The golden city of Prospit, a work of art in gold and brass and yellow marble, was already old when the first words were baked into clay tablets in the dawn days of humanity. It had fallen from the sky, or so claimed the trolls. It had always been there, and the rest of the world had grown up around it, say the Carapacians. The lone Cherub who has visited the city in all its recorded history merely laughed and shook her head before flying off. Regardless, its true origin has been lost to time, and the history of its people dates back only three hundred years, when the gates first opened under the White King's gentle touch. It is a city of scholars, dry and bright, and quiet, for the people there live in peace. Even the thieves.

The darkened city of Derse, a puzzle of iron and amethyst and black marble, lay on the opposite end of the blistering desert from its golden sister city, upon the very edge of the world. The Black King of legend had torn its great gates asunder some fifteen hundred years ago, or so its people claim. There are no stories of its origins, because its people do not tolerate such things, save that a Cherub once came near the city, and he blasted and burned the land for a hundred miles around, belching rainbow fire and hurling obscenities, but did not dare harm the city. Now, Derse is cold and wet, and dark for the sun rarely shines there. They are a city of warriors, hard and cruel and cunning, for they say you can always hear the whispers of those who dwell beyond the Earth's edge when you enter the city, and only the cruel and cunning can stand it.

This is the tale of how the two cities came to war, and how that conflict was resolved.

It happened one day that a peddling magician demonstrated his wares in Prospit to the delight of the crowd. The highlight of his act was what he claimed to be a magical rope. He waved his hand and spoke a word, and it uncoiled itself, rising into the air. Up and up and up it went, its dingy brown color standing out in stark contrast against the sunflower-yellow walls, until it passed by an open window and was snatched inside by a pale grey hand. On the other side of the building, the thief leapt from the window, black hair and brown rope streaming behind her as she took her flight, lips parted in a malefic grin.

Vriska did not get very far before the Knights of Prospit, alerted by the peddler's cries, gave chase. She wouldn't have had it any other way of course; the chase was the best part of a theft. Of course, the Knights were splendid warriors clad in golden armor, each suit an individual masterpiece of metallurgy, each Knight astride the finest riding-beasts the city with its near-limitless treasury could buy—

But out here on the cramped yellow side-streets of Prospit's slums, there was no way for them to maneuver. Vriska ran backwards, taunting the haughty riders, snapping her rope at them like a whip—it had been hers since she laid eyes on it of course—hurling insults and jabs, deftly dancing in and around the crush of people, who were barely aware of her passing by the time the majestic Knights shoved them aside.

Growing bored with this particular chase, Vriska threw her rope upward and it looped around the openwork spire of a nearby shop—Vriska loved how ostentatious this city was—and she swung herself up onto its roof. Climbing spider-like up the side of the spire, she made a daring leap for the roof of another building, and sprinted across it. Spying some laundry hanging out to dry, she quickly swapped out her own blue clothes for an orange blouse and skirt. She used the other clothes on the line to make a human shaped bundle, dressed it in her discarded rags, and hurled the dummy off the roof. She then ran in the opposite direction.

It was easy to move from rooftop to rooftop now, as well as incredibly fun; she found she loved the sensation of the air rushing past her face as she hurled along over the ground, five, six, seven, eight stories below. She should have stolen a magic rope ages ago. Ten minutes later, she was resting on a rooftop, breathing heavily and content. Up above, the countless spires of Prospit towered up toward the sky, a spider web of gold against a backdrop of deepest blue. She was higher than she'd ever been, and there was still so much to go to reach the top. Had anyone ever reached that high? People had only been living here three centuries after all; maybe no one had. Vriska took a moment to admire her locket. It was heavy and oval shaped and made of gold. Vriska had stolen the thing long ago and positively fallen in love with it, going so far as to engrave it with her own name. She almost opened it, but stopped herself. Even up here someone might see—

She was stirred from her reverie by the clanging of the bells; she realized that she was on the roof of one of Prospit's countless cathedrals. Sure enough, she'd been resting her head against the great glass dome of Domina Nostrum de Fortuna. On a whim she climbed the dome until she stood directly on top, looking down on the congregation hundreds of feet below. There was a circular hole the size of her head there, left purposefully empty to let in the divine light of the Sufferer. It was encircled by a heavy ring of pure gold inscribed with something in Old High Trollish. Vriska pulled her knife and started trying to pull it off.

Mass was in session. The priestess was young and pretty, completely wasted on the priesthood, Vriska thought. Those gaudy gold and orange robes looked awful on her. The ring was stubborn and partially wrapped around the iron frame of the dome. Only barely though; she could just pop it out if she tried. Just needed to get her knife under it. The priestess had a friendly face and a high clear voice that rang up all the way to—however high Vriska was. Maybe the real purpose of the dome was to act as an amplifier?

Vriska hadn't been to church in ages—people assumed she'd been just trying to pick the rich people's pockets and they'd kept her out. It had hurt a lot as a child, when she'd still been a believer. Then she realized the Sufferer had never done anything for her, so she'd not do anything for him either. It wasn't so much that she was atheist; rather Vriska and God simply no longer associated with each other by mutual agreement.

The priestess was talking about how the Sufferer helped those who helped themselves; that people made their own luck and all happiness must be earned. Well, that was true enough, Vriska supposed. She could see him, or rather Him, there behind the priestess, a heroically tall figure of pure green marble so dark it was almost black, held up with real iron chains. She thought he looked pompous. Someone that muscular could probably break those chains; what had he been trying to pr—?

With a loud *pop*, the ring came out and Vriska fell back onto the dome, cracking it, then sliding down the rest of its length, gaining speed until she went rocketing off the roof. Not once did she think anything inane like 'this is how I die' or some such. She just calmly flicked her rope and it wrapped itself around some gargoyle or other—

And swung her face-first into a stained-glass window depicting His final sermon. Vriska's nose unleashed a magnificent spray of cobalt blood as it smushed against His visage. With her vision eight-fold, she could just barely see the people inside gawking; they'd probably been alerted by the *pop* and the *crack*, now there was this…*plunk*. No matter, once she got back onto the roof she'd be as good as free. The rope started pulling her up. She hadn't known it could do that.

It couldn't. She was being hauled up by a Knight of Prospit. He was dressed in uniform, not plate, but Vriska can always tell a Knight. "You think you're a clever little bitch huh? Actually, it just turns out every other member of the order is just terminally stupid. I swear they let anyone put on the gold if they can sign their names. Me though, I'm actually competent. You took too long on that rooftop and I realized what you were up to. It was just a matter of ditching my solid-gold bullshit-armor and running after you on—"

Vriska scowled. She recognized this particular knight's dulcet tones. Almost without thinking, she smashed the stolen ring against his helmet, knocking him to the ground, then prized it off his face, revealing—

"Dammit Vantas," said Vriska, smirking. "Still interfering in my business after all these years!"

Karkat sneered. "Vriska Serket, I thought you'd be dead by now. Get off me!"

She stood and helped him up. "Now give me the rope and the ring and anything else you might have stolen," he said, proffering his hand.

She laughed in his face. "I've forgotten how funny you are Karkat. It seems knighthood has only improved your sense of humor." She sauntered off as if she hadn't a care in the world. "It's been fun catching up Karkles," she said with a salute. "Maybe you'll arrest me again some other time." She flipped on his helmet with a flourish.

Karkat growled and ran after her, yanking the helmet off her head with one hand and twisting her arm behind her back with the other. "Just give back the stuff, eh?" he said. "I'll let you go. I'll give the ring to the priestess and I'll even give you some coins for the rope. Hell, I'll buy you dinner. My God, you look half-starved—"

Vriska twisted her leg behind his and tripped him onto his back, then sat on his stomach. "How chivalrous of you," she mocked, holding her nose to stanch the bloodflow, "offering the poor street rat some food. Is that how you sleep at night? You know what your problem is? You think you're so much better than me, even though just five years ago you were right where I was, stealing to survive—"

Karkat, being well-fed and a trained soldier, pushed her off with ease and loomed over her. "No Vriska, I was the one who stole to survive. You stole because you are a goddamn tiding of magpies that God smushed into troll form! I took the first chance I could to get out of that situation and now I'm a goddamn Knight of Prospit. People call me sir and give me pies and ask me to kiss their babies. You on the other hand, are living on the streets and weigh like five pounds so just let me fucking help you already," he said, pulling her up.

She gave a long-suffering groan as Karkat cleaned off her face with his handkerchief. "If it'll help your high-class guilt, then fine, I'll let you buy me lunch. I know a place on the White King's Boulevard that has really good trash. Imagine what it'll taste like fresh. Hey, carry my shit," she said, as she shoved the ring into Karkat's chest with enough force to stagger him and headed for what appeared to be a gilded fire escape.

"Hey, Vriska, the chain," he said, jogging after her.

"Huh?" she said, turning her head slightly.

"Don't play dumb," he said, pulling off her locket. She realized she hadn't tucked it back in under her clothes. She turned a vivid blue as he examined it, feeling as if she were about to die of heat-stroke. She silently prayed to the God she had ignored for years that Karkat would be unable to open—

*click* It opened. Karkat laughed until he was red in the face. Inside was a tiny but highly detailed portrait of the Royal Heir, crown prince John Crocker. Vriska punched Karkat in the face. He kept laughing, so she kept punching him, over and over until her hands were filthy with the red blood that she'd never been able to help but think of as disgusting, some instinctual hatred for it buried deep in her genetics.

He still kept laughing, and she grabbed him by the fucking neck—and felt something hard and oval-shaped under her palm. Vriska reached in under his uniform, grinning, and pulled out a nearly identical locket. She snapped the chain and opened it before Karkat could even realize what was happening. "No fucking way," she giggled. His locket contained a picture of princess Jade Crocker. "You are such a loser Karkat!" she said. "Princess Jade? Jaaaaaaaade? She's not even pretty!"

He growled and lunged for his locket. Vriska grabbed his face and dangled the thing over the edge. He stopped and took a step back. "Yes she is! And at least I've spoken with Jade a couple of times. She's nice to me! And funny, and energetic, and she can ride, and shoot better than any man. She's fascinating! You've probably seen him a grand total of once!"

Vriska scowled. "Have you met him?"

Karkat raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" she shouted, making as if to throw the locket.

"He's an ass," said Karkat with a wicked grin. "A fucking man-child. He thinks it's so great that I, a knight, would hang out with him at all. Completely underestimates his own importance. Wants to go out among the common people and let his presence be known. He doesn't have the spine to be a king; his heart's too big."

Vriska bit down hard on her lip. She scowled at Karkat, but only did so because she was trying not to smile. That was exactly how she'd always imagined the Royal Heir to behave. A thought occurred.

"Soooooooo," she said, sidling up to Karkat and handing him back his locket. He snatched it out of her hand and grudgingly gave hers back. "Do you think that, on account of our old friendship, you might be able to get me into the palace tomorrow?" She flashed him her winningest smile.

"No," he said, stepping back. "Knowing you you'll just try to kidnap the Heir or some stupid bullshit. I'm not having it." Vriska twisted her lip. "Don't give me that," he warned. "Even if I wanted to, which I don't, the suitors are coming from Derse tomorrow. Security is going to be so tight, not even a fly can get in without being patted down first."

Vriska's heart skipped a beat. "Suitors?"

Karkat nodded, sighing wistfully. "Jade is going to choose her future husband tomorrow."

Vriska exhaled in relief. Karkat shook his head. "You don't understand. They're twins; that means they were both birthed by the same lusus simultaneously. Humans like that do everything together. Jade demanded to have suitors, because John is getting married in three months." She was not as devastated as she thought she would be. The cogs in Vriska's head began to turn, slowly but inexorably formulating a plan.

Karkat rolled his eyes at her. "What chance do we have, huh?" He sat down at the foot of a spire that rose another hundred feet yet off the cathedral roof. Even though the sun was rarely visible from the streets, it was always so bright out. "A freak-blooded ex-streetrat and a sociopathic kleptomaniac? Why would princes and princesses want anything to do with the likes of us?" He finally wiped off his own face. The handkerchief became a very fetching purple.

Vriska plopped down next Karkat, stomach growling loudly. She leaned against his shoulder. "Yeah, it sucks to be us. We're still on for lunch though?"

He slapped his forehead with the bloody rag, smearing his face in purple, and nodded. "Well, then," said Vriska, in a low husky voice. "How am I going to repay you afterwards? I wonder…." She kissed his cheek.

Karkat groaned. "There's no need for that, I offered because you're an old friend and you're down on your luck, not because I want to get laid! Besides, you already know I'm," he grit his teeth, "in love with someone else."

"Yeah, well, so am I," she whispered in his ear. "We can find solace in each other's arms, or some bullshit like in those books you used to read." She stroked his knee with one finger. "You knoooooooow," she said, as she pulled out a tortoiseshell comb that had been someone else's this morning. Karkat gulped in extreme discomfort. "Some people say that I look exactly like Princess Jade when I bother to do my hair."

He reddened. "That is completely unacceptable Vriska! First of all you look nothing like Jade. Second of all, I thought of you as an incredibly annoying friend back in the day; this would be so weird. It'd be like if a human did it with his sister. Third of all the thought of—with—because she looks like—that's just sick! There would have to be something really, really wrong with me—"

Vriska ignored him, combing out her long black hair. It had been entirely too long since the last time. She'd seen the princess a few times on parade. Usually Vriska had been paying attention to her brother, but she had a good eye for faces. She gave Karkat a big happy smile like Vriska had often seen the princess give. There was no trace of her usual malice or cunning, the smile was all Jade.

Well, that and just a touch of Vriska's mind-powers.

Karkat shut up for a second. Snapping out of it, he shouted, "No! NO! You are sick in the head Vriska! And probably trying to mind-control me!"

Vriska giggled prettily, stroking the back of Karkat's hand before he snatched it away. "Don't you remember the last time I used my powers on you? You described it as being hit in the brain with a sledgehammer. And I always had to touch my forehead and scrunch up my face in concentration so hard I almost popped a vein! Do I look like I'm doing any of that now?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes. In truth, Vriska had learned subtlety in all her years since Karkat ran off to the Knight's Academy. Mind-control took a lot of energy, which was something she needed to budget with her limited diet. But Karkat didn't know that. "I have green contact lenses," she whispered. He screamed.

"I know what you're doing," he said, jumping to his feet. He turned and faced her, pointing an accusatory finger. "You're going to seduce me, and then I'm going to feel stupidly guilty, and then I'm going to sneak you into the palace tomorrow out of guilt, and then you're going to mind control the Royal Heir and become a fucking tyrant queen and it'll be all my fault and I'll sure as fuck be the first one against the wall when the executions start because I called you a psycho-bitch that one time—"

Tired of games, Vriska touched her forehead, face screwing up with concentration, and said through grit fangs, "Whatever do you mean Karkat? I just want to repay you for the fine lunch you're about to buy me!" Scorpios in his eyes, Karkat nodded.

After the best lunch Vriska had ever had, consisting of every domesticated terrestrial animal plus an entire lobster and a baked potato, she took him back to her apartment. In actuality, the real owner was simply out of town, but this was another thing that Karkat didn't need to know.

"Make yourself comfortable," she said, pushing him down onto the bed. Swimming in the intoxication of her mental venom, Karkat hastily began removing his clothes. When he was done, Vriska looked at him appraisingly, and smirked. She reached under her blouse—

And pulled free the magic rope, throwing it at Karkat, where it wound itself up instantly, securing him to the bed.

The next day, Vriska rode into the palace disguised as a Knight of Prospit, Karkat's heavy war-sickle at her side, his proud white riding-beast nickering beneath her legs. She hated riding. If she had Taurus powers, she'd be just fine with it, but noooooooo. It took all of her strength plus the magic rope just to steer the stupid thing. Of course she'd recovered it, the magic rope. It was too valuable to leave with Karkat. She'd tied him up with mundane rope and then removed the magic one, using it to synch his trousers to her waist. She was going to see the Royal Heir if it killed her, and she was going to make him hers.

The gates were marked with an X taller than the dome of the Cathedral Domina Nostrum de Fortuna, and they did not open like doors. The X split like an overripe fruit and the gargantuan four-leafed gate opened like the mouth of some enormous creature preparing to swallow the thief, insignificant in comparison. One leaf went upwards, one sank into the ground, and the other two retreated into the walls. Each had teeth to keep them locked together. Truly, the palace was a gigantic creature, a dragon that had swallowed its own hoard for safe-keeping. Vriska would ride into its mouth and escape with its greatest treasure.

At midday, Princess Jade watched the procession of suitors, escorted by the gilded Knights of Prospit. Their blacks and purples were like stains on the golden streets of her city. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," she muttered. But when she thought of the alternative, either staying a spinster here in the city while her brother matured and started a family or being married off later and having to leave all of this behind—

It didn't bear thinking about. "Hey princess," said a voice, at once calm and nervous, its tones rising and falling like waves, touched with a slight lisp. Sollux. Jade turned away from the window and smiled at the troll. The court mage, from no one knew where. A place he called 'the devil's machine,' and would speak no more of it. "Your Seer is here to talk to you. Tell her I'm not some fucking messenger boy," he turned on his heel, black cloak flaring dramatically. Jade giggled. The troll was in a serious mood today. Of course, all of his moods were funny in their own way.

Terezi walked in almost immediately after him and gave a terse bow. Jade clicked her tongue. "We're friends aren't we? There's no need for that!"

Terezi straightened, grinning. "Of course we are, but when he shuns proper decorum, I feel I have to show him how it's done." She crossed the room in a few easy strides and sat down at Jade's table. "Let's see what your future has in store, shall we?"

Jade nodded enthusiastically, although the Seer was quite blind. Terezi had said she could still tell from the vibrations in the air, so Jade didn't feel the need to confirm that she had nodded, instead asking, "Are we gonna use the cards today? Ooh, or dragon bones? That's always fun!"

Terezi laughed. "I'm gonna level with you Jade, that stuff's all bullshit." She raised a hand to interrupt Jade's inevitable protest. "I am an actual Seer, and a very good one in fact. Probably the best unless the Dersite Princess is as good as they claim. But I use all that other stuff for show. Most people don't buy it when you just say what's gonna happen, you need to give them vague prophecies and cryptic fortunes or they'll think you're a hack. But since today's your special day," she said, lowering her sunglasses and offering a wink of her red, red eye, "I figure I'll give you a taste of the real shit."

She produced a huge white ball, glowing a gentle electric green. Jade 'oohed'. "So what do you want to know? Wait, I already know; 'who am I going to choose?' you ask. Good question! But first," she said with dramatic flair, "let's look at who's up to the challenge!"

She tapped the ball, and an image appeared in its center. A handsome young man in dark glasses, dressed all in royal purple, with a greatsword at his belt. His hair was white as driven snow. "Sir Strider, the king's bastard son. Captain of the Knights of Derse. They say he can never die in battle and that his sword can cleave through rock and steel. He's also a pretty one," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Jade blushed. "He certainly does look cool," she said. "But just a little full of himself."

"If you don't want him I'll take him," she cackled. Terezi tapped the ball again. This time an arrogant young troll appeared, with horns like lightning. "Eridan Ampora, prince of the seatrolls. He was given to Derse as a hostage after their war and raised as the King's ward. They say there's no better marksman in the world. But maybe you could give him a run for his money?" Said Terezi.

Jade cringed. "Oh God no! The arrogance is dripping off him like dew! I'd die if I married him!" she laughed.

Terezi agreed. The image changed again. Another troll, this one a gargantuan highblood, with broken horns and broken teeth. "Equius, another ward. Where the seatrolls failed, the landtrolls succeeded; he's the Royal Heir and forced the King's actual son to go unacknowledged. They say he's a gentle soul though, and the strongest man alive—why are you laughing?"

Jade was not only laughing but laughing hysterically. "I'm sure he's a nice guy, but sweat is dripping off him like the arrogance off his brother! He doesn't need a wife, he needs a towel."

Terezi chuckled and tapped the ball again. It shifted to reveal a Carapacian dressed all in black, coat emblazoned with white spades. For some reason his face filled Jade with terror and she scooted back. "I don't care, don't tell me anything. The less I know the better. I just—not him, no never! I'd rather Eridan!"

Terezi shrugged. "There's just one more."

Jade raised an eyebrow. "I thought they were sending fifteen?"

Terezi nodded. "There's only five worth talking about though." She tapped the ball a final time and the image switched from the Carapacian's hateful visage to a young man, running through the streets half dressed calling for his riding-beast.

Could it be— "Sir Karkat?" Jade shouted, startled. "But he's not from Derse—"

"He's a potential suitor."

"But…." It occurred to Jade how much the young knight lavished on her on the rare occasions they spoke. She'd taken it for loyalty, but could it have been something else? She colored. Clearing her throat, she said "Well, at least he's someone I know. He can be a real ass sometimes though. Ugh, why can't anyone just be perfect?" Terezi laughed. "I guess, if I had to choose right now, I'd pick—"

Terezi interrupted. "It's immaterial what you want, Jade honey." Terezi hefted her cane and pointed it out the window. "What's the first thing you see?"

Jade ran up to the window, excited. "The rose tree in the garden!" she shouted. "Isn't that Dersite princess named Rose? Maybe it's a portent—"

Terezi shushed her. "I'll tell you what's a portent, dear. No, no," the Seer shook her head in faux disappointment, "what's really going on is this. Whichever suitor plucks a flower from that tree first will marry a Prospitian royal." Jade paled.

"What if it's—what if it's—" Terezi stood up to leave. "No, Terezi, please stay!" Jade said, grabbing the Seer, "you can't—"

"Holy shit," said Terezi, pointing at the window. "Did the sweaty guy just touch the rose tree?!" Jade turned to look out the window while Terezi ran off into the hall, cackling madly. Jade sighed. It seems she had an entire day of staring at a tree to get to.

Once she was past the gate, the riding-beast decided that it had fulfilled its bargain and bucked Vriska into a tree before running off into the stables. "You better run!" she shouted, shaking her fist at the creature, "and you better never come back because the next time I see you there's only gonna be glue left you awful piece of shit!" She then spent the next half hour trying to extricate herself from the tree, and found she was quite stuck.

"Well, there go my dreams of eternal happiness," she said, all shouted out and now more bemused than sad. The palace gardens had a lot more free space above them than any other part of the city she had seen. The sky above was a massive wedge of blue, fringed to the north and south with the hundred thousand spires of Prospit. It looked like an eye, with a white-hot pupil, blue iris, and a shimmering sclera of jagged gold. Stuck as she was in what was tantamount to a giant thorn bush, Vriska found it was very peaceful out here. Supposedly her people had long ago come from a world where the sun could kill. On this world, the sun healed. She wanted to bask in its glow for a while yet, maybe get some sleep—

"Hey fuckass, nice shirt!" Karkat shouted as he grabbed her by the lapels.

Vriska yawned. "Hey Karkles, we really need to stop meeting like this." He ignored her and reached for her waist, drawing his shimmering war-sickle. Vriska's eyes widened. "You, uh sure you want to do that—?"

The look in his eyes brooked no argument. Vriska swallowed, then pulled her arm free, slapped him in the face, and then touched her forehead, unleashing a psychic barrage like she'd never unleashed before, struggling against the immovable hardness of his mind—

Immovable? Karkat grinned and removed his helmet. He was wearing a hat made of aluminum foil underneath. "Cost me a fucking arm and a leg, but you're worth it aren't you Vriska?" He hefted the war-sickle and brought it down.