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[uber_marionettist]

You called
I'm gone
Or I can't be fucked to answer y'all
Irrelevant masses, watching behind my glasses
Full Gendo Ikari, he ain't got nothing on me,
I got it worked out like Tomodachi
So it's fair you thought that you'd found a 'friend'
But machination's where our similarities end.
Keep shit in perspective: I'm super effective
And if a match to lose is your objective
Then you made the right call, your nerve's damn impressive
They haven't found the point I can't diverge from yet.
I get that you're set on a tête-à-tête
But if you ain't got options then nothing's a better bet
Challenging the Ultimate will just be another you regret.
Now that I've verbalised why you're wasting my time
I'm actually curious, was your decision that spurious
Or if you really have something to bring to the table,
Cause my rate's usurious, but shit, call me epicurious
I'm all anticipatory verbs, waitin' on your word
To salvage my rhymes, make it a duet.

[A spontaneous rap, recorded in his characteristic over-enunciated drawl. You've reached Dirk's voicemail.

Leave a message.]

Comments

text; a little after Terezi's intro

[amaure]

So, when you had previously spoken of my "very own Brain Ghost Hythlodaeus", I had assumed that was merely your wit at play. An ironically accurate—if somewhat cruel—play on words around the cultivation of his existence. Yet, I see you make mention of a "Brain Ghost Dirk" that you simultaneously are and are not.

I am curious about this other you that is not you, will you indulge me?

[uber_marionettist]

Sure. Yeah. Of course.

No problem.

Now's as good a time as any to explain aspects and classes as a lead-in to yet another fucked-up way Jake English used me as protection against personal accountability or consequences, right?

So.... fuck it, you want this to start with Hythlodaeus and work towards Jake or start with Jake and work towards Hythlodaeus?

[amaure]

How about we start with Jake, seeing as I well know Hythlodaeus.

But, ere we begin, I will ask: are you truly all right with speaking on this matter? You have a very telling manner in which you write, you know.

[uber_marionettist]

Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be? Just because Jake is a two-faced snake of a man who only ever accomplished anything by accident, or else by someone else's design?

Yeah, so maybe I'm a little sore. So what. I won't deny that what he accomplished using his Hope powers and my ever-multiplying Self was damn impressive.

Hope is Jake's Aspect, the same way Rose's is Light and Terezi's is Mind and mine is Heart. There's no overall 'strong' or 'weak' Aspects how they manifest is inextribaly tied to the player's Class, but even in the hands of a total loser, Hope's ridiculously OP. In fact, I'd say total losers are probably the only kinds of players who get an Aspect like Hope, and they're also the only ones who're really able to bring out its potential. Which is why Jake English's vacuous mindscape was a real Hope-flavoured motherlode, because it's all about the power of belief.

Pair that up with the deeply intimate, lifelong bond between his desperately deluded but still decidedly-delectable derriere and the Soul-destroying, Self-powered Prince of Heart and you have a one-of-a-kind recipe for a bona fide splinter of yours truly, living full-time in the space where any decent man would have had a brain. Thinking his thoughts for him, packaging them up into easily-digestible irony-coated Striderims to help them go down, and standing heroically between him and any possibility of real risk or reward.

[amaure]

Well, you have perfectly executed why I had inquired about whether or not you should speak of this, but now I believe this may be some overdue catharsis. Though, one must wonder the queer nature of this creation, that in not knowing his own mind--and from the sound of it, there is not much to know--he would create that which he felt responsible for it instead. The man who influenced him so greatly. Whom he had put very clear stock and trust in, but could not face due to his own cowardice. Viewed thus: it only makes sense he would create you, but in so doing he likewise continued to run from the reality of you. Confiding in what amounts to a fantasy, and nothing more. Had he half as much brain as he had of his supposed supple buttocks, mayhap he'd have better sense to know what he was pushing away, alas.

Valuing the fraudulent to the authentic as he did... That is why he does not deserve you, and you, my dear, deserved better.

Nevertheless, I do find myself interested in these classes and aspects the more I hear of them, but "Hope" is especially interesting. So too "Heart". In a sense, Hope operates much like the powers of creation that me and mine utilized. Through belief and our masterful weaving of our nigh boundless aether, we could create just about anything our hearts desired.

Which, as I know you are aware, is how Hythlodaeus came to be. As such, I feel this is what you building towards with your explanation, and so I will not steal your thunder. Pray continue, and if you have more thoughts on the matter of Hope, Heart, and your ex-lover, ever is my ear yours.

[uber_marionettist]

I don't know. It's not that I didn't know what I was doing. I'm the one who set him up with this grandiloquent hero's legacy idea of me. I'm the one who told him who he should be, what kind of man he could be if he just let me show him how. I let him think he could actually achieve it. Shit, I thought he could. It was on me to measure up to what I advertised, and I didn't.

I sold him on an unattainable fantasy.

Hope's all about that shit. I let both of us down, and he made it real. For him only, but hey. I got the doggy bag of memories a few years down the line, right when I needed them most.

That's why I'm here, doing what I'm doing. Letting go of fantasy to save what's left of reality because no one else will.

Which brings me to... well, me. The Prince of Heart, Heart being my Aspect. It more or less directly translates to the Aspect of the Soul. You probably see the connection already. Jake, with his Hope powers, cross-pollinated his fantasy with my Heart powers and made a bona fide splinter that's equal parts him and me. A spiritual lovechild to keep him safe from all those difficult thoughts and sticky situations he was always tripping on.

At first his Brain Ghost of me was just that--a ghosty apparition of me that he consulted in times of trouble or indecision or mildly strenuous thought. As time went on and Brain Ghost Dirk kept working out so well... he got a little more real. And then he got a little more real, and a little more real after that again. Soon he was visible to others. Or... whatever. Olfactible.

Then he became truly corporeal. At his apex? That uncanny Dirk-without-Dirk was able to straight-up use my soul-destroying powers in defence of his hapless, Hopeless-cum-Hopeful boyfriend.

[amaure]

Yes, that is indeed the power of belief—of hope— even in my own world, it makes perfect sense to me. That, likewise, such an aspect could delve into others such as yours follows along such expectations. Though, what I do find rather interesting is that, try as we might, even the most powerful and talented among us in matters of creation could not forge a new soul, for our laws of reality dictated only through the natural process of life should a soul be granted. So, that his powers would defy such is curious indeed.

Though, I do suppose we likewise had defied our own laws of reality by creating a god that could restructure such natural order, but I digress.

However, while Hythlodaeus lacks a soul unlike this other Dirk, I would wager he has likewise obtained the same measure of power and ability as the man he is a simulacrum of. So, that this other Dirk would be able to wield your power is of small surprise to me, such is a staple within the bounds of creation.

With that being said, I do not think it prudent that you take all the blame for Jake's shortcomings. While one might manipulate a specific end, there is always a choice to be made by the manipulated, some inherent flaw of theirs that plays into the hand of the puppet master, but ultimately the resistance to the pull of the strings and what is achievable is on the marionette.

That, and I would not think you'd find yourself beholden to one so mindless and unaccountable for his own actions. I will not deny your hand in what transpired, but to utterly rob him of blame would likewise leave him bereft of his own personhood, and I doubt that you would agree that he is not his own man, yes?

You cannot sell someone on that which they truly do not wish to purchase. He wanted a fantasy, you merely supplied his desires—if aught at all, fault is in equal shares, yet it is you whom I'd wager suffered far more for it.

[uber_marionettist]

I don't think his powers could have created such an authentic version of me without mine. In fact, I'm goddamn positive. But you're right. And after putting all that emphasis on the 'real thing,' he wasted like no time at all ditching me for the newer model.

But these events were never going to happen any other way. It's impossible to see the results as anything but inevitable.

So I still don't know if Jake is 'his own man' or not, but it doesn't matter. Choice is immaterial to Paradox Space. It just felt so fucking important at the time... most things from back then did. And even the shit that seemed like it wasn't important turned out to be. That's how this shit works.

I don't know why I'm talking about this any more. Ugh. Yeah, this is a fucking train wreck. An absolute goddamn shitshow. I must have been worked up over the whole tire fire before with Terezi and John and Jane all piling in on my ass like I'm the guy in the fucking wrong. Let's go ahead and pretend I didn't crash and burn just now. What was it you actually wanted to know?

[amaure]

Dirk, if there is anyone here in which you should be able to confide your frustrations, pain, and past grief in, it is me. What I wish to know pales in comparison to this, and as such can wait.

Would you like my company?

[uber_marionettist]

Dude. Please.

I'm fine.

I'm better than fine.

I'm doing great.

Got some wires crossed, got my thoughts in a little bit of a tangle there, but that's over, I'm over it. What's next. Classes? I only covered aspects, you probably want to know about the classes.

[amaure]

[Hades can't help but feel as though it'd be a less humiliating display were Dirk to just outright admit that he's hurting, instead of this mummer's farce that's more transparent than air.

He'll humor him, in as much as he'll respond to his messages, but he is certainly making his way over as they speak.]

Very well, if you're certain. Pray enlighten me of these classes. I know you are a Prince, but I know little what that truly means within the suitable context.

[uber_marionettist]

Thank you.

Broadly speaking, classes are divided into 'active' and 'passive,' with a corresponding class of the other type on either side of the equation.

Princes are active destruction classes, so in combination with my Aspect, the quickest definition would be calling myself the Destroyer of Souls. A little pretentious, maybe. But accurate. The passive counterpart, the Bard, is about catalysing or enabling destruction through their Aspect, but Princes just wreck shit directly. So yeah, I can destroy souls. That's a thing.

There's more to it than that, though.

As the trade-off for their power, Princes usually pay with their own part of that Aspect in order to target the same thing externally of themselves.

Obviously I'm still here, so I haven't nuked myself out of existence. Not yet, anyway. But really, there are a few ways to interpret the destruction of a soul. That's what my splinters are. Not just the alternate timeline Dirks, everyone has those. I mean the Hals and the Brain Ghost Dirks and the Arquius Sprites and Lord English and Doc Scratch. All of them. And I hated them. I hated me for being them, and them for being me. Maybe that doesn't make a lot of sense. But it's not about dying it's about having the kind of self where if you fight it, you will absolutely fucking drown.

The further from me the splinters develop, the more it seemingly overwhelms the source. And the more of me there is, the more oppressive my existence. I felt like I was locked in endless battle against my own self and everything it spawned, like I was just trying to be true to me, but in order to do that, I thought I had to wage some kind of endless internal war against my own infinite persona, all my worst, most basic, most exaggerated traits.

But it's not that fucking simple. It just took me way too long to figure that out.

[amaure]

[He will not be thanking him for long, or at least not for what he is now, because while Dirk's tapping away at that explanation, Emet is making his way through Goldenrod. It's a good thing the walk isn't too terribly far, but he also keeps an eye on his 'Gear, if only to leave Dirk from being too suspicious if he's silent for too long.]

Fascinating. Like your classes, the elements or aspects of aether in my world likewise follow the rule of passivity and activity. Though, technically speaking, each element can be influenced by either effect, there are those predisposed towards a specific type than the others. The passive, or astral—thus being linked to light—are fire, ice, and wind, while the active—umbral, thus dark—are lightning, earth, and water.

Though, some know them better as the conquests and the submissions, it all translates the same. Together, they form an elemental wheel to maintain balance in the world, and act appropriately under the influence of darkness or light.

With that being said, I do find it rather interesting that these classes would fall into such categories, instead of the aspects themselves. For none such disciplines of war nor magic can truly fall under such categories, and if at all, I would much rather say they are of the umbral persuasion. In short, I find these differences all rather curious. Though, I am not surprised at all that a class can be so self-destructive as yours is, depending on the discipline, so too can one face their end if they are none too careful with their ambitions.

Many would-be black mages have burned themselves from the inside out with improper practice of the dark arts, for example.

However, I find my mind mostly wondering about the nature of these splinters, being the Lord of the Underworld as I am, my domain is that of souls, and besides the Sundering, nary have I heard of soul shards, fragments, or splinters—least of all those of your unique distinction. That they would vary so utterly is fair strange indeed. Enough that your very soul would reflect such differences, when otherwise the soul should come together no different than a body of water might.

Ere we continue, might I suggest you open your door?

[Because he is now standing outside of it. While he's not one to move swiftly, he can when he deems it worthy of the effort. Fortunately for Dirk, he's one deemed so.]

[uber_marionettist]

[I'm going to let you in on a little secret here. My thoughts don't always make sense. Not to me, not in general. I don't mean, you know, the mad lad did it, he said he was going to lie down right here on the floor, and now he's done it! I mean I find steps missing. Thoughts or sequences gone. And where a mind of reason might have assumed their intent, I have no such indication of deeper reading. Something's just missing.

This time, it's after reading all of Emet's text--about elements, war and mages, balance and darkness and light. Pretty standard worldbuilding fare, to be honest, and it takes me almost a full second to process that final sentence.

I'm seized immediately by two impulses. The first, a logical response, is to jump up and throw open the door.

The second, which makes no sense and is physically impossible, is to slam the door shut, right in his face. If these ideas were consecutive--a process, you know, open door, see Emet, slam door--that would be one thing. But there's no step A to the second idea. I just think I need to slam the already-closed door in his face.

Maybe that doesn't seem like a lot to you. Not in the grand scheme of things, certainly. But it's a symptom, and the fact that I can never locate the source from which those symptoms follow...

It's not even that I don't want him here. I do. I'm tired, I'm stressed, I could use... I could use something to keep my mind off it. But I'm still texting him back instead of opening the door.]

What if I don't?

[Why? No good reason, frankly. I'm just frustrated and taking it out him.

I know that's not what I want. If he turns around and leaves, it'll serve me right.

I sit for a second or two, giving him time to receive the message, then I get up and open the door.]

[amaure]

[There's a part of him that wondered if he'd get a reaction like this. That Dirk would become obstinate due to being mislead, but likewise the fact he's vulnerable after being hurt by his...well, one would call them friends, but Hades isn't sure if Dirk would. It isn't that he had some idea in his head that Dirk would throw wide the door and fall into his arms, either, that this would go smoothly at all with him getting the jump on Dirk while he's in a very obvious emotional state.

So when he receives the message, he's prompt to reply:]

Well, it would get awkward fairly quickly with me standing here while I wait for you to change your mind.

[It's a playful response, because he's not entirely bothered by Dirk's obstinance, but it would also be quite silly for Dirk to punish the man that's on his side. Fortunately, Dirk opens the door, and he's greeted by Hades' empathetic smile as he walks right in. A few steps past the door, he pivots on a heel to face Dirk, his arms out on either side as he gestures with a curl of his fingers in a beckoning motion, inviting him to embrace him.]

Come to me, my dear.

-> Prose

[uber_marionettist]

If Hades was hoping to utilise the element of surprise, he does a good job. Dirk had expected something more along the lines of Hades' usual brisk informality, maybe an affectionate word or two couched in that casual, barely-concealed flair for the dramatic.

Instead, he gets brazen absurdity. The effect is straight-up derailment, genuine need and poorly-executed self-suppression crashing into each other on the tracks of raw bafflement. There's a moment of silence, just a heartbeat long, before exasperation and affection humour, bubbling up through the cracks, tip the hasty barrier he'd erected to conceal his current hurt.

His face makes contact with the palm of his hand, the leather of his fingerless gloves doing a poor job of protecting his shades from smeary prints. He doesn't laugh, not exactly, but there's a huff of breath that might be close to it before he gives up, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around Hades in a crushing embrace. Maybe there's something undignified about burying his face in another man's breast, squeezing him tight--but maybe it's still enough to pretend emotional intensity is just masculine strength.

[amaure]

Even as it takes Dirk a few moments to process the scene before him and to follow Hades' instructions, he holds the pose, the invitation, the warmth. Even as he facepalms, and baffled exasperation takes him, Hades' only change is the width of his smile. Then Dirk is upon him, face mashed against his bosom, arms squeezing him with strength and desperation in equal measure.

Likewise, his own arms encompass Dirk, holding him firmly against him—not that he needed the assistance with that. It isn't only Dirk's proximity that warms him, but the pure gesture and surrender to affection this is, that he would accept his offer of comfort, to admit the hurt he's feeling—his suffering—with his actions. For a few beats he holds him there in succoring silence, only the beat of his heart to be heard, and only by Dirk.

Bringing a hand up to the back off Dirk's neck, he trails his gloved fingers up through his hair, rubbing the pads of them into his scalp with soothing strokes. When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is low and loving.

"If you wish to speak of aught at all, I am ever your captive audience, you know."

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk knows it's pathetic, but being pathetic where no one except your partner can see you is part of being in a relationship. The soft material of Hades' glove comes to rest on the back of his neck, and moving gradually upward to knead and rub his scalp in a way Dirk could only describe as... tender. He closes his eyes, just for a few seconds.

"There's literally nothing I wish to 'speak of' less." It comes out in a huff, but he doesn't actually end the embrace, doesn't break away or release Emet from his tight hold. He plans to, he just wants another moment like this.

[amaure]

"Very well."

The way he speaks it is soft and airy, more breathed against the top of Dirk's head than truly spoken. No judgement, no shaming, just accepting his answer and holding him close. That Dirk would likewise stay as he is, holding him so tight, says more than it doesn't. Similarly, Hades remains as he is, fingers rubbing and stroking him in that selfsame tender way, loving and gentle, yet not in a way that'd imply Dirk is fragile, though he definitely is.

There is something truly peaceful in this moment. The comfort in the embrace, the silent, mutual understanding. The intimacy between them spoken through action, not words. Something utterly felt and experienced, not told. To trust and be trusted—there is no better feeling.

[uber_marionettist]

If only, Dirk thinks, the magic could last forever. This moment, this... feeling. The comfort. The sense of satiation, of completion. Of... peace. But the fact that he's thinking that means it's already passing. His own thoughts breaking the spell. It's not the same as it was with Jake--there's something different, something less. Convincing, maybe. Maybe it never will be the same. But he doesn't want to think about that.

He releases the breath he's just taken in-a heavy sigh--and opens his eyes again, his arms slackening just enough to give Hades a bit of forewarning before he lets go altogether.

"....ugh. Yeah. Okay. Splinters. That's what you were asking about last, right?" He doesn't actually need to ask. He remembers the last several minutes' worth of messages in immaculate detail.

"Do you want to know about what makes them different from what I would have called 'my' soul, or what makes them so separate to begin with? Or am I misunderstanding?"

[amaure]

Hades has learned the importance of the end. Of how, when applied at the right time, it can embolden the meaning of something. A time shared, a gesture received, even lives. All of it is a cycle, and without the end, beginings could never be, and the contrast, the duality of such allows one to cherish it. To take it not for granted, to feel the joy and love that would otherwise be mundane and expected should it never pass.

That should their touch never break, he would not be able to enjoy the tickle of electricity through his nerves, the warmth that accompanies it when Dirk's hand, arm, or other miscellaneous body part touches him anew. The warmth it fills him, the drum of his heart... The reminder of the affection betwixt them.

So, when Dirk breaks away from the hold, it does not wear heavy on him, but makes him more appreciative of the warmth they shared mere moments ago. The brisk reminder of what he could indulgence is but an arms' length away, of what affection he nearly lost, of what is still his.

Soft, affectionate eyes scan over Dirk, looking for some sign that this line of conversation is not what they should continue. That Dirk might merely need to rest his mind and his emotions for the moment, to lay down his weary head against Hades chest--but he does not quite see the signs.

So, instead, he nods.

"Yes. In my world, those who are fractured are nigh identical to their complete selves. Granted, because of the mortal races, there are indeed some changes, but from what I understand, your own splinters are...far more vast in disparities than that." With a slight tilt of his head, a thoughtful hum leaving him, he adds, "I do suppose what caused the fracture of your soul has been something upon my mind as well."

[uber_marionettist]

Dirk stands there for a second, weighing his options in his head. He's already got so many hot irons and broken threads, so many plans and strategies and attempts and failures and goals and frustrations clanging around in there that he decides it's better to start granular and get big. Build from the ground up, as it were.

"...okay. Yeah. Let me get some paper and a drafting pencil. It'll help."

These are not difficult things to find in Dirk Strider's personal quarters. He finds the latter on the floor by his mattress and the former on his drafting table.

"So, the thing you need to understand about Paradox Space is that its named that way for a reason. Everything that will be already is, and everything that was exists because of things that are happening and have yet to happen. Some of these events aren't even part of the same 'timeline' or whatever, even though it is all part of the same moebius strip." As he speaks, he draws. First a moebius strip at the top, and then below it, two vertical parallel lines.

At the bottom of one, he draws a hat. Next to it, he draws the disembodied head of Lil Cal.

At the bottom of the other, he draws a stylised heart. Next to it, he draws a crescent moon.

He points at the second timeline first.

"Let's try this... what you see here is the symbol for my Aspect. We'll say this represents what most people think of as 'me.' But I already had another self. It's one all players have." He taps the crescent moon. "This is my Dream Self. A second 'self' that lives on one of the two warring moon kingdoms in the Incipisphere. A lot of players's Dream Selves don't 'wake up' until they're in the game themselves, and often not immediately. But I was awake. Always have been."

Dirk darkens the line extending upwards from these two symbols, then draws a short horizontal line through it a few inches above them. On one side, he writes '13 y/o' and on the other, he draws a pair of his own stylised sunglasses.

"This one's kind of a pain to explain, but when I was thirteen, I made an AI out of a captcha of my own brain. I called him the Auto-Responder. Like everything I did back then, it was a horrible fucking idea and completely inevitable."

He stops there, and draws a bunch of additional figures around the area, including a little rabbit head with triangle shades, and a little effigy of his own head, next to which he writes '-bot.'

Then he darkens some more of the line, just a tiny bit more. He draws another horizontal line. On one side of this line, he writes '16 y/o' and on the other, draws the Heart aspect sign. Then he draws a big, bold X through it.

"It's a long story, but this is the first time I cut off my head, thus beginning a long and illustrious history of gorily efficient problem-solving. I move into my Dream Self's body full-time, and the Game is on."

Another horizontal line. Next to it, the triangle shades to which he appends a plus sign and another symbol.

"This is another long story, but I prototyped my Sprite--which is a Game construct--with the AR, and a smelly fucking clown threw a different guy's decapitated head into the Sprite with him. They became one guy, named Arquius Sprite."

Another horizontal line. A crescent moon, which he crosses out. Next to it, the Heart Aspect. He writes 'god tier' next to it.

"And this is when I became a god--that's a lowercase g, you can see that--by dying on my quest bed and ascending. This is when I started getting a real sense for my splintered selves. I mean that literally, I became aware of all my splinters, and this includes the Brain Ghost Dirk I told you about. He's not on this timeline because I only have so much personal iconography that I can mine to represent my me's, but he exists."

Here he stops, sighs, draws another, shorter vertical line off to the side.

At the bottom of it, he draws one symbol, and then another.

While Emet watches, he scratches out the second symbol, then draws a horizontal line from this third vertical line to the second one.

"A whole bunch of shit happens. The shitty fake-god clown dies. Roxy opens a portal to the Void, which is her Aspect. I try to destroy the soul of this guy," he taps the squiggly-U symbol with his pencil, "whose being held still by Arquius Sprite, and because of all the bullshit, I'm just too fucking sapped. So instead, I try to fling him into the Void, but Arquius Sprite and the dead clown and Lil Cal, who I'll explain in a moment, all go into the Void together." He lifts his pencil, and deadpans a quasi-insincere reaction. "Whoops."

He moves his pencil to the first timeline.