Chapter Text
When the universe fucked Karkat over with his stupid blood, he figured that would be it. He'd get culled one day being careless, so why plan for the future? He could hope to maybe hide out on the planet for a few decades if he was lucky, but noooo. A big fucking stupid imperial decree had to come from the newly crowned empress, mandating a system placing cullable lowbloods and mutants with unstable highbloods. So here he was, sitting in a fucking shuttle of other miserable chitinwastes, waiting to be unloaded onto an imperial cruiser to be handed off like chattel to some unstable chucklefuck. He was going to probably be squeezed to death by some navy freak and die, but whatever! It was the universe's way of pitchramming his chute.
At the very least, the accommodations prior to being led to slaughter were nice. Every passenger on the shuttle had a private cabin (as far as he knew) and a delicious spread of meats and sweets to enjoy for the two day journey into deeper galaxies than Karkat ever thought he would see. His drycot is almost as cozy as a plush pile, which makes sense given how the Empress seems to think all freaks are no better than a feeble grub. Of course they are going to be padded and stuffed like some kind of pet. He is curled up in said cot, trying to think of ways to make himself the least bit tolerable so he can buy a bit more time between being saddled with an ornery blueblood (or *worse* like a murderclown asshole), when an announcement chimes over the intercom to announce the approach and docking.
The static-filled transmission is easy to tune out, until it states *where* they are docking: The Big Top. Any lowblooded wriggler knew that all of the bogeymen of the empire were assigned to the Big Top when they ascended - mostly brutal indigo- and purple-bloods, but unlucky lowblooded ranks could end up on board to maintenance equipment or attend the menagerie. Rather than being crushed to death by some foolish blueblood, Karkat was much more likely to be ripped apart or disemboweled by a clown here. Even if he was a brat, completely incapable of being pathetic, any highblood in this hue range would be liable to off him for it.
He was going to have to fucking think of a better plan than being unpleasant enough to be unwanted.
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"...And what do you mean he wasn't there? Are you trying to tell me that one whole pathetic little gutterblood disappeared from the SPECIFIC room he was put in?"
Man, your old ancestor was really motherfucking annoyed about this shit. So what if the little lowblood they were trying to stick you with wasn't on the shuttle? Obviously there were plenty of trolls to meet other than the one that had been scouted per the old goat's request. The shuttle was bustling with all shades low and interesting, having wings and tails and all sorts of shows of the miraculous way that the Messiahs meddled.
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT HOW MOTHERFUCKING SURE YOU CAN BE, THE FUCKER IS ALL WRIGGLER SIZED AT BEST? How motherfucking small was you shrunk to in making sure he wasn't the there-"
Yap, yap, yap. Despite having his mouth sewn at the edges, he could still talk a motherfucking cadet into submission. Gamzee hated the way his voice buzzed, as if artificially boosted, and perhaps it was by his 'voodoos. As his ancestor and pseudo-guardian continued to tear into some poor low ranking cadet over this "simple security detail", Gamzee watched the throngs of trolls being guided by what he could only assume were their Jade handlers for this stupid program. He hated that his own fucking mentor had sold him out for this same kind of treatment, just in the reverse order because he was "GETTING TO OUT OF MOTHERFUCKING CONTROL ON SHIT". Fighting and arguing were natural parts of trollkind, but APPARENTLY when you argued with your own and showed a little muscle outside of the three rings, it was bad business.
As the crowd thinned out, and mostly blues and yellow helmsmen started trickling out, something a little funny caught Gamzee's eye.
Some little ass motherfucker, probably as tall as some of the wrigglers that came aboard on early Ascension, obviously lost and trying to stay low behind the much taller adults. Had something tucked around him, maybe a blanket? A sheet? Looked like a poor excuse for a robe and whatever he *thought* he was getting away with he certainly was not. Still, that kind of mischief tickled Gamzee's interest, and he couldn't help but try to reach out into the troll's thinkpan.
.....Huh.
As much as he was trying to prod in there, he was getting hit by this. Psychic static? A wall? Some kind of shit that seemed to move with the chucklevoodoos and stop him short of doing much to read anything. It was a little aggravating, because not even waders could prevent the voodoos of a true Indigo from rooting around in their mind but it also had Gamzee unconsciously moving in on the lost looking kid. Could be some stray purple but he would know by now. Purples had a way of following the threads back to their source to say hello when chucklevoodoos were loose.
Without even realizing it, he had his hand on the little motherfucker in a second, gently settling on his head between some of the shortest broken horns he ever had seen. Were they ground down? Had to be because normal trolls didn't have horns so cute as this.
"YoU Up aNd lOsT, bRoThEr? dOnE LoSt yOuR FlOcK Or sOmE ShIt-" And just like that, his words were lost in his squawkbox as he laid eyes on some of the brightest eyes he had ever seen, far brighter than any Rust or concoction that they had in the Church. It was as bright as the Sacred Mural, as bright as their Wrathful Messiah, all Vitriol and Rage.
It was the most beautiful color any troll, living or dead, could ever bear in this motherfuckers cardiacroots.