caughtinanetwork | Time for some culture, everyone

[The camera flicks on, showing a young troll sitting down, a large book open on his crossed legs. There's a stack of books behind him, and the gentle lighting and general hush all around him indicate that he's in the library.]

I found this book of human poetry, and found a beautiful poem. I had no idea you humans had it in you. This is true highblood lyricism; if I didn't know better, I would think this Samuel Taylor Coleridge fellow was a blueblood.

[He clears his throat, then begins reading from the book.]

To a Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Poor little Foal of an oppresséd race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
'Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes'?
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot--
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity--best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, 'And have I then one friend?'
Innocent foal! thou poor despis'd forlorn!
I hail thee Brother--spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!

[He carefully closes the book, his face as close to beaming as he's willing to get in public.]

Magnificent.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Critically high schmoop levels! Which is why Equius is hanging up his SFC and heading home.]

[He's glad that Gamzee is in a better mood. The last few days had been rough on all of them, and he's happy his matesprit is back to his old self and staying at home again.]

[Yes, he feel bad for basically everything he did during those days. Which is why he will be waiting for Equius at the door, so he can happily wrap his arms around him and press a happy kiss to his mouth to welcome him back.]

[What a pleasant surprise!]

[The kiss assault surprises a brief purr out of Equius, and he leans into Gamzee.]

Glad you're back.

[Gamzee leans in as well, resting his forehead against Equius']

Yeah, me too.

[Equius just enjoys the closeness for a moment, then pulls back a little.]

So... you'd like to hear my poetry?

[He's pretty shy about it! But he's in a good mood, and things have been looking up around the bubble, so he's willing to share.]

Fuck yeah! Here or...?

[or, you know, does he wanna move this awesome poetry reading out of the front door.]

Let's go up to our room.

[Because that way they won't get interrupted by Darkleer or anyone else who might embarrass Equius. He holds out his hand, offering it to Gamzee.]

[Gamzee happily wraps his fingers around Equius' still hand, which really is the only way they can hold hands, allowing Equius to guide him to his room for a private poetry session.

With actual poetry.]

[Excuse you! That was beautiful poetry about asses, he'll have you know!]

[Equius guides Gamzee to the room they share, then gently slips out of Gamzee's grip.]

Have a seat on the bed. I'll get my notebook out.

[Equius calls up his sylladex, which he may or may not have been tinkering with to make it work like Darkleer's (spoiler alert: he totally has), and carefully combs through it until he finds the book he's looking for. It's old, and battered, and its cover is made of scratched, dented metal.]

Are you ready?

[There was not a butt in sight and you know it.

Gamzee ambles over to the bed, flopping down on it, pulling the pillows up behind him to sprawl out ever so comfortably. These beds weren't so bad once you got used to them.]

Aight. Hit me.

[Oh gosh, this is nerve-racking. Equius wipes the back of his forearm across his forehead, clearing away the sweat, then flips the book open. The poem he chooses is about three-quarters of the way through the book.]

I've never seen the sea.

And yet, I don't need to, because my matesprit
reminds me of the sea.
It's the way his horns echo the shape of the waves,
or the way his hair lays in perfect dark commas across
our pillow, like a shoreline undisturbed for miles.
It's the way his grey eyes reflect light when he laughs,
like Prospit's light across the water,
or the way they'll turn indigo someday, like Derse's light
sinking into the waves.

I've never seen the sea.
And yet, I see it every day, everytime
he smiles.

[Equius stops reading and glances up, his face a tormented rictus of nerves. He's sweating profusely now.]

Did... did you like it?

[Gamzee just listens with a smile. He is no poet. Nothing like it. He can't tell if Equius' poem is good or nothing, only that it has no references to horse porn and that it has got all his pump poured into it.

When he finishes, he sits up a little more, spreading his arms open.]

Come here.

[See, and this is why Equius is nervous. Everyone knows that the best poetry has references to horse porn in it.]

[All the same, he obediently goes over to Gamzee and cuddles next to him, hiding his face in his shoulder.]

Did you like it?

[His voice is muffled by Gamzee's t-shirt.]

[Gamzee can survive without!

He tightens his arms instantly around Equius, turning his head a little to press paint-sticky kisses to his hair, careful not to spear his own eye on Equius' broken horn.]

I fuckin' loved it.

[Equius really should talk to Darkleer about that broken horn sometime, see if there's anything he can do to help it heal. If it will heal.]

You did?

[Equius carefully glances up. He's never gotten positive feedback about his poetry before, and isn't quite sure how to take it.]

[But his broken horn is adorable. And to be fair, two spike pointed horns won't take away the possibility of eye-gouging none.]

I do. I ain't fuckin' messin' with ya.

[And this is why Equius is head-over-heels in pity/love with you, Gamzee.]

[He smiles, genuinely beaming, before burying his face in Gamzee's shoulder again, this time to hide a very small, very undiginified squeak of happiness.]

Thank you.

[Gamzee laughs, running his fingers through his hair as he leans against him.

Honestly, Equius could have composed the shittiest one line limerick, Gamzee still would've loved it if he had put all that heart into it.]

You are the best matesprit.

Nope. Fuckin' gotta be getting my argue on with you there, babe. I can't all be the best on account of you all already being the fuckin' best.

Pffffft, no. You're the best, and I'm the luckiest troll in the bubble.

[He laughs, playfully pressing his forehead against Equius' as if trying to push him back.]

Nope. I am all the troll what is fuckin' swimming in all this mad wicked luck I got here.

[Equius lets Gamzee push him back, and he's positively beaming.]

I guess we're just one lucky pair of trolls, aren't we?

[Gamzee wraps his arms around his neck, leaning against him with a smile.]

Fuckin' luckiest motherfuckers what all be.

Time for some culture, everyone

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action; I wouldn't know what to do with an Equius with intact horns, really

action; how could you give a hornjob to one of those anyway.

action; exactly! priorities!

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