victory_road | This road is going nowhere [Closed]

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This road is going nowhere [Closed]

Who: Dirk Strider and Hythlodaeus.... Emet-Selch shows up around comment #80
Where: Goldenrod, XIVhaus Garden
When: August 15th shhh this is forward dated
Summary: Can't believe Dirk is the one cornering someone else for acting weird for once tbh
Rating: PG except for swears? [EDIT] ....convo got nsfw around comment #70

Hours after Dirk finally slept (and then woke up again) while Emet did not, Emet himself falls asleep (the natural way) and Dirk is left... free. Free to wander the house on his own. Free to track down some answers. Or rather, to lie in wait for the source of his questions and then ambush him for said answers.

Hythlodaeus has generously yielded all the clues he needs to establish the location; a sad, dead excuse for a withered 'garden,' comprised though it is of a single dead tree and an open sky, with sunlight streaming from overhead and soft, gently buzzing fuzzbugs by the dozens. No special preparations are required for this--though he does take the time to let Salome out of her Pokeball to circle the sky overhead, it's for his convenience and not out of any desire to threaten the eight-foot neurotic with a jealous magical bird. (In fact, it's for the lack of that desire that he sends her spiralling up and out of human line of sight.)

Then, he just has to wait.

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Hythlodaeus looks at Dirk and finally, finally feels like he’s actually seeing him. He doesn’t have questions, really, as his mind is sharp and he trusts Hades to provide the answers that he will need.

It’s mostly a bunch of yes, continue.

He looks back to Hades, then to Dirk, considering his words carefully before he speaks. There is one niggling thought, and he can’t help but want to peer at the last page and see.

“You have suffered through unimaginable pain, yet emerged victorious. Strangely, I cannot help but feel unease within my heart for you with that parallel to Zodiark. Who might seek to shackle you?”

The cutiefly queue finally reaches Hythlodaeus, the lot of them squeaking and beeping for his attention after that very confusing knock out. Two of them bring over the soft bristled toothbrush. He takes it in his massive hand and lays his palm flat for the first one to rest upon and receive its brush out. The rest begin to float ambiently around, growing bored of the line.

Edited 2020-08-31 22:06 (UTC)

"Very well."

If Dirk's into it and wishes for him to continue, that's a good sign. That, and it seems like Hythlodaeus is keeping up—he isn't surprised, that's very like him. That, and what Dirk went through isn't horribly abstract from what their own reality foisted upon them. Their troubles were reality spanning, and nowhere near the mundane troubles that someone like Steven deals with.

However, Hythlodaeus' question...well. It's an astute one, again not surprising. Indeed, if Dirk is his universe' Elidibus and by extension Zodiark, then there was bound to be someone to oppose him. Someone foolish enough to do so.

"She is named Calliope." Hades answers simply enough, glancing to Dirk for a moment, before turning to Hythlodaeus, "and she is every bit as a petulant spinner of lies as the mortals' dear Mother."

He's about to add more, but then...Hythlodaeus begins to brush his Pokémon at the table, and Hades' face scrunches with distaste.

"Really. At the table? Can this not wait?"

Dirk almost bothers correcting Emet. Technically, the Calliope abusing her Muse powers is the alt version, the one that effectively killed and cannibalised her brother, the one that Roxy left behind.

That said, there's really no benefit to explaining the lore about Cherubs to Hythlodaeus. It's not relevant.

Of course, at that point a whole gaggle of ragged cutieflies bumbles in, en queue and on cue.

Emet beats him to the punch, so he just raises an eyebrow, finishing off his slice of sfougato before any wayward bugs decide to land on it.

He merely absorbs the bit about Calliope silently. It’s easy enough to commit to memory.

“... I suppose I can delegate,” he says, calling over the eldest of the yamask. For the exchange of a poffin and the signed promise of more where that came from for everyone, the yamask floats off to gather the others.

Within but a moment, the yamask brigade is back, gently corralling cutiefly. That calm yamask takes the tooth brush in its grip and floats away, leading the cutiefly away as if he were the pied piper. One by one, in the background of Hades’ recounting, the Yamask hold the cutiefly one by one, petting them and brushing them out.

“...go on.”

Hades watches this all with stupefied annoyance, but he's not about to criticize it. It isn't like he doesn't put the Yamask to his won mundane tasks that he doesn't feel like doing, so little should he become a hypocrite. Instead, after a lingering flat stare at the whole ordeal, he turns back to his audience.

"...Right then." He shakes his head with a slight roll of his eyes, "as I was saying, Calliope is the one standing in opposition of Dirk and his designs. There is far more about her than merely a name, and that she shares a similar ability to alter the course of reality, but she is scant the focus here." In fact, the focus was the cultural significance of whether or not Steven or Dirk would be the better source for the information about this so-called 'gay scene'.

"At the root of it all is an Ouroboros-like game of sorts that both brings about the end of worlds as well as the creation of such. It is indeed referred to as the simplistic moniker 'The Game', but it is scant so simple," he pauses a moment to finish off his juice, "Dirk's reality can be affected by something akin to coding, as if the universe itself is a machine, yet it is not one. Not really. Regardless, when one runs the specified coding for such an ominous game, it sets off the necessary mechanism to spur the progression of their very own Final Days."

For a moment, Hades' expression goes a little grim, but in an instant it's gone, continuing on as if he was not afflicted by the thought at all.

"Needless to say, Dirk and his companions whom of which suffered through such a malignant game came out victorious, which then earned them their own fresh new universe, one in which they would serve as gods for. However, this was ere his true and proper ascension to Godhood, just to be clear. While he and his became gods after a fashion, it was not through their trials and tribulations with this sadistic situation they were made to weather, that Dirk rose to such power, though it did make such possible."

Raising his hands to gesticulate as he talks, he continues, "rather, they were given the chance to facilitate the development of a new world, to become the stewards of this fresh reality. To guide it to peace and prosperity—not unlike what we had sought to do with our own after the Final Days..."

He breathes out a soft breath, a small pause for himself and Hythlodaeus.

"Which brings me back to my point. Young though Dirk may be, he has far better qualifications to inform us of the cultural significance of such terminology and its history, than someone as daft as Steven. Both is he familiar with the society that Steven existed within as well as what came before and after from an unbiased standpoint, but likewise was he the cultivator of mortal civilization in his own reality."

Edited 2020-09-01 23:26 (UTC)

He can't help but notice how reliably Emet's tone drops into the funereal when an apocalypse is brought up.

What Dirk finds even more interesting, though, is Emet's narrative--how effectively and efficiently he reframes the specifics for his audience. There's something gripping about hearing the same connections Dirk made between their stories and roles spoken aloud, and yet in reverse.

"Thank you," Dirk says, folding his hands in front of him, as though that settles the matter.

"And with all that said, you will probably hook more fish by calling it a 'gay bar.'" He enunciates the last two syllables so distinctly that it offsets them even without finger quotes.

"If Steven's having such a gay old time that he's chasing wedding bells, it's probably not that far off whatever idyllic homosexual fantasy environment he'd imagine."

The not me, though is silent but present.

He shifts, resting his chin on his hands.

"Maintain your image, dress like you don't suck dick, dream about marriage and kids and a picket fence."

“So I see...” he looks down at his clothing, then Dirk’s, then Hades’, as if he hadn’t memorized where the seams and wrinkles were already.

“...Is there a... reverse of that manner of dress... Perhaps the cabal attire for— for those with dick-sucking preference that I should know about or be wearing to broadcast this information?”

And then quickly adding—

“Do your clothes... oh my, should I have known already by your manner of dress?”

Edited 2020-09-02 01:14 (UTC)

For the most part, Hades nods along when Dirk chimes in, offering him a smile at his gratitude, but he also listens for his own curiosity. He does notice there seems to be some implication that goes unspoken, though he takes a note of the 'gay bar' distinction at least. Left only a moment to ponder that ghost of an implication.

However, when he lists off this supposed fantasy, he can't help but look a little baffled at the criteria--yet Hythlodaeus tops it entirely with what he says. With owlish eyes, he stares at him wordlessly...honestly, what can he say to that?

So, for the moment, he's just...stunned. Utterly flabbergasted.

"Not... uh, holy shit, man. Not in so many words, no. What you're thinking of is flagging, which... probably didn't exist in Amaurot, what with the utopian/dystopian individuality-is-for-squares-who-want-to-disrupt-the-social-order aesthetic, fuck. Right. Okay."

He takes a second to swallow some grapefruit juice, clear his throat and his head before he takes a stab at what he sincerely hopes is not a lost fucking cause (but fully expects to be exactly that.)

The juice helps, at least. He's developed a taste for it; the concentrated one-two punch of acidity and flavour really does something. It's bracing, but also refreshing.

"Fashion isn't just body coverings. Fashion is communication. A conversation in a visual language. Fabric, colour, cut, stitch... individually, these are barely phonemes, let alone morphemes. But once you add the complement, conformity, or contrast of what you wear both with itself and against the backdrop of society present and historical, then you have words, the makings of your first impression and your end punctuation."

He stops, finishes his glass of grapefruit juice.

"Shortcuts happen, but they come in and out of fashion in a matter of months or years, rarely decades. For example: Steven almost overlaps with the practise of men carrying a visible bandana or handkerchief of a certain colour to advertise what his dick likes. But by the time Homestuck existed for him to read, that was already redundant, more like a kinky callback to an earlier era of homosocialisation than anything."

Hythlodaeus watches him with rapt attention, filtered through his naturally sleepy look. He begins forming a mental timeline comprised of people he has met, pulled into a third dimension based on fidelity to norms based on prevalence.

In this moment, several things lock into place and he experiences his second epiphany for that morning.

"...I see! If you would forgive how my size dictates much of my choice as well as the myriad variables, what conclusions would you draw about me based on my appearance?"

........

"That you heard about clothes once from a friend and attempted to reconstruct the idea using a shower curtain and spandex."

He laughs, clear and genuine as his hand comes up to cover his mouth as his eyes close. He recovers after a moment.

"I suppose even the chief architect still has room to grow. ...Does it convey any sort of sexual preferences?"

Oh my God.

"That your preference is 'yes.' It's also conveyed the size of your flaccid dick to a socially unfortunate degree of accuracy."

See, Hades was content to just listen and peer between the two as they discussed this. After all, he had done his lion's share of talking already. Having poured himself more juice in between the chatter, and taken a drink here and there...

Unfortunately, right when Dirk answers this last question, it's right when he's taking another drink. Consequently this means he's now choking on said drink as he has to wrestle down his laughter at the observation. At times, Dirk can keep his thoughts to himself, at other times, he can be so direct and scathing it's impressive.

He knows Hythlodaeus won't take offense to this, but it does not stop it from being absolutely hilarious. Winning the wrestling match, Hades painfully swallows his juice, his throat burns from the struggle, but it does little to stop the shaking of his shoulders as he continues to keep from laughing outright.

The humor still tinges his tone, "well, well! Nothing escapes your notice, does it? Ever perceptive, I do believe you may have some competition, Hythlodaeus."

He laughs along with it, charmed by the directness of his wit. He flashes a smirk.

"Though... I suppose I would worry if that which was at his eye level escaped his notice."

He glances at the clock with that nearly faraway look. "Well, I suppose there is the rest of the day to plan for," his eyes shift between them. "Your work will be asking after you now, won't they?"

Huh. Well, at least everyone is having fun.

Not that Dirk doesn't think he's funny. He's better than 'funny,' he's absolutely fucking hilarious, and he knows it. People who disagree are objectively wrong, and that's that on that.

To no one's surprise, he doesn't smile; he doesn't budge an inch. And he's very purposefully refusing to acknowledge the observation about his height.

Fortunately(?), Hythlodaeus takes the opportunity to switch gears abruptly--to work, for some reason--and Dirk does some quick mental maths.

".... a heist will buy us another week without checking in."

"I have suffered far less observant, ones whom unless you more or less whap them on the nose with such, they would be none-the-wiser to that which should be painfully obvious." Hades offers a bit playfully. He never had such worries over Dirk himself in such a regard, but more so making the point that...some people like that exist, as mind-boggling as it is.

But he's happy to let the conversation veer elsewhere, and even more at the mention of a heist and how it may afford him more time before having to return to work. While he has designs to leave this world as quickly as possible, he's got sense enough to know a week away from his duties is not going to cost them anything.

"A heist, hm? I do suppose that would be much more interesting to engage in than the general monotony my day job otherwise affords me. Have you something in mind, or shall we brainstorm?"

He taps his lips, pretending to mull it over.

"...On social media, I saw that many of the unconscionably wealthy left for Sinnoh, leaving their neighborhoods with much less foot traffic."

He shrugs, palms up. "If someone were to relieve them of their overabundance, I think it would be doing them all a favor."

'Unconscionably wealthy.'

That sure does put a different light on what Emet said earlier about giving his Elite Four winnings to Hythlodaeus.

Huh.

".... not to change the subject or anything, but you've got me curious now. I'm not clear on at what point wealth becomes unconscionable, to be honest, but is it really doing anyone a favour if their 'excess' riches are being funneled instead directly into criminal enterprises? How is that actually better than idle wealth or whatever the problem here is?"

The question gets an amused hum from Hades, and while he could allow Hythlodaeus to answer, he decides to beat him to the punch.

"Well, while the money funneled into the criminal organization may fuel criminal activity, it likewise serves a crucial role to society as well. True, that it would be far better that no crime would come of it at all, yet such lack of funding would not end crime, so such is not the cause of said amoral behavior, thus it is not in direct correlation to the crimes committed." He shrugs with a smile.

"I find the crime of witholding from the economy, and thus your fellow man, far worse, for with it inspires covetousness and desperation. From it does crime find its birth, and through such self-centered actions does disparity and inequality arise. Better that these funds would be dispersed into the flow of income, returned to influence the economical cycle, instead of being hoarded away like a precious treasure it ought not be."

"You see, when one has far more than they would ever need, even beyond their most luxurious desires that money can purchase, they hold back the growth of society for their own sense of pride and egotism. Even lowly criminals participate more as productive members of society than most men of wealth. And most men of wealth are merely criminals of a less public nature, anyway."

"What is truly criminal is this culture with no real governing body. The Elite Four have no oversight, do they? We are merely to trust them because they are powerful?"

"...This is all beside the fact that I'm still not convinced that the people here are terribly real. Or if they are, their very existence is as terrifying as it is vexing. Unless all crime here is motivated purely by greed and not a lack of basic necessity. ...Even while attempting to account for the role Pokémon play in all of this."

So it begins to take shape as a thought experiment, or a problem to solve, and then they have magical monsters to deal with. Not to mention the space llama. Goddammit. It just gets stupider every time he turns it around.

"In either case, I would like to explore that which ordinarily we might not see. I would measure their response to mayhem."

Dirk blinks (invisibly) behind his shades, partially out of surprise that Emet chose to answer a question that was pretty blatantly for Hythlodaeus, but also at the contents of that answer. He takes it so seriously, too. Dirk can't... say he disagrees, not on a basic philosophical level. The withholding of wealth as a specific crime strikes him as kind of weird compared to all the various misuses and abuses of that wealth, but.... is there a point at which doing nothing at all with it could really be that bad?

Isn't money as a concept kind of made up after a certain point? Wouldn't that be a systemic problem rather than an individual one?

It really doesn't fucking matter--not on Earth C, where the economy is fake and pretty much exists for fun and something to do, and not here either, where the existence of a real 'aconomy' assumes a level of completeness that this world pretty flagrantly lacks.

Which makes Hythlodaeus' answer much more satisfying as well as interesting.

"Yeah, it'd be pretty fucked up if they were real, but--" he gestures loosely with one hand, "I have experience with this exact thing. Pretty sure they're only real insamuch as they possess intrinsic motivation and a consistent physical presence; they 'fill out' the world, that's it."

He shifts to rub his chin thoughtfully, or at least rub the scruffy dusting of off-white on his chin.

"Mayhem sounds good to me. The clone-a-cops have never succeeded in stopping a suitably motivated player character--by which I mean me--before. I almost had a chance to find out what happens if a plot event isn't satisfactorily resolved by the players, but the Aurora League stopped me before I got that far."

A half-second pause.

"By which I mean Ford, really. Ford Pines stopped me. He's not bad one-on-one, but if you ever have to tangle with him, look out for the metal plate in his skull. It hurts like a motherfucker if you hit it by mistake."

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This road is going nowhere [Closed]

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cw 'gay and homophobic'

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