You saunter on out of there. You could say so much more, but it’s fine. Jade has no idea what she’s talking about. There’s not a thing to worry about here. You came out the womb playing defense, you’re not about to drop the ball now.
If you hadn’t, maybe you’d be more concerned with the torrent of bullshit you’re dealing with. You really are getting it from all ends here, between Jade’s guilt-ridden busybodying and the glint of rage and pain in your wife’s eyes and the sudden, inexplicable tragedy of your brother’s demise. All that on top of the twist of your gut every time you see your mother in Roxy’s face or hear her in Roxy’s voice. Really, you should be losing your shit. Instead, your emotions are in order and your shit is on lockdown exactly where you tucked it away, smooth operator that you are.
God, you need a fucking drink.
Instead of folding, you try to curb the craving by focusing on the inside of your hand and slowly moving that energy to your fingertips.
Jade is right, of course, but only on a base, intuitive level that is otherwise lacking in specifics and easily misinterpreted and manipulated. For there to be inarguable truth there has to not only be an authority, but one that cares enough to reinforce their intentions absolutely, and you can’t imagine any such authority caring all that much about this laughable mess.
If there’s no truth, then why even bother looking for your best option? Just leave the hierarchy of choices in ashes, the Mayor would be so proud. And then horribly disappointed, realizing this doesn't mean democratic power to the people. It means total fucking black out.
It’s only through quite rigorous contemplation of this metaphysical miasma (to the detriment, some might say, of your attention to the present moment) that you’ve managed to glean much of anything at all, a wonder in and of itself. Trying to decode these countless twisting paths has taken years of practice, but like all your favorite games the tedium enhances the satisfaction of playing. A small pastime, like a crossword, to privately enjoy outside the scope of any intrusive third persons.
Currently, for example, you know that Vriska’s up to something important within the meteor. Exceedingly important, actually, far more important than anything here has had any right to be in a long, long time. It’s a point of almost disturbing clarity in the otherwise nebulous and ill-defined milieu of your prognosticative purview. You’re not quite sure what it actually is, though.
It doesn’t really matter, in the long run. Important or not, Vriska’s going to fail. Jane’s going to fail, too; really, just about everyone is going to fail to do something that really matters. In an unsuccessful effort to stave off that failure, and perhaps to atone for it on some level, Calliope will sacrifice herself, fruitlessly.
You’re not exempt from the firing squad, either. In the imminent battle, you are going to be shot in the head, the bullet burying deep into your moral grey matter and jamming up the works of your conditional immortality, leaving you confined to a hospital bed. You had to pull all kinds of ridiculous, eyebrow-raising Chaos Theory shit to figure that one out. The rat-tail was worth it, your daughter’s anguish aside.
Kanaya may not see it this way at first, but your lobotomy sleepytime will be a well-earned, golden opportunity for her. A chance to experience life unshackled from the ol’ ball and chain. Even if it requires you to foist some compelling motivation for her to embrace it. She can’t waste her independence waiting on you again. You refuse to accept that outcome. What’s the point of a world where anything is possible if the love of your life won’t explore her full potential?
It might even be gratifying for her romantically, though you haven’t peered too deeply down those corridors out of respect for her hypothetical privacy (surely not because they’d make you want to rip off your own face to perceive; that’d be hypocritical). Whatever. It’ll be good for her to stretch her legs, and it’s not like you’ll be awake to miss her.
Or everything will collapse and everybody will disappear. It’ll certainly happen eventually. Maybe in an hour, maybe a day, a couple weeks, millenia from now. Who’s to say? Those specifics are beyond you now.
It’s this thought that unwinds you, untwisting your knickers. It’s hard to take things too seriously when you know that the details don’t matter and the ending never changes. It’s out of your hands. There’s nothing left to lose.
