Sailorstuck! Collision Of Fates

"You from the embassy?"

He asks you, goblet in hand. Casually leaning against one of the many gazeboes that belongs in the old garden. Looking every bit (to you, at least) like some prince out of a novella. Except you're not sure if any of those were especially portraying any alien princes. Less so any with silly looking visors constantly over their eyes, even when the sky is too dark for it. Was he there the whole time? Or did he follow you out?

The border palace of Prospit and Derse is much larger than one would think, if what you've learned about the past of these coexisting people who reside on this-- small --planet is anything to go by. The way the sky also seems to split, much like the land itself, is a mind-shattering concept. The native people's magic, and probably-- most likely --that of their respective royalties, is what keeps this strange anomaly intact.

However, here at the border of the two nations, the result of both the countries' kings and queens gathering together in one place for the past month seems to affect the way the atmosphere forms. The Prospitian day is as bright as any Alternian sun (you will never admit that within the first few days of landing, you did not even step outside. Come to find out that the planet's sun was too far from it to burn your skin off), and the Dersian nights are much colder and darker than any you've ever seen, only the light of Prospit blazing right on through and through.

The Dersian prince is still expecting an answer, and there's a nagging thought of how it just would not do to misrepresent your planet or disrespect your Empress by being ill-mannered,"Yes, sir. Cardinal Vanguard, Knight Vantas, Peace Conqueror under Her Radiant Compassion's rule. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord of Derse."

Your introductory is perfect, of course. Peixes-- it's so strange to think of Feferi as a full-fledged Empress now --didn't give the whole teamforce etiquette and language lessons for nothing, even if these peoples mannerisms are weird and their words feel dull on your tongue. Can you believe it? The two of the colonies are some sort of mammalian species that branched away and developed all on their own. Despite uncanny similarities and obvious differences, for the most part it's really quite fascinating. 

And then there's the carapacian portion of the population, but they just as well bring their society's wholeness.

He raises the arch of an eyebrow (a perfect, dark line, a contrast to the fairy-white upon his head) , and you'd like to think you can see his eyes widen in awe beneath his glass shade, instead of the suddenly sly, aloof curve of lip,"Oh?" His voice takes a turn to sultry (or that's what he's trying to do, considering how flat it sounds what's more is that it's working goddamn),"An official, hmm?" 

"...Right. Was there something you wanted?"

The start of a bad pick-up line always did irk you-- there would be days on Homeworld where you'd stare intently, endlessly at a singular line on a page, an infernal scream just barely held back in your vocal box --and your own mouth is forced to twitch upwards. You have to remind yourself 'Do not punch the alien royalty, you are a Soldier of Peace, you need to uphold morale and be an example to your people. You are here in representing your Empress's name, make good on that'.

Oh, but the massive urge to just...deck him a good one. But nevermind, you refrain. You didn't survive this whole time, this whole civil war, to risk execution on a foreign planet.

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of friendly conversation, is there?" He sounds only just disappointed, taking a sip of the dark liquid sloshing lowly in his glass. You can't tell, but you're sure that his eyes still haven't left you. The way it feels is like he's sizing you up, figuring out what advantage he has over you, what the best stratagem might be to take you out; at least he's smart enough to understand that you might be a possible threat, nevermind that you actually are. (Then again, these people have their natural gift of actual fucking magic, so maybe not.)

"I suppose not. We are supposed to be on good terms with each other. My Empress and our people will be leaving shortly though. Is it even worth it if this will be the last we see of each other?"

"Karkat..."

His voice sounds different, his face sadder; worried. How does he know your name?

Wake up..."

There's suddenly a glimmer, strong enough beyond the visor (red, red, red, such a pretty red. Much prettier than yours). He's suddenly too close, hands on your shoulders, your neck, gliding to your face; something holds you back from ripping them off. This is way more than friendly.

The strand of red pulls taut, about to snap, "You need to wake up."  Lips, lips, pale lips--

S N A P

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✮☆★♋★☆✮

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There's something in your block.

You stare into the comforter while the quiet shhfff of the window opening booms in your ears, frozen stiff under the covers.  Someone or something tumbles onto the floor, light, almost noiseless. There's nothing else for a while, and you're about to knock it off as a dream until the edge of your bed fucking dips ever so slightly; you go ramrod rigid.

Can you move quick enough? How fast can you grab your sickle (fake, plastic; a childhood plaything) under your pillow? How fast can you swing it, before the intruder has a chance to do whatever it is they want to do to you? Can you even move right now, afraid and paralyzed as you are? (You can't, oh fucking god you're so scared right now-- is this fucking sleep paralysis??  You're probably about to die from some damn sleep paralysis demon).

You can't remember the last time you'd been this scared. (That's a damn lie, you remember quite clearly. When you were about six human years and everybody else had already left the playground to go home and you thought that no one was coming for you and you were all alone.)

Now or never, you've got to look, maybe it'll be nothing, just your own head playing tricks (oh but you know it's too late for that now, all things considered after a pinch-check you're actually very much awake).

Gathering up whatever fool's courage you have, you wrench your body into sitting up, staring straight on at your invader.

It's a fucking goddamn cat.

Not a fucking goddamn cat, the fucking goddamn cat. From this morning. Same silvery marks lining down its black body. Still fixing you up with that creepy-ass stare, only now it's like it's thinking of how best to eat you.

Just. Why.

"Wh-- I'm at least two floors up, so how??"

What does it want? And why is it here? (How the FUCK did it find you you're tWO FUCKING FLOORS UP!?)

"...Did you follow me or something?" If you really give it some thought, you probably smell like Crabdad, or at least smell like his roe cubes, "Ugh, I bet I probably smell like some kind of fish food to you..."

Rubbing at your temple and stuffing the comforter in your face in exasperation, "No, wait. Maybe I'm just dreaming. Yeah, that's it," That has to be it. You mean, you don't doubt that a cat could scale a whole building if it wanted to. It's the fact that this specific cat came into your room. Specifically. You lift your head up to stare hard at the uninvited intruder, "...Or somehow I'm just inclined to dream about weird cats with creepy-ass eyes now."

"Oh come on, my eyes aren't that bad. That's just rude."

"AAGH-- THE FUCK!!?"

You will deny that you threw yourself as far from the bed as possible. It speaks. It fucking speaks.

"W-what the hell!? You--I--what? I have to be dreaming, right? Okay, yeah, I'm dreaming, this is another one of those weird dreams. H-haha, yeah okay, just another dream." Your self-reassuring is unbelievable at best. Did you take something before sleeping? Do you even have anything that would cause lucid dream hallucinations?? You think not.

It laughs, "Pfff-no, dude, I flew--"

"Oh yeah, mhmm, definitely dreaming. At least it's getting creative now."

"I really did though! C'mon, you're totally not dreaming!" It manages to do its best impression of a cat being annoyed, "Anyways~ Y'see, I've actually been looking for you for a loooong time. You can call me John. It's nice to meet you properly, Karkat!"

"Oh would you look at that, it knows my name. Without me telling it, that's totally not a dream thing."

"Oh!! And you just reminded me, thank you very much for helping me out this morning!" It, or John, keeps going on as if you're actually buying it. Which you totally aren't. "Oops, and sorry for not recognizing you earlier."

"You know what, I think I would have remembered meeting you. Not counting this morning. Seriously, you'd think that this would've been a memorable encounter."

"....You're not really listening at all, are you?" You shake your head. "....It's still a dream to you, isn't it?" You nod, quite vigorously.

It, or he, groans,"Oh, c'mon!! Of course, the one time I'm trying to be serious. I even brought you a present!"

He paws at his neck, ringing a bell that must be hidden underneath fur, and unwinds a rusty-looking hunk of metal, curved and dull, some sort of ugly bracelet.

"...And, why do I want this?"

"Hmm, would you believe me if I said it will make all of your dweams come twue?" he says hopefully.

"Fuck no."

"Dammit. How about...it'll gwant you magical powers and stuff to hewp you defeat stwange and evil things that may or may not be awwoof right now?"

"That's gonna be a nope. Please, stop talking like that."

"Didn't think so, but worth a try. Oh well...what if I--"

"Look, I really appreciate you trying, as far as dream apparitions go, to spice up the variety a little, but I should probably, y'know, sleep? Because I have a fucking school to go to in the morning??"

It-- he, John, makes this very peeved sound and glares, "....You know what, here, just hold it," he tosses it with a twist of his head into your palms, catching it by auto-reflex before you can even refuse. The cat stares intensely, "...Well? Anything?"

There is a nicely blooming pain around your forehead, and your knuckles are beginning to itch, but other than that, you don't...feel? Anything? Maybe? Does he mean the insistence of the dream wanting to fool around with his subconscious? (Or even, more subconsciously, that sometimes you imagine red strings that connect to things?) (There are stories about that stuff called strings of fate but it's only stories, and your imagination can run pretty wild if you don't reel it in.)

"...Err...?"

"Oh--uhm, wait! Try this!" He jumps into a very dumb-looking pose-- or rather it's a little cute, but still awkward-looking for a cat --his bell ringing with the motion, "'Cancer Prisma Power, Make Up' ! Say that!"

"Like hell--"

"Just do it! If you do it and nothing happens, t-then I'll leave, I promise! You won't ever have to see a single trace of me ever again. I'll literally disappear, like the breeze! Cat's honor!"

That makes you trust him even less while also guilt-tripping you at the same time. But it's the sad, gloomy tone of this kitty that gets to you. Totally not the weird tingle that goes down your spine as a coincidental brush of wind comes in through the still-open window. (It's totally not the twisting feeling in your gut that if the cat leaves then you're going to feel so, so sad.)

"...Alright, give me a moment," You're going to begrudgingly comply, fully reluctant and skeptical. The worst that could happen is...well, you don't know. Don't even have an idea for the best that could happen either, since you don't really know what you want from this-- you know, aside from making him leave if what he's hoping for doesn't happen. Your limbs awkwardly do a poor imitation of the cat's pose.

Here goes nothing, you guess....

"CANCER PRISMA POWER, MAKE UP!!"

You most definitely are not expecting the geyser of the brightest light, sparkles, and incandescent swirling of colors to blind you from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. Instead of imploding into panic as one would normally do when thrust into such a tremendous sight, you're surprisingly relaxing withing the brightness. Your body seems to move on it's own, being directed by soft, glancing feather-touches, the feeling of silk running over your bare skin. Not just your skin, but against your soul, heart, spirit, whatever. Up against your very being, whatever makes up your core. Brushing about the slightest touch of a long forgotten faded memory, just barely pricking the surface before sinking deep down again. And all there is left for you to think about is that one, distinct feeling. The one that makes you almost dread going to sleep, and the same for waking up. Because when you do, it's all gone, and you're just yourself but...incomplete. The light strips you bare, down to nothing, rends you apart entirely. Then builds you back up, layer by layer, piece by piece, fragment by interlocking fragment until there's something other than what Karkat Vantas was before.

There is just...the purest feeling of something, and you don't even have any words for it.

 ★♋★

By the time you come out of it, whatever it was, you feel hells of light-headed and unusually hyped with a dizzying amount of energy. As if you've had a whole pot of coffee loaded with all the sugar, cream and energy slush you could ever have and downed it all, your body is just ready to fucking go.

"Whu...?"

John's eerie azure eyes are lit up with joy, completely over the moon, like that of child who's just received all his birthday presents on a completely normal day.

"Urghh, my fucking head...the hell was that?" You keep trying to shake your head clear of the suddenly muzzy haze, your legs feeling unsteady out of nowhere. For some reason it feels like there's dust or glitter in your eyes.

"Take it easy. How about you just give yourself a moment, 'kay?"

"Okay...?" It's at that point your legs decide that they just fail at everything, so instead of taking a single, simple step, you're tumbling down like some newly born animal that doesn't understand how legs work. Fortunately, your floor is carpeted. Unfortunately, you can see yourself now. The breezy cold chill up your legs makes so much more sense now because that is one of the shortest skirts you've ever seen. (Let alone worn. You are not that brave.)

You may have shrieked, just a little, "F-- What--where--!?" Proper sentence structure seems to be a lost art all of a sudden

The really suspicious (as if he wasn't already) cat swipes at his ear, "For the record, I did nothing. That's all you, dude." 

"What the fuuuck...!?"

A quick check in the mirror gives you the wondrous sight of the whitest leotard you've ever seen, even in the dark of your room, adorned with bright alarm-red and grey ribbons, then a miniskirt that only comes down at the middle of your thighs (rising trepidation aside, the costume is actually quite flattering and shapes your figure very nicely and-- no it does NOT. YOU ARE STILL PANICKING ABOUT SUDDENLY NOT BEING IN YOUR OWN CLOTHES, THAT IS STILL BEING A THING THAT IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW).

The hunk of metal now sits right in the middle of your chest bow, transformed from a rusty bracelet into something shining and polished with a glittering ruby in the shape of a signsake (??). Like it was never old and rusted to begin with. A tiara wraps snugly around your forehead, and barrettes sit perfectly at the bed of your horns. There's even a silky pair of ball-gown gloves, the kind that go all the way to your elbow. Remember how you wanted your ears pierced? They are now, and for free. And a pair of some actually fine kick-ass boots-- like, they're really fucking nice, they make your short legs look a lot better than they are.

Dream or not, nice or not, looking so much cuter than you usually would be able to do on your own effort or not, you want out. (As fine as you're starting to think you look, to where you can't even stop looking whether it's from awe or horror-shock, you honestly look like something that came out of one of Nepeta's comic books.)

"So~ since it fits and everything--"

"What do you mean 'since it fits'!!? Explain this, please!?"

"I'll tell you, but this means I can stay, right!? Well, not stay-stay, but I won't have to leave forever and ever and disappear into the wind, never to be seen or heard from again!?...At the very least, that's what you promised, right?" The unusual grin reminds you of Nepeta way too much, and looks way too sentient-person-like in your opinion.

"Eugh, don't-- don't ever make that kind of face please, that's just scary."

"What's wrong with my face!?" He then sits up straight and rigid, suddenly serious, "Alright, alright, okay. Serious mode," The cat takes a deep inhale, "Karkat, I really need your help." (Whu-- How the hell does his voice just fucking drop like that? Who said it was allowed to drop that deep out of nowhere??)

"I need you to understand that your transformation was only possible if you were more than just a mortal troll," Again, that piercing blue stare has you caught, though in quite a  different way, and you're compelled to neither move or speak. Every word seems to ring with some force of...something. Importance. There's some form of a cynical remark waiting to get free of your mouth, but it just doesn't come. Can't do anything but hear what John has to say, "Because you are. You're a warrior, chosen by a fate long set from a different time. A Sailor Soldier under the protection and guidance of the stars. Sailor Cancer."

John acts as if he is addressing a more formal audience instead of some poor guy who was in his pajamas, "I made no jest when I mentioned strange and evil things happening. It is actually happening now. People have either changed, become a twisted version of themselves and are committed to obeying these dark forces and urgings. Or they have gone missing entirely, abducted and taken to be used however it is to be seen fit," he looks down, seeming very grave. You would not be able to take the look seriously if you weren't so intent on focusing on the cat's words (it's as if someone much higher is speaking to you), "If I could take care of it myself, I w-would! Long before it came to this-- Honest!...I, I just can't...," John's voice shudders, shakes with a sob trying to come through. It makes his voice crack more like that of someone younger than they're trying to be, "...I can't...do it alone anymore..."

He looks back up to you, wide-eyed and nearly on the verge of tears, begging with that younger voice, "Please help me. Please, believe me."

Then there's the buzz of a cell device vibrating, and the ringtone goes off. 

"...Besides, don't you need to go help your friend?" John's crocodile tears are gone, replaced by the winner of creepiest looks you've ever seen to this day, no longer feeling any kind of pity as the cat leers towards your cell.

You snatch the damn thing off the night table's charger, surprised and slightly irritated. Slowly becoming more and more concerned-- disturbed --by his words. The I.D. screen says it's Equius, of all people. What the fuck is he calling you for, he hardly ever calls you. With much reluctance, you slide the lock-screen to answer. "Do you have any fucking clue what ti--"

"Kark-- Vantas!! Please, tell me she's with you!"

"What, wait-- who!! What's going on!!?"

"Nepeta!! She hasn't called--! I-- She always calls when sh-she arrives home! She's not answering the home phone, or her mobile, and she's not online, she's not even home--!" From how he trips over his words, stuttering and sounding like a complete wreck, something has happened to Nepeta. (Go figure, genius.)

"Where have you looked for her!?" You'd thought she'd have gone home hours ago. The last time you even saw her--

"I've circled all around her neighborhood, neither human or troll nor otherwise have seen her since this morning!!"

"The jewelry shop..."

"...What?"

"Did she tell you she was at the jewelry shop!?"

"What!? I-- Even thou--"

You've already hung up before you have to listen to the big sweaty goof rage about what he told her to do or not. This is what seems to finally break you out of the dream being a delusion-- ormaybe this is still part of the nightmare, you mean, what do you know.

The phone lands with a soft thud against the carpet, you shaking with growing rage and breathing with a frightened stutter. Hardly taking the energy to move at all-- because you're too stiff with fearful concern about Nepeta-- glaring icily at John, asking with a pitch of danger, "...What did you do?"

He snickers, the little bastard, "To be truthful, I've done nothing but try to prevent this sort of thing from happening," he sighs sadly, almost looks it too, when he murmurs, "It doesn't usually work out too good..."

You swallow, eyes widening and reluctantly begin to bite out words you were hoping you wouldn't end up saying relating to the past hour, "..What do I need to do?"

Upon hearing that, John immediately perks up and grins, "Well, things aren't going to get done by us sticking around here and playing with our thumbs. Or at least, you won't, I don't think I have thumbs at the moment. C'mon, out the window!"

You pretty much trip and throw a hand on a nearby fixture for support, " Whoa, hell no. You can feel free as fuck to do that. I don't know about you, but I can for sure tell you that I have no death-preventing capabilities that will save me if I so much as sit on the window sill."

John rolls his eyes, as much as a cat can, refocuses on you and then you're suddenly being lifted by unknown forces as the wind blows more steadily through the open window. Of course, you freak out, "H-HEY!! What the fucking-- put me down!!"

"Down? Sure." John leaps up to the sill, simpering kitty moue curling up, then pushes right the fuck off.

And then you're falling.