the journey as well as she let on.
Biting into a piece of toast with jam, Hydrangea turns to Scorpia, “Am I going with you two today?”
“If you want to, pumpkin!” Scorpia smiles.
“I’d appreciate it if you did,” Perfuma says, picking up a fruit cube.
“Alright, I can do that,” Hydrangea agrees. “Afterwards, I’m going over to Odessa’s.”
“Sure, sweeth—” begins Scorpia.
Perfuma interjects, “It might be too late to visit her.”
Hydrangea smiles, “No worries! Odessa’s a night owl.”
“So she’s a night owl all the time,” Scorpia jokes.
Giggling, Hydrangea nods.
Perfuma inhales into her teacup, focusing on the sights outside the window.
None of them pursue the matter further as they head into New Chelicerata. Restoring the former kingdom of the scorpion people was no easy task, and giving it back its glory a harder one. Scorpia felt she had to do something to honor her mothers, and Hydrangea knew, in a way, she had to make up for the actions of her ancestors. Despite Hordak being the figurehead of the war, Scorpia’s grandfather had not only agreed, but encouraged the takeover of Etheria’s nearby kingdoms and branching outward.
Hydrangea often wondered if he was only power hungry, or disheartened by the mistreatment of his people. Etheria’s belief in inclusivity is a broad one that doesn’t address all the issues within. That much is true every single time she enters a meeting.
A border is breached, a princess squabbles with another, there is disagreement on what must be done next or at all. Several members of different royal families continue to hold grudges with another, bequeathed with golden crown and ashen resentment. Her great-grandfather is someone she’ll never know, and so she’ll never be able to ask him why he did what he did. Why give Scorpia away? Where were her grandmothers sent to? Why allow destruction to seep from his throne to the rest, a disease that culminated into years of healing?
Hydrangea keeps a cool head throughout. She involves herself when necessary or to keep balance of discussion, but overall she tends to observe. Watch who says what and when and why and how. The meeting does, indeed, end later in the day, leaving only so much time to herself before she heads out.
“Have fun!” Scorpia says, waving as Hydrangea enters the portal.
Perfuma gives a small wave and smile too, and she takes that as permission enough.
The scent of flowers and mulch turns to stagnant stone and dust. Hydrangea jogs to Odessa’s place, her pack lightly thumping her back. Coming up to the door, she straightens her clothes and pushes back flyaways to look presentable. Before she can knock, the entrance is wide open, Entrapta shouting, “Hiiiii! You here for Dessie?”
“Yep!” Hydrangea says, entering. “Is she in her room?”
“As always! Go, get comfy!”
Climbing up the steps, Hydrangea comes into Odessa’s personal lab. She watches her tap notes into her communicator, gaze focused on the device. Occasionally, she glances at the brain floating in its cylindrical vat. Wires snake down from the table to the floor, and within the liquid, there are thinner wires, no more than the breadth of a strand of spider silk, connecting from the brain through the lid.
Not wanting to interrupt her, she settles herself on a nearby couch, placed in the area for company more than the family. Taking out a book she’d been meaning to catch up on, Hydrangea reads in silence.
With a little ‘ping!’, Odessa’s communicator turns off. Smiling at her friend, Odessa walks over to her, “Hey! Have you been waiting long?”
“No,” Hydrangea chirps, closing her book and putting it back in her bag. “I brought snacks!”
“Thanks!” Odessa replies, biting into a cookie.
“What were you working on?”
Odessa grins at her, “I was analyzing the brain we got from the flagship.”
“Oh? Anything interesting?” Hydrangea asks.
“I think so!” Odessa replies. “The brain is dead, outside of its original container, so I was trying to replicate the inside of Prime’s corpse room.”
Pulling out a thermos of Entrapta’s design, Hydrangea pours hot wildberry tea into a cup. Raising a brow, she holds the rim to her mouth, “What would that do?”
“In a miraculous world, it should bring the brain back from the brink. The corpse room revealed much to me,” Odessa explains. “The walls were lined with all of Prime’s previous hosts, and from what I was told, and observed, the bodies could be accessed.”
“Really? Did your father tell you how to do it without going to the flagship?”
“He told me that’s not possible. The flagship has all the technology, and besides, I wouldn’t be able to. It would mean putting the brain back inside the body, and it may have been too far away from it at this point to be useful.”
“What could the flagship do that you can’t?” she asks.
“He told me that Prime could ‘activate’ the bodies, and through that, their memories.”
“Prime’s technology was beyond anything we have ever seen,” Odessa explains, using her father’s words. “We may never know to what extent that prowess could go—only he knew everything.”
Hydrangea takes a long sip of her tea, feeling the hot liquid run down her throat.
She is surprised, though she supposes she shouldn’t be. Being Odessa’s friend for this long granted her entrance to a realm of science that is still underutilized on Etheria. Their dependency on magic keeps them at bay from wanting to absorb what Hordak and Entrapta have dedicated their lives to understanding. She knows that it’s partly due to fear—nearly losing their magic caused a sensation to protect it as much as possible afterward. However, she always found Odessa’s fervor for science enthralling, and she learned so many things from being around her.
She had been told what her mothers wanted her to know, with Perfuma preferring not to discuss it too often, if at all. Perfuma doesn’t like to dwell on negative experiences.
Entrapta didn’t either, actually, but she wouldn’t comment on that common trait. Yet, where Perfuma retreated, Entrapta went forward. Odessa inherited this characteristic from her mother. Passing genes.
She can understand that. But memories? Hydrangea assumed that the cryogenic state Prime’s previous bodies were in was simply to contain them. To not leave a trace that suggested there’s no immortality involved, but rather a very good medical system in place. He found a route to extend his life by the suffering of others.
“So since he knew everything, he managed to create a way to dig into their memories after death?” Hydrangea murmurs to herself. She looks at Odessa, “Or were they ever dead?”
Odessa laughs, waving a hand, “They’re dead, in the sense that they don’t hold a consciousness. But their memories remained intact.”
“How’s that?”
“Well… my father told me that Prime could access their minds via a system that is more genetic in design than the usual fashion. Withal, brains and computers are both complex networks. In theory, Prime can turn the bodies on and go into them, but apparently when he did it, he would find information. The memories were accessible, similar to when you’re remembering something for yourself. He turned on a device that contains data, but it doesn’t belong to a user.”
“So… he keeps them around to access memories that he doesn’t have?” Hydrangea asks. “I suppose that makes sense, since maybe it’s a diary for him. That perhaps he cannot remember everything, so past bodies contain it for himself. But I assumed that he kept the bodies to keep up a pretense of immortality.”
“Why did Prime do anything?” Odessa asks, herself more than Hydrangea. She rises to her feet, knuckles beneath her chin. “It was clearly important to him to keep them long after their expiration date.”
Memory is not intangible. For Odessa, it is as alive as she is. It is encoded within one’s biology, even if the brain itself cannot recollect it. She finds that a memory, even if it’s centrally important to the person, can sometimes be unreachable. Memory is fickle. It can be unreliable, elusive, painful and necessary.
“I’ve hypothesized that the memories may be in the bodies,” Odessa says aloud. “And he could grab them whenever he wished, but the bodies he had didn’t have what he wanted.”
“Could they be… blocking him out?” Hydrangea asks.
“What do you mean?” Odessa turns to her, intrigued.
“Well, I mean… you said there’s no consciousness in them anymore. It’s one thing to get memories, but we’re not entirely sure how unconscious those former bodies are. I’m sorry, if that’s a ridiculous question,” Hydrangea says.
“There are no ridiculous questions, Gea,” Odessa says to her. She taps her fingers on her arm. “And I can’t be sure about that.”
Odessa’s communicator beeps, and she answers quickly, “Tristan! Have you recovered?”
“I think so,” Tristan yawns. “Before you ask, no I did not just wake up. Are you and Gea together?”
Hydrangea greets him offscreen.
Tristan yells back before addressing Odessa, “So, what are you two talking about?”
Odessa relays the information to him and Tristan stares blankly at her for a moment.
Tilting his head to the side, he cracks his neck then rubs it. “It’s possible, isn’t it? Prime wasn’t a feared ruler of the universe for no reason.”
“What do you think of it then?” Odessa asks.
“Hmm… I mean, this is kind of like what Talon said, right? He said that when he was ‘born’ he hit a mental wall. He can’t go beyond that anymore. Maybe the body he went into didn’t have the right memories, or they were blocked by that mental wall.”
“That’s true,” Hydrangea says. “He did tell us too that he noticed it as we grew up, that our development mentally is different. I cannot remember anything before the age of four, and even that can be hazy.”
Odessa nods, “And it’s different for my species. I know Eon can remember things clearly like I can, but where Etherian children don’t remember anything prior to age two, Eon and I, and our cousins, have the first year of our lives as empty spaces.”
Etherian children and hybrid children differ in these respects. Talon was right that the way they remembered was a high contrast in ability: Etherian children could start remembering around age two, like Hydrangea and Tristan, but she knows from observation that a lot of that remains implicit memory, and concrete memories don’t begin until they’re around seven years old. Eon and herself, Nano, and from her testing, most of her cousins, have that first year as the grey zone. However, after that, their recollection vastly improves.
One of her most impressionable memories was meeting Eon for the first time.
She remembers everything: the curiosity in his eyes, the chatter of their parents around them. Nyxia had been holding Eon in her arms, and she had been in Hordak’s. The two of them had been placed on the ground to observe each other easily. His face a near-perfect rendition of her own, she remembers reaching out to touch his cheeks with her hands, and holding them there. They simply stared at each other. His hands eventually touched her face in return, and his look of concentration resembled her own. Entrapta was remarking how cute it was, followed by Nyxia agreeing with the comment, when Odessa suddenly bonked her head against Eon’s, with a little more force than intended. Eon yelled in surprise, jumping back up. He stomped his foot and called her a ‘stupid baby’, but she laughed and laughed. She’ll never tell him, but Eon became one of her favorite people that day.
But this is where it’s all a guessing game for clones. Not only are the ways they process and obtain memories different, but both her friends offered propositions that could lead to interesting conclusions for the remainder aboard the flagship.
If there is no consciousness within the body, that doesn’t mean that it cannot yield results. The bodies Prime had might not have held the proper information that he needed, and, too, the idea of the bodies blocking Prime out was something to hypothesize about. Knowing what they all know about Prime and the clones, he treated them as mere possessions. Beings without will. Which, proven by Hordak, isn’t true. They weren’t mere copies of Prime, and could eventually break away. She wonders if it’s failure on Prime’s part to completely destroy that part of the brain that enables free-thinking, or that the clones were strong enough to escape all along, but didn’t have the means or incentive, like how her father ripped his mind away from that pull to save her mother in time.
Emotion, of course, is always one of the largest proponents to thinking, to reacting, to changing.
She doesn’t know anything at the moment, but if a body could retain some sort of willpower afterward, and break off from the hivemind in static death, and show defiance that way, it would be an odd but fascinating explanation.
Odessa isn’t quite sure what that would entail, or how it would even work. She only knows what Adora had told her. When Adora was She-Ra, she expelled a dark entity from Hordak all those years ago, and he was allowed to be his own person at last. When Prime was removed from both the mind and body, it freed him, and in turn, all of her uncles.
But the corpses were another story. Do they have a consciousness that can’t be accessed? If they can be accessed, can it even be done with typical medical means? Are they merely flesh vessels? Do they have a will, a sense, that simply needs to be awoken? Is this a coma? Or are they forever trapped in a step toward death they will never find?
There are thousands of them. All floating in different realms of space, except the one she took out. When the body flopped onto the ground, it definitely behaved like a corpse. Reacting to nothing. But that was outside of the vitrine. She could always try going back to the flagship but that would mean needing to bring a relative who can remember how to operate the machinery. And as much as she would want to, she would need to consider the ramifications of asking such a thing.
“Odessa?”
She breaks from her thoughts, “Yes?”
“Tristan is on the way over here,” Hydrangea says, handing Odessa her communicator. “It shouldn’t take him long.”
“Oh, good! It’s easier when we’re all here,” Odessa replies, going to her desk and arranging objects around.
“What’s the plan for now?” Hydrangea asks.
Odessa smiles at her, “I’m going to put the brain away for the moment. We’ll wait for Tristan, then we can work on other things to relax!”
Hydrangea smiles, letting out a small breathy laugh, “You and work.”
“Name a better pastime!” Odessa calls from the ceiling, the words echoing within the vents.
Hydrangea looks at where her friend was for a moment. Going to Inicos had burned the fire within Odessa ever hotter. She knows that Odessa is the sort of person to go after what she wants, with or without backup plans, with or without other’s feelings in mind. Odessa can be a little callous, but she ultimately tries to do right.
She knows that another trip is awaiting her. Rulvam is a mystery that Odessa wants to learn about, and she is anticipating the day Odessa announces it’s time to go. She had a difficult time during the journey, but she wants to be supportive. Odessa and Tristan need her, after all. She can’t very well let them go out on their own to these uncharted territories. She wouldn’t be a good friend to them otherwise.
The Hordak/Entrapdak fandom is in need of some positivity again, so, thankfully, I had not posted every artwork in my old Entrapdak Positivity Month 2020 collection yet and can now smack my fellow Entrapdakkies on the dash with some old art!
(Note: text on the background, provided I didn’t make mistakes, reads ‘imperfection is beautiful’. If I did make mistakes, I stand by what I wrote.)
A family photo featuring my (by now old) design for Sollertia, my Entrapdak fankid who never really gets a lot of mention on my blog or in my fanworks. I’ve updated her design in the 1,5 years since this picture, but it’s still mostly the same.
And below the cut... For those who are into that sort of stuff... My one and only venture into explicit/sexual art. Which is probably still tame for those who are genuinely into that stuff? I wouldn’t know. But, uh, it’s there, if you’re curious.
And I hope ‘below the cut’ works with this new system of tumblr, shortening long posts. If not I am genuinely sorry, and let me know, I will delete it here and post it separately if I can.
