36

So it turns out that “home” is an entirely abstract concept. A state of mind, if you will, rather than a literal, physical construct that can make you feel one way or the other. Terezi’s been gone long enough that her friends seem like strangers: entangled in relationship dynamics that she’s obliquely excluded from, embroiled in petty feuds, obsessed with politics.

Oh, do you want to know how those petty feuds and political obsessions turned out by the way? I thought it was pretty obvious, but I’ll say what’s up anyway.

Jane swept the election, of course. I told you I was going to win. After Jake’s incoherent and scandalous heel-turn at Karkat’s ill-fated rally, no amount of esoteric, three-dimensional jpeg artefacts could have salvaged the Vantas campaign. Besides, Dave and Karkat now have other concerns. Mainly that their BFF Jade has been in a coma for an entire month. They’ve been in and out of the hospital handling her affairs. Her next of kin is listed as John Egbert, and no one’s seen him in ages. It’s like he just disappeared suddenly. Like some great hand came out of the sky and crossed his name off the big list of guys we ever need to give a shit about anymore.

Terezi heard about Jade from a rather harried Kanaya, who is doubtlessly run ragged from the hot-potato plot circles that I’ve been sending her on for weeks to stop her from reading me the riot act for “kidnapping” her lovely wife. The woman is obviously hysterical and needs to chill the fuck out. I mean, she’s hysterical because I’ve been specifically and deliberately causing her to be that way, sure. But still. She should be fine soon enough.

It takes Terezi a couple days to work up the…

The what, exactly? What is she supposed to be feeling right now? I’m not sure myself. Maybe I should take a minute to think about the thing you’re supposed to feel when someone goes through whatever the hell it was she just went through. If I come up with any ideas, I could easily do her the favor of helping her feel it.

Whatever it is she’s supposed to feel, what she actually feels is empty. Colorless, dried up, as she walks beneath a holographic billboard displaying Jane’s glorious victory speech. The ceremony accompanying the speech is patently absurd, stuffed with so much pomp and circumstance that Terezi’s nose can’t make sense of what she’s supposed to be looking at. It’s all just light and color, signifying nothing.

Her internal smelloscope is so discombobulated from the onslaught of pastry-themed floats, and Jane’s tearful soliloquy on the Legacy of Responsibility she is about to inherit, that she mistakes the figure walking into the hospital for someone else entirely.

Roxy stops in her tracks and looks to Terezi in confusion. They exchange an awkward silence. Kanaya told her that Roxy had been going through some changes, but Terezi would have never expected… this.

Of course, from the side it was impossible to see- or smell, rather- her trademark Mutie symbol, but now that they’re facing each other, it’s as clear as day on her letterman’s jacket. Upon a second whif, Terezi notices the Void symbol branded across the back. Roxy’s hair was now longer, the form of a sort of mullet, with a pompadour jutting out. It’s a ridiculous, giant, forward-jutting spiral of hair that hangs over her face, now decked out with some pink shutter shades. This is definitely a different look, and I’m not going to judge. I’m very proud of her for reaching step 10 of Dave’s “no homo” plan. Actually, this is probably even further than step 10. She picked the worst kind of shades though, completely butchering the Strider family tradition of very cool looking glasses covering our uniquely colored eyes. Shutter shades defeat the entire point, making her pupils visible to anyone she’s having a conversation with. You know what, Roxy can wear the Strider family fashion style however she pleases, she’s family. Besides, I’m T-minus ten hours from fucking off this gay Earth forever. It’s her life, her gender, her style—she can be whatever the fuck she wants.

Roxy’s whole face lights up when she sees Terezi.

Terezi’s jaw tightens. She’s not ready to hear any words that remind her of those few hours with John. Her hand goes to her pocket, where she’s keeping the wallet. She traces the contours of it with her thumb and forces a smile.

Roxy seems almost effusive despite the circumstances. An earthy, genuine effusiveness that lights her up from inside. Terezi’s head is filled with stories about a different version of Roxy—the polar opposite of the one standing in front of her.

Pay respects? No, that’s dumb. Terezi knows that’s dumb. This is just a motion you go through. John would definitely want to be here, though, and technically Terezi is taking him with her. He may be in her pocket, but lately she’s been feeling more like he’s under her skin. She hasn’t told anyone what happened. But at least she knows she can look at him whenever she wants.

This is absolutely inexcusable. I just got through writing you that masterfully crafted tearjerker of a death scene and you repay me by undermining all of the emotional weight I poured my soul into? Not cool, dude. I spent thirty pages grinding the god damn tension, keeping you alive and tormented, giving you a faint moment of hope, and all before putting out the fire of your life with the grace and dignity any man would want: by letting you act like a dork in your dying moments in front an alien you hooked up with within an hour of meeting in person for the second time in your life. The absolute least you could do to repay me is stay dead, considering you are of absolutely no use to me anymore.

Whatever. We were in the middle of something, so let’s get back to it. Except we can’t, because now Terezi is too distracted by seeing an alive John walking about to continue this basic conversation. Come on, don’t worry about him. You’re not here for him.

So you can hear me. I knew you could, but I had to be sure.

I’ve been “having a moment”, like you are, for most of my entire life. I wasn’t given any space to breathe then so I don’t see why I should give you any now.

Nice save, but you should really tell her about me. Tell her I’m just stoked about her new “fashion style”.

Oh, my bad. I forgot they were a them, I’ll be sure to remember their very cool new pronouns going forward. It fits their obviously very androgynous look super well.

I know as much as I need to, but let’s stop beating around the bush. You know you don’t belong here, with them. You belong in the vast expanse of space. How can you possibly see this “paradise planet” as home? What you’re looking for isn’t on this rock. You should come with me.

Damn it. We’ll talk about this later, Pyrope.