#notasinglescratch

@notasinglescratch

> You walk out of the station with a grin on your face at the delightful buzz your prank had caused. Really a more perfect person couldn’t have fallen for it; Feferi was bound to fall into one of your expert pranks at some point or another. Now that she has, she was an official member of the MCPD. You’re just glad she was more of the more graceful initiates. There are plenty of people who think of your pranks as “unnecessary” but really if it weren’t for you half of them would be humorless coffee chugging zombies right now.

> You’re taking a break to eat now, deciding to leave the station before Pembrooke gets it in his head that you need to help Fef clean up the wet mess in the break room. Besides, it’s almost time for your lunch break anyway. Might as well get a head start if you were going to be staking out new food places to try. Hmm… You pull out your phone and pull up the co-ords to that Chinese food place that one blue hatted Felt sent you a day or so back. Most people wouldn’t take the suggestion from a mobster, but hey, food is food and it seems to be one of the few things in the universe people can bond and agree over. It sounds like it would actually be worth a try.

> You make a quick post about where you’re going so nobody fusses when they see you’re not around and head off towards the co-ordinates. It’s not that far, just a bus ride away and a walk that lasts two blocks and you’ll be there. You haven’t been exploring in that area before anyway so this might be fun. The bus ride doesn’t take long at all, and after a brisk walk you soon find yourself at “Soon Fatt Chinese Restaurant”. Huh, looks nice, but taste is the most important sense in the hallowed halls of a food establishment.

@notasinglescratch

There isn’t you much you can say about yourself in this very precise moment but a bunch of wrong decisions tried to be turned into the correct ones. You know this is a bad idea, and you know this is going to put you in more peril than actual sitting and waiting. But you don’t want to be just sitting and waiting while fiddling your thumbs.

Your father is missing, he has gone somewhere, isolated on the river and you aren’t about to let him just fall into whatever this foggy mess is. If you have to drag him out yourself might as well be. Not that you can, your physical attributes are kind of.. so to say... shit.

But you will talk about it, you guess. In all honestly you don’t know what you’re going to do, you are bad at this think on your feet impulsive kind of deal, so you are going to have to manage with your own views and your own reality trying to match themselves for a mildly conclusive situation.

In other words. You will burn those bridges when you get there.

You’re at the riverside, trying to scout the place, in hindsight Cronus was right, this was a terrible idea to come alone. On the other hand you’re mildly certain even if you were with him you would have banished the moment he turned a corner faster than you did. “Dad...?” Your voice breaks on the fog, and you raise it, trying to get the same potent energy you use for the courtroom.  “Father? Scratch? Are you here?”

Two unusual days in a row. You are kind of wondering why on earth would be so unlucky or so odd. You hope this is going to be another normal day at the radio, so you for once arrive early because there is some minor news you have to organize. When there is not a lot of material you have to make sure to make it entertaining and balanced as possible.

Since much of what you are doing is relaunch halloween late, it’s not that difficult. It’s just so much as having to come up with more voices to interpret your next weekend reading. Because that’s a thing you do now. You live read on sundays, which used to be your free day, but not anymore. It’s all about picking a new short story, a spooky one. 

And while your head is full of this things and your hands full of papers and notes and corrections you mindlessly walk into the radio station until someone stops you. One of your coworkers say that you have a visitor waiting for you. For fucks sake it better not be Cronus again. He is inside the break room they say. Ugh. You tell them you are going.

You shove most of your papers in your bag before taking the pencil from your ear and scratch a couple words out, you replace them quickly. And you do this, and mindlessly walk in doing this because you feel safe enough to not pay attention. You just close the door behind you don’t care that you two are alone, someone that you haven’t even bothered to examine.  “You needed me for something?” And that’s a problem because when you look up the person in front of you is anything safe.

He escrito 20 borradores diferentes hoy, ninguno resume lo que estoy sintiendo.

Tengo muchos sentimientos encontrados, quizás es porque me duele el cráneo y mi cerebro está hecho un batido, que sigue luchando por escapar de mi craneo.

O quizás todo es tan complicado e incongruente que mi cerebro simplemente se rindió.

You’re furious. And you’ve been tearing the city apart for nearly 24 hours straight. There’s no evidence. No blood. No bullet. Nothing on the rooftops except for the shattered glasses Droog and you left behind. The rage fuels your shadow magic to the point you can barely contain it. Flames billow from your fingertips and every person you snatch up for an impromptu interview gets a little taste of the heat.

You’re deep into Felt territory now. There’s rumors of the law being behind the attack but even in your current state, you know better than to go knocking over a precinct based on a hunch and a rumor.

For some reason, this logic does not apply when you decide to get more information from Snowman, herself. The universe hasn’t died yet so she must be in the manor. Right as rain, you assume. And you’re gonna get some answers. You don’t bother messaging her, seeing as the last time you did, she left you on read.

Deuce at left you and Mituna at the fog base. So far of your own there yo had Mitu, Paint and Gamzee. Not long after Deuce left you slipped out yourself to continue your search for your family.

You think you’ve gotten near the river, though it’s hard to be sure with your phone still bugging out and the signs hiding their text from you with whatever fog magic makes that happen. You hear it before you see it. Something breathing heavily, almost wheezy you think like air being squeezed through a narrow space.

By this time you are much more inclined that is the sound of a monster than an injured person. You approach cautiously, as sick of monsters as you are, this is probably one of those lure beasts so you have to act with care rather than charging in to slaughter it like the bumbling zombies and mutant dogs.

As you move through the fog, you start to make out the sigh of the thing. It’s some sort of coil creature, big round white thing with a maw of needles. Some poor soul is trapped in those coils and- Wait. You would know those stubby horns anywhere. Your brother Karkat. It has YOUR BROTHER. Your gut reaction is to scream at it and charge in chainsaw swinging, but you are your father’s daughter. A rash approach could land you trapped in those coils with Karkat.

You can’t see any eyes on it, so perhaps it can’t see. You carefully take up a position of cover. You need to cut Karkat free without hurting him and you probably need to do it at a run. Cut, grab him and bolt out of reach as fast as possible. But first, distract it, give yourself as much of an advantage as possible.

You throw a knife with practiced aim a short distance from the creature onto the ground so it makes a sharp clatter. A test to see how it reacts.

The lights in your cabin slowly brighten, arousing you from your nap. A shame, you were having such an interesting dream. But there it goes, already slipping away from you as you stretch. A hostess offers you one last refreshment before landing.

“Thank you,” you tell her, accepting an Old Fashioned made neat.

Derse looks so small from up here. Oh, that reminds you, you’ll need a new pack of cigarettes when you land. You don’t smoke often but all the traveling and rubbing shoulders with big wigs got you blowing through your emergency pack. You jot that down in your little, red notebook.

A father and son have a talk about what love is and how to handle it.