Response to Straychild's review of chapter 1: While I am playing around a little with creating more shades between the obvious colors on the hemospectrum, Mipree's blood is definitely much closer to Gamzee's color than Eridan's. On the hemospectrum, she's officially labeled as a purpleblood, not violet-. So, no fins. ;} Mipree's blood color is noted in chapter 1, but we move past it quickly. Thanks for asking!

Warning: dubious consent

Be Eridan Ampora.

You were sick. Not in a pox way, but in your quadrants. Just watching that little mud-sucker bitch touch your servant made bile rise in your throat.

You dropped your face into your hands, fins flaring out again as you thought about it all again from the beginning. Karkat had never said a word to you about having a moirail, and you felt a cold fury ripping at you about that. You told him everything. You were closer to him than any other troll alive. How fucking dare he turn on you like this?

Your mind wandered from anger to longing, and you thought of the countless times you had touched his hot skin, shared wine with him, stumbled dizzy and drunk into your respite block while he clung to you and slurred your name.

No. Not your name. My prince, or my lord. Never your name, not unless you made him.

You had shown him pleasure and pity beyond anything anyone else could ever offer him, proven that you would have made a fucking magnificent moirail or matesprit. Your body reacted indecisively with that pale ache in your chest and a flushed throb in your pants. You groaned.

Why the fuck wouldn't he tell you about his quadrants?

You had apologized to him after that horrible scene, when you'd had to thrash the little peasant and toss her out. You'd gotten down on your knees and tried to take him into your arms even though you were wearing your new silk shirt and he was covered in blood, but he wouldn't let you. He twisted away from you and collapsed on the floor, sobbing and covering his face. You had climbed on top of him and kissed his neck as pale as you could, but you couldn't completely push away the flushed feelings that nagged at you as you hovered over him. Karkat had gone all rigid then, holding real still as you pressed against his heat and kissed the gold rings you had once slipped onto his horns. He felt so good underneath you.

He didn't say anything when you gathered him up (he was so small against you) and took him to your private ablution block. Carefully, you stripped him out of the ruined finery you had had made for him until all he was wearing was jewelry and his own blood. You had intended to make this pale, love him soft and gentle while you washed him, but the sight of his tender, naked body under your fingers was too much; your bulge, half-out in your pants since the moment you had kissed him earlier, throbbed and coiled around your thigh as it sought something to bury itself in. It found your own nook, as desperate as it was, and began to worm its way in. You bit back an undignified noise.

Karkat hung his pan low, his hair covering his orbs while his nose steadily dripped a bright-red pool onto the marble floor. You were glad he couldn't see you as you stripped hastily out of your own stained clothes and ordered the water on. Your bulge slipped out of you when you stepped close to Karkat to wash him; it writhed and searched for him as though it could recognize his heat, and you had to stand awkwardly to keep it far enough away from touching him.

He needed you to be pale for him right now, and fucking pale you would be.

Karkat stood still for you at first while you sponged the red off of him from behind, but eventually he began to shiver. You had bathed with him plenty of times before, knew that his little body didn't like the cold water you enjoyed so much, but you had been a little distracted. You ordered the temperature up a little, voice echoing over the spray to the high ceiling. He stopped shivering quite so hard, and his shoulders relaxed. He swayed slightly with your movements as you washed him.

The red stopped swirling down the drain, and you moved to grab some soap for the second go-around. When you did, though, you moved just a little too close to the other troll. Your bulge, frustrated and doubly slick with desire, whipped against the small of his back. He stiffened and raised his pan slightly, but didn't turn around or move away. You stood just as still, your bulge slithering and flicking desperately over his hot skin.

Karkat lowered his pan again, his shoulders bowing down submissively. You licked your lips at that and shifted a little closer to him, letting your bulge curl around his narrow hip. He didn't move, and when you leaned around to look at his face you saw that his orbs were closed, his expression relaxed like he was waiting for you. His bulge wasn't out, but you knew that he was shy about this sort of thing. He'd probably wanted this all along.

Taking your own impatient bulge in your hand to keep it from slipping wherever it wanted before you were ready, you moved close to your servant and pushed him gently but purposefully toward the seat carved into the wall. He didn't resist, as aching as he probably was for you, stepping with the push and bringing his hands out to rest on the edge of it. His hair was plastered against his face and neck, and it made him look so much smaller and so very defenseless...

Your bulge curled around your wrist and squeezed hard enough to make your hand throb.

You pulled away from it and let it wriggle over Karkat's back as you pushed him again, this time to rest down on his forearms. He obeyed again, always such a good servant, and you couldn't stop a pleased chirrup from escaping you. You took his hips in your hands and let your bulge feel for him, slipping down between his thighs and at last finding his slit.

Karkat gave a piercing cry when you pushed into him too fast, too hard. You couldn't help it, though; his heat was almost enough to make you spill immediately, and his nook was tight, not ready for you, but it was his own fault for being so shy. You took a moment to steady yourself as he trembled under you, his knees bending so that you had to hold him up a little.

"You'll be fine," you whispered, orbs glazed as you felt your bulge twist around and push at his shuddering insides. He would slick up soon enough, and his bulge would slip out and he would whimper and writhe under you the way you loved. You would make him say your name, draw it out of him in a long moan. You took a fistful of his wet hair and bent over him, smoothing your other hand over the scarred expanse of his back.

It took a little longer this time to coax any sounds out of him, but you figured it was because his nose was still broken. You would fix it, you told him. Call up the medics to bring you something as soon as you were finished. Until then, though, he would have to suffer a little. You didn't say that last bit, but you both understood it.

"Mmm-mmm-aah-hahh…"

You thrust harder at the sound of his broken little moan, gripping his shoulder now as you drove into him. His nook was better accommodating you now, and you could feel his bulge twisting under and seeking you. You gave his shoulder a sharp squeeze with your claws, a quick reminder, and he reached under to take hold of his own bulge before it could slip around and into your nook. It was the one way you wouldn't let him touch you.

You panted as you neared your release. You might have liked to pull out of him and turn him over, fill his mouth with your genetic material, but not this time. He couldn't say your name if you had your bulge down his throat.

"Say it," you growled, pumping hard into his pliant little body. He jerked underneath you, whimpering and gasping but not forming the word you wanted. You scowled and slowed your pace, thinking that would get his attention, but it didn't. He kept moaning and pushing his hips back against you, pumping and squeezing his bulge in his hand.

You withdrew from him, angry and jealous and suddenly wanting to hurt him. Holding your bulge tightly to keep it from slithering back, you guided it to his other hole and pressed. Karkat didn't seem to notice until your bulge had gotten the idea and wormed its way right in, stretching him hard.

He screamed. You took his hair in your fist again as he scrabbled against the seat, trying to get away from you.

"I gave you an order, lowblood," you hissed. Karkat gave a wordless cry and reached back, trying to grab hold of the hand in his hair. You forced him down against the seat, sinking your weight on him completely and pushing your bulge as deep as it would go. He let out a choked sound and stopped fighting you. You gave an experimental thrust, marveling at how delicious and warm he was. Your bulge pulsed warningly as you started up a slow pace.

"Say it," you whispered again, your voice barely carrying over the water jets, but you knew that Karkat could hear you. You were resting flush against him, grub scars sliding up and down over his back in a way that made you shudder while you thrusted.

"Ah… Eri-… Eri-dan," he gritted. His face was scrunched and red, his orbs squeezed shut tight.

"Again." You picked up the pace, drawing a low and desperate moan out of him. You forced his pan to the side and closed your mouth on his neck, sucking hard. He said your name again, and it came out as more of a choppy gasp. You didn't mind, but you wanted more. You bit his ear hard enough to make him cry, and he said it again.

It became a broken chant as you pumped your hips, and the more you moved the louder and faster Karkat spoke. Within moments you were jackhammering into him, and he was sobbing and screaming your name at the same time. You pulled out of him and thrust deep into his nook to release, spilling hard enough to cry out yourself. Karkat was still weeping your name, though softly, when you slowed your thrusting and filled him so taught that his belly swelled like a ball and some of your material ran down his thighs in violet streaks. You wrapped your arms around him and forced his pan back you could kiss him. He let you, still murmuring your name until you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He was shaking hard.

You withdrew and coaxed the material out of him then, rubbing and pushing on his distended belly until it all gushed out of him and down the drain; you had decided long ago that you would never save such a mix for the drones. Karkat stayed where he was, slumped against the marble seat, while you washed yourself and him a second time. His orbs were open, wide and hollow while you sponged gingerly between his legs.

He let you stand him up then (albeit slowly) and dry him off, but you had to carry him out of the ablution block. You didn't mind that at all, him needing you like this. It felt fucking good, and you decided in that moment that you would do what you had done more often.

After placing the limp Karkat on a pile of silk fluffy devices, you dressed and combed your hair. He turned to face the wall and fell asleep before you even had your boots on, not moving when you called his name. You would call the medics later.

Now, Karkat was still sleeping in that room and you were on your throne, flipping through the records of high-guards in your service. It didn't take long to find the girl.

Mipree Joclai.

Your dug your free claws into your palm, remembering the terrified look on her stupid face when you stood over her. Your feelings tried to flicker pitch, you were so desperate and lonely, but you crushed that shit immediately. No moirail-stealing whore was going to be your quadrant. She didn't deserve you.

And she didn't deserve Karkat, either.

You looked downward, fins burning with anger, and found the damage that Makara's club had left on the tile. A solid chunk of the black marble had come loose, and the spot was surrounded by a webbing of cracks. You were desperately wishing that that had been the peasant girl's pan instead of your beautiful floor when things began to fall together. You stared hard at the broken floor, mind racing.

Yes. Yes, you would do it.

You lunged over to press a button on the table next to you, biting your lip in anticipation. It took everything in your power to sit calmly and wait for an answer instead of running to fetch the nearest servant.

Be Mipree Joclai

You didn't see Karkat for the next 39 hours. It was painful enough to haul your battered body out of your recuperacoon and strap on your armor, but to think about Karkat had you in such torment that you thought you might die.

But you didn't.

You took your rampart watch like any other day, even if you leaned against your borrowed bow (you had left yours in the throne room during the fight) and wept inwardly for most of it. When your duty ended, you rushed without bothering to remove your armor to the royal halls to try and sneak into Karkat's little block. You ended up stopping short on account of there were too many guards around, and you did your best to look inconspicuous while you slunk away.

You made yourself go to the infirmary after that, and the medics shot you full of stuff that healed your bruises and cuts up and grew back your missing teeth as good as new. They didn't ask any questions, and you didn't prompt any. They did tell you to eat, though, and so you trudged down to the mess for dinner. You hadn't had your tray of standard feed-mush for more than a minute before a troll came up to you. He had the bright-faced look of a new recruit, and a slender box tucked under one arm. You were sitting alone when he approached you; your usual group could tell that you didn't feel well.

"Archer," he said, identifying you by the cut of your clothes, "I have something for-" He fumbled a little and rushed a clumsy bow when he saw the silver pin at your throat. "Archeradicator," he said, not rising up from the bad bow. "Forgive me. I didn't realize…" You waved him to straighten up and spit it out. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as he put the box on the table.

"For you," he murmured. "My apologies…"

"What is it?" you muttered, pulling the black box toward you irately. You felt sick, and wanted to be left alone. "Who sent it?"

"I don't know, ma'am. Higher-up gave it to me, told me to find you before I did anything else."

You lifted the lid and started to peek inside when the transmitter on your wrist vibrated and beeped softly. You saw the message flashed across the little blue screen, and the blood left your face; at the end of the message was the royal symbol, a golden trident. The little bit of feed-mush you'd swallowed started to creep its way back up your throat.

"Ma'am? Is everything all right?" You looked up to see the younger troll staring at you, his face full of concern. You could only imagine what sort of expression you yourself were wearing.

"Yes," you told him, softly, mechanically. You focused on smoothing your face out into something you hoped was unreadable. "That'll be all, recruit. Go get yourself something to eat."

'throne room. half an hour. wear this.'

You moved as quickly as you could make yourself to the guards' respite hall. Almost everyone was down at the mess for dinner, so it was quiet except for the occasional burst of laughter or talking through some of the block doors. You reached your own block without running into anyone, and as you keyed in your code to unlock the door you hoped dearly that you would find Karkat slumped on a pile of fluffy devices and watching a rom-com the way you did sometimes. He was the only other troll who knew your block-code. He would know what was going on, what the strange message from the prince meant.

But he wasn't there.

The door hissed shut behind you, and you were left standing in the plain, dark space with the muffled sound of your neighbors pailing in the next block. You stood there for a moment, still holding the box under one arm, until you remembered yourself. Gripping the box by its lid, you let the bottom slide off to land on your desk.

Gold and purple winked up at you.

You slowly pulled the glittering thing up and out of the box with a mixture of confusion and awe. It was a gown, all gold and complicated stitching and heavy gemstones like the high-nobles and prince wore. The only silk you had ever touched before was Karkat's little gold caplet, the one that Prince Ampora had had fashioned for him, but this was a thousand times smoother. You ran your hands over the fabric, admiring the purple stones that skilled clothrippers had done into the fabric.

Was this… an apology of sorts? You weren't sure, but there wasn't much time to think about it; you had a feeling that this thing had been made specifically for you, and you had your orders. Stripping out of your clothes, you picked up the gown and tried to work it over your curving horns. Putting the thing on took a little more work than you had imagined it would; the neckline was small and didn't offer much leeway for you to slip your horns through, and the bodice was too tight for you to take a full breath. Still, after much wriggling and squeezing and grunting you were dressed.

You moved to the desk to pick up the slippers that had been under the gown, and the skirt promptly ripped open. You gasped in horror and bent quickly to inspect the damage, only to find that the skirt was intentionally tailored in a split that ran up your thigh. If the tight neckline and the bodice didn't make you uncomfortable, this sure as hell did. You'd forever worn the plain, military-issued tunic and loose trousers that all purple-blooded guards wore, never a dress or a skirt. It felt strange to be so… exposed.

You did your best to hold the bejeweled skirt shut as you tottered over to get the shoes, which, mercifully, were as flat as your plated boots. They were nothing special compared to the gown's elaborate design, but the soft white silk was beyond anything your feet had ever been treated to. If you were allowed to keep any of this afterward, you desperately hoped that it was the slippers.

Someone pounded on your block door, and you jumped. Before you could answer the door yourself, you heard the code-pad beeping, and then the door hissed open. Two blue-blooded guards, still armored but not toting weapons, stood before you. They were huge, broad-shouldered and beefy, not any trolls that you recognized; you trained archers, not muscle-goons.

"Prince Ampora requests your presence immediately," one of them said gruffly. You lifted your chin at him, not liking his tone.

"I know that, blueblood," you said stiffly, treading especially heavy on the last word. You thought of how Karkat would set his jaw and narrow his bulbs at you for talking that way, but only briefly. "Who gave you my access code? That sort of information is forbidden to your rank-"

You were startled as the other guard, the taller of the two, stepped right into your block and seized you by the arm with a thick, gauntleted hand. His grip made you yelp, and you realized why the two of them weren't carrying any weapons; as big as they were, and with their plate armor and black-striped helmets, they must have been Ruffiannihilators.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" you screeched. The other troll hauled you out of your block, ignoring the way you twisted and beat against his arm. His companion had already started off down the hallway, and he followed, dragging you right along with him. Behind you, your door beeped its little security warning and shut with a soft hiss.

"Let go of me, you nookstain!" you shrieked, unintentionally drawing on Karkat's nasty vocabulary to voice your anger as you stumbled along. "I'm a purple-rank Archeradicat- AHH!" The blueblood squeezed your arm hard, and you felt the bones stress under your flesh. When you tried to tear away, the other troll gave an easy tug that almost pulled your limb clear out of its socket.

What the fuck was happening? Never in your life had you been so ill-treated by a lower-ranking troll, and in the palace of all places! It was enough to set your blood aboil. You growled to yourself about the punishment for such an offense, and the troll hauling on your arm looked down at you. His gaze settled on your exposed thigh, and he gave an appreciative click. You glared up at him as best you could in your state, and he grinned with a mouthful of broken teeth. A rough hand grabbed your ass then, and you gave a little scream and jerked around; the other guard smirked at you and made a suggestive churring sound, rolling his hips a little.

The Ruffiannihilators laughed, and then, for reasons you didn't understand, started to make honking noises as they gyrated their hips and gestured lewdly at you. One of them pretended to be in the midst of pailing and moaned something about messiahs. You ignored them and stared hard at both of their faces, burning them into your memory for vengeful purposes.

They dragged you all the way to the royal halls like that, laughing their rumbling laughs and poking at you and just about pulling your arm damn-near off. As angry as they had made you, your fear outweighed your rage when you finally stood in front of the throne room's double doors. You could hear voices, many voices, music, and laughter from inside the room. The Ruffiannihilator not holding onto you pushed one of the doors open and slipped inside, allowing a brief burst of sound into the hallway and a glimpse into the throne room.

You blanched for the second time that day, the blood leaving your face just as the light from the room did. The door closed with a dull thud. There had been violetbloods everywhere, more than you could count, all decked out in their silks and jewels. It was a party of some sort, the likes of which you had never seen.

"Three-hundred hours," the Ruffiannihilator beside you said. You glared upward to see him staring seriously at you for the first time. "You gotta last three-hundred hours," he said again, "then you can get yourself clubbed. I got a bet. Don't fuck it up for me."

You narrowed your orbs nastily, not understanding or caring much about what he was saying. Before you could reply, the door opened again and the other blueblood giant was ushering you inside. You were dazzled by music and sparkling lights, far too much to take in as the Ruffiannihilator dragged you through the party. You smelled wine and food, the kind that you got a taste of only around Twelfth Perigree's Eve, and you heard the lilting, flowing speech of the river language, the violetblood's common tongue. It was beautiful, the sounds and the sights and the scents, and it ended all too quickly as you were pushed through a door on the far side of the room. It closed behind you, shutting the sound of the party out completely; soundproof.

The space you were in now was significantly smaller than the first, but was no less lavish; tapestries hung from the walls, plush carpets were spread over the floors, and the vaulted ceiling was painted with a stunning oceanic mural. The furniture in the room was gorgeous too, all inlaid with gold and pearls and-

You dropped to one knee when you saw Prince Ampora sitting at the head of the long, bejeweled table. In the flash that you got of him before you averted your gaze, you saw that he was wearing gold and violet from his horns to his feet.

"Enjoyin' the view, peasant?" he said, unfolding his long legs and taking his boots off the tabletop. You kept your orbs firmly on the carpet as you heard the chair skiff back across the floor. Sharp steps across the tile, then muffled whispers of movement across the rugs. A pair of gold boots came into view and stopped right at the edge of your vision. You smelled sweet ambergris.

"You're late," he whispered, almost so softly that you didn't hear. You weren't sure what to say, and so you apologized in a similar whisper.

"I'm sorry, my Prince."

"Only sorry?" the violetblood murmured. A gasp escaped you as his cold fingers traced the tip of one of your horns, gentle as a lover. You could have sworn you heard him chuckle softly when you shivered.

Blood rushed in your ears as you were wrenched upright by your horn, and for a half second you felt faint. You looked up and flinched; Prince Ampora's lips were curled back over his fangs, and his sight-bulbs burned at you. He pushed you backward suddenly, taking long strides that had you stumbling over your gown, but you didn't trip; the prince's cold grip on your horn was too tight to let you fall.

You gasped as you were slammed against a wall, pressed flat by the other troll's weight. The fingers on your horn squeezed so tightly that you barely bit back a whimper, and you heard the prince growl low in his throat. He squeezed tighter, and you half-screamed. Your hands instinctively opened into claws at your sides, but you kept them down as best you could because you would certainly die if you fought back. The prince must have seen your arms flinch, though, because he let go of your horn and backhanded you. His knuckles jarred your cheek, and you knew the skin would bruise.

"You would dare?" he hissed. Before you could say anything he slapped you again, this time hard enough to turn your pan and leave you tasting blood. The instincts of self-preservation that you had been repressing kicked into gear without warning, and before you knew it you had brought your knee up into the seadweller's side. He grunted, clearly a pained sound, but the blow wasn't enough to move him. Terror flashed through you in a hot jolt when he grabbed hold of your face, his grip mightily suggesting that he meant to break your jaw.

Cold lips crushed against yours, and your orbs opened wide in surprise. You purposely fought back then, pushing and trying to twist away from the violetblood, but he was immoveable. You parted your lips to say something, to scream, you weren't entirely sure which or to who, and the prince took the opportunity to force his tongue into your mouth. You made a muffled sound of surprise and redoubled your efforts to wriggle free, but the bigger troll had kneed your legs apart and was forcing you completely flush to the wall with his weight. You tried to push him again, but he was so heavy and you had no leverage. Something moved against your thigh then, and you realized that his bulge was writhing inside his pants.

You bit down on the tongue that was pushing at yours, and the prince shoved away from you. You were left leaning against the wall as he put a hand to his mouth and inspected his bloody fingers. He looked up at you, his orbs no longer red, but wide-pupiled and black with lust.

Pitch.

You expected him to come at you again, the look on his face was so intent, but he didn't. Instead, he stalked away and slumped into his chair at the head of the table. You straightened up slowly, the back of your skull aching where it had hit the wall and your mouth sore from the unexpected plundering. It was all you could do to not tremble as you watched the prince catch his breath and pull a silk kerchief from his pocket to wipe at the violet and purple on his lips. The look on his face was violent, wild. It scared you profoundly, and even more so when looked into his orbs and saw that black lust there.

It didn't make sense for him to have pitch feelings for you. You had no doubt that was what you had seen when he'd looked at you, you knew that look well, but you didn't know one another at all, had no reason or opportunity to sow any sort of hate.

"All right," he said finally, his voice as smooth and calm as when he'd whispered to you earlier. The sudden change in him was terrifying. "Come here to me. Let's see just how badly you fucked the lacin' up."

You hesitated, and the seadweller gave an impatient and aggressive click that prompted you to obey. You couldn't bring yourself to lower your gaze from him the way you were supposed to as you approached, nervous as you were that he would grab you again, and he narrowed his orbs at the slight. That lust-filled look was still there, burning dark at you.

You couldn't look away from him.

"Careful, peasant," he said softly. You felt sick as he stood up and began to circle you slowly; it was horrible, having the finest military training on the planet and not being able to use a lick of it.

The prince's movements were calculating, predatory. Your orbs followed him, trained fearfully on his face. He stepped in close, and you caught the sharp, salty scent that clung to him under the ambergris; you were surprised at how pleasant you found it. There was another scent on him, though, like spice…

"Could be worse," he said tersely. "Turn around."

You stared at him, your breathing turning shallower and faster. You didn't want to give him your back.

The violetblood growled, a rumbling sound that made your hair stand on end. His orbs got bigger, and you turned quickly just to keep from riling him up any further. What could you do, really, if he attacked you from the front? Icy fingers glided across the exposed flesh of your back, deceptively gentle, and you tensed so hard that your knees locked.

"This is a fuckin' mess," the prince muttered. You felt him undo some of the lacing that you'd bungled, then carefully retie it. Your breath hitched when he pulled the back of the gown painfully tight.

"Don't have much to work with," he said beside your ear, and you could hear the distaste and ridicule in his voice, "but tightenin' this up will help some of that." His hands settled on your waist, gave a slight squeeze and caress that most certainly didn't go unnoticed, and then he turned you around to face him.

You tilted your face up to meet his gaze, hoping that he would get a good look at your orbs and that that would smother the pitch burning in his. Whether he could tell your feelings or not, though, his pupils stayed wide and wanting. He lifted a hand, and you flinched a little at the gesture, but he was only moving to run a thumb over the bruised spot on your cheek. You winced as his jeweled thumb ring scraped a little across your swollen flesh.

"Can't have that," the prince murmured. He let go of you. You watched him go over to a small case on the table and open it up. It hissed out air and a little puff of a cloud, and then he was holding a syringe in his long fingers. You saw the pale-green liquid inside and recognized it as the same stuff that the medics had stuck into you. The realization made your nutrition sack flip.

He had planned this.

Your knees felt weak, and you fought to keep yourself from swaying as the seadweller came toward you with the needle, orbs still smoldering with dark lust. You didn't like the idea of him bringing something sharp close to your face, not with that look on his face, but in the end you didn't have much of a choice. You closed your orbs when he took hold of your chin, firmly but not painfully, and stuck the needle into your cheek. The tingling, almost numbing sensation spread over the swelled area, and you knew that in minutes the bruise would be gone.

The prince watched the spot on your face carefully until it healed, and then he handed you his stained kerchief. The look on his face suddenly reflected a sort of high-bred revulsion. "Wipe your mouth," he said, almost like a lusus chastising a wriggler. You took the silk thing from him and did as you were told, just like a wriggler, and he sat back down and put the syringe away.

A quarter-hour passed, and the prince didn't say a word to you. He stared at the tabletop, the lustful fading slowly from his bulbs, while you stood closeby. You didn't dare say a word.

The suffocating silence weighed on you as time crept on, and when the door hissed open you jumped so hard you almost banged your knee into a chair. You turned from facing the prince to look at the door, and more dread settled itself heavily in your chest.

"Makara," Prince Ampora said, his voice strained to sound respectful as the clown and three other subjugglators approached. "I wasn't expecting others."

Makara didn't answer, but walked right up to you and the prince with his group keeping a few steps behind. Unlike the others, he was wearing a smile underneath his ghastly paint. Behind him, the door reached its timer and shut slowly. As it closed, you realized that the music in the other room had stopped.

The clown spread his hands in a peaceful gesture, but didn't bow. "Ampora," he said, still smiling as genuinely as anyone could, as if he had never fought with the prince at all. His studded, sharpened horns glinted in the moonglow through the wide windows, and your orbs moved from them to settle on his clubs, still strapped on his hips. The other subjugglators wore their clubs too, and the little part of you that wasn't drowning in fear marveled that they were all allowed to carry their weapons in here. Your gaze caught one of the other clowns', one with uneven and jagged horns. He grinned a big set of razor-filed teeth and winked. You held his look as best you could, determined not to let him get any pleasure out of shaking you up, until he let his tongue slither out and flick at you; you averted your orbs in shock and disgust from the line of studs pierced there.

Something cold touched the small of your back, and you realized that Prince Ampora had settled his hand there. You had fallen behind in the conversation.

"Mipree Joclai," the prince said, pushing you forward slightly. You stepped rigidly with his motion and found yourself looking right up at the Makara clown. He blinked languidly down at you, gaze blatantly raking your body, and you saw that his pupils were blown wide. The thick, cloying smell of sopor on him hit you like a wall.

You fumbled when you realized you were staring, but still managed a quick, military-style bow, the only courtly greeting you knew. "Subjugglator Makara," you said to his boots. Were those blue or purple stains on the toes? You didn't have enough time to stare. You rose back up, and were startled to see clown's orbs sparkling with sudden recognition. He threw his pan back, curly hair falling over his shoulders in a dark mass, and laughed. It was an eerie, powerful sound that echoed up to the ceiling and rattled you from the inside.

The clown swept his arms out wide then and bowed deep, extending one long leg in front of him. It was a dramatic mockery as far as courtly bows went, but it was far more than he had done for the prince. "A motherfuckin' pleasure to see you again, sis," he said, drawing out the word 'pleasure' far longer than necessary. For a moment you were so lost in the memory of what had happened outside the throne room that you almost didn't hear Prince Ampora speaking behind you.

"You… know each other?" The violetblood's tone was stiff, and clearly offended. You didn't know what to say, but it didn't matter; the clown was speaking for you.

"We only just up and motherfuckin' met," he was saying in his slow, gravelly way. His smile was wide and lazy as he hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Didn't have any motherfuckin' time to get our conversin' on. Sister was in a motherfuckin' hurry."He glanced down at you and licked his lips a little. Your guts twisted.

Prince Eridan gave an impassive click, clearly not catching any of the subtleties that the clown was throwing your way. "I see. Makara, I'd like to speak with you in private for a moment, if you would allow." His tone gave no indication that the clown wouldn't allow.

Makara blinked slowly, then half-looked over his shoulder and nodded at the other subjugglators, all of whom looked suddenly tense. They relaxed visibly at his gesture, but their hands stayed near their clubs. Prince Eridan and the Makara clown walked almost side-by-side into one of the many side rooms, leaving you alone with the remaining cultists.

They stared at you. You found yourself looking at the plush carpet to avoid their gazes, but it was difficult to not glance upward every now and then. Once you saw the one with the pierced tongue ogling your rumble spheres through the tight dress. He made you uncomfortable, but not as much as the troll next to him. She was short by purpleblood standards, the top of her pan not quite reaching her tallest companion's shoulder. Her hair was cut in a haphazard and asymmetrical way that suggested she did it herself, and without a mirror; it gave her a savage look that matched the light in her orbs. The expression she turned on you when your gazes met was laden with such hate and disgust that you broke the contact immediately.

The last of the clowns didn't pay much attention to you at all. His neatly combed hair and smooth expression made him look more put together than the others, more sane really, but that didn't mean anything. You watched him warily as he pulled a wicked little knife from inside one of his bracers and cleaned his claws idly.

You heard Makara laugh, still a powerful and unsettling sound though it was muffled, and you glanced back at the door. It opened up and he and Prince Ampora stepped out.

"… things will be moved soon enough," the seadweller was saying.

"That's all shades of motherfuckin' fine."

They strolled toward you, Makara swinging his lanky arms and just about skipping along. Prince Ampora was smiling; it was a chilly expression that didn't quite reach his orbs. You blinked when he turned that smile on you and stopped next to his chair, casually leaning on the back of it.

He looked awfully satisfied about something.

You were so busy trying to read the seadweller that you didn't notice the Makara clown coming up on you until it was too late. In a motion almost too quick for you to follow, he dropped his shoulder and ducked into you. One arm scooped your legs, and then you were hefted over his shoulder. You shrieked as you were jerked up and into the air.

"Much happiness to you both!" you heard Prince Ampora call as the subjugglator started off, setting you to bouncing. You scrabbled at the clown's back to keep your balance as you looked back at the smiling prince. Through your hair, you thought you saw him trace a spade over his chest.

Gamzee Makara laughed again, and your skull rang with the raucous sound.